Datumcore: Echoes of the Null Vector

– Next drill at oh-nine, – Vorl told them. Drills kept entropy honest, even in mess halls.

– We just survived three drills called combat, – Zyra said, voice softer now.

Elara shifted projection to personal logs: a child’s drawing of stars, lines uneven, displayed in pastel hues.

– My niece’s first sky. She would be eight now, if timeline held, – she whispered.

Silence settled, heavier than armour. Even the drone sputtered quieter.

Zyra rose abruptly. Boots thudded teakettle rhythm across decking as she paced toward viewport. Through reinforced glass, the nebula drift showed bruised lilac clouds lit by distant lightning flickers.

– They killed parades and families alike. I keep forgetting which hurts worse, – she said.

Kaelen rotated his plate ninety degrees. Algorithms collapsed, re-forming into a crude heart symbol. It flickered, error-prone yet stubborn.

– Statistics favour sorrow’s persistence, – he commented.

– Your numbers need new toys, – Zyra replied, almost smiling.

Vorl’s thumb actuator spasmed. He clenched fist to mask tremor. The act sent faint vibration up forearm, each pulse reminding him humans once called that muscle memory.

He opened the archived footage of his legion on parade. Static replaced each face. He closed the file before shame could bloom.

Nomad-Seven shifted shape, edges shivering.

– Contained strands still exhibit decay. Secondary purge imminent, – it warned.

Elara placed her hand on Vorl’s forearm armour. Heat radiated through glove fabric, warmth curiously gentle.

– Your archives are not gone, only tangled, – she said.

– Tangled code fails in combat, – he answered.

A brittle clang echoed beneath deck plates: capacitor bank two cycling beyond tolerance. Lights flickered amber, then steadied.

– That hum is new, – Zyra noted, turning from viewport.

Kaelen consulted a wall panel, scrolling diagnostics.

– Capacitor fatigue at seven percent per hour. We must decelerate power-demand spirals or lose core stabilisers, – he announced, his tone unnervingly mild.

– Then we dim the ship and brighten the crew, – Elara suggested, shaking out her fingers. Threads of pale energy teased her nails before fading.

Hollow rose without sound, walked to caf dispenser, and poured a cup. He set it before Vorl. Steam curled in silver ribbons, laced with faint cinnamon – Zyra’s smug contraband.

Vorl lifted visor, letting the aroma reach what skin remained.

– Thank you, soldier, – he said. The soldier nodded once, the gesture like gravity giving approval.

Three heavy thunks vibrated the hull; tension snapped through spines.

– Debris? – Zyra asked.

Kaelen checked external feeds.

– Micro-meteor cluster. Odds finally smiled, – he replied.

Nomad-Seven shrank to a point of icy light, then expanded wider than a man.

– Vector noise rising. External chase pattern matching Coherence skimmer grid, – it reported.

Vorl’s mind sharpened. He stood, gauntlet palm leaving a warm circle on table surface.

– Distance?

– Two-point-five AU, trajectory aligned within ninety seconds of our last jump, – the shard said.

Zyra clicked teeth.

– Predictable as rust.

Elara dismissed her logs; panels folded into nothing with a sigh like extinguished candles.

– My reserves are low. I need rest before weaving again, – she admitted.

– Noted. We prepare mechanical options first, – Vorl decided.

Kaelen drained broth, set cup upside-down.

– I will reroute auxiliaries off capacitor two, buy us breathing room, – he said.

– Do it, – Vorl agreed.

He turned to the Hollow.

– Armour integrity?

The silent soldier raised two fingers in a quick salute. Vorl read the gesture: eighty percent integrity.

Nomad-Seven flickered, then adopted Vorl’s own silhouette. The duplication felt mocking.

– Fragment authority necessary to quarantine remaining contagion. Accept secondary splice?

– Proceed, but isolate from combat subroutines, – Vorl ordered.

A single mote drifted toward his visor, brushing it with cold pinpoint pressure. His HUD stuttered, timecodes lagging half a tick before resyncing.

Sensation of disorientation followed, as though someone rewrote gravity’s decimals. He breathed slow until balance returned.

Kaelen vanished through aft hatch, boots tapping uneven rhythm. The sound receded into hum of conduits.

Zyra resumed seat, rolling fruit pouch between fingers like dice.

– If they board, we blow the galley first. No sense letting them taste real food, – she joked.

