Maya was eleven years old and had a service drone named Lumen. She flew to the Dawn station, circling above Mars in the calm night. The engines purred quietly and the entire fuselage breathed with an even rhythm. Behind the porthole hung a red Mars with the shadow of long canyons. Maja liked to eavesdrop on the radio, where the stars whispered with a hum. Sometimes dust storms hit, sometimes echoes of forgotten probes. On this duty she tended arugula and checked the humidity sensors. Suddenly, a short, persistent tapping sounded in the headphones. It resembled neither a thunderstorm nor the work of a maintenance airlock. Lumen blinked blue, as if he had also just heard something. The tapping was forming a rhythm, like an alphabet, like a message. Maja switched on the analysis and began counting the stubborn pauses. The letters came out clearly: MAJA, DON'T WRITE THROUGH THE NET. The girl stiffened, but curiosity immediately won out over fear. - Who are you? - she whispered into the service microphone more quietly. In response, only the rhythm was repeated, even more emphatic. Maja opened the service hatch and sent Lumen into the sewer. The tunnel was narrow, with cables like the roots of an old tree. At the end waited an antenna, pointed far above the night of Mars. The clatter carried through the plating and descended to the bone. - If this is a joke, I swear I'll repay you with interest,' she muttered. Lumen sent a picture: thin frost on the bulkhead and scratches. Between the scratches someone had written one word with their finger: RETURN. At the same instant, the airlock three light flashed yellow. The panel showed a drop in pressure, but the alarm remained off. A small capsule flashed behind the porthole, attached to our antenna. Airlock three began to cycle on its own, and the inner door vibrated. Maja grabbed the radio as the first crack sounded inside.