GATE: First Encounter

Chapter 22

The corridors were silent.

My footsteps echoed off the metal floors, but the noise inside my head was louder. I had no idea where I was going—­and it didn't matter. I just hadn't wanted to stay in my room. Two weeks with nothing to do had kept my mind busy for a while, yet now my thoughts had swollen until they were ready to spill over. A restless weight pressed inside me: a knot in my throat, my chest, the very center of my mind.

My room had begun to feel cramped—­not only physically, but mentally. The longer I sat there, the bigger the hum in my skull grew, until it didn't merely buzz in my ears; it reverberated through my whole being.

The device on my wrist was still locked down. No navigation data, no guidance... The System stayed silent, busy learning Velocironix for me. It would take weeks before I could understand it. Every sign I looked at was nothing but shapes; none pointed the way, each one only led me further into getting lost.

I stopped in front of a passage. The door stood ajar. A deep, low-frequency hum leaked out. I hesitated... then stepped inside.

The ceiling rose high; the walls slanted inward. Energy conduits embedded in the floor glimmered and occasionally trembled. A faint scent of ozone hung in the air. Thick cables were bolted to the walls, some dangling from the ceiling, some ending in exposed tips. It was a functioning workspace, yet it possessed no familiar sense of order. It looked chaotic—­or maybe the definition of order was just different here.

I walked farther in. The vibration resonated through my soles. I knew I shouldn't be here. Still, I didn't retreat.

Movement caught my eye. A figure at the far end of the room—­a Velocironix engineer. He wore a navy-gray utility suit; the patch on his shoulder was faded. A translucent visor covered his head as he worked at a holographic panel. When he noticed me, he stopped and turned.

His eyes shimmered faintly behind the visor, lit by the panel's glow. He tilted his head. He spoke; his voice bounced off the walls.

I stayed put. I wanted neither to run nor to approach. I raised a hand and tried to speak, but only half a breath came out. I meant to say, "I wandered in by accident," but the words rolled inside me and knotted in my throat. Whatever I said, he wouldn't understand.

He watched for a moment. Didn't move. There was no threat in his stance, yet a distance remained. Silence stretched.

He set his tablet quietly on the floor and crouched. One long arm reached for an unsecured cable that buzzed with a faint charge.

He lifted his head toward me, saying nothing—­just pointing at the cable. With his finger he traced a slow circle, then turned his palm upward and repeated the motion.

Hold it steady.

I hesitated. What if I misunderstood?

But there was no urgency or menace in his face—­only expectation.

I knelt. The floor was cold. The cable flexed under my grip, its vibration seeping into my hands.

While I held it, he slipped behind the panel and tightened metal clamps. Sparks flashed; contact points quivered. Let's hope it doesn't blow up, I thought.

At the final connection a mechanical click rang out. The hum cut off instantly. Ceiling lights flickered once. The room calmed.

I was still gripping the cable, unsure when to release it. I turned my head.

The engineer straightened, dusted off his hands, and faced me.

No anger, no gratitude—­but something flickered in his eyes: a quick appraisal. Perhaps Well, that worked or Not as useless as I expected.

He dipped his head slightly—­no salute, no thanks, but no order to leave either.

I stood and wiped my palms on my trousers. Unsure what to do, I watched him lift his wrist-tablet, enter a brief command, and glance back.

He jerked his chin once. Follow.

I didn't know where he was going, but my feet followed anyway.

Soon the corridor grew busier, Velocironix passing in clusters. Afraid to lose him, I walked closer. We turned into a room.

Cool air brushed my face. Time felt slower here. No chatter, no music—­no noise at all. Velocironix sat alone or in small groups, nearly wordless. I thought silence might be an agreement older than language.

The engineer headed for the bar without a word. He made a few quick hand signs to the bartender—­whatever he conveyed worked. Two glasses appeared.

I eyed mine.

A purplish liquid, clear yet dense. A thin shimmer drifted across the surface, as if the drink were alive. A faint scent rose—­neither sweet nor sour, neither inviting nor repelling. Simply... unknown.

Without turning, the engineer raised his glass toward me, watching from the corner of his eye. I mirrored him. Was that a fleeting smile, or just my imagination?

He drank. I followed.

The first sip was only coolness. Then a tingling on my tongue. Nothing changed—­until a gentle warmth spread inside me, slow and deep. It didn't burn; it unknotted.

We didn't speak. We couldn't have.

I wish he'd say something, I thought. Then realized the silence itself was meaningful—­maybe more than words.

I glanced his way; he avoided my eyes. No tension in his movements—­just habit. Coming here, drinking this: routine. Perhaps I was merely a new detail in that routine.

When I finished, a strangeness washed over me. The world slowed; my heartbeat thudded louder. For a moment I wanted to surrender—­and did.

I rested my head on the bar's cool surface. Dim lights held still, yet spun behind my eyelids. What circled inside my skull was no thought, only echo.

Movement stirred within me. The symbiote—­the System—­vibrated against my wrist.

Motor coordination deteriorating.
Sensory perception impaired.
Cognitive processes suppressed.
Decision-making capacity reduced.

A faint laugh escaped me. "Still here, huh..." I murmured.

The engineer didn't react. The words were for me alone, proof I could still speak.

I raised my wrist, studying the device.

Deviations in balance center detected.
Reaction time lengthened.

"Maybe I'm overworking you," I said. "But what else can I do? My head was overcrowded, and now I don't have to think."

"We haven't talked much..." I added, louder. "Maybe I wouldn't let us. Maybe... I was afraid."

The System fell silent, yet its silence was presence enough.

My head sank back onto the bar. Amid scattered thoughts, one shone clear:

'System' sounds cold. That won't do.

It was hard to keep my head up, yet I forced myself to speak. Even if it didn't understand, it meant something to me.

"You... need a name." My voice cracked. "You deserve... a place in this world."

A tired curve tugged my lips—­not quite a smile, not quite grief. Acceptance.

"Yaren," I said.

"I'll call you Yaren. Because you're the only one I speak to when I'm alone. The only thing walking beside me."

A faint tremor answered from my wrist—­neither assent nor refusal, yet I chose to give it meaning.

I let my forehead rest on the bar again.

"Yaren... sounds nice."

As my eyes slipped closed for good, I whispered inside:

If I forget when I wake... you'll remind me, won't you?