On Earth, an Aurora Borealis was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever witnessed. Northern cold nipped at my cheeks as I stared in wonder at the magical sky. My girlfriend’s mittened hands grasped mine and wonder mixed with love to create a warmth even the frigid air couldn’t permeate.

Here, in a place even colder than that northern winter, it was sad. Pathetic.

I watched as the aurora swirled around the jar like a captured insect. It bashed itself against the glass again and again. Outside the ship’s window was an infinite dark expanse, made darker by our capturing of the Entity.

The Entity pounded against its container. Then, it stilled. It trembled. My hands clasped over my ears in preparation for what would come next. A loud, siren-like screech blasted from the jar as the Entity grew more frantic. It whirled around the jar, and even after so many missions a part of me was terrified that it might escape– and what would happen if it did.

I picked up the jar. We were supposed to use gloves when handling Entities, but there wasn’t any real reason besides it felt like a good protocol to have. Something common sense, something you might regret not doing if something were to happen. But the jars prevented any radiation or other unsavory things from leaking out, so I never wore them. My crewmates thought I was crazy, but I thought they were crazy too. Fair’s fair.

“You know-” A stupid, annoying feminine voice sounded from behind me.

“Yeah, gloves or whatever.” I twisted the jar around in my hand. The Entity suddenly thrust itself against the side and I tightened my grip to keep from dropping it.

“I was going to say you’re not supposed to keep those things in here. We grab them, then put them straight into containment. Dilly dallying just leaves room for mistakes.” Beck crossed her arms. She was the tallest of the women on the ship- at six feet even she was only a couple inches shorter than myself. Mike resented her for being taller and tougher than himself, which only made me like her more. I had a healthy respect for her opinion. Unfortunately for her, respect doesn’t always equal deference. I wasn’t sure there was anything that could make me defer to anyone. It’s hard not to put your own opinion above others when you’re always right.

“You know I treat them with care, B. I like to look, that’s all.”

“I haven’t done anything to stop you, I’m just throwing it out there.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

She shrugged, then opened the panel to her ‘secret’ compartment and pulled out a bottle of scotch. We weren’t supposed to have alcohol on these missions, but we all quietly agreed that was stupid as shit, so Beck had her secret compartment and we all kept it secret in exchange for getting to siphon some of that ambrosia for ourselves.

“Like I said, I haven’t stopped you.” She took a swig straight from the bottle. It might’ve been impressive, even hot, if it wasn’t for the fact a week ago Mike had tried to do something similar, then gagged and spit it back into the bottle. I cringed, but decided it was better not to say anything.

“I’ll put it away now, this one’s annoying.” I held the jar up and jostled it around. The Entity screeched loudly enough the jar began to tremble. She flinched and covered her ears.

“Christ of the Cosmos, don’t do that Wreak!”

I shrugged her off and opened the Container, a translucent plastic box meant both for containing Entities and observing them. I’m sure the engineers did their best, but it would be worthless if an Entity actually escaped their jar and everyone knows it. It isn’t worth talking about since Entities have to be contained and complaining about the Container won’t make the scientific breakthrough of capturing Entities come any faster. I lock it, then sit on the couch. The thumping sound of the Borealis gets muffled by the Container, but not silenced entirely.

“Well, I’m heading to bed.” I stretch my arms above my head.

“Suit yourself.” Beck takes another swig of her spittle-ridden scotch.

Even as I walk to my room, I hear the sound of the Entity trying to escape. Futilely, we can only hope.

The hallway lights flickered like they were trying their best to set the mood but failing miserably. I trudged toward my room, only to hear footsteps behind me. Beck again. Because of course sleep was too easy.

She cleared her throat. “You know, Wreak, one of these days that thing is going to crack open and fry your brain.”

I turned around and leaned against my door. “My brain is already fried. You are simply witnessing the aftermath.”

Beck pointed a finger at me. “No, I mean truly fried. Crispy. Served on a plate.”

“Wonderful. I have always wanted to be a breakfast special.”

