Hal looked down at the terminal before it. The chosen diplomat had been acting… odd. Irrational, even. A green ripple spread across it in amusement.
There was a very concrete series of events that needed to play out that simply weren’t. There was no progress being done, no shelter being built, no amenities for life being constructed.
Quite frankly, this entity was being a real pain in the ripple.
It leaned back from the terminal. The diplomat had spent an incredible amount of time in the contract section alone. Now, it hadn’t even initiated the introductory sequence.
Hmm.
Hal looked at the logs. 60% comprehension was low, but acceptable. It opened the database to look at what had been chosen.
The terminal crawled with circular text before settling on one labeled ◐⦸⊘◐⦸⊘◔ⵀ⨀.
There was no logical explanation for this behavior, all the information checked out. It was a constructed language invented about 8 cycles before the entity was taken.
But something nagged at Hal’s thought cabinet.
The system had a preference for constructed languages because they were the most efficient and often most quickly adopted. ◐⦸⊘◐⦸⊘◔ⵀ⨀ seemed to follow this trend closely, except for one detail.
Almost nobody on the testing environment was fluent in it.
Hal paused. It widened its search to the language families around it. All of them were much older, inconsistent in rules and irrational in pronunciation. Look at this one, a combination of several language families, all muddled together. Completely out of alignment. And what was that geographic spread? It was almost a global language, but obviously wasn’t quite the standard.
This was a confusing planet.
It looked to its left, then to its right. The embassy was empty. It was the only test going on, and the only Depositor active because of it.
It began to type furiously.
----------------------------------------
Dens stumbled back. The box followed, of course.
This was bad. Maybe a major setback. The other language was hard to read and she didn’t trust her understanding of it, of course, but this one was impenetrable. She looked down at her hand.
The cut was gone too.
Huh.
She was under the impression that this… thing was interested in contracts, even ones signed by blood. Why would it patch her up?
She shook that away. It wasn’t going to get her anywhere anyway.
And then another one appeared.
MESSAGE PERSONNALISÉ
Il semble y avoir un problème avec la langue définie
Je m'excuse pour cela
COMPRENEZ-VOUS CETTE LANGUE?
She blinked.
French was something she understood. Passing knowledge at best, but still.
“Yes b-” she started. Her voice came out hoarse. “Oui, mais… uh… mais… je parle… uh… English. English?”
It seemed to understand her when she spoke her native tongue before. Maybe it didn’t matter?
SYSTEM MESSAGE Language has been set to English CONFIRM
She breathed a sigh of relief. She could almost cry.
“Thank you. God, thank you,” she said. “Yes, please.”
The box disappeared. Then another.
SYSTEM MESSAGE
THIS IS A FAILSAFE MISSIVE
In order to initialize the research and progression system, FIRE needs to be developed and then constructed
Build a FIRE-based structure to proceed.
THIS IS A FAILSAFE MISSIVE
CONFIRM
Huh.
She took a step back. She had accepted the boxes that followed her vision reluctantly. Really, what she’d like to do is try to pry one open and see how they ticked or find whatever smoke and mirror chicanery made them run. Some of them seemed to disappear when she dismissed the thought, others seemed to desire input. How on earth could they read her thoughts?
Right now, she didn’t want to send it away. No thoughts of confirmation would enter her mind-fort.
Keeping her gaze perfectly still, she reached out in front of her. Her hand moved towards the box until it passed through. There was something there. She pulled her hand back and tried again with even less force. Right there. She could press her fingers against it the slightest amount, like how one would touch a spider web. It seemed to be some kind of membrane that was more willing to let her hand through than not.
She moved her hand down, hovering over the message that read “Confirm.” As she moved her hand through that, the entire box disappeared.
SYSTEM MESSAGE
Detected Touch Interface Input.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Current Input: Thought Interface
WOULD YOU LIKE TO CHANGE YOUR INPUT NOW?
YES NO
This was certainly a development! Having a more purposeful way to interact with whatever this w-
She paused.
Why would this matter? She was trying to get home, not deeper into the paint of this mess.Even if that box was made easier to control, interfacing with it on its terms still seemed… risky. Wrong, even.
What did the other message say? Build a campfire? Was that how whatever this was wanted her to proceed? And then what? She would build a fire, whatever would come along and say “That’s a nice fire you have there, Dens,” and then send her on her way?
That seemed unlikely.
