Chapter Three: The Signal in the Static

The bunker’s air tasted of ozone and blood. Tamm’s hands, slick with sweat, trembled over the vox-key as the final echoes of the Steadfast’s burst faded into silence. He’d done it. Someone knew. The weight of that knowledge pressed against his ribs, a faint warmth in the cold of the tomb. But the silence that followed was a living thing, clawing at the edges of his mind. He couldn’t stop. Not yet. He flicked the dial across the emergency bands, searching for anything—a whisper, a cough, a ghost on the wire. Sergeant Kross stumbled through the blast door, her lasgun slung, her face a mask of dried blood and soot. She leaned against the wall, breath ragged. “Tamm. The Navy has it. We’re done.” “No.” He didn’t look up. “Secundus went dark before we did. If there’s a survivor—if anyone else is out there—” “There isn’t.” Kross’s voice was flat, stripped of hope. “We held. That’s enough.” Before he could answer, the vox crackled. A burst of static, then a fragment of a voice: “…any station… this is Hive Quintus… we are under attack… please… Emperor protect…” The transmission dissolved into screeching feedback. Tamm’s eyes met Kross’s. She shook her head slowly, but he was already speaking into the mouthpiece, his voice raw as torn wire. “Hive Quintus, this is Vox-Officer Tamm, Hive Tertium—last surviving. You are not alone. I repeat, you are not alone. We held. You can too. Keep the signal alive. The Emperor watches.” Silence. Then a faint, broken reply: “Understood… Tertium. We hear you. We’ll… try.” Tamm leaned back, a grim smile touching his lips. “They heard us, Sergeant.” Kross stared at the crackling vox-caster, her hand gripping her lasgun tighter. “You’ve bought them a few minutes more.” “That’s all a vox is for,” Tamm whispered. “A few minutes more.” Outside, the grinding of claws on stone grew louder. They had time for one last broadcast.