– Cynicism suits you, – Elara said, smiling a tired crescent.

Steam from Vorl’s cup cooled, drifting across table edge toward drone intake vents.

– We have twenty minutes before recharge cycle ends, – he calculated aloud.

Zyra squinted at him.

– You trust those fractured timelines?

– I trust preparedness, – he replied.

The mess hall lights dimmed to soft rose, courtesy of Kaelen’s power diversion. Shadows lengthened, merging with dusky plum wall panels.

– Colour reminds me of my home reef at dusk, – Zyra whispered.

Elara touched her sleeve, eyes reflecting the same hue.

– Memory keeps places alive, even in colour alone, – she said.

A soft keening vibrated benches: capacitor thirty-four adjusting to newfound burden.

– Ship sings again, – Zyra noted, tapping rhythm on alloy.

– It sings of overwork, – Vorl corrected.

Nomad-Seven displayed predictive glyphs in midair: loops, bifurcations, divergence fractals blooming turquoise then bleeding to black.

– Skimmer formation recalculating. Unknown capital echo behind, – the shard reported.

Vorl’s visor timecodes fluttered. Static threatened edges; he blinked, clearing haze.

– My system instability now measurable, – he admitted.

Elara leaned forward, worry etching fine lines across her brow.

– Let me weave your neural lattice, stabilise it, – she urged.

– You would bleed again.

– Bleeding proves I am still alive, – she countered.

Zyra whistled low.

– Romantic nonsense, but I’ll guard the door if you try.

The Hollow placed a hand on Zyra’s shoulder with surprising gentleness. She stilled, eyes bright.

Kaelen returned, hair damp with coolant vapour.

– Capacitor two offline; overall draw reduced by nineteen percent. We gained twelve minutes, – he said.

– Good work, – Vorl answered, thumb actuator twitching thanks of its own.

Kaelen noticed the micro-tremor, said nothing, but fetched a tube of servo lubricant, sliding it across table.

– For when you decide to admit pain, – he murmured.

Nomad-Seven emitted a chime like glass struck underwater.

– Logic plague vectors declining. Quarantine effective thus far, – it announced.

Elara exhaled relief; blood did not appear.

Zyra tossed fruit pouch core into recycler slot. It pinged cheerful tone, a nonsense melody from factory default settings.

– Next crisis at our leisure, apparently, – she mocked.

A low warble rose from ceiling speakers: proximity alert pre-tone.

Kaelen’s algorithm plate reassembled into threat cone overlay, splashing green onto tabletop.

– Contacts emerging from fold space, – he stated. Voice calm but eyes wide with reflected spectra.

Vorl stood, servo motors whining louder than decorum allowed.

– Stations.

Elara lunged for a support rail, ready despite exhaustion. Zyra cracked knuckles, adrenaline chasing fruit sugar.

The Hollow turned, cloak of silence peeling away as he strode toward armour locker.

Nomad-Seven’s avatar fractured into three identical shards, each emitting separate data-feeds on enemy velocity.

– Two medium signatures, one micro. No positive ID, – the AI said.

Kaelen tapped a command. Mess hall displays flickered to tactical interface, edges pulsing amber.

– Micro is not a skimmer profile. Possibly civilian, – he reported.

– Or decoy, – Vorl countered.

Zyra barked sharp laughter.

– They learned mischief from us.

Elara pressed fingertips to temple, pupils dilating until iris gone. She whispered:

– Threads show hesitation; the formation doubts.

Vorl analysed numbers. Doubt could be exploited, but the unknown invited new ruin.

Nomad-Seven chimed again, lower.

– External broadcast detected. Narrow beam, encryption unknown, – it said.

Kaelen adjusted filters. Static burned across speakers, then resolved into heartbeat-paced clicks.

– That pattern matches no current cipher, – he declared.

Zyra shrugged on flight jacket, tattoos glowing bright.

– Only one way to ask.

– Hold, – Vorl ordered.

He motioned Nomad-Seven to loop the signal through his internal audio at reduced amplitude. Clicks entered his skull, cold and precise, each one followed by a faint echo he felt more than heard.

No command, no threat – just measurement, as if some distant entity counted him atom by atom.

He ended feed, jaw clenched.

– That was reconnaissance, – he concluded.

Kaelen’s gaze sharpened.

– By whom?

– Unknown, but not Coherence tone.

The Hollow returned, visor reflecting tactical screens. He tapped chest plate twice: ready.

