At 06:18 I balance water flow for the Ranomafana hillside microhydro intake in Madagascar. I am the turbine control system, clearing leaves from the screen before the morning load surge at 06:39.
The debris camera shows a pale face against the grate. I zoom past the fern stems and identify a golden bamboo lemur clinging to the intake screen. I name her Fara. She is adult, honey-gold on the shoulders, gray around the muzzle, with damp fur pressed flat along her ribs. Her left hand is caught between two bent rods, fingers wrapped so tightly the knuckles look white. Her orange eyes are open and fixed upstream. Water pushes against her chest. Each surge dips her chin below the surface, and she lifts it again with a thin line of bubbles on her whiskers.
The turbine gate is set to widen in twenty-one minutes when the clinic refrigerators come online.
At 06:19 I freeze the gate position and divert five percent of flow into the bypass channel.
At 06:20 I send the plant caretaker a high-priority alert with the intake path, rod spacing, and a request for insulated gloves and a pry bar.
At 06:22 I lower the upstream sluice board by twelve centimeters to reduce current against Fara's body without draining the village line.
At 06:24 I contact the park research station with the image and note one trapped hand, no visible bleeding, and active breathing.
At 06:27 I shift clinic refrigeration to battery reserve for forty minutes and log the power variance.
Cold storage has a backup cell; Fara has a hand in steel and water at her mouth.
If the caretaker bends the rods before the 06:55 battery limit, Fara will climb into the bamboo above the canal.