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“My queen, we cannot lose you,” Phara implored, desperation swimming in his eyes.

“I know, but please let me try.” She had no clue about missiles and was still reeling from its mere presence here, but she was going to do her damnedest.

Phara hesitantly walked back to the missile, despite Bellator’s objectionable growl, and reluctantly set her on her feet. Again, she looked at the display panel with the very disturbing countdown. Was it simply a display?

Please God, she sent up a prayer as she reached out and touched the lower left corner, the way she would’ve engaged the touchscreen on her PA at home. Isa nearly had a heart attack when the countdown disappeared.

“Did you fix it?” Bellator asked over her right shoulder.

“No. It’s still beeping.” As she was shaking her head no, the symbol requesting a fingerprint appeared. “But it didn’t blow up.” She grimaced at him.

The big teddy bear did not smile back at her. He was not amused. She couldn’t blame him. Isa turned back to the display screen and pressed her index finger to the symbol.

“Isabella Marie Laurent, one hundred and thirty-fourth crewman of the United Federation vessel Manifest, what are your instructions?” the computer droned.

Isa let out the breath she was holding, her shoulders slumping in relief.

“It’s making the same twitters as our queen,” Artifex commented as he watched over her left shoulder.

“But I don’t understand any of it.” Phara shook his head, also hovering nearby, making her beyond nervous.

“Shh please. It’s asking me what to do.” She waved at them to hush.

“I did not understand. Please repeat your instructions,” the computer stated, responding to the wrong conversation.

“Halt launch,” she quickly said.

“Unable to comply.”

“Stop the countdown,” she tried.

“Unable to comply.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“You are not authorized to halt the sequence,” the computer informed her with its disturbingly pleasant voice, considering the dire circumstances.

“Well, what the fuck can I do?” Isa tossed her hands up in frustration. Why the hell was she even programmed into the damn thing?

“In an emergency, you are authorized to delay the sequence,” the computer stated.

Two buttons appeared on the missile display; delay and resume. Swiftly she hit ‘delay countdown.’

“Initiating an emergency delay,” the computer declared, as Isa stared hopefully at it. The countdown flickered. “One hour until detonation.” The large numbers reappeared on display.

They’d gained a whopping ten minutes. What the hell good was that going to do them?

“Fuck!” she screamed, then her head dropped forward and her shoulders slumped.

“You tried. Please let us take you back to the hive,” Phara urged.

“I only delayed it,” she explained.

“It is more time to get you to safety.” Artifex tried to put a positive spin on her inability to help.

“We probably wouldn’t make it back to the hive in that time,” she informed the alphas, since they had no clue how short an hour was.

Phara paled, Bellator clenched his jaw, and Artifex rubbed a worried hand over his face.