Chapter 3: A Gift from Alpha Star

The dome of the holographic laboratory shimmered with a faint blue halo, and Lin Shen’s fingertips traced silver lines across the data streams projected in the air. He hadn’t closed his eyes for seventy-two hours straight. The dark circles beneath them, like ink smudged by a brush, couldn’t mask the flickering sparks behind his lenses—those were the electromagnetic pulses captured by China’s Sky Eye three days ago, now recombining in quantum entanglement at the center of the lab.

“Professor Lin, the 137th frequency calibration is complete.” Assistant Chen’s voice held a metallic edge as he stood guard by the antimatter power supply. The red warning light cast flickering shadows on his temple. “The energy fluctuations match the corrected Drake equation values. We can initiate holographic decoding now.”

Lin Shen’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Three days ago, in the control room of the Guizhou Sky Eye, Chen had called out the same way—though back then, the signal was just a jittering spike on an oscilloscope. Now, tiny quantum dust floated in the lab’s air like crushed stardust—an energy price paid to decode high-level civilization data. He remembered Xia Qing’s bitter laugh over the phone yesterday: “You scientists always romanticize the universe. Do you even know that the equivalent energy of antimatter annihilation could level half a moon?”

“Activate.” Lin Shen pressed the golden button on the console.

Suddenly, the lab darkened. All screens went blank, the ventilation system’s hum vanished, leaving only the emergency lights above casting dim, scattered spots on the ceiling. Chen’s breathing grew audible—one breath, two, and on the third, a crisp sound like glass shattering echoed through the air.

A misty glow condensed in the center of the lab.

First, the outline of a faint purple nebula emerged, like iris petals scattered by the wind. Then the curve of a planet took shape—not Earth’s blue, nor Mars’ orange, but a hue between glazed glass and crystal, dotted with countless translucent cocoon-like forms. Each cocoon shimmered with a galaxy-like radiance. As the lens zoomed in, Lin Shen saw clearly: these cocoons were not structures but living beings—their "skins" etched with fine patterns, expanding and contracting rhythmically, as if breathing.

“This is...” Chen’s voice trembled.

“Silicon-based life’s energy carriers.” Lin Shen heard his own voice quiver. He recalled a paper from last month’s Astrobiology Journal mentioning that silicon life might require quantum-entangled matter as a physical anchor. “Light cocoons. They call themselves the Dreamweavers.”

The hologram rippled suddenly. The static star map began to flow. Among the cocoons appeared a figure—humanoid, yet without distinct facial features, its face a swirl of flowing star trails. When it spoke, its voice sounded like snowflakes falling on metal: “To travelers crossing the star abyss, we are the Dreamweavers, watching over the echoes of quantum resonance on the third spiral arm of Alpha Centauri.”

“Is this a real-time projection?” Chen snapped upright. “But signal transmission takes four years—they can’t possibly...”

“Quantum entanglement communication.” Lin Shen cut in, pressing his aching temples. The United Academy had just confirmed the feasibility of this technology last month, requiring stellar-level energy. “They maintain this communication chain using stellar energy, which is why the signal carries residual gamma-ray bursts.”

The lab door burst open. Xia Qing entered, dressed in a crisp military dress uniform, the general’s star on her shoulder gleaming coldly in the dark. Two armed guards trailed behind her. “Professor Lin,” her voice was like a blade forged from ice, “you should have notified the fleet in advance.”

Lin Shen turned, catching her pupils contracting under the purple glow of the hologram. This woman, who always spoke of the “Dark Forest” theory, now held an unfamiliar emotion in her eyes—not suspicion, but a kind of raw vulnerability, as if pierced by pain.

“Look at this.” He pointed to the silver patterns suddenly lighting up among the cocoons. “They’re displaying Maxwell’s equations, annotated with gravitational wave frequencies and the fine-structure constant. This isn’t an attack signal—it’s...”

“A gift.” The star-trail voice spoke again. The cocoon cluster unfolded, revealing a massive device at the planet’s core—countless transparent tubes twisted into a Möbius ring, each node pulsing with eerie blue energy spheres. “This is the foundational schematic of the quantum resonance network. We offer it to share with civilizations of equal standing.”

Xia Qing’s hand rested on the tactical terminal at her waist. “Share? There’s no free lunch in the universe.”

“You need stellar energy to maintain the network,” Lin Shen suddenly said. He recalled the anomalous redshift found in the radio telescope data three days prior. “Alpha Centauri’s brightness is dimming, losing 0.3% annually.”

