The mining moon's automated beacons had been spitting out weird signals for weeks. At first, the techs thought it was just leftover progenitor junk activating randomly. Then the patterns sharpened.
A directed pulse shot out into deep space, repeating every few hours. Aiden stood on the bridge of the Ironseed flagship, arms crossed, watching the holographic display track the signal's path.
"Whatever it is, it's not random," Catherine said. She leaned over the console, golden hair tied back in a practical knot. "It's a homing beacon. Strong enough to cut through three sectors."
Sabrina grinned from the pilot station, red hair loose and wild. "Good. I'm bored of patrols. Let it bring something interesting."
It did. Forty-eight hours later, long-range scans picked up the fleet. Dozens of sleek, modular ships with jagged solar sails and rotating habitat rings.
