Earth Streamer: Blazing Across the Stars with Popular Science
At 3:53 a.m., an anomalous fluctuation suddenly appeared in the data stream of Geosynchronous Orbit Monitoring Station No. 3.
This was no ordinary signal interference. There were no records of ionospheric disturbances, no solar wind peaks, and no known artificial satellites or space stations operating in this frequency band. Yet in that single second, a narrowband pulse lasting 0.3 seconds pierced the outer edge of the atmosphere, stabbing like a needle into the nerve endings of the global monitoring network.
Cheng Ye was leaning against the console of the National Security Bureau's underground monitoring center, chewing gum.
Without looking up, his right hand slid the mouse to pull up the original waveform graph. The screen refreshed, and the data unfolded—frequency: 3.1415926 GHz, so precise it could not be a natural phenomenon; modulation: asymmetric biphase code, nested with a three-level error correction structure, belonging to a coding system outside human communication standards.
He stopped chewing.
"Lao Zhang," he said, his voice not loud, but the entire monitoring area fell silent immediately. "Replay that moment just now."
The duty operator quickly replayed the data fragment. The waveform reappeared, sharp, clean, and free of noise.
"It's not interference," Cheng Ye stared at the spectrum analysis window. "This is a data packet."
No one responded. The monitoring room was filled only with the low hum of operating equipment and the clatter of keyboards. Six of the twelve main screens switched to multi-dimensional analysis views, displaying the signal's energy distribution, propagation path, and attenuation curve. The results showed: it originated from the surface, with extremely low transmission power, yet it successfully penetrated the ionospheric barrier.
"Trace the source," Cheng Ye said.
The system launched a reverse tracking program. Using residual reflection data from global ground base stations, historical scan records from low-orbit reconnaissance satellites, and weak induced currents in underground fiber-optic networks, a 3D positioning model was constructed. Three minutes later, the coordinates were locked.
[Northwest Gobi Desert, Abandoned Satellite Station Area A-7]
The map zoomed in, revealing a desolate expanse. Damaged by a solar storm ten years ago, it had been designated a restricted area—no registered power supply, no communication permits, no personnel records. Theoretically, there should be no active signal transmission there.
"Check for illegal entry records in the past 24 hours," Cheng Ye said while manually extracting the underlying protocol header of the signal.
Decoding results popped up on the screen: unknown identifiers, non-standard timestamps, undefined checksum fields.
"This isn't our people," he said. "Nor is it a hacker test."
Someone asked in a low voice, "Could it be a civilian research group? Like those radio enthusiasts who build their own equipment?"
Cheng Ye shook his head. "They use shortwave broadcast protocols, at most modifying military frequency bands. This..." He pointed to a string of recursive sequences on the screen. "Has fractal characteristics. Each segment of data contains a similar internal structure, like some kind of self-replicating logic. There are no matching samples in the global database."
He stood up and walked toward the command terminal.
"I need to see the Chief."
At 4:07 a.m., the emergency briefing room's red warning light turned on.
Cheng Ye projected three sets of comparison graphs onto the main screen. On the left was a normal ionospheric reflection signal, as gentle as ocean waves; in the middle was a historical case of seized illegal broadcasts, messy but identifiable; on the right was the newly captured data stream, showing a honeycomb nested pattern, with each layer precisely repeating the information topology of the previous one.
"Look here," he pointed to the center of the graph with a laser pointer. "Traditional signal transmission pursues efficiency and compresses redundancy. But this signal instead adds a large amount of seemingly useless repeated structures. Yet it's not noise—each repetition has tiny deviations, forming progressive evolution. This does not conform to any known encryption or anti-interference mechanism."
The Chief sat at the end of the long table, in his fifties with graying temples, tapping his fingers lightly on the tabletop.
"You mean it's a product of intelligent design?"
