The signal died. Then the suit died. Even the hot air that had been blowing on her spiracles ceased. Lack of air wasn’t the issue. It would be the heat that killed her.

Feeling her body beginning to cook, she wrenched herself up the rack for a glimpse. The ship was five hundred paces away.

She pinged Home again. Nothing.

She took another look over the rack. A single, helmeted figure had come to stand in the shadow of the ship, motionless except for what looked like a... gown? Naecia dropped to the dirt and bellycrawled to the next line of pipe, then without looking back, quickly wrestled herself over and into the next column. The farther inside nine-zero-one that she got, perhaps the closer she’d be to a functioning stratosat.

HyRope: HyRope to Home, do you hear me? HyRope to Home.

Danger. Hostile ship. Landed. HyRope to Home!

“Naecia.”

She froze. It was a new voice. Clear. Calm. And coming through her implant, not her helmet.

“Naecia HyRope. I know you can hear me.” It was a beautiful voice, thick and confident. “There is no need for you to acknowledge, only to listen.”

Naecia was listening. Lying still. Breathing hot, stale air. Mind racing but still listening.

“My name is Asog Arrohauk. I am the captain of the Knell – the ship in front of you. You might have noticed it. Big, imposing.”

“What do you want?” Naecia whispered.

“Only access to the gifts of your mind.”

“Who are you?”

“A prospector of ideas,” said Arrohauk. “I help people understand who they are.”

The stifling air was clouding her perception. Naecia tried to clear her head. “And who is it you think I am?”

“You are a Stringer, Naecia,” she said.

“No thanks,” answered Naecia, continuing her desperate sun-dragon belly crawl over the parched ground, not knowing or caring what the term meant.

“I’m afraid that what you have is too valuable for me to pass up.” This was punctuated by the muted sound of a shot being fired.

Naecia grunted. “What do I have that is so valuable?”

“Hindsight.”

A small cylinder thumped into the dirt just off her shoulder.

CHAPTER FIVE

I gasped a little, careful this time not to breathe cookie crumbs into my lungs. Was it as simple as asking him to explain? I didn’t want to screw this up.

>O)))<<Flyguy: Can you tell me what it is? The Chime?

>O)))<<Flyguy: What is it?

>O)))<<Flyguy: ?

>O)))<<Flyguy: Dude.

I sat there and waited. A minute went by (eons in internet-reply-time). Then another. After five more minutes, I broke open a second column of cookies. I’m usually a one-cookie-column-a-night guy, but all bets are off if I get stressed out. I refreshed the screen. He finally responded.

EarthrBro_99: I won’t say it on here.

>O)))<<Flyguy: Why?

EarthrBro_99: Too dangerous.

>O)))<<Flyguy: You can’t just throw it out there that you know what the Chime is and then not tell me. Guarantee you whoever you’re afraid of isn’t hanging out in the Deja Who sub forum of this stupid website.