“Did it fail again?”
A man's voice drifted out from inside the blackened compression engine.
Aaron looked down at the metal nameplate in his hand.
Johan Remer.
Fourth Memory Transfer Experiment.
Failure.
There was no way to know whether the name engraved on the plate and the voice belonged to the same person. But the timing was far too exact to dismiss as coincidence.
“Who are you?”
At Aaron's question, blue steam surged once from inside the compression engine.
Boom.
Something struck the iron wall again.
Ria grabbed Aaron by the wrist.
“Don't answer it.”
Her voice was as low as usual.
But the strength in her grip was different.
“You heard it too, Senior Researcher.”
“That was the sound of high-pressure steam escaping.”
“Does steam ask if it failed?”
Ria's eyes narrowed.
She didn't look like she was about to argue. She looked like she was checking who might be listening.
Two researchers were approaching from beyond the shattered glass partition.
Ria snatched the nameplate from Aaron's hand. Then she kicked the loose piece of the outer wall over with her toe, blocking the inside of the compression engine from view.
The blue steam cut off.
So did the voice.
“Senior Moren.”
The approaching researcher called out.
“Is there anything left inside?”
“Residual pressure.”
Ria answered without hesitation.
“Set up the restricted-access line first. I'll inspect the inside of the engine.”
“That sounded like a person's voice just now—”
“After an explosion, pipes make all kinds of noises.”
The researcher glanced at the compression engine.
His suspicions didn't seem to have vanished completely. Even so, he didn't question Ria again.
After he left, Aaron spoke.
“Why are you hiding it?”
Ria slipped the nameplate into the inner pocket of her lab coat.
“You prevented an accident today.”
“Did I?”
“You kept the whole thing from blowing and limited it to partial damage.”
It was the first compliment Aaron had heard on his first day at work.
Before he had time to enjoy it, Ria continued.
“And you became the contract worker who tampered with the equipment without authorization.”
So it wasn't a compliment after all.
“It hasn't been decided which version will go on record yet. So I'm telling you not to add another one.”
“You mean a record saying I heard voices?”
“A record saying you spoke with a dead researcher.”
Ria looked down at Aaron's palm, which still hadn't even been bandaged.
The blister was swelling rapidly.
“Go to the infirmary now. If anyone asks, say you didn't hear anything inside the equipment.”
“Do you know Johan Remer, Senior Researcher?”
This time, Ria couldn't move right away.
It was an extremely brief pause.
That alone was answer enough.
“Go to the infirmary first.”
“Is he dead?”
“Aaron.”
For the first time, Ria said his name properly.
“At the Institute, the order in which you report the truth matters more than the order in which you discover it. Today isn't your turn.”
She turned away.
Aaron didn't ask anything else.
More precisely, he decided she was someone who wouldn't answer even if he asked now.
When you struck a machine where it was broken, at least the sound changed.
People weren't like that.
Ria Moren was the kind of person who would shut her mouth if you kept hitting the same spot.
The infirmary doctor took one look at Aaron's palm and said, by way of greeting,
“You said this was your first day?”
“That is correct.”
“Contract workers these days are showing up with their loyalty pre-roasted.”
The doctor trimmed the edge of the burst blister with tweezers.
Aaron stared at the opposite wall of the treatment bed. The Institute's safety rules were posted there.
Check the cutoff devices before an experiment.
Do not secure the emergency valve without authorization.
Evacuate according to the supervisor's instructions in the event of an accident.
The only rule he'd followed today was the last one.
Even then, Aaron hadn't followed it.
“Don't use that hand for about three days.”
“You're telling a researcher not to touch machinery?”
“If you're a contract researcher, there's an easier solution.”
The doctor applied ointment.
“Get fired.”
The door opened.
An administrative employee in a gray vest entered carrying a file folder.
For someone who had supposedly heard a joke, his expression was far too serious.
“Researcher Aaron Vale?”
“Contract researcher.”
“The form of address is the same.”
The man sat beside the treatment bed and opened the folder.
“We need your signature to confirm the circumstances of the accident.”
Aaron read the first line.
At approximately 8:51 a.m., contract researcher Aaron Vale entered the experimental area without the supervising officer's permission.
