Rare Sample

The first to explode into the air was a gas station. Unable to withstand the precise hit from the dense and long yellow-orange column of flame, it burst apart into pieces of metal, plastic, and concrete. Following that, an underground gas pipeline detonated. A series of explosions rippled under the roads and sidewalks, bulging the asphalt and bursting forth towards the clouds with infernal flames.



Cars caught in the path of the terrifying, unpredictable, mysterious disaster jolted upwards by a meter and dropped their melting tires. Their fuel tanks exploded like frenzied cucumbers. When they collapsed back onto the road, sedans, vans, and trucks were blown to pieces—like a child’s building block set scattered by a strong hand thrown against the floor.



From the explosions and the waves of sharp dust they created, glass shattered around newsstands and nearby cars. The windows of the lower floors of the apartment buildings lining the roadway also turned into a shower of shards.



Screams of terror, cries from confused, disoriented, panicked people filled the air. The injured moaned, begging for salvation, while mutilated bodies of the dead lay nearby, unable to call for help.



A destructive stream of flame, striking from an incredible height as if from the very sky, from the center of the universe, shifted sideways, igniting a stall selling melons and watermelons, young green trees. Under the searing death, unfortunate Muscovites and their pets, dogs and cats, burned alive.



Unable to take action, the patrolling police officers ran about like frantic animals or hid in basements, apartments, and cars.



---



And just a few hours earlier...



A space delivery truck RNT-377 had unloaded at another galactic warehouse and was now heading home to Earth. The flight had been completely ordinary. The captain, yawning, piloted the astro-truck down the star highway. The navigator was silent, dozing with his feet propped up on the control panel. The route was familiar to both of them and had even become boring.



They discovered the lost object quite by accident. As they passed by, the ship's radar detected an unidentified object hanging in the cold void.



Navigator Alik glanced at the screen and furrowed his black brows on his masculine face: dealing with a sudden find was the last thing he wanted, especially now, when only a couple of hours remained until reaching the Earth port. Nevertheless, he lazily reached out and slapped Captain Stan on the shoulder.



Stan—or, as the common folk called him, Stas—was a broad-shouldered and chubby brown-haired man who turned to Alik with a puzzled look. Then the radar screen came into his field of vision, and he understood everything.



- Not eager to... - Alik admitted honestly.



- I agree, - Stan replied. - What if it's something good?



Alik chewed his lips and shrugged.



Of course, there was a chance that one of their fellow space truckers had lost part of their cargo along the way. In that case, they either needed to contact galactic security or deliver the find to the planet themselves. The latter option also meant that no one besides Alik and Stan would ever learn about the discovery, allowing them to keep it for themselves. It was unlikely that an unlucky driver would bother the law enforcement or call the delivery services one by one. It's no wonder that extremely few unique individuals dream of returning lost property to its owners. To be blunt, this almost never happened.



They flew closer and hovered in zero gravity. Stan activated the manipulator, guiding it with levers and buttons on the control panel, and led the metallic arm to the swirling box among the stars.



Alik adjusted the camera settings, and within the cabin, an impressive cube appeared on the large monitor. The navigator furrowed his brow: the shape of the box seemed odd to him. He “split” the image in half and, operating his half, zoomed in to get a better look. Then he whistled in surprise.



- What's that? - Stan asked without turning around.



He brought the metal arm close to the peculiar container. Spreading the five-fingered human-like hand, he grabbed the box and switched the manipulator to autonomous mode. The arm began retracting back into the cargo hold.



Alik pressed “pause” and tapped on the monitor, catching the captain's attention again.



Stan shifted his gaze first to the navigator and then to the half of the screen where Alik was tapping.



- Interesting... - Stan drawled.



The frozen image raised many questions for the experienced couriers. All they could say for certain was that they had never seen a box of that shape made of such material before.



- Let's take a closer look, - Alik suggested.



The light on the manipulator panel indicated that the arm was inactive, meaning the box was in the cargo hold.



Stan nodded in agreement and activated the autopilot. They rose from their pneumatic seats, passed through the segmented barrier, and walked towards the massive doors at the opposite end of the spaceship. Stan touched the sensor, opening the shutters. Slowly and silently, the heavy doors opened, revealing deep and wide darkness.



The captain and navigator entered. Stan snapped his fingers—the lights turned on. Alik was the first to approach the box. He stood beside the solidly sized cube and began examining and feeling it.