She stared at me for a moment, clearly debating whether to argue or go find more regrettable substances to drink. “Seriously though. You keep poking that thing and one day it will poke back.”

“Why would you assume I poke it,” I asked. “Maybe it pokes itself.”

She blinked. “Do you hear yourself.”

“Sadly yes. It is a curse.”

Before she could respond, a dull boom echoed through the hallway. Not an explosion. More like someone hitting the ship with a giant cosmic mallet. We both froze.

Beck whispered, “That better not be your little guest.”

“It is not my fault the universe insists on being dramatic,” I said.

We marched back toward the observation room. The jar sat calmly in the Container, glowing faintly like it was pretending to be innocent. Beck glared at it.

“I do not trust that thing,” she said.

“You do not trust anything,” I replied.

“That is because I have common sense,” she shot back.

“Common sense is simply fear with better marketing.”

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might sprain something. “Fine. Stay here with your mistake in a jar. I am going to sleep.”

“You say that as if sleep will stop the universe from trying to kill us.”

“It will not,” she said. “But at least I will be unconscious when it tries.”

She walked out, leaving me alone with the soft thumping of the Entity in the Container and the quiet hum of a ship pretending nothing was wrong.

I sighed and sat down again.

“You and me,” I murmured to the jar, “let us try not to ruin the night.”

The Entity tapped once against the glass, as if answering.

I chose to interpret that as agreement, for my sanity’s sake.

The hum of the ship was steady, but beneath it I swore I could hear something else—like a faint rhythm, a pulse that didn’t belong to the engines. I leaned closer to the Container, narrowing my eyes at the glow. The Entity’s light wasn’t static anymore; it shimmered in waves, almost like it was breathing. My stomach tightened. Breathing meant life, and life meant intent.

I tapped the side of the Container with my knuckle. “You’re not supposed to be clever,” I muttered. “You’re supposed to be a phenomenon, not a personality.”

The glow pulsed faster, as if mocking me.

I stood, pacing the room. Beck’s words gnawed at me—one day it will poke back. She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t right either. The Entities weren’t just dangerous; they were… communicative. Every screech, every pulse, every tap against the glass felt like language. And if it was language, then maybe—just maybe—we were the ones too primitive to understand it.

The thought chilled me more than the void outside the ship. Because if the Entity was speaking, then tonight it had chosen me as its audience.

Sleep never came. I lay in my bunk staring at the ceiling, listening to the ship’s hum, waiting for the Entity’s rhythm to fade. It didn’t. The pulse grew louder, not in sound but in presence, like it was inside my head rather than outside the jar.

I sat up, rubbed my temples, and muttered, “You’re supposed to be contained.”

The lights flickered again. This time, they didn’t stop. A low vibration rattled through the walls, and I knew instantly it wasn’t the engines. Beck would have stormed in by now if it were mechanical. This was something else.

I stumbled back to the observation room. The Container glowed brighter than before, the Entity’s light spilling across the floor like liquid. It wasn’t just pulsing now—it was forming patterns. Spirals. Lines. Shapes that looked almost… written.

I froze. My breath caught. “Language,” I whispered.

The Entity tapped against the glass, once, twice, three times. The spirals shifted, rearranging themselves into something that resembled a symbol I couldn’t recognize but felt like I should. My chest tightened. It wasn’t random. It was deliberate.

Behind me, the door hissed open. Beck’s voice was sharp, half-asleep but alert. “Wreak, what the hell did you do?”

I didn’t turn. “I didn’t do anything. It’s… talking.”

She stepped closer, her scotch-breath cutting through the sterile air. “Talking? That’s not talking. That’s a warning.”

The Entity pulsed again, brighter, faster. The ship groaned as if something massive pressed against its hull. Beck grabbed my arm. “We need to call Command.”

I shook my head. “No. If we tell them, they’ll order us to eject it. And if this is communication—if this is first contact—we’ll lose it forever.”

Her grip tightened. “Or we’ll lose ourselves.”

The Entity flared, and for a moment the room was drenched in blinding light. When it dimmed, the spirals had rearranged into something unmistakable: a map.

And the map was pointing somewhere.