Ten seconds. The couplings released with a satisfying click. I began pulling the conduit free, feeling the resistance of active power flow trying to maintain connection.
Five seconds.
I yanked the conduit completely free just as the transmission sequence hit zero. The array powered down with a dying whine, its accumulated energy reserves suddenly cut off from their intended purpose.
"Transmission aborted," I announced, my heart still racing from the proximity to disaster.
Vaxon was at my shoulder immediately. "Someone tried to activate this remotely. Which means they're monitoring us right now."
"Or they had it set on automatic trigger when we entered the bay." But I didn't believe that. This felt like active intervention. Someone watching, reacting, trying to salvage their plan even as we discovered it.
"Seal this bay completely," Vaxon ordered his team. "No one enters without Captain Tor'van's explicit authorization. And get technical forensics down here—I want every component analyzed, every data file extracted, every connection traced."
I was already pulling diagnostic data from the array's systems, looking for any clue about who had built this. Theintegration techniques were familiar in ways that made my engineering instincts itch. The same creative improvisation I'd seen in human technology. The same willingness to cobble together incompatible systems until they functioned.
"Er'dox?" Vaxon's voice cut through my analysis. "You recognize this work."
It wasn't a question. He'd seen my reaction.
"The integration methodology resembles human engineering philosophy," I admitted. "Creative adaptation rather than standardized protocols. But more sophisticated than anything the Liberty survivors have demonstrated. Whoever built this had extensive training and time to perfect their techniques."
"So either a human with advanced technical knowledge, or someone who studied human technology extensively." Vaxon pulled up crew manifests on his interface. "That narrows our suspect pool considerably."
"Not necessarily. Anyone with an engineering background could learn these techniques from salvaged equipment. Bail did it alone in a survival shelter." I saved the diagnostic data. "We need to analyze the stored transmission. The content will tell us what they were trying to accomplish."
"Captain Tor'van wants both of us on the bridge for a briefing in twenty minutes," Vaxon said. "Bring everything you've got. This just became priority one."
We left the bay under heavy security guard, heading for the bridge through corridors that felt more ominous than usual. Someone aboard Mothership had built a covert communication array capable of transmitting sensitive data. Someone with technical expertise, system access, and willingness to cause casualties to protect their operation.
Someone who was still out there, watching, waiting for their next opportunity.
The bridge was crowded when we arrived—department heads assembled for emergency briefing, tactical displays showing the deck sixty-two bay under lockdown. Captain Tor'van stood at the center, his cybernetic eye glowing brighter than I'd seen in months.
"Report," he said without preamble.
I presented my findings with the communication array, the stored transmission, the sophisticated integration of human and Zandovian technology. Vaxon added his tactical assessment: someone had tried to activate the transmission remotely when we discovered the bay, suggesting active monitoring and willingness to salvage the operation even at risk of exposure.
"The stored data is encrypted," I concluded. "But the file size and structure suggest technical specifications. Detailed information about Mothership's systems."
"Sold to the highest bidder?" Zor'go asked from his security station. "Or transmitted to specific hostile forces?"
"The array has targeting coordinates," Vaxon said. "We're analyzing them now, but preliminary data suggests the transmission was aimed at a location in the Contested Reaches."
The Contested Reaches, borderlands between established territories where pirates, raiders, and various hostile factions operated beyond official jurisdiction. Lawless space where anything could be bought or sold if you had the currency.
"Someone's trying to sell our technical secrets to raiders," Captain Tor'van said flatly. "That's not sabotage. That's treason."
The word hung in the air, heavy with implication. Sabotage was serious. Treason was execution-level offense.
"We still don't know who," I said. "The bay access was falsified. The remote activation came through systems that could have been triggered from dozens of locations. Whoever did this covered their tracks expertly."
"Then we smoke them out." Tor'van pulled up internal security protocols. "Full shipwide lockdown. No one enters or exits restricted areas without biometric verification and security escort. All engineering personnel submit to detailed background checks and system access reviews. We find this traitor before they can make another attempt."
"That'll take days," Zorn observed. "Meanwhile, they know we've found their equipment. What's to stop them from trying something more desperate?"
"Nothing," Vaxon said grimly. "Which is why security is going to full alert status. Armed patrols in all critical sections, restricted movement protocols, constant monitoring of anyone with technical expertise."
My communicator chimed. Message from Dana:Heard about the lockdown. What's happening? Are you okay?
