The bridge of the HPS Dawnmender hummed with the quiet efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Captain Lyra Solari stood at the observation deck, her reflection ghosting across the reinforced viewport as distant stars streaked past in ribbons of light. Out here, in the space between the charted lanes and the true frontier, the universe felt both infinite and intimate.
"Captain," Navigator Kess called from her station, her voice carrying that particular note that meant something interesting had crossed her screens. "We're picking up something odd."
Lyra turned from the viewport, her boots making soft impacts on the deck plating as she crossed to the navigation console. The holographic display cast Kess's dark features in shifting blues and greens, data streams flowing past her eyes as she worked through the readings.
"Odd how?" Lyra asked, leaning over the console. She'd learned long ago that when Kess said "odd," it usually meant "unprecedented" or "theoretically impossible."
"There's a signal coming from sector 7-Gamma-Epsilon," Kess replied, her fingers dancing across the haptic interface. "Right at the edge of our long-range sensors. It's... well, it's a distress beacon, but—"
"But?" Lyra prompted.
"The frequency doesn't match anything in the standard Horizon Pact registry. Or the CDU registry. Or anyone's registry that I can find." Kess pulled up a waveform analysis, and Lyra felt her pulse quicken. The signal pattern was unlike anything she'd seen before—repeating, yes, but with harmonic overtones that seemed almost... musical.
"Could it be automated?" Chief Engineer Tomás appeared at Lyra's shoulder, always somehow present when something technical needed explaining. "Old pre-Drift tech, maybe? Something that's been broadcasting since before the Pact was even founded?"
"Possibly," Kess admitted, though her tone suggested she doubted it. "But look at the power output. Whatever's generating this has been running for at least two standard months, maybe longer. That's a lot of juice for ancient hardware."
Lyra studied the readings, her mind already running through protocols and possibilities. Distress beacons meant people in trouble, and the Dawnmender's mission was clear: no one got left behind in the Drift. But this signal—there was something about it that made the space between her shoulder blades itch, that old pilot's instinct that had kept her alive through three tours and counting.
"How far?" she asked.
"Sixteen hours at standard cruise," Kess replied. "We'd have to divert from our current route to the Meridian Reach."
Lyra glanced at the chronometer. They were already two days behind schedule for the supply run to Haven's Edge, but that was the thing about being a Horizon Pact ship—the mission changed when someone needed help. And right now, that strange, haunting signal suggested someone—or something—very much needed help.
"Adjust course," Lyra said, straightening up. "And send a preliminary report to AROC. Let them know we're investigating an unidentified distress signal. Mark it priority three for now."
"Yes, Captain," Kess acknowledged, already inputting the new navigation parameters.
As the Dawnmender's drive systems hummed to life, adjusting their trajectory toward the unknown signal, Lyra returned to the viewport. Out there in the dark, somewhere in sector 7-Gamma-Epsilon, something was calling.
End of Signal 1
Signal 2 releases next week