"I dare not draw a conclusion," Cheng Ye said calmly. "But I can confirm that it does not belong to Earth's current technological system. Neither national projects nor underground organizations have publicly or secretly developed such a communication model. And its transmission source is at an abandoned site without any infrastructure support. Theoretically, it can't even maintain basic power supply, let alone operate a high-precision signal generator."
"It could also be a legacy device activating on its own," another official interjected. "Many automated systems went out of control during the storm three years ago and have gradually resumed operation since then. Maybe an old radar suddenly woke up."
"That possibility exists," Cheng Ye nodded. "But we detected traces of intentionality."
He pulled up another set of data: 8.6 seconds after the signal stopped, a weak feedback pulse had spread outward, directed toward a patch of airspace near the Martian orbit.
"If it were equipment failure or a natural phenomenon, it wouldn't produce a directional response. The energy level of this pulse is extremely low, almost undetectable, but we happened to have a decommissioned weather satellite at that angle that captured the residual fluctuation."
The conference room fell into a brief silence.
The Chief frowned: "You're saying someone is using an abandoned site to send messages into space? And received a reply?"
"I'm not saying 'someone'," Cheng Ye corrected. "I'm saying a signal source at that location attempted a single two-way communication. Whoever is behind it has mastered a technical path we do not understand."
"What if it's just a coincidence?" someone questioned. "Like cosmic rays triggering a circuit that just happened to form a similar pattern?"
"I've ruled out all natural causes," Cheng Ye opened the geomagnetic monitoring log. "Last night's geomagnetic activity was calm, Kp index 1, no solar flare records, no thunderstorm clouds at high altitude. There have been no reports of mineral exploration operations or railway current leakage in this area recently. No interference sources exist."
He paused, adding: "Moreover, this signal structure... is too orderly. Orderly enough to not be accidental."
The Chief stared at the screen for ten seconds before finally speaking: "Approved the reconnaissance mission. The special operations team will prepare to depart immediately."
"I'll lead the team," Cheng Ye said.
"You just finished your night shift."
"I haven't slept," he said. "From the moment the signal appeared, I never intended to."
The Chief glanced at him and did not object further.
"Remember, only conduct on-site reconnaissance, do not touch unknown devices, do not activate unknown equipment. If any anomalies are found, evacuate immediately and report. This is not a drill."
"Understood." Cheng Ye saluted and turned to leave.
At 4:36 a.m., the Special Operations equipment preparation area.
Metal shelves were neatly arranged, with explosion-proof shields, tactical vests, and portable electromagnetic shielding boxes hanging on the walls. In the corner of the inspection table, several communication terminals were undergoing final debugging.
Cheng Ye stood at the console, checking the accompanying equipment list item by item.
"Have the encryption modules been replaced?" he asked the technician.
"Two backup units have been replaced," the other handed over a black box. "But during testing just now, the third channel kept reporting errors, as if affected by slight directional interference."
Cheng Ye took the terminal and pressed the power button. The screen lit up, signal strength showed normal, but the security protocol authentication progress bar stuck at 97%, flickering repeatedly.
He frowned. "Replace it."
The technician immediately removed the module and installed a new one. This time, the authentication completed smoothly.
"Strange," the technician muttered. "The interference source has extremely weak energy, like microwave leakage from far away, but we can't trace the origin."
Cheng Ye said nothing. He put the terminal into his tactical bag and zipped it up.
He walked to the wall and took down his combat uniform. Black fabric, unmarked, thickened protective layers on the shoulders, built-in temperature control system. He put it on piece by piece, his movements as skilled as breathing.
The mechanical watch on his left wrist tapped lightly against the table corner, making a crisp sound. The watch glass was slightly worn, the edges of the numbers yellowed, but it kept accurate time. It was a gift from his father, with a line of small characters engraved inside the back cover: "Time will prove everything."
He checked the time: 4:41 a.m.
Five minutes until the convoy departed.
He picked up the gum box, pulled out a piece, and put it in his mouth. The mint flavor stimulated his tongue, keeping him alert.