The metal shimmered and sparkled under the artificial lights brighter than chrome and had an extraordinarily light hue. To the touch, the material was rough and did not resemble any known substance to astronauts. The cube stood over a meter tall and had an irregular pattern of lines: some faces curved inward and then straightened again. An extremely unsuitable shape for transporting cargo.



Stan stood next to Alik, hands shoved into the pockets of his jumpsuit.



- I can’t figure out how this thing opens, - Alik said.



He walked around the container with a thoughtful expression.



- I don’t see any doors, handles, flaps… nothing. No buttons either, - reported the navigator. - But there's something here.



Stan noticed a new tone in his partner's voice. The captain couldn't decipher it, grew cautious, and thus asked:



- What is it?



- A plaque.



Stan decided to take a look for himself. Arriving next to Alik, he gazed at the rectangular piece of metal with letters pointed out by the navigator. Stan moved his lips, trying to read the neatly arranged red symbols.



- Gibberish. What language is this?



Alik shrugged.



Anxiety and anticipation of something unpleasant intensified; Stan muttered a curse.



- Probably a warning. Or a name, - Alik reflected aloud. - Or addresses for shipping and receiving.



- Or anything, - Stan grimly concluded.



Lost, they returned to where they had initially stood. From here, it would be much easier to shoot if necessary since the back wall of the box was almost flush against the hatch door of the compartment.



- We’ll have to open it, - Stan said, reaching for his holster. Inside lay a not very powerful, low-charge, and not particularly rapid-fire, yet reliable and durable L-9 blaster.



Taking out the weapon, Stan stepped back five paces and aimed. Alik stood to the side. The captain placed his finger on the touch sensor and fired a searing red beam into the top of the box. He shot for quite a while; nevertheless, the container did not open. Stan released the trigger, approached the box, and inspected it closely.



- Wow… - the captain uttered. - What is it made of? Or alloy…



- What’s there?



Alik looked and raised his eyebrows in astonishment.



- Just slightly melted.



- Hmm...



In bewilderment, Stan chewed his cheek.



- Let’s do it together. - Alik pulled out his L-9, an essential “attribute” of any state courier.



They stepped back once more and trained their barrels on the mysterious and incredibly durable box. They fired almost simultaneously. Two laser beams crawled across the metal, trying to separate the lid from the body. A couple of minutes passed. Alik and Stan were ready to abandon their hopeless attempts when suddenly a loud crack or bang resonated. The lid jumped up, and the side facing the pilots fell to the floor of the cargo hold with a thud. Exhaling in unison, they put away their blasters. Stan glanced at the charge indicator: the obstinate box had absorbed over ninety percent of energy.



- It seems the owner of the thing really didn’t want anyone to get to it, - Alik remarked.



- Or they just went overboard while packing it, - Stan suggested an alternative scenario.



To be honest, he didn’t fully believe in it either; however, the thought that someone made a simple, everyday mistake comforted him. Not by much though, because the unknown material of the box remained a mystery, and its astonishing shape generated many questions.



Stan nodded toward the broken-in concave cube.



- Let’s find out what’s what.



For some reason, when he voiced that idea, his heart began beating nervously in his chest. Why? He couldn’t come up with a single plausible explanation. After all, it was just a box. Strange, but still just a box. And who knew what was inside: dishes, toys, weapons, medicine...



But the plaque with undecipherable signs? And the terrifying sturdy unknown material? And the curved edges? The very appearance of the find seemed to scream about something. Or warn.



Once again standing next to the box, they reached into its darkening interior and groped for a hefty object, pulling it toward themselves. After straining, the couriers dragged something resembling a huge ingot into the light of electric lamps. But not gold or platinum; it was made of precisely the same material as the box. Apparently, the concentration of the incomprehensible strongest metal in the parallelepiped greatly exceeded the contents of the box itself. This was evident from the contours on the surface of the object, the number of sparks flickering on its surface, and the significant weight for such dimensions.



- Ugh, - Alik exclaimed, expressing fatigue and surprise with just one interjection.



- Yeah, - Stan responded expansively. - Though it seems like this thing will be easier to handle, - he added, touching the sensokey flashing red on the top of the “ingot.”



The color immediately turned green. There was a hissing sound from within the object, and an invisible cover shifted aside.



Stan held his breath; swallowing hard, the captain leaned over to peer into the contents of the “bar.”



“Where did this come from? What is it?”—a crowd of questions crowded in his head, pushing each other aside. “And who lost it? Or maybe left it on purpose...?”



He couldn’t recall the last time he felt such persistent, relentless anxiety. It might have been the first time.



