I woke to a faint sound. My eyes were still closed, but I could hear a muted voice. Someone was speaking calmly, as if having a quiet conversation with someone in the next room.
I slowly opened my eyes. Art was standing by the window, leaning on the sill, talking while gazing into the space in front of him. Just behind his ear I noticed a thin, barely visible stripe that seemed to merge with his skin.
“Yes, at ten. In twenty minutes. Perfect, see you then.”
He turned toward me, and a light, slightly mischievous smile instantly appeared on his face.
“Morning. Didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Not anymore,” I smiled back. “What was that?”
“This is a Clip.” He stepped closer, lightly touched his ear, removed the device, and showed it to me—a thin, flexible half-ring. “It contains the main personal n2e interface and is also linked to the Terminal. Through it you can hear audio, receive notifications, and control devices—mentally, via the neural channel. Very convenient.”
He handed me the Clip.
“Yours. I’ve got a spare.”
I took it in my hand. The material was a matte beige, pleasant to the touch—almost warm—and very flexible, nearly pliable. I turned it over, examining it, then hooked the clip behind my ear. It immediately tightened just a little, almost imperceptibly, fitting snugly around the contour of my ear—and then I almost stopped feeling it at all.
“And the Terminal is…?” I began.
Art took a thin plate from his belt, about the size of a credit card, with a matte surface.
“This. This is the Terminal. It’s how we access the Net. The Net exists in our Variant—there’s no connection to it here—but the Terminal stores a snapshot of everything essential. It also allows you to use your cellular or satellite networks—which I just did.”
He paused briefly, clearly searching for a clear way to put it.
“You could say our Net is like your Internet. Only much, much bigger. Incomparably bigger. Everything is there: information, communication, navigation, Layers.”
“Layers?” I repeated, hearing the word for the first time.
“Layers are visual, audio, and mental overlays on reality. Like your augmented and virtual reality, only far more integrated. Through Layers we see maps, prompts, markers, messages. And of course, the Net Aide—NA.”
“NA?” I echoed.
“Yes. An artificial intelligence that helps with everyday tasks, navigation, communication. Everyone has their own, personalized one. The Terminal sends visual data to the Mask, audio and mental to the Clip—but you can also use the Terminal directly.”
He spoke calmly, unhurriedly, almost like a lecturer. But there was something warm in his voice—the tone of someone talking about things he genuinely loved.
“You said the meeting is in twenty minutes?” I asked, still turning the Clip over between my fingers.
“Yes. A snap.” Art sat down on the chair opposite me and leaned slightly forward. “It’s a short meeting we hold before every picking. We Greens gather as fast as possible to divide up the territory. The zones with the highest probability of nuggets—we need to reach them before the Reds do. So on a snap, we try not to waste time. Like this.” He snapped his fingers. Then, glancing at me, he smiled wryly.
“Today’s snap will be here, at your place. I took the liberty of inviting everyone on your behalf. Hope you don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” I stood up. “We should make tea and coffee. Want some?”
“Oh yes, thank you. Coffee, if possible.”
I started bustling around the stove. Put the kettle on, set up the cezve for coffee, took out all the cups I had and lined them up on the table, set out sugar and milk. The window was slightly open; a light morning breeze played with the curtains. I listened to the sounds outside: birdsong, the distant hum of cars and buses, voices of passersby along the road. Everything felt astonishingly ordinary—and at the same time, completely new.
They arrived one by one or in pairs. No one knocked—just came in through the door. Smiled, greeted us, exchanged a few light, friendly remarks. I had the strange feeling that I’d known them for a long time, that they were old friends—and maybe that wasn’t just my impression. Perhaps it was the same quality Art had. Elevated Essence levels. Calm confidence, friendliness, goodwill—it radiated from every one of them.
