Location: Fort Kestrel, Colorado
Timestamp: UTC -7, 08:43
General Marcus Voss stood alone in Briefing Room A7, arms folded, face lit only by the soft glow of a mission file projected into the air. A digital dossier flickered as he swiped through: personnel rosters, psychological profiles, equipment manifests, orbital flight charts.
The room smelled of metal and filtered air. Sterile. Focused. Like everything else in this facility.
He hadn't slept, he couldn't. Even if he wanted to, he had a job to do.
The decision to move forward had been approved less than four hours ago. The U.N. was still arguing about jurisdiction, diplomats were trading promises they had no intention of keeping, and half the planet didn't even know what was drifting near Neptune.
He sighed, but Operation Deep Crown was already underway regardless.
He tapped the interface, and a new document expanded: Operation Deep Crown Team Roster: Phase 1 Survey Unit
Commander Sarah Roth — Special Recon, Orbital Operations
Lt. Dominic Ibarra — Exo-Salvage and Breach Specialist
Dr. Rafiq El-Nouri — Xenolinguistics, Neural Pattern Recognition
Dr. Erin Kael — Civilian AI Interface Technician, Polaris Initiative
Tech Sgt. Vance Holloway — Tactical Systems, Former Blackout Division
Cpt. Naomi Kusanagi — Orbital EVA Medic, UN Navy (Ret.)
Private First Class Jarod Wei — Logistics, Engineering Support
No one knew the full picture. That was deliberate.
He keyed the intercom. "Bring them in."
Location: Debriefing Room C2
The walls were bare metal. No national flags. No insignia. Just a long table, bolted to the floor, and seven sealed dossiers waiting at each seat.
Commander Sarah Roth was the first to arrive. She moved like she still had military grade armour on — every step calculated, every turn deliberate. Her brown hair was cropped short, streaks of grey visible at the temples. She'd served in Europa's Cold Zones during the Hydro Conflicts, fought in the Upper Silesian uprising over in Poland, and never lost a team.
Voss had hand picked her.
"General," she said with a curt nod.
"Commander." He gestured to the seat at the center.
Next came Lt. Ibarra — younger, wiry, quiet. Tattooed arms, a cybernetic eye glowing faint green, more for aesthetics than actual utility. Salvager-turned-soldier. Voss had read the reports — the man once breached a derelict orbital freighter single handedly during a solar flare, extracted twelve civilians and half a ton of high-grade reactor cores. He didn't speak much. Just nodded and sat.
Dr. Rafiq El-Nouri followed. Slim, olive-skinned, mid-40s, glasses perched on his nose like a relic from another age. He taught ancient linguistic matrices at Alexandria University — until his research has surprisingly been flagged for similar patterns matching the alien signal.
"Do you know what language does to the mind, General?" he asked softly, before sitting. "It rewires it. If we're wrong about the origin, we could misread everything."
"Which is why you're here, Doctor," Voss replied.
Then came Erin Kael.
Younger than the others. Mid-30s, tall, messy black hair, combat boots over a civilian lab coat. Her hands were always moving — tapping, twirling a stylus, adjusting glasses that didn't need adjusting. She worked on quantum empathy layers at the Polaris Initiative before it was shut down for being "too unstable." But Voss had read the black files, the ones that didn't exist as they were supposedly deleted, that is until he was given higher clearance access. They brought her here, due to her simulations that got results no one else could explain.
"This isn't a lab test," he warned her as she entered, voice cold as ice.
"I know," she said offhandedly, pulling out a chair. "I brought my best nightmares."
Voss stared at her for a couple of seconds and thought that this nut job is going to do more harm than good.
Next was Tech Sgt. Vance Holloway — all muscle and silence, one hand always near his hip. Retired from Red Riot Division. Psych profile said "controlled aggression, loyal to mission, lethal under stress, needs more evaluation" Voss didn't need him to speak. Just to act.
Finally, Cpt. Kusanagi and PFC Jarod Wei entered together — the medic and the support tech. She was calm, precise, every inch a professional. He was younger, overqualified, and still carried that glint of awe in his eyes.
