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Sunday, July 26, 2009

Space-3

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“Why is there no video?” asked the captain, brushing her hair from her eyes. She had been asleep when the hail had come through and had not taken the time to put on a uniform or tie back her long, deeply greyed hair.

The comm-off tapped away at his console again. He was a thin, pale man with a habit of coughing when he was nervous. “Audio-only signal, ma’am,” he reported at last.

“Greetings Amanda Ray. Please Respond,” said the speakers again - the same voice, timbre, speed, and inflection as the first time, just softer now that the comm-off had lowered the volume.

“How do they know our name?” asked the first lieutenant.

The sublieutenant refrained from stating that their name was etched and painted on their hull, contenting himself with a small sniff instead, but the captain had no such scruple. “It’s written on our hull in block capitals. Even the Sasquinaw can read it,” she said, taking her seat.

“Greetings Amanda Ray. Please Respond,” said the ship’s speakers again. No new inflection, no irritation at not being answered, just the same message, again. “Put me through,” said the Captain.

The comm-off tapped once at his console, then nodded at his captain.

“This is the Amanda Ray,” said the captain. “Who are you?”

“Voice metric accepted, Captain Leigh,” said the voice. “Stand by.”

“We are being scanned, ma’am,” said Hockley, the weapons officer, and indeed the displays all flickered as the mystery ship’s sensors probed the Amanda Ray, searching out her capabilities, and her limitations.

“Crew to quarters,” ordered the captain. The Amanda Ray, with no mobility and limited energy reserves, could not hope to put up much of a fight, but she would no peacefully roll over and play dead, either.

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