The alien seemed about Asadi’s size, with almost translucent skin save for what looked like frilly gills, which were colored a deep scarlet. While the eyes were closed, the gills floated back and forth within the tank, as if waving to her.

Upon inspecting more of these strange aliens, Asadi found very little variation between them, save for subtle height and build differences. She thought she could spot some mottled gray spots on the aliens’ backs, but since they were lying faceup it was difficult to tell. All in all, she guessed that there were about a hundred of them in here, serenely still in their mint-green containers.

A more thorough investigation of the room revealed that the wiring strung across the floor connected each of the tanks not only to one another, but also to a large computer console sitting next to the far wall, perched like a gargoyle watching over its city below. Asadi spent a few minutes trying to figure out how to operate the machine with no success. The keyboard was in a script that she had no chance of understanding, while the display looked more like a drugged-out kaleidoscope than a computer screen.

“Well,” she said, turning back to the tanks. “Guess it’s just us.”

She had to say something, if only to break the drafty silence reminiscent of an art gallery. Or a mausoleum. She pulled out her broken transmitter, trying to fool herself into thinking that it was still working. However, one glance at the sparking piece of burned-out junk disillusioned her. Pocketing it, she chewed her lip as she looked around. These aliens had to have a comm system of some kind, she reasoned. But where?

She spotted another steel door at the far end of the room, and wasn’t surprised to find yet another concrete hallway, panels of harsh white light snaking along the ceiling. At the last second, she used the dead transmitter to prop the door open. She didn’t know whether it would lock or not, but being a doorstop was about all the melted comm was good for.

After about a hundred feet, she entered another room of tanks, all lined up in rows with the same wiring stretching across the floor. However, Asadi sensed something different about this room. It seemed more active, more alive than the last one, although she couldn’t identify why. She stood there for a few moments, eyebrows creased in concentration as she tried to justify her intuition. Then she heard it. Like water dripping from a faucet, a tapping sound echoed throughout the room. After sweeping her gaze around the room for the second time, she settled on something she’d missed.

In this room, the giant computer was tucked into an alcove, its glaringly bright screen casting a pale glow across the room. Careful not to trip over the mess of wiring, Asadi walked over to the edge of the alcove, her right hand reaching for a sidearm… that wasn’t there. She bit back a curse, then continued.

The tapping was definitely coming from the computer, which clicked away on its own like it was working at a soul-sucking desk job. Turning the corner, Asadi noticed that it was running, unlike the monitor she’d encountered in the first room.

The computer’s sulfur-yellow screen displayed a scrolling block of symbols on the left, combined with what looked like camera feeds on the right. The feeds were all of space, with a few red blips scattered across it.

As Asadi’s gaze flicked between the feeds and the numbers, she began to realize what it was. Those feeds might be coming from the spheres. If she could figure out how to use the computer…

“Jesus!”

Asadi whirled around, nearly stumbling back into the computer. The man standing near the room’s entrance looked even more surprised than she was, his mouth agape and what looked like coffee running down the front of his shirt and arm.

“Jesus” the man repeated, trying in vain to wipe the coffee off his shirt. “You scared the hell out of me. Who are you anyway?”

For a moment Asadi stared at the man like a deer caught in the headlights. Then his question sunk in, and she nodded acknowledgement. Before she answered, she swept the room one more time to make sure nobody else was hiding. She didn’t need two heart attacks in as many minutes, not after the day she’d had.

“Commander Sadaf Asadi,” she said after her heartbeat had slowed to a sprint. “UNS Galaxie. And who are you?”

“An idiot,” the man replied without hesitation, his lip curling. “But I was called Mark Corradi for a time. Mark is fine, idiot is preferred. Now my next question, miss Asadi, is how you’re here. And why.”

Mark reminded her of an ancient sea captain, with a wiry beard clinging to his face like a burr and a face with lines that hinted at a life of hard work. His deep set blue eyes regarded her with curiosity, although she could see a hint of suspicion lurking behind it.

