Minus 4 minutes.

Jared enters the observation chamber and sits. The polarised glass slowly fades to reveal the glittering star-scape beyond, eclipsed at its centre by the brilliance of the micro-constellation, the Nine Ladies. The vessel is stationed just over one light year out. Minimum safe distance.
The chamber is silent. Jared twines and traces his fingers over one another and signals for the transmission to begin.
"Jared...it's..it's Jenna. Obviously."
Transmissions are audio only, of course. No neural synch, no empathic tones, not even a hologram. Jared almost prefers it like that. He feels she could be stood just behind him.
A smile touches his lips. In the cold darkness the Nine Ladies burn.
"I...I just...Jared, there's a problem. We have a problem."

Minus 382 days, 9 hours.

Jenna hurries along the narrow access tunnel, ducks the exposed piping that had bruised her forehead on the second day and fingers the brooch on her overalls. The itinerary springs to life in the air before her. She scrolls the page down. Compares the figures against the reading on the tunnel's monitor panel and marks the item as checked. She hurries back.
The same itinerary, the same checks, day in, day out but still Jenna thrills with excitement. Just to be a part of it. She's making history.
The floor lurches, spilling her over. The noise is physical, like a blow to the base of her skull. Groggily, she stands. Hazy smoke is already being sucked from the air by the ship's atmospheric stabiliser. Jenna stumbles along the corridor, down winding metal steps. She halts at the engine room. The door is sealed. Beyond the porthole, inside the room, she sees thick smoke, cascading sparks and a glowing furnace deep at its heart.
"No..." she says.

Minus 439 days.

They sit near to the cliff edge, wind tugging at their hair, watching birds that rise on updrafts and then dive and plummet. Jenna grabs his arm.
"Jared - look!"
She points as a small gull deftly steals a writhing fish from the beak of a gannet and soars away toward its nest, below them in the limestone. A discreet chime sounds from Jenna's bracelet and she opens the link on her EMA unit.
Jared makes out a holographic web of swirling orange and pink projected before her. Private neural transmat.
Jenna barks out a sudden laugh. Birds scatter in shock. She turns to him, wrist still trailing a tangle of colour.
"They want me! The expedition! I'm on the crew!"
He hugs her close. She's ecstatic.
"Oh Jared.... the Nine Ladies. The Hyperstar! Can you imagine?"
He's so happy for her.

Minus 382 days, 8 hours.

The physician tells Jenna that her ears will ring for a few days, otherwise she's fine. The crew have gathered on the flight deck. The dome above them holds a Real Image of Melpomene guttering, flares gushing from her surface, flaming bridge to her neighbour Urania twisting away into the deep void, vertiginous in it's scale. Opaque neon waves indicate the intense bombardment of radiation sweeping around the hull of their vessel.
"It's the Algebraic Node," confirms the Chief Engineer, sweat glistening among her tangled hair. Her environment suit is blackened and reeks of smoke. "It's just...gone. Taken half the engine room with it."
Muttered disbelief passes among the crew. The Algebraic Nodes have never failed, ever. This shouldn't happen. There is ice in Jenna's gut. Professor Brokk is pale.
"Is this because we've maintained a state of Natal-Equation for so long?" he asks.
The Engineer shrugs. Doesn't matter.
"Do we have propulsion?" says Jenna.
"Limited," the Engineer replies, "and only in 3D. Without the Node we can't Equate up the D-Spectrum. We're stranded."
A thought strikes the Dedicated Physicist. He gestures to the dome.
"How long now?"
The Professor coughs. Summons a data sheet. Pauses for an age.
"No more than...12 hours."
Silence on the flight deck. There's no surprise. Quietly, someone begins to sob.
"What about the Transmat?" asks the Flight Operator suddenly, "The Nodes in the Transmat?"
The Engineer shakes her head. Sighs.
"They're only basic," she says, "they only need to transmit a rudimentary signal down through the Sub16. The Equations -"
"But the principle's the same," persists the Flight Operator, "they just need to Equate up the Spectrum, instead of down. We have to try!"
The Professor stares at the Engineer intently.
"He's right. They operate under the same basic principle. If you were to bind them into the engines... It's possible, isn't it?"
The Engineer open her mouth. Closes it.
The Professor leans forward.
"Can't we at least try?"
The Engineer shrugs.

Minus 3 minutes.

Jared stares straight ahead. The Nine Ladies twinkle playfully.
"We're just taking this chance.. to call home," Jenna continues, "to..to let you know. We'll send one more transmat of our data to the University too. No sense wasting it."
She laughs. Jared smiles.
"Then Cassi will strip the Transmat for its Nodes and then....well. Then."
Jenna pauses. It's cold and silent, like the awful gulf between stars.
"This wi-- this could be the last time...we speak." she says. He nods.
"Oh Jared..." she whispers. Her throat catches, breaking his heart again.
"I wish you'd answer..."

Minus 472 days.

