The blood oxygen level returned to normal, and the alarm lights in the main control room finally went out. Chen Hao breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumped, and he sank into his seat. Just as he was about to raise his hand to wipe his face, he heard Nana say, "Abnormal electromagnetic fluctuations detected."
He paused.
"Not interference?" he asked.
“Exclude local sources.” Nana’s finger slid across the control panel, bringing up a waveform graph. “The signal comes from a region 0.3 light-years ahead, with an extremely low frequency, regular pulses, and a repetition period of 7 minutes and 43 seconds.”
Chen Hao leaned closer to look at the screen. The line went up and down, like someone gently tapping on a table in the distance.
"It doesn't sound like a natural phenomenon," he said.
“No.” Nana nodded. “There is no match in the known celestial radiation signature database. Nor is it a standard code for navigation beacons or early warning signals.”
"Could it be aliens?" Chen Hao grinned. "Finally, it's our turn to be contacted first?"
“The intent cannot be confirmed at this time.” Nana’s voice remained unchanged. “The signal does not carry any characteristics of an energy attack, nor does it contain any data viruses or directional interference commands. It falls under the category of passive reception.”
"So it was just chatting?" Chen Hao scratched his head. "Someone posted something on their Moments, and we just stumbled upon it?"
“It’s closer to a message in a bottle,” Nana said, “but the content cannot be deciphered. Initial deciphering failed due to a lack of semantic framework support.”
Chen Hao stared at the flickering wire for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed out loud: "Do you think... it could be some unlucky guy like us, whose spaceship broke down and could only send out distress signals, but no one understood them?"
“The possibility exists,” Nana said, “but the available information is insufficient to support any conclusion.”
They were silent for a few seconds.
The starry sky outside was still pitch black, and the spaceship moved forward steadily.
Chen Hao picked up the communicator: "Hello, Susan, are you awake?"
"I'm awake." Her voice was weak. "What's wrong?"
"We received a strange signal, I don't know where it came from," Chen Hao said. "I'm wondering if we should deviate five degrees from the course to see if there's any reaction."
"No," Susan said immediately. "We haven't recovered from what happened earlier, it's too dangerous to move around now."
“I think so too,” Carl’s voice came in from the engineering channel. “I just finished inspecting the pipelines and I recommend pausing the route for minor adjustments.”
Chen Hao put down the communicator and looked at Nana: "It seems everyone is afraid of another incident."
“Caution is a reasonable response,” Nana said, “especially when the team is not fully recovered.”
“But this signal…” Chen Hao glanced at the waveform again, “It keeps sending signals. Every seven minutes or so, like clocking in for work. Who would persistently send something no one can understand?”
“It might be an automatic device,” Nana said. “Or it could be some kind of environmental feedback mechanism.”
"That sounds really boring," Chen Hao said, scoffing. "I thought we might stumble upon an alien civilization. It's probably just a broken satellite acting up."
“Even ventilation requires energy,” Nana said. “Supporting transmission over a distance of 0.3 light-years requires considerable power. This indicates that the signal source is still operational.”
Chen Hao's eyes lit up: "Can it still move? If we get closer, will it trigger any reaction? Like a holographic projection popping up and saying 'Welcome'?"
“It could also launch a turret,” Nana said.
"Can't you be a little more romantic?" Chen Hao sighed. "Every time I say something interesting, you just throw cold water on it."
“My job is to ensure safe navigation,” Nana said, “not to indulge your fantasies.”
"Isn't the meaning of interstellar travel to be about exploration?" Chen Hao leaned back in his chair. "We're so far from home, isn't it all to find something new and exciting? Eating nutritional paste, looking at stars, and fixing pipes every day is just too miserable."
“You said yesterday that weightlessness is a good thing,” Nana reminded her.
"That's just me lying to myself," Chen Hao said, shrugging. "A fat person may look light when floating, but they're still heavy when they land. Besides, I can't even hold a fork right now; I'll starve to death sooner or later."
Nana didn't reply, but instead brought up the flight simulation system.
“If we make a five-degree course correction,” she pointed to the screen, “it is expected to increase fuel consumption by 12%, and the subsequent resupply window will be delayed by at least twelve days. In addition, the area ahead is not fully mapped and there may be gravitational disturbance zones.”
As Chen Hao watched the data stream scroll, his smile slowly faded.
"So," he said in a low voice, "we might have to risk our lives for half a month just to hear a beeping sound we can't understand?"
