7
“Very nice,” Jack murmured, stubby finger playing over the sleek form of the ship schematic, the holo shimmering a little from the disturbance. We were in the command centre, me wrapped in a foil blanket, sipping something warm and sweet from the beaker Lucy had handed me. To my surprise Jack had returned the neural interface and it was a relief to find Markov hadn’t felt the need to add any more firewalls to his hack, so shutting off the countdown hadn’t been a challenge.
“Attack ship,” Lucy surmised as I fumbled over a response. Markov’s ministrations had left me a little speech deprived. “See the missile launchers on the prow and the stern?” she went on. “Haven’t seen anything like it before though.”
“They c-call it a Wraith class assault c-cruiser,” I stammered, calling up the spe
