Chapter Four
The Device
Washington D.C.
Int. Matt’s Office — Day
Fresh from a debrief with NASA’s hierarchy, Matt closes his office door and stares at media postings on his phone.
Matt
(whispers)
Cactus what?
He sends a digital beep, waits. Response is immediate.
He makes a call.
Kate (V.O.)
(through phone)
Hey, Matt. You’ve escaped. What held you up?
Matt
Two big things. A gruelling debrief with our anal-retentive NASA officials and extended quarantine at Kennedy. Had to make sure I wasn’t carrying any… nasties.
Kate (V.O.)
Foreign nasties?
Matt
Kate, I need you to contact Amy your SETI pal as soon as humanly possible.
Kate (V.O.)
Matt, “As soon as humanly possible” got complicated when I took the oath. Why Amy? I have congress in twenty minutes, and…
Matt
(interrupts)
Kate, I had an encounter up there.
Kate (V.O.)
An encounter? What kind of—
Matt
The kind that changes everything. Very close, very real, and I have physical evidence. Which explains the quarantine, the secure line, and why I’m about to ask you to clear your schedule.
Long silence.
Kate (V.O.)
Matt… are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?
Matt
I’m telling you that first contact just happened, and your husband was the welcoming committee.
Kate (V.O.)
(long pause)
Jesus Christ.
Matt
That’s what I said. Different context, same sentiment.
Kate (V.O.)
I’ll get Amy to Washington. This cannot leak. Not a whisper, not a rumour, not a classified document accidentally left on a desk.
Matt
There’ve been sightings in Cactus Loop. Nowhere else, just right up in the north of Australia, some media postings from a kid.
Kate (V.O.)
Easy to pass that off as cranks. You’ll figure it out. But, I gotta go.
Int. Matt’s Office — Day
Amy Wilks (60s, six feet tall, disturbingly attractive) sweeps in wearing stilettos, flowing scarves, and a summer dress.
A small, windowless room. Not a lab. Not a briefing space. Just a table. Two chairs. Thick walls.
Matt
You made it.
He hugs her. Sits down.
The DEVICE sits on the table between them. Closed. Silent. Irritating.
Amy, hands in her pockets, circles the table slowly. She does not touch it.
Amy
You’d be amazed how often the mistake is assuming the thing wants to be opened.
Matt leans back.
Matt
You’re saying it doesn’t?
Amy
I’m saying if they wanted us to crack it like a walnut, they’d have given us a walnut.
She stops. Bends slightly. Careful. Still no contact.
The markings on the device catch the light—not engraved, pressed. They only appear at a shallow angle.
Amy tilts her head.
Amy
Huh.
Matt allows a faint smile.
Matt
That good or bad?
Amy
That’s interesting.
She straightens. Looks at him now.
Amy
These aren’t decoration. They’re not circuitry. They’re compressed representation.
Matt
Compressed how?
Amy
Like a language that assumes the reader isn’t fluent. You don’t give instructions. You give outcomes.
Matt frowns.
Matt
You’re saying it’s a record.
Amy
Yes. Of something that’s happened before.
She gestures toward the markings.
Amy
See the repetition? Same forms. Slight variation. That’s not art. That’s iteration.
Matt
Iteration of what?
Amy exhales.
Amy
That’s the part I don’t get to name yet.
She steps back. Folds her arms.
Amy
The device isn’t active. No emissions. No internal change. Which tells me something important.
Matt
That it’s broken?
Amy
That it’s incomplete. By design.
Matt’s expression hardens.
Matt
Meaning?
Amy
Meaning this thing doesn’t do anything on its own. It’s waiting. But not passively.
Matt
You’re going to have to walk me through that.
Amy
If it were autonomous, it would’ve activated already. If it were meant to be triggered remotely, they’d have done that too. Instead, it was delivered. Left with us.
Matt nods slowly.
Matt
So whatever it does… requires us.
Amy
Requires choice.
Matt looks back at the device.
Matt
Human choice.
Amy
Human agency. Which suggests we’re not the subject. We’re the variable.
Matt
That’s not comforting.