"yes."
He fell silent again.
The signal begins its third cycle. The waveform is slightly stronger than the previous two, and the frequency band has been widened by less than 0.1 Hz.
Chen Hao stared at the screen, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the armrest.
“How about…” he began, “we’ll just deviate a little bit? Just five degrees, fly for ten minutes, and see if there’s any change? If there’s no reaction, come back immediately.”
“Fuel loss is irreversible,” Nana said. “And once we enter unknown areas, the emergency response time will be extended to more than four hours.”
"But what if this is an opportunity?" Chen Hao's voice softened. "Every breakthrough we've made along the way has come at a risk. If I hadn't insisted on scavenging through the junk at that abandoned station, would you have been able to upgrade the voice module? If I hadn't secretly removed the base's backup power supply, would the spaceship have been able to start?"
“Those decisions all had direct consequences,” Nana said. “You were electrocuted for three minutes, and the maintenance records got seventeen more entries.”
"But I survived," Chen Hao laughed, "and I even got some good stuff."
“This time is different,” Nana said. “You’re not taking this risk alone. Susan needs a stable environment, Carl relies on system balance, and the team’s resources are limited. Your ‘scavenging’ behavior is too costly right now.”
Chen Hao fell silent.
He looked out the porthole. There was nothing there, only the darkness of the deep sky and a few motionless stars in the distance.
The signal sounded for the fourth time. The waveform was stable and the rhythm was clear.
Nana pressed play. The original audio came from the cabin speakers—a low hum, like wind blowing through a crack, or the vibration of an old refrigerator starting up.
It stops after a few seconds.
“This is not language,” she said. “It is not music either. There is currently no evidence that it is a call to wisdom.”
Chen Hao closed his eyes, then opened them again.
“Then let it continue to ‘tempt,’” he said. “We’ll go our own way.”
He sat up straight and gave the following orders to the control panel: "Maintain the original speed and trajectory, and disable route adjustment permissions. Set signal monitoring to automatic alarm level, and immediately notify us of any abnormal changes."
“The command has been entered,” Nana said. “The system has switched to remote tracking mode and will record the intensity and direction shift every half hour.”
"Let's wait until we have enough data," Chen Hao said, rubbing his neck. "It's not like it's going to run away."
“It really shows no signs of moving,” Nana said. “The signal azimuth has not changed significantly in the past twenty-three minutes.”
“That’s the type of player who camps out.” Chen Hao yawned. “The kind who waits for prey to run into a trap.”
He stretched and leaned back into his seat.
"Do you think it might be waiting for us too?" he suddenly asked.
“There is no basis for this,” Nana said.
"I mean, hypothetically," Chen Hao said, looking at the screen. "What if it knows we've received the signal, but it just won't say anything and keeps sending this message? Is it testing us? Seeing if we dare to get closer?"
"So, is your performance a pass or a failure?" Nana countered.
"I think it was just barely passing," Chen Hao chuckled. "I didn't rush through, but I didn't turn off the receiver either. Would you call that leaving something to look forward to?"
“You’ve retained listening privileges,” Nana said. “That means you haven’t completely given up.”
“That’s right.” Chen Hao slapped his thigh. “As long as curiosity never dies, talent will never be wasted.”
He let out a long yawn, and his eyelids began to droop.
"Go and rest," Nana said. "I'll monitor you for the next two hours."
“Okay.” Chen Hao unbuckled his seatbelt. “If you find that thing suddenly starts singing, remember to call me.”
"If there is a semantic breakthrough, I will activate the emergency wake-up procedure."
Chen Hao got up and slowly moved towards the rest area. Halfway there, he turned back.
"Nana".
"exist."
“If one day you actually manage to decipher what it's saying,” he paused, “don't decide for yourself whether to respond. Call me.”
“Understood,” Nana said. “Major decisions require collective knowledge.”
Chen Hao nodded and continued drifting forward.
Nana was the only one left in the main control cabin.
She didn't leave the console; she was still running the deep scan program. The background algorithm continuously compared signal fragments with thousands of communication protocols in the historical database.
The waveform appeared on the screen for the fifth time.
This time, the pulse interval was shortened by 0.8 seconds.
Nana's finger hovered above the input box.
She accessed the encrypted log and created a new record:
"A slight change in the signal cycle suggests a possible response to external stimuli. This needs further verification."
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