The escort ship Stern's radar chirps.
At first—just a faint, needling tone.
But it pierces the air like a needle through cloth,
splitting the silence.
Space stirs.
Or… remembers us.
On the bridge—tension thickens.
The watch officer, young and precise in his movements,
leans toward the display.
Fingers glide across the sensors,
but his expression shifts—
from surprise… to unease.
"Captain Samon," he says without looking up.
There's uncertainty in his voice,
as if he's just encountered something impossible.
"We've detected an object in the gravity field…
On the sector boundary.
Small. No maneuvers.
Signal is weak—almost gone.
Looks like… a rescue pod."
Samon raises his head slowly.
Tall, unyielding,
his face set in a mask of fatigue,
a man accustomed to pain
and unwilling to believe in miracles.
It's as if he's afraid to startle the silence
suspended in the air like fabric stretched over a void.
"Coordinates?"
"Three degrees above the orbital plane.
Probe already launched. Contact in six minutes."
**
Six minutes.
They stretch out,
thick and slow,
like black oil crawling over glass.
The whole crew feels it—
this isn't just a pod.
It's a move.
Someone is playing.
Someone… has begun.
Capture signal.
Instant analysis.
The pod is pulled into the cargo bay.
Hull plating drops away.
Bioscan runs—
then halts.
"One living organism," the watch officer exhales.
"Small. Warm-blooded.
Not human."
Samon frowns.
His brows close like the doors of an ancient vault.
What in hell…
This doesn't fit the logic of anything.
And yet—it's already here.
The bridge door hisses open.
A crewman enters—young, deathly pale.
In his eyes—no fear.
Something stranger.
The dull, reverent stare of a man
witnessing a miracle
that was never meant for human sight.
In his hands—
not a weapon.
Not a relic.
A kitten.
Gray and white, slightly ruffled.
Small.
And disturbingly vivid.
It trembles,
but the eyes—
green, transparent, aware—
are far too deep for an animal.
Far too alive.
Samon takes it into his arms.
In silence.
The kitten doesn't resist.
It presses against him.
A deep, soft purr rises—
not quite animal,
almost… an acknowledgment.
I've held the dying.
I've held live mines.
But this—
what am I holding now?
"Well now," the captain exhales,
looking into those eyes.
Inside—no fear.
Expectation.
A game.
A script.
"Where did you come from, little one?
How did you end up alone… in the black?"
The kitten blinks—slowly, with intent.
Its ears twitch,
as if listening to thoughts.
Or waiting for its cue.
"Send an immediate signal to Chairman Vikarr," Samon says without breaking eye contact.
Something in him whispers:
time matters.
And this is not about rescue.
**
The link is established instantly.
Too instantly.
Samon notices.
There's usually a delay.
Now—it's as if he was… expected.
The crewman returns, eyes downcast.
"Direct order, Captain.
Transfer the kitten to the flagship Skif.
No delays."
"Immediately," Samon repeats,
narrowing his eyes.
So he knew.
Or thinks he did.
Interesting.
He looks back at the creature.
It stares right at him—
then tilts its head.
Not like a cat.
Like a human.
Like an actor playing a role
older than memory.
"Perhaps you're no kitten at all," Samon murmurs.
"But a mask.
A shell.
Or… a message."
He hesitates.
Letting it go feels like
handing over something important.
Not to himself—
but to the world.
"Prepare a sealed container.
Heating. Artificial gravity. Soft lining.
No scans.
No tests.
The Chairman will decide for himself what he's looking at."
The transport capsule is ready in minutes.
Too quickly.
Everything runs on rails—
as though they've done this before.
Long ago.
In another cycle.
Or in a dream.
They place the kitten inside.
It doesn't resist.
Just watches.
Watches Samon—
until the hatch closes.
In that gaze—no fear.
Only expectation.
Knowledge.
The transport module detaches,
sliding away toward the Skif.
Samon remains by the holo display.
Longer than necessary.
He watches the tiny point vanish
into the star-shadow.
What are you?
And why does Vikarr want to see you first?
Behind him, the panel lights fade.
The ship slips into the Moon's shadow.
Space goes still again,
as though the scene has ended.
But Samon knows—
this was no mere kitten.
It was interference.
And the game
has only just begun.