The shriek of the derelict's core was not a sound that existed in the physical world. It was a psychic, telepathic scream that tore through the minds of every person on that shuttle. Miller cried out, a high, strained thing of pure terror, his body spasming in his suit. Rios, his face pale, was a frozen statue, his eyes wide with a horror that was deeper than any fear Kaelen had ever seen.
Kaelen felt it too. It was a thought, a memory, a feeling of pure, unadulterated cold. He wasn't a scientist, not a philosopher, but he was a soldier. He had a mind for simple, brutal truths. This was not simple. This was a madness he could not fight with a gun.
He saw a vision, not his own, but one from the derelict's mind. He saw a million ships, a million civilisations, all trying to run from a great, silent thing. He saw them being unmade, not with fire and steel, but with a kind of terrible, beautiful, perfect logic. He saw a universe being unmade, not with malice, but with a kind of profound, gentle, and utterly cold truth.
He saw the derelict itself, not as a ship, but as a being. A living, breathing thing that had wanted to understand the Void. It had gone out there, into the great, cosmic silence, and it had listened. It had listened to the song of a dying universe, and it had been broken by the truth. It had tried to understand a god. And it had become a part of the god.
The rock, the dead thing, the heart of a ghost, was a part of that truth. It was a language. A story. A silent, terrifying story of a universe that was trying to end.
"Get it in the bay!" Kaelen screamed, his voice a raw, straining thing. "Now!"
Miller, his body still spasming, fumbled with the magnetic clamp. He had to get it in. He had to. He was a man with a purpose, and that purpose was to obey. Rios, his face a mask of terror, was a dead weight, his body a silent, trembling thing.
Kaelen felt a cold, deep sensation of dread. He was not just fighting the ghost. He was fighting for his men's sanity. He had to do something. He had to break the connection. He had to fight a war he couldn't see.
With a desperate, final motion, he grabbed the comms system on his console. He bypassed the firewall. He opened the channel. He didn't have a plan. He was just a man with a desperate idea.
"Anya!" he screamed, his voice a raw, broken thing. "Anya! It's not just a rock! It's a ghost! It's a ghost in the machine! It's screaming!"
On the ark's bridge, the comms system, a silent, dead thing, suddenly came to life with a burst of static. Anya, her face a mask of grim anticipation, looked at the comms console. She heard Kaelen's scream, his broken, terrifying voice. But she heard something else too. A sound that was not a sound. A silent, cosmic scream that tore through the ark's systems. A song that was not a song. A rhythm of a million thoughts, all talking at once. It was a language she had heard before. It was the language of the Void.
Dr. Thorne, her head in her hands, looked up, her eyes wide with a terrible, new understanding. "He found a piece of it," she whispered, her voice a strained, broken thing. "He found a piece of the god. And it's… it's screaming."
Kaelen, his mind a battlefield, was a man on a mission. He had to get back to the ark. He had to get back to his captain. He had to bring the ghost with him. He had to give her the key. He was a man with a new purpose. He was a man who had gone to a graveyard and found a ghost. And he was bringing the ghost home.
The silence of space was now a terrifying thing. A silent, cosmic battlefield. The ark, a small, limping ghost ship, was now a new kind of prey. It was a living, breathing, and terrifying monument to a battle they had not yet won. The hunt was on. And the hunter was not a physical thing. It was a thought. A language. A ghost. And it was screaming.