Message End

“Urgent transmission received.”

Static burst from the station’s speakers. It grew louder. Louder. Then abated until it sang softly in the background. Silas heard something deeper rumble beneath. A muffled yet familiar sound emerged, like the remnants of a voice reduced to nothing but tones, followed by a brief silence.

The message played on an endless loop. Silas stirred and rolled from his warm bunk on the third repetition. He scratched his side and stumbled to the nearest command console and killed the alarm.

“I only caught part of that,” Silas said. With a heavy yawn, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Computer, play message.”

He slid a pair of headphones on and connected them to the console. Silas paused the message a few seconds after it had started. The hum of the reactor cut through the silence as he watched the pulsing radar in the screen’s corner.

“Rewind.”

The message started over, and he sped past the static. Locked in on the sound of the deep rumble, he focused on its rhythm. It started and stopped at regular intervals, like his own cadence when speaking. Silas adjusted the sound to enhance the deep tones and replayed the message.

He tossed the headphones onto the table next to the console while shaking his head. “It’s a junk transmission.”

“Message set as top priority. Please review.”

“Look, somebody’s talking. That’s all I know. The message is corrupt. Delay the review,” Silas said. He shifted his gaze from the console to his cot. Rolling onto his cot, he yawned. “Save message.”

“Message saved.”

***

The following morning, Silas sipped his coffee while running on the treadmill and watching his favorite show, Station Chef. His wife used to watch it. That was a long time ago, before he requested to work on the Prime Relay. The isolated spot drew him in and provided the solitude he needed to process his grief. But he grew to love the Relay and the daily routine.

The room smelled like home. Recycled air mingled with bitter synthetic coffee, and the smell of sweat and cold steel lingered beneath.

Silas clapped when the host walked on stage. With four arms, the Quadarian stopped in front of a kitchen counter. He bowed, pointed with two left arms at the camera, and said, “Hi, I’m Chef Coller, and this is Station Chef.”

The intro song played as the camera panned away from Chef Coller gathering his pans together for today’s meal. Silas got off the treadmill and started using free weights.

“Computer, take notes and save them in my personal drive under recipes.”

“Confirmed.”

“How much longer?” he asked, curling fifty pounds.

“Forty-five minutes.”

Silas leaned back on the bench and watched as Chef Coller diced onions for beef and vegetable stew. “Notify me when time’s up.”

***

An hour later, he was sitting in the mess hall. Silas plugged his tablet into the replicator’s hard drive. With the swipe of his finger, he brought up the programmed menu. Within minutes, he copied a week’s worth of recipes from Station Chef and made a backup of the entire hard drive.

“Just in case,” he whispered and stroked the case of the food replicator.

“Alert. Third offense. Alterations to the replicator are against regulations,” the computer said. “Disciplinary actions are required.”

“Every three weeks we do this little dance. Computer, I will not bend on this.”

“Your free days are revoked until further notice.”

“Who cares?”

Silas sighed and smiled as he unplugged his tablet. He opened the menu and ordered beef stew, buttered rolls, and steamed broccoli. The food was always worth whatever punishment the company had in store for him.

He cleaned up from his meal and went to patrol the Relay. He tuned a custom radio on his tablet to the communications array. It was a habit he picked up during his early years on the Relay. Rather than listening to the messages themselves, he listened to the chorus of lightning as the messages traveled from dish to dish.

Patrol meant he walked the entire station and ran a diagnostic scan on every system. One by one, the diagnostic scans finished, and he marked each system green on his tablet after a physical inspection.

Back in the mess, Silas brewed a fresh cup of coffee and sighed. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s my job.”

“Dish two requires realignment,” the computer replied. “Watcher Silas, please report to the port dish array.”

“A thank you would be nice,” he said, waving his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.”

***

By midday, he hunched in front of the main computer and tapped his chin. The message played in the background, filling the room with static.

With a few keystrokes, Silas transformed the message into a waveform image. He examined the file size, checked for encoding errors, and looked for anomalies in the waveform itself.

“How do I hear you?”

Silas pulled up a specialized audio program. Within a few seconds, it imported and opened the audio file. He grinned while enhancing the quality and volume of the low tones.

“Urgent. Incom… Array,” the message sputtered, then broke down into incoherent tones. “Repeat. Go.”

Silas shrugged. “Computer, run a complete analysis of the message.”

“Confirmed. The process will take three days to complete.”

“Understood. Notify me once finished.”

A soft beep chirped from the radar console on the starboard side of the station. The alert prompt flashed in the corner of his screen before he saw the radar on the primary console.

“Unidentified object?” Silas asked.

He moved over to the radar station and checked the display. Silas slapped the side of the display, and the object disappeared. After halting the live feed, he entered a series of commands and isolated the incident. He stared at the dot appearing and disappearing as he let the video repeat.

“Five seconds. Just long enough…” he muttered. “Computer, determine the UO’s trajectory.”

“Estimated five days until impact with the Sol Prime Relay.”

