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Daccia considers this. His fingers tap against the console, like they always do when he's deep in thought. Then, he growls:

"No – there’s no point. All my readings check out.”

He turns in his seat – our leader’s slate-grey eyes locked on us.

“It doesn't make sense,” Daccia growls. “The Orb-Drive malfunctions we’ve heard about - they always occurduringthe shift. It’s not aninabilityto shift.”

He turns back to study the readouts.

“Something else is at work,” Daccia murmurs. “Enemy activity, possibly – like a remote shift jammer.” He glances up. “AI – give me a scan of nearby space. Maybe that human we stole Allie from, Spur, was foolish enough to follow us after all.”

His eyes turn to Hadrian, still standing over us.

“Back to stations!”

Hadrian sits back down. His aura shifts from confusion to eager energy. I’ve always swallowed down my weaker emotions – fear and anxiety. Hadrian shifts their focus instead; using them as fuel to charge his concentration.

Huge hands gripping the handle of the Orb-Cannon, Hadrian scans the empty space beyond the viewport – searching for any sign of a ship that might be jamming our Orb-Drive.

My own targeting reticule dips and darts over dead space, scanning every meter of it. I’m ready to turn any opponents into dust and meat…

At the same time, three probes shoot out from our Reaver – arcing off into space around us. Our AI system will use the probes to search space for any sign of enemy contact – a cloaked ship, emission trails, or an energy signature – even as we continue flying away from the planet we’d stolen Allie from.

We might not be able to Orb-Shift – but we’ll still put as much distance between us and that planet as we can.

Ten minutes pass. There's not a single ship in my line of view – not even a harmless cargo ship on its way to the planet we’ve just left.

Daccia snaps his fingers, as if suddenly having a flash of inspiration.

"AI – show video feed of the punishment brig, ten seconds before Orb-Shift initiation."

A three-dimensional hologram shimmers into existence between the three of us – a feed from the brig in which Allie is imprisoned.

Suddenly, not a single one of us is scanning space anymore. Instead, we’re watching the digital recreation of Allie.

The moment before we attempted to Orb-Shift, the three-dimensional video recording shows her reaching to her left arm, pressing something…

…and smiling.

It hits me instantly.

"She has a shift-blocker – embedded in her own flesh!"

Hadrian growls: "She'll suffer for this. Punishment rations for a week."

The thought of Allie being forced to eat dried, flavorless rations angers me. I don't know why. For some reason, I don't look at her like she’s just some unruly prisoner, the same as all the others my triad has rounded up during our career with Law Enforcement.

No, Allie is different – and as cunning as she clearly is, I feel a great responsibility for her.