What can be said and done will be said and done.

System shutdown. Pitch-black throughout the ship. Auxiliary power activated. No system malfunctioning detected during scan. Shutdown cause, unknown.

No one aboard the vessel noticed the faint signal transmitted by the life form they'd collected from River 01, a mostly uninhabited, half desert, half forest area south of the equator. Like most planets orbiting Sara Star-20, Planet B-17 had a strong magnetic field and exhibited instantaneous communication instances between surface organisms: a crew member had stepped onto an unknown flower type, crushing it and triggering a domino effect that had flattened a trail of flowers at her feet; or when they'd collected a bioluminescent blue leaf from a tree crown, millions of leaves had rattled as one over a mile radius. Collecting a life form and bringing it to the ship to be studied had been a great gamble in the name of science.

Many still felt as if they'd just arrived, as time rushed and dilated simultaneously, in part pushing events forward, in part pressing down onto their shoulders. Emotions had begun to well up after the vessel had been stationed atop the edge of the bioluminescent forest – Seremna, they'd called it: that which shines, in the Ylam tongue of the southern galactic ring – yet all episodes of outbursts had been quickly dispelled by Captain Beran, of race Savier, the intellectually prevalent society of Star Bay 10-95.

Nimron, one of the ten Amsirions aboard, entered cardiac arrest that day. Cause, unknown. Previous health status, optimal for long-term flight and standard mission requirements. There wasn't much that the medics could do. The remaining nine Amsirions gathered unannounced shortly afterwards, thanked Medic Supervisor Makuuna, making no inquiries, then lifted Nimron off the medical bed and carried him to his quarters to commence immediate mind transfer. It was urgent to assimilate him according to the mystic tradition of Amsiria, so they may fulfil his mission and return him to his family. That which is, can never not have been, was the commencing line of the ceremony. That which was shall forever be, came as the response.

Out of the 209 crew, 77 had been assigned ground recognition missions, among which team 07 reported back with a strange time lag: more than 2 standard hours between message transmission and reception, noted Captain Beran; however, upon closer inspection, their response dates preceded Umbar transmissions by a split-second: in other words, the ground team would send their replies a moment before Central Deck had made their inquiries, yet what ought to have been instantaneous communication took 2 standard hours to be received by the ship. Furthermore, absurd differences in temperature reports came from crews 05 and 12, which were conducting research in parallel and otherwise weather-identical strips of land.

Doctor Qwe was watching the life form that was spread across the table, nestled in its malleable, semi-transparent, star-shaped shell. 3.9 feet between its farthest points, its interior pulsated and bore a striking resemblance to a gigantic sensory neuron.

"Any luck deciphering what it might be?"

She turned and saw Zadek, the Omirion, the half-clock human, standing in the hallway. He entered.

"I'm afraid luck is inconsistent in science," she replied.

"Has science answered any questions about it, then?"

"A few," she nodded, "but it's premature to establish what it is."

His golden, clock-mechanism irises moved softly, keeping track of time and essence as well as measuring the life form. Neither human nor non-human entirely, this Son of Time seemed to be presence and non-presence reconciled and manifest in human form. He turned to look at her.

"During shutdown," he began, "I was aware of this" – he gestured toward the B17er under constant holographic scans – "more than I was of anyone else on the ship."

Doctor Qwe drew closer. "What did you perceive, more exactly?"

"I couldn't say for sure. There was light around it and around the ship."

"The ship was in utter darkness," she retorted sternly.

"In this layer of spacetime, it was," he agreed. "However, my clock origins allow me to be aware of multiple ones."

A Savier herself, Doctor Qwe wasn't entirely fond of what lay beyond the reaches of her perception, but whatever could help her understand the being on the table was more than welcome. "Translate that into something I can use," she asked.

"Well, to begin with," said Zadek, "whatever's out there knows this thing is here and is trying to reach it."

"A central awareness, you imply."

Zadek nodded. "And I don't think it likes being scanned."

"No emotion response capacity has been detected – in this layer of spacetime," she added with a touch of irony.

He smiled softly at the sting. "Tell me, Doctor, if you were to scan irony in search for inner, irony-inducing triggers, what would you find?"

"Excuse me?"

"Perhaps you could consider your subject a heightened physical form perpetually responsive to outer triggers."

"And your theory is based on...?"

"Empathy. You should try it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll return to my post."

"Please do."

As he left, he heard something in the line of that half-clock human, but did not linger to hear the rest of it. After all, it was her choice whether to believe him or not. The corridor led to the Engine Room, where he entered and was seated. He resembled a machine, motionless as he remained, yet despite the golden wheels that he held as irises, he bore a look of humanly concern. Why wasn't it obvious that with various layers of physicality, close connections could exist between seemingly-dividable units? No one tied wires to connect the small ground vehicles to the Recognition Ship, yet the same overall system made them functional and enabled them to communicate. Perhaps it was best to keep quiet for now. He turned to listen to the sound of the machine.

"It still functions within parameters," he muttered. "This is tomorrow for them."