The Whispering Titans
16 Dec 2024Jordan Walke
Cmdr Jordan Walke and the Oya MysteryCmdr Jordan Walke didn’t believe in coincidences. A life spent under the banner of Archon Delaine had taught him that the universe didn’t hand out luck—it handed out challenges. So, when whispers from the shattered remains of Titan Oya began circulating through GalNet, Jordan perked up. Strange noises. Spectrograms. A hidden image of human figures coiled in Thargoid spirals.
Some called it a glitch in the system. Others, an attempt at Thargoid communication. Jordan Walke called it a message.
The man they called “Devil-May-Dare Walke” wasn’t one to ignore a cosmic breadcrumb trail, especially one as ominous as this. The Thargoids didn’t do peace—not in Jordan’s experience. And if there was even a whisper of a new threat—or worse, a betrayal by humanity’s forgotten captives—it was up to someone like him to get answers. The kind of answers you earned through grit, blaster fire, and maybe a smuggler’s charm.
Oya’s Ghost
Jordan’s Cobra Mk V, the Invisible Hand, dropped out of supercruise near the debris field where Titan Oya had met its end. The maelstrom had long since dissipated, leaving a graveyard of twisted organic hull plating and shredded interceptors. The void here felt different—quiet, but not silent. It was as if something in the debris was listening.
Jordan tuned his audio scanners to maximum sensitivity. The quiet crackled through the ship’s systems, and then, he heard it—a low, rhythmic thrum.
“Sounds like a heartbeat,” Jordan muttered, narrowing his eyes.
But a heartbeat from what? The Titan was dead—or so they thought.
He activated the spectrogram analyzer, letting the system process the sound. The screen lit up with the familiar spiral pattern, the eight points curling outward like an ancient sigil. Jordan leaned in closer, fingers drumming against the dashboard. Embedded within the spirals were faint shapes—human silhouettes, locked in poses that screamed out for meaning.
“Alright, Oya, what’re you hiding?” Jordan asked the empty void.
A Message—or a Warning?
The symbology gnawed at him as he floated among the wreckage. Eight spirals. Eight Titans. The tips of the spirals shimmered with distant star-like markings—perhaps actual star systems.
“They’re pointing at something,” Jordan murmured, scratching his stubbled chin. “If this is a map... where does it lead?”
The unsettling part wasn’t just the pattern—it was the human figures. Were they the kidnapped humans? Survivors altered by the Thargoids? Jordan shuddered at the thought of what “altered” might mean. There were rumors—some of the rescued had returned different. Quiet. Distant. It made Jordan’s skin crawl, and he’d seen his fair share of horrors out in the black.
He keyed in a comms line to Archon Delaine’s network. “Walke here. I’m sending data on this Titan noise. It’s not just sound—it’s a symbol. There’s something bigger going on.”
A gruff voice on the other end crackled back. “So what? It’s Thargoid scrap, Walke. Let the scientists pick it apart.”
Jordan scowled. “Yeah? And what happens when those spirals lead straight to your doorstep? I don’t wait for the fight to come to me.”
The Spiral Star
Jordan had barely started back toward his jump point when the scanners lit up again. Faint signals flared among the debris, as if the wreckage itself were stirring.
The Cobra Mk V lurched, and his cockpit lights flickered. “What the hell?!”
The Cobra’s sensors registered a proximity anomaly—a pulse of energy rising from the heart of the debris field. Jordan’s eyes widened as the spirals shifted on his spectrogram, aligning to form a single focal point in the image. A system.
“Looks like I’ve got a lead,” Jordan said, breathless. He checked the coordinates—far out in the black, beyond the Thargoid warfront.
His instincts screamed at him to leave the wreckage and head home. But Cmdr Jordan Walke had never been one for playing it safe. If the Thargoids had something to say—or something to hide—he’d find out, even if it meant flying straight into another Titan’s jaws.
As the Invisible Hand shot away from Titan Oya’s ghostly remains, Jordan keyed the system into his nav computer. Whatever was coming, he’d be ready. A map carved into sound. A message embedded in death. Whether it was a Thargoid warning or something far worse, Jordan had a hunch that humanity’s next battle was already written into those spirals.
And when the fighting started, the Cobra Mk V would be there—small, deadly, and carrying the devil’s own daring.
Closing Log of Cmdr Jordan Walke:
“If the Thargoids are trying to send a message, I’m gonna be the first one to read it. And if they’re threatening us again, they’ll wish they stayed silent.”
