"Yeah," she lied, her voice steady. "It's just a slideshow of old star photos. Nothing important."

Her phone rang. It was Dr. Thorne. "Did it work?" he asked, his voice thin.

The waveform materialized again, but this time, the viewer translated it into text. One word, then another, scrolling up the black screen like the closing credits of reality: "THEY BUILT. THEY WATCHED. THE BELT IS ALL THAT REMAINS. WARNING: THE SUN IS A LENS. THEY WILL USE IT. SILENCE YOUR ATOMS. BURY YOUR VOICE." Mira slammed the laptop shut.