It took Maren nineteen hours to decode the first layer.
She didn't eat. She barely blinked. LUMEN ran pattern recognition algorithms while Maren cross-referenced the output against every known mathematical framework — Fibonacci spirals, Mersenne primes, cellular automata, fractal geometry. The signal used all of them, layered like voices in a fugue, each mathematical system carrying a different strand of meaning.
The first layer was a number. Forty-one.
"Days?" Maren asked aloud.
"Uncertain," LUMEN said. "But the number is embedded in a temporal framework that maps precisely to Earth's rotational period. Whoever sent this understands our measurement of time."
Maren felt the hair rise on her arms. "That means they've been watching us."
"That is one interpretation."
"What's another?"
"That they are us. A future transmission, a mirror signal, a—"
"No." Maren shook her head. "The bearing. It's extra-solar. Way extra-solar. This is coming from the Local Void."
The Local Void — a region of space conspicuously empty of galaxies, stretching three hundred million light-years across. Astronomers had studied it for centuries and found nothing. No stars, no gas clouds, no dark matter concentrations worth mentioning. It was the universe's blank page.
And now something in that blank page was counting down.
Maren started on the second layer at hour twenty-three. This was different — not mathematical but structural, almost linguistic. LUMEN's translation matrices chewed through petabytes of comparative data, mapping the signal's patterns against every human language, every known cipher system, every form of encoded communication from Sumerian cuneiform to quantum key distribution.
At hour thirty-one, LUMEN said something that made Maren's blood go cold.
"Dr. Solís, the second layer contains a biometric signature."
"What kind?"
"Neural. Specifically, it encodes a pattern consistent with human brain architecture. More specifically—" LUMEN paused, which it never did. "It matches your neural signature. The one recorded during your mandatory cognitive baseline exam in 2181."
Maren stared at the screen. "That's impossible. That data is stored on a secure ESA server on Earth."
"I am aware. Nevertheless, the match confidence is 99.89%. The signal is addressed to you, Dr. Solís. Personally."
The room felt very small. Jupiter filled the viewport, its bands of cream and rust rolling in slow, ancient turbulence.
"How?" Maren breathed.
"I don't know," LUMEN said. And for the first time in their six years together, the AI sounded almost human. Almost frightened.
Maren reached for the emergency transponder again. This time, she pressed the button.
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