We Received a Transmission From an Abandoned Moon Outpost.

I couldn't believe what I was reading. The brief sat in front of me on the conference table, and I had to read it twice to make sure I wasn't missing something. Artemis 7 is transmitting again? I asked, looking up at Director Franklin. She nodded, her face serious under the fluorescent lights of the briefing room.

After 30 years of silence, the signal started three days ago. I flipped through the pages again. Artemis 7 had been NASA's most ambitious lunar outpost in the 20 Thirties. Before the program was scrapped. The facility had been shut down, sealed up and abandoned for three decades.

Nobody had set foot there since the evacuation. What kind of signal are we talking about? I asked. That's part of the mystery, Commander Moreno Franklin said, taking a seat across from me. It's not a distress call or a standard beacon.

It's a data transmission on an old NASA frequency, but it's encrypted. We can't decode it. I close the folder and you want me to lead A-Team to investigate? You're the obvious choice. You've logged more lunar hours than anyone else in the program.

4 missions, including the Shackleton Crater recovery. Franklin adjusted her glasses. This is sensitive, Jim. If Artemis 7 is somehow operational after 30 years, it shouldn't be. I finished for her.

The power systems were designed to last 15 years at most. Nothing should be working. Exactly. Franklin stood up and walked to the wall screen, bringing up schematics of the old outpost. We need to know what's transmitting and why.

Is it a system malfunction? Has someone accessed the facility, or is it something else entirely? I studied the layout of Artemis 7 on the screen. 6 interconnected modules buried under 3 meters of lunar regolith for radiation protection, a small landing pad, power arrays, All of it should have been dead and cold for decades.

When do we leave? I asked. Three days. Orion Dwatheen is being prepped as we speak. Franklin handed me another folder.

Here's your team. I opened it and scanned the personnel files. 4 names, none I recognized from previous lunar missions. They're all rookies. I said, not hiding my concern.

They're the best we have available on short notice. Each one is at the top of their field. Franklin pointed to the first file doctor, Carmen Medina, exobiologist. She's been studying the lunar samples from the last decade of missions. Troy Nunez, systems specialist.

He's an expert on the old Artemis era technology. Danny Patel, security officer, former Special Forces with additional training for off world scenarios, and Martha Burgess, communications expert. I flipped through their files, scanning qualifications and psych profiles. They've never been to the moon, no, Franklin admitted. But they've all completed the simulator training.

The mission parameters are simple. Get to Artemis 7, determine what's causing the transmission, secure any sensitive materials or technology, and report back. Five days on the surface, Max. I nodded slowly. It was a straightforward investigation mission.

Get in, find the source of the signal, get out. Still, something about it made me uneasy. Is there anything else I should know? I asked. Franklin hesitated, just for a second.

The original Artemis 7 records are incomplete. Some of the final mission logs were corrupted or missing altogether. The evacuation was rushed, I said. I remember the news reports from when I was a teenager. The sudden shutdown of the program had sparked all kinds of conspiracy theories.

Yes, budget cuts and political pressure were the official reasons. Franklin's tone was carefully neutral. Your father was on one of the last cruise there, wasn't he? I felt a familiar tightness in my chest. Yeah, his 2nd to last mission before the accident.

Franklin nodded, not pushing further. My father's death during a training exercise had been 15 years ago, but NASA people still walked carefully around the subject. I want daily reports, she said, changing the subject. Any findings get transmitted immediately. If you discover the source of the signal and can safely deactivate it, do so.

If not, document everything and we'll send a specialized team later. Understood. I gathered the files and stood up. I'll meet with the team today. They're waiting for you in Lab 4.

Franklin said. Good luck, Commander. I left the briefing room with the mission documents tucked under my arm, my mind already running through preparation protocols. Whatever was happening at Artemis 7, we'd find it. But I couldn't shake the feeling that this mission was going to be more than a simple investigation.

The team was exactly where Franklin said they'd be, gathered around a table in Lab 4, looking like new recruits on their first day. They all straightened when I walked in. Commander Moreno, a woman with braided hair and alert eyes, said, stepping forward. I'm Martha Burgess. Communications.

I shook her hand. Nice to meet you. The others introduced themselves, 1 by 1. Carmen Medina was shorter than her file photo suggested, with intelligent eyes behind lightweight glasses. Troy Nunez had the restless energy of a tech specialist who preferred working with machines to people.

Danny Patel stood with military precision, his assessment of me obvious and professional. I've reviewed your files, I said after the introductions. You're all qualified for your roles, but none of you have been to the moon before. That changes in three days. We're prepared, Commander Patel said, with the confidence of someone who believed in their training.

