The subtle beep caught my attention, however it had also worked steadily over the last few months at reminding me how fruitless it ultimately was. I figured there was a wealth of information floating all around us, untapped and ultimately all-telling. This assignment led me to believe there was far more to it. The brass calls it open source, but I call it data flotsam. Useless pieces of information, distress calls long since answered or non-secured communications between civilian vessels. The only information of any value was encrypted and sent out by massive arrays or arrays with signatures leading back to high command or intelligence vessels in the area. This is the reason why the job has such high entrance requirements, to simply know that such data packets exist is kept such a secret. I wasn't curious about those packets, I was trained, paid and told not to be curious about them; and as far as my uninteresting life sitting in a tin can in space was concerned, it simply wasn't intriguing to me.
Sometimes I'd get the occasional beep that would inspire instantaneous hope, even after a week of boredom and disappointment, that my data flotsam intercept program had picked up something for me to read...reminding me of a story I read of a child who existed during Ancient Earth times who used his dead father's HAM radio to speak with people around the world, long before there was any form of internet. He would pick up radio transmissions from half-way around the world, the result of radio signals bouncing off the ionosphere. Part of the reason why I remember this story the most, particularly now, is that the boy wasn't preoccupied with speaking back to these distant voices, but continuing to reach out to them, to hear them better. An observer, an interceptor, like me.
Reformatting?
Highly unusual, formatting isn't required even if the information is cross-species, there's simply a program that runs imbedded within the intercept sequence...the only reason it would need formatting is...
Open most recent data flotsam intercept, display available timestamps...
Old...really hold, Ancient Earth old. Some old operating system, a series of text file documents saved in software incompatible with modern times.
> Unable to complete task, format incompatible... > Displaying txt.data!
[^&!QPVYN]...to hoping you get this. Forgive me the lack of formality, I try to assume you're like me, desperate, lost and listening. It's been long enough since my last hope of hearing a human voice, or reading another human's current thoughts on this screen. By now I've come to terms with the possible fact that you're likely reading this far, far into the future. I have set this program to automatically transmit in...hopefully the correct sequence, a series of data packets containing critical information. However, this program will not activate until its receiver function is activated, provided it still works. I know who, or more so what kind of person is most likely to receive this...I have surrendered myself to allowing it...[*@^DHJA]
> End Message.
Signature analysis gives me a positive correlation to its origin, a vessel. A Pariah Mk. II. Entered development in May of 2136, halted production obviously on December 27th, 2142. A rare intelligence vessel, over-engineered and expensive to build, however mechanically reliable. Only a hundred or so were built, possibly more considering the nature of the vessel and the times it was conceived in.
One of its primary features included a power communications array that could rival most civilian vessels in modern times. From the little information I could glean from the ships on-board database, the Pariah was designed as an intelligence warning vessel, specializing in the interception and detection of "below signature" vessels, an outdated term for pirates.
Holy shit.
This was it, this was the wealth of information, this was absolutely...
Shit.
Disappointing...I would have to kick this up the chain, I couldn't investigate this without significant blow-back. The one good thing that comes my way, just has fall under our information security SOP's.
Though I learned not to, I let my imagination consume me. This was a shadow image, a mirror's reflection bouncing back from hundreds of years in the past and in such great quality, the source was real and it still existed. I knew enough to know it wasn't going to be a good ending, those times were brutal and men like us...like him, weren't a valuable commodity after their governments collapsed.
Having already imagined my own death in this tin can in vivid detail numerous times, I spared the same fate for him as I imagined his...more so his life. I found it amusing as the thought came across me, picturing him having landed on some habitable planet in the far reaches of the galaxy, living out his life in complete solitude. But I knew better...I knew if this was properly investigated the results would be us finding some preserved centuries old corpse laying in a bunk.
If I hardly paid attention to this tiny packet, would they even know if I had it? I felt as though I had to act on principal...men like us were always the disposable assets. If anybody would to hear his story, to hear what he had to say, it would be me.
Captain Colburn sits in his command seat amongst his bridge crew, each occupied with their daily assignments. Some tapping away at consoles while other trade reports with the 2nd shift now coming off.
“Neutrino scanning is online.” Lieutenant Perry chirped.
Colburn nods as he scans his crew before turning to his console when he’s interrupted.
“Sir, I’m getting some interesting telemetry.” Perry chirped out again.
“Send it to my con.” Colburn’s eyes looked over the head’s up display that projected itself in front of him.
“What do you make of this?” Colburn looked over at Perry, who was shaking her head at her console.
“It’s archaic, sir…I think it’s binary code…it’ll take me a few minutes to reformat.”
“Do it…Commander, do you know of any intelligence vessels transmitting in binary, perhaps some information security protocol I haven’t heard about?”
Commander Mitchell shook his head. “No sir, this type of information is obscure, but nothing any modern computer couldn’t identify and reformat in 10 minutes.”