The dispatcher's voice came through the headset: "Alpha Team, vehicles are in position. External temperature minus eight degrees Celsius, wind speed six meters per second, visibility good."
He pressed the talk button: "Received."
The preparation area door slid open. Three all-terrain armored vehicles were parked at the exit ramp, engines roaring, exhaust pipes spewing white mist. The bodies were covered in camouflage paint, with wide tires suitable for Gobi driving. Two team members were already in the driver's seats, and the other four had completed equipment checks and were lined up waiting for orders.
Cheng Ye did a final scan of the equipment list.
[Signal Capturer ×2]
[Portable Spectrum Analyzer ×1]
[Quantum Noise Detector ×1]
[Offline Storage Hard Drives ×4]
[Emergency Power Packs ×3]
[Radiation-Resistant Masks ×6]
[Basic Medical Kit ×1]
All items were confirmed correct.
He put on his tactical gloves, his fingertips touching the anti-slip patterns on the palms. He had performed this action hundreds of times, each time to face unknown threats. But this time, there was an indescribable strange feeling in his heart.
It was not nervousness, nor fear.
It was a feeling of being watched.
As if their actions had been predicted long before the signal appeared.
He shook off the thought.
"Move out," he said.
The six team members boarded the vehicles quickly. Cheng Ye sat in the passenger seat of the second vehicle and closed the door. The interior lights were dim, and the dashboard glowed blue. The car radio was silent, retaining only basic navigation functions. To prevent potential signal penetration, all networked modules were shut down, using an offline combat protocol.
The vehicle slowly drove out of the base tunnel.
Ahead was the pitch-black night road, with barbed wire fences stretching into the distance on both sides, topped with barbed wire. Searchlights swept across the road, leaving brief light spots. The exit gate rose, and the convoy drove out one by one.
Cold wind rushed in.
The Gobi night sky was clear, dotted with stars. Without urban light pollution, the Milky Way stretched across the sky like a trail of scattered ash.
Cheng Ye stared out the window, chewing gum.
He knew that the abandoned satellite station should have had no value at all. No energy, no communication, no signs of life. It was just a forgotten steel wreck, buried between sand and wind.
But now, it had become the most dangerous coordinate in the entire country.
The car navigation showed: approximately 217 kilometers to the target location, estimated travel time two hours and forty-three minutes.
He closed his eyes, replaying the signal waveform in his mind repeatedly.
That fractal structure, that frequency setting precise to seven decimal places, that silent rhythm as if waiting for a response...
None of them seemed to be the work of humans.
He opened his eyes and looked at the starry sky beyond the windshield.
For a moment, he seemed to see an extremely thin streak of light streak across the sky, vanishing in an instant.
He told no one.
The convoy continued forward, rolling over the gravel road, heading toward the wilderness in the northwest.
The wind grew stronger.
Sand grains hit the vehicle body, making a fine sound.
Cheng Ye's hand rested on the tactical bag, which contained the newly replaced communication terminal.
It lay quietly at this moment, the screen off, no abnormal prompts.
But in the records of a decommissioned weather satellite 500 kilometers above, at the same time, its sensors captured a weak energy fluctuation at exactly 3.1415926 GHz, lasting 0.3 seconds, directed toward a point on the ground—the exact location of the convoy.
The data could not be transmitted in real time; due to insufficient satellite storage space, the fragment was automatically deleted.
And beneath the surface, at the interface of a long-abandoned underground fiber-optic cable, a small section of copper wire was slightly warm, with fine cracks appearing in the surface oxide layer, as if repeatedly penetrated by some invisible current.
Inside the vehicle, Cheng Ye suddenly crunched the gum in his mouth.
He did not notice.
The convoy drove into the Gobi hinterland, leaving clear tire tracks behind, which were soon flattened by the wind.
In the distance, the abandoned satellite station stood quietly, its antenna pole pointing at the starry sky.
In the night sky, the stars still shone brightly.