Box City, Chapter 11 Jonas's consciousness fluttered to the surface, prodded awake by a persistent tapping against his foot. His eyes snapped open, drenched in the murky half-light of the sanctuary against the war raging above on the surface. A silhouette loomed at the foot of his makeshift bed, rigid and imposing—the unmistakable outline of a soldier. For an instant, confusion clouded Jonas's thoughts like the nebulae he'd gazed upon from the Wayfarer's viewing deck. His heart thrashed against his ribcage with a primal urgency as the room coalesced into sharper focus. Instinctively, his gaze shot upwards to the loft where Nikolay, the boy who had extended a hand of friendship amidst the turmoil, was nestled safely among scattered blankets. Relief cascaded through him, a soothing balm that quelled the rapid cadence of his pulse. In the stillness that followed, Jonas's mind raced, parsing the situation with a clarity honed by countless hours deciphering Orion's holographic puzzles. The silent figure before him, though masked in shadows, broadcasted an air of expectation that was impossible to ignore. Jonas acknowledged the barrier between them—not merely physical, but linguistic—a chasm that yawned wide and deep in this foreign environment. He marveled at the irony: a boy who conversed fluently with machines now found himself ensnared in the web of human silence, save for Nikolay, whom over the last three months had absorbed his language like a sponge. With every passing moment, the weight of his isolation pressed against him, heavy as the gravity on a high-density planet. Each soldier's gesture, each muted command, might as well have been encrypted transmissions from a distant star—familiar in form, yet indecipherable in meaning. Yet within the confines of his own mind, Jonas's thoughts spun like gyroscopes, finding balance even in the face of uncertainty. He cataloged each detail of his surroundings, storing them away like precious data in the archives of his memory. For now, he clung to the solace that Nikolay remained unharmed above him, a sentinel in slumber, while Jonas prepared to navigate the unknown terrain. The soldier leaned forward, his shadow receding to reveal the stern lines of a face etched with purpose. He spoke, each syllable a sharp, rhythmic cut through the air. Jonas watched the man's lips move—rapid, precise—but the words landed like alien script upon his ears, unintelligible and distant. "Sorry," Jonas offered with a helpless shrug, palms upturned in the dim light. His voice emerged small against the backdrop of quiet urgency that filled the space between them. The gesture, a universal emblem of confusion, hung in the air—an unspoken admission of his inability to decipher the message. In the loft, the groan of shifting timber preceded Nikolay's descent. The boy's eyes blinked away sleep as he rubbed at his tousled hair, quickly alert to the tension suffusing the room. "Jonas?" Nikolay's voice was thick with slumber but sharpened swiftly with concern. He approached the soldier, whose gaze flicked momentarily toward the young interpreter. "Что происходит?" Nikolay's question sliced through the silence, demanding clarity. "Проснись, мальчик. Ему нужно идти с нами." The soldier's tone held a note of insistence that brooked no argument. "Jonas, they want you come," Nikolay relayed, his syntax stumbling but intent clear. "Something about... machine? Security?" "Security?" Jonas echoed, a frown knitting his brows. The thought of his presence here, in this labyrinthine bunker, tripping an alarm seemed absurd, yet it was a reality that loomed over him as tangible as the cold floor beneath his feet. "Tell him I don't understand what's wrong. Why do I need to go?" Jonas urged Nikolay, his hazel eyes seeking an anchor within the boy's earnest face. "Я не знаю," Nikolay said to the soldier, a crease of frustration appearing on his forehead as he struggled to form the bridge between two worlds with mere fragments of language. "He doesn't know what he did." "Не важно. Ему надо следовать за нами," the soldier replied, gesturing again with a hand that cut through the air like the prow of a ship cleaving dark waters. "Come, Jonas," Nikolay tugged at Jonas's sleeve, his youthful features alight with the spark of adventure despite the gravity of the situation. "He says you keep tripping the security alarms. They want to x-ray you to check if you have metal in your body, like when you break a bone. If you do, they can put an exception in the computer so you'll stop setting the alarms off. We go now. It will be okay." Jonas cast one last glance at the cozy confines of the shelter he’d built. He had one of the better shelters, with a room tall enough to stand in, a bed, a table, and a loft above for Nikolay. He had been the first to build a shelter from the growing pile of empty supply crates and pallets. The first week had everyone sleeping on the cold concrete, but Jonas had seen the potential of the scrap pile of wood. It hadn’t taken long for the other refugees to see what Jonas was building for a flurry of building to begin. Now, the sanctuary was a labrinth of shelters built to provide some sense of privacy and comfort. Jonas's gaze followed the soldier's stern finger as it pointed directly at him, an unspoken accusation hanging heavily in the air. The burly figure's brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed with the calculated precision of