Jorem appears in the doorway behind him, his expression thunderous. “Zylthar, return to your quarters immediately. This is not our concern.”
“With respect, Ambassador, I believe it is.” Zylthar’s voice carries quiet steel. “The distortion’s quantum signature matches historical records from our archives.”
“Historical records of what?” I demand.
The two Zephyrians stare at each other for a long moment, some unspoken conflict playing out between them.
Finally, Zylthar speaks. “Starlight Matrix resonance.”
Jorem goes rigid, his markings flaring bright amber with what I’m learning to recognize as barely controlled rage. “You will not speak of such things to aliens.”
“Those ‘aliens’ are in mortal danger because of our artifacts.” Zylthar turns back to me, and I see something desperate in his lilac eyes. “Captain, I need to examine your recent cargo manifests. Something aboard this station is causing the distortion.”
“That’s classified information.”
“Then people are going to die for the sake of classification.”
The blunt honesty in his voice cuts through diplomatic protocol like a plasma cutter. I look at the growing anomaly on thescreen, then at the Zephyrian envoy who risks a diplomatic incident to warn us about its source.
“Bridge to Engineering,” I say, never taking my eyes off Zylthar. “Chief Mullen, I need you to run a complete diagnostic on all cargo received in the last forty-eight hours. Look for anything that might generate quantum field fluctuations.”
“Aye, Captain. What am I looking for specifically?”
“Unknown alien artifacts that might tear holes in space.”
A pause. “Just another Tuesday on Halcyon, then. I’ll get right on it.”
“Commander Blaine, you have the bridge. Envoy Quoril, you’re with me.” I gesture toward the ready room. “We need to talk.”
Jorem steps forward, blocking our path. “I forbid this. Zylthar, you are under direct orders to return to your quarters and maintain silence.”
“I serve the Consortium’s interests,” Zylthar replies quietly. “Right now, those interests include preventing the destruction of this station and everyone aboard.”
“You serve your own weakness. This contamination?—”
“Ambassador.” My voice cuts across his like a blade. “With all due respect, we have a crisis situation that your subordinate claims to understand. Either he helps us solve it, or we all find out together what happens when that anomaly reaches my station.”
Jorem’s eyes narrow, but he steps aside. As we pass, I hear him mutter something in his own language that makes Zylthar’s shoulders tense.
The ready room feels smaller with his presence. I gesture to a chair, but he remains standing, his attention focused on the small viewport that shows the growing distortion in the distance.
“Talk,” I demand.
“The Starlight Matrix is an ancient Zephyrian artifact. Three pieces, created during what our historians call the Time of Passion.” His voice carries reverence and fear in equal measure. “They were designed to facilitate empathic bonding across vast distances, to unite consciousness itself.”
“And one of these things is on my station?”
“I believe so. The quantum resonance signature is unmistakable.” He turns to face me and I catch my breath at the intensity in his eyes. “Captain, if a Matrix fragment has been activated, the spatial distortions are only the beginning.”
“Activated how?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he steps closer, close enough that I smell the ozone scent that seems to follow him like cologne. Close enough to see the way his markings pulse with soft light.
“Physical contact between species,” he says quietly. “Emotional resonance. The artifacts respond to psychic energy, particularly the energy generated by...” He trails off, but his meaning is clear.
“By what, Envoy?”
“By bonding. Between minds that were never meant to touch.”
