“We won’t ask you to sign anything like that.”
Darae answered the question from beyond the screen first. Someone had asked whether accepting supplies meant agreeing to return to those five rooms. She did not yet know who.
“Emergency assistance and deciding where you’ll live are separate things. Anyone who chooses not to return receives the same assistance.”
Someone relayed her words. The questioner gave a brief acknowledgment. Only then did Darae open the first person’s field.
Narae remained in its observation phase, reducing relative motion without connecting to S-6. Mujin’s hand moved below his screen. However still they looked, neither vessel was fixed in place.
“We’ll use video only as long as verification needs it. Please don’t gather at the window.”
Haeseong divided the long workshop into marked restraint positions. Hastily made numbers went beside the handholds. Only two designated adults would move: one with the camera, the other marking off verified people on paper.
Darae brought up the seating diagram instead of the map. A central post hid part of the interior. Filming only the front would repeatedly miss the people behind it.
“We’ll check behind that post separately. Everyone else, keep your position so we don’t count anyone twice.”
Noh Haeseong came first. They matched face, voice, and location. For anyone who preferred not to repeat a full name over the shared channel, they used a position number and a chosen name. Detailed identification could go separately to the rescue team.
At the second position, a woman held a small food container with a leaf drawn on its lid. When the camera reached her, she put it into the storage net behind her.
“We don’t have to throw these away to leave, do we?”
“You don’t need to discard it now. We’ll explain baggage separately, within the seating and mass limits.”
Darae kept the promise small. She did not say everything could come, or that giving things up was a condition of rescue.
At the third position, small shoes hung from a restraint. A child turned while holding the adult beside them. The designated adult checked their two positions separately. Showing a face on video did not mean the child had to explain their health or relocation plans.
“We can arrange separate contact with a guardian and the medical team if needed.”
Haeseong passed on the answer. The child waved to see whether Darae could see. Darae raised her hand too, then laughed as the pen on her wrist loop rose with it. When the child pointed, she showed the loop.
“This one keeps trying to leave before I do.”
A little laughter reached the transmitter. Beside the child, the adult kept checking the restraint. Life there was not entirely fear. That did not mean the danger had gone.
At position eight, the video froze.
A sleeve remained fixed in the middle of the picture. Darae left the next field blank. Audio still worked. She asked Haeseong to stop moving the camera and say where it was.
“Eight. We haven’t shown nine yet.”
When the picture returned, the same sleeve moved. Darae finished verifying the eighth person before continuing. She did not fill the missing seconds with guesses.
Seo monitored temperature and power consumption beside her. They shut off video between sections, keeping the verification from becoming one long drain. Darae read her marks against the paper record before moving on.
Behind the post, one position was darker than she expected. A face appeared among rumpled blankets. When the camera holder redirected a light, the man closed his eyes.
“A little to one side, please,” Darae said.
He had been trying to sleep. She did not decide his level of consciousness from how sleepy he looked. The adult spoke to him, checked his response, and asked what help he needed. He wanted his drinking-water pouch moved within reach.
The adult rehung it on a handhold. Darae added a short request without opening the medical-information field. Every small discomfort did not need to become a diagnosis.
Maru appeared at seventeen.
A small food container crossed the camera’s view, released from someone’s hand. A nearby woman kept hold of her handhold and reached out to catch it. Her body turned slightly the other way; someone steadied her by the restraint. The lid stayed closed. Nobody launched themselves from their place.
Darae caught her own waist strap. On Earth, dinner might roll under a table. Here it could drift toward someone’s face. Moving everyone to finish sooner would have sent more things floating. She waited until all hands were secure again.
Maru was turning over the tally sheet from a fixed position beside an adult, not carrying the camera. After giving their number, Maru immediately started to read the next count.
“You’re someone we’re checking too, Maru. When your turn is over, have some water.”
Maru opened their mouth, then closed it. Haeseong passed over a pouch. Someone good at working had nearly disappeared beneath the work. Darae separated communications duty and resident number into different fields on her own diagram.
The camera reached the last position.
Twenty-three.
