His order was cut off by an emergency siren. Outside the windows of Akaar’s office, the radiant glow of sunset dimmed and went dark. Apocalyptic strokes of lightning bent across the sky as junior officers and members of the president’s protection detail rushed into the office yammering about “subspatial disruptions” and “temporal distortions.” In a matter of seconds they gathered up Akaar and President zh’Tarash and hurried them out of frame—just as a burst of static filled the viewscreen, which quickly reverted to the image of deep space.
