Chapter 2: The Rift Within the United Nations

The air in the control room froze amid the blaring alarm. Lin Shen’s fingers hovered three centimeters above the confirmation key on the terminal. The green code flickering on the glass screen resembled a living organism, repeating a pulse sequence from the direction of Alpha Centauri at a frequency of 1.3 Hz.

“Engineer Chen, recalibrate the radio telescope array once more.” His voice was softer than usual, as if afraid to awaken something. His silver-rimmed glasses slid down to the tip of his nose, casting a shadow beneath his eyes — a habitual gesture when he was nervous, just as during his student days defending theses.

“We have already synchronized the observation data from the Mars base,” Chen replied, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “The pulse source localization error is less than 0.01 arcseconds, definitely near the Alpha Centauri star system.”

Suddenly, the terminal emitted a clear, high-pitched alert. Lin Shen’s pupils contracted slightly — the electromagnetic signal he had flagged as “anomalous” was now automatically unfolding into a three-dimensional luminous network, forming a set of pulsating symbols suspended in the center of the control room: from Fibonacci spirals to Maxwell’s equations, finally settling on a geometric figure where a Klein bottle intertwined with a Möbius strip.

“It’s a civilization identification code.” He heard the tremor in his own voice. Twenty years ago, when he published the “Revised Model of Civilization Contact Probability Based on the Drake Equation” in the Astrophysical Journal, he had speculated in an appendix about this possibility — that advanced civilizations might use cross-dimensional mathematical language as an initial communication medium, both to avoid technological leakage and to prove intelligence.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than his old-fashioned phone vibrated in his pocket. The caller ID read “United Government Emergency Affairs Bureau,” the red and blue emblem after the number glaring sharply in the darkness.

*

In the “Ark” conference room three floors underground at the United Nations headquarters in New York, the star map projection on the dome shifted color with each agenda change. When Lin Shen entered, Xia Qing was already seated at the far end of the long table, her tactical boots pressing against the table legs, fingertips rhythmically tapping the terminal — a signature gesture whenever she was deep in thought. During the asteroid defense battle years ago, she had used this very rhythm to calculate orbital correction parameters twenty-three times.

“Professor Lin.” She looked up, her gaze scanning the rumpled hem of his shirt like a laser rangefinder. “You’re seventeen minutes late.”

“The signal repeated three more times en route,” Lin Shen said, placing the holographic projector on the table. Green streams of light immediately surged forth. “It contains fundamental mathematics, electromagnetic formulas, and this —” He brought up the overlapping geometric figure. “I suspect it’s the civilization authentication code of the Dreamweaver species.”

From the other side of the table came the tapping of a fountain pen on wood. Oleg Petrov rotated the silver-cased pen in his hand, his silver hair gleaming frostily under the cold light. “Professor Lin always loves to give poetic names to unknown civilizations. Until we obtain physical evidence, let’s call it the ‘Centauri Signal Source.’”

“But according to the signal characteristics —”

“Enough.” Xia Qing interrupted, and her terminal projected the solar system’s defense deployment map. “The current issue isn’t naming aliens. The United Fleet has detected electromagnetic pulses from the Centauri direction with an energy level equivalent to one-thousandth of the Sun’s total energy output per second. A civilization capable of sustaining such energy must have at least stellar-scale energy technology.” Her fingertips traced the Martian orbit. “My recommendation is to activate the ‘Deep Space Shield’ defense system and redirect the antimatter cannon array at the lunar base toward Centauri.”

*

“That’s classic Dark Forest reasoning.” Lin Shen’s knuckles pressed against the table. “According to the Civilization Contact Law, the technological gap between intermediate civilizations is no more than two orders of magnitude. If they truly harbor hostility, our defense systems wouldn’t hold for ten minutes.”

“Which is why we cannot expose our weaknesses.” Xia Qing’s voice was like compressed metal. “We hesitated the same way during the 2107 asteroid impact event —”

“That was a meteorite, not an alien civilization!” Lin Shen suddenly raised his voice, eyes behind his lenses bloodshot. “You lived through the ecological crisis, but I witnessed worse in my childhood: the Yellow River dried up, and children on the North China Plain drank dew from plastic sheets. Humanity was fighting for the last resources back then, but we survived. Why can’t there be another possibility in the universe?”

The conference room fell into brief silence. Oleg’s pen paused mid-air as he stared at the red-tinged corners of Lin Shen’s eyes, then suddenly smiled. “Professor, your idealism is touching. But as vice-chairman, I must consider practical interests.” He produced another projection. “Three days ago, Russia’s Aurora probe discovered suspected quantum entangled matter residues in the asteroid belt — highly consistent with the material features in the signal.”

“What are you implying?” Xia Qing leaned forward slightly.

