Signal in the Stone
May 4, 2025
Arctic Circle, 2068
The excavation team didn’t expect to find anything but ice and rock.
Then the machines struck something metal.
“It’s not debris,” said Dr. Corin Elan, brushing frost off the gleaming surface. “It’s too deep. It predates… everything.”
The object was a smooth, circular disk buried 400 meters below permafrost. No rust. No seams. No explanation.
“What is it?” asked junior geologist Mae Tan.
Corin tapped it gently.
It hummed back.
Within hours, the UN issued a research quarantine. An international team flew in. Military satellites were repositioned.
Because the disk wasn’t just humming.
It was transmitting.
The signal wasn’t in any known language. Or any language at all.
It was math. And rhythm.
Like a heartbeat wrapped in prime numbers.
In a heated tent over the object, Corin reviewed the signal stream.
“It’s repeating every 37 minutes,” he muttered. “Like a… wake-up call.”
Mae frowned. “For us?”
“Or for itself.”
On the fifth day, the disk began changing.
Glyphs rose from its surface, shimmering like heat waves. Then: a voice.
Not from speakers — from inside their heads.
“Observer Identified. Interface initializing.”
Mae clutched her ears. “It’s talking inside my mind!”
Corin was pale. “It knows we’re here.”
They called in linguists, neuroscientists, encryption experts. Nothing helped.
The voice returned only when Corin was alone.
“You are not native to this planet.”
“That’s… debatable,” Corin said aloud.
“This biosphere is leased. Usage: 93,410 cycles.”
“Leased? From who?”
No reply.
By Day 10, the disk had begun growing. Slowly — absorbing surrounding ice and rock. It pulsed with every transmission.
Mae approached Corin in the night. “It’s spreading. Whatever it is, it’s waking up.”
Corin looked exhausted. “And I think it’s counting down.”
“To what?”
“Eviction.”
In a classified briefing, Corin stood before military and scientific advisors.
“I believe this object is an alien artifact. A kind of environmental monitoring node. Possibly part of a larger network.”
General Royce folded his arms. “You’re saying we’re being watched?”
“No. I’m saying we’re tenants.”
“And our lease is up?”
Corin nodded.
The next message was crystal clear. Everyone heard it.
“Lease expired. Reclamation imminent.”
Panic swept through the camp.
“Do something!” someone shouted. “Shut it down!”
Mae turned to Corin. “Can we?”
He shook his head. “It’s not a machine in the way we understand. It’s… alive. Or something close.”
On Day 12, they sent a message back.
Through math. Through thought. Through dreams.
A simple plea:
“We didn’t know.”
And finally, the voice responded.
“Awareness does not equal ownership.”
Mae whispered, “Then let us prove we’re worth the space.”
Silence.
Then, the disk stopped growing.
Glyphs shifted.
A new message etched itself onto its surface:
“Provisional Extension: 1 cycle.”
Corin stared.
“A test,” he murmured. “They’re giving us one more chance.”
Mae looked up at the aurora flickering overhead.
“To prove we deserve this world.”