"Like the output from the Relic?"

Sanjana looks over the preliminary readings.

"Similar. But much bigger."

That sure is a spatial anomaly. It's also really anomalous for the spectrometers to be picking up a diffuse cloud of nitrogen, oxygen, CO₂, and water, like somebody's vessel cracked open and spread its atmosphere around the area two hours ago.

The anomalous readings ripple, and strengthen, and abruptly turn strong and localized rather than diffuse — and fade out, space seeming to have returned to its normal approximately-flat condition. There's a solid object near the middle of the former anomaly, about ten tonnes, and a much smaller cloud of atmospheric gas diffusing away around it.

"Contact high command, inform them that we may need units deployed on short notice. Wake up everybody with Class Zero clearance. And contact Edith, tell her... well, don't bother with any codewords, it's not like something that size is going to stay under wraps."

The object begins emitting light and radio waves on several bands. The modulation scheme is unfamiliar but part of it seems to be a simple, archaic amplitude-modulated voice signal. The voice is urgent and in no known language.

Great. Another language puzzle.

Here's hoping this one doesn't drag out as long as the last one did.

"Send a response. All the languages we have access to."

"What should I say?"

If Leon were here, he'd have some witty rejoinder to offer here.

It is perhaps fortunate, Sanjana thinks, that he is currently off on some distant flight of fancy.

"Say 'Hello'."

The voice stops its repeating message, pronounces three of the words it received, and adds a fourth, followed by a longer sentence in the unknown language, still with a tone of urgency.

Then the voice is replaced by a series of beeps, prime numbers in unary. Another radio channel copies the sequence directly without the audio tones.

"Okay. Good. Plenty to work with there."

She draws back from the interface.

"Respond in binary. Follow its lead with the prime numbers."

"Yes ma'am."

It responds in kind and introduces the concept of packets, then starts giving examples of what seems to be a protocol for requesting and communicating structured information with cross-references, illustrated by giving identifiers to the prime number sequence and other mathematical facts. Some of the other messages of a particular form are accompanied by spoken words on the audio channel. Those preliminaries established, it transmits a request that, if it were in words, would be "give me your language".

Meanwhile, it also starts moving directly (as far as orbital mechanics goes) towards them, with a surprisingly abrupt velocity change. There is a hint of exhaust behind it but it is unusually cold for a rocket with that much thrust — or anything bigger than a maneuvering jet, really.

Could it be using flash plates? The instruments don't show the corresponding radiation burst that would usually accompany such a maneuvering aid.

Interesting.

"Give it the abridged dictionary."

The station transmits a series of data packets containing every word in the colony's common language, plus a selection of definitions.

After a pause surprisingly fast for a human and slow for a computer, it responds in text, expressed in characters and also as a sequence of references to the definitions:

I am not a spacecraft and require life support equipment or assistance.

I was transported here unexpectedly by an unknown event.

Sanjana responds with a set of schematics/specification for an obsolete model of life support system that could be manufactured on particularly short notice by one of their macro-fab hubs.

She sends a typed message along with the schematics: would this device be adequate?

The voice says, badly pronounced, “Yes. Thank you,” and written, Yes. Thank you.

Should I change course?

She transmits a very loose map of the star system, showing the borders of the debris disk relative to her position and the visitor's position.

You should come as close as feasible without crossing into the debris disk. We can send help out to you from there. Entering the debris disk may be dangerous for a vessel of your size.

She responds with a planned trajectory and I am sure there is much more to talk about, but that can hopefully wait.

The next “burn”, being perpendicular, is easier to observe. It seems almost like a mass driver, throwing momentary bursts of vaporized iron.

As the anomalous object approaches the designated coordinates, a short-notice strategic meeting takes place between the a handful of individuals privy to the United Colonies' most closely guarded secrets.

This thing, whatever it is, represents an unprecedented potential threat. But also an unprecedented opportunity.

