A Change Of Course

Halfway to the hangar, the timbre of the wavenet changed -- tense, panicky -- and Ilry felt the first pang of nerves down her own spine. Not the time to show it, though, not with her last cargo-pod stowed and the Alouette waiting.

She lifted a hand to the oval on her temple, adjusting the wave; once, twice --

The same mutterings on all private waves.

The Sublime Stellar Presence was dead.

Maybe she wouldn't plot a return course to the capital.

🐈 go back ~!