On Gaia station, the night was never truly dark. Screens blinked silently, gauges pulsed green, and beyond the portholes stretched the asteroid belt like scattered coals on a black cloth. As the station retracted into Hestia's shadow, shards of rock slowed down as if in slow motion, illuminated by the pale blue of the ion engines of the supply ships. Lena pressed her cheek against the cool frame of the window in the Hearing Lab. That's what they called it, though officially it was just a regular listening booth. She loved that moment when she could hear the endless noise - the background of space and the brief crackle of conversations, the sun singing as it modulated through the antennas. She wore a hand-soldered receiver bracelet on her wrist, which she attached to the main console like an amulet. "Got it?" - Pat slipped inside, putting the tablet belt over her shoulder. "Runa says it's boring on the radio, and you look like you've just drawn a comet ticket." "Listen." Lena turned on the filter and a rhythm rocked through the room: short, short, long. Pause. Short, short, short, long, long, long. Pause. Numbers fisted through the silence, returning at even intervals, as if someone were tapping out a patient code with their finger on the other side of the vacuum. Pat furrowed his brow. "Prime numbers?" "And not from the station. The vector is from the half shadow. From a place where there should be nothing but dust." From the ceiling came the warm, impersonal voice of Runa, the ship's artificial navigator: "Signal unusual. Variable strength, narrow bandwidth. Categorisation: unknown transmission phenomenon. Recommendation: log, notify duty officer." The duty officer, Lieutenant Sawa, joined them in a black screen field, only her eyes and the flicker of lights from the main bridge visible. "You have fifteen minutes to enter the pericentre, then we'll be turned by the shields anyway. Record your readings. We're not going anywhere until I get back from section B. Understood?" "Understood," they said in chorus, though Lena felt curiosity tickle the back of her neck. A plan was being born in her head. Not dangerous, not illegal. Cleaning the external antenna was on the schedule, and the service skiff 'Spark' had a built-in keeper and automatic return lines. If they positioned the antenna to look into Hestia's shadow, they wouldn't break the order. They will simply squeeze what they can out of fifteen minutes. Ten minutes later they were already sitting in the 'Spark', in a cramped cabin with walls full of handles and magnets. The smell of cool metal mingled with the ozone. The snaps of the suits clicked in unison, and under Lena's fingers dangled the letters: Breathe - LOCKS - COMMUNICATION. The airlock door opened with a sigh, and the 'Spark' slid noiselessly out into the blackness. The return rope, the thickness of a thumb, glittered like a silver snake. "I'm activating guardian mode" - announced Runa. "I'll deflect the antenna three degrees. Course for Shadow-Hestia-7 sector, Lena, you on scanners. Pat, manipulators. Watch out for smallness." They sailed along the stagnant waves of abandoned dust. The debris passed them like dormant fish. The signal was growing: it wasn't loud, but it seemed closer, more tangible, vibrating just below the collarbone. Lena felt it almost with her body. A memory moved through her thoughts: a page from her mum's notebook, which she carried in the pocket of her overalls. A semi-circular mark, a crossed loop, repeated in sketches many times - and a signature: silence does not exist. "Vector updated," she said quietly. "It's not from the shield. It's ... from that side of the shard." "Spark" circled the jagged edge of the rock and slipped into the shadows. Suddenly, the station's light disappeared and all that was left in front of them was blackness with a few specks of stars. The LEDs on the panels dimmed, as if they didn't want to hound this strange silence. And then they saw it. On the night side of the shard, just above a thin layer of regolith, was a flat panel - too smooth for natural basalt, too even, as if someone had placed a mirror where the sun does not touch it. It did not reflect their light, rather it swallowed it. Its edge was disappearing into the rock. Around it lay tiny needles of ice, all lined up in the same direction, as if something insubstantial that they could not grasp had made them freeze in a line. "I am registering a structure with a density different from the bedrock," Runa reported. "No known signatures. The radio signal is coming from the area below the slab." Pat reached for the manipulator. "I'll just touch it. Gently." "Pat..." Lena put her hand on his forearm, but the mechanical arm had already slid out towards the blackness. A steel finger brushed the surface. It was not a sound, but they both felt it. A draughty, warm murmur that slid across their ribs. Pale lines ran across the slab, like frost on a windowpane - millimetre-long, welded together in braids of shapes. First dots, then arcs, finally a network like a map of the starry sky. One of the lines glowed stronger and pointed straight... past them. Straight towards Gaia. "It can see us," Pat whispered, though he was speaking into the microphone. Messages flashed on the 'Spark' screen. "External link: coupling. Protocol: unknown. Permission request: access to Gaia station core network." "Denied!" - ejected Lena reflexively, but the system paused on its own. A symbol blossomed in the bottom right-hand corner - a half-circle crossed by a line, exactly the one seen in her mum's old notes. The rune fell silent for a fraction of a second, then spoke back already in a whisper, as if it might wake something up: "Pattern repetition detected from private user's memory: Lena Karcz. Analysis: high coincidence. Incoming message: awaiting response." Dust rose around the disc, stirred by a non-existent wind. The return rope of the 'Spark' trembled, as if someone had nudged it. An option flashed on the panel that had not been there before: ACCEPT MANUALLY. The countdown began to descend from a stiff ten: 10... 9... 8... Lena tightened her fingers on the handle, watching the sign light up like breath in the cold. "Lena," Pat held out his hand, suspended between fear and delight. - "What do we do?"