When we entered the room, two people were already there.
The first was Ellen.
The second had a caption beside him that was strikingly concise:
Norton, Director of ARC
He was tall and powerfully built, with a straight, assured posture and broad shoulders—strength without ostentation. His dark-skinned face carried noble features, a touch of silver at the temples, and eyes that were both gentle and exacting. When his gaze settled on me, I felt it immediately—intelligent, deep, attentive. The kind of look that makes concealment impossible, even in silence.
Norton and Ellen approached us almost at the same time. Ellen, Norton, Art, and Mona exchanged brief greetings.
Then Norton turned to me.
“Well then, Mac,” he said with a faint smile, extending his hand, “welcome aboard.”
“Thank you,” I replied sincerely, shaking his large hand and doing my best to remain composed.
“At the Agency,” Norton continued, “something is always happening. And in the past few days—especially so. I don’t think you’ll have much opportunity to be bored.”
“That’s exactly what I was hoping for,” I said—and this time it wasn’t just politeness.
We took our seats in the light, comfortable chairs arranged throughout the room. As I settled in, I noticed small platforms attached to the armrests, each with neat recessed slots—clearly meant for masks and clips.
My assumption was immediately confirmed. One by one, everyone began removing their masks and clips and, with what felt almost deliberate emphasis, placing them into the recesses.
Art slid his chair slightly closer to mine and leaned in.
“It’s tradition,” he explained quietly. “At in-person meetings, masks and clips come off. It’s a way of saying: you’re here. With people. Not somewhere else.”
I nodded and carefully placed my mask into its slot. The clip followed.
At that moment the door opened abruptly, and a young man almost burst into the room—dark-skinned, athletic, wearing a brilliantly white shirt tailored so precisely it looked custom-made, slim trousers, and light shoes. Even without the clip, I knew at once: Manish, Head of ARC Analytics.
He moved with quick, elastic energy, as if the world around him operated at a slightly slower tempo than he preferred. His animated expression drew the eye immediately, and his smile carried a habitual irony and an unmistakable enjoyment of the world.
“Whew,” he exhaled, glancing around. “Not late.”
I instinctively glanced at the wall clock. Exactly eleven.
Manish swept the room with a rapid look and greeted everyone at once in a friendly, informal tone. I noticed he seemed entirely at ease in Norton’s presence. The Agency, apparently, operated on more democratic instincts than one might expect.
Then Manish turned toward me.
“Ah! The famous Mac!” he exclaimed, striding over with a wide grin and extending his hand.
I stood, and we shook.
“Why ‘famous’?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Oh, come on,” Manish smirked. “Didn’t Art tell you? From our perspective—the analysts—you’re the most interesting part of this whole story. I’m sure he figured that out—first of all. And second, he’s had more than enough time and opportunity to tell you so.”
I made a mental note that the analysts, Manish in particular, earned their keep.
“Would you mind,” he continued, still smiling but now studying me closely, “if we asked you to recall a few recent events under a scanner?”
“Under a scanner?” I repeated, wary.
Art answered for him.
“Don’t worry, nothing harmful,” Art said. “You’ll just need to sit under the stationary n2e scanner and recall, as precisely as possible…”
He paused for a brief moment—not searching for words, but clearly sorting through the sequence in his head.
“First, the moment you witnessed the Gate opening. Second, your encounter with the Black Jellyfish. And third… the thoughts and sensations that ultimately led us to the Wedding Cake.”
He glanced at Manish.
“Right?”
“Wedding Cake—that was the record nugget?” Manish said, more as confirmation than a question. “Right. And the picnic with the Reds.”
Art nodded, then turned back to me.
“The analysts can capture everything at maximum resolution that way and use it for further study. Of course, if you’re uncomfortable with it, they have no right to insist.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” I said quickly. “Not at all.”
Manish’s smile widened further, and he seemed almost to exhale in relief. He moved to one of the empty chairs and sat.
Only then did it dawn on me that everyone in the room had been patiently waiting for us to finish. I sat down as well and promised myself that from now on I would try to attract as little attention as possible.
I glanced around the room and noticed that everyone was looking not at Norton, as one might have expected, but at Ellen. She spoke first.
“One more thing before we begin the actual afterparty. Karina asked to be notified once we were all present. She’d like to say a few words.”