The star-trail face’s ripples intensified, like water stirred by wind. “Our home star is aging. The quantum resonance network requires more energy to sustain. Without a new energy source...”

“So you contacted humanity, hoping we’d be the fuel supplier?” Xia Qing sneered. “Trading technology for stellar energy? Professor Lin, how is this different from what Chairman Oleg called ‘technological plunder’?”

The lab door swung open again. Oleg Petrov’s imposing figure cast a long shadow under the corridor lights. He wore a sharply tailored suit, a glass of vodka in hand, the ice clinking crisply in the silence. “Major Xia, don’t make cooperation sound so distasteful.” He approached the hologram, narrowing his eyes at the quantum network schematic. “Professor Lin, what’s the energy conversion efficiency of this device?”

A chill ran down Lin Shen’s neck. Oleg’s question was too precise to be mere curiosity—the United Government’s radicals had been pushing the “Deep Space Technology Extraction Plan.” He had heard whispers.

“Chairman,” the star-trail visage suddenly turned toward Oleg. “We sense your emotional fluctuations.” The Dreamweavers’ voice carried a tinge of sorrow. “Quantum resonance networks can share emotions but cannot comprehend specific thoughts. This is our limitation—and our sincerity.”

Oleg tapped a steady rhythm on the glass, a habit when he contemplated. Lin Shen remembered how five years ago, at the Climate Summit, Oleg used the same pattern to clinch Russia’s Arctic development rights. “Emotional sharing...” He laughed suddenly. “Interesting. Professor, please enlarge the third layer of the schematic.”

“Wait!” Xia Qing stepped forward, her tactical terminal’s red light sweeping across Oleg’s chest. “According to the Contact Protocol, reverse engineering advanced technology triggers exclusivity agreements.”

“The Dreamweavers are an intermediate civilization, like us,” Oleg’s tone remained mild. “The protocol doesn’t forbid receiving tech sharing from equals.” He turned to Lin Shen. “Professor, as Deputy Chairman of the United Government, I order you to immediately import the schematic into the quantum computer.”

The hologram trembled violently. The cocoon cluster began to disintegrate, the star-trail face blurring. “No... don’t forcibly analyze it. Technology sharing requires the presence of a resonator, or else it will...”

“What will happen?” Oleg’s voice went ice-cold.

“Civilizational collapse.” Lin Shen gripped the console edge, knuckles white. He recalled ancient data from last month’s archives—when humanity first tried to decode alien signals in the early 21st century, three research teams suffered mass psychotic breakdowns. “Their technology is bound to our neural structures. Forced analysis triggers...”

“Alarm!” Chen’s scream pierced the air. “Quantum computer overload! Antimatter reactor criticality exceeding 90%!”

Xia Qing’s tactical terminal screamed a harsh warning. She glanced at the screen, her face paling. “The lunar base has detected anomalous gravitational waves from the Centauri direction, matching the signal source from four years ago!”

With a muffled boom, the hologram went dark. When the lab lights flickered back on, Lin Shen saw the hem of Oleg’s suit dusted with quantum particles as he calmly wiped it with a handkerchief, as if none of the chaos had occurred. Xia Qing’s gun still pointed at him, but her finger had relaxed. She stared at the smoke rising from the console, her voice low as a sigh: “You knew this would happen all along, didn’t you?”

“Knew what?” Oleg smiled, adjusting his cufflinks. “Knew the Dreamweavers needed us, just as we need them?” He paused at the doorframe. “Professor Lin, come to my office at eight tonight. Bring a backup of the schematic.”

The door closed, and the lab sank into a suffocating silence. Chen slumped in his chair, sweat beading on his forehead. “That voice just now... were they trying to say something?”

Lin Shen said nothing. He stared at the lingering purple glow at the console’s center—the last flicker before the hologram vanished—1.3 Hz, identical to the electromagnetic pulse captured by China’s Sky Eye three days ago.

“It’s a distress signal.” Xia Qing suddenly said. She removed her military cap, her short hair falling beside her ears, finally revealing weariness. “They’re not here to trade—they’re here to...”

“To seek symbiosis.” Lin Shen finished for her. He recalled the coral reefs of his childhood, where different species thrived and waned within the same ecosystem. “But some only see survival instincts.”

Outside the window, Alpha Centauri still twinkled in the night sky. Lin Shen knew that the “star language” sent four years ago had only now truly reached Earth’s heart—not as electromagnetic pulses or mathematical formulas, but as the last sigh of a civilization on the brink of extinction.

And in Oleg’s office, a solitary lamp burned through the night.