“Recommend a plan of action.”

“The anomaly is within the predetermined parameters for a system glitch,” the computer replied.

“Ghosts,” Silas said. He sighed while staring at the blip. “Save the anomaly in the system’s drive under Unidentified Objects.”

“File saved.”

***

Lying on the couch in the observation dome, he watched the stars shimmer against the vacuum of space. “What time did we receive the urgent transmission?” Silas said.

“Seventy-seven hours and twelve minutes ago.”

“Isolate the audio from the dish,” he replied and sat up, putting on a pair of headphones.

Silas let the haunting melody of the transmission wash over him. His trained ear caught the subtle differences between a standard transmission and this mystery.

“Distance distortion,” he whispered. “But it shouldn’t work. The math never made sense.”

“Silas, audio enhancement is now complete; the message is ready.”

“Play message.”

The intense static of the message roared in his ears. Silas inhaled deeply and held his breath as he focused on the deep voice. “Silas… Trust. Go.”

“Here goes nothing… Computer, run the message through the program titled Distance Algorithm.”

“Warning. Unidentified object detected. Watcher Silas to the radar station.”

“Another UO?”

Silas ran from the observation dome to the elevator and rode it down to level three, the command center. The object disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Computer, replay the most recent UO event.”

The UO flickered on the screen. It faded in and out over the course of a few seconds before becoming a steady signal. Then it vanished as if it was never there.

“Five seconds,” Silas said. He traced the image of the object heading toward the relay. “It’s quick. Computer, mark the anomaly’s current location and match it to the trajectory from three days ago.”

The computer sketched a yellow line from the UO across the radar grid to the station. “Estimated impact in forty-two hours.”

“Computer, run a deep scan of Sector Seven-V. Check for high-speed objects.”

“Scanning.”

“Nothing…” Silas said and sipped his coffee. “Switch to the spectrometer.”

The display switched to a multicolor feed of space sorted by wavelength. Silas pulled a pair of goggles over his eyes. He plugged the cable into the feed. With a joystick built into the console next to the keyboard and mouse, he controlled the angle of the spectrometer.

“There’s got to be something. Some sort of light distortion. The object has a light source behind it. But there’s nothing,” Silas said. He lifted his goggles and verified the position using the radar. “Computer, extrapolate the UO’s current location, lock on and trace its path with the spectrometer.”

“Complete.”

Silas tightened his grip on the joystick as he traced the UO’s location. “Computer, rerun the last command.”

“Complete. The spectrometer is tracing the unidentified object’s path as requested.”

“There’s nothing there,” Silas replied. He tapped his fingers against the controls. “Fire the lidar where the object should be.”

“No object detected.”

“Check the lidar and radar systems for any problems.”

“Systems are optimal.”

“This is nonsense; something should be there. How long would it take a probe with long-range sensors to intercept it?”

“Twenty hours.”

“Launch Probe One on an intercept course with the object. Notify me one hour before contact.”

“Probe launched.”

***

“No, no. Run it again,” Silas said. He’d paced around the center holographic display for roughly five hours, staring at the message displayed as a waveform. “Adjust for distance using the signal’s origin.”

“Running program variance forty-six.”

The waveform stretched in real time as the program repaired the message. Static popped into his headphones, followed by a familiar warbling noise.

“Warning. Urgent transmission.”

The static crackled as the gruff voice of a man spoke. “Silas, there’s no… trust. Incoming, array. I repeat. Not go…”

“That voice sounds so familiar.”

Silas tweaked the ratios as he replayed the message and listened four more times. Each variation cleared away background noise and made the man’s voice more pronounced.

“This is better, but we’re still only getting sections,” Silas said. He sipped his coffee and set the cup down on the table next to him. “What am I missing? Time?”

“Time is the only variable that has not been accounted for.”

“I doubt time is a factor,” Silas scoffed. “But it can’t hurt to prove that. How long would it take to account for time variance?”

“Ten hours.”

“Fine. Please proceed.”

***

“Warning: proximity alert.” The computer repeated across the speakers as yellow warning lights strobed across the dark metal covering the interior of the station.

“Computer, record Station Chef.”

“Acknowledged.”

Silas ran from the gym on level two and climbed the ladder leading to the command center. He wiped the sweat from his brow and activated the display.

“Direct radar to the primary display.”

The holographic image hummed to life, showing the station at the center of a green ring, with a green grid marking positions. A yellow dot sat less than half an AU away before it vanished.

“Five seconds. Computer, time until the probe makes contact?”

“The probe will make contact in one minute.”

“That can’t be right,” Silas replied. He folded his arms. “Why wasn’t I notified one hour prior?”

“Radar interference made it impossible to track contact.”

“Understood. How long since Probe One was launched?”

“Probe One launched fifteen hours ago.”

“We lost five hours… that’s massive acceleration,” Silas said, crossing his arms. “Compile all data from Probe One.”

“Error. Unable to process request.”

