"Does this really require military intervention and resources?"

  The Chief of Security asked Rolf Vansk, the Chancellor of Trusen, during the morning briefing.

  "That matter is settled," Rolf replied to his old acquaintance without looking up. "The war has begun. We must focus on the conflict at hand. The Alliance has already launched a surprise attack on Kanper, occupying half of it in just four weeks. Fortunately, we managed to dig trenches and form a front line to halt their advance, but both sides are currently at a stalemate."

  Rolf paused, reminding the Chief of his long-standing foreign policy.

  "You know my stance. As long as the Coalition itself is not at risk of total collapse, I will not intervene. Now, enough of that. How is the Disc Project proceeding?"

  Ignoring the Security Chief’s dissatisfaction, Rolf turned to Rilke, who had entered with a report. Thanks to his discovery of the disc, the astronomer had been appointed as a special scientific advisor to the Chancellor.

  "We have divided the research into two main tracks: the hundred or so discs recovered from the desert, and the carrier vehicle assumed to have transported them. We are treating the discs as 'Secret Alliance Records' and have distributed them to various university statistical institutes under the guise of cryptographic analysis. The carrier, due to its peculiar design, has been assigned exclusively to military labs."

  Rolf nodded. "How long until we see results?"

  "At least a year. The data within the discs is vast, and finding a method to interpret it will take time."

  Progress came from the discs first.

  Research on the carrier vehicle remained stagnant. The wreckage was too old; most components were dead, and the engineers couldn't even hypothesize how the drive system functioned.

  The discs, however, were recording media. As long as the records were intact, the possibility of decoding them remained open. Institutes competed fiercely to extract patterns from the grooves on the front and back of the discs, searching for repetition and rules.

  "It is undoubtedly a binary pattern."

  Pardin, the Chief Researcher at the Barbaro Statistical Math Institute, stared at the code sequence projected onto the wall. His long ears quivered slightly with excitement.

  Researchers had spread statistical results based on different segmentation criteria across the table.

  "If it is binary code, it is logical to calculate the possible number of cases first."

  Pardin nodded at his team's assessment.

  "The code segment cannot be a single bit or two. Assuming this represents distinct characters of information, experience dictates that grouping them into six to eight bits is the most rational approach. Anything less offers too few combinations; anything more becomes unnecessarily complex."

  He paused for a moment before concluding.

  "Feed everything into the Fluid Computer. Analyze the repetition frequency of the code segments. A statistically stable interval will reveal itself."

  But the results defied expectations.

  The Fluid Computer performed its massive calculations, churning through the hydraulic logic gates, but the output statistics lost all consistency. Even with the same code sequence, a slight shift in the segmentation criteria caused the frequency distribution to fluctuate wildly. No matter how they sliced it, no meaningful repetition emerged.

  For days, they re-calculated, increasing the segment length from one to twenty. The situation remained unchanged.

  Sheets of output paper poured out. Pardin unfolded a graph. The frequency distribution was scattered everywhere. Change the segment, increase the sample size—it didn't matter. The results collapsed every time.

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  "The statistics are... strange," his assistant muttered.

  Pardin didn't answer. He just glared at the paper.

  "The data itself is interfering with the rest," Pardin mumbled, looking down at the chaotic lines.

  Experience told him the truth. In cases like this, the problem wasn't the calculation method. It was a hidden premise in the input stage that was destroying the entire statistical model.

  He decided to check everything from the ground up.

  The Fluid Computer room in the basement of the institute was always filled with heat. It was proof that high-level computations were taking place within the complex network of pipes and valves.

  There, Andrew, a code conversion engineer, was transferring the binary codes Pardin had sent into the input device.

  "Same format again today?" Andrew asked, scanning the bundle of codes.

  "Yes. Same as before," Pardin replied, his face heavy with fatigue.

  Andrew stopped typing and checked the total length of the code again.

  "I've been wondering about something for a while. This is a pretty long code sequence... but there's no segmentation header."

  Pardin lifted his head sharply. "Header?"

