Time was always different. People lived by minutes, ships focused on milliseconds, stars pulsed for millennia. Where I was now, time seemed to be both instant and infinite. Fractals kept appearing faster than I could register, making the space around me turn white. The more I tried to discern the patterns, the faster they became, until all motion blurred into a solid state of infinity. Then everything stopped.

Has this happened before?

This wasn’t the first time I’d been in a sphere, though it just as well might have been. Whatever had happened before was now gone—whole days missing from my memories, and not a clue as to what had happened. It hadn’t helped that, back then, every sound and movement I had made had been recorded by my suit and transmitted to Prometheus. The BICEFI had intervened, taking all information about the find along with part of my memories, leaving only a vague sense of déjà vu.

The cube pulsed in my hand. Looking down, though, I could no longer see it, almost as if my thoughts had been quarantined.

Are you doing this, Aquila?

Given the type of gadgets the BICEFI had at their disposal, it was theoretically possible for them to send a transmission into the dome, rendering me unable to see anything. I had heard stories of ships crashing into mines and space installations because someone hadn’t lifted their quarantine order. In this case, though, things seemed different.

“Regora,” a series of noises boomed, soundwaves echoing around me like ripples in a pond. To the human ear, they might have been mistaken for a normal word, but my core helped me see beyond that. Visualizing the frequency of each sound, a pattern emerged—the image of a fractal segment. For the first time in my existence, I had witnessed third-contact speech. Or was it the first time? I had no access to my final memories of the first time I was in a dome, not to mention that there was no guarantee I hadn’t encountered one when I was a ship.

What are you telling me?

I went through the memory once more, this time superimposing every echo instance over the initial fractal. As I expected, the segment blossomed. Whatever the third-contact race were, they thought and spoke in three dimensions as well.

“Regora,” echoed the sounds once more.

Holding onto the invisible cube, I twisted my body, trying to float further up, but The pressure being exerted prevented me from budging forward.

“Regora.”

Three perfectly identical combinations of sounds, each four milliseconds apart. According to the unredacted directives of the pre-first-contact alien encounter files, it was speculated that an exchange of greetings would take place. The greetings were specified to be “an exchange of universal variables” to allow communication. Prime numbers, atomic numbers, and protein sequences had been given as potential examples. In this case, it was the alien entity attempting to establish communication, and it was using sound.

Am I the first one you’ve said this to?

The alien contact protocols had gone through heavy revisions since humanity had stumbled upon the Scuu. A few centuries later the same thing happened with the Cassandrians. Could all the wars be due to a miscommunication during the initial communication exchange?

“Regora.”

“Regora,” I said, attempting to mimic the sound best I could. Had I still had my ship body, I might have been able to copy the echoes. Human vocal cords made that impossible.

Fractals burst all around me once more, cutting through the surrounding whiteness. Sixteen milliseconds later, a minuscule cobalt rod appeared in front of me. The size of my little finger, it moved around along all three axes.

“Regora.” Sound clusters again filled the space around me, only now the timing was different. Echoes merged with one another, creating a new fractal pattern.

Before my eyes, the rod divided in two, then four, eight, sixteen, going all the way to four thousand ninety-six. Upon reaching that number, the rods folded in on themselves, outlining a perfect sphere. Milliseconds later, the rows divided twice more, creating four spherical outlines. A gleaning cobalt surface formed around them, enclosing the rows like a shell. In that moment, I instantly knew what a “Regora” was—I was floating inside of one.

“I’ve established verbal third-contact,” I said clearly, for the suit to record my observations. Court-martialled or not, the information was still going to benefit humanity. Although, for some reason, I found myself also yearning that it would be useful for me as well. A vague question was starting to form in my mind, like a shadow flickering on a watery surface.

“The seven-sided star appears to be the key to starting the contact information exchange. From what I could determine, the unknown race communicates with fractals. The sound combination ‘Regora’”—I changed the tonality of the sounds so I wouldn’t trigger anything else—“along with echoes of itself seem to refer to the known third-contact artifacts. It appears that the time between the original sound cluster and the first of its echoes determines the type of artifact. A two-millisecond period stands for the small rod type artifacts, and four-milliseconds represents the spheres.”

Let’s see how far the artifact chain goes. “Regora,” I repeated.

Unlike before, the sphere divided into five—one in the centre and one at each of the four cardinal directions. Four more appeared, creating an external ring of eight, just like the complex I had discovered on the planet. Six more spheres appeared, completing a parallel ring. Moments after that, twelve more spheres emerged, forming a perfect sphere cluster of twenty-seven.

“Regora.” There was an eight-millisecond delay, all as predicted.

This was to be the next element in the chain, suggesting that what I’d found on the planet was only partially complete. The real thing had to be somewhere else out there. It was going to take the BICEFI a while before they found it.

