aerassault0108

[aerassault0108]

Pulse, “Chapter Four”

“If You’ll Have Me”:

Ray stepped through the door, finding the house steeped in silence. A wrapped plate of food sat untouched on the table.

"Thomason?" he called, setting down his coat. No answer. He took the stairs two at a time. "I've something important to tell you."

A sound—barely more than breath—came from the bedroom.

He found her sitting upright on the bed, hands slack in her lap, gaze fixed on nothing. The room was dim, the last light of evening filtering through the window.

Ray sat beside her, brushing a kiss to her temple. She was cold to the touch. "What's wrong?"

She spoke without looking at him. "She's staying. Mum."

Ray exhaled. He had expected as much, but it didn't make hearing it any easier. "She said that?"

"She as much as did," Thomason's voice wavered. "Talked like there was never any other choice. Like she'd already made peace with it."

A dry track of tears marked her cheek, though she barely seemed aware of them.

Slowly, she curled her fingers into his jacket, gripping the fabric tight.

Ray said nothing. He wanted to, yet not a word came. None that wouldn't sound empty.

For minutes, they sat in silence, their breathing the only sound in the room.

Then, at last, Ray spoke, his voice quieter than before. "Love... I'm setting off tomorrow."

Thomason stiffened at his words. "What?"

"It's Mr. Ford," he said, though he wasn't sure why. "He's given me a task of some importance."

She pulled away, searching his face. Her own was unreadable for a moment, then—

"And you'll leave me here?"

Ray hesitated. His hands, resting on his knees, felt suddenly unsteady. His pulse had picked up, though he couldn't have said when. He swallowed.

"... Yes."

A beat. Then Thomason laughed—a hollow sound, sharp at the edges. "I know how you are. That obsession of yours. But I never thought—" Her voice caught. She shook her head. "Never thought you'd leave for it."

He faltered. "Thomason—"

She scoffed. "What's too important?"

Ray licked his lips. "Something's knocking at the doorstep of our world. A pulse, with no effect on its surroundings, yet detectable across space. Last night, its rhythm shifted. Just once. And then returned."

He shook his head. "We don't even know if the state we found it in is even its true, original state."

She stared at him. "You're flying to space for a bloody pulse?"

"Mysterious phenomena don't change their behavior on a whim. And—" He hesitated. "A man disappeared."

"What?"

"A Dr. James. I had seen him staring into a light the day before I learned of the pulse. Now he is gone."

Thomason's mouth tightened. "And what does that have to do with anything?"

Ray was quiet for a moment. Then, finally: "... I don't know."

Another silence, longer this time.

Then, quietly, Thomason said, "... And you have to?"

Ray met her eyes. "Yes."

A slow exhale. She looked away, as if to collect herself. Then, without another word, she turned to leave.

Ray caught her hand.

"I will know," he said, quiet but firm. "And when I return, I'll set it aside. The study, the work. You and I—we'll take the time we ought to have." He softened, his grip easing. "If you'll have me."

Thomason stood still for a long moment. Then, at last, she gave the smallest nod. No smile, no frown. Just a nod.

She sat back down beside him, resting a hand over his.

Nothing more was said.

Ray strode back into the ASA, his mind still reeling from the weight of his imminent departure, when he found Ford and Dr. Monroe already waiting in the corridor.

Ford's lips curled into a wry smile as they stepped together into an elevator that ascended with a quiet, near-silent efficiency.

The lift's digital readout ticked off each floor until, at last, its doors slid open to reveal the launch bay.

The area was a marvel of futuristic engineering: sleek spacecraft parked on magnetically levitated pads, their surfaces gleaming with smart glass and reflective alloys.

Overhead, holographic displays floated near each vessel, streaming real-time diagnostics—fuel levels, propulsion calibrations, and trajectory data, all verified by quantum sensors.

Automated maintenance drones moved with precision between the ships, ensuring every system was in optimal condition.

Before Ray could fully take in the scene, Beatrice stood in the threshold, dressed smartly in an ASA-issued jumpsuit with subtle piping denoting her department, moved briskly toward him.

In one fluid motion, she handed him a neatly folded packet containing his personal attire and mission equipment—a compact environmental data logger, a multi-spectrum communicator, and a streamlined diagnostic toolkit.

She flashed a cheeky, supportive grin. "Totally forgot about your top-secret mission until Mr. Ford roped me into the launch. You never forget anything—suppose even you aren't immune to the abyss."

Ray's stern features softened into a wry smile as he patted her on the shoulder. "I shall do my utmost to return, Beatrice. In the meantime, keep questioning. Learn all you can."

With that, she turned on her heel, adjusted the collar of her new coat, and strode confidently down the corridor, distributing similar packets to the other mission scientists.

Shortly after, Ford reappeared and gathered the team in a sleek, glass-walled conference room. The room was utilitarian yet futuristic, its walls embedded with touch-sensitive displays and transparent LED panels showing star maps and live telemetry.

Ford's tone was brisk and measured.

"Right, listen up," he began. "Following Dr. Monroe's report, we noted that last night the pulse's rhythm deviated—from 1.460 seconds to 1.40 seconds—only to revert by morning. This irregularity, though minor, suggests an external influence we cannot ignore. We're assembling a team to travel to Origin Point Theta and study the phenomenon directly."

He paused. "Your ship will be equipped with autonomous re-supply modules, cryogenic food packs for a two-week pre-sleep period, and a high-bandwidth communications array that utilizes quantum entanglement to maintain constant contact with Headquarters. Once all systems are green, you'll then enter a nearly year-long cryosleep for the deep-space transit."

Ray leaned forward, his eyes gleaming.

Ford continued. "Doctor Godfrey, you will lead the data-gathering efforts. We must record every variable, every fluctuation. This is our chance to decode the pulse—what it is, and what it means for us all. I trust you all to perform to the highest standard."

With the briefing concluded, each scientist moved to their assigned vessel.

