anyone else stopped her.
Nodding at the security officers waiting to escort the prefects to the hangar, she began a fast trot down the hall. Rounding two corners, Athee finally caught up with Byron.
You were quick to escape , he thought as she fell in beside him.
Not as quick as you!
Byron glanced at her. I know my limit. I wanted to end that conference before someone suggested we were to blame for the situation with the alien ship. I heard that accusation enough twenty years ago.
Is that why you didn’t tell them the ship accessed information from the science officer’s computer?
Yes , thought Byron. If they knew of the connection between the ship’s resurgence of power and their signing a declaration of war, I’d never hear the end of it.
Athee’s indignation returned. How dare Anchore imply our union, and the son it produced, is repulsive!
Not all Tgrens are willing to accept the mixing of our races.
Nor all Cassans! Did you know the other children tease Bassan, calling him a half-breed?
Byron’s pace slowed. No, I didn’t. He told you that?
No, I overheard his thoughts after we visited my uncle. He’s kept it hidden out of guilt.
They reached the central lab’s door and Byron turned to face her. Guilt?
Allowing her arms to drop to her sides, Athee raised her chin and met his gaze. He’s ashamed that the commander’s son can’t stand up to them and defend his honor.
Byron’s controlled expression didn’t change, but his emotions churned within his mind. Before Athee could form a lock on one particular thought, Byron slammed his hand against the press plate. The lab door opened and he entered the room at great speed. Athee had to move quickly to keep up with his long strides.
They found Mevine at the central station. The scientist’s fingers moved over two keypads at once, his gaze on the center computer screen. He glanced over his shoulder as they approached. Punching a few more keys on each pad, Mevine sat up straight.
“Commander, we have the location of nine of the transmissions now,” he announced.
“The remaining races’ home worlds?” said Byron.
Mevine nodded. “We can even pinpoint the exact location on each planet.”
“Send me the information so I can forward it to High Command. They can confirm the presence of alien ships with the Charren and Arellens.”
“Sir, how will we verify that information with our enemies?”
Byron’s brows came together. “I’m going to let High Command worry about that.”
“We need to confirm the existence of an alien ship at every location,” said Mevine. He propped up his elbow on the station and rubbed his right temple. “We ought to have every race working on this problem.”
“I doubt the Vindicarn will put the war aside just to analyze an old alien ship for us.”
Mevine moaned and covered his eyes. “You’re probably right.”
Noting his drooping posture, Athee reached for his arm. His thin limb trembled under her fingertips.
“Mevine, you need to get some rest tonight,” she said, concerned he would work himself to death. Driven by curiosity and a transparent desire to please his commander, Mevine often pushed himself too far.
“There’s still so much work to be done…” Mevine said, glancing at the computer screens.
“What about the tenth transmission?” said Byron.
Surprised by his indifference to Mevine’s condition, Athee released the man’s arm and stared at Byron. His gaze remained locked on the senior scientist.
Spinning his stool to face Byron, Mevine’s hands dropped to his lap. “Sir, that transmission went into deep space.”
Misgiving flooded Athee’s body like a heat flash and she almost dropped her tablet.
“Which direction?” said Byron.
Mevine swallowed hard. “In the same direction it did twenty years ago.”
Athee gasped and brought an involuntary hand to her mouth. The signal went out to the probe. Fear tightened across her chest, threatening to choke the air out of her lungs.
Nodding at the security officers waiting to escort the prefects to the hangar, she began a fast trot down the hall. Rounding two corners, Athee finally caught up with Byron.
You were quick to escape , he thought as she fell in beside him.
Not as quick as you!
Byron glanced at her. I know my limit. I wanted to end that conference before someone suggested we were to blame for the situation with the alien ship. I heard that accusation enough twenty years ago.
Is that why you didn’t tell them the ship accessed information from the science officer’s computer?
Yes , thought Byron. If they knew of the connection between the ship’s resurgence of power and their signing a declaration of war, I’d never hear the end of it.
Athee’s indignation returned. How dare Anchore imply our union, and the son it produced, is repulsive!
Not all Tgrens are willing to accept the mixing of our races.
Nor all Cassans! Did you know the other children tease Bassan, calling him a half-breed?
Byron’s pace slowed. No, I didn’t. He told you that?
No, I overheard his thoughts after we visited my uncle. He’s kept it hidden out of guilt.
They reached the central lab’s door and Byron turned to face her. Guilt?
Allowing her arms to drop to her sides, Athee raised her chin and met his gaze. He’s ashamed that the commander’s son can’t stand up to them and defend his honor.
Byron’s controlled expression didn’t change, but his emotions churned within his mind. Before Athee could form a lock on one particular thought, Byron slammed his hand against the press plate. The lab door opened and he entered the room at great speed. Athee had to move quickly to keep up with his long strides.
They found Mevine at the central station. The scientist’s fingers moved over two keypads at once, his gaze on the center computer screen. He glanced over his shoulder as they approached. Punching a few more keys on each pad, Mevine sat up straight.
“Commander, we have the location of nine of the transmissions now,” he announced.
“The remaining races’ home worlds?” said Byron.
Mevine nodded. “We can even pinpoint the exact location on each planet.”
“Send me the information so I can forward it to High Command. They can confirm the presence of alien ships with the Charren and Arellens.”
“Sir, how will we verify that information with our enemies?”
Byron’s brows came together. “I’m going to let High Command worry about that.”
“We need to confirm the existence of an alien ship at every location,” said Mevine. He propped up his elbow on the station and rubbed his right temple. “We ought to have every race working on this problem.”
“I doubt the Vindicarn will put the war aside just to analyze an old alien ship for us.”
Mevine moaned and covered his eyes. “You’re probably right.”
Noting his drooping posture, Athee reached for his arm. His thin limb trembled under her fingertips.
“Mevine, you need to get some rest tonight,” she said, concerned he would work himself to death. Driven by curiosity and a transparent desire to please his commander, Mevine often pushed himself too far.
“There’s still so much work to be done…” Mevine said, glancing at the computer screens.
“What about the tenth transmission?” said Byron.
Surprised by his indifference to Mevine’s condition, Athee released the man’s arm and stared at Byron. His gaze remained locked on the senior scientist.
Spinning his stool to face Byron, Mevine’s hands dropped to his lap. “Sir, that transmission went into deep space.”
Misgiving flooded Athee’s body like a heat flash and she almost dropped her tablet.
“Which direction?” said Byron.
Mevine swallowed hard. “In the same direction it did twenty years ago.”
Athee gasped and brought an involuntary hand to her mouth. The signal went out to the probe. Fear tightened across her chest, threatening to choke the air out of her lungs.
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