36 Hours to L2—Mid-Voyage Drift
The borrowed scramjet had docked with an orbital tug, and the tug now coasted on ion whisper, crew strapped into mesh hammocks that felt more like cocoons than seats. Outside the viewport Earth had shrunk to a cloud-veined marble; ahead, the Moon's dark far side glimmered in raw starlight. Somewhere beyond that invisible hinge Minuet waited, broadcasting its shy prime-pulse.
With the data consoles dimmed, the Guardians drifted in a rare puddle of quiet. Imperfect Cadence kept the Loom's background hum alive, yet inside the tug the silence felt deliberate—an interlude before the next impossible act.
1. Brother-tone
Aiden and Lin Xi floated near the observation blister, knees braced against opposing bulkheads. For once neither held a tablet nor a Spiral Stone; only a single canteen of lukewarm tea passed between them.
"Remember Lab 7?" Lin asked, voice barely above breath.
Aiden winced at the reference to his deepest guilt, then managed a nod. "I replay that day every time the Core over-surges."
Lin offered a rueful smile. "I replay a different moment—when you refused to let me lock myself in the Qi isolation chamber. You said a net tears if one strand carries all the strain."
"I was terrified you'd burn out," Aiden murmured.
"And I was terrified you'd drown in fault. We saved each other by sharing weight." Lin's words hovered in the air, as fragile as the tea's steam. "Brotherhood is the silent line underneath the melody. Without it, even prime numbers are lonely."
Aiden didn't trust himself to speak, so he reached out. Lin met the clasp halfway: an unflashy, patient grip. The Dawn-Core pulsed once—five-eleven-seven—and for the first time its glow softened to the same jade that lived in Lin's stone.
2. Spark in the Static
Maya's workstation floated beside Nephis near the aft window, where cloak-shadow met the gentle glow of OLED schematics. She sprawled upside-down in her hammock, hair loose, scribbling a trigonometric rhythm for Minuet's next antenna tweak. Nephis watched the real stars beyond, cloak rippling a faint counter-pulse.
"You're humming," he said, rare amusement sliding into his tone.
Maya blinked. "Was I? Side-effect when code lines solve themselves."
"Not displeasing," Nephis admitted.
She folded the pad to hide the sudden flush in her cheeks. "Careful, Shadow-wing. Compliments from you might topple the illusion you're made of pure brooding."
A half-smile cut across his normally impassive face. "Brooding needs ballast. Your noise supplies it."
Maya's heart skittered. She pushed off, drifting closer than professional distance should allow. "Then listen—does this next harmonic resonate?" She tapped her pad; a low glitch beat fluttered, offset from the prime meter, almost playful.
Nephis closed his eyes; cloak filament threads echoed the beat in mute phosphor. "It resonates." When his gaze returned, the space between them felt newly dangerous, as though the wrong breath might spark unintended symmetry.
Maya was saved—perhaps—by the navigation chime announcing course correction. Yet as she rotated back to her hammock, her smile lingered long after propriety suggested it should fade.
3. Foreshadow of the Silver Oracle
Later, Cassie floated mid-cabin, lantern closed, sketching circles in the air. "When we meet Minuet's senders, do we even know what shape they wear?"
"Unknown," Aiden replied, though his thoughts still warmed from Lin's steadying honesty. "But the Spirit showed us clear-thread spindles, and now Minuet's pulse shapes constellations none of us dreamed before. Maybe shapes are negotiable."
"There's a rumor on the science loop," Maya called from her station. "A deep-field telescope in Namibia picked up a transient glint near L2 same hour Minuet launched—looked like a folded-silver sail, then winked out. The press nicknamed her the Silver Oracle."
Nephis's cloak stilled. "Oracle."
Cassie's eyes brightened. "A beautiful girl of light sailing the dark? Sounds like a story heading our way."
Aiden caught Lin's glance; both sensed the narrative gravity building—some future encounter that would braid intellect and awe and, perhaps, affection in ways they couldn't yet map. He felt Dawn-Core flicker, as if pleased by humanity's unquenchable thirst for myth.
Course Correction Complete—Final Glide to L2
The tug rotated, main engines idle, only attitude thrusters whispering. In sixteen hours they would rendezvous with Minuet, then thrust onward to the mysterious coordinates inscribed in prime beats. Brotherhood shored their courage; a nascent spark crackled between code and shadow; distant rumor of the Silver Oracle beckoned like a lighthouse balanced on mathematics and longing.
Aiden closed his eyes, syncing breath with the imperfect cadence. The Loom no longer screamed—it sang. And its next note, he could feel, would tilt closer to the heart than any equation had dared.