Hammond's fingers hovered over the controls, the blue glow of the projection painting his face in spectral light. The anomaly pulsed in the center of the shield schematic, so faint and fleeting that it might have been nothing at all. But it was there—he was sure of it now. He called up the station maintenance logs, cross-referencing sensor readouts and shield calibration data. The system’s response lagged, a whisper of hesitation in the usually snappy interface.
The hollow ache in his chest spread, mingling with a sharp flood of adrenaline. If the Blue Star was compromised—even minutely—the consequences would be catastrophic. The shield wasn’t just a symbol; it was the only thing keeping Earth’s atmosphere stable, holding back the solar winds and the chaos beyond. For the second time that day, Hammond felt the world shift under his feet.
He stood, pacing the narrow room, the hum of the station's life support sounding suddenly much too loud, too fragile. As he weighed his next move, a soft chime echoed from the door panel. Hammond hesitated, then tapped the release. The door slid open, revealing Lieutenant Sira Velasquez—her dark eyes unreadable, posture taut.
“Hammond.”
“Sira. What is it?”
She glanced past him at the floating schematic, her gaze briefly narrowing at the flickering anomaly. “I need to talk. Off record.”
A jolt of unease ran through him. Velasquez was not one for social visits, and her voice—usually brisk, almost clipped—was low, tense. He motioned her inside, closing the door behind her. She went straight to the projection, brow furrowing as she studied the deviation. “How long has that been there?”
“Just noticed it,” Hammond admitted. “Thought it was a glitch. Now? I’m not so sure.”
She reached into her uniform pocket, pulling out a datachip. Her hand brushed his as she pressed it into his palm; the touch lingered, electric, before she stepped back. “You’re not wrong to be worried. Command’s been suppressing classified sensor anomalies for weeks. My clearance only got me fragments, but…”
He slotted her chip into his console. New data spilled across the hologram—waves of encrypted readouts, some marked urgent in red. Microfluctuations in the shield’s integrity. External tampering attempts. And, buried beneath it all, a schematic overlay with hidden access points—places where someone could manipulate the Blue Star from within.
“Why bring this to me?” he asked quietly.
Sira’s gaze met his, searching. “Because you’re the only one I trust. And because Doshindu isn’t our only enemy. I think someone inside the station is sabotaging the shield.”
The words settled in the space between them with the finality of a death sentence. For a moment, all Hammond could hear was the rush of the air recycler, the distant thrum of the engines. He felt her gaze linger, a question in her eyes—fear and something else, something rawer, something he couldn’t name.
A sudden tremor shuddered through the floor. Their eyes met, alarmed. The lights flickered, the shield schematic rippling as if alive. An alarm blared—a deep, wailing klaxon that sent adrenaline lancing through his veins. He grabbed for the comm but static drowned out his signal. Sira’s hand found his; he squeezed back, grounding her, grounding himself.
Outside, the corridor lights snapped to crimson. Footsteps echoed beyond the door—panicked, urgent. He had only moments to decide—stay here and dig deeper, rush to the shield’s control deck, or try to intercept whoever might be responsible for the sabotage.
The anomaly pulsed on the hologram—a silent blue heartbeat in the chaos, daring him to act.