Amy
No. But it’s consistent. There’s something else.
Matt waits.
Amy
If this were meant to happen on Earth, the risk profile would be absurd. Energy density alone—
Matt
So space.
Amy
Yes. Away from atmosphere. Away from gravity wells that matter. Away from collateral damage.
Matt rubs his jaw.
Matt
You think they expected us to try this off-world.
Amy
I think the first attempt was always meant to be controlled. Which means failure was always on the table.
Matt
And if it fails?
Amy doesn’t answer immediately.
Amy
Then the process doesn’t stop. It adapts.
Matt lets that sit.
Matt
You’re not telling me what it does.
Amy
Because I don’t know. And because pretending otherwise would be irresponsible.
She glances at the device one last time.
Amy
What I can tell Kate is this: the second mission isn’t about contact. It’s about obligation.
Matt
Obligation to who?
A faint twitch at the corner of Amy’s mouth.
Amy
Not who. What.
She picks up her bag. Heads for the door.
Amy
Tell her this. We don’t open it yet. We don’t force it. We put ourselves where it can respond.
Matt
And if it doesn’t?
Amy pauses. Hand on the door.
Amy
Then something else will.
She exits.
Matt remains seated. Alone with the device.
Closed. Silent. Unfinished.
Int. Oval Office — Day
Kate stands behind her desk, listening.
Amy faces her, hair slightly out of place from travel and impatience.
Matt sits off to one side, arms folded, silent—watching Kate more than Amy.
Amy finishes.
Silence.
Kate taps a pen against the desk once. Stops herself. Sets it down.
Kate
So what you’re telling me is we’ve been handed a process we didn’t ask for, don’t understand, and can’t complete without participating.
Amy nods.
Amy
That’s the cleanest version.
Kate
And participation carries risk.
Amy
Yes.
Kate
Unknown magnitude.
Amy
Yes.
Kate turns her head slightly toward Matt.
Kate
Do you agree with her?
Matt doesn’t hesitate.
Matt
I do.
Kate
And you’re comfortable putting people back up there?
Matt
No. But I’m more uncomfortable pretending this goes away if we don’t.
Kate studies him—husband, commander, witness.
She turns back to Amy.
Kate
You’re certain this isn’t a weapon.
Amy
(shrugs)
I’m certain it’s not aimed.
Kate
That’s not the reassurance you think it is.
Amy
No. It’s the honest one.
Kate stands. Walks to the window.
Kate
(still facing out)
If we don’t act… what happens?
Amy chooses her words carefully.
Amy
Then whatever adaptive pathway exists finds another route.
Kate turns back.
Kate
Earth.
Amy doesn’t answer.
Kate exhales.
Kate
I hate this.
Matt smiles faintly.
Matt
You always say that right before doing something necessary.
Kate shoots him a look.
Kate
Don’t get sentimental.
She moves back to her desk, opens a folder, slides it across to Matt.
Kate
This authorizes a limited mission. Observation only. No engagement. No activation. You are not opening that device. And Matt. You don’t fly.
Matt starts to speak.
Kate
That’s not negotiable. You’re too close to this already.
Matt clenches his jaw.
Matt
Then I want access. Full telemetry. Real-time.
Kate meets his gaze.
Kate
You’ll have it.
She straightens.
Kate
If this goes wrong—
Amy
It will.
Kate almost smiles.
Kate
—then we contain, we reassess, and we pray we’re not already late.
She signs the document. Closes the folder.
Kate
That’s it. We proceed.
Matt gathers the folder.
Matt
I’ll brief the team.
Kate
Keep it small. No heroes.
Amy
For what it’s worth—this feels old. Not hostile. Old.
Kate doesn’t blink.
Kate
So do I.
Amy exits.
Kate remains standing a moment longer.
Then she sits heavily. Rubs her temples.
Matt hasn’t moved.
Matt
Kate.
She looks up.
Matt
You did the right thing.
Kate snorts.
Kate
History doesn’t care about that.
Matt
No. But people do.
Kate meets his eyes.
Kate
Then let’s hope there are still some left who get to argue about it.
End of Chapter Four