The first to arrive were two people—a man and a woman, both dark-skinned, with bright, dark eyes. There was a light, shared accent in their speech that I couldn’t quite place. The woman was strikingly beautiful: long thick hair, refined features, a smile that carried both warmth and a kind of quiet superiority. They were dressed simply and practically, trail-ready. On their backs—like Art—small, comfortable backpacks. I later noticed that these backpacks, along with the sporty, expedition-style clothing, were common to all the striders.
The man’s name was Rishan, the woman’s Amaya. The way they carried themselves made it obvious—without a word—that they were together. I offered them tea and coffee. Rishan smiled and gave my shoulder a friendly, courteous pat.
“Thanks, friend. Coffee for us.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll pour it ourselves,” Amaya added, smiling at me as well.
Almost immediately after Rishan and Amaya, a dark-skinned woman in her early forties stepped inside. She had short, curly hair, an intelligent, approachable face, and an athletic build. Her movements were unhurried, her gaze attentive and calm. When she spoke, people listened. Her name was Ellen.
As we were introduced, Ellen gave me a friendly look that also felt—at least to me—slightly evaluative. She, too, chose coffee.
“Wow, you even have a cezve,” she said approvingly. “Then I’ll make mine strong.”
And with quiet confidence, Ellen headed straight for the stove.
“Teams are named after their leader,” Art explained to me softly. “Ours is Team Ellen.”
I nodded, feeling a quiet relief at not having to pretend. I genuinely wanted to be part of this.
The next to arrive was Laar—tall, with a Scandinavian look, long greying hair tied back in a ponytail, and an upright, steady posture. There was something solid in his calm gestures and in his focused, slightly contemplative gaze.
“You know what we have in common?” Laar asked, shaking my hand firmly and smiling only with his eyes. His palm was broad and strong—the kind of hand that’s used to physical work.
I shook my head.
“I’m not from their world either,” he said, nodding toward the other striders. “Not from Variant One.”
“Which one, then?” I asked, instantly more alert, looking at him with renewed curiosity.
“Third,” he replied. “Will you pour me some tea?”
“Of course,” I said quickly, hurrying toward the kettle.
“Strong,” Laar added, following me. “No milk. And plenty of sugar.”
I nodded, tipping the last of the tea leaves from the tin into the teapot and pouring in boiling water.
“So what’s it like there, in the Third?” I asked, glancing at him and doing a poor job of hiding my intense curiosity.
“That’s a long story,” he said. “And you’ll find out soon enough anyway. You’ll have an induction course. All new striders do. Right at the start there’s a ‘download.’ They’ll write all the necessary information straight into your brain via e2n. Including data on all the Variants.”
The news barely surprised me. I think I’d been expecting something like that.
“Still,” I said, unable to resist, “just in general—two words?”
He leaned back against the refrigerator and crossed his arms.
“It’s… good there,” he said slowly. His gaze seemed to drift somewhere far away. “In our world, instead of your cars and airplanes, we have steam-drives and airships. Everything runs on steam.”
He fell silent.
As I poured tea into his cup, I stole a quick glance at him. He looked lost in thought. And suddenly I realized—he missed home. His world. Deeply.
I wondered if I would feel the same one day.
I handed him the cup. Laar surfaced from his memories and nodded in thanks, taking it.
“How did you end up with the striders?” I asked. “I mean—no, that’s not quite right. How did you become a strider? That’s the better question, right?”
“Both work,” he smiled. “First I became one—without knowing it. And then Ellen found me.”
He took a sip of tea and nodded approvingly.
“I’m a mechanic, actually. Spent my whole life working at a dock—an airship repair station. It’s built in the mountains, to get some shelter from the winds.
“When the Storm hit, I was up on the slipway, replacing mounts on a longeron. The mountainside was right there. That’s where a nugget started forming, as I learned later. And I was too lazy to leave the Storm. I’d have had to climb down ladders, exit the dock, go somewhere… I figured I’d just sit it out. Endure it. Thought it would pass quickly.