They all sat. Seven strangers. No unit cohesion. Not yet.
Voss began.
"You've all been pulled from different sectors, clearances, and departments. Some of you volunteered. Some didn't. That doesn't matter anymore. You've been chosen for Deep Crown, because you represent the best chance we have of understanding what's out there."
He tapped the table. A projection flickered to life — the alien ship, rotating slowly.
"No propulsion. No lights. No atmosphere leaks. But it's not dead. It's transmitting. We don't know to whom. Or why."
Erin leaned forward. "You've analyzed the signal?"
"We are," Voss replied. "But it's degrading. Whatever it is — it's very, very old. Maybe thousands of years. Maybe more, we won't know until we get there and get a sample
Dr. El-Nouri muttered something in Arabic, then said aloud, "General, we should be very careful. That ship doesn't look civilian grade."
"We're beyond careful, Doctor. We're prepared."
He paused, then changed the projection.
A new image appeared — their ship.
S.C.S. Arclight
Modified stealth shuttle
Radiation-shielded hull
Five-month orbit-capable life support
Optional AI-pilot override
Atmospheric re-entry not recommended
"You leave in six days," Voss said. "Launch window is narrow. Public attention is spiking, and our allies — and enemies — are getting curious. This mission does not exist. Your families will be informed you're on classified orbital assignments. Communications will be blocked."
Roth raised a brow. "What's the fallback plan?"
"There isn't one," Voss said.
A heavy silence fell.
Location: Arclight Simulation Chamber – Day 2
The walls shook as the simulated launch rumbled beneath them. Lights flickered. Vents hissed. The Arclight's interior was small — claustrophobic. Crammed with instruments, lockers, handholds. Designed to house six, maybe seven, for up to 200 days.
"I hope none of you are claustrophobic," Erin muttered, sliding into her crash harness.
"Only emotionally," said Ibarra, not looking up.
Rafiq chuckled from across the chamber. "You should try working in ancient tombs. This is luxury."
They trained. Hard. Breach drills. Low-gravity adaptation. Radiation protocols. Simulated hull breaches. Signal decryption.
Roth ran them like a knife's edge. No room for ego. No room for error.
But even as they prepared, something else began to creep in — not fear, not exactly — but awe.
They were going to be the first.
Location: Fort Kestrel — Observation Room
Timestamp: Launch minus 18 hours
General Voss stood with his arms crossed, watching the crew from behind one-way glass, visibly unimpressed and in some cases judging if its too late to change the composition of the team.
"They're not ready," said Colonel Meyers beside him.
"No one's ever ready," Voss replied, voice tired. "That's why they'll survive… Hopefully" He whispered the last part.
He paused, then added, "Begin final equipment loadout. And send Graves to brief their orbital AI."
Meyers blinked. "You're activating the Echo protocol?"
"I want someone listening in case we don't hear back."
Location: Lower Deck, S.C.S. Arclight — Day Before Launch
Erin sat alone, staring at the console where the AI core would soon be installed.
A soft chime echoed in the empty ship.
She leaned forward. The signal was playing again — that low-pulse rhythm, steady like breath. As much as it unnerved her it fascinated her.
Location: Fort Kestrel – Arclight Hangar Bay
Timestamp: Launch minus 20 hours
The hangar bay was quiet under layers of artificial lighting. A cathedral of steel and silence. The Arclight stood at the far end, a bit triangular shaped, draped in shadows and scaffolding, its sharp frame covered under the tar-black plating. Technicians moved like ghosts—wordless, methodical, trained to ignore what they weren't cleared to understand, and not paid enough to understand.
Inside, the crew ran final diagnostics.
Commander Roth crouched beside Ibarra at a junction node near the loading ramp. The hatch wiring had been reconfigured for quick re-pressurization—a redundancy against vacuum decompression. But the circuit board was unfamiliar, a hybrid of American military tech and something else—something newer.