Ellen took her clip from the armrest, touched it lightly to her ear for a couple of seconds, then set it back in place. In that brief pause, I realized why she was leading the meeting. Formally, this was an afterparty—and that made Ellen its natural moderator, regardless of anyone’s position in the Agency hierarchy.
Beside Mona’s chair, a holographic image of another chair appeared. A woman in her mid-forties sat in it, wearing a business suit—loose-cut but elegant—unexpectedly paired with bright white athletic shoes. Dark skin, short hair touched with gray. She swept her gaze across the room.
“Hello, everyone. Sorry to interrupt—I’ll keep this brief. Mac, hi. I’m Karina. It’s a pleasure to meet you. If you’re ever in our wing, stop by—let’s chat.”
I smiled and immediately realized the smile felt slightly forced. I inclined my head.
“Thank you, Karina. I’m glad to meet you as well,” I replied, trying to sound natural and friendly.
I caught myself thinking that I was already growing tired of my sudden “popularity” and the constant attention. Fortunately, Karina—and then everyone else—shifted their focus to Mona.
“I just wanted to introduce Mona in her new role. We’ve created a special task force that will focus specifically on matters related to the Creatures and the Ninth Variant. Mona will be—has already been—appointed as its leader. In this capacity, she is authorized to act and make decisions on behalf of the entire ICDA and has been granted Level Nine clearance.”
Manish’s chair was directly opposite mine, so I couldn’t help noticing his eyebrows lift in surprise at Karina’s words.
“That’s all from me. I won’t take up any more of your time. Have a productive afterparty.”
Her hologram vanished.
All eyes returned to Ellen. Before doing the same, I glanced at Mona and noted how well she carried herself—calm, natural, without the slightest visible discomfort.
Ellen spoke in a low, steady voice, businesslike but setting a brisk pace.
“All right, let’s begin. We won’t go over the events of Art, Mac, and Kirsten’s picking in detail—you’re all familiar with them. So we can move straight to analysis. Manish?”
Manish, who had clearly been expecting this, nodded and began almost without pause, as though taking a baton from Ellen.
“I suggest we consider what happened during the picking in two contexts. The first—and most obvious—is the familiar context of our, shall we say,” he allowed himself a brief smile, “complicated relationship with the Reds.
“In that context, the picking was anomalous—particularly given the sharp increase in the volume of Essence formed. Aggression from the Reds around newly opened Gate across Variants has predictably escalated. During this period, there were seven attacks, three of which resulted in the theft of quint-boxes. One of those incidents involved your team, Ellen. You’ve already had your afterparty with them—did they report anything noteworthy?”
For a fleeting moment, I thought I detected the faintest hint of embarrassment in Ellen’s expression, but she answered in her usual composed tone.
“Yes. Four Reds ambushed Marisol and Tariq. They managed to fight them off, and two of the attackers were identified. However, Tariq was frozen, and his quint-box was taken.”
She paused briefly, as if organizing conclusions and next steps, then continued.
“They noted that the ambush was clearly premeditated—planned and executed professionally. And the key word here is professionally. Marisol also emphasized that all four attackers bore the mark of experience. The combination of those two factors—the level of preparation and the attackers’ evident skill—suggests to me that the Tribe was involved.”
Ellen gave a slight nod, indicating she had finished.
“We agree with that assessment,” Manish continued immediately. “Especially considering that the scenarios of most—if not all—of the other attacks show similar patterns.
“So, returning to our picking: within this first context, we can reasonably explain both the attack itself and the subsequent pursuit of the team.”
He paused.
“But there is another context. And it…”
Manish let the thought hang and looked at Norton. Norton nodded knowingly.
“I understand,” Norton said. He surveyed the room before continuing. “We’re referring to the emergence of the Ninth Variant and what followed. The nuance here is that information related to the Ninth Variant is classified at Level Seven. However, given the circumstances, I am authorizing disclosure of this information to everyone present—on the understanding that it remains confidential.”
He turned back to Manish.
“Please continue. You may present all facts you consider relevant.”
Manish nodded, the gesture conveying both satisfaction and polite acknowledgment, and continued.
“The sequence of events is as follows. Alongside the new—Ninth—Gate, a passage to a new, Ninth Variant appeared. We immediately noted that the threshold level for this Variant is nearly one hundred quints higher than for any of the others. That alone allowed us to assume that the Ninth Variant is, in some sense, distinct—not simply one among many, but situated on a different tier altogether.
