We weren't going on a rescue mission.
We were going to war.
Zor'go appeared beside me, his own gear minimal—data pad, scanning equipment, the portable calculation device he took everywhere. He looked calm. Professional. Like this was just another mission.
Then I saw his markings. Flickering rapid-fire beneath his collar, betraying the tension he hid everywhere else.
"Ready?" he asked quietly.
"No. You?"
"Not remotely." He touched my hand briefly. Just a brush of fingers. "But we're going anyway."
Vaxon called us over. "Listen carefully. This is a stealth operation. We go in quietly, assess the situation, and extract survivors if possible. If we encounter hostiles, we fight our way clear. If the signal is a trap, we abort immediately. Everyone clear?"
Murmurs of agreement from the team.
"Architect Chauncy." Vaxon focused on me with those intense purple eyes. "You're here to authenticate survivors andprovide cultural context. Stay close to me at all times. If shooting starts, you get behind cover and let the security team handle it. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Zor'go. Navigation is yours. Get us in and out without triggering territorial sensors."
"Already calculated seventeen different approach vectors with varying probability of detection." Zor'go pulled up a holographic display. "Optimal route uses the debris field for cover, and requires precise maneuvering through unstable spatial anomalies."
"Can you do it?"
"Ninety-two percent confidence."
"That's not one hundred percent."
"Nothing is one hundred percent. But ninety-two is acceptable given the variables."
Vaxon studied the calculations, then nodded. "Good enough. Everyone board. We launch in five minutes."
The shuttle was smaller than I expected. Sleek. Fast. Built for quick insertions and rapid extractions. I strapped into a seat near the back, Zor'go taking the navigation console at the front.
The security team moved with practiced efficiency, checking weapons and gear with casual competence. These were warriors. Professionals who'd done this hundreds of times.
I was an architect with a notebook and too much hope.
The shuttle doors sealed with a hiss. Engines hummed to life. Through the viewport, I watched the shuttle bay's massive doors begin to open, revealing the infinite dark beyond.
We were really doing this.
Leaving safety. Leaving home. Chasing a signal that might be salvation or damnation.
"Mothership Control, this is Rescue Six requesting departure clearance," Vaxon said into the comm.
"Rescue Six, you are clear for departure. Godspeed." Captain Tor'van's voice. Tight with tension. "Bring them home."
"Copy that, Control. Rescue Six departing."
The shuttle lifted. Glided forward. Passed through the bay doors into open space.
And Mothership fell away behind us, bright and massive and impossibly distant, while we flew toward the unknown on nothing but faith and desperation and a signal that whispered:We're still here.
Please.