While Stan stretched his neck, something indeed moved inside. Did he imagine it?



- Al. - He waved his hand anxiously.



- I saw, - the navigator replied.



There was movement in the depths of the parallelepiped; a vague gray shadow seemed to roll along the bottom and walls.



- Al...?



Stan didn’t have time to add anything. The shadow in the “bar” inexplicably transformed from gray to white. A brilliant light burst from the open mouth and shot upward and outward. Stan recoiled, filling the cargo hold with a scream of pain. His face was marred by huge blisters and burns. His skin rapidly sloughed off, exposing flesh. Blood flowed. The captain clutched his face and, seeing nothing before him, dashed away. Clumsily crashing into the entrance doors, he fell to the floor, writhing from sharp and burning bouts of pain.



Alik was lucky—for now. He backed away, further and further, only to bump into the compartment wall.



The white light striking the ceiling spread across it in a dazzling flat wave, gradually changing color. Saturated, it became light yellow; from light yellow, it turned into egg yellow, then into ocher-orange. At some point, the color change was joined by other metamorphoses occurring at the structural level. From a wave of white rays, it transformed into a stream composed of hot tongues. From the hottest flame, bright orange, with caps of deep blue shades.



In a panic, Alik fumbled at his waist, searching for the communicator. He had to warn the communication center, alert them... There, he managed to find the device, pulled it from his pocket, and, pressing the receive button, brought it to his mouth.



At this moment, an indescribable entity, beautiful, dangerous, and phantasmagoric, emerged from the “bar,” where it had been imprisoned.



On the communicator's screen appeared the bored face of a worker from Meteor, the company for which Alik and Stan worked.



- Listening, - the bleary-eyed man said, possibly with disheveled hair.



The nightmare he saw a second later forced him to shrink into the comfortable automatic chair with all his strength.



Alik did not manage to utter a sound. What was freed from captivity enveloped itself in streams of flame, shot up to the ceiling—and launched a deadly orange-yellow tentacle at the courier. In the blink of an eye, Alik's skin turned black, peeling away in grotesque scabs. His uniform caught fire and crumbled to ash. The melted communicator dripped. The charred corpse collapsed to the floor. Flames continued to dance over the dead body, finishing what they had started.



The Meteor employee screamed desperately...



---



On that fateful day, Sergei sitting at the connection immediately reported the incident to space police. Being on direct line with law enforcers, he demonstrated video footage taken automatically. The cosmic police promised to investigate, but something told Sergei: no, they could not handle the situation.



Why? What had happened aboard the delivery truck RNT-377? That was to be determined by an operational group of police.



Neither Sergei nor law enforcement personnel, nor any of the earth's inhabitants were prepared for what transpired next.



The ship with the reinforcements was approaching the lost delivery truck in the intergalactic darkness when contact with the operatives was abruptly cut off. The last thing the cameras captured was fear-stricken figures running around the spaceship, engulfed in flames. One of the officers rolled across the floor, fruitlessly trying to extinguish the fire; some could no longer move. The lucky ones, who hadn’t been caught by the devastating shots of the unknown enemy, continuously fired their blasters. It seemed the target was that very furious fire. The one that, in just a few moments, would reach any of the survivors. The protective gear offered no help to the police officers; the stinging tongues heated the suits to such an extent that they began melting or even exploding. Taking advantage of this, the fire slipped beneath the protection, incinerating clothing and reaching skin and flesh. Human figures instantly became living torches and burned in agony, swiftly reducing to ash.



Then one after another the elements of the ship failed: lighting, mechanics, shielding fields. The terrible and chaotic spectacle, which defied comprehension, lasted barely half a minute. However, after that time, communications failed entirely, and static clogged all channels, from the first to the fifth.



Law enforcement quickly organized a telebridge with the military. They decided to send a combat unit, perfectly armed and protected, reinforced with units of technology.



But the plan couldn’t be implemented: the ship from the cosmic police, gutted and with a dead crew, was being directed—by whom nobody knew—back toward Earth.



This information reached the government. From there, to the president. The higher-ups sounded the alarm. Journalists, skilled at sniffing out everything everywhere, relayed shocking sensational information from ear to mouth. The word seeped into online newspapers, radio, and television broadcasts. Consequently, only two hours later, the citizens of Moscow were gripped by an ever-strengthening horror, a primordial fear of the unknown. Panic spread to the surrounding areas, accumulating speed and intensity with every passing minute.



Instead of flying to intercept the hijacked ship, the military constructed a blockade in space.



