Before the Collapse, as the world descended into chaos and darkness, those with the means had identified planets like Earth and aimed their generation ships toward them, hoping to find a home unspoiled by what humanity had done to Earth. But the ships had fallen silent one by one, and the dream of finding life on another planet had faded away. The people who survived the Collapse had focused on rebuilding civilization on Earth. There was a famous quotation from Leung Ma-Lin carved above the entrance to every Councils building across the globe, said to be the words she spoke when opening the First Council four hundred years ago: “First, we heal our home and ourselves.”

But as humankind soared back into the stars, we began to look again. It was still the dream that filled the dark spaces in the sky when people gazed upward and wondered. Dr. Lago’s recovery of these messages would have marked him as the father of one of humankind’s greatest discoveries. He had kept them from his colleagues because he wanted all the acclaim for himself. Such a petty, human thing to do, in the face of such knowledge.

Mournful Evening Song had traveled to a planet that had once been home to an alien civilization. And they sent UC33-X back not as a greeting, but as a warning, because what they found there had destroyed them.

•   •   •

We left the bridge. The cold, dark hallway curved out of sight in both directions. I turned to the left and grabbed a handle on the wall, trying to remember the fastest way to Level 12. The bridge had been full of ambient noise, the persistent hum of a functioning ship, but beyond its walls the unnatural silence returned. I was reaching for the next handhold when I saw a flicker of light ahead.

I held out my arm to warn the others. The flicker steadied into a beam. I hadn’t listened for our captors before we left the bridge. My helmet and its radio were hooked uselessly to my belt. Stupidly, stupidly, I had forgotten about them.

A voice carried down the corridor: “Did you hear that?”

Panya. Not muffled or echoing through a microphone. She had taken off her helmet.

There was no answer, only the soft sound of gloves scraping over the walls: somebody was using friction to stop themselves. The beam of light stilled. I pressed myself close to the inner wall of the curved hallway and gestured for the others to do the same.

“I heard something,” Panya said. She was speaking in a loud whisper, but the words carried. “Didn’t you?”

“Quiet.” That was Dag, the bald, unsmiling one whose face seemed carved from stone. “I’ll check it out. Wait here.”