Like a heartbeat from a decade ago.
“We’re directly above it,” the engineer said.
“Deploy the drone,” I ordered.
The underwater drone dove into the depths, its lights slicing into darkness.
Twisted wreckage appeared.
Shattered wings.
Then something sealed and intact—an old compartment, still blinking.
The drone’s arm grabbed it, pulled.
Sand erupted like smoke.
And beneath it…
More metal.
Newer.
Not from any aircraft we’d ever flown.
“Stop,” I snapped. “Zoom.”
Etched into the exposed surface were markings—geometric, sharp, like code that didn’t belong to any human language I knew.
“That’s not ours,” the younger pilot whispered. “That’s not even military.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“Keep pulling,” I said.
The arm strained, dragging the capsule free.
And as it rose, the camera caught a second beacon blinking in sync with the first.
“Two signals?” the engineer muttered. “There should only be one distress device.”