“It was awful, of course—absolutely brutal. And it didn’t pass quickly at all. The Storm lasted nearly an hour. I thought I wouldn’t make it. But I did. And well…”
Laar spread his hands with a smile, as if apologizing.
“And would you want it all undone?” I asked. “Go back to your old life?”
He smiled slyly.
“Nooo,” he drawled, still smiling. “It’s interesting here. You’ll see.”
At that moment, two more people arrived—a short Latina woman with an open, lively smile, and a quiet, slightly shy young man with short, tightly curled hair and deep black skin. Her name was Marisol, his Tariq. It was immediately clear that Marisol was his mentor.
After greeting me and receiving a cup of coffee with milk from me, Marisol and Tariq stepped aside, casually chatting with Art. When Marisol spoke to Tariq, he listened with respectful attention, as if catching every word.
The last to arrive was a petite, energetic young woman of Asian appearance. Her name was Sana. She immediately asked for tea, and I—lost in thought—automatically made her black tea with milk, out of habit. She tasted it and seemed slightly surprised. I caught myself at once and offered to make her a fresh cup.
Sana tilted her head to the side, smiled broadly and warmly, and politely refused. She assured me that she liked this tea too. All the while, she was studying me with open curiosity and interest—almost analytically, it seemed.
I realized everyone had arrived and the meeting was about to begin. The striders spread out around the room, settling onto the couch and chairs, putting on their masks and clips. I followed their example. Ellen remained standing. She looked around at the striders and spoke:
“Let’s begin. First, an update. I know you all want to hear what we have on the new world. The short answer is: almost nothing. Other than the fact that yes—it exists. We now have nine Variants.
“And one more thing. The Gate threshold for the new Variant is significantly higher than for all the others. Around two hundred seventy quints. Which means that yes—for all of us, and for the vast majority of striders in general, crossing into the new Variant without boosting is impossible.
“That said—not for all of us.”
She suddenly looked at me.
“Mac can cross.”
Everyone turned toward me with open interest. I felt a little uneasy under their gazes, but at the same time I remembered that my contour had looked brighter than Art’s earlier. Which meant my Essence level was apparently higher—likely above two hundred seventy quints. Unlike most other striders.
Ellen went on:
“That’s essentially everything that was known at the moment I crossed the Gate here. A special group has been formed. Their leader is Eric. His contour level also exceeds two hundred seventy; the others were boosted. They crossed into the new Variant. We haven’t received any information from them yet. At the same time, teams—including ours—have been dispatched to all the other Variants. Our task is Essence picking around the new Gates in each world.”
A three-dimensional map appeared inside the mask. I recognized our local terrain, with the Gate at the center.
“This is the area around the new Gate. As usual, we’ll work by sectors—standard procedure, just like any other picking run.”
The map divided into six sectors, highlighted in different colors. I noticed that the sector boundaries followed rivers, ridgelines, and roads. Clearly, Ellen had prepared the layout in advance, thinking through the details. Near the center of the map, labels appeared above each sector, showing one or two names.
Ellen continued calmly, matter-of-factly:
“Marisol and Tarik get the largest sector. There are good trails there—you’ll be able to cover more ground. Art and Mac get a smaller one; it’s harder to traverse. But I think the chances of finding deep nuggets there are higher.
“As you can see, pairs get broader zones. Solo operators—compact ones.”
Art and I were assigned the sector between the coastal road and the mountain river.
As I looked at the map, a warm, unexpected feeling rose in me.
I was part of the team. I had been accepted. Simply, without ceremony.
When Ellen finished the assignments and looked around, waiting for questions, Marisol raised her hand.
“Any news on the Reds?”
“Analytics say the Reds have become more active,” Ellen replied. “The appearance of new Gates is a massive release. For them, it’s an obvious lure. We expect heightened activity and increased aggression. Stay alert.”
I looked around at the striders and saw their expressions harden.
“Any other questions?” Ellen asked.
I had many—but I held back.
“Then, striders—get to work,” Ellen said.
And snapped her fingers.