Mercer leaned closer. “That’s insane. Point of origin for that code is Tartarus. We swept that sector. Nothing left but slag and silence.”
Mercer didn’t ask questions. He just looked at her face and said, “Where to, Captain?”
“I know what it is,” Elara said. “I wrote the damn protocol. Ccg: Command Contingency Group. 8.1.4: Abandon all protocols. Return to point of origin. The dead are not dead. ” Ccg 8.1.4
He looked like a corpse that had refused to lie down. His skin was gray. His left arm ended in a cauterized stump. But his eyes—those sharp, dark eyes—were alive. And they were smiling.
She turned the slate toward him. Mercer’s face, usually a slab of unreadable stone, flickered with something raw. Fear. Mercer leaned closer
“Takes one to know one,” Jin replied. Then his eyes glazed. His hand went slack. The monitor began a slow, descending whine.
“Escape pod. The old Mark Sevens—they had a stealth layer. Classified. I used it the second you sealed the doors. Dropped into the sea before the main reactor went critical.” He coughed, a wet, horrible sound. “Been here ever since. The pod’s recyclers… they gave out five years ago. I’ve been breathing scrubber sludge and eating nutrient paste that expired before the war.” We swept that sector
Ccg 8.1.4 wasn’t a message. It was a ghost.