a man who had solved an intricate puzzle. With a curt nod, the soldier confirmed his silent verdict; Jonas was the anomaly that had sent ripples through their security systems. For a fleeting moment, Jonas felt the walls of the bunker close in around him, a caged animal caught in the glare of an unwanted spotlight. He weighed his options, the possibility of resistance blooming like a dark flower in his mind. But as quickly as it came, he dismissed it, knowing that refusal might sever the fragile thread of trust he had woven with these strangers. With a resolve fortified by untold adventures among the stars, he nodded back to the soldier, a silent pact to follow wherever this path might lead. The trio set off through the maze of haphazardly built shelters, Jonas sandwiched between Nikolay's youthful exuberance and the soldier's imposing form. They navigated the dense network of shelters that stretched out like the tangled circuits of some vast, subterranean machine. Around them, life pulsed with a persistent vigor—families huddled over shared meals, children chasing one another with laughter that echoed off the concrete walls, men and women trading goods with a bartering tongue that needed no translation. As they moved, Jonas absorbed every detail, filing away each face, each exchange, each peculiar contraption that adorned this underground city. His senses tingled with the stimuli, from the rich aroma of spiced food wafting through the makeshift alleys to the vivid tapestries that hung like defiant banners against the grey monotony. Despite the gravity of his situation, he couldn't help but marvel at the resilience of humanity, flourishing even in the bowels of a world turned upside down. Nikolay darted ahead, weaving between clusters of conversing adults with the ease of one who belonged. Jonas kept pace, albeit with less grace, his lanky frame less suited to the art of swift navigation. The soldier trailed behind, a silent sentinel whose watchful presence lent an urgency to their movements that quickened Jonas's pulse. "Keep up, Jonas!" Nikolay called back, gesturing with a sweeping motion that encompassed both encouragement and warning. "We must hurry." Jonas's breath grew heavy as they traversed the bustling encampment, but he pressed on, driven by a mix of duty and the innate desire to understand this alien place that had become his temporary home. Each step took him deeper into the heart of the bunker, and with every turn, the anticipation of discovery battled the trepidation of the unknown. As they approached a guarded checkpoint, Jonas felt the soldier's firm hand on his shoulder, steering him through the crowd with a silent authority that parted the sea of bodies before them. The guard's scrutinizing gaze lingered on Jonas for a heartbeat longer than it did on the others, a silent reminder that he was an outsider here—an enigma wrapped in the guise of a boy whose journey was far from over. They arrived at a medical bay with a doctor waiting. The soldier spoke with the doctor, then motioned for Jonas to lay prone on the cold, metal slab of an x-ray table, his heart a metronome of nervous anticipation. A sheet, thin as gossamer yet oddly warming, draped over him, separating his skin from the chill of the surface beneath. The room's stark white walls bounced the harsh light of fluorescent tubes back upon themselves, creating an almost ethereal glow that did little to ease his tension. "Still, now," instructed the doctor, her voice a blend of authority and reassurance. She adjusted the machine with nimble fingers, her every move precise, betraying a familiarity born of countless examinations. The x-ray emitted a soft whirr - a sound alien to Jonas but not entirely unsettling. He closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath as he tried to imagine himself within one of Orion's holographic sanctuaries. The thought offered scant comfort in the sterile medical bay. As the scan concluded, the doctor's brow furrowed, her gaze locked onto the display screen. Lines etched across her forehead deepened as she beheld the shadowy outline of the implanted comm-device nestled within Jonas's chest—a stark anomaly against the backdrop of ribs and organs. "Curious..." she murmured, her voice barely audible above the low murmur of the bay's other occupants. Her confusion blossomed into intrigue, her eyes reflecting a scientist's hunger for the unexplained. The soldier leaned forward, peering at the screen. "What is it you see, Doctor?" His tone bore the weight of concern laced with a hint of fear. "An object," she began, tapping the display with a pointed finger. "Here, within the boy's thoracic cavity. It's unlike any medical device I've encountered." "Could it be espionage equipment?" The soldier's hand instinctively moved to his sidearm, a gesture betraying his readiness for threats unseen. "Unlikely." The doctor shook her head, her lips pursed in thought. "Its design is too... sophisticated. And there are no signs of invasive surgery. It's as if it grew there, part of him." "What does it mean?" "I’m not sure." She cut him off, her eyes never leaving the image before her. "Only that this boy is more than what he appears. His physiology, this device—it's beyond our ken." The tension in the air grew taut, an invisible thread pulled to near breaking. They stood in silence, each lost in contemplation of implications too vast to voice. "Do you know where he’s