January 7, 2010 in A
The radar operator broke the relative quite of the bridge. “CONTACT! We have contact. North – North East of our position.”
The Captain snapped upright in his chair, “On screen.” Every screen on the bridge flicked to display the radar. Five circles with a sweeping line moving around from its centre it at what seemed to be a deliberately ominous pace. In the top right of the screen sat a purple octagon. Its hue refreshed every time the line passed over it.
“What is it?” Asked the Captain.
“A purple octagon, Sir.”
The Captain’s head snapped and he glared at the operator, “What. Is. It?”
“I don’t know sir. We’ve never had a purple octagon on the radar before.”
“What does it represent?”
The captain looked around the bridge and saw thirty pairs of eyes staring blankly back at him.
“Does anybody know what a purple octagon represents?!”
Total stillness, not even a blink in reply, just an awful silence punctuated by the ping of the radar.
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