Asadi raised an eyebrow and glanced at the concrete walls surrounding them. The walls, harsh panel lights, and steel support beams made it resemble a missile silo of old, or perhaps some hidden nuclear research station.

“I could ask you the same question,” she replied. “My shuttle got shot down, and I…”

Asadi’s voice faltered for a moment when she remembered Paulson and the others. She covered her mouth as her gaze dropped to the floor, trying to regain her composure. After a few more moments than she would’ve liked, her breathing returned to normal.

“And I survived,” she continued. “We were sent here after a recon satellite picked up some electromagnetic signals coming from the area.”

“Ah yes,” Mark said, biting his lip. “Those might’ve been from me. I got a bit lonely, so I decided to call home, you know? Rest assured that I’m alright, there’s nothing wrong here. At least, nothing you can fix.”

“Why are you here in the first place?” Asadi asked, gesturing at the dismal room around her. “We’re a long way from Earth you know.”

“Yeah,” Mark murmured in response, his eyes settling into a thousand yard stare. “Yeah, I know that. It’s a long story...”

Asadi leaned forward a bit, gesturing for him to continue. Mark didn’t seem to notice, absently wiping his coffee-covered hand on his shirt. Asadi realized with a start that it was part of a two-piece, navy blue flight suit. Something about it seemed familiar, but Mark interrupted her train of thought before she could place it.

“But not now,” Mark continued, his eyes refocusing. “Now, I have to come to grips with the fact that there’s humans here. You came from the ship, right?”

Asadi raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah… are you sure you’re alright?”

Mark pressed his lips together, then blinked a few times and shook his head.

“I am certain that I am not alright,” Mark replied, holding up a finger to forestall her next question. “But I can’t get into that right now, since there’s a ship full of humans-- they’re humans, right?”

“Mostly.”

“Fine then,” Mark replied, waving away the distinction. “A ship mostly full of humans is up there, and the Honraxi are shooting at them. Either way, bad bad bad and I need to get them to stop. Do you have a comm?”

“Not one that works,” Asadi answered, shaking her head.

“Great,” Mark replied, running a hand through his hair. “Just great. Do you guys still speak Standard? Wait I’m an idiot, of course you do. What’s the chance that your ship would hear a message if I sent it?”

“Uh,” Asadi murmured. “Pretty good? And who are you?” she added, trying to bring the conversation back to its original point. However, she already knew he was going to ignore it and continue on whatever tangent he was speeding down.

“Good,” Mark said, brushing past her. He sat down at the computer and began typing in the alien language, his fingers flying over the keyboard. The images on the monitors changed as the spheres broke orbit of the planet and hurtled towards the edge of the system.

“Attention, UNS Galaxie,” Mark said, leaning into what looked like a microphone. “This is Mark Corradi, formerly of the UNS Percheron. I am here with Commander Sadaf Asadi on the surface of Iapetus. She is not under any duress, having encountered me by chance after her shuttle was shot down.”

Mark then gestured for her to speak into the microphone. Realizing that he’d blown right past her question (and that he was trying to be helpful), she sighed and walked over.

“Hey guys,” Asadi said, licking her lips as she tried to think of something else to say. Come to think of it, her throat was pretty dry, too.

“Yeah,” she continued. “I survived the shuttle crash. Just… just me. I had no way of contacting you, so I continued with the mission. The spheres are definitely coming from the domes on the planet. After I got into one I ran into Corradi, and he claims that he sent the signals to us. There’s also some aliens here, an-

“We can get into that later,” Mark said, cutting her off. “Right now I can tell you that some of the people here aren’t too happy to see you. I can help us all get through this. Do you copy?”

All he got in response was silence. Not even static, just an eerie silence that seemed to draw in sound from the surrounding room.

“Do you copy?” Mark asked again. This time there was static, which gradually condensed into a language Asadi couldn’t recognize. It seemed almost musical, a combination of whistles and chirps that resembled songbirds more than sapient beings.

Mark wiped a hand across his brow as he responded, his lips fumbling over some of the more complex whistles. After about thirty seconds of this, the microphone lapsed back into silence. Mark licked his lips, then looked up.

“Not good,” he said.