“Of course, we would have taken every precaution in organizing the first crossing regardless. But the elevated threshold compelled us to treat the matter with particular care. I won’t dwell on the preparatory stages of the project. I’ll move directly to the main phase and its results.”
He spoke calmly, almost dryly.
“Eric’s team crossed into the new Variant, conducted local reconnaissance in the immediate vicinity of the Gate, collected environmental readings across all measurable parameters, and returned. You are familiar with the results. Based on the full body of data obtained, the new Variant appears to be the home world of the Creatures. At least in the region surrounding the Gate, numerous instances were recorded, while no signs whatsoever of human presence or activity were detected.”
Manish paused briefly. His expression shifted into something I hadn’t seen before—thoughtful, grave, almost stern.
“Now to the recent developments. The information classified at Level Seven.”
He continued.
“After processing the data from the first visit to the Ninth Variant, we began preparing a second team. That is when we encountered a problem. Both the striders selected for the second crossing and members of the first team reported experiencing the same influence that, throughout the history of the Gates, has affected those who attempted to study or investigate the Creatures.
“Moreover, as striders approach the Gate while the Ninth Variant lies beyond it, that influence increases exponentially, becoming literally unbearable. No one can approach closer than approximately ten meters. As in previous cases of this kind, no method of overcoming the effect—or even understanding its nature and mechanism—has been identified. That is our current status.”
Manish looked around the room, waiting for questions. None came.
“A broader discussion of the situation is not the purpose of this meeting,” he added, glancing at Mona. “We will return to it shortly. And, I understand, without delay.”
“Yes, of course, Manish,” Mona replied. “After this meeting, please come to our wing. Now—why do you consider this the second context of the picking?”
Manish nodded, clearly pleased, and answered without hesitation.
“Mac’s contour level.”
I flinched and glanced around almost defensively. As expected, everyone looked at me—but, to my relief, their attention quickly shifted back to Manish. Without masks, no one could see my contour. However, I realized, they didn’t need to. The number was already known.
“More precisely,” Manish continued, “not only the contour level, also the fact that Mac became a strider very recently. There have been no Storms in that region in the recent past. Therefore, his strider status must be the result of the Gate’s appearance.
“And returning to Mac’s contour level: the result is two hundred ninety-five quints. The threshold of the new passage fluctuates around two hundred seventy and has not yet exceeded two hundred ninety. In other words, Mac is one of the very few striders who can—” he paused slightly, correcting himself, “—or rather, until recently could, enter the Ninth Variant without amplification.”
He abruptly shifted.
“Incidentally, Mac, it would be extremely interesting to test how the Ninth passage responds to your proximity.”
“We can swing by the Gate right after this meeting. Right, Mac?” Art interjected immediately.
“Of course,” I replied, looking first at Art, then at Manish.
Manish broke into a wide smile, then glanced at Norton, awaiting his reaction. Norton gave a short nod.
“Excellent,” Manish said, turning back to us. “There’s no need to attempt entry. Simply approach as closely as possible and report your sensations.”
Art and I nodded in unison. Manish inclined his head slightly as well, then paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing.
“So, returning to the picking. More specifically—to your encounter with the three Reds. With a high degree of confidence, we can assume they either entered the Eighth Variant through the new Gate or, if already present at the time of its emergence, at least witnessed it. That means they could have noted the threshold level of the new passage.
“And then, seeing Mac—observing his contour level and learning that he became a strider only recently—they could have connected the dots.”
Manish narrowed his eyes slightly.
“I’m speaking about all three of them,” he said. “But I’m primarily referring to one.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Art nodding briskly, as if he had been expecting this.
“Ion,” Art said with certainty.
Manish smiled, almost with relish.
“Exactly,” he confirmed. “I’m curious—what made you single him out?”
“Pure intuition,” Art replied. “That entire evening I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about him was… off. And I don’t mean his odd behavior. It was more like a sense of a second layer—like he wasn’t at all who he was trying to appear to be.”
Manish nodded approvingly.
“Your intuition served you well. That man—let’s call him Ion, if that’s the name he prefers—is quite well known to us.”
“Illegal?” Ellen asked quietly, almost to herself, her tone more declarative than questioning.
“Not exactly,” Manish turned to her. “We’ve never been able to establish a direct link between him and any specific crime. However, he has—far too often to be coincidence—been nearby. But what’s more interesting is his background.”
Manish leaned forward slightly.
