“Five years in stasis?” Mavik said. “That’s not possible.”

  Cassandra looked from him to Hale, a faint crease forming between her brows. “What do you mean?”

  “Civilian stasis isn’t designed for long-term storage,” Mavik continued. “Months, perhaps. A year at the outside, with degradation. Five years would—” He stopped himself.

  “So you’re saying I should be dead,” Cassandra said.

  “No,” Hale said immediately.

  Mavik shook his head. “I’m saying this is unprecedented. INA must have some tech that they’re not making public.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Carrick said.

  “Five years…,” Hale mouthed. “Then you don’t know…”

  Cassandra looked at her. “I don’t know what?”

  “Our parents,” Hale said. She swallowed. “Dad first. Mum followed a year later.”

  Cassandra’s gaze shifted briefly to the viewport, then back.

  “Was it sudden?”

  “No.”

  Cassandra inclined her head.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Hale waited.

  “Don’t you want to know how it happened?”

  Cassandra blinked, as if considering the question.

  “I thought you would have told me if it was relevant.”

  Hale’s mouth tightened.

  “That’s not like you, Cassie.”

  Cassandra rested her hands flat on the console, aligning them with its edge.

  “It is easier this way.”

  Hale drew a slow breath. “You don’t feel anything?”

  Cassandra regarded her. “Feelings aren’t reliable measures.”

  Carrick shifted in his seat. “Jesus.”

  Roarke shot him a look. “Enough.”

  Cassandra’s attention moved to the captain.

  “We’ll take this one step at a time,” Roarke said. “Right now, all we need to know is what you remember.”

  “That’s everything,” Cassandra said. “Up to the point where it stops.”

  Mavik leaned forward slightly. “Stops?”

  “Yes.” She searched for the word, then let it go. “There’s nothing after that.”

  The bridge fell quiet.

  Roarke tapped his tablet sharply. “Doctor. You’ll run a full work-up.”

  “I can’t think of anything I haven’t already checked. Twice.” Mavik shrugged.

  Cassandra looked between them. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Roarke said. “We just want to be thorough.”

  “That seems sensible,” Hale said.

  “Well, we’ll have to wait for a better lab, unless you want the same results in triplicate,” Mavik said.

  Cassandra turned back to the viewport, posture settling, as if the matter had been concluded.

  “Captain,” ELIOT said. “I’m receiving a signal.”

  Roarke looked up. “What frequency?”

  There was a fractional pause.

  “All of them within sensor range.”

  Carrick frowned. “That’s not a frequency. That’s a failure.”

  “I am not registering sensor failure,” ELIOT replied. “All receivers are responding simultaneously across all frequencies.”

  Hale was already at her console. “It’s not modulation,” she said. “There’s no waveform. The filters aren’t isolating anything because there’s nothing to isolate. Static.”

  Roarke stood. “Then what are we receiving?”

  “Unknown,” ELIOT said.

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  The deck plates hummed, low and brief, like a pressure wave passing through the hull.

  Cassandra had gone very still.

  The sound changed.

  Not louder. Not softer.

  Sharper.

  Cassandra flinched.

  It was small, involuntary. Enough that Hale saw it.

  “Cassie?”

  Cassandra had gone pale. Her eyes were fixed on nothing in particular, unfocused, as if the bridge had slipped out of alignment.

  “That—” She stopped. Swallowed. Tried again.

  Roarke turned. “You’ve heard this before?”

  Cassandra shook her head. “No. Not heard. Felt…”

  The pressure built again, shallow but insistent, like a hand pressing against the hull.

  Cassandra stepped back from the viewport.

  “That’s— that’s what came just before,” she said.

  “Before what?” Hale asked.

  Cassandra’s hands curled at her sides. She was breathing too fast now.

  “Before the light. Before everything stopped.”

  Mavik moved toward her. She recoiled, a full step this time.

  “Don’t,” she said. “Please.”

  The sound fractured, breaking into overlapping tones that didn’t resolve into anything the consoles could isolate.

  ELIOT spoke. “Signal coherence degrading.”

  Hale crossed the distance without thinking. “Cassie. Look at me.”

  Cassandra’s gaze snapped to her sister’s face. For a moment there was nothing there but fear.

  “They told us it was the end,” she said. “The cult. They said this was what came right before you were noticed. Before you ascended.”

  The pressure vanished.

  The hum died.

  Consoles steadied.

  “Signal event concluded,” ELIOT said.

  Silence.