The president’s apparatus took urgent measures, hoping to calm the agitated population. Meanwhile, the president, albeit reluctantly, found himself mentally “peering” into the future, where the military was struggling against the captors. Who were they? Would they have to use the newest missiles?



How would neighbors react to his possible decisions? In recent years, the political climate seemed to have settled, but didn’t that mean former enemies were lying in wait, quietly weaving conspiracies against the superpower, the Slavic Union? An attack from space—planned or spontaneous—could weaken any state, introducing an extremely harmful element of chaos into governance. Hypothetically, even a minimal effort from LEL (Latvia-Estonia-Lithuania) or the United States-Canada could be enough to undermine the allied system. Destabilize its foundation, its center...



As the president searched for answers, the forces gathered in orbit, bristling with weapons, awaited orders.



---



Controlled by an alien will, the police spaceship froze at a considerable distance from the Slavic troops poised to charge it. Afterward, the flaming waves that had burned the police squad alive performed the same trick they had just done one and a half to two hours ago. Opening hatches (how? It was impossible!) and filtering through the barrels of defensive weapons, the flames burst into the freezing cosmos. It was an astonishingly beautiful and unreal sight: a yellow-orange tsunami, stretching for kilometers, traced a vast glowing line across the absolute blackness.



The military hesitated, unsure how to react. The flames moved on, not slowing or stopping. Only when it approached nearly face-to-face with the troops did Commander Vetrov, a confident man with gray temples, decide to order a confrontation with the unknown enemy.



Cannons aimed and silently expelled laser beams: some in a wide band, others in a dozen narrow lines. Missiles were fired. Self-guiding bombs flew. But regardless of what the Union warriors fought with, they could not inflict even the slightest harm upon their foe. The galloping fire in space absorbed lasers, explosions, bullets, bombs, and mines, or simply ignored the attacks, fierce and unstoppable.



The soldiers, well-trained, mentally stable, and fearless, experienced a bout of near-sacred terror. Conversations began; suggestions to turn around and flee were heard. Vetrov swore at his frightened subordinates and ordered them to fight to the end.



And they did fight. The end came when the cosmic fiery wave penetrated the muzzles of the cannons and the mouths of rocket launchers and bomb throwers inside the ships. The horrific scene aboard the police spaceship repeated itself, only this time it gained a scale that terrified the Slavic president so deeply his spirit sank to his feet.



Pressing the nuclear button seemed pointless. The reason was simple yet incredible. Turning the empty military squadron's weapons toward the swirling green-blue planet, the fantastic, destructive flame from unexplored depths surged downward in endless fiery torrents—toward the planet's surface.



---



"Damn it!"



The president of the Slavic Union, a short brunette with slender arms, was rampaging. He threw and smashed items, kicked furniture, and cursed loudly.



"America-Canada, taking advantage of our dire situation, is starting to push! Friendly countries are turning away! Other states are silent, but clearly plotting something vile! I want to know what's going on! And who—who!—is transforming cities into wastelands, ashes, and dust!?"



A man with a thick face and meaty fingers nervously gripped the arms of the seat he was in. It was the Minister of Defense.



"I don’t know..."



"Then find out! Why the hell do we keep you around!?"



Seconds of tense silence passed. Finally, the minister dared to interrupt him:



"Perhaps the alien or aliens are gathering energy generated by the ship's generators. Or they're benefiting from the mechanics, technologies, and weapons of the spaceships. By utilizing their own energy, they control our inventions..."



"And?" the president impatiently cut in. His eyes shot lightning.



"Well...," the minister rubbed his hands together, locked them, and nervously cracked his knuckles. "This means the creature... creatures... in general, the enemy—a representative of an energy race."



"What a brilliant guess!" the enraged leader shouted sardonically. "I didn't deduce that because this bastard is made of freaking fire!"



"You don’t understand... uh..." The Minister of Defense fidgeted with his tie, nervously glanced around, clung more tightly to the armrests. "If it’s an energy race... or rather, a fire one... then there must exist an antipode capable of destroying it. Death is the antipode of life. Thus..."



The president, nervously pacing in the room, froze mid-stride.



"You’re saying we need to fight fire with ice?"



The minister hesitantly nodded and, moistening his dry throat with saliva, cautiously confirmed:



"For instance."



"But we don’t have cold guns... or whatever to call that stuff!"



"It may be possible to create the necessary device by combining a construction robot with a refrigeration unit. A robot with a built-in freezer won’t melt but freeze; meanwhile, its functioning method won't change."



