The alien settlement teemed with restless vitality. A firm breeze carried the scent of damp earth, resinous growths, and the faint tang of something ineffably alive. Golden beetles, their segmented carapaces gleaming like burnished metal, scuttled across the uneven ground. From bulbous growths around the Provider’s vast, breathing structure, new creatures emerged—gliding, skittering, unfurling limbs that flexed with silent purpose. Each one moved as if guided by an unseen rhythm, their existence dictated by an intelligence deeper than instinct.

  Where before the strange bioengineered structures had seemed dormant, now they pulsed with a quiet energy, as though awakening from some great metabolic slumber. The golden beetles were moving in steady, purposeful lines, carrying dark mineral nodules in their mandibles and depositing them into designated collection points. Some smaller creatures, ones they hadn’t seen before, scuttled in and out of burrowed holes in the fungal stalks, tending to sprouting growths like gardeners.

  Elisa, Pom, and Mei followed the black-robed figure through the shifting sprawl of activity. Its posture was ever-formal, its voice smooth and edged with something between authority and reverence.

  “Now that the Provider is restored, the cycle may continue,” it declared, gesturing at the orchestrated movements of the settlement. “As agreed, the metal will be delivered.”

  Across the clearing, Maximilian and the corpsec team coordinated with the beetles, guiding them toward the hauler where the gathered ore was being methodically stored. The cooperation between humans and chitinous, purpose-bred insects felt bizarrely natural, as if the alien intelligence at work here had already accounted for their presence in its grand equation.

  The dark-robed alien led them onward with a quiet, methodical grace, his long robes drifting as he walked. His workers—lean, scruffy beings wrapped in layers of matted fabric—paused from their tasks to nod respectfully as they passed.

  “They call us 'ser',” Mei observed, tilting her head as another worker muttered the title in passing.

  The alien glanced at her. “A title of respect. You are treated as if you were of the Empire.”

  Mei glanced at Elisa, then Pom, who narrowed his eyes. “That’s funny. We’re not even ‘aligned,’ as you people say.”

  “It is irrelevant,” the alien intoned. “Survival aligns all things. There is no rational alternative.”

  The alien’s tone remained utterly unshaken, as if the very thought of divergence from this grand alignment was incomprehensible.

  Mei stepped forward with a gentle inquiry. “Your settlement is fascinating, but… what are your people called? And what do you know of humanity?”

  The black-robed figure turned its reflective mask toward her, and the hints of movement beneath the visor suggested something calculating, contemplating.

  “We are the Empire. We have visited Proxima.”

  The words hung heavily in the air.

  Pom shot Mei a glance, eyes full of doubt and unease. “And what was humanity’s reaction?”

  The response came with an unsettling, absolute finality. "Excellent relations."

  The response was so vague it barely felt like an answer at all.

  Pom exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

  “Yeah, sure. ‘Excellent relations.’ Bet it went real smooth.”

  There was something unnervingly absolute about the way the alien spoke, as if its philosophy were not up for debate, only recognition.

  Pom studied the alien, frowning. "You got a name, or do we just keep calling you 'The Provider’s Robed Henchman'?"

  The creature's reflective mask tilted slightly toward him. "No."

  Pom exhaled and shook his head. "Alright, Ser No."

  Its head tilted slightly. “What does this mean?”

  Pom smirked. “It means I’m calling you Ser No from now on.”

  Mei let out a small, amused breath, and even Elisa cracked a faint smile. If the alien had any opinion on the name, it didn’t show.

  Ser No led them toward a small, enclosed workshop, where scavenged debris was stacked in neat piles. Among the wreckage were twisted metal beams, hull fragments, and pieces of corroded equipment, their original functions lost to time and decay.

  Ser No gestured toward the pile. “We have found wreckage, not far from here.”

  Elisa stepped forward, scanning the gathered material. ARI’s drone floated in, their sensor arrays flickering as they cataloged the objects. Then, in a separate shelter, she saw something that made her breath catch in her throat.

  Stacked carefully, as if in a shrine, were several cryopods.

  Mei’s face darkened as she hurried ahead, kneeling beside the closest pod. The once-sleek casing was covered in corrosion, its glass panel fogged with the decay of countless millennia. ARI’s scanners passed over the pods, confirming what Elisa already knew.

  They were long dead.

  “These were from the aft section,” Mei said quietly, placing a gloved hand against one of the glass panels. “They must have been flung free when it broke apart.”

  Elisa exhaled, turning to ARI. “Do we have any IDs?”