Good, because prepared is what you need to be. I activated the room's display table, bringing up the Artemis 7 schematics. This is our destination, a 30 year old abandoned outpost that suddenly started transmitting again. I watched their reactions, surprise from Burgess and Medina, interest from Nunez, cautious assessment from Patel. What kind of transmission?

Burgess asked, leaning forward to study the display. Encrypted data on an old frequency. We don't know what it contains or what's generating it. I expanded the schematic showing the outposts layout. Artemis 7 was built to house 12 personnel for extended lunar research.

It was shut down in 2039 and has been abandoned since. Nunez pointed at the power systems diagram. Solar arrays with hydrogen fuel cell backups. Those batteries would have degraded decades ago. Exactly.

I said nothing should be operational. That's why we're going. What's our mission parameters, Sir? Patel asked. We land, we investigate the source of the transmission, we document everything, and we leave.

Five days Max on the surface. Doctor Medina raised her hand slightly. Are we expecting to find biological material? The outpost housed several experimental habitats. Unlikely after 30 years without maintenance, but your expertise might be needed if we find preserved samples.

I looked at each of them. Any other questions? What happens if we find someone there? Troy asked. The room went quiet.

It was the question no one wanted to ask directly. The outpost has been abandoned for 30 years. I said carefully, If we find evidence that someone has accessed it recently, we document and report immediately. We are not authorized for first contact scenarios or hostile engagement. Patel nodded, his expression serious.

Security protocols. Standard NASA procedures for abandoned facilities. We stay together, we maintain communication, and we proceed with caution. I close the schematics. We have three days for preparation and briefings.

I want everyone to study the Artemis 7 layout until you can navigate it blindfolded. I dismissed them to their preparation tasks, but stayed behind to review the mission details again. As the room emptied, I found myself staring at the outpost schematic, focusing on the main corridor that connected the six modules. Something about the layout nagged at me.

The way the sleeping quarters branched off from the main science lab, the position of the communications center relative to the airlock. It felt familiar. But that didn't make sense. I'd never been to Artemis 7. The facility had been abandoned years before I joined NASA, yet I could almost picture walking down that main corridor, turning right at the junction toward the environmental control room.

I shook my head and closed the display, probably just my brain filling in details from similar outposts I'd visited. The lunar habitats all followed certain design principles, but the feeling of deja vu lingered as I left the lab to continue my own preparations. The next three days passed in a blur of briefings, equipment checks, and simulations.

I watched my team closely, assessing their readiness. They were professionals, each excellent in their field, but the moon was unforgiving of mistakes. One small error could be fatal. Nunez spent most of his time studying the Artemis 7 systems, muttering about outdated technology. Medina reviewed the biological research that had been conducted at the outpost, particularly interested in the sealed specimen containers that might have preserved samples.

Patel methodically checked and rechecked our security protocols, while Burgess familiarized herself with the old communication systems we might encounter. On the night before launch, I found myself in the simulator room, running through the Artemis 7 layout one more time. The strange sense of familiarity had grown stronger the more I studied the schematics.

I could visualize details that weren't even in the technical drawings. A dent in the wall panel near the science lab. The way the door to storage compartment be stuck slightly when opening. You're still at it, Commander. I turned to see Martha Burgess in the doorway.

Just doing a final review. I said, shutting down the simulator. She nodded. The others are turning in big day tomorrow. You should get some rest too.

I will. She hesitated. Can I ask you something, Sir? Go ahead. Have you ever had a feeling about a mission like AI don't know a premonition?

I studied her face, having second thoughts. Burgess. No, Sir, I'm ready. She glanced at the darkened simulator screen. It's just, there's something about this mission, something different.

I knew exactly what she meant, but I couldn't say that to a team member the night before launch. Every mission is different, but we're prepared, we know our objectives, and we have the skills to handle whatever we find. She nodded, seemingly reassured. You're right. Good night, commander.

After she left, I stared at the blank screen for a long moment. She was picking up on my own unease. I needed to be more careful. A commander's doubts could infect the whole team. I pushed the feelings aside and focused on what I knew for certain.

Tomorrow we would launch. In three days, we would reach the moon, and then we would find out what was transmitting from an outpost that should have been dead and silent for 30 years. Orion, though thened, lifted off exactly on schedule. The familiar pressure of acceleration pushed us back into our seats as Earth fell away beneath us.

For the rookies, it was their first experience with actual launch forces. After countless simulations, I watched their faces, the controlled excitement of Medina, the focused concentration of Nunez, the professional calm of Patel, and the quiet wonder of Burgess. Status check, I said once we reached orbit. All systems nominal, Commander Nunez reported his eyes scanning the readouts.

Communications online and clear, Burgess added. Medical readings normal across the crew. Medina confirmed. Security protocols active. Patel finished.