Before saying it aloud, Darae checked the diagram again. Section counts and total matched the adult’s marks, including the recheck after the frozen picture. Haeseong reported that adults had checked the inner compartment and temporary storage for anyone else.
“Twenty-three people verified through live contact and position matching. I’m recording the method as well.”
The small note beside the reported count changed: REMOTE LIVE CROSS-CHECK COMPLETE. She had not boarded and counted them herself. But they had moved beyond taking down one man’s figure.
Nineteen adults and four minors, including seventeen-year-old Maru. Only people who agreed to separate consultation went through the rescue medical channel for health and mobility information. Darae’s shared supplies sheet received support requirements, without names or medical histories.
With the video off, Narae’s cabin seemed suddenly quiet. She remembered hands and food containers. They were not all eating from identical bowls. Some were metal; others, old transparent plastic. Someone had drawn stars on a lid. Someone else had left theirs bare.
Twenty-three places were not twenty-three votes for the same home.
She explained to Haeseong how they would ask about relocation. Emergency transfer aboard a rescue vessel was separate from a long-term home. People could decline to answer or change their minds. They arranged turns for residents to speak directly, rather than through a representative’s answer for everyone.
The first voice belonged to the woman who had asked the question.
“I’m not going back into those rooms. I’ll miss the plants, though.”
Darae did not press for a reason. She acknowledged the preference without putting it on the same line as immediate transfer availability. The next person hoped to repair the main habitat and return. The one after that could not decide today.
Haeseong waited for his own turn.
“I’d like to go back if we can. That doesn’t mean anyone else has to.”
Darae marked it as the representative’s own preference. The hand passing water earlier and the voice expressing a wish belonged to the same person. Coordinating help did not require him to decide everyone’s conclusion.
As the call lengthened, they scheduled later audio slots for the remaining opinions. Anyone unable to speak now could wait. Guardians and rescue staff would check the children’s needs separately. Darae retied the blank name labels in the cabin. An unused label could wait for a person.
Mujin received the updated list. Blank lines for return mass multiplied on his screen. Verifying twenty-three people did not give Narae more seats.
“We still need to explain that we can’t carry everyone at once. We’ll assess priority assistance and priority transfers separately.”
Darae moved her supplies sheet away from the people’s sheet. Both needed accuracy, but they could not follow the same rules. Cargo could wait secured to a rail. People needed to know the conditions in which they were being asked to wait.
Seo requested fresh measurements. Sorbent capacity had fallen a little during verification and discussion; temperature was slowly rising. Pressure and oxygen supply remained within their maintained ranges. He did not simply repeat the previous support estimate. He checked the trend against the limits and set the next assessment time.
“There aren’t any more people,” Darae said quietly, “but the number feels heavier.”
Seo pressed his tool pouch against its handhold.
“Now we know who’s there.”
Mujin shifted the external view. The reinforcing plate at S-6’s interface brightened. Beneath it, Darae saw a small groove in a different position from the registered docking-ring drawing.
She asked Haeseong to show the interior interface label. A nearby adult filmed the label alone. Nobody needed to go outside. It identified an older cargo-support standard.
Mujin opened Narae’s equipment list. Even with the drawings aligned, the locking grooves were spaced differently. Darae remembered checking numbers to find equipment that fitted the cartridge system. The opening through which it had to pass would not automatically fit too.
“Does that mean you can’t connect?” Haeseong asked.
“Not with the main docking ring as it is. We’re checking for a usable rescue adapter.”
Mujin kept the observation attitude without pushing closer. The return-fuel reserve remained on his display.
Darae looked at the last box’s handle. While they verified twenty-three people, they had found the recipients. They still had no way to hand anything over.
Narae’s equipment-locker indicator lit.
During an authorized free-flight work phase, Seo opened the locker. Two folded rings emerged. One carried a red DO NOT USE tag. The other had a list of interchangeable inner supports attached.
Reading the list, Seo called Darae.
“Turn the photograph to the same reference side. There may be one that fits.”
She rotated the picture.
For the candidate adapter, only one set of matching supports remained.