Ray gathered a few personal items—a photograph of Thomason, a well-worn notebook filled with equations, and a small keepsake—and stepped into his ship.

The spacecraft's doors slid shut with a smooth, almost imperceptible hiss. In unison, the ships ignited their magnetic thrusters and shot off into the unbounded void at such tremendous speed that bystanders in the hangar had to seek cover to avoid the shockwave of acceleration.

As his vessel lifted from the launch pad and hurtled into the cosmos, Ray's heart pounded with a mixture of dread and determination. He had entered the abyss in pursuit of answers. He would know.

Thomason sat in the dim glow of the living room, her eyes fixed on the phone on the coffee table. Now, silence pressed in, thick and—

BOOM. A low, sharp boom rippled through the house, rattling the glass. Another followed, then another.

Thomason's breath caught as she turned her gaze toward the window. A streak of light—electric blue, slicing through the sky with an eerie, unnatural precision. And then, nothing. Just the dark expanse of night.

She was alone.

Ray sat hunched forward in his chair, hands dancing across the control interfaces of the ship's command module.

His eyes flicked from screen to screen, absorbing the vast array of data streams pouring in.

The vessel, designated Erebus-1, was an elegant marvel—its interior a seamless fusion of stark functionality and cutting-edge sophistication.

Graphene-laced consoles lined the walls, their surfaces adaptive, shifting in response to his inputs. The air carried a faint hum, the ship's quantum-core reactor generating steady power.

Hollow conduit channels wove through the deck, pulsing with faint cyan light, feeding life to the ship's many intricate systems.

The artificial gravity plating beneath his feet adjusted subtly to his every movement, compensating for the acceleration.

The entire structure felt alive, its technology a symphony of precision and possibility.

Ray exhaled, running a hand over the nearest console. "Extraordinary," he muttered. "Effortless automated vectoring... real-time subatomic diagnostics... this guidance array alone—" He caught himself, shaking his head. "No use gawking, Godfrey."

A flicker on the comms panel drew his attention.

Then, a voice crackled through the main intercom, the first of many.

"Ladies and gentlemen," came Ford's dry, amused tone. "Next stop: the edge of reason. Drinks provided upon arrival."

Another voice followed, this one bright and irreverent.

"Who else already regrets not bringing a deck of cards?"

"Fascinating," a third chimed in. "The psychological need for diversion persists even at the precipice of the unknown."

More followed—greetings, jests, remarks charged with the nervous energy of minds poised between awe and apprehension. But amid the chorus, one absence stood out.

Monroe said nothing.

Ray tapped a control on his panel, activating his own transmission. He spoke simply, evenly, his voice steady and sure.

"We do not drift aimlessly into the dark. We chart it. We learn it. We are the first to tread this path, and we shall go down in history."

A moment of silence followed. Then, one by one, quiet affirmations trickled in. A shared understanding. A shared purpose.

Finally, Ray leaned back. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head to the viewport.

Earth was already a tiny dot in the vacuum of space.

A minute passed. No one spoke.

Ray exhaled, rubbing his brow, then pushed himself up from the command seat. A silent ship was an unnatural thing, even one as meticulously engineered as Erebus-1.

The absence of Earth's distant hum, of atmospheric drag, of the imperceptible vibrations that belonged to a planet-bound existence—this was silence in its truest form.

He assumed the others were doing as he was, familiarizing themselves with their vessels, moving through the sterile halls with the same quiet reverence.

The gravity plating adjusted subtly as he stepped away from the console, compensating for movement without the slightest jolt or delay.

The corridor leading from the bridge was narrow but uncluttered, lined with modular panels designed for reconfiguration in the event of system failure. The ship was not spacious—mass efficiency forbade it—but it was far from suffocating. Every square meter had been calculated, optimized.

He passed through the first sliding door and entered what was, evidently, his kitchen.

Compact, self-contained. The walls housed recessed cabinets, their biometric locks disengaging the moment his presence was registered. Inside, he found a meticulous stockpile: vacuum-sealed ingredients, canned proteins, thermally stabilized rations engineered for maximum longevity.

A small induction range was built into the counter, its surface pristine.

Tucked neatly beside a pack of cryo-stabilized yeast, he found a thin book. He lifted it. Astronaut Nutritional Guidelines & Meal Preparation Manual.

A smirk. He flipped through the pages—techniques for rehydrating complex proteins, methods for maximizing caloric intake while preserving variety.

One section detailed the psychological benefits of food that required preparation. A fleeting sense of normalcy, even here.

Satisfied, he moved on.

His quarters were next. As expected, the space was minimal yet sufficient: a single bed, storage compartments flush with the walls, a personal workstation.

The mattress conformed to microgravity standards, firm enough to support prolonged sleep without compromising circulation.

And then, the viewport.

A single, reinforced window, broad enough to flood the room with the lightless void beyond. Space in its truest form—deep, endless, absolute. No atmosphere to filter light, no haze to obscure the hard clarity of the cosmos.

The ship's slow rotation altered the view subtly, revealing the faint band of the Milky Way, a silver river suspended in the abyss.

Ray stood there for a long moment, breath shallow, heart steady. It was one thing to understand space as a concept, to break it into figures and equations. It was another to see it laid bare.

Then—

Dung.

A resonance, low, distant, yet distinct. Not the structured hum of the reactor, nor the thermal expansion of the ship's hull. It was external. It was real.

Origin Point Theta.

Ray turned sharply, listening. The pulse repeated again.

He retraced his steps, returning to the command module.

The displays remained steady, no anomalous readings. But his eyes caught something new—on the far right of the console, a digital clipboard, its interface idling in standby.

He reached for it.

The mission had begun.

The days aboard Erebus-1 fell into a rhythm dictated by necessity. Every hour, every movement had its purpose, each task designed to ease the transition into life beyond gravity.

Ray adhered to the regimen without complaint, though he could not deny the strange, persistent awareness of his own body in ways he had never considered before.

The first "mornings" began with health checks. Vitals, hydration levels, etc. The biometric cuff at his wrist logged everything automatically, streaming it to the onboard medical AI.

