The tracking data readout on the main inner wall of the Argo-Vanguard flickered with a solitary, unchanging constant: Outer Speed: 0.12C | DISTANCE FROM SUN: 42.8 AU | Nearby Heat: 2.87 Degrees of star-heat.
Beyond the three-ply quartz armoring of the watching deck, the solar system had thinned into a black glass grave. The sun was no longer a living hearth. It had collapsed to a brilliant, cruel needle-prick of white diamond pinned against the void, casting long, razor-edged shadows across the cargo bay. Out here past Neptune, the solar wind died against the Kuiper barrier, replaced by the dead wash of intergalactic heat wave and the phantom pressure of the Outer Dark.
Following the wild intercept run at the edge of the Kuiper belt, the battered assault corvette Aethelgard had safely completed its docking maneuver back with the flagship Argo-Vanguard. He locked securely into the ventral umbilical cradles. Below in the backup hangar decks, Chief Szabo and Kira were already hard at work overseeing heavy engine retrofits and heavy coolant pipe hub overhauls. Meanwhile, Toby Miller resumed his main pack support duties, restocking pharmaceutical stores and running nutritional tracking data in the forward commissary.
Arthur Vance sat on an overturned magnesium crate near the main heating channel. A brass-plated heat mug was resting between his palms. He wore his heavy padded razor-sharp duster over his high-pressure combat skins, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearm bracers scarred by acid burns from the solar corona campaign. Around his neck hung…
