She opens her mouth to speak, then stops. It takes her several attempts to form the words. “Shinso Maru, please respond. This is Outer Earth. Do you copy?” Nothing. Just static, ebbing and flowing. “Shinso Maru, can you hear me?” Her voice breaks on the last word, and she sits back, head bowed. This isn’t the first time she’s been in the Apex control room, and it’s not the first time she’s tried to find a sign that the asteroid catcher survived. Why should now be any different? She’s not going to hear from the Shinso. She’s not going to hear from anyone. Earth is silent–the last time any signal was picked up was decades ago. One by one, they all winked out. Anna Beck doesn’t cry. She hasn’t shed a single tear, and she’s not going to now. The Apex control room is a long and narrow space, with banks of screens bordering a thin strip of metal flooring. Most of the screens are dead. The few chairs that remain are battered and worn. Anna is sitting in one of them, elbows on her knees, staring at nothing.