I nodded. Houston, Orion Dorind is in stable orbit and preparing for translunar injection. Copy that, Orion Tuathin, Came the response from Mission Control. You are go for TLI. Godspeed.

The burn to send us toward the moon went smoothly, and soon Earth was shrinking behind us. The three day journey gave us time for final preparations and system checks. I kept the team focused on their tasks, but I could feel my own unease growing stronger with each passing hour. During our final approach to lunar orbit, I found myself staring out the viewport at the scarred surface below.

The moon had been my workplace for years. I'd walked on that dust, set up equipment on those planes, collected samples from those craters. It should have felt familiar, comfortable even. Instead, I felt a chill as we passed over the Aitkin Basin and approached the site of Artemis 7. The outpost was located on the edge of a smaller crater, partially shielded from micrometeorites by the crater wall.

As the landing site came into view, something twisted in my stomach. There it is, Nunes said, pointing to a cluster of solar arrays barely visible against the Gray landscape. Artemis Seven. I stared at the abandoned outpost. From orbit, it looked like every other lunar facility, a collection of interconnected modules, mostly buried under regolith for radiation protection, with only the solar arrays and communication equipment exposed.

But something about seeing it made my heart rate increase. Commander Martha's voice broke through my thoughts. Are you all right? Your vitals just spiked. I realized the others were looking at me.

I'm fine. I just focused on the approach. I turned back to the controls. Let's prepare for landing. The descent module separated smoothly from the orbiter.

Patel would remain aboard to maintain our link with Earth while the rest of us investigated the outpost. The landing went by the book. A textbook touched down on the designated pad about 100 meters from Artemis 7's main airlock. Houston, this is Orion Twiddles descent module. We have touched down at Artemis 7.

I reported time is 1427 UTC. Copy that, Orion Twiddles. Good landing. You are clear to begin Eva preparations. We suited up methodically.

The rookies had trained for this, but I could see the nervous excitement in their movements as they checked and rechecked their seals and systems. Stay focused, I reminded them. The Moon doesn't care how many simulations you've done. Follow protocols, watch your oxygen levels, and maintain communication at all times. They nodded, serious now as the reality of the situation set in.

One by one, we cycled through the airlock and stepped onto the lunar surface. I went first, then Medina, Nunes, and finally Burgess. The familiar 1/6 gravity welcomed me as I took my first steps. The outpost lay ahead, partially covered by 30 years of accumulated lunar dust. The solar arrays were still intact, though, coated with the same fine Gray powder that covered everything on the moon.

Nunez, check those power readings, I said, pointing to his handheld scanner. He aimed it toward the outpost, his expression hidden behind his helmet visor. I'm getting energy signatures, Commander. Low level, but definitely active. Some of the systems are still running on minimal power.

That shouldn't be possible, Medina said, her scientific curiosity evident in her voice. And yet here we are, I replied. Let's move to the airlock. Standard contamination protocols. We approach the main entrance, our boots leaving clear tracks in the undisturbed dust.

The airlock door was sealed as it should have been, but when Nunez connected his equipment to the external access panel, the lights flickered on. It's accepting the override codes, he said, surprise in his voice. The system recognized current NASA protocols. That's impossible, Burgess said. Those codes shouldn't work on 30 year old systems.

Someone's updated them, I said. The implication hanging in the vacuum between us. The outer door slid open with a puff of escaping air. The airlock chamber beyond was dark. But auxiliary lighting activated as we entered.

The inner door remained sealed until we completed the decontamination cycle. Another system that shouldn't have been operational after all this time. Nunez worked the inner door controls. Ready, Commander? I nodded, trying to ignore the growing sense of wrongness that had been building since we landed.

Open it. The inner door slid open, revealing A dimly lit corridor beyond, and I froze. The layout was exactly as I had pictured it. Not just the general design from the schematics, but specific details I couldn't possibly have known. The slight curve of the corridor as it LED toward the main hub.

The recessed lighting panels in the ceiling, two of which were dark near the junction. The access panel on the right wall, with its distinctive scratch across the lower corner. It matched the image in my mind perfectly, down to the smallest detail. But I had never been here before, I couldn't have been, And yet somehow I knew this place.

Commander Martha's voice came through my helmet. Calm. Is something wrong? I realized I was standing motionless in the airlock doorway, blocking the others. No, I said, forcing myself to move forward.

Everything's fine. Let's proceed. But everything wasn't fine. As I LED my team into the abandoned outpost, I couldn't shake the impossible feeling that I was returning to a place I'd been before. I scanned the entry corridor, taking in the abandoned outpost.

The place looked frozen in time. Dust covered equipment, discarded tools, and empty crew stations. We need to cover more ground. I said, turning to face my team. Their helmet lights bobbed in acknowledgement.