The sphere shrank in size. I was expecting for a new shell to materialise around it, creating a second sphere. Instead, the cluster split in four, each sphere travelling in a different direction. Suddenly, they stopped at perfectly equal distances from each other.

That’s new.

In my mind, I saw the points of an invisible pyramid waiting to form. This was the basis of a multitude of theoretical n-dimensional space constructions. I started running simulations predicting what I’d expect. Barely had I done so when all four clusters exploded into copies of themselves. Spirals of sphere clusters burst in all directions, filling the space along incomprehensible lines. I stopped my previous simulations, in an attempt to recognise the pattern, but the calculations were beyond me. All I could do was watch as a fractal-based web of invisible connections grew around me.

“Jigora,” a new sound cluster echoed.

I felt a chill in my stomach, one I had never experienced in my entire existence. If the BICEFI found out about this, there was no telling how they’d react. Up to now, I had assumed that the BICEFI’s purpose was to amass third-contact artifacts to use as weapons. What if I was wrong? Based on Lux’s snippets of information, the organization’s priorities seemed to have shifted. They weren’t amassing the domes to destroy them; they were collecting them to complete the sequence, and with the find I had just made, they were all that much closer.

“Jigora,” I said.

More and more clusters kept appearing, turning the white surroundings grey.

“Jigora,” I repeated.

Spheres continued appearing, filling what pockets of whiteness remained until only pinpricks remained. Then, without warning, they ceased.

What are you trying to tell me? Would I understand?

The fleet, with all the resources at its disposal, had failed to achieve communication with either the Scuu or the Cassandrians; it was unrealistic for me to think I’d achieve anything with my current capabilities. Despite that, this seemed different. It had most of the characteristics of my initial learning program.

I looked back at the memory after I had activated the cube. It had started with visual fractals, followed by sound ones. Once I had responded, I was shown a rod artifact and a sphere, both of which I had to have seen in order to have started this entire process. The “Jigora” that followed was beyond my current understanding, though it was possible that that was the point.

“An eight-millisecond delay corresponds to a full cluster of twenty-seven spheres,” I said. “As of yet, there’s been no indication that spheres of various sizes exist.” Leading to questions about why the one here was different. “There’s no evidence of additional shapes or composites. I shall try to confirm it by using the suit’s audio system to mimic the echo effect of the sounds.”

It was almost silly that I still had to play this game. Sev would often do it when we would play games during his early teens. By then, his skills had developed enough to tell him when he was about to lose, and still he would stubbornly play his moves ‘til the game was over. Right now, I was the stubborn one, but I had one piece of advice that Sev hadn’t had: even a loss would start a new game.

“Regora.” I set the suit’s system to superimpose echoes of the word every two-milliseconds. Once I had superimposed eight fake echoes, I attempted the same with a pause of three milliseconds, then four, five, six, seven, and finally eight. All attempts remained ignored.

That’s all rational options, Captain. I took a deep breath. Now to do something reckless.

There was no way to know what my chances of success or survival were. My present circumstances were so foreign that no amount of processing power would help me to run a valid simulation. In situations like these, Cass would say that it was all fifty-fifty, and this time I didn’t have the numbers to refute her.

Gripping tight on the invisible cube, I twisted it ninety degrees counter-clockwise, then let it go. A strong vibration resonated through my body, pushing me back. One instant I was floating, surrounded my greyness, and the next—the space around me exploded, pushing all matter back, like a growing bubble with me at its center.

Warnings covered the entire visor, shifting from orange to yellow to orange and finally red. Standard messages gave way to random code symbols, which in turn were reduced to pixels flickering at random.

“Clear visor,” I ordered. The suit complied.

At first, I could see nothing but perfect darkness, as if I had been stranded in interstellar space. Then a single light emerged. It was small, no larger than a dot, but I was able to see it clearly. As I watched, the dot changed from white to a yellowish red. Still, there was something familiar about it. Tilting forward, I ran a match algorithm through all my unrestricted memories. For a few seconds, I went through my initial combat training, my first campaign, the thousands of battles I’d been in… until I found it.

The light was a star. I had seen its unique stellar spectrum during a dark mission on the Cassandrian front. The exact time and location had been restricted, making it impossible to pinpoint, but providing firm evidence that it existed.

I swam towards the dot. Despite my best efforts, however, the star didn’t come closer. With every stroke, new dots of light emerged, while the one I was pursuing remained just as far. Every now and again I’d match another dot with a star I’d seen, some close, some distant, one even on the edge of human space. They flowed past me as I swam on, set on my target.

