None of the half dozen bridge crew dared respond, each looking intently at their work station consoles. Bleeps and bips echoed in the still. Indicator lights flicked on and off in broken cadence. Time and space crept by.

“We should be at the rendez-vous point by now,” Merced muttered.

His science officer turned with a wry grin, “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day.”

“I’ve no time for your obscurities today, Halstead,” came the response over top of a suppressed groan. Halstead only smiled the more widely and turned back to his station.

A coded series of tones came over the speakers, a signal from the Horons to stop. As the blur of speed faded on the viewscreen empty space stretched forth in all directions, a sea of black, save a distant binary star a few degrees to port.

Merced’s eyes narrowed, “Smells like a trap.”

Halstead nodded, “And all our yesterday’s have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle.”

“Not now, Halstead, really.”