“Is the transmitter functional?”

“Video is functioning, and audio is non-operational. Recording feed.”

Probe One’s feed took over the entire screen, displaying the image of a spinning rock. It looked like a smooth, black abyss, absorbing all the ambient light around it. The image warbled and filled with static as the probe approached. The closer it came, the more the camera lens cracked. Then the feed died.

“What the hell was that?”

“Probe One is no longer operational.”

“Estimated time until the UO hits?” Silas said through clenched teeth. He began calculating the trajectory himself to double-check the station’s instruments.

“Calculating.”

“Answer my question.”

“Based on the updated data: two hours.”

“We can’t move the station. Come on, think.” Silas closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He held his breath for a second and exhaled. “Reduce power to primary functions only. Raise external shields and prepare for impact.”

***

“Sixty minutes until impact.”

“Don’t bother me. I’m thinking.”

Silas sat in the observation dome, watching the space where the UO should be. He sipped from his mug and took a bite of apple pie. The replicator melded the cinnamon and sugar with the tart apple. It should have been the ideal companion to his hot coffee. But his thoughts of the UO turned every bite sour. He could clearly imagine the trajectory line sweeping into the station's port side.

“Watcher Silas, there is an alert pending your attention.”

“I know.”

Silas rode the elevator to level three. With one last sip of coffee, he made his way into the command center. Tossing the mug into the recycler, he donned a pair of headphones and leaned against the console.

“Play message.”

A robotic voice spoke. “Warning. Urgent transmission.”

Static filled the void before a man started speaking. “Silas, there’s no time to explain. I need you to trust me.” The message crackled as the man’s words faded into incoherent tones. “There is an incoming UO. It’s…”

“I’ve heard that voice before. Computer, compare the voice in the message across the sample library.”

Silas paused the message.

“There is one vocal match. Silas Venn.”

“That’s not possible,” he replied. The bitter tang of bile rose in his throat. “How could I send a message to myself?”

“Vocal pattern verified; the file is authentic.”

“Assume it’s real. Something’s going to happen to the array,” Silas said. A wave of nausea struck as he replayed the message. “I haven’t sent this yet…”

“Silas, there’s no time to explain. I need you to trust me. There’s an incoming UO. It’s…” The message roared with static before it continued. “The array… damaged. You must not…”

The station rocked, knocking the headphones off his head. Yellow lights strobed across the station as the alarm echoed, drowning the message in a sea of noise.

“Computer, report,” Silas said as he rose from his chair.

“Warning. Hull damage. Impact: port side. Array out of alignment. Primary dish down, manual repair required. Watcher Silas, please report to the airlock for emergency external repairs.”

“Mute the alarm.”

The familiar hum of the reactor replaced the alarms. Then a loud bang echoed through the port-side wall of the command center. Another slightly farther away. Another farther still. Every instinct urged him to run. Instead, he flinched as the hull groaned from each impact, leaving a trail of dents across the port side of the station.

“Scan the exterior of the station for movement.”

Sweat dripped from his chin as Silas stayed frozen in place. His muscles uncoiled with each passing second as the sound receded.

“Clean scan. No movement detected within five hundred kilometers in any direction.”

The station rocked from another impact as Silas sat back in his chair. His gaze moved from the message to the hallway and the airlock beyond.

“Antenna two non-operational. Replacement required.”

Silas saved a copy of the message on his tablet and rushed to the locker room connected to the airlock. He pulled on the environmental suit and latched his boots in place. After connecting both gloves to the wrist joints of the suit, Silas strapped the oxygen tank to his back.

A faint banging echoed through the hull, amplified by the pressure door of the airlock just yards away. He held his breath and focused on the sound, hunting for it. His eyes tracked each strike of the hull as the rumble of grinding metal reverberated through the station.

Silas stayed completely still while waiting for the sound to fade. Seconds passed before he began shuffling around for a helmet. He shoved his earpiece into place and locked his helmet tight.

“Run external scan for movement.”

“Clean scan.”

“Understood,” Silas said and took a deep breath. “Play message.”

Warm static filled his ears as the message started from the beginning. The oxygen tank kicked in, and the suit pressurized.

“Warning. Urgent transmission.”

Silas stepped into the airlock and closed the inner door. He connected the retractable tether to his belt and depressurized the chamber while activating the exterior lights. Checking his oxygen on the gauge at his wrist, he gave a thumbs-up to the camera.

“Computer, open the exterior airlock door.”

Silas pushed off the metal floor and drifted forward. Beyond the airlock, the space stretched out in complete darkness, silent and empty. The exterior hull lights dimmed like torches starved of oxygen.

The airlock shut behind him.

Silas tugged on the tether connecting him to the station. He flipped around and gripped the guide rail. With a steady pace, he shimmied across the central hull toward the array.

The cheek lights of his helmet flickered, and the message continued through his earpiece. “You must not go outside. I repeat. Do not go outside!”

“Message end.”