His legs felt weaker already, though he expected that. Fluids had shifted upward, swelling his face slightly, making his reflection look oddly unfamiliar in the compact bathroom mirror.

He exhaled, stretching against the resistance bands affixed to the walls—necessary measures to counteract the slow erosion of muscle and bone in microgravity.

Afterward, he exercised in the kinetic bay, a narrow space lined with equipment tailored for zero-G conditioning.

The treadmill harness pressed him down as he ran, simulated gravity forcing his muscles to work.

Every mission demanded at least two hours of rigorous physical training per day. The treadmill's hum filled the cabin, and for a moment, he imagined he was back on Earth.

Later, he floated into what passed for his personal kitchen, grabbed the recipe book, and took a look.

'Tomato bisque with fresh basil.'

He smirked, tossing the book back into its compartment, then sealing the latch with a flick of his fingers. He would have liked to make something from it. Something Thomason would have made.

His quarters were small yet sufficient, designed for functionality rather than pure comfort. A narrow sleeping pod was affixed to the far wall, while a small work surface extended from the opposite end. There was no clutter, no excess. Everything had its place.

Ray would then hover in front of the large window, and would float there for a moment, arms crossed, staring into the abyss.

Yet, he could not shake the sensation that something was watching.

He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. Just your mind playing tricks.

The Erebus-1 demanded more than just routine—it required constant vigilance.

Ray spent his time checking the ship's life support systems first. The oxygen reclamation unit was functioning within expected parameters, scrubbing CO₂ from the air with lithium hydroxide filters.

He ran a secondary diagnostic just to be sure. One clogged valve, one unnoticed fluctuation in atmospheric balance, and he would suffocate before ever seeing Origin Point Theta.

Water recycling followed. The purification loop processed waste fluids with ruthless efficiency, distilling every molecule of moisture back into drinkable water.

Ray skimmed the reports, confirming that electrolysis was splitting hydrogen and oxygen as expected, ensuring a steady supply of breathable air.

Electrical output was stable, the ship's fusion reactor humming at nominal levels. He checked the power distribution logs, confirming that all non-essential systems remained in low-energy mode.

There was no room for waste on a mission like this.

Lastly, he inspected the hull integrity reports.

Micrometeoroid strikes were an ever-present threat in deep space, and while Erebus-1 was armored with next-generation composite plating, no material was invincible.

He cross-referenced the latest sensor sweeps—no impact events, no structural anomalies.

It was all as it should be.

And yet, as Ray drifted back toward the command module, he felt it again—eyes were on him. He exhaled sharply. Just fatigue.

The pulse was a constant throughout the first week. He ended it, as always, checking in with the other crew members over the intercom.

Monroe was silent still.

Ray toggled the channel. "Doctor Monroe, are you present?"

A pause. Then, the same voice as before—lighthearted, playful. "Mr. Monroe? Heeellllooooo?"

Ray's fingers hovered over the control. "Doctor Monroe? Answer if you are present."

Nothing.

Then—

The comms indicator flickered, illuminating Monroe's name.

And from the speaker came a voice that was not his.

A deep, warping reverberation, layered and wrong, twisting as if it came from beneath his throat rather than within it.

"Utik—na šiša."

Silence.

No one spoke. No one even breathed.

Then, from Monroe's side—

A sound. A tearing, slow and wet. Fabric? No. Something thicker. Something resisting, then giving way.

The signal cut.

[aerassault0108]

Hullo! Sorry for the absence, but let’s get to the point.

Chapter Three - “Try Not To Fall”:

Ray's mind swelled with theories as he left the ASA building, lost in thought all the way home. It was half past midnight by the time he arrived—when he ought to have been home at eight.

He stepped inside to find Thomason lying asleep on the living room couch, a half-empty bottle of wine on the table beside her.

He knelt down and reached to wake her. She stirred, groggy, blinking up at him. "Turned out a year was right on the mark..." Her voice was thick with sleep. "How'd it go with the intern?"

Ray recounted the day's events, but before long, his excitement overtook him. "Dear, I have learned something truly extraordinary. Mr Logan has tasked me with helping solve it."

"Learned of what?" she mumbled.

"... A pulse. In deep space."

"A... pulse? Deep space?"

"JX-914 to be precise."

She rubbed her eyes. "Hang on—how in God's name could you lot detect something from so far out?"

"That is precisely what we intend to determine."

Thomason let out a tired groan and sat up, running a hand through her hair. "I barely know what you scientists are up to these days... Life was so much simpler before."

She stood and stretched. "You coming, or is this another of your all-nighters?"

Ray had already turned toward his study. "I shan't be long."

Thomason sighed, and before entering the bedroom, said, "Your dinner is in the kitchen, heated, of course."

What followed were three feverish hours of chalk dust clotting the air, and calculations scrawled in frantic succession.

"... No gravitational displacement... no heat signature... pulse periodicity remains fixed, yet undamped... What medium does it even propagate through?"

"The energy required—unfathomable... would necessitate an emitter of—no, impossible, no mass displacement..."

"Waveform's consistent—regular intervals—origin point unaccounted for..."

He worked until his mind frayed, yet nothing yielded. No pattern emerged, no hypothesis held firm. The equations stood unbreakable.

At last, bloodshot and aching, he sighed, tossing his chalk into its holder before trudging to the bedroom.

Easing the door open, he found Thomason fast asleep. But as he slipped beneath the covers, he paused.

A newspaper article on the nightstand read:

"South New London Under Siege – Evacuations Ordered"

Thomason spoke: "Mother was ever one to leave her home."

Thomason woke with a slow, steady breath, blinking as the morning light crept through the curtains.

She combed her fingers through her hair, taming what she could, then sat up with a quiet sigh.

The house was still; Ray still unconscious. She pushed herself off the bed and headed downstairs.

In the kitchen, she moved through the motions of breakfast. A simple plate of eggs and toast, a cup of tea—strong, just as Ray liked it.

