“You think I should lock you up?” he asks.
“I think you should control variables,” I reply.
“And you’re a variable.”
“Yes.”
He considers that briefly, then turns back to the projection. “Then stay where I can see you,” he says.
That is not containment.
That is something closer to assessment.
The ship shifts under my feet, the hum deepening as power redistributes, and I feel it in the subtle tilt of the floor as systems adjust.
“Contact in range,” someone calls.
“Shields?” Tyrok asks.
“Stable.”
“Weapons?”
“Ready.”
I shift my position slightly, aligning myself so I can see the projection without disrupting anyone else’s line of sight. The display resolves into the form of another ship, smaller but aggressive, its trajectory cutting directly toward us without hesitation.
“They’re not scanning,” I say.
No one answers immediately.
“They’re committing,” I add.
“Yeah,” one of them replies. “We noticed.”
Tyrok glances at me briefly, then back at the display. “Let them,” he says.
The words settle differently than I expect, not as a reaction but as a decision made before the moment required it.
The first impact hits, sending a jolt through the ship that travels up through the floor and into my body. The sound follows a fraction later, deep and resonant, echoing through the structure.
“Shields holding,” someone reports.
“Return fire?” another asks.
Tyrok does not answer immediately.
He watches.
The projection shifts, tracking movement, predicting trajectories, layering possibilities faster than I can fully process.
“Not yet,” he says.
Another impact hits, sharper this time, the vibration stronger, the air tightening with the release of energy.
“You’re letting them get closer,” I say.
“I’m letting them commit,” he replies.
