A single line of high-priority encryption flashed across the console: 1661381569nyus002:42:38 Min
"Max," Elias breathed, his hand hovering over the emergency broadcast button. "Maximum proximity."
In the jargon of the New York University Space (NYUS) program, "Min" didn't mean minutes. It meant Minimum Biological Signature . The probe hadn't found a mineral deposit or a gas pocket. It had found something breathing.
The hum of the Habitation Deck was the only thing keeping Elias sane. He stared at the flickering amber terminal, watching the endless stream of telemetry data from the NYUS-02 probe. It had been drifting in the "Blind Spot" behind Jupiter for three months, silent and cold. Then, at precisely 02:42:38, the screen bled white.
The lights on the station flickered. Outside, the stars didn't look like points of light anymore. They looked like eyes.