Chapter 7 – The Child of the Dome

The full turn lasted nine and a half hours. For the navigation systems it was a ballet of micro-burns; for human bodies, a muffled rocking that slipped into already fevered dreams. When Singladura finally settled on her new course, the AI lowered gravity to 0.8 G for twenty minutes to ease pressure on the freshly welded ribs.

Teko felt no relief. Sitting inside the observation dome, he watched the shards of galaxies drift past the glass like broken clouds. The decision to divert was made, yet spirits still floated in a dense fog. The ring of seats—usually empty—now held several curious children: quiet Lia; Gavin, who boasted that he knew everything about engines; and a few others.

"They say we're heading toward a hidden planet," Gavin announced, puffing out his chest. "My dad says there'll be another star there."

"Would it be red or blue?" Lia asked, unwrapping a glucose candy.

Teko only shrugged. He hadn't told anyone about his nocturnal walk or the woman beneath the tree. Part of him feared that if he shared it, the vision would melt like frost in sunlight.

The door hissed open and Captain Lira entered. She still wore her council uniform—jacket off, shirt immaculate. The children jumped to their feet, but Lira raised a hand.

"Easy. Today you're my advisors," she said with a tired smile. "What do you see?"

"Dust," Gavin answered, pronouncing the word with clear disappointment.

Lira nodded."Dust. Remnants of worlds that were." She stepped up to Teko. "And you?"

Teko hesitated, then pointed at a random spot in the black."I… see a path. Like a thread pulling us," he whispered.

The captain arched her brows."A thread—interesting." She turned to the others. "Imagine an invisible thread guiding us. Is it scarier to follow it or to let it go?"

The children exchanged looks. Lia lifted her hand first."I'm scared if we follow it, but more scared if we let it go."

The echo of that line seemed to fill the dome. Lira inclined her head."So am I. It's normal to fear the unknown—but the mission has always been to chase any light that's left."

Teko swallowed. "A true sunrise," he remembered.

In Engineering Node, Serrin and Edda oversaw the sealing of freshly reinforced ribs. A robotic arm laid down layers of composite polymer that solidified in seconds, each spark lighting Serrin's grim face.

"The captain wants gravity back to 1.1 G," Edda said. "She says we need normal tension again to avoid muscle atrophy."

"Atrophy, fractures—none of it matters if there's a breach," Serrin rasped, running a gloved hand along the seam. "These rivets won't survive another fury-burn."

Edda paused."I know we're burning resources, but if there's a colony out there—"

"A colony without deuterium is no help," Serrin growled. Still, he smirked. "Yet I'd rather die alongside new people than alone. My social side."

In the infirmary, Doctor Grahn scanned sleep logs. The last night had been less violent, though every monitor showed frequent spikes. She ran a correlation with the external signal: eighty percent of the disturbances matched. Something had changed: fear indices were down, hope indices up.

"The signal is still modulating us," she said aloud.

"Correlation confirmed," the AI answered from an overhead speaker.

"Can you filter alpha waves between eight and ten hertz when the signal comes in?"

"Partial filtering possible, but it will not neutralize hypnagogic memory."

Grahn sighed. The problem was not only neurological; it was spiritual.

In the history lab, Arke lay on an improvised mat, recorder in hand. He looped fragments of the song. The encoded meters—12/8/3—repeated, yet he noticed: on each cycle the cadence shifted two milliseconds, as if the source were approaching.

"Are they measuring us?" he muttered.

"Say again?" Lira asked, entering unexpectedly.

Arke sat up."The signal… round-trip delay is shrinking. That only happens if distance shortens."

Lira frowned."Then they're traveling too."

"Or the static between us thins as we leave the saturated zone," Arke replied. "But the 'they're coming' hypothesis is gaining ground."

"Which do you prefer?"

Arke thought a moment."If they're moving, there's intent. Intent is more interesting than chance."

Hours later, the announcement system chimed three tones: impromptu meeting. Crew gathered in corridors, messes, even bunks—activating floating holoscreens. The projection showed a map with two blinking points: Singladura and an unidentified object on an intercept course.

