“Let’s hear it, Lucy,” Locke pointed at the screen. With a nod, Lucy Quan instructed communications to repeat the message she’d received.
The language was musical, almost angelic. Each inflection spilled into the next with great fluidity and majestic perfection.
“It’s in Grennan,” Karapanov said.
“Yes,” Tarn concurred, listening intently.
“What’s it say?” this from Quan, who’s Grennan was sketchy at best.
“There was an attack on the council. An explosion. Much damage. Grenna is at lockdown status! Ships are ordered not to approach,” Tarn’s large black eyes looked up pleadingly at the captain.
Locke sat in her chair and reviewed, once again, the myriad of damaged systems blinking red in her report. They had nowhere else to go. Their battle with the Syndicate ship had all but crippled her vessel. If not for Damien Kosta’s genius, they would have no propulsion at all.
“Do we proceed, captain?” asked Frosty at the helm.
“Yes. Lucy get me Admiral Harmond Grey on High-SS band,!”
“Aye Cap’n”
“Take us in, Frosty”