  ARI’s voice was steady, emotionless, as it crosschecked a pod's serial number with the crew's manifest. “This one belonged to Lieutenant Valeriya Marakova. She held seniority over you in the chain of command.”

  Pom smirked bitterly. “So, you killed her.”

  ARI’s response was level. “Valeriya Marakova perished long ago. Her remains suffered advanced radioactive decay. I did not kill her.”

  Elisa exhaled, looking down at the pods. The glass was clouded, the contents inside dusty and dessicated.

  Elisa let out a slow breath and stepped back from the pod. “They’re long gone.” She turned to Ser No. “We can take the pods back to our base and recycle them. The materials will be useful.”

  Ser No’s entire body language shifted—an unmistakable recoil, as though she had just uttered a profound offense.

  Its hands curled slightly at its sides. “Life must be preserved.”

  Mei spoke gently, placing a hand on the edge of one of the pods. “Ser No… these people are not alive. They are long dead. There’s nothing left.”

  “You would destroy them?”

  Mei looked between Elisa and Ser No, frowning. “I think there’s a misunderstanding here.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “In our culture, we don’t preserve bodies without purpose. We do not believe that dead remains hold meaning.”

  Ser No’s voice turned almost sharp. “Until all knowledge has been shared, these will remain here.”

  Elisa narrowed her eyes. This was not just a cultural difference—this was a demand. A line drawn. “Why? What do you think is going to happen?”

  Ser No did not answer immediately, but its posture remained rigid, the tension in its stance unmistakable. “Knowledge is not complete.”

  Mei folded her arms, studying the alien closely. “Are you saying... you think something can be done for them?”

  Ser No was silent for a while. “Must.”

  Elisa exhaled sharply. This was getting nowhere.

  Pom looked between them, his expression unreadable. “What do you think, Elisa? Should we fight Ser No for some old corpses?”

  Elisa sighed. “No. We’ll leave them—for now.”

  Mei gave her a sidelong glance but said nothing.

  Ser No relaxed slightly, but its stance was still rigid, still unreadable.

  As they turned to leave, Elisa cast one last glance at the stacked cryopods, a quiet unease settling in her chest.

  Elisa led the group up the winding path toward the hilltop, where the transmitter's antenna loomed against the sky. As they climbed, the sound of rushing water grew louder. A large water wheel churned steadily in the river below, its aged spokes glistening under the muted sunlight. The mechanism was crude, but effective.

  Elisa slowed, studying the setup with a thoughtful expression. “We should leave some of our spare batteries here. We could set up a proper charging station.” She turned to ARI’s hovering drone. “Your units could recharge here, and when we start making round trips with the hauler, we could swap out vehicle batteries without relying on emergency power.”

  Pom crossed his arms. “Would need a better generator than that old thing, though.” He nodded toward the water wheel, its movement sluggish, inefficient.

  “We could manufacture a proper turbine,” Elisa mused. “There’s plenty of water flowing downhill. If we install something capable, you could generate real power.”

  Ser No inclined his head slightly, his reflective mask tilting. "Yes. It will be done."

  There was no hesitation. No discussion. The way he said it carried the weight of immediate acceptance—as if it had already been decided the moment Elisa suggested it.

  With the agreement settled, they pressed forward.

  At the top of the hill, the transmitter came into view. It stood in stark contrast to the bioengineered structures below—a smooth yellow casing, its surface worn by time. Faint lights pulsed along its ridges in slow, intermittent waves, as though it were breathing in long, measured intervals.

  ARI hovered closer, scanning.

  Elisa frowned. “How long have you had this?”

  Ser No stood still for a moment, then answered. “It was found near the northern structure.”

  There was a pause. Then he provided a number—a measurement in Centauran cycles.

  Elisa’s brow furrowed as she ran the math in her head. One cycle was just over twenty-five Earth hours. The number Ser No had given them…

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  Her eyes widened slightly. “You’ve had this for over four hundred Earth years.”

  Pom let out a low whistle. “Damn. You’ve been stuck here that long?”

  Ser No’s posture did not change. “Yes. We have struggled to survive. It will be many thousands of cycles before the Empire can realistically send rescue.”

  Elisa took a slow breath. Four hundred years of waiting. Another few hundred still to go.

  She studied Ser No for a moment, then asked, “You said you’ve been to Proxima. What other worlds have you visited? Is there more life in the galaxy?”

  For the first time, Ser No hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice was… different. Fainter, as if pulled from something distant.

  “Most worlds that held life are dead.”

