Doc’s console pinged, insistently, once a second. Restrained, yet urgent.
Sentiment echoed by Harriet. “Talk to me, Doc.”
My own console started pulling combat telemetry from a new source. Somewhere other than the three assault ships on our tail or the distant capital ship that had launched them, the Dismal Outlook. Somewhere in front of us.
Doc looked up, fearful, “Downspace rupture in-system.”
Harriet voiced the conclusion I found myself rapidly arriving at.
“It’s a trap.”
The assault ships were missing us on purpose, driving us.
From the star’s gravity well, a second capital ship tore upwards into real space.