Bray shook his head and mumbled, “That’s not what’s going on…”
“Sir, what do we do?” Erandus asked, clueless to Bray’s shocked stupor. “The auxiliary bridge was refabbed into the psych ward, right? We need some kinda helm control to try and reboot shields—it’s cuttin’ through us like butter. It’s gotta be an energy weapon or somethin’， but not like anything I’ve seen.”
Adequin stared at him mutely for a few long moments, finding a strange comfort in the naivety of his earnest words. She truly, honestly wished it really were an enemy vessel—marauder, Drudger, Viator—hell, even first contact with a new, angry species going on some intergalactic murder spree. At least it’d be something they could fight, something they had a chance in the void at defeating.
Then she realized—the other soldiers would all be thinking the same thing as Erandus, that they were being fired on, that battle had commenced. That they should be running toward action stations …
But of course they didn’t realize what was really happening. Why would they? The laws that defined the universe had changed, and she’d kept it a secret. She’d done nothing. Told no one, except Jackin, who she’d sent light-years away with their only warp core. Which meant she hadn’t merely resigned Griffith to death, she’d killed them all.
A dense weight crushed against her chest, stealing the air from her lungs. She thought it was some kind of quick-onset panic attack until she glanced to the others—Puck, Mesa, Bray, Erandus—all wide-eyed, cradling their stomachs or clutching at their necks, seeming in various states of being choked to death.
Her eyes darted, searching for a cause while her lungs heaved, constricting and aching for breath.
Then in an instant, it vanished. The pressure ceased and air rushed back in like a valve had been opened. Adequin stretched her jaw as her eardrums popped, sending a spike of pain deep into her already aching skull.
“What’s going on?” Puck choked out. He put a steadying hand on Mesa’s shoulder as the Savant wheezed a series of short, sharp breaths.
“Bloody void,” Erandus cursed, and Adequin followed his wide-eyed stare over to the bulkhead door.
A duplicate Erandus hunched over the controls, tapping furiously at the screens. His outline flickered and wavered, then morphed, the pallid, stocky form stretching upward and inward into a coltish, bronze-skinned man—Puck.
Duplicate Puck worked the controls, throwing furtive glances over his shoulder, sweat dripping down his temples. “I can’t hack damage-control permissions without network access—acc—acc—” The ripple stuttered, blurred trails dragging out behind before it evaporated.
Adequin stood staring at the now-empty space, momentarily frozen in the still-blaring din of the condition alarms.
Erandus cleared his throat. “Good thing I’m here, I guess…”
Puck slid Erandus a suspicious glare, as if suddenly questioning the man’s true existence.
The klaxons ceased, casting the corridor in a blanket of oppressive silence. A deadened thump still echoed in Adequin’s ears, like an afterimage of sound.
She sucked in a deep breath and an order fell out of her mouth, the word cutting sharply in the unnerving quiet. “Hangar.”
Puck nodded and spun to run down the hall. Mesa gathered up her silk folds and followed, with Bray close behind.
“Sir,” Erandus said, pausing beside her, “the automated DC system is down. We should manually seal any bulkheads we pass, or the whole ship could depressurize before we even get to the hangar.”
“Understood. There isn’t another one until the amidship vestibule.”
He nodded and took off, and Adequin followed. When they ar rived at the circular vestibule, Erandus paused to quickly seal the bulkhead behind them. Across the way, a pack of soldiers stood gathered around the lift.