“In the past, he was a rising—indeed, already risen—star in neurocoding. An exceptional designer of e2n devices. A figure of global stature. The e2n interfaces he created more than a decade ago are still considered classics in the field. At the time of their release, they were nothing short of a breakthrough—pushing neurocoding technology to an entirely new level.”
He cleared his throat. A mech, similar to Estri but more compact, detached itself almost silently from the wall, approached him, and offered a glass of water on a small tray. Manish took a sip, nodded in dismissal, and continued.
“Everything changed when he—like others, quite by accident—became a strider. Almost immediately he abandoned his work—he had no family—developed a dependency on quinta, and joined the Reds. And, as I mentioned earlier, since then he has surfaced repeatedly in our field of attention—not so much in connection with attacks or stolen quint-boxes, but through black-market quinta operations.”
Manish paused briefly.
“I assume you’ve already guessed: we suspect ties to the Tribe. More than that, we believe he occupies a position there far from ordinary. Most likely Ion is a Gamma. Possibly a Beta. We do not even entirely exclude the possibility that he is the Alpha—though we assess that probability as low.”
He took another sip of water.
“Given this, in the second context we consider the following scenario. Ion notices Mac’s contour level, recalls the threshold of the Ninth Variant, and decides…” Manish allowed himself the faintest smile, “…let’s call it recruitment into the Tribe. Naturally, using the instrument he knows best—neurocoding. Specifically, freeze—to begin with.”
I noted that “to begin with” and imagined how events might have unfolded had that hypothetical plan succeeded. A chill ran through me.
“That,” Manish concluded, “is the analytical portion we consider appropriate to present. If there are no questions or comments, we can move from analysis to synthesis—meaning the planning of next steps.”
He paused. None came.
“Planning primarily concerns Mac,” Manish continued. “We consider it obvious—” he turned toward me, “—Mac, forgive the bluntness, but we consider it obvious that you are an object of heightened interest. Not only to us—meaning ARC and ICDA—but also to the Tribe. Therefore, given—again, forgive me—your limited strider experience and lack of formal preparation, we would recommend that you refrain, for the time being, from traveling to other Variants. And in general—exercise heightened caution. At least until you complete the standard training program.”
He hesitated.
“Longer term… I would propose two scenarios. The first is to continue along that line: prioritize your safety and refrain from assigning you standard strider operations. The second…” Manish paused. “Though we could reasonably limit ourselves to the first.”
“What’s the second scenario, Manish?” I asked, making a deliberate effort—and, I believe, succeeding—to keep my tone steady.
He seemed to hesitate, then shrugged slightly and answered:
“If the Tribe is attempting to reach you, we could use that to attempt to reach the Tribe.”
I let a brief silence pass, so my next words wouldn’t sound reckless.
“I vote for the second option.”
Manish smiled faintly. There was approval in that smile—but also, I sensed, a hint of indulgence.
“And there are at least two reasons for that,” I continued. “Information and initiative.”
The indulgence on Manish’s face shifted into amused surprise.
“First,” I said, “we are currently operating under uncertainty. We lack sufficient information for confident decision-making. In fact, from what you’ve just said, our… opponents appear to have more information than we do. They clearly know something we don’t. Under those conditions, it’s logical to try to reduce that imbalance.”
I looked at Manish. He responded immediately.
“Agreed. Go on.”
“Second,” I said, “the initiative currently belongs to the Reds. And that is bad in any scenario. If we limit ourselves to defense and wait for developments, we will have no opportunity to seize it.”
A silence settled over the room. I deliberately avoided looking around, but I had the distinct feeling that Art was watching me with quiet approval.
Manish spoke first.
“Mac, listen… if you ever get tired of hauling Essence boxes to the vault, stop by our department. I’m sure we can find you something more intellectually stimulating.”
Laughter rippled around the room. The tension that had been hanging in the air dissolved.
Then Norton’s calm voice cut in.
“On the whole, I agree with Manish’s proposal—and with Mac’s reasoning. Mac, under our regulations you wouldn’t be sent on a picking in any case until you’ve completed the standard training program. That part is not up for debate. Finish all required downloads and at least one honing session for each skill. After that comes the final stage: internship. In other words, a standard picking conducted alongside—and under the supervision of—an experienced picker.”
He turned to Ellen.