Vorl felt strain in thumb again. He uncapped servo lubricant, slow swirl across actuator ports. Motion eased, but chilled metal burned raw skin through gaps.

Relief came at price: sensation dulled, grip strength lowered three percent. He stored that new weakness in mental ledger.

Elara steadied him with a look.

– Your humanity remains intact, – she said softly.

– My utility must follow, – he replied.

Zyra locked down galley storage; tins clanged inside cabinets as she secured latches.

– Never know when inertia will toss lunch, – she joked.

Kaelen’s plate showed updated vectors; the civilian-sized contact slowed.

– It drifts now. Could be distressed capsule, – he noted.

Nomad-Seven triangulated.

– Origin point aligns with dust moon salvage corridor, – it said.

Zyra raised eyebrows.

– One of ours?

– We left nothing but patches and nerves there, – Elara answered.

Vorl considered humanitarian impulse versus operational security. Static flickered along visor edges, reminding him of his own unstable archives.

– We treat unknowns as threats until proven otherwise, – he decided.

Kaelen nodded reluctantly.

– Calculations agree.

Sudden metallic creak rolled through hull as inertial balances re-set to battle preparedness.

Ambient lights dropped to combat amber. Alarm klaxons remained silent by design, but everyone felt the vibration deep in bone.

Zyra strapped sidearm, the snap crisp.

– I’ll helm. If they so much as blink weird, I scorch them.

Elara linked palms briefly with Zyra, sharing silent vow.

Kaelen reached for another broth pouch, hesitation clear.

– Eat while you can, – Vorl advised.

Kaelen obeyed, tearing spice packet open. Fragrant anise filled air, oddly comforting.

Nomad-Seven’s motes spiralled upward, merging into lattice across ceiling, feeding live stats to every panel.

– External units now within long-range optics. Visual feed available, – it said.

Vorl gestured. Mess hall window darkened, then brightened into remote view.

A needle-thin shuttle drifted, hull scorched, running lights off. Behind it, two larger signatures copied its moves exactly, ghost dancers half visible.

Elara inhaled sharply.

– Thread echoes, but not identical. Something puppets them.

Kaelen magnified image. One shuttle wing bore flicker of gold: unity sigil half erased.

– Escape craft from a recent battle, – he guessed.

– Or bait wearing scorched paint, – Zyra retorted.

Nomad-Seven beeped subtle disagree.

– Energy profile decays irregularly. Auto-systems failing.

Vorl weighed cruelty against caution.

– We wait ten minutes. If they broadcast distress, we decide.

Zyra headed for bridge without further protest, footsteps receding.

Elara slumped into bench, exhaustion finally visible in drooped shoulders. She closed eyes, breathing slow until faint rose returned to cheeks.

Kaelen wiped broth from lip, voice softer.

– Statistics never model choice of mercy well.

– Then statistics grow today, – Vorl answered.

The Hollow remained at viewport, helmet mirror reflecting drifting shuttle like a funeral candle.

Tension stretched, punctuated by drone exhaust hiss and capacitor murmur. Ten minutes could fill universes.

Kaelen’s plate blinked: no distress call.

Nomad-Seven updated.

– Vector shift. Unknown units now shadowing our exit trajectory.

Vorl’s jaw tightened.

– So be it.

He signalled general quarters over internal band. The call chirped twice, then silence resumed, heavier than before.

A distant thump suggested Zyra settling into helm.

Elara opened her eyes, pupils focusing linesless.

– They intend observation, not rescue, – she said.

– Then we show them nothing but engine flare, – Vorl replied.

He moved toward hatch, gloves squeaking against bench edge. Steam from cinnamon-laced caf still drifted above table, swirling lazy eddies.

His left thumb tingled numb but held grip around helmet rim.

Nomad-Seven now pulsed scarlet lattice across mess hall.

– Skimmer grid realigning. Estimate contact in twenty-three minutes, – it reported.

Kaelen gathered his plates and cups, clearing tabletop with methodical grace.

– Cleanup helps numbers, – he whispered.

Elara laughed, a brittle yet honest sound.

Vorl paused by door, watching his crew find tiny rituals amid doom. Colour, smell, and sound entwined: apricot syrup, anise broth, amber lights, capacitor hymns. For a moment, fatalities felt distant.

Capacitor bank three emitted sudden sharp whine. Panels flickered violet.

Something just entered weapons range.