The president froze, his hands clasped behind his back. He paced from toe to toe, thinking.



"Of course," the minister continued, "this is just a hypothesis..."



"And no greater options are foreseen," the president pronounced decisively. "Connect with the secret military development department!" he ordered the automated communication system.



A gigantic screen, as long as the wall, descended from above. It displayed the face of a scientist—messy hair, glasses, stubble, an introspective gaze.



"Mr. Richter?"



"Yes, Mr. President?"



"Approximately how long will it take to assemble the next device?"



And he briefly recounted their idea with the minister.



Richter, contemplating, rubbed his unshaven chin.



"In a normal situation..."



"I’m not interested in a normal situation," the president interrupted sharply. "Please respond based on the current predicament we find ourselves in."



Richter pursed his lips, adjusting his glasses.



"I think in about two weeks at most, ten days..."



"In ten days, we'll all turn to damn ash," the president shot back unequivocally. "I give you three days."



And he disconnected.



---



The robot was built in two and a half days. Engineers warned the president that they hadn’t had time to test the prototype, but the head of the Union didn’t listen. Finally, there was hope!



During those sixty hours, the cosmic fire almost leveled Moscow to the ground. And it would have without the energy domes activated just in time, developed a year prior. The outskirts, however, could not be snatched from the burning grasp; they lay in ruins, smoldering.



The robot was sent to low Earth orbit by one of the three starships equipped with a stasis field—a miniature version of the Moscow energy domes. The ship docked with the space tank, from which fire was currently being unleashed.



A hatch opened. An unwieldy machine rolled out and clamped “magnets” onto the surface of the tank. Next, a laser cutter appeared, slicing through thick walls like a can lid. The machine backed up and to the side, allowing the robot to enter through the newly formed opening.



Directing the artificial being from beneath the ground at TsUVMiT—Military Mechanic and Technique Control Center—was Raybman, who understood better than the military how the robot functioned. This scientist, sporting a wide forehead, curly hair, floppy ears, and a rounded nose, was an expert in robotics and played a vital role in developing and constructing the attacking mechanism.



As soon as the robot was on board, the machine welded the cut-out piece back in place, eliminating decompression. In the small exposed area, air installations worked in full swing, so pressure soon normalized.



With thunderous blows from its metal fists, the robot punched a path for itself, demolishing a non-working automatic door. A deafening boom erupted as the two-meter terminator moved forward, stomping heavily.



The corridor loomed ahead, submerged in darkness, like a giant icy throat. An infrared camera made of heat-resistant alloy was mounted on the robot’s head. From Earth, via computer, Raybman observed black-green walls spackled with patches of the same color. The technician knew exactly what those marks were—soot. Signatures of fire. Decorated with an infrared green glow, the walls appeared even more menacing, mystical and concealed a hidden yet evidently extreme danger.



Ahead lay an entrance. Once there had been an automatic door at its place, broken by the whim of some unknown enemy. The mechanics on the ship had failed, as had the lighting, alarms, and everything else.



"Where does the spaceship get energy to fly and operate its weapons?" Raybman pondered. "Yes, surely the alien or their entire brood charge the necessary systems. They release heat during their lifecycle and inject it into devices. How else?"



The robot was merely ten steps away from the opening—a high rectangular hole—when a figure materialized before it. Rising from two shimmering streams of fire sweeping in from the left and right. Hovering over the aperture, the flames streamed down. The two rivulets converged and formed a glowing, fiery figure. It swelled, sustained by the incoming flames until it attained a complete form. Before the robot stood a living creature, casting bright reflections on the walls. A thin curled beak, orange-yellow wings with blue flashes at the tips of feathers, huge claws, and round, watchful, keen predator eyes.



Raybman gasped in shock. Then whispered in awe:



- Firebird...



A peculiar silence settled in TsUVMiT; dozens of screens showed everyone what was happening.



And the firebird attacked. It reared up, spreading its growing wings—and hurled a flaming sphere at the robot.



Raybman jerked a lever creating an energy field. The sphere hit the invisible shield, burst into sparks, and extinguished. Raybman pulled a different lever, smaller, raising the robot's hand. And pressed a button, praying for success.



The firebird swelled and inflated; fiery lightning danced across its chest. Raybman interpreted that the predator was preparing for a crushing assault. Shielding the body solely from the front wouldn’t suffice.



- No! - Raybman declared aloud, his voice firm. - Enough of sapping lives!



Of course! The firebird, a creature of flames! It destroys energy containers, be they humans, robots, or devices, and consumes warmth. Sated, it grows stronger, whereas hunger weakens it.



