The core lurched before the team freed the gear.
The tremor ran through the station and knocked a tool rack onto its side. Han ordered everyone clear of the machine room while Sella kept the monitoring crew behind a stone partition. Qinghe stood at the shaft entrance and heard Yan strike the wheel with his shoulder.
A station worker caught a falling box before it hit the floor. Another dropped the wrench he was holding and backed away from the wall. Han sent the two of them beyond the partition, then made sure the corridor stayed clear. The first lurch had shifted the machine but had not broken the outer channel. Sella kept her eyes on the gauge and called the readings without raising her voice.
“Are you injured?” she called.
“The wheel is winning,” Yan answered.
He let the joke go after that. The iron had not moved, and the pressure continued to rise. Gu’s call came from the control side, each mark separated by a few breaths. Yan adjusted his shoulder and pressed into the wheel. The art kept his joints braced and his back strong. He did not feel the body-breaking backlash described in the old method; only the external weight pushed at him. The support was even, not a surge that vanished after a heartbeat. He could keep his stance while the station crew worked the gauge and find the next lever without losing the sequence.
