Maxwell woke to the faint hum of the ship's engines and the low, rhythmic tapping of something against his cabin's outer hull. For a moment, he thought it was the sound of gentle rain, but then he remembered—there was no rain in the void of space. Pushing the thought aside, he sat up in his bunk, rubbing his eyes and recalling the events of the previous night.
They were now orbiting Titan, Saturn's largest moon. The golden haze of its methane-rich atmosphere had glowed like an amber lantern as their ship approached, and even in the stillness of space, Maxwell had felt something pulling him toward its surface. There was a mystery there—one hinted at in the faint radio transmissions they had been picking up for the past week.
He dressed quickly, pulling on his expedition suit, and made his way to the observation deck. The entire room was bathed in a warm orange light from Titan's reflected glow. Beyond the reinforced glass, the surface of the moon was barely visible through swirling clouds, but every so often, the winds shifted to reveal jagged coastlines and dark, liquid seas.
"Morning, Maxwell," Captain Harris greeted him from the navigation console. The captain was a broad-shouldered man with eyes like sharpened steel, a man who had crossed asteroid belts, weathered solar flares, and stared down smugglers without flinching. Yet even he seemed unsettled. "We'll be landing within the hour. The readings are… strange."
"How strange?" Maxwell asked, stepping closer.
Harris tapped the display, and lines of data scrolled past—pressure levels, temperature variations, and most unsettling of all, electromagnetic pulses. "These waves… they're not natural. Something down there is transmitting in a pattern. And the frequency—" He paused, leaning in. "It's almost identical to the ancient communication systems we found in the Martian ruins last year."
Maxwell's mind began to race. Could Titan be home to another ancient civilization? Or worse—was it a remnant of something older, something that had moved across the solar system eons ago?
The landing was smoother than Maxwell expected. Titan's gravity was light, and the thick atmosphere made their descent feel almost like floating through a viscous liquid. When the hatch opened, they were greeted by an eerie stillness. The air, while toxic to humans, was calm, carrying only a faint chemical scent that seeped through their suits.
The ground beneath their boots crunched with a sound like frozen sand. Ahead, the shoreline of a methane sea stretched into the mist, its surface so dark it looked like liquid night. In the distance, something rose from the shore—a shape too symmetrical to be natural.
They approached cautiously. The object was enormous, nearly thirty meters tall, and partially buried in the frozen ground. Its surface was metallic, but covered with a layer of crystalline frost. Carvings or etchings ran along its side, faint and worn, yet still visible: spirals, geometric lines, and a symbol that sent a shiver through Maxwell's spine.
It was the same symbol they had seen in the ruins beneath the sands of Mars.
"Captain," Maxwell whispered, "this… this is older than humanity."
Harris crouched beside the base of the structure, brushing away frost. "It's a beacon," he said after a moment. "But it's not broadcasting anymore—at least not in a way we can detect directly."
Maxwell adjusted his suit's scanner. "No, it is broadcasting, but only when the methane winds shift. The signal's being carried across the surface of the seas." He paused, frowning at the readings. "It's… calling something."
As they worked, the tapping sound from Maxwell's cabin returned—but now he realized it wasn't from the ship. It was coming from beneath the ice. A slow, deliberate knock… pause… knock-knock-knock.
Harris looked toward the sea. The liquid surface was rippling, though no wind stirred the air. "We're not alone," he said, his voice grim.
The ripples grew larger, spreading outward until they became waves. Something massive was moving beneath the methane sea. Maxwell felt the ground tremble faintly under his boots, and the beacon began to hum softly, vibrating with the same rhythm as the tapping.
Then, without warning, a shape broke the surface. It was only for a second, but Maxwell saw it—a towering form, pale and glistening, with eyes that reflected the weak sunlight like polished silver. And then it was gone, sinking back beneath the waves.
Neither man spoke for several moments. Finally, Harris muttered, "We need to report this to Command."
Maxwell shook his head. "No. If we tell them now, they'll send a military fleet, and whatever that thing is… it'll be destroyed before we even understand it. We stay quiet until we know more."
The captain hesitated, then gave a curt nod. "Alright. But whatever's down there… it knows we're here."
Maxwell turned his gaze toward the sea, the beacon still pulsing faintly beside him. Somewhere in the darkness, an ancient intelligence stirred, awakened by their arrival. And for the first time in years, he felt the same thrill he had felt as a young man staring at the night sky—wonder… mixed with danger.
As they made their way back to the ship, the mist thickened, swallowing the beacon from sight. But the tapping followed them all the way to the hatch. This time, Maxwell didn't think it was a warning. It was an invitation.