Weeks bled into months as the Arbor carved its path through the darkness between galaxies. The initial wonder of streaking stars and cosmic phenomena had faded into familiar background—mesmerizing light shows now just wallpaper for their journey into the unknown.
In the research lab, Emma Forrest hunched over her workstation, surrounded by a constellation of holographic displays. Her reflection ghosted across the glass containment unit where WoodDust samples pulsed with their own internal rhythm—like heartbeats in amber. Three different samples, three distinct patterns, all synchronized to something she couldn't yet comprehend.
"What are you trying to tell me?" she whispered, adjusting the molecular scanner. Her father's journal lay open beside her, his faded handwriting visible: *The green speaks if we listen correctly*. Words that once seemed like poetic ramblings now felt prophetic.
The ship's artificial day cycle had shifted to evening, but time had become abstract out here—measured in data points and distance rather than sunrises. Emma rubbed her eyes, feeling the subtle weight of responsibility settle deeper into her shoulders with each passing day.
The lab door whispered open as Chloe entered, bringing with her the scent of the ship's recirculated air and a steaming mug. Without a word, she placed it at Emma's elbow—their ritual after all these years.
"Anything new?" Chloe asked, leaning against the workbench, violet hair now grown longer and braided tightly against her scalp.
Emma gestured toward the pulsing samples. "The resonance patterns are changing the farther we travel. As if responding to something we can't detect yet." She took a sip from the mug—not coffee, but a herbal substitute that had become standard as supplies stretched thin. "It's like watching a compass needle slowly turn."
Chloe studied the patterns, analytical mind processing the implications. "Toward our mystery signal?"
"Possibly." Emma's fingers traced the edge of her father's journal. "He always said WoodDust wasn't just energy—it was communication."
The silence between them carried the weight of months in deep space—comfortable, earned.
"The crew's holding up," Chloe finally said, shifting topics. "But they need something more than just forward momentum."
Emma nodded, understanding the unspoken concern. Leadership wasn't just about direction—it was about purpose. "Schedule a full briefing tomorrow. They deserve to know everything we've learned."
---
The mess hall had been transformed from utilitarian feeding space to something resembling a gathering place. Small touches—photographs from Earth, repurposed equipment turned into art pieces, even plants cultivated from seeds in the hydroponics bay—created an illusion of home.
Captain Maya Rodriguez settled across from Emma, her plate containing the same nutrient-dense food as everyone else's, though nobody complained anymore. They'd all adapted.
"Six months in the void," Maya said without preamble, her military directness unchanged by their journey. "That's a long chase for what might be nothing."
Emma met her gaze steadily. "The signal's getting stronger. Whatever it is, we're closing in."
Maya nodded, not arguing the point but concerned with practicalities. "The crew respects you, Emma. They'll follow you into a black hole if you asked. But that kind of loyalty comes with responsibility."
"I know." Emma's voice softened. "Adewale taught me that."
The mention of the General's name silenced them both momentarily, his absence still a presence among those who had served with him.
Liam joined them, data tablet in hand even during meals. His boundless enthusiasm had matured into focused determination during their journey.
"The signal's frequency modulations have stabilized," he reported, sliding the tablet toward Emma. "It's definitely artificial—complex patterns that repeat with mathematical precision."
Emma studied the waveforms, something in their rhythm oddly familiar. "Not Zogarian?"
"Definitely not," Liam confirmed. "Their communication uses quantum encryption. This is... older somehow. More fundamental."
Emma's pulse quickened. *Communication*. Her father's word echoed again.
That night, alone in her quarters, Emma returned to her father's journal, studying the passages she'd read countless times before. His final entries before disappearance spoke of "the green network" and "cosmic mycelia"—connections between worlds through something ancient and living.
As sleep finally claimed her, the Arbor continued its relentless journey forward, carrying its crew deeper into the void—toward a call that only Emma truly believed was worth answering.