Professor Brokk sits at his desk. Warm Madagascan sun flows through the picture window behind him like liquid amber. In the sunlight dust-motes spin like galaxies.
He is composing a speech to the United Conglomerates. The University has asked him to rebuff their calls for wider access to the Algebraic Nodes, so essential in long range space exploration. Professor Brokk is delighted. He has an unshakeable belief in the University's monopoly on the Nodes and their firm stance of research above exploitation.
To his right, spiraling up from the desktop like a miniature nebula, green and purple holographs billow and entwine into a series of soaring, complex melodies. Every few minutes the Professor pauses from his speech to adjust the pitch or tempo of the piece. He's been working on it for half a year, without satisfaction.
The Professor's EMA chimes. He regards it with surprise. He was not to be disturbed.
"What?" he snaps as the transmat opens.
"We've found one!" Nation, an Astrophysicist in Brokk's department is out of breath.
"One what?" asks the Professor, his heart almost skipping a beat. Is it possible?
"The micro-constellation! Our baby Hyperstar!"
Brokk sits back in his chair as if struck. He barks out a small laugh. After all this time.
"Show me," he says.
The transmat coalesces into a dark image, nine pinpricks of light burning at it's heart.
"We've named them the Nine Ladies," Nation announces proudly, "for Hesiod's Muses."
"I really don't care." Brokk says flatly, "What about the readings?"
Figures spiral through the transmat.
"The stars are in mutual and exclusive orbit with each other." says Nation, his tone muted somewhat, "The central body appears to be leeching from two thralls. So far they match the behavioural patterns in your thesis almost entirely. The system is actually displaying late-stage signs of the projected 'Domi-Nova' effect. I'm absolutely confident that we'll see this Hyperstar born. I don't mean within our lifetime. I mean this is happening now!"
Professor Brokk rests back in his chair, awe-struck. He's been waiting for this moment for years.
The embryonic Hyperstar.
A handful of young suns, formed in improbably close proximity to each other; spiralling into an orbital network, the densest accreting hydrogen and helium from the surrounding group, bloating in mass until suddenly it erupts, a nuclear reaction thousands of times more brilliant than before. A brilliance that engulfs it's companions, triggering a chain-reaction of novae until the network of fledgling stars collapses into a semi-stable, short lived White Behemoth. This colossal sun, this Hyperstar, burns not just in the third dimension but, with supra-density, blazes across the D-Spectrum too...
The Professor sits forward.
“How far is it?”
“Roughly 900,000 light years,” says Nation, “about five weeks travel.”
"Can we be sure this hasn't started already?" asks the Professor.
"We're monitoring them with Sub-16 probes. Our Ladies are still stable but it won't be long."
A study through the Sub-16 would be so limited as to be pointless, muses Brokk. This is a unique opportunity. This is history. They need first-hand data.
“I have to get out there,” he says, ”I'll make an application for a long range research expedition to the University this afternoon."
"Professor, might I request that you possibly find a place--" Nation begins, his voice betraying
a childlike smile.
"Sorry, no," Brokk interrupts with a smile of his own, "I'll need you here to explain to the UC why they can't have their Nodes..."

Minus 382 days, 5 hours.

The representative waves the contract across Jared's EMA. A pleasant chime indicates the transfer of funds. Smiling, he thanks her.
The chamber is vast, formed from Agri-Sculpt tree roots that entwine fifty feet overhead. A twisted chandelier emits soft, golden light across the room.
He knows Jenna will love it. From the harsh cold of deep space to the intimate warmth of mother Earth. Welcome home.
"Okay then," smiles the representative, "we'll just wait on you to confirm that date! Thank you for letting Alvion make it a party to remember!"
Jared thanks her again and leaves. He crosses the concourse and hails a tram. On the way home he browses a selection of scientific journals and news bleats via his EMA.
He thinks of Jenna. Six weeks apart has been quite long enough. He can't wait to see her.
Jared steps from the tram and climbs the steps to their apartment. The door recognises him and opens with a gentle hiss.
In the living room a tiny, brilliant octagon is spinning in the air. As Jared enters it unfolds into the smiling avatar of the University's transmat.
“Good afternoon Jared,” it says, “there is one message awaiting you.”
He wants to kick himself. The transmat is on loan from the University. It can communicate sub-dimensionally. It's his only form of contact with Jenna. That he's missed her transmission is unusual, she tries to time them for his evenings.
Jared smiles. Perhaps they're done. Jenna might have her return date confirmed. Alvion would be surprised to hear from him so soon.
He signals for the transmission to begin.

Minus 2 minutes.

The University research vessel hangs stationary, a little more than a light year from the Nine Ladies. Its sensor arrays are trained on the distant solar network. They've come to culminate the research of Professor Brokk. Patiently they're waiting.
Aboard, besides the crew, are loved ones – relatives, spouses – of the lost research team. They wait in their own observation chambers, arrayed along the corridor from Jared.
He feels utterly alone.
There is silence. Jenna has paused again. In the background a low voice speaks. Another caller perhaps, anxious to contact home. To say goodbye.
“Okay, one minute,” Jenna says, voice muffled and low. The clarity returns, “Jared listen... please, don't be sad. If we... don't be sad. This isn't a sad thing.
“This is ... just... how it goes. How it always goes. We’re all just the product of dying stars and birthing stars and we’re... we’re all the same, every part of us came from these furnaces. The whole world... from our sun. Every element, every molecule. Except, somehow, we stood up and looked around and saw who we were and where we were and we... we wanted to see it all. To go out and see it all.
“Look how far I've come. I'll be part of this star, Jared. This Hyperstar. I'm... going to... burn within it. A new star. We'll be part of it.
“Part of our Sun that stood up and looked around and travelled so far, to the birth of another star just to see. That isn't sad. That's amazing.”
There's belief in her voice. He can tell that she believes this. It makes him smile. After all this time it still makes him smile.
He smiles as the tears shine on his cheeks.
“I love you,” says Jenna and the message ends.
“I love you too,” whispers Jared into the silence of the observatory.

Minus 1 minute.

The light from the Nine Ladies, ghost-light projecting a dead image across empty swathes of space, that has flown arrow-straight on it's year long journey, refracts as it strikes the sheen of tears in Jared's eyes. The constellation seems to buck and weave as he stares.
Nine Ladies, dancing.