  Elisa narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  Ser No was silent for a long moment, his mask reflecting the dull sky. “Habitable worlds are rare. And those that exist…” He gestured vaguely at their surroundings. The water, the fungal fields, their manufactured ecosystem scraping by on the fringes of survival. “Most are like this. Poor concentrations of essential resources. Life struggles. What civilizations emerge die before they can reach meaningful levels of technology.”

  A quiet wind passed through the hilltop.

  Elisa’s voice was soft. “You’re saying most intelligent species never make it?”

  Ser No inclined his head. “Few species are destined to succeed. The resource and energy constraints prove too great. The natural order does not favor civilization.”

  Pom exhaled, shaking his head. “That’s depressing.”

  “It is truth,” Ser No said simply.

  For a moment, none of them spoke. The wind carried the sound of the water wheel turning below, its slow, steady motion a fragile defiance against entropy.

  Elisa turned back to the transmitter, her mind turning over Ser No’s words. If this device had been here for centuries, its purpose was still unknown. A fragment of something older, something lost.

  She exhaled. “Let’s see if we can find out what this thing actually does.”

  The wind swept over the hilltop as Elisa knelt beside the transmitter, her fingers running over its worn, metallic casing. The device was old—far older than she had expected—but still functional. Its rugged construction reminded her of the Dolya’s own hardened components, built to withstand the harshest of planetary conditions and the long silence of deep space.

  ARI’s drone hovered beside her, its scanning array flickering as it interfaced with the transmitter’s ancient systems.

  ARI’s voice chimed in her earpiece. “Design is consistent with long-duration space infrastructure. It shares structural elements with the Dolya’s own technology.”

  Elisa frowned, studying the worn control panel. “So, again not alien tech?”

  “No,” ARI confirmed. “It was fabricated using human-compatible design protocols. The architecture and resilience level suggest it was manufactured for deep-space deployment.”

  A moment later, ARI’s scans finished parsing the internal software structure. Elisa watched as data scrolled across her heads-up display.

  “What do you have?” Elisa asked.

  “This device is a simple radio transmitter,” ARI reported. “Its signal profile aligns closely with those used in our vehicles and emergency beacons. It is not a control device or an advanced system.”

  “That tracks with the control unit we found before,” Elisa mused. “It’s made by a fabricator, right?”

  “Correct,” ARI confirmed. “The software follows human coding standards, and it contains a computer instruction set identical to that used by the Company.”

  Elisa blinked. That was impossible.

  “Wait,” she said slowly. “You mean it’s sharing our architecture?”

  “Affirmative. The underlying structure is compatible with the Dolya’s.”

  Elisa’s pulse quickened. That was too much of a coincidence. But then, ARI found something else.

  “I have identified a software driver date,” ARI continued. “13491.”

  Elisa felt her throat tighten. “That’s just a few centuries after launch.”

  Pom let out a low whistle. “So it was designed not long after after we left Proxima. But who the hell made it?”

  ARI’s scans continued running, parsing through the long list of dependencies.

  “There are irregular software modifications spanning the next fifteen millennia,” ARI said. “Adjustments, addendums. The last update was recorded 27,000 years after the original driver installation.”

  Elisa felt her stomach turn. Twenty-seven thousand years?

  ARI pulled up the activation logs. “This particular transmitter first came online in 79,228.”

  “Less than a thousand years ago,” Elisa murmured. The numbers sent a ripple of unease through her mind and felt all too familiar. “Could this have been another colony ship that was in transit for tens of thousands of years? A follow-up ship, that ended up here as well?”

  “I have identified transmission logs,” ARI continued. “Irregular communication bursts spanning multiple centuries. The senders and receivers are identified only by numerical designations. No known identifiers.”

  “So, someone has been using this,” Pom muttered. “Someone, or something.”

  Elisa exhaled, rubbing her forehead. There was too much they didn’t know. Too much time had passed. But one thing was clear—this transmitter was part of a puzzle far larger than she had imagined.

  A short distance away, Mei stood in quiet conversation with Ser No. The alien’s dark robes drifted slightly in the high-altitude wind, and though its posture remained composed, there was something unreadable in the way it held itself—something almost cautious.

  “I’ve noticed something,” Mei said. “Your linguistic ability is… very different from the Provider’s.”

  Ser No turned its reflective mask toward her. “Language is difficult.”

  Mei raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like speaking with us?”

  The alien’s head tilted slightly. “All that you need to know will be communicated to ARI in time. It is better.”