She never touched the stuff, always preferring her coffee.

She delicately placed his plate down, and left it there, as after three minutes, the plate would wrap itself to keep out the flies and cold.

After, she stepped outside to collect the morning paper that had already formed completely in the mailbox. It was crisp, freshly printed, her address stamped in tiny text at the top.

She traced a finger over it absentmindedly before unfolding the pages.

Her eyes flicked first to the war reports, her lips pressing into a thin line as she read.

Her grip on the paper tightened, but she didn't read only the doom and gloom. She read every word, from the major headlines down to the smallest footnotes.

Reports on local events, like when a crazed drunk man crashed into a shop, scarring the witness so badly they fainted.

When she finished, she folded the paper neatly and set it aside. Then, after much deliberation, she sat by the window, staring out into the grey morning before reaching for her old-fashion cellphone.

A few beeps, then a worn, yet warm voice answered.

"H-hello? Thomason?"

"Hi Mum, how are you?"

"Oh, just wonderful, dearie, yes—yourself?"

Thomason hesitated, fingers tightening around the phone.

"Yeah, good... um... will you... have you evacuated?"

"Evacuate?" Martha Joyce scoffed. "Thomason, love, what have I taught you for a lifetime—one's home is the most important place in one's life. My mother, and her mother before her, stood their ground, and I'm not about to be pushed around a bunch of—"

"There's a war on your doorstep, Mum! Are you really so stubborn you'd stay until—"

"Yes, I would."

Thomason breath hitched, and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Mum, you can't be serious," she said, her voice low but tense.

Martha's voice crackled over the line, warm but immovable. "Thomason, I've never been more certain in my life."

Thomason paced the kitchen. "Mum," she tried again, her tone firmer now, "this is not just a scare. It's getting closer. You have to leave."

A pause. A quiet breath. Then, calm as ever—

"No, I don't."

Thomason shut her eyes. They stung.

"For God's sake, why?" she whispered.

Martha chuckled lightly, like she was discussing the weather. "I'll be ninety soon, dear. And I've spent all that time on my little farm, in my little house. And if it's time... I'd rather meet it here."

Thomason's breath caught. Her mouth opened, then shut.

Martha's voice softened. "I know, dear... I'm sorry, but I've a family tradition to keep."

Thomason exhaled sharply. She pressed her knuckles against the countertop, grounding herself.

"...I have to go," she said.

"I love you, Thomason. Always have. But... ninety's quite an adventure, isn't it?"

Thomason stayed quiet and took a breath, then hung up.

For a long time, she sat there, the phone still clutched in her hand.

Then, without another thought, she got up and rushed up the stairs. The bathroom door swung shut behind her.

From downstairs, there then came muffled sounds—Ray leaving the bedroom, and going downstairs—somewhere below, the front door closed with a soft click.

Ray, in a rush, off to his work. She didn't care. She sat there in the quiet, head in her hands, until she and her breath settled.

When at last she emerged, she moved without thought, climbing the stairs to the bedroom. Empty. She sat on the bed, staring at nowhere Ray had laid.

Then, slowly, she lay down.

Ray rushed through the city, weaving between passersby as he flagged down a cab.

He climbed in, snapped out an address, and the vehicle shot off, weaving through the early morning traffic.

He barely noticed the blur of buildings passing by—his mind was already on the ASA, on the pulse, on what Ford needed him for.

The moment the cab halted, Ray was out the door, pushing past the entrance of the ASA headquarters.

He tapped his badge at security, strode to the lift, and rode it straight to the upper floors.

As he stepped into the main atrium, he adjusted his tie, smoothed his coat, and straightened his posture—just in time to meet Logan's expectant gaze.

"Things have got... very interesting," Ford said, leading Ray into the control room.

The space was abuzz with quiet urgency—technicians at their stations, graphs and data streams lining the walls, the faint hum of machinery filling the air. Logan handed Ray a report.

"Last night, Dr. Monroe noted a subtle shift in the pulse's rhythm. 1.460 seconds to 1.40 seconds. Stranger still? By morning, it had returned to its previous state."

Ray's thoughts ignited, spinning through calculations, possible explanations, implications.

"Aside from that, nothing else has changed," Ford continued. "We still have no clue what we're dealing with. And—ah, that's the spirit," he added with a smirk, catching the slight straightening of Ray's back, the spark of intrigue in his eye.

"Indeed I am, sir. Observational of you to notice."

Ford chuckled, but before he could reply, Dr. Monroe strode in, adjusting his glasses and dusting off his coat.

"You've told him, yes?" he asked Ford, who nodded.

Monroe turned to Ray. "Good, then... suppose that leads me to another matter. Dr. James, have you heard of him? His console was left on, yet he has yet to show up."

Ray's brow furrowed. James—yes, he remembered him. The scientist who had stared into the light of a monitor when Ray arrived at ASA two days prior.

Ford and Monroe exchanged a glance before Ford spoke again. "We'll worry about that later. For now, we have a decision to make."

He led them to the main conference room, where a few other high-ranking scientists had already gathered.

Once the doors were shut, Ford's tone grew serious.

"Given the irregularity in the pulse's timing, we cannot rule out an external influence. But if there is something out there—some force, some anomaly—we need more than mere observation. We need direct study."

Ray's breath caught for a moment. His lips fighting back a smile.

"... We're assembling a team. A small, elite group of our best minds to set off to Origin Point Theta and study it firsthand."

Ray's chest tightened.

"Dr. Godfrey. You, Monroe, and a select few others will be part of the first mission to study this phenomenon up close."

A silence hung in the air as the weight of the statement settled over them. Ray exhaled slowly, a grin creeping onto his face. "All things must yield, correct?"

Ford nodded. "Exactly."

The decision was made. The journey to Origin Point Theta was to begin tomorrow.

As the elevator hummed beneath his feet, Ray pinched the bridge of his nose. Ford's plan echoed in his mind.

