Niv Ewb.

"Unknown. But the signal is originating from within the station."

He tapped the console. "Station AI, run phoneme analysis."

Its mouth opened, and the words came not from the room, but directly into Aris's skull.

The signal grew louder. Niv. Ewb.

A synthesized voice answered: "Pattern matches no known human or alien linguistic database. However, it appears to be an abbreviation."

Aris was nursing cold coffee when the main receiver screeched to life. Not static. A pattern. Clean and deliberate.

NIV EWB. NIV EWB. N I V space E W B.

"Abreviation for what?"

Until tonight.

The deep-space relay station on Kepler-186f was not known for excitement. Its sole inhabitant, a xenolinguist named Dr. Aris Thorne, spent his days cataloging static. The "Niv Ewb" log was his daily routine: oise I nterference, V ariable — E lectrostatic W ave B urst. Boring. Routine. A ghost in the machine.

And Aris had just become its warden — or its liberator.

It was a prisoner.