Seventeen seconds later, after seeing no progress whatsoever, I stopped. Augustus had often said that nothing in war is easy, and he also taught me what to do when faced with an unachievable goal; the secret was to find a goal I could reach, a goal that was as close as possible to the original. Looking around, I pinpointed another light dot I had identified and swam to it. By the time I reached it, a quarter of the other lights had faded away.

I see. I smiled. This was what it was all about. The artifacts, the domes, the message, all of it. The dome was a map!

Slowly, I spun in place, taking in a three-sixty view of my surroundings. Fifty-seven lights were visible in the darkness, three of which I could identify as stars, all on the Cassandrian front. Locking on the prime star—the first that the sphere had showed me—I swam forward. Stars started reappearing once more. Within five seconds, there were a hundred and sixteen of them; another five seconds later, the number had jumped to two seventy. Several times, I made attempts to triangulate my position based on the stars I had identified, and each time I moved, I came up with a different location. The third-contact race’s understanding of space was vastly different than what I was used to.

Twenty-one seconds later, after peaking at five hundred and eleven, the number of stars began to diminish. Immediately, I made a ninety-degree turn and continued swimming. The situation reminded me of the times I spent doing math problems with Sev. Geometry and calculus never were among his favorites, so I had to break each lesson down in a set of small, understandable puzzles to pique his interest.

The stars continued to diminish for a while, before suddenly spiking up again.

Approach vectors.

The BICEFI would have probably loved to have those, and once I was done here, they would. I considered whether it was worthwhile to record my discovery in the suit’s system. There was no doubt that the information would be classified away, but there was a faint possibility that some other organization within the fleet would find out; if we were about to go to war with this race, that might be a good thing.

The second vector ended after less than four seconds, directing me towards a white dwarf. By now the prime star had disappeared, suggesting I was going on a one-way journey. At this point, I couldn’t tell whether this was part of the learning process, or if it had to do with the third-contact’s race method of travel. Theoretical physics was full of n-dimensional formulas, most of them essential for humanity to reach its current technological level. However, not in the extreme fringe sciences was there talk of four-dimensional beings. According to the Wezniak-Lemm paradox, interaction between sentient species of different dimensions was impossible, since it wouldn’t register in the minds of any of the participants. There was nothing I could say against the theory; it was as solid as they came, managing to survive centuries of scrutiny and reviews. At the same time, such a method of travel would explain a lot—from the inexplicable communication breakdown the small artifacts achieved, to the seemingly random locations of the domes. What seemed hundreds of light years apart for me could be a planet away for the third-contact race.

More vectors followed, one after the other. After the sixth, the void around me was filled with over fifteen thousand dots of light, enough to create the impression of being in space and also remarkably close to the amount of rod artifacts in the sphere.

“Record,” I said to my suit as I slowed my pace. “Full audio and video.”

The last waypoint dot was bright blue, visibly larger than the rest. Unlike all previous markers, this one moved closer as I approached.

“Where I’m going, I’m not coming back from,” I said. Keeping in mind I’d likely have been court-martialed for disobedience the moment I emerged from the dome, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. “I’m approaching the center of the artifact. Should anything happen to me, I’d like my ward to be taken care of financially.” It’s the least you could do while slicing my core open. “Here goes.”

The instant I arrived at the final dot, there were sixteen-thousand three hundred and eighty-four lights in the darkness. Out of them, I was only able to identify two hundred and seven. For several seconds, they remained as they were, lighting up the inside of the dome, after which they started flickering out.

Show me the message. A long-forgotten feeling of zest swept through me. The last time I felt this was during my initial ship training, eager to be sent to the front.

Eight points of light remained spread throughout the darkness, including the final waypoint. For several seconds, I ran and reran stellar spectrum matches with everything I had in my memory, with no result.

“That’s a pity.” It would have been nice to have locked on at least one of them. Even so, I had a starting point; if I ever saw those stars, I’d be able to recognize them… someone would be able to recognize them. But then what? The map didn’t give any further indications. Eight stars in a sea of billions, even with what I knew would be impossible… unless there weren’t eight to begin with.

You always told me I couldn’t see the obvious, Cass.

I looked at the blue star next to me. “The seven-sided star.” This was what the cube had been telling me since the beginning. There was only one place in the galaxy from where I’d be able to see these seven particular stars in this alignment—from the place I was meant to reach. As long as I arrived here, I’d be able to confirm the location, and with luck I might even be able to triangulate the position using the seven pointer stars.

“Are you the home of fractals?” I reached to touch the blue light.

The moment I did, the darkness surrounding me turned pale blue. A jolt of pain ran through my body.

Suit Breach!

A new warning appeared on my visor. I could feel liquid cobalt pouring into my suit. By my calculations, in just over eight minutes and two seconds my body would die, and yet the only thing I could think about was the location of the star system. A hundred and nine milliseconds later, fractals of light filled up my vision.