Edmund's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes—a calculation, a reassessment. He glanced toward Commander Voss, who was still focused on the communication attempts, then back to Augustus.
"I don't know what hit us, Dr. Foster," Edmund said quietly, his voice steady and measured. "But I know my superiors will want answers before they authorize any decisions about how to proceed."
It wasn't an answer. It was a deflection wrapped in partial honesty, the kind of statement that acknowledged nothing while revealing everything through its careful construction.
Augustus leaned back from the terminal, studying the military liaison more carefully. Edmund's composure was too practiced, his responses too calibrated. This man had been trained to operate in crisis situations, to maintain control when everything around him was fracturing. But there was something else—a tension in his shoulders, a tightness around his mouth that suggested Edmund was carrying information he'd been ordered not to share.
"Your superiors," Augustus repeated. "Not the government. Not the military command structure. Someone else."
Edmund's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "You're making assumptions based on limited data, Doctor. That's not scientific."
"No," Augustus agreed. "But it's observational. And right now, observation is all I have."
Before Edmund could respond, one of the technicians suddenly called out. "We've got something! Weak signal from section three!"
The command center fell silent. Every monitor, every console seemed to lean toward that single communication station as the technician adjusted frequencies and amplified the signal. Static dominated the speaker, but beneath it—faint, fragmented, but unmistakably human—was a voice.
"...station... can anyone... hear..." The voice cut through the static, then dissolved back into white noise. "...impact... something came through... we're..."
Then silence.
Commander Voss was already moving toward the communication station. "Keep trying. Boost the signal. Get me a lock on their location."
Augustus felt relief wash through him, followed immediately by a deeper concern. Zoey, David, and James were alive. Or at least they had been moments ago. But the fragmented nature of their transmission, the fear underlying those few coherent words—it suggested they'd experienced something catastrophic.
Edmund had stepped back from the terminal, his attention now fully on the communication station. His hand had instinctively moved toward the secure communication device at his belt, but he'd stopped himself, maintaining the appearance of focused attention on the rescue effort.