Tomorrow. He exhaled sharply. But... could I truly bear to leave Thomason alone? For that long?

Before the thought could settle, a voice shattered his concentration.

"Godfrey! There you are—I've been hunting you down for ages!"

Ray looked up, blinking. Beatrice stood before him, practically vibrating with excitement, hands clasped behind her back like she might start bouncing if she didn't restrain herself.

"I got in." Her grin was radiant. "I'm officially an ASA intern!"

Ray arched an eyebrow, feigning scrutiny. "So... my esteemed reputation remains intact, does it?"

Beatrice gave a cheeky smirk. "Mostly."

His gaze narrowed. "Elaborate."

"Well, I might have set the photonic spectrometer array's baseline calibration a fraction of a percent off."

Ray exhaled, shaking his head. "And they still let you in?"

Beatrice gave an exaggerated sigh. "What can I say? A smile can do a lot."

Ray gave her a look. "An infectious one, more like."

Beatrice grinned. "Maybe. But that aside, I'm here now."

Ray nodded, giving her a firm pat on the back. "You did well. Welcome aboard."

For a moment, her excitement filled the space between them. Then, almost imperceptibly, Ray's smile dimmed. He exhaled.

"... Rather off-topic, but I won't be around for long. I leave tomorrow."

Beatrice's grin faltered. "What do you mean?"

"I've been assigned to a research mission."

She tilted her head. "Ooooh, elaborate."

Ray hesitated, then relented. "There's a signal. A pulse. Deep in space. It's been repeating like clockwork... until last night—the rhythm shifted. 1.460 seconds to 1.40. But by morning, it had reverted."

She chewed her lip. "And that's... weird?"

Ray's gaze lowered, and his expression dimmed.

"... Right. Obviously," she muttered, a faint blush creeping in.

"God help us," he murmured, an eyebrow twitching, then continued. "And that's what we're aiming to figure out. What it is, and what it means."

Beatrice studied him for a moment. "And you need to go?"

Ray nodded.

She let out a slow breath before she smiled warmly. "... Well then. Try not to fall into the abyss, understand?"

Ray chuckled. "One can never rule out an unexpected anomaly in the void."

Though just as Beatrice turns, Ray speaks up.

"Beatrice. Are you familiar with a Dr. James?"

Beatrice stops and turns to Ray, her duck face saying it all.

Ray nods, gaze dropping to the floor, his brow furrowing.

"I see... that will be all."

With that, Beatrice turned on her heel, waved goodbye, and, fixing her new coat, walked deeper into the ASA.

[aerassault0108]

Pᴜʟsᴇ: Bʏ Aᴇʀᴀssᴀᴜʟᴛ𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟾

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙬𝙤: “𝙋𝙪𝙡𝙨𝙚”

Ray stepped out onto the pavement.

The air was crisp, regulated beneath the dome's tempered glow. Around him, the city moved with quiet efficiency—trams gliding soundlessly along their tracks, the hum of distant turbines threading through the air.

A few passersby turned as he walked, some offering nods of recognition. A pair of students on a nearby bench glanced up from their tablets, their whispered exchange just faintly audible. Ray paid them little mind.

At the edge of the transit lane, a cab slowed to meet him, its polished surface reflecting the structured skyline.

He stepped inside, and the door sealed with a near-silent hiss. The dashboard flickered on to display a smooth trajectory across the city.

Ray settled back, watching as the city unfurled outside the window. Towering structures of glass and steel curved into the sky, their surfaces shifting with dynamic solar panels. Bridges stretched across the city's canals, where the water ran dark and still, unbroken save for the controlled movements of filtration skimmers.

The cab navigated through it all with quiet precision, each motion calculated, each turn anticipated.

At last, the headquarters of the Astronomic Science Authority came into view—its stark, angular silhouette cutting against the cityscape.

The cab eased to a halt, and as Ray stepped out, he allowed himself a single breath.

Then, with confidence, he made his way inside.

The halls of the ASA hummed with quiet intensity, a steady undercurrent of conversation and distant machinery forming the pulse of the institution.

Scientists moved with purpose, their voices low yet charged, exchanging theories, data, and half-finished thoughts as they passed between sterile glass-paneled laboratories.

The walls bore digital readouts—equations, simulations, real-time telemetry—updating in smooth, flickering intervals.

Ray walked with measured purpose, shoulders squared, hands clasped before him. He gave brief nods of acknowledgment as he passed, but none thought to stop him.

The halls pulsed with urgency—scientists moved briskly, some deep in murmured discussion, others frowning at data readouts while a few scratched notes onto clipboards. A few stood motionless in thought, staring past their own calculations.

The ASA never truly stilled; minds worked even when bodies paused.

A glint of light caught his eye—his gaze flicked to a nearby lab.

A scientist stood alone, unmoving, staring into the glow of a console. The screen's pale light reflected off his glasses, obscuring his expression.

Though curious, Ray moved on.

As he neared his division, a sudden presence jolted into his path.

"Oh! Hello!" The voice was bright, self-assured—perhaps overly so. The young woman before him stood with easy confidence, dressed in a manner that straddled professionalism and personal ease. "You're Godfrey, yes?"

Ray barely opened his mouth before she pressed on.

"Good, good. Thought so. Which means I've found the right division, seeing as, well... you're here."

Ray gave a slow, measured nod. "Indeed. I received word from headquarters regarding your appointment. I am to—"

"Teach me, yes, yes—I know."

The interruption was swift, almost instinctual—then a flicker of embarrassment crossed her face, and when she caught Ray's expression, she faltered.

"O-oh, I, um—I didn't mean to—" she straightened, exhaling sharply as if resetting herself. "P-please, continue."

She crossed her arms, her expression teetering between an apologetic grimace and an uneasy smile.

A brief silence stretched between them. Ray regarded her for a moment longer, then turned sharply on his heel.

"Come along now. There is much to learn."

Ray strode through the division with efficiency, his gait swift yet unhurried. He moved not as a guide but as a man retracing familiar steps, pointing out key features as they passed.

