Spock moved when Colby asked.
The small Ikona climbed down Colby's shoulder and pressed both hands against the shard near his collarbone. Air gathered above Colby's palm, tightening into the little cyclone Elias had already seen. Then the shape changed.
The spinning air flattened, hardened, and pulled into a short blade with a hilt that looked almost solid until the edges rippled.
Elias leaned forward despite the ache in his ribs.
"That is better control than I expected."
Colby dismissed the blade with a flick of his wrist. The air came apart and brushed across the table.
"Useful enough for close work, not flashy enough to impress Kikaru, and quiet enough that Spock likes it."
Spock blinked like that was too much praise.
Dot floated closer, studying him. "Your partner is adorable and rude in a silent way, and I respect that."
Colby laughed. "Spock judges everyone while saving energy by not speaking much."
Elias looked toward the sleeping pods. Most of A Block had gone quiet, but nobody here felt fully asleep. Too many new fears sat under the walls.
"How long have you been here?"
"Almost two weeks, long enough to know the food schedule and not long enough to stop wanting outside air."
"You think they will let people leave soon?"
Colby's grin faded. He rolled the gum to one side of his mouth.
"Depends on what they decide we are, because guests leave, soldiers get orders, and prisoners get paperwork."
"And what do you think we are?"
"Useful enough to be treated carefully. Dangerous enough to be locked up nicely."
That landed too close to Elias's own thoughts.
Colby leaned back. "I have a little sister outside this place. If the military protects her, I cooperate. If they turn this into a cage and forget our families exist, I become less cooperative."
"That is honest enough to worry me."
"No point lying to the oldest man in A Block. You might forget and hurt yourself."
Elias gave him a flat look. "You are very committed to that joke."
"It gives me emotional structure lately."
Colby tapped the table with one finger. "What about you, if everything gets worse and people start choosing sides, where do you stand?"
Elias started to answer.
Pain speared through the center of his chest.
The chair vanished under him. A Block thinned into blue light and empty sound. Dot shouted his name, but her voice stretched as the room peeled away.
Then Elias stood in the familiar blue space again.
No walls. No floor he could trust. No block, no badge, no Colby.
Dot spun away from him, recovered faster than he did, and shot through the Doctor's chest without touching him.
"Still weird inside this place again," she said, turning in place. "I hate that I like this room."
The Doctor stood with his cane in hand, beard streaked dark where old blood had dried into it. The shard in his chest pulsed once, dim and tired.
Elias pointed at the beard because anger needed somewhere to go.
"Is the blood part of the message, or are you just committed to bad first impressions?"
The Doctor touched the matted hair as if remembering it existed.
"Bits of blood, yes, and not important tonight."
"That answer makes it sound more important," Elias said, and the Doctor gave a tired nod. "Most true things usually do eventually."
Elias took a step closer. "You have been vague, dramatic, and responsible for more questions than answers. If this is another performance, skip to the part where you tell us what breaks next."
Dot bristled. "Elias, he is trying to help."
The Doctor raised one hand.
"No, he is right, because I wasted too much of his first day. You have been beaten, scanned, contained, and asked to trust people who do not trust you, which earns directness."
His tone changed, and the space changed with it.
Screens of light opened around them.
"Twenty-four hours have passed, so let us see what survival bought you."