Elena reached into the med-kit Velcroed to her thigh. Her fingers found the auto-injector of synthetic neural accelerant—a black-market drug she’d confiscated from a crewman on Cycle 2. It was a ghost in a needle. It could mimic neural firing patterns, overwrite her own synapses for a few precious seconds.
“Captain Webb is deceased,” she said, her voice hollow. surge 9 login
A long silence. The red light stopped pulsing. Elena reached into the med-kit Velcroed to her thigh
The Odysseus was dying. Elena could feel it in the arrhythmic thrum of the hull, the groaning of metal that had been her home for eleven subjective years. A micrometeoroid swarm had punched through the forward observation deck six hours ago, and with it went the primary command node. The backup systems had kicked in, but they were running on a ghost’s logic. It could mimic neural firing patterns, overwrite her
“Ship,” she said, changing tactics. “Who am I?”
“Surge 9 Login,” she said. “Authorization: Captain Marcus Webb. Neural signature: Omega-7-4-1.”
She plunged it into her carotid artery.
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