Control was a round-faced woman with close-cropped brown hair, sitting at a console and wearing a deep green uniform with golden piping. She frowned, her eyes flicking to the side, no doubt to a superior or another console. “Ark,” she said, “state your homeworld. State your homeworld and your business, please

The transmission was coming from the chief land-mass. The Ark tapped into it. At the same time, it found the ship that was moving toward them—there was only one—and flashed it on another screen