“A. Reverse. Algorithm.” I repeat.

Byer shakes his head. Does he really not see what I’m talking about here? I sigh in exasperation.

“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath as I gather my thoughts. “C-CIL mentioned that Chrys was helping him create his own algorithms, right? He said he wanted to be able to interpret data from her systems directly.”

“Sure,” Byer says.

“So! What if we use one of the algorithms that C-CIL created but make a reverse of it.” I look at Byer, waiting for his reaction. I feel like this might be the best idea I’ve ever had and is very likely the smartest thing I’ve ever said, but Byer is clearly not grasping the staggering scope of my genius.

“Look, if we take the reverse algorithm and use the comms system to apply it to the signal feed…” I begin, hoping he catches.

“The output would be C-CIL’s interpretation of the data,” Byer finishes.

“Exactly!” I exclaim. “Chrys’s reading of the data would match C-CIL’s. Same input, different output.” I’m so proud of my idea, I don’t understand Byer’s lackluster response. He barely has any reaction at all. Does he not understand what this means? Not only will we be able to better trace the signal, we might even be able to identify it’s origin. Maybe it’s because it’s not his people stranded out there, so he’s not as invested in the whole situation as I am. Or maybe it’s because it’s actually a really bad idea and I just haven’t realized it yet, though I can’t believe that’s true. Or maybe it’s because he didn’t think of it himself.

“Well?” I ask expectantly.

“Well what?”

“Do you think it could work? I mean, C-CIL picked up the signal way before Chrys did. He must have a more detailed system for translating the data, a more advanced understanding of the signal feed or something, right?”

“Assuming it’s the same signal.”

“Yes, assuming it’s the same signal,” I say with a sigh.

“And assuming that C-CIL was actually right.”

“Yes, obviously,” I say, though to be honest, I hadn’t really considered that alternative.

Byer thinks for a minute and then shrugs.

“I don’t see any harm in trying,” he says.

“Yes! I knew it!” I exclaim. “It’s a great idea, and it’s gonna work, and you’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.” If he’s not going to show any enthusiasm, I’m just going to have to be enthusiastic enough for the both of us.

“How does it feel to be the second smartest person on the ship?” I ask smugly. I like feeling like I have the upper hand. Ever since Byer’s revelation that his name isn’t actually his name, there’s been a strange kind of tension. I imagine he expected me to freak out and get mad and insist that he tell me his real name, which is what I normally would do. But instead, I pretended like nothing happened. I ignored it. And now he’s probably just waiting. Waiting for me to use it against him. Waiting for me to find the perfect moment to throw it in his face and rail against him for being a giant liar and totally untrustworthy and a con. And that suits me just fine. Let him wait.

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Byer looks at me, unamused.

“I assume that means you know how to create a reverse algorithm,” he says.

Shit. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. But I refuse to let him take this from me.

“Chrys will help me,” I say casually. But “help” is an understatement—she’s going to be doing most of the work herself. I’m probably in way over my head, but what I lack in mathematic ability, I make up for in an extensive knowledge of how to get the most out of Chrys.

“How’s it going?” Byer’s voice startles me awake, and I sit up with a start. I haven’t slept in two days, and it looks like it’s finally catching up with me.

“It’s, uh, it’s going,” I start, wiping the corner of my mouth, but I can’t remember what I was even doing before I passed out on the dash.

He wordlessly holds a cup out to me, steam still rising gently from the top. I take it from him and gingerly take a sip. It’s even better than last time. I close my eyes and luxuriate in the rich aroma of fresh coffee.

“Thanks,” I say quietly, surprised by the kind gesture.

Byer sits down in the chair next to me. He waits for me to take a few more sips before continuing.

“Any progress?” he asks.

“Good question,” I say, rubbing a spot of dried drool off the dash in front of me with my sleeve. “Chrys, can I get an update on that algorithm we’ve been working on?” I ask, still groggy but slowly becoming more alert.

“Program complete,” Chrys answers.

I almost spill my coffee all over the display.

“Seriously?” I murmur, shocked at the sudden good news.

I turn to Byer, my eyes wide with excitement.

“Do me a favor,” I say hurriedly, setting my cup down. “Go down to the docking bay and send out a distress signal from Remus.”

He looks at me uncertainly.

“Come on, I don’t wanna try it out on the ‘real’ signal until I know if it works.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Smart,” he says as he stands up to leave.

“You don’t have to act so surprised,” I say with a scoff. “Oh! But only turn it on for a second,” I call after him. “We don’t wanna leave it on long enough for someone to register it as an actual distress call and respond.”

He nods and disappears out the door.

I navigate to the exterior comms input display and wait. The few minutes it takes Byer to get down to his ship and activate the signal feel like an eternity.

“Incoming signal—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” I say, interrupting Chrys. The signal data lights up across the display, line by line. I had Chrys hardcode the final algorithm into the comms panel, meaning what I see should be the newly interpreted data reading. I study it closely, looking for any possible errors. I’ve read it at least three times over by the time Byer gets back to the bridge.

“I can’t believe it,” I mumble, staring at the screen.

He comes to stand behind me, reading the display over my shoulder.

“It worked.”

Maybe it’s because the signal doesn’t have far to go—the Remus is inside the Chrysanthemum after all—but the data is considerably more detailed than what we normally get through the main computer system. It doesn’t just tell me the signal type, ship ID, and approximate location, it tells me the exact origin coordinates, velocity, and signal duration. My heart pounds inside my chest as I realize what this means. I’m not expecting the same results from a signal that’s coming from god knows how far away, not to mention the possibility that it’s traveling through interference, but still, it’s enough for me to feel hopeful that we’ll get something useful.

I look at Byer, and he gives me a nod of reassurance.

“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”

I manually change the input to the unspecified signal and watch the data light up across the display screen. I find myself holding my breath as I read the lines of text.

It’s reading as a distress signal, just like C-CIL said, and it seems to be coming from the edge of Epsilon space, which would explain why it’s been giving Chrys so much trouble. But when I get to the third line, I feel my heart drop.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” I say to myself, furrowing my brow. I switch the input off and back on again, but the data comes up the same.

“I don’t get it,” I say, frustrated.

“What?” Byer asks, sitting down next to me to examine the display.

“Look,” I say, pointing to the third line of data. “The ship ID. You see it?”

He nods.

“It’s the Chrysanthemum.”