  "For input verification. Since it looked like raw binary data and not logic code, I’ve just been inputting it as is without conversion. But usually, with binary code of this length, there’s an error correction or synchronization header attached to the front of each segment. Without that, if the segment position shifts even slightly, the entire statistic breaks. But this? It doesn't have one."

  Pardin’s expression stiffened.

  "Are you saying... the code itself might contain the separator signal?"

  "If it were logic code for research, maybe. But from a conversion standpoint? This structure is too unstable to be just pure data."

  In an instant, the failures of the past few days connected in Pardin’s mind.

  His ears pricked up, standing stiff.

  A header.

  The segmentation signal was already hidden inside the code.

  He grabbed his ears, which were burning hot with the rush of blood.

  "Right... You're right!"

  He spun around, then spun back. His thoughts were racing too fast for his body to keep up. He ran toward the humming Fluid Computer, then dashed back to Andrew.

  Andrew, worried Pardin might burn himself on the thermal insulation cabinet, tried to calm him down.

  "Calm down! Get a hold of yourself. What’s going on?"

  "You're right... It's binary information. It cannot exist without an error verification code."

  Pardin snatched the code bundles back from Andrew. "I'll be back."

  Andrew stared blankly at Pardin’s retreating back.

  The reason the results collapsed when the segments were changed. The reason the frequency analysis kept shaking. The sensation that different rules were overlapping.

  "That's why... I couldn't see the rule."

  Pardin muttered to himself, clutching the papers tight.

  Pardin soon discovered that an 8-segment code offered the most regularity.

  But the real problem started there. No matter which writing system of the Alliance he applied, it wouldn't decode. He tried everything from simple substitution to multiple substitution ciphers, but nothing worked. The code had regularity, yet it remained indecipherable.

  "I cannot decode it as a language. Are you certain this is from the Alliance?"

  After a month of monopolizing the Fluid Computer, Pardin presented his findings to Rilke, who had come to check on the progress.

  "Pardin, I think you should stop your research now," Rilke replied calmly.

  "What do you mean? Is the progress too slow? Did another institute find a different method?"

  Pardin asked excitedly. He couldn't believe someone else had cracked such a novel type of cipher before him.

  "No. Your research is sufficient. Other institutes haven't even found the existence of the header. There are very few places that have even solved the code segmentation issue."

  "Then do you plan to switch to a large-scale study?" Pardin asked, having felt the shortage of manpower recently.

  "Not that either. Decoding the code was the extent of the research intended for this institute. Hand over all data and disband your team."

  Pardin sensed something behind Rilke’s words.

  "This... isn't from the Alliance, is it?"

  Rilke flinched, but with a deep breath and focused effort, he stopped his ears from twitching.

  "I cannot tell you anything more. Consider what you know now to be everything."

  "Honestly, I doubted it was an Alliance cipher from the moment I received it. The recording method is too high-level. Setting aside how it was made, I can't even guess how one is supposed to read it."

  "Stop. The military will come to collect your research data."

  Despite Rilke’s dismissal, Pardin continued, his voice rising.

  "All ciphers must be easy to write and decode for those who know the answer. But this is difficult to both write and read. In other words, this is not a cipher. No one exchanges codes like this!"

  Pardin stared straight at Rilke.

  "Then what do you think it is?" Rilke asked.

  "I don't know. I lack information. But it doesn't seem to be a language of this planet. I've combined every known writing system on Garen, and nothing fits. But..."

  "But?"

  "I know for a fact that they use a Base-10 system."

  This time, Rilke couldn't hide his expression.

  "Are you saying you decoded part of it?"

  "I suspect some of the codes represent numbers. It doesn't need to be grammar or language for a mathematician to understand. Because physics and mathematics are constant, no matter where you are."

  Rilke couldn't hide his gaping mouth or his ears standing on end.

  "That... was not in the report."

  "Well... I couldn't exactly report that I only figured out ten characters."

  Rilke looked around anxiously, then hurriedly called for the aide who had followed him. He whispered urgent instructions.

  Then, he turned back to Pardin, his voice low and tense.

  "Who else have you told about this?"