The holographic table in the war room glows with a blinding, golden light. Elara’s charcoal sketch has been translated into a massive, three-dimensional CAD model by Morgan’s team. It is a complex, interlocking lattice of polished titanium and lunar regolith.
"The refractor needs to be exactly forty meters in diameter," Morgan says, her fingers flying across the console. "If the angles are off by even a fraction of a degree, the genesis energy will scatter instead of refracting."
I lean over the table, my left shoulder throbbing with a dull, rhythmic ache. The nerve damage flares in the crisp, climate-controlled air of the room.
"Can the human engineers build it?" I ask, my physical voice steady.
"They can," General Croft replies via hologram. Her military bearing is rigid, but her eye
