Trianna Locke eyed the Nav-Panel with an intense eye.
“How long?” she whispered to her Navigator.
Karapanov replied with a hiss, “2 minutes, 22 seconds,”
“Distance,”
“2000 kilometers,”
Locke turned her attention towards the weapons officer, “Ready turrets, and Ion Torps!”
Frosbeld nodded, “Armed and locked, Cap’n!”
Swallowing, Locke made her way to the captain’s chair, sitting with a finger poking at her chin.
“We’re too close,” she said, “They’re playing possum!”
“We can abort!” Frosbeld offered.
“No, hold steady, Kar!”
“Holding!” the nav-man assured.
Comms whispered, “Channels are open. Our only contact is The Karama,”
“Thank you, Lucy!”
What would the Karama do? Would she attack, or was she really as hurt as she looked.
Locke added, “Open Voice comms!”
Lucy acknowledged, “Comms Open”
Locke shrugged, “What do you ask a ship that’s been missing for 20 years?”
Lucy smiled, “Where did you go?”
Trianna Locke smiled.
“Karama, this is Amethyst! Where have you been?”
Silence.