"This corridor houses our primary computational systems—high-density quantum processors running near absolute zero. Processing cores are suspended in a vacuum chamber to prevent heat contamination. Here, the primary astrophysical simulations are conducted—gravitational lensing, dark matter distributions, orbital mechanics, all updated in real time."

The newcomer trailed behind, nodding, though she had little time to process each detail before sidestepping an upcoming colleague.

Ray stopped abruptly at a glass partition, gesturing to the room beyond. "That," he said, "is the photonic spectrometer array. We extract data from deep-field observations, parse light signatures down to individual photons—useful for stellar composition analysis, exoplanet atmospheres, and—"

He pivoted before finishing, already moving again. The intern hurried to catch up, muttering under her breath.

He stopped at a smooth, circular indentation in the wall—no signage, no visible function.

He ran a finger along its surface, nodding to himself before turning back.

"The entire facility is built upon a superconductor-laced substructure," he explained. "Minimal energy loss. Even waste heat is siphoned into secondary systems—passive temperature regulation, water purification. Efficiency is paramount."

She frowned. "That... thing you just touched. What is it?"

Ray glanced at it again. "Ah. A recessed access panel. Maintenance ports are hidden in plain sight—cleaner aesthetic."

She raised an eyebrow. "Concealing maintenance ports in the name of aesthetics... seems impractical."

Ray resumed his brisk pace, weaving through the winding corridors, occasionally stopping to observe something only he seemed to find significant—a particular alignment of conduits, the faint hum of a cooling system, the way a readout flickered in a pattern imperceptible to most.

She fell behind again.

Then, a pause. Ray slowed, scanning the space for another point of interest. A moment of quiet settled between them.

She took the opportunity.

"Beatrice," she said simply.

Ray stopped mid-step, turning to her. "... Surname?"

The question caught her off guard, but she recovered quickly. "Whitmore. Beatrice Whitmore."

Ray tilted his head slightly. He rather liked the name. "Interesting. Miss Whitmore, then."

Beatrice smirked. "I'm a married woman, Mister Godfrey."

Ray stiffened, and his eyes flickered. "Oh... my apologies. I... assumed someone your age wouldn't have settled down yet."

She scoffed. "I'm twenty-four, for your information."

Ray hesitated, then gave a short nod. "Apologies, then."

They continued walking.

Ray was noticeably slower.

After more walking, more of the intricacies of the Division, Beatrice stopped.

A light flashed bright from beyond a window overlooking the city below.

Beatrice stared, and interrupted Ray's guidance with, "Isn't it mad? How light can come and go, yet never be truly destroyed?"

Her words caught Ray's attention, who stopped to listen.

"I mean, everything breaks down in the end, doesn't it? All matter will collapse, the stars will burn out, even the laws of physics might unravel one day. But light—once it's out there, it just keeps going. The only thing that can stop... I don't know—more light?" She chuckled, and pushed away from the window.

Ray paused for a moment, then smiled. "I had been thinking the same thing."

Beatrice turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Oh, really? So I can hold a conversation with you, then."

Ray smirked. "I'm not one to easily be won over."

They both smiled, and gazed out the window together.

Finally, after roughly two hours of guidance, Beatrice got the gist of the Division and they both went for a break in the main lobby.

"Well... I'll be processing that for a decade," Beatrice said, resting her face in her palms.

"I know, I know, it's much—even some people who have worked months here still come across new things."

Ray then passed a cup of coffee over to Beatrice, who drank it immediately.

"I love it here," Ray said, looking around the place with reverence. "Even five years later, I still find something new to learn, some new problem to solve. It just keeps giving."

Familiarity settled in Ray's face. "If you've got what it takes, if you've got the determination, you can do anything."

Beatrice smiled, and, after a moment, nodded confidently.

Ray checked his wristwatch and exhaled softly. "That will do for today. We'll resume tomorrow," he said.

Then, fixing his gaze on Beatrice, he continued in a measured tone, "But tonight, you remain for a preliminary trial—a test of the fundamentals of our division's operations."

He gestured toward a nearby console displaying a streamlined interface. "Your task is straightforward: verify the calibration of the photonic spectrometer array. Ensure its readings conform to our established baselines, then log the data accurately. Think of it as confirming the basics—the foundation upon which all our advanced analyses depend."

His expression grew sterner. "Any missteps won't just set you back—they'll reflect on me as well. But I've no doubt you'll handle yourself just fine."

After a brief pause, he offered a warm, encouraging smile. "Good luck, Beatrice—you can do this."

Ray stepped into the elevator, pressing a biometric panel with his thumb. A soft chime, then rapid descent.

He barely felt the motion—magnetic acceleration made it near-instantaneous.

Floors blurred past on the digital display, and within seconds, he reached the ground level.

The doors whispered open, revealing the polished expanse of the ASA lobby.

He moved toward the exit, but just as he neared the glass doors, a figure stepped into his path.

Ray halted. Immediately, his posture shifted—straightening, hands clasping instinctively behind his back.

"Mr. Ford," he said, lifting his chin up slightly. "A surprise, but never an unwelcome one. Something the matter?"

The man before him, Gregory Ford, was a veteran of the ASA—nearing fifty, but with the physique of a man who never truly stopped working. His grey-streaked hair was neatly combed back, his sharp eyes piercing into Ray.

"Mr. Godfrey," Ford said evenly, "I apologize for delaying you, but I need you at Headquarters. Our chief scientist has reported something... unusual."

Ray tensed. Ford did not use words like unusual lightly.

"... Could—could this not have been sent as a message?" He hesitated, glancing at his watch. "I need to return to my wife before nightfall—"

"I don't want any chance of my message being intercepted." Ford's voice was firm, final.

Ray exhaled slowly, then gave a single nod.

He allowed a brief, knowing smile before turning sharply on his heel. "Come."

Together, they crossed the lobby and stepped into another lift. This one was different—restricted access, destination locked.

