The Captain's Dilemma
The bridge reeks of scorched ozone and fear. Captain Vance grips the brass railing of the scrying-glass, his knuckles white as bone. "Look," he rasps, and you do.
Within the comet's milky depths, a slow violet pulse throbs like a heartbeat. The auditory horn crackles with rhythmic clicks — patterned, deliberate, mechanical. Something inside that ice is awake, and it knows you are here.
Vance turns to you, his eyes hollow. "First Engineer. The choice is yours. I cannot make it."