The Comms-Bay, usually a hive of digital chatter, was silent. All eyes were on the Mission Commander, Astrid Vilde. And that silence was the loudest scream she had ever heard. She knew it was bad when she heard her own blood rushing in her ears. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. A pump desperately trying to keep the pressure up.

She brought her hand to her quivering lip, as if to hold back the words she didn't yet dare to speak. She rested her open palm on the edge of the comms console, which normally felt warm. Now it was as though she were touching a corpse. She’d often reminded her staff that fear and courage walked the same corridor. Now she reminded herself, hoping it would help her steady her hand.

“Muro, what do you hear?” she finally said. She crossed to the holoscreen. It rendered the lieutenant, floating weightless in Orbital Three. His thinning sandy hair was sweaty, clinging to his forehead.

Muro scratched his temple. “Nothing, Commander. Total blackout.” In his nervousness, Muro’s brogue accent took over. “It’s like the Fold got flushed. Gone. But the Brisinger… she’s still there. Sort of.”

“What is it?” Astrid cut in. Muro twitched before he answered. “The carrier wave from the Bris. It’s corrupted, right enough. On an’ off since her crossover. It’s all garbled.” Astrid leaned closer to the holoscreen. “What’s their last coherent message?”
“It’s… well, listen.” A jagged waveform appeared in the air.

{expanded && ( <>

" We are b-being… The c-crew— "

The sound cut off in a high-pitched whine like a dental drill biting straight into nerve. In the bay, everyone stopped breathing as if collectively deciding to save oxygen. An ensign froze above the keys. Across the room, a technician lowered his slate. An officer stopped mid-step. Astrid gripped the console. She pushed down until the tremor in her hands ceased. She forced a breath deep into her lungs, holding it to slow her hammering heart. She turned to her staff, exhaling deeply. “Breathe, dammit,” she said. “We’ll figure this out. Keep listening.”

And with that, the bay remembered to breathe again.

Two beats passed. The composite door hissed open. Ulre Corbin, Head of Logistics, stepped inside the doorway, noticing the waste of a dead console still drawing power. His black uniform blended into the dim light. He pulled his gloves tighter, finger by finger. The sound of leather against leather was crisp and methodical, as if he were preparing to take the situation into a choke hold.

"Orbital Command agrees," Ulre relayed. "We initiate the ESP."

He was too quick to bring up the Emergency Suppression Protocol, Astrid thought, even though contact with Earth and the fleet beyond the Fold was indeed lost. “A carrier wave from Brisinger still persists,” Astrid declared. “They have the key to what happened. If we can restore comms—”

"Irrelevant," Ulre scoffed, finally stepping inside. His polished boots creaked. Crr-eak. Crr-eak. "We have to move now, Commander. Thousands of lives. Limited resources. Every beat we wait…"

He stood firm, letting the silence speak for him. “The protocol, Commander. Only your word is left. The situation calls for it.”

Astrid’s fingernails left marks in her palm. “Get the rationing ready, but keep the stores open. Wait for my order.” She caught the defiance in his eyes. She wanted to reach the man behind the uniform. “Ulre,” she said, meeting his cold stare. “You mistake my contemplation for inaction. My judgment accounts for the trust among the settlers, which keeps three thousand souls together across the void.”

Astrid turned her eyes to her staff, then back at Corbin. The tension in his frame hadn’t loosened by a millimeter. His gaze didn’t drop in deference. Instead, it slid past her, fixing on the dead consoles. He was calculating. Astrid knew the confrontation wasn’t over. He was bypassing her entirely. But continuing this argument in front of the crew would only drain her authority. So she whispered to him, “This debate is over. Are we clear?”

“Clear,” Ulre bit out. He turned and left, the squeal of his pivoting boots lingering in her ears. She gave a short nod to her comms chief. “Call an assembly. Homestead Dome.”

)}

Freya Homestead, Mairee