The moment the doors sealed, the floor rose beneath them, a sensation of controlled velocity. The ascent was smooth, but the sheer speed was undeniable.

Headquarters sat at the very top of the ASA complex. As the lift doors opened, Ray took a step inside—a stark, functional space, walls lined with high-resolution displays streaming real-time data from deep-space observation arrays.

The lighting was subdued, designed to reduce eye strain during long hours of work. Desks curved seamlessly into integrated consoles, and a window overlooked the distant sprawl of buildings.

In the center of the room, a small office stood encased in reinforced glass. And inside, slumped over a cluttered desk, sat the head scientist.

Dr. Elias Monroe.

Ray had known him for years. He was not an excitable man. Yet even from a distance, it was clear—something had shaken him.

Ford strode forward and knocked twice on the office window. Monroe jumped, rubbing his temples before hurriedly ushering them in.

The office was dimly lit, paper notes scattered among holographic readouts. Monroe barely spared a greeting before diving straight in.

"I assume you've already briefed him?" he asked Ford, voice tight with exhaustion.

"Not yet." Ford folded his arms, giving Monroe space to explain.

The scientist exhaled sharply, nodding to himself as if ordering his thoughts. Then, he turned to Ray.

"We picked up something in deep space—an anomaly. A signal, rhythmic. But it doesn't match any known pattern—JX-914, I would guess."

Ray's brow furrowed. "JX-914?"

Monroe tapped a few keys on his console. A star map flickered on, pinpointing a location far beyond mapped territory.

"Interstellar void," Monroe muttered. "No planets. No pulsars. Nothing but vacuum."

He rubbed his jaw, shaking his head. "And yet, we detected something. Which raises the question... how could we still detect something that far away?"

Silence.

Ray stared at the data, mind already turning over possibilities.

A spark lit his eyes.

Mission Log – Sol 15

Designation: Erebus-1

Commander: Dr. Ray Godfrey

Location: Interstellar Void, en route to Origin Point Theta

"Telemetry remains stable. However, new readings confirm a shift in the pulse periodicity—now precisely 1.00 seconds. Signal intensity has increased by 14.7%. No detectable source. No gravitational anomalies. No energy signatures beyond the pulse itself.

Conclusion: Phenomenon remains unaccounted for. Adjusting course for continued observation."

Personal Notes:

"There is something about it. The way it settles into my bones—like a second heartbeat. I feel it even when the instruments are silent. Faint, but present.

I've noticed a lingering nausea, nothing severe, but distinct. Whether it's psychological or something more, I can't yet say.

Regardless, the work continues.

[aerassault0108]

Pᴜʟsᴇ: Bʏ Aᴇʀᴀssᴀᴜʟᴛ𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟾

Chapter One: “Erebus-1”

Dr. Ray Godfrey's eyes opened. Darkness weighed on him. The artificial shadow of a spacecraft interior, dimly lit by the cold glow of status monitors. His breath came slow and controlled. His mind sluggish, still coming to from the sedatives used for long-duration cryosleep.

He flexed his fingers. Stiff. That was normal. He had read the manuals, the countless papers on muscle atrophy and synaptic lag. Even now, a year after leaving Earth, the human body still revolted against its own survival. But Erebus-1 had been designed for this, as had he.

A soft chime rang through the cabin.

Cryosleep cycle completed. Core systems nominal. Life support stabilizing.

The words scrolled across the HUD of his visor and echoed in the gentle mechanical voice of the onboard AI. His eyes flicked over the data feeds:

• CO2 scrubbers functional

• Radiation shielding holding at 98.3% efficiency

• Fusion reactor output stable

No anomalies. No surprises.

He reached for the harness securing him to the cryopod, wincing as blood rushed sluggishly through his limbs. His body felt foreign, a thing still caught between centuries of stasis and the present moment.

With a practiced motion, he released the restraints and floated up out of the cryopod.

The first thing he did was check the windows.

Beyond the reinforced portholes, there was nothing. No planets. No moons. Not even the distant pinpricks of ships.

Good.

He had trained for this. The silence, the solitude, he had long since made peace with them. There was no greater honor than to be the first to study Origin Point Theta. Whatever awaited him, he would face it with the mind of a scientist.

Dr. Godfrey exhaled slowly. He reached for the terminal, bringing up the long-range scans.

Theta awaited.

Mission Log – Sol 1

Designation: Erebus-1

Commander: Dr. Ray Godfrey

Location: Interstellar Void, Sector JX-914, 0.3 LY from Origin Point Theta

    "Telemetry remains nominal. No gravitational anomalies detected. Pulse periodicity remains fixed at 1.470 seconds, originating from sector JX-914. No observable mass displacement, no heat signatures, no electromagnetic interference.

Conclusion: The source of the phenomenon remains unaccounted for. Continuing analysis."

New London, 2122—Before Departure

The soft hum of the electrostatic lamps flickers against the paneled walls. Papers sprawl across the mahogany desk, their edges curling with static ink. A holographic interface hovers beside them, equations blinking in pale blue, half-solved, though not abandoned.

Ray muttered, half-speaking, half-thinking aloud.

"No, no... a rounding error—ah, but the coefficient, it resists—" He swipes at the interface, dismissing a failed derivation. "Newtonian models fail here. Minkowski space, yes, but the metric tensor—" A sharp exhale. Fingers to his temple. "Damn it. Again."

His gaze flickers across the data streams, hands tapping against his arm.

"Two-point-nine-seven times ten to the eighth... constant, unwavering. And yet—" he frowned, eyes narrowing. "All things decay, save light itself. But why?"

A pause. His hand tightens around the stylus.

"A foolish thought. The universe does not yield so easily."

And yet, the thought lingers—

"Ray?"

He did not turn at first. The voice was soft, and patient.

"Ray, love, it's past noon."

His fingers hesitated over the interface. He takes a slow breath.

Thomason stood in the doorway, hands folded neatly, watching him with the kind of knowing gaze that came from years of marriage.

"Just a moment."