“If the Centauri civilization requires quantum entangled matter to maintain communication,” Oleg’s tone was like reading contract terms, “then their home star may be facing an energy crisis. Meanwhile, we —” His gaze swept over Lin Shen. “— control the solar system’s richest helium-3 resources.”

“So you intend to suppress the information and reverse-engineer their technology?” Lin Shen’s voice tightened. “That violates the Civilization Contact Law! The taboo on technology sharing prevents societal collapse —”

“The laws are made by advanced civilizations; why should we obey?” Oleg slammed his pen onto the table. “Twenty years ago, you scholars called for a ‘cosmic community’; twenty years later, when the opportunity finally arrives, you want us to cower like turtles?” He turned to Xia Qing. “Major General, you should understand: if the Centauri civilization has mastered stellar-scale jump technology, our current defense systems are useless. But if we can crack their quantum communication technology first...”

“Enough!” Xia Qing slammed the table, the tactical terminal crackling with electricity. “This isn’t a black market! The United Fleet’s duty is to protect humanity, not to play speculators.” She turned to Lin Shen. “Professor, have you considered the consequences of responding? If they are machine hunters, responding is like hanging a lantern on the solar system.”

Lin Shen removed his glasses, wiping the lenses repeatedly with his sleeve. The glass reflected the dome’s star map, the constellations he knew now twisted into strange shapes. The boy who had gazed at the stars on parched earth twenty years ago suddenly appeared in his mind — back then, he believed the starlight hid the possibility of another kind of civilization, one that would not consume everything just to survive.

“I have a student,” his voice softened unexpectedly. “She grew the first stalk of Earth wheat at the Mars base last year. She asked me if other civilizations in the universe might also scatter seeds across the stars.” He put his glasses back on and scanned the conference table. “The mathematical formula in the signal uses a variation of Euler’s identity. It’s humanity’s most beautiful formula, connecting natural logarithms, pi, imaginary numbers, and 1 and 0 — which means they are also seeking shared beauty.”

“Beauty?” Oleg scoffed. “The day the Dyson sphere wraps the Sun, your student won’t even have a chance to look at the stars.”

“That’s exactly why we must prove that civilizations can live differently.” Lin Shen pressed his finger on the holographic geometric figure; the green light flowed through his palm. “If we don’t even have the courage to respond, how are we different from the hunters?”

*

The electronic clock at the center of the table ticked, red digits flipping from 23:59 to 00:00. Xia Qing’s terminal suddenly received an encrypted message. She scanned the content swiftly, her expression darkening. “The lunar base reports that the recent electromagnetic pulse triggered abnormal resonance in the particle accelerator on the moon’s surface.” She looked up at Lin Shen. “They might be testing our response.”

“Then all the more reason to respond.” Lin Shen’s tone was unusually firm. “If they are testing, our silence is the most dangerous reply.”

Oleg suddenly stood, the silver pen scraping a shallow groove across the table. Pausing beside Lin Shen, he said, “Professor, you’d better pray you’re right — or humanity’s future will be as fragile as your student’s wheat.”

The sound of the door closing echoed in the empty conference room. Xia Qing rubbed her temples, the blue glow of the tactical terminal casting shadows on her face. “You know, before my father died in the asteroid defense battle, his last message was, ‘Don’t believe the universe has kindness.’” She looked at Lin Shen. “But the wheat story you just told — my daughter told me the same thing.”

Lin Shen was stunned. He had never imagined that this cold, ruthless general would also talk about Martian cultivation with her daughter.

“I can give you seventy-two hours,” Xia Qing suddenly said. “Within that time, you need to convince the United Government’s Science Committee that the risks of responding are controllable.” She stood, the sound of her tactical boots striking the floor crisp and resolute. “But if there’s any anomaly, I will activate the defense system immediately.”

“That’s enough.” Lin Shen watched her silhouette disappear beyond the door, then turned his gaze to the still-pulsing geometric figure on the table. Within the green light at the intersection of the Klein bottle and Möbius strip, a more complex structure seemed to emerge — a mathematical language he had never seen before, like a poem written in starlight.

*

At three in the morning, rain fell softly over New York. Lin Shen stood on the observation deck of the United Nations building, looking out at the scattered lights blurred by the rain. His terminal vibrated in his pocket — a new message from Chen: “The signal source sent another message, this time containing a three-dimensional star map, with the central coordinates pointing to Alpha Centauri C — Proxima Centauri.”

He looked up at the sky, raindrops blurring the lenses and dimming all starlight. But he knew that somewhere far beyond, another civilization was waiting for a response at the same frequency.

A sycamore leaf whipped past his fingertips in the wind. Lin Shen suddenly recalled that dry summer twenty years ago, squatting on cracked earth, watching the first raindrop fall into the soil — and understood that all connections begin with a single brave response.