It was the blowback from Adrian’s atmosphere. Not a physical explosion, but pure, unadulterated infrared light reflected off the air. The ship tried to warn me that the hull got too hot. I should have listened.

I thought the hull couldn’t melt. It was cooled by Astrophage! But of course it can melt. Even if Astrophage is a perfect heat absorber (and it may be), the heat has to conduct through the metal before it can be absorbed. If the outer layer of the hull reaches its melting point faster than the heat can transmit through the thickness of the hull, the Astrophage can’t do anything about it.

“Confirmed. Hull breach. Port fuel tank.”

“Why thrust, question?”

It all comes together. “Oh crap! The Astrophage in the fuel bay! It’s exposed to space! That means it can see Adrian! My fuel is migrating to Adrian to breed!”

“Bad bad bad!”

That’s where the thrust is from. Trillions and trillions of horny little Astrophages, all ready to breed. And then, all at once, they see Adrian. Not just a source of carbon dioxide, but their ancestral homeland. The planet they evolved over billions of years to seek out.

As each new sheet of Astrophage rushes out of the ship and toward Adrian, the next layer of Astrophage gets exposed. The ship is being pushed along by the IR thrust from the departing Astrophage. Fortunately, the rest of the Astrophage behind them are present to absorb the energy. But in absorbing that energy they absorb the momentum.

It’s far from a perfect system. It’s a chaotic, sputtering explosion. Any second now, this could degenerate into a much larger and less directed plume of IR and we’ll be vaporized. I have to make this stop.

I can jettison fuel bays! I saw that feature on my first day in the control room! Where the heck was it…?

It takes all the strength I have to lift my arm to the screen, but I manage to bring up the Astrophage panel. It shows a map of the ship and the fuel-bay area is broken up into nine rectangles. I don’t have time to cross-reference these rectangles to the part of the bad hull. I grunt, force my arm forward, and tap one that I think is in the right place.

“Throwing… away… bad… fuel bay…” I say through clenched teeth.

“Yes yes yes!” Rocky says, cheering me on.

The Fuel Pod screen pops up: ASTROPHAGE 112.079 KG. Next to that, a button labeled “Jettison.” I punch it. A confirmation dialog pops up. I confirm.

A sudden jerk of acceleration hurls me to the side. Even Rocky is unable to hold position. He slams into the side of his bulb but quickly rights himself and clamps onto his handholds with all five hands.