Chapter 5: Cracks in the Contact Protocol

Inside the circular conference room of the United Nations Deep Space Affairs Bureau, the holographic dome displayed a star map of Alpha Centauri. The faint purple nebula rippled like crushed silk, glowing softly under the cold white lights. The electronic prompts ringing intermittently around the ring-shaped table combined into a surreal symphony. Lin Shen pressed his fingertips against his temple, feeling the crease in the “Open Sharing Declaration” tucked inside his suit pocket—a dog-eared remnant from last night’s video call with scientists from twenty-three nations, repeatedly revised in the lab.

“Colleagues,” Oleg Petrov’s voice rasped like sandpaper against metal as he adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses. The holographic projection cast cold blue highlights across his silver hair. “We are not dealing with friendly neighbors from a cosmic radio drama, but a silicon-based civilization wielding quantum resonance technology.” He tapped the terminal before him, and a violet cocoon-like structure instantly enveloped the dome. “They can transmit emotions across star systems yet remain secretive about their core technologies. That alone is the most dangerous signal.”

The crisp sound of turning paper came from the other side of the table. Lin Shen looked up to see Xia Qing scrutinizing a tactical tablet, her short hair shining chestnut under the light. Three days ago, in the quantum lab, she had pointed at the antimatter particle trajectory on the monitor and said, “This is energy detection,” with the same cold, steely expression.

“I propose invoking the Alien Technology Protection Act.” Oleg’s fingers swept the terminal, revealing a red label marked “Star Abyss Level” for encrypted data. “All Dreamweaver-related information must be classified as military secrets, and a reverse engineering team must be assembled immediately—”

“Wait.” Lin Shen’s voice was soft but sharp enough to pierce the stifled air like a needle. Rising, the hem of his suit stirred a breeze, causing the virtual teacup at the table’s edge to wobble. “Mr. Petrov seems to have forgotten the Contact Protocol.” He summoned a holographic interface, and the 2045 revised interstellar treaty text unfolded across the dome. “Sharing advanced civilization technologies will cause structural collapse. Our reverse engineering of Dreamweaver tech…” He paused, eyes flicking over Oleg’s taut jawline. “Could trigger an exclusivity clause and expose Earth’s coordinates.”

“Structural collapse?” Oleg laughed, a smile sharp as a surgical blade slicing skin. “At the end of the 21st century, during the ecological crisis, some said humanity would collapse. What happened? We built ecological domes and mastered controlled nuclear fusion—” He leaned forward, knuckles tapping on the table. “Survival instinct is the first law of civilization.”

Xia Qing abruptly closed her tactical tablet. “Gentlemen.” Her voice cut through the room like an icebreaker splitting frozen seas, drawing every gaze to her. The major general’s epaulets gleamed coldly under the lights. “I agree technology needs protection—but the method is wrong.” She brought up a 3D map of the lunar far side, shadows cast by craters revealing the outline of a silver complex. “The Ark recommends establishing a quarantine zone at the Clear Sea Base.” Her fingers traced the map. “Military control, scientist access only, all data encrypted at three levels—”

“That’s house arrest!” Lin Shen slammed his palm on the table, making the terminal flicker. He recalled the serene starlike flow within the brain-computer interface three days ago, the warmth at the nape of his neck as Emil’s spirit passed through quantum clouds. “We haven’t even said ‘hello’ properly, and now you want to shackle the dialogue?”

“Professor.” Xia Qing’s gaze locked onto him like a laser sight. “The resonance wave from three days ago detected 0.03 nanograms of antimatter particles.” She summoned monitoring data, pale blue particle trails snaking across the dome like serpents. “The Dreamweavers say these are ‘byproducts of emotional transmission,’ but the energy from antimatter annihilation…” Her voice grew grave, “Enough to vaporize half a lunar base.”

Silence engulfed the room. Lin Shen heard his heartbeat pounding against his eardrums. He remembered the cracked earth beyond the ecological domes of his childhood, like wrinkled parchment—back then, humanity also claimed “survival is the first law,” but nearly trapped itself in a steel cage.