“What’s our progress, Lieutenant?”
“Bits and pieces sir, I wasn’t able to get the entire signal…but it’s old sir.”
“How much were you able to retrieve?”
“I’m sending it to your con now, sir.” Colburn eagerly looks up at his HUD, seeing the broken text in front of him.
“Commander when you were in communications, did you ever intercept anything like this?” Colburn wipes his hand across the screen to his left where his Commander’s chair was sat a few feet from him. The message was copied and sent to Mitchell’s now active HUD.
“Interesting.” His dark eyes scanned the screen in front of him. “Never intercepted, but I did study ancient Earth technology…this seems like it could be pre-war…maybe a little older.”
“Perry, any location on the source?”
“Negative sir, the telemetry I’m reading indicates it’s already been intercepted…the scattering is consistent with a neutrino intercept beam.”
“Any energy signature on the original message?”
“For a binary message you would need a powerful transmitter, there’s no indication of range but I can confirm the neutrino beam came from one of our own vessels.”
Colburn furled his brows exchanging a quick glance about the bridge crew. “Any idea who?”
“Negative, sir.”
Mitchell turned to Colburn. “It’s probably one of our intelligence vessels out on the border…I’ll kick this up to high command if you’d like sir.”
Colburn nodded, waving his HUD away. “Send them the packet, alert them of the coordinates where we received it.”
The battle cruiser class vessel soared through the empty sector of space, engaging its FTL engines, zipping off towards a deep blue nebula.
* * *
What was once a secluded gathering of interplanetary corporations, alliances and nations became a heavily scrutinized faction of what other races would soon fear as potential military threats. Their borders covered massive asteroid fields, now mostly devoid of the precious ores that their superior scanning technology allowed them to save in time before the eventual discovery of their homeworld. As external intelligence factions and divisions scrambled to collect information on the UIA and its military strength, the UIA’s own intelligence forces were watching on diligently as information streamed past their space. Databases were being filled, intelligence vessels were regularly offloading their vastly superior information storing chips to passing UIA vessels for transport back to intelligence HQ. This unprecedented information surge strained the limits of both the vessels and their crews. What was normally a four month deployment for a crewman turned into several years. A normally dormant military faction containing a very small portion of the UIA’s population began putting resources and manpower into intensive recruitment, offering free Tier 3 implants for those who would sign an 8 year contract.
While the UIA was concerned with growing a woefully undermanned, though powerful military, they were also focused with knowing the movements of potential enemies, spies and counter intelligence protocols. The resulting increase in neutrino beam tachyon transmission intercept technology employed by UIA intelligence interception vessels created small jet streams in sub-space, allowing for once dormant information to become transmitted in scattered packets, information that should have been long forgotten in wars past. Information nobody was supposed to find.
* * *
The single-man vessel soared noiselessly through darkened blue nebula clouds. A man donned in a similarly colored military uniform stood behind thick glass on a small bridge as he looked out.
As much as I hated this job for its incredible isolation to its monotonous and repetitive tasks, the occasional moment where I get to dive deep into a nebula of a binary star system made it feel all worthwhile, if only for a moment. My childhood dreams of wanting to live amongst the stars, the feeling of true immortality and freedom. For a moment it all seemed real, so immersively actionable.
“Lieutenant Commander Doss, you have a message from the UAS Heskell.” The ship’s computer spoke softly from behind him. Doss’ eyes widened. He wasn’t due for a data turn-in for at least another week.
“Play message.”
“Commander Doss, this is Commander Mitchell, we’re en route to your last known position for a rendezvous for unscheduled data transfer…I know it’s a little early, but we’re headed through on a quick patrol of the Foxtrot Eight sector, due to be back at base in about 2 weeks. Command figured this to be a little more efficient and we’re obliged to agree. Notify us when you receive this message. Mitchell, out.”
It seems so innocent, but in the world of strict information security protocols and chain of custody, this little deviation from plans is very good cause for alarm and suspicion. There was no doubt in my mind, they know.
“Computer, set a course away from Foxtrot 8.”
“Acknowledged Commander, destination?”
“Towards the source of the signal, what’s your ETA?”
“ETA is 4 days, 3 hours and approximately 40 minutes.”
The small vessel turned about, its hull reflecting the blue light cascading over its ridges. As its FTL engines engaged a small void appeared where the ship was as it shot through the nebula.
* * *
Captain Colburn loosened the collar of his uniform as he relaxed into a comfortable chair in his quarters. On the table in front of him was a glass filled with water. As he relaxed into the chair, he took a sip of water.
“Computer, bring up the binary transmission text.”
The blue fluorescent HUD projected in front of him. The broken, indistinct text stares back at him.
Subject: 0? - 0?? - Broadwave Transmission; Packets Recieved 
Thu Jan 23, 2014 2:26 am