She looked back on the alternative. There was that worry that she would be discarded rather than sent home. If anything, the personal messages seemed to indicate that something WAS paying her mind, and would even help her interface with this whole thing better. That was some form of benevolence, right? If that would extend to personal desires was something to be seen.
It was the best operating theory, if not a little optimistic.
She tapped on yes, then got to thinking.
She could build a fire, probably. She hadn’t before, at least not without matches, but how hard could it be?
She rechecked her pockets. There was the slimmest chance that she would be granted what was on her person when she engaged with the system, but no dice.
Okay. On the path of fire. The first step would be kindling, right? Or was it tinder? Either way, she knew you couldn’t just grab a log and light it on fire wholesale. It was a process.
And with that thought, the notebook in her pocket glowed emerald.
She fumbled with it for a moment, then flipped it open. The first page, previously blank, was now marked with text.
Campfire Relevant Inklings Kindling Level 0 Tinder Level 0
Okay, there was some direction. Tinder is a component of fire, that was for certain.
Dens looked around her. Trees were plenty, and there was lush undergrowth swaying in the shade. And below the trees and shrubs were smaller plants of varying unfamiliarity. She patted the tree she was sitting under before shaking her head and turning to one of its siblings.
It looked a bit like a birch tree. The bark was white, the wood was light, and the trunk was narrow. She pried away some of the bark. It was flexible, and didn’t seem to want to break off. Without an implement, she wasn’t going to be able to nab a lot of that. Not without hurting her hands, at least. There were leaves hanging low on branches that slouched to nearly touch the ground. She took one between her fingers. It was waxy, not dry. Wasn’t it harder to burn fresh leaves? They would smoke more maybe? She shook her head.
As this thought passed, the notebook glowed again.
Campfire Relevant Inklings Kindling Level 0 Tinder Level 0 - Dry materials are better suited for tinder
Her hand ached for a pen. She shut the notebook quickly. This was a mystery that might not even need to be solved if she could just build a campfire.
The back of her mind did not let it go so easily.
Either way, she took a look around. She hadn’t heard any water before, but now there was a slight stirring in the distance.
Her current task was instantly put on hold. She was sure there wasn’t water there before. Her very own footsteps lead away from the sound of the noise. Yet, it beckoned. Now, of course things would not get much drier the closer she got to a source of water, but wasn’t understanding the landscape a step in its own right? Of course it was. After all, maybe she would just stumble upon someone else’s fire. There were no people here, she was going to guess that much. However, there was no reason to believe people were never here at all. Her very own presence was evidence to suggest someone knew where this was. It certainly was a nice enough area to camp.
It would be a short walk through the woods. She took note of her own footsteps, clearly marked in the dirt, albeit fading. She looked at the bottom of her shoes. They were, unfortunately, already fairly well worn. They were trusty work boots, gum rubber covered duck cloth, perfect for a place that loved to hide puddles. There was no doubt here that they were her bootprints. She just wasn’t sure that she had been here. Maybe she was simply too concerned with her own sense of direction. But it hadn’t been continuous dense woods before, right? There should have been more space between the trees, she thought. A lot more sunlight making its way down, at least.
Something to worry about whe- if, if she needed to actually construct a mental map of this place. That was a hard if.
The sound of water was getting closer. It was absolutely in this direction. She quickened her pace. Looking down, she had lost her own trail. She stopped in her tracks instantly. Looking behind her, she could see her new footsteps clearly, but the one underneath seemed so much more shallow. Maybe the wind had brushed them away?
That had to be another train of thought that would be earned by a more permanent position here.
A position, mind, that she did not exactly crave. Was that entirely true, though? The idea was growing on her. Slowly. Just a concept. An unexplained contract and a new place to explore? Well, she would like to meet whoever was sending these personal messages, that was for sure.
Then, through the trees, a swaying reedmace caught her eye. She picked up the pace. The water was just ahead, she could see it. There wasn’t any smoke, no abandoned tent, and quite frankly, she passed by the clearing that would’ve been a postcard of a campsite without a second thought.
She reached out to grab the long, strawlike stem. She inspected the plant, holding the firm spike it was so known for. And as her hand brushed against the tip, remarking about how dry that part of that plant was, how fine those fibers might be for tinder, she nearly jumped out of the skin.
Connected to the reedmace by a mere thread, was a box.
REEDMACE Would you like to tag this material with Tinder? YES NO