Adequin gauged his assured demeanor with narrowed eyes. “Best estimate?”
“Two to three hundred percent. But we’ll have to cut power to a couple of sectors.”
“That’s fine. Novem’s already evacuated, we can take Octo Sector off-line as well. Duo if you need it.”
“Comms?”
“Yeah, they’re basically defunct at the moment anyway.”
Puck took that bit of news with surprising acceptance. “Okay, sir.”
Adequin sent four members of the bridge crew to confirm that Novem remained evacuated and seal the bulkhead door manually, then do the same for Octo and Duo.
When they got the all clear, Puck began his work, fingers flashing expertly over holographic keys. He seemed to fall into a trance—eyes focused and unblinking as he flew through lines of code with consummate proficiency.
He only paused three times, each to allow Adequin to give biometric scans, granting him deeper access into the computer’s architecture. She could have been giving him clearance to turn the whole ship rogue, and she wouldn’t have had the first clue. Nevertheless, she had to trust him. She didn’t really have a choice.
Less than an hour later, Puck sat back in the stool, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Okay, that’s all I can do, sir.”
Adequin stopped pacing and leaned over the terminal.
“We’re at about two-and-a-half times the speed we were,” Puck explained.
She gripped his shoulder. “Thanks, Circitor. Let’s hope it’s enough.”
“EX, sir?” Kamara said, tone tense. “Sir, we have a sensor alert. Reading outward, four degrees.”
“What?” Adequin’s chest tightened, and she looked up at the large viewscreen. “A ship?”
“No … or, I don’t know. Nothing on radar, just a notification from the optical sensors.”
“How far out?”
“Estimate is 35,990 kilometers.”
“Mass?”
“Just says ‘error.’”
Adequin stared at the enormous viewscreen, though it remained as black and placid as always. Kamara’s console gave a short, negative beep.
“There’s another,” Kamara said. “At 35,720. Eighteen degrees.”
Adequin swung her look to the right side of the screen, but saw nothing.
“Or—shit,” Kamara continued. “Negative thirty-two degrees.”
Every gaze on the bridge swung left.
Kamara let out a sharp huff as her console beeped again. “Never mind, I don’t know. It keeps changing.”
Adequin focused on the dark screen, her breath slowing as each uneventful second passed. Then, she saw it. Or, she thought she did. It disappeared before the signal could pass from her eyes to her brain.
A reflection? She glanced over her shoulder, but saw that everyone on the bridge had frozen in place, gaping up at the large monitor. No one stirred.
Adequin looked back at the screen. Moments later, it came again. Sharp and dry, like a static charge dancing across a wool blanket. She had no perspective, no way to judge the distance. But she’d definitely seen it this time. Whatever it was.
Kamara cleared her throat, but her voice still came out weak. “35,103.”
Adequin kept her eyes trained on the spot, rounding Jackin’s terminal to stand on the stairs, centered on the screen. The spark came again, sketching a thin, serrated line from port to starboard before evaporating. No one made a sound.