They weren't a disease. They were refugees, and this moon was their last shelter, finally cracked open. Mara understood the choice now. She could let them in, become their carrier, and give a dying people a future inside her voice. Slowly, she opened her mouth and said the word out loud.

Mara aimed her cutter at the structure to end it for good. The carvings flared white. Down the shaft, every worker screamed the word in unison, shaking rock loose from the ceiling. She fired anyway. The structure split, went dark, and the word died with it. Far above, eleven miners woke up sobbing their own names.

Mara refused to be their vessel. She backed away and recorded everything for Earth, so the next crew would know the truth. The structure dimmed, patient as ever. It had waited a million years. It could wait for a kinder mouth than hers. She sealed the shaft and flew home haunted.