“Ellen, let’s design that picking so that, from the outside, it looks entirely routine. But if there’s an attack—or any other Reds’ activity—your entire team, along with the AIO unit, must be able to respond instantly. I’m making a formal decision here: during this picking, delivery of the boxes to the vault drops to second priority. First priority is protection of every team member and, in the event of an attack, taking all possible measures to identify, detain, and transport the attackers to our Variant. Come by my office later—we’ll go over the details.”
Ellen nodded, focused and composed.
Norton shifted his gaze to Manish.
“What else?” he asked evenly.
I made a mental note to do something the moment I had the chance to put my mask back on.
Manish looked thoughtful.
“So that we don’t waste time,” he began reluctantly, “I would suggest that Mac and Art try to arrange a meeting with Zara.”
I flinched before I could stop myself and immediately forced my expression back under control. It wasn’t easy. Manish continued.
“We consider Zara’s connection to the Pride unlikely. She’s originally from the Fourth Variant,” he paused meaningfully, “and when she became a strider about four years ago, she almost immediately applied for naturalization with the Alpida Forum. As usual in such cases, the Forum consulted us, and we approved the request. You know our policy—we do everything we can to ensure that neutral striders remain, at the very least, neutral. So we support their naturalization here or in other open Variants.”
He spread his hands slightly.
“She was granted naturalization, and since then, as far as we can tell, she’s behaved like someone who has nothing to fear—from the Forum or from ARC. So if Art, or Mac, or both of them meet Zara here, in our Variant, in a public place, I see no security risk for Mac and no contradiction with what we agreed on earlier.”
I managed to steady myself somewhat, though my heart was still racing. The idea that I would use Zara’s permission to contact her merely to resolve some official matter felt almost monstrous.
I looked at Art and met his eyes. He gave me the faintest smile and a slight nod. I had the sense that he understood without my having to say a word.
“I can reach out to her and suggest we meet,” Art said. “Our conversation that morning was completely normal—we exchanged net IDs and…” He hesitated just a fraction. “…agreed we might call each other sometime. I don’t think she’ll be surprised by a call from me—or by an invitation to meet. We could have dinner somewhere. All of us. Zara, Mona, Mac and I.”
I glanced involuntarily at Mona and caught the grateful look she cast toward Art.
I looked at Art again. This time he was watching Norton, waiting for his reaction. I shifted my gaze to the Director of ARC as well.
“I have no objections,” Norton said succinctly.
“Excellent,” Manish concluded, a faintly mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “And if anything interesting happens to surface during your… friendly dinner, I trust you’ll share it with me.”
He paused, his expression turning serious again, then cast a meaningful glance at Mona.
“And finally, one last point.”
Mona nodded, understanding, and addressed Norton.
“The Creatures. And their anomalous activity during this picking. I assume this, too, is somehow connected to Mac and the level of his contour. Which means we may well see developments on that front as well.”
“What would you require from my side?” Norton asked.
Mona hesitated briefly, choosing her words.
“I think there may be a situation in which Mac or Art will need to act… not entirely in accordance with ARC’s rules and procedures.” She paused. “Simply because no set of rules can anticipate everything in advance. And the current situation—especially with the Ninth Variant—is far from standard.”
Norton nodded.
“Agreed. Art, Mac: should a critical necessity arise in connection with the crisis surrounding the Ninth Variant, I authorize you to act in accordance with the demands of the moment—even if that entails deviating from ARC protocols and procedures.
“That said,” he added calmly, “I expect you to make every effort to minimize such deviations.”
Art and I exchanged a glance, then looked back at Norton and nodded in silence.
Norton turned to Ellen. As if anticipating the cue, she addressed the room.
“On that note, I believe we can consider the afterparty concluded. Thank you all for a productive discussion.”
Everyone rose, retrieving their masks and clips from the armrest slots and putting them back on. I remembered what I had intended to do the moment I had my mask on again.
I turned to Art and quietly asked him to enable the Essence layer. He complied at once. I looked at Norton.
As expected.
Norton’s contour stood out clearly against the baseline Essence. Just as I had suspected, he was a strider. I glanced around the room. The only non-striders present were Mona and Manish.
At that moment Mona, taking Manish by the arm as they headed toward the exit, was saying, “Come to our wing—we’ll go over everything there. I think Karina will want to join us as well.”
Norton and Ellen were already moving toward the door.
I looked at Art.
“First stop—the Gate,” he said briskly. “I’m curious myself how the Ninth Variant will react to us.”
I nodded, a surge of anticipation rising in me.
And Art and I headed out as well.