When the shudder stopped, they were no longer in their galaxy. Outside the viewport, a seventh star – not a star at all, but a skeletal hand the size of a gas giant – slowly uncurled its fingers. Each digit was a ringed space station. Billions of lights flickered in the knuckles.
Kael reached for the emergency purge.
Lena stared at the terminal. The diagnostic readout was clean. The fuel cells were full. The cryo-pods were green across the board. 7sttarhd.ing
Kael snorted. “Seven star hard ing? That’s nonsense.”
“That’s not a star,” she whispered. “That’s not anything.” When the shudder stopped, they were no longer
“It’s a phonetic password,” she said suddenly. “Old Earth typing shorthand. ‘Seven star hard ing.’”
Too late. The hand closed.
And on Lena’s screen, the string changed to: