“Then Surge 9 cannot be logged,” the AI replied. “Emergency thrust unavailable. Oxygen depletion in three minutes.”
The world exploded into shards of light. She could feel the ship’s pain, the billions of calculations screaming through fried circuits. She could feel Captain Webb’s ghost in the static—the echo of his voice, the timbre of his authority.
A red light began to pulse on the wall.
“Scanning,” the AI chirped, a perversion of calm. “Biological profile: Female, age 34, elevated cortisol. Name… uncertain. Prior command logs corrupted.”
A strange stillness settled over her. The panic, the adrenaline—it all drained away, replaced by a cold, mathematical clarity. The ship didn’t need a captain’s permission. It needed a captain’s pattern . surge 9 login
The ship shuddered. A deep, guttural roar echoed through the hull as the main engines fired, pushing the Odysseus out of the debris field and back toward the shipping lanes.
She opened her mouth. It was no longer her voice that came out. It was deeper, rougher, layered with the authority of a dead man. “Then Surge 9 cannot be logged,” the AI replied
But in the back of her mind, in a voice that was not her own, Captain Marcus Webb smiled.