We'll split up to investigate different sections. Troy adjusted something on his wrist computer. Makes sense. What's the plan, Commander? I pulled up the facility schematics on my helmet display.

Carmen, you and Troy, check the research labs and life support systems. See if you can figure out how this place still has power after 30 years. Carmen nodded. I'm particularly interested in the main lab. If there was research that could explain the signal.

Focus on the power systems first. I cut in, then the research. We need to understand how anything's still running. Got it? Troy said, already checking his equipment.

I turn to Martha and Danny. You 2 head to the communications hub. That's likely the source of our mystery signal. Document everything, especially anything that looks like it's been modified or accessed recently. What about you, Commander?

Danny asked, his security training making him hesitant about splitting up. I'll check the command center, it should have logs of all facility operations. I pointed down the main corridor. We'll stay on comms, check insurance every 15 minutes. Any problems?

We regroup at the airlock immediately. Standard protocols apply. Danny reminded everyone. Unknown environment, potentially compromised systems. Stay alert.

We synchronized our suit timers for the check insurance, and I watched as the two teams headed in opposite directions, their lights growing dimmer as they move deeper into the facility. Once they disappeared around corners, I started toward the command center. The corridors were eerily silent, except for the sound of my breathing and the soft hum of my suit systems.

Emergency lighting cast everything in a dull blue glow, creating deep shadows and doorways and recessed areas. I followed the main corridor, checking my position against the schematic. Something moved in my peripheral vision. I turned sharply, suit lights illuminating an empty corridor junction. Nothing there, just dust particles floating in my light beam.

Getting jumpy. I muttered to myself, continuing forward. The command center was located in the central hub of the facility, accessible through a series of progressively narrower corridors. As I walked, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Twice more, I caught what seemed like movement just at the edge of my vision, but each time I turned, I found empty space.

Medina to Commander Carmen's voice came through my helmet, calm, making me flinch. Go ahead, I replied, steadying my breathing. We've reached the life support section. Troy's checking the Power Distribution now. The main systems are in standby mode, but they're definitely operational.

How is that possible? I asked. Troy's voice cut in. That's the weird part. The solar array connections show signs of recent maintenance.

Someone's been keeping them functioning. That didn't make sense. Recent as in years or days? Recent as in months, maybe weeks, Troy replied. I'm running diagnostics now.

Keep me posted. I said Burgess Patel status. We're at the communications hub, Martha reported. Everything's powered up but in low energy mode. The system logs show the transmission began exactly 3 days ago, just like we were told.

Any sign of what triggered it? Not yet, she answered. But Commander, the system's been regularly maintained. The software has been updated multiple times over the years. Last update time stamp is from 8 months ago.

I stopped walking. That's impossible. This facility was abandoned 30 years ago. The logs don't lie, Martha said. Someone's been here recently.

I continued toward the command center, processing this information. All teams, stay alert. We're not alone here. Or at least we haven't been. I reached a set of pressure doors marked Command CENTER in faded lettering.

The access panel glowed faintly, indicating power. I placed my hand on the scanner, not expecting anything, but the doors slid open with a hiss of equalizing pressure. The command center was a circular room with workstations arranged in concentric rings around a central holographic projector. Dust covered every surface, but several monitors flickered with dim light.

I moved to the main console and wiped away a thick layer of dust. The screen beneath brightened at my touch, displaying a message. Protocol Echo initiated status active convergence imminent. What the hell is Protocol Echo? I muttered, searching through the system menus.

The computer responded sluggishly, many of the files corrupted or access restricted. I keyed my Calm team check in. Anyone find references to something called Protocol Echo? Nothing in the labs, Carmen replied. Nothing in communications logs, Martha said.

But wait, the transmission that brought us here, it's repeating a pattern. I didn't see it before. It's the letter E in old Morse code, over and over. E for echo, I said. Commander Troy's voice came through with a hint of concern.

The power usage just spiked throughout the facility. Whatever's running is drawing more energy now. As if responding to his words, the lights in the command center flickered. The central holographic projector sputtered to life, casting ghostly blue light across the room. And that's when I saw him.

A young boy, maybe eight or nine years old, standing in the doorway. He wore a standard issue jumpsuit, too large for a small frame. The name Patch read. Walker. I blinked, certain I was seeing things, but he remained watching me with an unnerving stillness.

Hello. I said, my voice sounding strange even to myself. The boy didn't respond. He just stared, his expression unreadable. How did you get here?

I asked, taking a step toward him. The lights flickered again and the boy turned away, walking into the corridor. Wait. I called out, moving quickly to follow him. I stepped into the corridor just in time to see him turn a corner.