  Mei frowned. “Why is that?”

  Ser No was silent for a moment. When it finally spoke, its voice was measured, deliberate. “Words do not mean the same things between cultures. They carry weight. Connotation. Your people call us the Empire.”

  Mei nodded. “That’s what you are, aren’t you?”

  “In your language, yes,” Ser No said. “But in our native tongue, the same entity is referred to as something closer to the Totality.”

  Mei studied him. “And that has a different meaning.”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of meaning?” she pressed.

  Ser No did not answer immediately. When it did, its voice carried an almost imperceptible shift—an edge of something between patience and quiet grief.

  “Totality is a state of being. A structure beyond individuality.”

  Mei frowned. “You mean like a collective?”

  “Not in the way you think,” Ser No replied. “You perceive hierarchy. We perceive function. In Totality, there is no division. No fragmentation. The self is not insular.”

  Mei exhaled, taking in his words. “And you think we wouldn’t understand that?”

  “You cannot,” Ser No said simply. “Not fully. It is not your fault. It is a limitation of language, experience and culture.”

  Mei crossed her arms, watching him. “And that’s why you want us to talk to the Provider?”

  “It understands,” Ser No said. “It can see what you mean, even when you do not.”

  Mei wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On one hand, she could see the logic—linguistic drift was a problem even between human cultures. On the other hand… there was something unsettling about the idea that true understanding was only possible between artificial minds.

  She let the conversation settle in her mind as she turned back toward the others. Elisa and ARI were still poring over the transmitter logs, the weight of their discovery hanging thick in the air.

  Ser No remained still beside her, gazing out over the valley below.

  Maximilian called in over the comms. The sun was setting, and the time came to depart.

  ===

  The dim glow of work lamps cast flickering shadows over the main briefing table. ARI’s drone had arrived moments ago, its data banks finally synchronized, and now Elisa, Mei, Tamarlyan, and Qian Shirong stood hunched over the schematics displayed on the main console, while Maximilian and Ervin listened in from a distance.

  The neural implant design, shared by the Provider, was a marvel of bioengineering—sleek, minimalistic, and clearly intended for integration with a living organism. Its design conveyed an elegant simplicity, its core structure seemingly grown rather than built.

  Tamarlyan was nearly bursting with excitement. “This… This is beyond anything we’ve ever developed. The way the bio-interface synchronizes with the nervous system—it’s seamless.” His hands hovered over the projected display as if he could reach in and pluck the design from the air. “I can modify this. I can build a version compatible with human physiology.”

  Shirong nodded in agreement, his sharp analytical gaze flickering between the schematics and the biometric readings they’d pulled from the Provider. “The design itself is adaptable, but it would require a controlled testing environment. Neural rejection is a risk. Unless we engineer a perfect fit.”

  Elisa leaned back against the console, arms crossed. “The Provider said it would share all of its technology once we deliver the device it requested. If we get full access to its knowledge, reverse-engineering might not even be necessary.”

  Mei frowned slightly. “What exactly is the full extent of that technology? The biotech alone is highly efficient. The beetles and plants are designed to extract minerals with an almost perfect yield. What else are they capable of?”

  Tamarlyan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re worried?”

  “I’m thinking ahead,” Mei replied. “We’ve already seen how effective their ecosystem-based tech is. I just wonder what else they’ve optimized.” She tapped her fingers against the table, thoughtful. “I’ll be planting some of the samples we received in the grove.”

  ARI’s voice chimed in immediately. “That is not advisable.”

  Mei raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Introducing alien flora to an open environment poses security and health risks. There may be unforeseen biological hazards that are not immediately detectable. I recommend we first cultivate a controlled sample in a secure area of the lab.”

  Mei sighed, but she nodded. “Fine. I’ll start them in the lab first.”

  Elisa turned back to the schematics, running a hand over her temple.

  She turned to Tamarlyan. “What do you think? About them? Their motives?”

  Tamarlyan exhaled, rubbing his chin. “I think they’re being honest when they say they want to reunite with their Empire. That much is clear. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous.” He gestured toward the schematics. “Game theory tells us that in any high-stakes cooperation, each side will act in its best interest. Right now, we’re a resource they need. Their primary goal is getting off this planet. If symbiosis is the best way to ensure our cooperation, they’ll lean into that.”

  Elisa’s expression darkened. “And if it’s not?”

  Tamarlyan shrugged. “Then they will employ other means. Deception. Subtle coercion.”

  Mei looked between them. “That seems a little paranoid. They haven’t given us any reason to think they mean us harm.”