“I have the joint signatures of scientists from twenty-three nations.” He withdrew the declaration from his suit pocket. The hologram sprang to life, bathing the electronic document in a warm golden glow. “The Open Sharing Declaration asserts: cognitive equality is the premise of dialogue. We can share Earth’s climate models and biological evolution history in exchange for the Dreamweavers’ stellar energy utilization experience—”

“Naïve!” Oleg’s fist slammed the table, shattering the virtual teacup into sparks of light. “What do they want stellar energy for?” He brought up a hologram of the Dreamweavers’ homeworld, a planet veiled in purple nebula. The cocoon-like structures seemed like dandelions scattered by the wind. “Look at their civilization! Silicon-based energy beings require constant stellar radiation, yet Alpha Centauri’s intensity is waning—” His pupils contracted to pinpoints. “They’re searching for new energy sources.”

Xia Qing’s tactical tablet emitted a soft chime. She glanced at the screen, then lifted her eyes, colder than before. “Ark has detected the Dreamweavers’ resonance wave frequency shifting toward the Earth-Moon Lagrange point.” Her fingertip hovered over the dark balance point on the star map. “They’re locating our deep space facilities.”

Cold sweat trickled down Lin Shen’s spine. He remembered Emil’s spirit brushing his consciousness with a tenderness like a mother soothing her child—could that have been a disguise?

“So compromise is necessary.” An aged voice came from the far end of the table. The EU representative set down his coffee cup, the crisp clink echoing. “Limited contact, technology classification.” He displayed a grading chart: green for fundamental math and physics, yellow for energy applications, red for quantum resonance core tech. “Red technologies are forbidden from exchange, yellow require joint review, green can be openly shared.” He looked to Xia Qing. “The quarantine zone can be established, but scientific teams must be led by the Joint Academy of Sciences, with the military handling security.”

Oleg’s jaw twitched before breaking into a knowing smile. “I agree, but the reverse engineering team must be retained—solely as ‘preliminary research.’”

Xia Qing tapped her tablet; the quarantine zone’s 3D image began flashing confirmation symbols. “The military requires weekly contact reports, with the option to suspend interactions under special circumstances.”

Lin Shen lowered his gaze to the declaration, the twenty-three signatures glowing warmly in the hologram. He recalled the elderly professor at the Mars base during last night’s video call: “Our generation lived through ecological crises. We know what isolation brings.” Those names flickered like stars above the cold, hard table.

“I accept.” His voice was lighter than expected. “But on one condition—” He turned to Xia Qing. “The quarantine zone must have two-way observation windows. We can see them, and they can see us.”

Xia Qing’s fingers paused for two seconds before pressing the confirmation key. “Agreed.”

As the meeting adjourned, sunset filtered through the star map’s seams in the dome, casting a soft golden glow over the table. While gathering his documents, Lin Shen caught sight of Oleg standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, speaking quietly on the phone. His silver hair blazed like burning snow in the backlight. Though the man’s voice was low, words like “quantum storage” and “Mars underground lab” still reached Lin Shen’s ears.

In the corridor, Xia Qing’s tactical tablet suddenly glowed with a purple halo—the wavelength of the Dreamweavers’ communication. She glanced at Lin Shen and pressed the answer button. Emil’s projection materialized between them, his voice trembling like stardust, carrying faint emotional ripples. “We have received the contact agreement.”

Lin Shen stared into the humanoid’s eyes—if they could be called eyes—two vortices reflecting a galaxy. He recalled the peace within the brain interface, now tinged with a ripple resembling disappointment.

“Glad to have formal dialogue,” Xia Qing said, her tone still cool, though her fingers unconsciously brushed her epaulet.

Emil’s projection rippled faintly, like a lake disturbed by wind. “We understand… the weight of survival.” His gaze shifted to Lin Shen. “But resonance requires sincerity.”

As the last ray of sunset vanished beyond the dome, Lin Shen pulled out his phone and messaged Xiao Chen in the lab: “Prepare holographic images of Earth’s ecological restoration.” He looked toward the end of the corridor, where Oleg’s retreating figure stood bathed in twilight, then added, “Use the most primitive film scans—no digital processing.”

Outside the window, in the direction of Alpha Centauri, the purple nebula continued to flow gently, like an unfinished poem.