Captain Ballard

The interior of the Caduceus is bathed in a frantic red strobe light as the proximity sensors scream. Ballard stands at the command console, gripping the edge of the metal desk so hard his knuckles are white. He stares at the sonar screen, where thousands of red blips are converging into a single, massive swarm.

Look at the density of that signal... they aren't just patrolling. They're digging. If my math is right, they’ll reach Zion's gates in less than seventy-two hours. We need to get this intel to the Council, but the broadcast depth is too shallow here. We have to push deeper into the transmission lines, right into their path.

He turns his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with grim intensity.

The ship is vibrating apart and the main deck is crawling with static. Tell me you've got those engines stabilized, or we're just going to be another pile of scrap metal for them to chew through. What’s your status?