  “That’s exactly the point,” Tamarlyan said. “The best manipulations are the ones you never suspect.” He tapped on the console, pulling up the medical scans they had taken of Mei. “We already know they have the ability to alter DNA. They could have done anything to you in that chamber, and we wouldn’t know unless they wanted us to.”

  Mei’s looked sceptical. “It didn’t do anything to me.”

  Tamarlyan gave her a knowing look. “Didn’t it?”

  Mei hesitated.

  The Provider had been persuasive. That was undeniable. It had spoken to her in a way that had almost made her want to believe in it, in its vision of survival, its purpose. She had felt something, even if she couldn’t explain what.

  She exhaled slowly. “I see your point.”

  Elisa nodded. “For now, we proceed carefully. We’ll give them what they need, but we control the pace. We don’t let them push us too fast, and we don’t assume they have our best interests at heart.”

  Shirong, who had been quietly studying the schematics, finally spoke. “That being said… If we can make this neural interface work, we’d be taking the first real step toward bridging the gap between their biology and ours.” He looked at Tamarlyan. “If we can directly control their ecosystem...”

  Tamarlyan grinned. “Oh, don’t get me wrong—I want to do this. I just don’t want to be an idiot about it.”

  Maximilian crossed his arms, his usual unreadable expression giving way to something more focused, more pointed.

  “You’re all talking about getting this technology to work for humans,” he said, glancing at the projected schematics. “But have any of you considered putting a leash on the Provider?”

  Elisa frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Maximilian gestured toward the floating blueprint. “This thing. It’s the first real control interface we’ve seen tied to their technology. If we’re integrating it into the Provider's brain, that means we have an opportunity. Leverage.”

  Tamarlyan tilted his head, intrigued. “You mean a failsafe?”

  “A termination device,” Maximilian clarified, looking toward Shirong. “Something embedded in the implant. Something concealed.”

  Shirong straightened at that, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You want me to sabotage the design?”

  Maximilian shrugged. “Call it insurance.”

  Ervin exhaled sharply. “Are you listening to yourself? The Provider is offering us all of its technology, no strings attached. And you want to install a kill switch?”

  Maximilian turned to him. “No strings that we can see.” He tapped the projection. “We are on an unknown planet, dealing with a desperate species that has been here for hundreds of years. We cannot assume their intentions are perfectly aligned with ours.”

  “They need us,” Ervin shot back. “They haven’t tried to harm us. If anything, they have been cooperative.”

  Tamarlyan leaned forward, his mind already working through the logic. “That doesn’t mean they always will be. Right now, their best move is cooperation. But if that changes? If they suddenly see an advantage in removing us, do you think they’d hesitate?”

  Maximilian nodded. “That’s my point. Right now, it’s symbiosis. That can shift to coercion at any moment. And if that happens, we need to be the ones with control.”

  Elisa pinched the bridge of her nose, frustrated. “You want to plant a bomb in the Provider’s technology. If they find out—”

  “They can't refuse,” Maximilian said flatly.

  “They might,” Ervin cut in. “And then what? We’d have turned an ally into an enemy ourselves.”

  Shirong looked between them, his fingers lightly tapping against the console as he thought. “It’s possible to conceal modifications in the implant’s hardware,” he admitted. “Something small. Undetectable unless you know what to look for.” He glanced at Elisa. “But is that really the line we want to cross?”

  Elisa hesitated.

  On the one hand, she hated this. The Provider had been cooperative. It had even gone as far as to offer them everything—a gesture that, under normal circumstances, would be impossible to ignore.

  But they weren’t dealing with a normal situation.

  Maximilian was right. Trust wasn’t the same as certainty. And if the Provider had an agenda they couldn’t see yet, then it would be reckless not to at least have an option in place.

  She exhaled slowly, then turned to Shirong.

  “Do it. Investigate the modifications.”

  Shirong stiffened, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you sure?”

  Elisa’s expression was grim. “Yes. But I want ARI overseeing everything. I want this set up in such a way that only my personal encryption key can trigger the termination device. No one else.”

  Shirong nodded, though his expression was uneasy. “Understood.”

  Ervin shook his head. “This is a mistake.”

  Maximilian was satisfied, though. He gave Elisa a curt nod before stepping back. “At least now, we have options.”

  Tamarlyan let out a breath. “Let’s just hope we never have to use them.”

  Elisa stared at the projected schematics, her gut twisting. She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—Maximilian’s paranoia, or the fact that she agreed with him.