Immediately after he manipulated the safety valve, the pressure balance collapsed, damaging part of the equipment.
No further damage occurred due to the prompt power cutoff and evacuation measures.
Aaron read the last sentence one more time.
“The power cutoff was not prompt.”
The administrative employee looked up.
“The equipment was ultimately shut down.”
“Because I opened the valve.”
“That part is recorded too.”
“As if I caused the accident.”
“A report of circumstances isn't a document for judgments. It's a document for recording the order in which events occurred.”
“Then why was the fact that the valve had been tied shut with wire left out of that order?”
The man tapped the paperwork with the tip of his pen.
“That matter is under review.”
“My actions have already been reviewed, while someone else's actions are still under review.”
The doctor gave a small cough.
It sounded like he was holding back a laugh.
The administrative employee's expression hardened.
“You can refuse to sign. But your work assignments will be suspended while the formal investigation proceeds.”
“And for a contract researcher, no work means the contract ends.”
“You know the regulations well.”
It wasn't as if Aaron had learned them because he wanted to.
They were printed in the largest type on the last page of his contract.
Aaron accepted the pen.
The administrative employee's shoulders sank just slightly.
Instead of signing, Aaron drew a line through the second sentence.
‘Immediately after he manipulated the safety valve, the pressure balance collapsed.’
Below it, he wrote a new sentence.
‘After the internal pressure exceeded the limit, while manually opening the emergency vent valve.’
“What do you think you're doing?”
“Recording the order in which events occurred.”
“If you alter an official document without authorization—”
The infirmary door opened again.
Ria entered.
She set a scorched log sheet down in front of the administrative employee.
“The original test record.”
Part of the edges had burned, but the words Aaron had written remained.
Pressure: 48.
Emergency vent valve secured with wire confirmed.
Ria pointed to the last line.
“This was written before the accident.”
The administrative employee looked back and forth between the log sheet and Aaron.
“Senior Moren, did you personally confirm that the valve was secured?”
“I confirmed it before the accident.”
“It wasn't in your initial statement.”
“At the time, checking on the injured took priority.”
Ria hadn't lied.
She simply hadn't said everything.
Aaron remembered her dismissing the voice from inside the compression engine as the sound of steam.
With this woman, you had to look for what was missing rather than what was wrong.
The administrative employee retrieved the report.
“I'll prepare a revised version.”
“Please do it today.”
Ria added,
“Vale is both under investigation for responsibility for the equipment damage and credited with preventing the accident from spreading. If you record only one side, it'll create more trouble later.”
The man clearly didn't like that.
Even so, he couldn't argue.
He gathered his folder and left the infirmary.
As the doctor wrapped Aaron's hand in a bandage, he said,
“You made two enemies on your first day.”
“Only two?”
“Three, if you count Senior Moren.”
Ria ignored the doctor's joke.
“Are you done treating him?”
“On the condition that he doesn't use his hand.”
“Does organizing records count as using it?”
“More realistic than telling a records researcher not to breathe.”
The doctor tied off the bandage.
Aaron held up both hands.
He had more than when he started his first day.
Two burns.
One accident report.
And several Senior Researchers who disliked him.
The road to becoming permanent was turning out to be more eventful than expected.
When Aaron returned to the Seventh Applied Engines Lab, the conversation briefly stopped.
The researchers looked at him one by one, then went back to their work.
If anything had changed since the morning, it was that everyone now knew his name.
He didn't like the way they had learned it.
“Don't touch any equipment today.”
Ria led the way as she spoke.
“I wasn't planning to.”
“That isn't something the man who turned a valve with his bare hand gets to say.”
“Next time, I'll wear gloves.”
Ria stopped walking.
“There shouldn't be a next time.”
“I hear this was the third time.”
She glared at Aaron for a moment.
“Your file said you were an obedient contract researcher.”
“Looks like the recommendation was exaggerated.”
“No. You were probably quiet until someone told you to speak.”
Ria opened a narrow door at the back of the lab.
The plaque read ‘Auxiliary Records Room.’
The inside was closer to a storage closet than a records room. Old file folders and boxes of discarded parts were stacked along the walls, and a thick steam pipe blocked half of the small ventilation window.
A single desk sat in the corner.
“This is your station.”