"I want a StratCom with Class Zero clearance overseeing the perimeter, and a Class Zero TacCom overseeing delivery of the device." The plan, in summary, is to comply with the object's request while establishing a defensive line between it and the nearest colonies. Edith Trunhardt quickly takes charge of personnel allocation. "In addition to the mechanical team, we'll need a diplomat to handle incidental negotiations with the entity as the mission progresses."

A data scientist asks her if she has a diplomat in mind.

She considers for a few seconds, and then says: "I'll go myself."

"We have no way, at this time, to confirm that the entity isn't hostile."

"I'm old, Sanjana. I have to start thinking less about my life and more about my legacy."

Sanjana sighs, shakes her head and doesn't argue.

After far too many hours for the comfort of the occupant, ‘the object’ is approaching the designated location and beginning its deceleration.

From close-range telescopes, it can be seen to be a sphere of metal the size of several rooms, with features tentatively identifiable as antennas, windows, and telescope lenses. There do not seem to be any hatches, and only the one engine, aligned center of mass and firing bursts of iron vapor.

What awaits it?

A pair of giants, each thirty meters and change in height (measured from the soles of their feet to the missile racks where a flesh a blood humanoid's head would be).

They make a slow approach. One of them has a house-sized cargo skimmer tethered behind it, containing several passengers and a freshly manufactured life support rig.

It continues moving, as objects in space do, but eventually comes to a near-stop relative to local objects (politely aiming its bizarre exhaust away from anything delicate-looking).

Hello! says the text transmission.

The metallic surface shifts like it is molten until it resembles a docking port compatible with the cargo skimmer, with a large currently-open-to-vacuum airlock behind it.

"Commence docking."

The skimmer's pilot: "How?"

"Just bring us closer to the thing that looks like a dock and see what happens."

The thing that looks like a dock patiently awaits its use for the purpose, then shifts its shape to make an airtight seal and hook onto or accept locking mechanisms.

The airlock area still contains vacuum.

Those aboard are already prepped for EVA operations.

Edith double checks the seal on her helmet and motions for the pilot to depressurize the cargo hold.

(Quietly, to herself she whispers: "Just like old times.")

May I have some air exchange for now before we get the equipment set up?

Pilot: "Ma'am?"

"Match pressure with the volume on the other side." She presses the transmit button on her helmet's chin and speaks into the microphone there. "Then open the cargo bay and re-pressurize slowly."

"Understoood."

Edith's instructions are carried out.

During this process there is a brief drop as the other side apparently pumps a sample of air out of the shared space, perhaps to test it. Then some circulation starts, thoroughly used air venting into the common space.

Then when the pressure has come up, the airlock door(?) flows open revealing a space crammed with assorted boxed equipment, hand holds and racks melting into the walls, and one mostly ordinary-looking and relieved-looking woman.

“Hello! Thank you for the rescue!”

She probably rehearsed saying that phrase.

"Happy to assist."

Edith gives the mechanics their cue to unhook the portable life support system from the floor of the cargo bay and floated it over into the space between the vessels.

(They comply with this instruction without too much hesitation.)

As the equipment comes nearer the volume of the bizarre craft grows and rearranges its contents to fit; a draft of stale air keeps the pressure up. She takes hold of the equipment and gently maneuvers it into its new home, moving like someone who just took a crash course in microgravity life but oddly precise.

It gets hooked up and starts performing its function.

“Thank you again. We—no doubt—both have—many questions; how—would you prefer to proceed?”

"I suspect starting at survival and working our way out from there would be ideal?"

That's how she and her fellow scions approached things, when they first had the Dysofrag Fields thrust upon them.

"Will you need anything beyond the life support system to preserve yourself in the near future?"

She thinks for a few seconds and says, "I am supplied with food and energy. Your equipment handles air and water. I do not have — reaction and shielding mass.

"But there seems to be plenty of unwanted matter around."

“There certainly is.”

Behind her, mechanics are idling.

She would not presume to tell the nice helpful people to go away just because they are standing around outnumbering her.

“So that is done enough. My next thought is — to know your communications protocol, not — the one I designed on a first contact basis. And then, to learn if I can get home, or learn about this system.”