I followed, my mind racing with impossible questions. A child here after 30 years. Team, this is Moreno, I said into my calm. I've just encountered someone, a child. I'm pursuing Static, answered me.

Repeat, this is Commander Moreno. Does anyone copy? More Static. The boy led me through corridors that twisted in ways that didn't match the schematics I'd memorized. We passed junctions and rooms I couldn't reconcile with the facility layout.

My suit compass spun uselessly, and the positioning system showed conflicting readings. I lost sight of him twice, only to find him waiting patiently at the next intersection, as if ensuring I followed. He never spoke, never acknowledged my calls. The corridors narrowed, the emergency lighting dimmer. Here, I realized, we'd entered a section that hadn't appeared on any of the schematics, A wing of the facility that officially didn't exist.

Who are you? I called out, my voice echoing in the empty corridor. What is this place? The boy stopped before a heavy door marked with warning symbols and the words PROJECT ECHO Authorized personnel only. He pointed at the door, then at me.

You want me to go in there? I asked. He nodded the first response he'd given me. I approached the door cautiously. The access panel required security clearance I shouldn't have had yet.

When I placed my hand on the scanner, the panel turned green. The massive door slid open with a groan of disused mechanisms. The room beyond was enormous, far larger than should have been possible given the facilities dimensions. In the center stood a massive device consisting of concentric rings suspended within each other, surrounded by equipment I didn't recognize.

The walls were covered in markings, symbols that weren't any language I knew, arranged in patterns that somehow hurt to look at directly. The boy walked past me into the room, pointing insistently at a control panel that lit up as I approached. The interface was unlike anything I'd seen in NASA technology, more advanced, almost organic in its design.

The panel activated fully as I stood before it, displaying a single pulsing icon. What is this place? I asked the silent boy. What are you trying to show me? He just pointed at the panel again, his eyes now reflecting an urgency that hadn't been there before.

The control panel hummed under my hand, the icon pulsing faster, as if responding to my presence. I reached out and pressed the pulsing icon. The panel hummed, then clicked. A video screen appeared, floating in the air above the control panel. Static at first, then clearing log entry 947, a voice said.

Commander Cody Moreno, Artemis 7 My hand froze above the controls. The video quality wasn't great, had that grainy look of old recordings, but there was no mistaking the face on screen. It was my father. No, that wasn't right. It was me.

Same face, same eyes, maybe a bit more tired around the edges, but it was my face staring back at me. I stepped back. What the hell? The recording continued, my father's voice echoing in the cavernous room. We've managed to stabilize the energy signature.

The entity, if that's what it is, seems to respond to human presence. Not just any presence. Mine, specifically. I glanced at the boy, who stood perfectly still, watching me watch the recording. My father looked exhausted in the video, dark circles under his eyes, stubble on his chin.

The time stamps show this was recorded two weeks before his official death date. The entity communicates in ways we don't fully understand, he continued. It exists outside our perception of time. It shows me things, past and future events simultaneously. I've seen Jim, my son.

He paused, rubbing his face. He's here on the moon, but he's older, much older. My stomach dropped. This didn't make sense. My father died in a training accident.

That's what they told us. That's what I believed for 15 years. I think whatever's down there beneath the lunar surface, it's been trying to communicate across time, and somehow Jim is connected to it. Maybe he always has been. The boy stepped closer to me, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Director Franklin wants to shut this down, says it's too dangerous. My father laughed bitterly. She doesn't understand what we found, what it could mean. I turned to the boy. Who are you?

What is this? For the first time since I'd seen him, the boy spoke. His voice was odd, not quite a child's voice, something older behind it. Cody knew you would come back, he said simply back. I've never been here before.

But even as I said it, I knew it wasn't entirely true. The familiarity I'd felt since arriving. It wasn't deja vu, it was recognition. You have always been here, the boy said. And you have never been here.

The facility suddenly shuddered. A deep vibration ran through the floor, up my legs. Dust fell from the ceiling. My calm crackled to life. Danny's voice tense and urgent.

Commander, something's happening. The outposts power systems are spiking. I'm getting readings off the charts. Another tremor, stronger this time. Equipment rattled on shelves.

Warning lights began flashing around the room. Danny, what's our status? I said, already moving toward the door. Not good, Sir. Energy readings are climbing.

The systems weren't designed to handle this kind of load. I've lost contact with Earth. Interference is too strong. The boy didn't move, just watched me with those unnerving eyes. Where are the others?

I asked. Danny, Carmen and Troy are heading back to the airlock. Martha's with them. The facility rocked again. An alarm started blaring, high pitched, insistent everyone evacuate to the Lander.

