Captain Eira Lennox never wanted the command. She was third in line for the Odysseus project, and the only one to survive launch day. The others? Lost to politics, sabotage, and fire. Now the ship drifted at the edge of mapped space, its AI quietly calculating a route home… or somewhere else.

She stood in the observation dome, watching the binary suns fade behind a dust field thick enough to confuse sensors. Her crew—what was left of them—busied themselves with minor tasks. Some out of duty. Some to avoid each other.

Yesterday, the crewman from Deck 4 reported a door opening by itself in the hydroponics bay. The AI claimed no log of the event. Today, that crewman was gone. Left a note: *”I’m going to find the singing. I think it’s calling to me.”

Lennox closed her eyes and whispered to herself, “It’s too early for madness. Or too late for reason.”

The AI chirped softly. “Incoming transmission detected. Unidentified language. Attempting to translate.”

Everyone on the ship had grown used to silence. No one expected a voice to answer.