She cut the channel and set a new course. Not toward the salvage vessel. Not toward the nearest spaceport. Toward the relay station on Titan, where a journalist was waiting for proof of the ATID cover-up.
"Min… don’t come. They told me it was a salvage run. It’s not. The company… ATID… they’re using us to map the gravitational anomalies. They knew the star was going to collapse. Don't let them wipe the logs. Tell everyone. 47-44 is the proof. I love—" ATID-60202-47-44 Min
47 degrees, 44 minutes.
"ATID-60202-47-44," she whispered into her suit’s comm, overriding the safety locks with a bypass code she’d spent six months stealing. "Min, initiating solo EVA." She cut the channel and set a new course
Behind her, the dead star pulsed a silent, red warning. Ahead, a single figure in a worn-out suit drifted toward the truth, carrying a twelve-second ghost and a coordinate that was no longer just a code. Toward the relay station on Titan, where a
Min detached the data core and placed it in a shielded pouch over her heart. Then she activated her suit’s long-range transmitter.