For ten agonizing seconds, there was only static. Then, a new transmission. Shorter this time. A single word.

She read the transmission again:

"S-R-T-Y-M," she said into the void, her voice trembling. "We see your map. But what's at the 'M'?"

Her intern, Leo, leaned over her shoulder. "Maybe it's a glitch. Cosmic ray hit the processor?"

Her eyes snapped to her own fingers. The "S" was under her ring finger. "R" was under her middle—no, that was wrong. "R" was index. Her heart started to pound. She repositioned her hand. What if the sender didn't have five fingers? What if they had… six?

It was a shape. A spiral.

A tight, modulated beam had punched through the background noise, originating from a dead spot near the constellation of Corvus. The computer had parsed the signal, churned through a million mathematical models, and spat out a single, baffling string of letters.

Frustrated, she stared at her keyboard. Her fingers hovered over the home row. And then, like a ghost guiding her hand, she placed her left hand on the keys. Pinky on A, ring on S, middle on D, index on F.