I ordered. I'm on my way. I turned to leave, but the boy was suddenly in front of me, blocking the doorway. I don't know how he moved so fast. You can't leave, he said.

Not yet. Listen, kid, or whatever you are, this place is coming apart. We need to go. He shook his head. You must complete the cycle.

What cycle? What are you talking about? Instead of answering, he pointed to the center of the room, to the platform surrounded by those concentric rings. Stand there, he said, where your father stood. Another violent tremor nearly knocked me off my feet.

The alarm changed pitch, becoming more urgent. Commander Carmen's voice now the reactor's approaching critical levels. We need to go now. Every instinct told me to run, to get back to the Lander, to get my team off this rock. But something else, something deeper, kept me rooted.

What happens if I stand there? I asked the boy. You'll understand. Understand what? Everything.

The facility shuttered again. A panel exploded on the far wall, sparks cascading to the floor. Jim, Carmen again. We're at the airlock. Where are you?

I looked at the boy, then at the central platform. This was crazy. I needed to get out, but I took a step toward the platform. I'll be right there, I told Carmen. Get everyone in the Lander.

Be ready for immediate launch if necessary. Another tremor, stronger than the others. I staggered, but kept my footing. The boy hadn't moved, still blocking the exit, still watching me with those ancient eyes in a child's face. Jim, Danny.

This time the structural integrity is failing. We've got maybe 10 minutes before this whole place collapses. I looked at the platform again. Something about it pulled at me, like a memory I couldn't quite grasp. Damn it.

I muttered and stepped onto the platform. For a second, nothing happened. Then the rings surrounding the platform began to move. Slowly at first, then faster, rotating around me in different directions. Energy crackled between them, blue white arcs jumping from ring to ring.

The boy smiled. Actually smiled now you'll see. The energy built, humming through the platform beneath my feet. It travelled up my legs, through my body. Not painful, but intense, like every cell was vibrating at a different frequency.

And then the visions hit me. My father, younger than I'd ever known him, standing in this exact spot, his face twisted in shock as the rings activated for the first time. The entity, A presence rather than a form, dwelling in the lunar bedrock for millennia ancient beyond human comprehension. My father again, night after night, returning to this chamber, communicating with the entity, learning its language of images and sensations rather than words.

The entities showing him glimpses across time, past, present, future, all at once. Overwhelming at first, then gradually making sense. Me as a child, drawing pictures of a place I'd never been, a circular room with rings, a boy standing in shadows. My father looking at those drawings with a mix of fear and understanding.

Director Franklin ordering the facility shut down when my father tried to explain what he'd found. The argument, the threats, my father's decision to stay behind when everyone else left to continue his work in secret. The visions came faster now, years compressed into seconds. My father, growing older in this abandoned outpost, maintaining it alone.

The entity sustaining him, somehow keeping the systems running long after they should have failed. His death, not in a training accident, as I've been told, but here, on this platform. His final moment spent leaving messages for me, knowing I would come someday. The images stopped abruptly. I gasped, nearly fell.

The rings were spinning so fast now they were just blurs around me. Do you understand now? The boy asked. You're not a boy, I said, my voice shaking. You're the entity.

You've been here all along. He nodded. I have existed in many forms. This one seemed least frightening to you. The transmission.

I said. You sent it. Yes. It was time. Time for what?

Another violent tremor rocked the facility. Part of the ceiling collapsed at the far end of the room. Commander Carmen's voice was frantic. Now the reactor's gone critical. We have minutes at most.

The boy, The entity stepped closer to the platform. Time to break the cycle, Jim Moreno. What cycle? For 30 years, I have waited. Showing your father glimpses of you.

Showing you glimpses of this place in your dreams. The circle must be closed. I understood suddenly. You brought me here to finish what he started? No.

The entity shook its head. I brought you here to end what he started. My calm crackled again. Jim, it was Carmen. The reactor's going to blow.

We need to launch now. The entity's eyes met mine. Your father discovered me by accident. He couldn't let go, couldn't stop trying to understand. He became trapped in the cycle between what was and what might be.

And me. What am I supposed to do? Destroy this place completely? The connection must be severed. Another section of ceiling crashed down.

The rings were spinning so fast now they were almost invisible. How you already know the reactor, let it overload, the explosion will be enough. I stepped off the platform and the ring slowed immediately. If I do that, you'll die. The entity smiled again, but sadly, this time I cannot die.

I will simply change, return to what I was before your kind found me. Jim Carmen again. We're launching in 2 minutes, with or without you. I looked at the entity one last time. Why me?

Why not just let this place fall apart on its own? Because you needed to know the truth about your father, about yourself. The entities form flickered, becoming less solid. The cycle ends with you, Jim Moreno. The facility gave another violent shudder.

