Chapter 2: Waiting Game

  The cold metal of the chair pressed against my back. I shifted uncomfortably, the bandages on my chest and wrists itching beneath the sterile fabric of the gown I’d been given. My arms felt heavy, unresponsive, like I’d been lifting weights for a week straight. I glanced around the room. It was… utilitarian, to put it mildly. White walls, metal surfaces, and a pervasive hum that vibrated through the floor, a constant reminder of the strange technology that surrounded us. Other people sat on similar chairs, their faces a mixture of confusion, fear, and a strange, almost detached curiosity. Some whispered nervously, others stared blankly ahead, lost in their own thoughts. I scanned the crowd, a diverse collection of faces from every corner of the globe. I thought I recognized someone – a woman with short, dark hair – but then she turned, and I realized I was mistaken. Just nerves making me see things.

  A large screen on one wall flickered to life, displaying a live feed from another room. The activation chamber. Ten pods, each resembling a sleek, egg-shaped lounge chair crafted from a pearlescent material with a soft-textured surface, lined the walls. Inside each pod, a human lay still, connected to a tangle of wires and sensors. Some of the attached electronics looked surprisingly old, like something out of a museum – bulky metal boxes with blinking lights, even a couple of reel-to-reel tape drives. *Like they raided a forgotten storage room*, I mused. The same gray and reptilian aliens from before moved about the room, along with some insect-like creatures I hadn't seen before. K'thrrk, the gray alien had called them. They moved with a strange, synchronized fluidity, as if sharing a single consciousness.

  The activation sequence began. The emitters glowed, and a low hum filled the observation room. On the screen, the humans in the pods began to stir. Some groaned, some blinked, some simply stared blankly ahead. Then, with the fourth subject, things went wrong.

  The screen flickered, the image distorting for a moment. A high-pitched whine filled the room, making my teeth ache. On the monitor, the glyphs representing the subject's Personal System went haywire, flashing erratically. The subject in the pod began to convulse, their body arching and twitching. They did say this could happen, I thought grimly. No surprises here.

  “System instability,” a voice echoed through the room. It was the gray alien, Xylo. “Initiating stabilization protocols.”

  The convulsions continued for what felt like an eternity. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The subject lay still.

  “Vitals… stable,” Zith, the reptilian alien, announced. “But the System… it’s fragmented.”

  The screen cut to black. A wave of unease washed over me. Not unease, I corrected myself. Resolve. This confirmed what they’d said: this was real, and it was dangerous. But it also confirmed that they had some level of control. They knew this could happen. They were prepared. Or at least, as prepared as they could be.

  A minute later, the screen flickered back on. Xylo’s image appeared, projected over a still from the activation room.

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  “As you have witnessed,” he said, his voice calm and measured, “the activation process carries inherent risks. Subject 4 experienced a System instability. While their vital signs are currently stable, their Personal System is compromised. We are analyzing the data to understand the cause of the instability and to refine the activation protocols. At the same time, I want to reassure you that we will do our best to allow subject 4 to gain the use of their System, or to return to their life in complete safety.” Reassurance? I thought. Or just procedure?

  He paused and appeared to look around the room. "We will proceed with the next batch in thirty minutes.”

  Thirty minutes. Only thirty minutes to analyze what went wrong, to correct it. Or would they attempt to correct anything at all? The System was coming, they’d said. Coming for Earth. But maybe it was coming for them too. Maybe that was why they were in such a hurry. A day or two, they said. That's all the time they have before their ride -- and our hope -- gets caught up in the System too.

  * * *

  The next batch began. Again, the process seemed to go smoothly at first. Then, with the second subject this time, the same high-pitched whine, the same erratic flashing on the screen. This time, however, there was no stabilization.

  “Vitals… flatline,” Zith announced, her voice laced with regret.

  The screen cut to black again. This time, when it came back on, it was Zith who addressed us.

  “Subject 12’s activation was unsuccessful,” she said. “The System instability proved fatal. This is an unfortunate result of the unavoidable risks we are forced to endure together. We cannot make a new selection, nor can we allow anyone to leave. The stakes are too high and time is too short. We are continuing our analysis of the data. We will proceed with the next batch in thirty minutes.”

  Fatal. The word hung in the air, heavy and chilling. One of us was dead. Just like that. A shiver ran down my spine. This wasn’t some game. This was real. And the stakes were higher than I could have ever imagined. But I wasn’t afraid. I was a soldier. I’d faced death before. And I knew that sometimes, sacrifices had to be made. And sometimes, they're made for nothing, a cynical voice whispered in the back of my mind. I pushed it away. No. I have to believe this is for something.

  * * *

  For the next three batches, the same pattern repeated. Successful activations, along with a failure, twice non-fatal, once… terminal again. Each time, the aliens would appear on the screen, their explanations technical, detached, and ultimately, not very comforting. They talked about energy fluctuations, system architectures, neural pathways. Words that meant nothing to me. All I knew was that people were getting hurt, people were dying. But I also knew that this was necessary. That someone had to take the risk. And I was ready to do my part. It's not about me, I thought. It's about them. It's about all of them.

  By the time my batch was called, I was focused. My heart was steady, my palms dry. I told myself that it was just a procedure, that the aliens knew what they were doing. But I also knew that it was more than that. That it was a chance, a chance to prepare, to protect, to maybe even make a difference. A chance to be ready, I thought. A chance to fight.

  One of the K'thrrk technicians approached me. Its mandibles clicked softly as it gestured towards one of the pods. "Please take a seat," it said, its voice a series of clicks and whistles that was translated through a speaker attached to their body.

  I nodded. My legs felt strong as I walked towards the pod. I lay down on the cool, smooth surface, and the straps were secured around my arms and legs. The technician attached the sensors, the wires cold against my skin. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and braced myself. Here we go.