Chapter 241: Observer
They spent the remainder of that day, and the better part of the following one, working through Dr. Farr’s accumulated research with the same careful, methodical patience Rohan had once applied to Renna’s star chart — cross-referencing the survey team’s final logs against Dr. Farr’s own scattered, unverified accounts, searching for any pattern that might offer genuine guidance rather than simply compounding uncertainty.
"Every confirmed account of a boundary crossing," Dr. Farr explained, spreading a series of fragmentary historical records across her cluttered work surface, "shares certain common elements, however unreliable the individual sources. Preparation seems to matter considerably — travellers who approached a crossing with some form of established connection to the destination side fared measurably better than those who attempted it blind. You mentioned a token, given to you by the entity you call Hestia. Do you still possess it?"
Rohan drew the small warm white stone from beneath his shirt, setting it carefully on the table between them.
Dr. Farr studied it with obvious, fascinated interest, though she made no move to touch it directly.
"A mark of hearth, she called it. Interesting phrasing. In several of the older, fragmentary accounts I’ve gathered over the years, similar tokens appear — objects described as anchors, or wards, granted by entities on one side of a boundary to travellers attempting passage from the other. If your account is accurate, and if this token functions the way such objects are described functioning in these older records, it may represent your single most valuable asset in attempting a safe crossing."
"She said it would only work once," Rohan said. "To bring me back to the edge of her sanctuary, if I was near death, or if my status began to collapse."
"Then I would recommend treating it as precisely that — a single, irreplaceable emergency measure, not a resource to spend lightly on anything less than genuine, immediate danger." Dr. Farr studied him a long moment, something almost sympathetic flickering behind her tired, careful eyes.
"You’re going to attempt this crossing regardless of anything I tell you, aren’t you? Regardless of the risk."
"Yes," Rohan said simply. "I have to."
"Then let me at least help you attempt it with something better than pure desperation to guide you." Dr. Farr rose, moving toward one of her precarious towers of stacked data cores, selecting one with the careful precision of someone who knew exactly where every piece of her scattered, unofficial research actually lived. "There are preparations that may improve your odds, based on everything I’ve gathered over the years. Containment principles, drawn from the little verified science exists on stabilising unstable energy fields. Combined with whatever unique properties your own tangled status might offer, we may be able to construct something considerably better than a blind leap through an unstable fracture."
Over the following days, Dr. Farr’s modest quarters became something closer to a genuine research operation, Rohan and Corven both drawn steadily into a collaborative effort that reminded Rohan, in its own strange way, of the long hours he’d once spent alongside Bren preparing Veyrhold’s careful petitions and negotiations.
Dr. Farr worked through theoretical models with the same rigorous, methodical discipline she’d clearly maintained throughout her years of unofficial exile, sketching increasingly detailed diagrams of the fracture’s likely structural properties based on everything Rohan could recall of its appearance, cross-referencing his description against her own scattered historical accounts, gradually building something that began to resemble an actual, workable theory of how a crossing might be safely attempted.
"The instability itself may actually work in your favour, paradoxically," she explained, during one of their long working sessions, sketching a rough diagram of the fracture’s shimmering, rippling edges. "A perfectly stable boundary would likely resist crossing entirely — too rigid, too fixed in its current state to permit passage. An unstable boundary, degrading as this one apparently is, may actually present brief windows of increased permeability, moments where the structure’s own failing integrity makes passage easier rather than harder. The danger, of course, is correctly identifying those windows, and surviving whatever conditions accompany them."
"How would I identify one?" Rohan asked.
"Your own resonance," Dr. Farr said. "The pull you’ve described feeling this entire search. If my theory holds, that sensation should intensify measurably during any genuine window of increased permeability — a physical indicator, unique to your particular tangled status, that conventional instruments would likely miss entirely." She tapped her diagram, considering. "It’s theoretical. Unproven. But it’s considerably more than blind guesswork, which is more than that research team apparently had to work with before their own crossing attempt, assuming they even attempted one before things went catastrophically wrong."
Corven, for his part, spent much of those days working through the more practical concerns Dr. Farr’s theoretical models inevitably raised — what equipment might realistically help stabilise a crossing attempt, what modifications the Rustwake might need before returning to the numbered system, what additional resources they’d need to gather before attempting anything as dangerous as what Dr. Farr’s research increasingly suggested lay ahead of them.
"Containment field generator," Corven said, reading through a list Dr. Farr had compiled, "portable atmospheric stabiliser, emergency beacon rated for cross-boundary transmission, assuming such a thing is even possible. None of that comes cheap, and none of it’s the kind of equipment a fringe salvage operation typically stocks."
"I still have Renna’s standing account," Rohan said. "And whatever credit’s left from the platform work at Kestrel’s Hollow."
"It’s not going to be enough," Corven said bluntly. "Not for equipment this specialised. We’re going to need considerably more resources than either of us currently has access to, if we want any real chance of doing this safely rather than just doing it desperately."
It was Renna, in the end, who offered the solution — arriving at Dr. Farr’s quarters unannounced on the fourth day of their research, expression carrying the particular sharp, calculating focus Rohan had learned meant she’d found something worth interrupting an entire working session to deliver.
"I’ve been making inquiries," she said, without preamble, settling into the room’s one remaining unoccupied chair. "Quietly. Carefully. The kind of inquiries that don’t attract unwanted attention from people who might have their own interests in a confirmed boundary contamination event."
She glanced meaningfully toward Dr. Farr. "You’ll want to hear this too, given everything you’ve apparently spent the past six years trying to warn people about."
"What did you find?" Rohan asked.
"Word travels, even in careful circles," Renna said. "And word of a fringe pilot and a stranger with no registered origin asking pointed questions about boundary anomalies and consortium research stations has apparently already reached at least one interested party — a private consortium investment group, from what I’ve managed to piece together, with a long-standing interest in exactly the kind of anomalous phenomena Ashford Survey Station was originally funded to investigate before everything went dark."
Dr. Farr’s expression sharpened into something considerably more alarmed than her usual careful composure. "They cut funding to that research years ago. Officially, at least."
"Officially," Renna agreed. "Unofficially, from what I’m hearing, there’s been renewed interest in recent weeks — interest that lines up rather precisely with the timeline of your own trip out to that system." She fixed Rohan with a steady, serious look. "Someone’s been watching this. Possibly since before you and Corven ever set foot on that outpost. If they learn how close you’ve actually come to a viable crossing attempt, I don’t think they’ll simply let you proceed unmonitored, let alone unopposed."
Rohan sucked in a cold breath. ’Could the gods have finally noticed me?’