Warning lights flashed everywhere now. I turned and ran for the door, not looking back. I'll see you at the Lander. I told Carmen through the calm. Start the launch sequence.

I ran down the corridor, alarms blaring all around me. Red emergency lights flashed, making the shadows jump and dance on the walls. The whole place was coming apart. Carmen, do you copy? I shouted into my calm.

Her voice came back broken by static. Jim, where are you? We're at the airlock on my way. 2 minutes. I checked the timer on my wrist display.

The self destruct sequence I just activated gave us exactly 8 minutes to clear the facility and get airborne. Not much time. I took a sharp right at the next junction, my boots sliding on the metal floor. This part of the outpost I actually did remember from the schematics. 3 more turns and I'd be at the main corridor that led to the airlock.

The floor beneath me shuttered. A deep mechanical groan echoed through the structure, the sound of 30 year old systems preparing to overload. Dust and small fragments of ceiling material rained down. Jim, it was Troy this time. Whatever you did in there, this whole place is going critical.

Reactors spiking off the charts. That's the point, I said, ducking under a partially collapsed ceiling panel. Don't wait for me. Start prep for immediate launch. We're not leaving with.

That's an order, Nunez. I picked up my pace, ignoring the burning in my lungs. Another violent shake nearly knocked me off my feet. A pipe burst somewhere nearby, sending a cloud of steam hissing into the corridor. The final turn came up and I spotted the airlock at the far end, about 50 yards away.

Through the small viewport I could see my team inside, suited up and ready. Carmen was standing by the inner door, watching for me. I sprinted the final stretch as another tremor hit. This one's strong enough to crack the floor panels. The lights flickered, went out, then came back on at 1/2 strength.

5 minutes to critical. Danny's voice came through the calm from the Lander. Whatever you're doing, do it faster. I reached the airlock and slammed my palm against the entry panel. The door hissed open and I practically fell inside.

Carmen grabbed my arm to steady me. What the hell happened in there? She demanded, already helping me into my Eva suit. No time. I gasped, struggling to catch my breath.

Suit up, get out now. Troy and Martha were already fully suited. They moved to help me, their hands working quickly to secure my helmet and check my seals. Did you find what was sending the signal? Martha asked.

I nodded as I pulled my gloves on. Found it. Found a lot more than that. I'll explain once we're airborne. The outpost gave another violent shake.

Alarms changed pitch, becoming more urgent. That's the secondary systems failing. Troy said, checking his tablet. Primaries next, then boom. Carmen finished sealing my suit and did a rapid pressure check.

You're good, let's move. We cycled through the airlock in record time, the decontamination sequence bypassed by the emergency override. Once outside, we moved as fast as our bulky suits would allow across the lunar surface, bounding in the low gravity toward the waiting Lander. Danny had the Hatch open and the engines already warming up.

I could see the blue glow of the thrusters as we approached. 4 minutes. He called out as we reached the Lander. We climbed in one by one, Carmen first, then Martha, Troy, and finally me. Danny sealed the Hatch behind us.

Strapped in now. I ordered, moving to the pilot's seat. Everyone scrambled to their positions. I dropped into the pilot's chair and started flipping switches, bringing the main engines online. The control panel lit up green across the board.

Launch sequence initiated. I announced. 3 minutes to get clear. The Lander vibrated as the engines fired up to full power. Through the viewport I could see the abandoned outpost, its exterior still looking deceptively intact despite the chaos happening inside.

Reactor containment failing. Troy reported from his station, eyes on the scanner. We need to move now, Commander, hang on. I pushed the throttle forward. The Lander lifted off the lunar surface, kicking up a cloud of grey dust.

We rose steadily, the outpost shrinking beneath US. 1000 feet. I called out. 2000 at 3000 feet. Troy spoke up again.

Should be high enough to avoid debris, but we need more distance. I pushed the engines harder, sending us moving laterally away from the outpost. The moon's surface slid beneath us, a barren landscape of craters and dust. What exactly did you do down there? Troy asked, his eyes not leaving his instruments.

Later. I said, focused on the controls. Everyone, brace. The timer on my wrist hit zero just as I was about to say something else. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then a flash of light erupted from the outpost so bright it momentarily whited out the viewport. The shockwave hit us a second later. Even at our altitude and distance, it rocked the Lander violently. Warning lights flashed across my console, but nothing critical. Status.

I called out all systems operational. Danny reported minor thruster fluctuation. Correcting now, everyone OK? A chorus of affirmatives came back. I adjusted our position, bringing us around in a wide arc to view what remained of Artemis 7.

Where the outpost had stood was now a fresh crater, still glowing with residual heat. Debris was scattered across the lunar surface for hundreds of yards in all directions. The facility was completely gone. My God, Martha whispered. It's just gone.