"No, now. You've been at this since morning." A pause, then: "Come along, before the soup gets cold."

He lingered. One last glance at the data stream—but she was waiting. Slowly, he dismissed the projection. The equations faded, but the thoughts remained.

He turned to her, and his expression softened—though distant in a way he did not realize.

She smiled and linked her arm with his.

"I swear, one of these days, I shall lock you out of this room."

They walk the carpeted hall—Ray with a confident stride, and Thomason with a smooth glide—and down the staircase together, their steps soft against the old flooring.

Beyond the window, the city's artificial sky pulsed with the faint shimmer of the weather dome, filtering the midday light over the high-rises of New London.

"The reports say the fighting in the south has worsened," Thomason murmured. "More deployments."

A pause, then, lighter, "I wonder how Mother fares these days."

Her fingers fidgeted at her side.

Ray glanced down, caught the motion, and clasped her hand gently. "No cause for worry."

With that, they entered the kitchen.

The space had never been about appearances. No polished marble countertops, no sleek, modern features—save the induction stove and a few upgraded appliances.

Just warm wooden cabinets, a sturdy farmhouse sink, and the same chipped ceramic mugs Thomason had sworn had "character."

The scent of simmering broth drifted through the kitchen as Thomason moved with ease, ladling a portion into a ceramic bowl.

The kettle chimed softly.

Ray took his seat at the kitchen table, its surface worn by years of absentminded tapping and scattered notes. He adjusted his sleeves as he settled in.

She placed the bowl before him, followed by a cup of freshly brewed tea.

Ray wasted no time. His fingers curled around the cup, and in one swift motion, he drank deeply. The warmth spread through him—refreshing, grounding.

Thomason folded her arms, watching. A smile ghosted over her lips, though a faint crease lined her brow.

"You might've asked me for a cup earlier, you know."

Ray set the empty cup down with a quiet clink. He exhaled, content. "Mm."

Thomason shook her head, half amused.

"You'd sit up there all day without food or drink if I let you." She placed a spoon beside his bowl and took her seat. "Eat."

Ray obliged, though his mind, ever restless, still lingered in the study, somewhere among the numbers.

Thomason set down her spoon, fingers resting lightly against the rim of her bowl. "I know your work is important," she said. "Your... science group, I—"

"The Astronomic Science Authority," Ray corrected.

She waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, that. I don't doubt its importance, Ray, but you vanish into that study for days, chasing after something invisible. Even in the dead of night, I hear you pacing."

Ray leaned back, setting his spoon down as well. "There are problems in this world—problems that do not yield easily. But yield they must." He glances at the window, where the light beamed. "If a question presents itself, it is my duty to answer it."

Thomason held his gaze for a moment before sighing, shaking her head with a small, knowing smile. "And what of questions that have no answer?"

Ray's lips quirked, just slightly. "All things yield, eventually."

Morning light crept through the sheer curtains of their bedroom, casting soft shadows upon the polished floor. Ray stood before the mirror, adjusting his suit jacket and smoothing his shirt with practiced precision.

On his bedside terminal, the ASA message—delivered in the late hours of the previous night—remained displayed in crisp text:

"Dr. Ray Godfrey, your immediate presence is requested at the Astronomic Science Authority headquarters. A new intern has been assigned to your division. As the preeminent expert in our station, your guidance is indispensable. Report forthwith."

A subtle thrill sparked in Ray. He tapped the screen, scrolling through the message once more as if to commit every word to memory.

With his tie now knotted, Ray moved to the window, his gaze lingering on the controlled bustle of the domed city below.

Then, with one final glance at the meticulously arranged room, he gathered his belongings and descended the stairs.

In the kitchen, the aroma of bacon mingled with freshly brewed tea. Thomason, at the table, set down a small plate of food. "Are you off now?" she asked.

Ray took his seat. "Yes, dear—a new intern has been assigned to my division. I am to provide guidance," he replied. He sipped his tea, then began to eat.

Thomason settled across from him, resting her head lightly on her hand. "You must be quite pleased with that."

"Indeed—though I trust they will prove at least tolerable in conversation," Ray remarked with a slight, wry smile.

Thomason returned a gentle smirk. "Not everyone can converse solely in lectures, Ray."

A chuckle escaped him, then resumed his meal.

After a pause, Thomason murmured, almost absentmindedly, "Lately, I've had the strangest feeling in my stomach."

Ray looked up. "What do you mean?"

"I do not know exactly—it is but a vague feeling. Perhaps it is nothing," she said, hesitating.

Ray set his plate aside and looked for a reason. "It might be a minor fluctuation in ambient pressure. The dome's regulation is efficient, yet not entirely flawless."

Thomason exhaled softly and shook her head with a knowing smile. "You always have an explanation ready."

Ray smiled, then rose from the table. "Well, I must be off now. Love you, dear." He leaned in to kiss her.

Thomason returned the kiss and squeezed his hand gently. "Don't be out too long."

Stepping toward the door, he added, "I shall return before you miss me—give or take a year."

With that, he opened the door and departed.

Mission Log – Sol 9

Designation: Erebus-1

Commander: Dr. Ray Godfrey

Location: Interstellar Void, en route to Origin Point Theta

"Telemetry remains nominal. Vessel trajectory stable; all onboard systems functioning within expected parameters. Pulse periodicity—previously unwavering at 1.47 seconds—ceased entirely for a duration of one hour, fifty-seven minutes, and twenty-two seconds before resuming without explanation. No detectable external interference. No gravitational shifts, no anomalies in reactor output or shielding integrity. And yet, for nearly two hours, it was gone.

Conclusion: The source remains unaccounted for.

Personal Note: The instruments recorded nothing unusual during the silence. No deviations, no disruptions—only absence. And yet, I felt it. A gap where something should have been. A space carved out of time itself. And now that it has returned, it feels... different, as though it has noticed me in turn. It does not press upon the hull, nor stir the vacuum, yet in the pit of my stomach, I sense it growing.

I shall increase biometric monitoring.