Naecia’s teeth creaked from the pressure of clenching. She glared at the stringhunter. “Do you not know what the Chime actually does?”

“I’ve heard the same rumors as everyone else. A nihilistic weapon, a magical relic that can wipe out galaxies. Tales no doubt designed by one stringhunter to dissuade other stringhunters from pursuing candidates who might be able to find it. Misinformation is commonplace when valuable Stringers are floating about. It isn’t the first time someone has played the galactocalypse card.” They paused, placing hands on hips, then tilted their head thoughtfully. “Okay. So? What is it you think the Chime does?”

“Creates a cold spot, a big one.”

“And why would one want to create a cold spot?”

Naecia shrugged her shoulders mockingly.

“You think it’s to force a dimensional handshake?”

“What else?” she said.

“Hmm.”

“Everything dead in a million gilley radius, gone,” she said. “Existence. Gone.”

“Nullibiety,” said Aptat, describing the condition in a word. “That’s all very scary. Sounds a bit far-fetched, though, drawing dimensions together. Do you know what isn’t far-fetched? The Vortu, on their way to kill us. Literally right now.”

Naecia shook her head in disgust. “The crew of the Knell were hunting for Stringers with knowledge of the Chime too.”

“Unsurprising. Every stringhunter in the Dasma Arm has been looking for that Stringer since the Scythin put out the offer. I’m the one that found him.”

“And apparently the only one who didn’t fully understand what you were looking for. Captain Arrohauk knew what the Chime was. She had proof. Scoped images of the Timelance at Arusne.”

“Arusne is a supervoid that formed three billion years ago.”

“Well,” said Naecia, “three billion and one years ago, the Scythin were sitting right in the middle of it. If you had managed to salvage the scope logs from the Knell you could see it for yourself.”

“No need,” said Aptat, sweeping through menus on the console. “Arrohauk transmitted the images to our network. We’d all seen, and promptly ignored them.” The display came up showing a macrograph of pure black space labeled with specific coordinates. A second image taken at the same coordinates showed a robust starfield. The only difference was the timestamp. The second image had been captured several years earlier. Then there was a third image, taken at the same time as the second, at the same coordinates, only magnified by a few billion times. At its center was the Scythin ship, a wickedly spindle-shaped awl of black. Asog Arrohauk had referred to it as the Timelance, after what she believed to be its purpose: lancing spacetime.

Naecia shot back to her feet. “You have the images?” she exclaimed. “And you still handed over the Stringer?”

“You must be new to stringhunter subterfuge. Anytime we’re chasing down a new lead, we’re working just as hard to throw the competition off the scent. These macrographs are no different. Easily faked.”