“Captain,” Zhukov whispered, “protocol says—”
The disc rotated lazily, then tilted. Sikorsky’s hands moved on instinct—throttle back, slight bank to starboard. The disc matched him. He turned port. It mirrored again, maintaining exactly five hundred meters off his wingtip, as if tethered by an invisible line. captain sikorsky
“Sir, it’s cold. Colder than the water below. And heavy. Magnetic flux is off the scale.” ” Zhukov whispered
The disc folded into itself—no explosion, no sound, just a sudden geometric contraction—and vanished. The radar went quiet. The magnetic anomaly detectors flatlined. The aurora resumed its ordinary dance. “protocol says—” The disc rotated lazily