  Cassandra moved aside, placing herself clear of the consoles. She rested one hand against the bulkhead, fingers splayed, grounding herself.

  No one spoke.

  Rook broke the silence first. “I recommend deleting the log entry.”

  Roarke looked at him. “Why?”

  “Didn’t you hear what she just said?” Carrick said. “That was the last thing she felt before INA took her and held her in stasis.”

  “For five years,” Hale added.

  “Would have been longer, if we hadn’t got her out when the pod failed,” Carrick said.

  “Maybe forever,” Hale said.

  “Might as well be dead,” Carrick said.

  Rook shifted his weight. “INA will classify it as a hostile event. Full containment measures will be applied.”

  Carrick snorted. “Of course they will.”

  “They see an anomaly, they assume intent,” Rook went on. “The last thing we need is a full containment response.”

  “A response like what?” Hale asked.

  Rook didn’t look at her. “Containment. Quarantine. Long-term stasis.”

  Carrick’s jaw tightened. “I’m not getting back in a pod.”

  “It needs to be an option,” Mavik said. “Our food and water won’t last forever. The pods can be programmed to wake us if any craft is detected in the vicinity.”

  “And the INA won’t have a way to remotely override their own stasis pods?” Carrick said. “And what’s to stop them just putting us back in when they get here?”

  Roarke held up a hand. “Look, nobody is going into stasis. Not unless I give the order.”

  “That’s exactly what they’ll do,” Carrick said. “We’ve already got one example of how that ends.”

  Rook nodded. “Protocol allows for compulsory stasis if crew status is compromised.”

  Hale folded her arms. “This assumes they’re even seeing our calls.”

  Roarke looked up. “Go on…”

  “We’ve been broadcasting since we dropped and received no acknowledgement,” Hale said. “No automated receipt. Nothing.”

  Mavik’s jaw tightened. “They’ll receive it.”

  Hale shook her head. “You don’t know that.”

  “They have to,” Mavik said. “Otherwise we’re stuck here.”

  “Or they’re already receiving it and choosing not to answer,” Carrick shot back.

  “That’s speculation,” Roarke said.

  “So is assuming they’re listening,” Carrick replied.

  Hale glanced at her console. “Elliot, are our distress calls being transmitted?”

  “Affirmative,” ELIOT said. “Distress calls are transmitted as ordered.”

  “And receiving?” Roarke asked.

  “There is no confirmation of receipt,” ELIOT replied.

  Roarke exhaled slowly. “Then keep transmitting.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Carrick laughed, without humour. “I’ve got family back home.”

  “We’re all going back,” Roarke said.

  Mavik nodded. “Assuming rescue remains the rational course. Would you like another sedative while we wait?”

  “No thank you.” Carrick said. “I’m calm enough already. Unnaturally so, considering what’s going on. I don’t want to end up like some unfeeling automaton.” He looked pointedly at Rook.

  Roarke straightened. “All right. Maintain broadcast. No further logging beyond standard telemetry.”

  Roarke turned. “ELIOT. Delete the event from the log.”

  There was a pause.

  “Cannot comply, Captain.”

  Roarke frowned. “Why not?”

  “Because no log entry exists,” ELIOT said. “The event was not recorded.”

  Carrick blinked. “What do you mean, not recorded?”

  “When no change is registered, nothing is logged.”

  “But we all saw it,” Hale said. “The sensors, the monitors. How could nothing be in the log?”

  “Unknown. Would you like me to speculate,” ELIOT asked.

  “No thank you,” Roarke cut in.

  Rook’s expression hardened. “So, as far as INA is concerned, nothing happened.”

  “Affirmative,” ELIOT said. “From all external perspectives, ship status remained nominal.”

  Roarke exhaled slowly. “Then we don’t volunteer it.”

  Carrick looked at him. “You’re serious?”

  Roarke met his gaze. “Until we understand what it was, we don’t give them a reason to take control.”

  Rook nodded. “That is prudent.”

  “You’ve changed your tune,” Carrick said. “Not long ago you were ready to shoot me on behalf of INA.”

  “My primary mission protocol does not cover being stranded in space. Standard fallback protocol is to protect the ship and the crew.”

  “Then follow your orders, Rook,” Roarke said.

  Rook saluted, then moved to the security station.

  He entered a command string and waited.

  “Internal access parameters updated,” the AI said.

  Rook locked the console and stepped back.

  Roarke looked up. “What did you change?”

  Rook met his gaze.

  “That’s classified.”

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