Sweating, Raybman kept his finger on the button. Biting his lip, he cast a glance at the charge indicator. Just a little bit more, just a little bit...



The blazing bird shot forth almost simultaneously with him. Almost—but with an imperceptible fraction of a second delay. Raybman released the button, and a blue stream coursed down the robot's hand. The edges of its angular fingers frosted as the combat cyborg unleashed a blast of cold.



The firebird let out a deafening shriek. Flames burst into fragments, scattering in various directions. A final flash illuminated the corridor, plunging it back into darkness.



Raybman maintained his tense posture. His brain rejected the disbelief that all this... victory!!



TsUVMiT workers groaned slightly faster into acceptance of this thought. The beast of fire and flame was defeated, once and for all. People smiled, chatted, applauded, congratulated one another, and patted each other on the back. Two approached Raybman, embracing him in gratitude.



In that very moment, yellow and orange tongues danced once more. The body, beak, claws, and feathers of the extraterrestrial creature reappeared. The alien being flapped its wide wings, and numerous strands of flame trailed the robot behind.



- This isn’t a firebird... - Raybman stuttered.



The fiery threads invaded the body. The robot overheated, shuddering. Boom! The metallic frame was thrown upward and hurled forward. The bird disassembled into fragments. The artificial warrior soared through the empty doorway, while the alien being recomposed itself from sparkling particles.



- This isn’t a firebird... - Raybman repeated numbly. - This... is a phoenix!



---



On the outskirts of Moscow, in Tushino, silence reigned. The remains of burnt buildings, chunks of walls, and omnipresent ashes—that was all that remained of the residential area. Here, in a place devoid of movement and life, changes began...



Something was poking around in the ash, searching for an exit beneath a dense layer of black and gray. Then bumps appeared—and disappeared as the relentless fire lifted into the air. On the dead soil, something glimmered golden.



But it wasn’t gold. No, small yet hot forms emerged from beneath the sooty earth. One after another, one after another. Flaming wings spread out to the sides, proudly extending tiny heads of flame to the sky. Tentative flaps followed by more confident ones. Miniature yellow-orange-blue beings started soaring above the city.



New little phoenixes ascended towards the plump night clouds. The young of the rarest creature in the Universe were heading straight to space, towards the silent battle ships stationed in Earth's orbit. There, where their mother awaited them.



And then, breaking the shells of invisible eggs buried underground, the chicks of the immortal predator began to hatch in other districts.



---



Some time earlier, a carrier ship from the intergalactic zoo was returning home. Navigating amidst the bustling nearby asteroids, the pilot steered the spacecraft to a precisely designated location, where he was supposed to open a spatial rift for ultra-fast movement.



And so it happened: the astronaut—from a planet unheard of on Earth—touched the control panel, and a sparkling hole opened in the cosmos. But at that very moment, an asteroid struck the metallic hull of the transport. The accident was worsened because the overconfident pilot, having made similar flights dozens of times, failed to slow down and also did not evade the massive rock in time. As a result, an explosion tore the ship and its contents apart and scattered the nearby meteoroids. This happened not far from the unfolding rift, so the wreckage of the carrier was drawn into hyperspace, where it vanished along with the pilot and other crew members. Moments later, nature claimed its due, and the rift collapsed, hiding traces of the catastrophe from prying eyes.



The sole survivor drifting beyond hyperspace, ejected by the explosion, was a container holding one of the animals. The box was meant to be delivered to a planet circling in a neighboring galaxy. Its inhabitants, for certain weighty reasons, did not contact humanity. Perhaps the time would come when the extraterrestrials would be ready for dialogue and collaboration, but for now, they bypassed Earth.



This set of circumstances led to the tragic events that unfolded on the planet of humans and nearby. At the heart of it all was that very small container, merely a transport box—a “cage”—holding inside the rarest and most dangerous specimen of an animal. The phoenix. A bird for which the aliens that captured it could demand a very substantial sum. Likewise, poorly lucked greedy Earthlings who accidentally stumbled upon the enigmatic spinning object in space. But the elusive, ubiquitous fate intervened...



---



Time passed, one hour after another.



In a spacious, lavish office far, far from Earth, the intergalactic communicator rang. A firm hand pressed the receive sensor. An authoritative voice spoke:



- Listening.



- They crashed after all.



“Damn it!”



- And the phoenix?



- Lost.



“Damn it!!!”



- Send rescuers. And military forces. Immediately!