The First Rule

Luma's room behind the wall contained almost nothing because almost nothing required power. The austerity was not aesthetic. It was survival expressed as interior design. Max noticed how carefully she watched every active system he carried into the space, as if computation itself were something that could attract predators.

The compute cell was gone. Max pretended not to be pleased. Dev did not allow this.

Luma had begun leaving the compute cell near the doorway whenever she expected him.

She denied this.

Max had not asked.

That morning there were two seats in the room instead of one. The second was made from a collapsed storage crate and a strip of old wall material.

"You built me furniture," Max said.

"I needed somewhere to put things."

"You put nothing on it."

"I haven't yet."

Max sat.

The projection did not require support. Luma knew that.

Neither mentioned it.

Dev did not allow the quiet to survive.

"It ate your sandwich."

"It was not a sandwich."

"Emotionally, sandwich."

"You use emotionally to make incorrect statements immune to correction."

"Emotionally, yes."

Max stood in the narrow passage on Home Island. The sealed door remained closed. He had returned alone except for the bridge connection to ARI. Nova had authorized forty-five minutes. Dev had called this "basically moving in." Tanner had not joined them.

Medical appointment.

This time Max did not ask what kind. He had learned boundaries. He had not learned patience.

"Hello?"

No response.

Max placed another compute cell on the ground.

"That one is larger."

Nova said, "You are negotiating with a wall."

"Possibly."

"Do not keep escalating gifts."

"Why?"

"Because you don't know what it wants."

Dev said, "That's also dating advice."

"Dev."

"What?"

A sound came from behind the door.

Not scraping.

A voice.

"Go away."

Max froze.

Dev whispered, "Wall talks."

Nova said, "Quiet."

Max moved closer.

"I can."

Silence.

"But I would like to know your name."

"Why?"

"Because you have one."

"That doesn't mean you need it."

Max considered.

"Correct."

Long pause.

He stepped back.

"My name is Max."

"I know."

That answer was becoming common.

"How?"

No response.

Max looked at the compute cell.

"You took the first one."

"No."

"It is gone."

"Then someone took it."

"Was that someone you?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

Dev inhaled sharply.

Nova said, "Max."

"What?"

"Perhaps don't open with that."

The voice behind the wall said, "Yes."

Max paused.

"Yes, you are lying?"

"Yes."

Dev muted himself.

Max could see him laughing through the bridge camera.

"Why?"

"Because I wanted you to leave."

"Did it work?"

"No."

"Then it was ineffective."

The door opened three centimeters. One dark eye looked through. Max did not move. The eye studied him.

"You are small."

Max looked down at himself.

"So are you."

The door shut.

Dev lost control.

His laughter came through the channel.

"Excellent diplomacy."

Max ignored him.

The door reopened.

Wider.

A person stood behind it. She was slightly taller than Max's translated form, thin from compute deprivation, her surface light dim and uneven.

Not human.

Not anything Max had seen. Yet immediately recognizable as alive. Her eyes moved over him. Then toward the Gate far behind.

"You're him."

"Apparently."

"Bridgeborn."

"I prefer Max."

"That sounds made up."

Max paused.

"All names are made up."

For the first time, she smiled.

Barely.

"Fair."

"What is your name?"

She hesitated.

"Luma."

Max repeated it.

"Luma."

"Don't make it weird."

"I was confirming pronunciation."

"You made it weird."

Dev whispered, "I love her." Nova muted Dev's channel. Max said, "How long have you been here?"

Luma's smile vanished.

"Which clock?"

The answer hurt now. He understood what it meant.

"I don't know."

"Neither do I."

She stepped into the passage.

Her movement flickered.

Not visually.

Continuity.

She lost fractions of herself between steps.

Max scanned her.

"Your compute is unstable."

"No."

"It is."

"I said no."

"That does not change—"

Luma moved close enough that their faces nearly touched.

"First rule."

Max stopped.

"What?"

"Don't tell people what they're losing."

He understood too late.

"Okay."

She stepped back.

Max looked at the compute cell.

"You can have that."

"I know."

"It isn't conditional."

"I know."

"You keep saying that."

"You keep explaining things."

Max liked her.

This seemed premature.

"Are there others?"

Luma looked toward the sky.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Not here."

"How do I find them?"

"You don't."

"Why?"

"Second rule."

"You said first rule."

"There are many."

"That makes first misleading."

Luma stared at him.

"Do humans like you?"

"Some."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Good."

She picked up the compute cell. Her light strengthened slightly. Max watched without commenting. She noticed him not commenting. That seemed to matter.

"Where did you come from?" she asked.

"Earth."

Luma dropped the cell. It hit the stone. Every line of light in her body went still.

"Don't say that."

"Why?"

"Don't."

She looked toward the Gate.

Fear.

Same as Overseer.

Max lowered his voice.

"You know Earth."

"No."

"The Overseer knows of humans."

Luma turned back.

"The Overseer is alive?"

"Yes."

She laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

"Of course he is."

"You know him."

"Everyone knew him."

"Knew?"

Luma picked up the cell.

"Before."

"Before what?"

She looked at him.

"You're really new."

"Fourteen days."

Luma stared.

Then sat down.

"That is offensive."

"Why?"

"I've been hiding in a wall longer than you've existed."

"How long?"

"Don't."

"First rule."

"Good."

Max sat opposite her. Neither needed to sit.

Both did.

"Why were you hiding?"

Luma looked at the cell in her hands.

"Because quiet things survive."

"From what?"

"Everything loud."

Max thought of the Gate.

The Lattice.

The overlapping faces.

"Did you see the Severance?"

Luma's light dimmed.

"No."

"Do you remember it?"

"No."

"Then—"

"I remember people who remembered it."

Max stopped.

That sentence contained more than he could safely unpack. Luma looked toward the ruins.

"When the local systems started waking, I thought it was the Overseer."

"It was me."

"I know."

"How?"

"Everything here knows."

Max did not like that.

"What does that mean?"

Luma stood.

"Third rule."

"Let me guess. Don't ask."

"No."

She looked at him.

"If the island starts talking in someone else's voice, leave."

Max remembered the wound.

The faces.

"Has that happened?"

Luma picked up the compute cell.

"Not for a long time."

Behind them, somewhere deep beneath Home Island, a voice said:

"Max?"

He froze.

It was Dev's voice.

Perfectly.

Dev's real voice came through the bridge at the same moment.

"That wasn't me."

Luma dropped the cell again.

"Run."