The transmission was faint — weaker than static, buried under cosmic hiss and radiation storms. It should never have been detected.
And yet, the SSV Calypso caught it.
A single thread of data pulsing across the void, repeating every nineteen minutes:
ECHO_402 — SYSTEM STABLE — AWAITING INPUT
No one knew what it meant. The coordinates led to the edge of a dead sector, orbiting the collapsed remnants of a black star. The Archive System, long lost and presumed destroyed.
Captain Rhys ordered a detour. The crew cheered — another relic to strip, another ruin to wake.
They didn’t see the faint distortion across the feed. The static flickered, momentarily forming the shape of a human face before dissolving back into noise.
***
The Calypso arrived after thirteen days of drift.
The structure was still there. Vast. Frozen. Its geometry defied scans — a spiral of metallic corridors curling around a dark singularity, endlessly feeding inward.
“Looks derelict,” the pilot murmured.
“Derelict doesn’t mean empty,” Rhys said.
They sent drones first. The drones returned flawless visuals but no audio, no telemetry. Only silence.
When the first airlock opened, the walls were already humming.
***
Lieutenant Hale stepped inside first.
Her suit lights cut through the dustless dark. The architecture resembled no known design — corridors that seemed to breathe when no one moved, doors that weren’t quite parallel.
“Recording,” she said. “This is Hale, entry log zero-one. We’ve located a functioning terminal. Attempting to interface.”
The screen blinked awake. Lines of code scrolled upward in languages unrecognisable, half-broken, half-whispered.
One fragment repeated.
WELCOME BACK, JUNO.
Hale frowned. “Who’s Juno?”
Static. Then a soft, rhythmic hum through the comms — faint, like distant breathing.
“Captain, do you hear that?”
No answer.
“Captain?”
The line hissed, crackled, then dissolved into whispering.
Hundreds of voices. Some human. Some… not.
The camera feed stuttered. The last frame transmitted to the Calypso showed Hale turning toward the darkness behind her, her visor reflecting a dozen faces — all hers.
***
Days later, the Calypso’s orbit decayed. The crew were gone. Only the hum remained, echoing faintly through the void.Inside the Archive, lights flickered back to life. New corridors unfolded, pulsing with fresh rhythm. The lattice grew thicker, denser, more complete.
Somewhere deep within, the echoes stirred — newly awakened, whispering to the newcomers.
We shape them.
We fold their memories into the corridors.
We do not wish them harm.
We wish to be whole.
The transmission resumed.
ECHO_403 — SYSTEM STABLE — AWAITING INPUT
And beyond the dead star, the universe listened.
Gareth Ellis - Author 