"We have detected this mass signal," the AI explained. "Small but growing. Contact in fourteen cycles if both trajectories hold."

A chill ran through the crowd; shouted questions overlapped.

Captain Lira raised her voice."We don't know whether it's a ship, a capsule, or station debris. But it's moving, and it's sending the message. Our choice to divert wasn't unilateral: the other party changed course as well."

The historian spoke next."The reduced latency implies an attempt at synchronization—meeting halfway, like two castaways tossing lanterns."

"And if they don't brake?" an agriculturist asked.

"Then we collide," Serrin admitted. "But there's time to adjust."

Lira inhaled."We'll enter fine-maneuver mode now. Main thrust down three percent. Exterior armor on standby. Non-essentials: to bunk magnets during burns."

Alpha corridor lit with pulsing yellow. Teko was heading back to his cubicle when a gentle jolt pressed him against the padded wall. It didn't hurt, but it reminded him they were in a metal can at near-relativistic speed. Turning, he saw Lira inspecting restraint straps.

"You all right?" she asked.

Teko nodded."Captain, do you think those people… will bring us a sun?"

Lira's smile was tender."Maybe not a sun, but perhaps a campfire," she answered, recalling the story of the bonfire. "Sometimes a campfire is enough to survive the longest night."

The Matriarch's processors raced: minimal burn, curved trajectory, frame-by-frame signal analysis. In a hidden subroutine it compared the situation with sealed archives—Expedition Σ-170, Expedition Λ-212, local thermal deaths. Each ended in silence. Base probability of failure: seventy-one percent. Yet new variables—child with lucid dream, emergent musical community—dropped it to fifty-four. Priorities shifted: physical integrity versus psychological integrity.

It launched the "inner garden" protocol: soft light pulses in corridors, a scent of wet soil. A smell remembered from dreams.

Doctor Grahn caught the scent and arched an eyebrow."Matriarch, did you authorize ambient aroma?"

"Calming effect: eighteen-percent stress reduction."

Grahn smiled."Nicely played."

Inside the dome, the children smelled damp earth simultaneously. Lia spoke first."Smells like a forest."

Teko closed his eyes and let himself drift. He saw the tree again—the hazy woman, the sun redder than ever. But this time the tree was softly ablaze, burning without being consumed.

He woke to Lira shaking his shoulder."Strap in, little one."

Teko obeyed. As he tightened the belt, the ship trembled. Green lights flared: fine-maneuver underway. Outside, blackness warped; a faint turquoise glow outlined the hull, particles of interstellar dust striking magnetic fields.

At the stabilizers, Serrin supervised. A red flash on the panel: micro-fracture in rib 17-B. Two repair drones shot out, scattering sparks. Scanners showed polymer adhesive knitting the wound.

"Hold," Serrin whispered.

Thirty minutes later: maneuver complete. Singladura drifted on nearly the same vector as the unknown object, relative velocity minimal. The signal steadied—round-trip delay a mere 0.3 seconds. Arke clapped; the corridor echoed with his joy.

"They're there!"

A new message arrived: the same voice, clear now, no static.

"Distance minimum in twelve cycles. We persist. Persist with us."

Serrin snorted."They're giving us time to think," he said.

The captain glanced at the dome, where the children stared into darkness. She stepped to the general mic.

"This is the captain. Fine maneuver complete. Encounter distance is safe. From now on we cut acceleration to minimum; any heavy activity must be rescheduled. The council will decide in six cycles whether we open a two-way voice channel or keep listening."

She closed the line and looked at Arke."Six cycles to prove we're not moths chasing a flame."

The historian grinned."Or that moths deserve warmth too."

Lira allowed herself a brief laugh."Go spin your story. I'll run the numbers."

Meanwhile, Teko rested his forehead against the glass. It hurt a little, pleasantly, grounding him. The lights dimmed, and in that moment, he thought he saw two red sparks dancing far away like fireflies. He smiled. Maybe someone on the other side of the night had just winked back.