Aaron looked at the pile of documents stacked on the desk.
“I can't see the station.”
“It'll appear once you organize it.”
“I was diagnosed with not using my hands.”
“You were probably also diagnosed with not getting fired.”
That was more effective.
Aaron stepped into the room.
Ria stood by the door, looking at the desk.
Unlike a moment ago, her gaze lingered.
“Was this Johan Remer's station too?”
Aaron asked.
Ria's expression stiffened.
“How did you know?”
“The face you make when looking at this desk is the same as when you look at the compression engine.”
“Don't diagnose people's faces like machines.”
“It's harder than machines.”
Ria didn't deny it.
“Yes. Johan used this station.”
“What kind of person was he?”
“Someone who left a lot of records.”
“How did he die?”
Ria's gaze dropped to the scratches near the bottom right of the desk.
“Three years ago, in the second compression engine accident.”
“Was his body found?”
“Why are you asking that?”
“Because I heard his voice today.”
The air in the room seemed to stop for a moment.
Only the sound of metal being struck in the distance could be heard.
Ria took one step into the room.
“Don't say that name in front of anyone else.”
“Is Johan Remer a forbidden word?”
“He's a dead researcher. The dead can't contradict anyone, and researchers pass a lot of blame onto people who can't contradict them.”
“Did you pass some on too?”
Silence stretched after Aaron's question.
Ria didn't get angry.
She simply looked away from the desk.
“If you want to survive, learn to distinguish between the people you should watch out for and the people you should ask for help.”
“Which one are you?”
“I brought you the log sheet today.”
That was all the answer she gave.
She had helped him, but she hadn't told him to trust her.
Before leaving the room, Ria added one thing.
“Sort the discarded records in here by year before the afternoon is over. If you find anything that belonged to Johan, bring it to me first.”
The door closed.
Aaron stood there for a while.
She hadn't told him not to look for Johan's things.
She had told him to bring them to her first if he found them.
Ria was looking for something too.
Aaron moved the documents on the desk one by one.
Working with his bandaged hand made him three times slower than usual. The old records were full of dust, and the discarded parts smelled of hardened oil.
The first file was a parts purchase ledger.
The second was a list of failed experiments.
The third had only its title left; all of its contents had been torn out.
After he cleared away about half the documents, a black wooden desk emerged.
It had three drawers.
The top two were empty.
The last drawer wouldn't open.
Aaron pulled on the handle.
Something merely rattled inside.
There was no lock.
The rails must have been misaligned.
The doctor's face, telling him not to use his hand, came to mind.
Aaron looked around and spotted a thin metal ruler on top of a discard box.
This wasn't working on a machine.
It was organizing furniture.
Classifying it that way meant he was technically following the medical instructions, more or less.
He slipped the metal ruler into the gap in the drawer to support the right rail.
He pushed once.
Then he changed the angle and pulled again.
On the third try, the drawer came free.
Inside was nothing but a piece of old cloth.
Aaron lifted the cloth.
The drawer was shallower than it appeared from the outside.
It had a thin false bottom.
When he raised the corner with the metal ruler, a hidden compartment appeared.
Inside was a black leather notebook.
There was no name on the cover.
When he opened the first page, he found dense notes on pressure, temperature, and aether ore purity.
It looked like an ordinary experiment log.
At least until he read the third line.
Subject response time.
Aaron's hand stopped.
There was no reason for a person to be inside a power engine during an experiment.
The next pages contained short sentences wedged between the figures.
The subject cannot remember their own name.
Vocal response continued after the engine stopped.
Ria claims she did not hear the sound.
Aaron read the last sentence twice.
Ria had been at the site three years ago too.
He turned the page.
The handwriting grew more erratic as he went on.
We need to lower the output.
We need to open the valve.
Something is knocking from below.
The final page contained only two lines.
Aether does not remember.
Something inside the aether remembers us.
Beneath them, instead of a signature, was a short code.
M-03.
Boom.
Aaron looked up.
The sound had come from the steam pipe running through the wall.
Boom.
It was at the same interval as the sound he had heard from the compression engine.
Aaron slowly closed the notebook.
A cracked man's voice drifted from inside the pipe.
“Find M-Zero-Three.”