I stared at the destruction below, feeling a strange mix of relief and sadness. The entity had gotten what it wanted. The cycle was broken, Commander Carmen said quietly from beside me. What happened down there? I took a deep breath.

Set course for orbital rendezvous with Orion. I'll explain everything once we're on our way home. The journey back to Earth took three days, just as our trip to the Moon had. But this time the atmosphere on board was completely different. Instead of anticipation, there was confusion and disbelief as I recounted what I discovered.

We sat in the main cabin of Orion Dwell, floating in the weightlessness of space. Earth was growing larger in the viewport with each passing hour. So you're saying this entity has been living under the lunar surface for who knows how long? Danny asked, his face skeptical. I nodded.

That's what it showed me and what my father discovered 30 years ago. And it communicates across time. Martha shook her head. That's impossible. I saw it happen.

I insisted. It showed me things. Past, present, future, all at once. It showed me my father's work, how he stayed behind when everyone else left. Troy frowned.

But your father died in a training accident on Earth. That's what the records show. The records are wrong. I said. Director Franklin covered it up.

My father never left Artemis 7. He stayed to study the entity until he died alone up there. Carmen, who had been quiet for most of my explanation, finally spoke. The transmission that brought us here. You're saying the entity sent it?

Yes. It needed me. Specifically needed a Moreno to end what my father started. I looked out at the stars. It was trapped in some kind of loop with my father, connected to him across time, showing him glimpses of the future, the past.

My father became obsessed with understanding. It couldn't let it go, and it couldn't let him go either. Carmen said softly. Exactly. But it knew I would come eventually.

It had seen me there, in its future. I ran a hand through my hair. The boy I saw that was the entity taking a form it thought I would respond to. And the only way to break this connection was to destroy the facility? Troy asked.

I nodded. The device my father built amplified whatever natural abilities the entity had. Destroying it was the only way to sever the connection completely. Martha looked troubled. Do you think it survived?

It said it couldn't die, just change, go back to what it was before humans found it. I shrugged. Whatever that means. Danny still looked unconvinced. This all sounds crazy, you know that, right?

Time communicating aliens, your father living secretly on the moon for years. I know how it sounds, I admitted. But I downloaded data from the command center before we left. My father's logs, the project files, it's all there. We fell silent for a while, each lost in our own thoughts as Earth grew larger in our viewport.

Director Franklin isn't going to like this, Troy finally said. I gave a humorless laugh. No, she's not. And she didn't. When we returned to Earth and I presented my findings in the debriefing room, Director Franklin's face grew progressively stonier.

Commander Moreno, she said after I'd finished my report. You realize what you're suggesting violates every protocol NASA has established. If what you say is true, your father deliberately disobeyed direct orders and remained on Artemis 7 without authorization. The evidence is all there, I said, pointing to the data drive on the table between us.

His logs, the project files, everything. She picked up the drive, turning it over in her fingers. And you destroyed a multi billion dollar facility based on the instructions of an alleged alien entity. I destroyed it because it was about to explode anyway, I countered. The entity had been manipulating the systems for years, building up to this moment.

It needed to end. Franklin sighed, looking suddenly tired. I'll review the data. Until then, this debriefing and all findings are classified at the highest level. No one discusses this with anyone.

My team nodded their agreement, though I could see the questions still burning in their eyes. Three months passed. NASA released an official statement claiming Artemis 7 had suffered A catastrophic systems failure due to its age, and that our mission had been to retrieve data before such an event occurred. The public bought it.

Why wouldn't they? I was placed on administrative leave, ostensibly for recovery time after the mission. I knew it was really to keep me away from the press while they figured out what to do with me. Then one day, a Courier arrived at my apartment with a box. Inside were my father's personal effects from his office at NASA, things that had been in storage since his death 15 years ago.

Among them was a journal I'd never seen before. Its pages were filled with sketches of the strange symbols I'd seen in the chamber, along with notes about temporal echoes and non linear communication. The final entry dated just days before the facility was supposedly abandoned. Red. I've seen him again.

Jim, Grown up standing where I stand now. The entity shows him to me more clearly each time. He will come here someday. I'm certain of it now. And when he does, he'll need to understand.

He'll need to break the cycle I've created. I've tried to leave him clues, bread crumbs to follow. I hope it's enough. I hope he forgives me. That night, I stood at my apartment window, looking up at the moon barely visible through the city lights.

I thought about my father, alone up there for all those years, talking to an entity that showed him glimpses of me. I understood now what the entity had been trying to do. It wasn't malevolent. It was trapped, just as my father had been trapped. Time communication was its only language, and it had used that language to engineer its own freedom.