"Black budget gear," Ibarra muttered. "Doesn't even ping on standard diagnostics."
"Will it hold?" Roth asked sceptically.
"I can make it hold."
That was enough.
Above them, Erin Kael knelt on a grated upper platform, staring down at the AI core housing. She still hadn't slept. The repeating signal — the one she'd intercepted in the simulation chamber — wouldn't leave her mind.
It pulsed faintly from the encrypted drive in her lap.
Tick. Pause. Tick. Tick. Pause.
Like a breathing pattern. Or a countdown, hopefully neither and its just some equivalent of an S.O.S.
She wasn't sure which possibility terrified her more.
"That drive is supposed to be out?" came a voice behind her.
She flinched. Vance Holloway stood at the bulkhead, arms crossed, silent as ever.
"I needed to cross-check its rhythm against known patterns. Still can't map the structure," she replied.
"You're not a comms specialist."
"No," Erin said, voice lowering. "But your AI doesn't talk. Mine might."
They stared at each other for a moment before Holloway gave a small nod and walked away.
Down in the lower cargo deck, Dr. El-Nouri and Jarod Wei sat on crates unpacking signal interference shielding. Rafiq moved carefully, examining the foil with something close to reverence.
"You think this is going to work?" Jarod asked.
Rafiq smiled faintly. "Work for what?"
"For keeping us safe," Jarod said. "From... whatever's out there."
El-Nouri didn't answer immediately.
"In 2025, a scientist named Nareen Akhter proposed that all intelligent species will eventually encounter a paradox: whether to scream into the void or stay silent and listen. Humanity chose to scream."
Jarod frowned. "You're saying we made a mistake?"
"I'm saying we were heard, for good or for worse only time will tell"
Location: Fort Kestrel – Briefing Room E7
Timestamp: Launch minus 18 hours
The team was summoned one final time.
This time, the room was different. Warmer lighting. A black backdrop. No projectors, no data walls. Just chairs arranged in a semicircle, facing the far wall.
On that wall: a flag. No nation. No emblem. Just a dark blue field with a single white circle — Earth.
General Voss entered alone.
"This is your final briefing," he began, tone low but firm. "As of this moment, you are officially decommissioned from active duty and placed under the authority of the Global Deep Observation Task Force."
A few exchanged glances.
"This classification does not exist in any legal framework. Your mission is not known to the U.S., the U.N., or any government in public record. You operate under Article Zero of the U.N space exploration mission.
Erin raised a brow. "That's a myth."
Voss looked her in the eye not saying anything.
He took a slow breath, then continued.
"We're no longer asking what this object is. We're preparing for what happens after. If it's a ship, it's not here by chance. If it's a message, someone sent it. If it's a warning…"
He didn't finish the thought.
Instead, he keyed a small remote. A hollow beep. The lights dimmed.
A new projection flickered on. It was the ship — clearer than they'd seen before. The radiation blur had been partially filtered. It was massive. Angular. Portions of its surface appeared to move — or refract light in inconsistent ways.
But one thing stood out.
A worn out symbol.
At the vessel's dorsal spine, faint but undeniable: was some sort of a symbol within a circle, surrounded by what looked like rays or wings in what appeared red and black. All around the ship appears to be gun emplacements dozens of them, big and small.
"We're walking into the unknown," Voss said. "But make no mistake. You're not explorers."
He stepped closer.
"You're the first line of containment."
Location: Crew Quarters – Fort Kestrel
Timestamp: Launch minus 10 hours
The team dispersed in silence after the final briefing.
Most went to rest.
Erin didn't.
She stood on the facility's outer observation deck, watching the sky.
It was cold. The stars were faint. The moon low and hazed in orange.
She gripped the rail and closed her eyes.
Her mother used to say the stars held answers. Now they felt more like questions sharpened into knives.
Footsteps approached behind her. It was Roth.
"You ever been up there?" Erin asked, not turning.
"A dozen times."
"And?"
"It's always quieter than you expect."
Erin nodded slowly. "I don't think it will be this time."