from?" the doctor finally asked, her voice a whisper of unease. "I found him on the beach separated from the arriving refugees," he replied, "I assumed he’d wandered off, and guided him back to the groups of children." Jonas sat rigid on the examination table, his spine a column of steel under the weight of countless unspoken words. Around him, the medical bay gleamed with sterile light, instruments and screens casting shadows that danced like specters across the walls. The murmur of conversation between the doctor and the soldier hung heavy in the air, laden with speculation and the electric charge of discovery. Jonas’ gaze tracked their every move, his keen hazel eyes missing nothing. He watched the play of emotions on their faces, the furrowed brows and pursed lips, reading them as one might decipher a complex holographic interface. Jonas knew the time to reveal his true nature was fast approaching, like a ship hurtling out of hyperspace towards an inevitable destination. His fingers drummed silently on the cool metal surface beneath him, a private Morse code of determination. Another scan with a handheld device heralded more confusion from the doctor. "Remarkable," the doctor murmured, her voice a whisper of awe that cut through the quiet tension. She adjusted the settings on the scanner, peering intently at the images that flickered into existence. "His bone density is off the charts. It's as if his skeleton were forged from some alloy unknown to our science." The soldier leaned closer, his interest piqued by the revelation. "How can that be?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of wonder mingled with concern. "Environmental adaptation, perhaps? But I've never seen anything quite like it." The doctor shook her head, her expression a canvas of professional intrigue. "There's more. His musculature, his neural pathways—they're all... extraordinary." With each new discovery, Jonas felt the soldier's curiosity intensify, a palpable force that seemed to draw the room tighter around them. Jonas remained still, his body language a testament to his resolve. He locked eyes with Nikolay, who hovered nearby, the boy's youthful face alight with a mixture of confusion and excitement. "Could he be a product of genetic modification?" The soldier's words hung suspended, a possibility fraught with implications. "Modified or not, his physiology is unique. And that alone raises questions we are ill-equipped to answer." The doctor's voice trailed off as she regarded Jonas with a mix of professional detachment and genuine wonder. Jonas met her gaze steadily, the silent exchange a bridge across the chasm of language that divided them. In his poised demeanor lay the unspoken promise of revelations yet to come. His story was one of distant stars and cosmic mysteries, a tale etched in the very fabric of his being, waiting for the right moment to unfold. Nikolay, sensing the gravity of the situation, offered Jonas an encouraging smile. Though words failed them, the bond of shared adventure and nascent friendship needed no translation. With a subtle nod, Jonas acknowledged the camaraderie and braced himself for the unknown journey ahead. The doctor glanced at Nikolay. “Do you speak his language?” “He’s been teaching me,” Nikolay responded. “He says it’s called Aresian, and it’s really hard to learn. My mother taught me three languages, and those were super easy compared to his.” The soldier leaned in, his brow furrowed beneath the brim of his cap, as he appraised Jonas's stoic figure. "I’ve never heard of Aresian. Could he have come from one of the outer colonies?" The words spilled out more as a hope than a conviction, a lifeline to cling to in the sea of uncertainty. "Unlikely. I think we would know if any colony suddenly displayed evolutionary adaptations as unique as his would be known," the doctor countered, her skepticism evident as she shook her head, her hands still hovering above the enigmatic scans. "His bone density, these readings—none of it matches any known human variant." She glanced from the glowing images to Jonas, her eyes narrowing with professional intrigue. "Hmm… he’s specifically adapted for life in space, maybe he’s with the Transportation Guild. If any new genetic mutations would appear, it would be them." Jonas absorbed their exchange, the weight of each word settling like stardust on his shoulders. He knew the moment for revelation had arrived. With a breath that seemed to draw the essence of the cosmos into his lungs, he stood and spread his arms wide, an open gesture transcending language barriers. A smile, warm as a star's corona, graced his lips. "I am a Wayfarer," he announced, his voice imbued with the pride of countless journeys through the void. For a fleeting second, time itself seemed to pause, as if the universe held its breath. The soldier and the doctor exchanged glances, their faces etched with confusion, an unspoken question passing between them. They stood motionless, grappling with the implications of this stranger's simple yet profound declaration. "Nikolay, do you know what he said?” the doctor asked. Nikolay shrugged. “He said he’s a Wayfarer.” “Wayfarer?" The doctor's voice was tinged with bewilderment, and she turned back to Jonas, her fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on the metal examination table. The soldier, meanwhile, shifted uneasily, his hand unconsciously resting on the hilt of his sidearm—an instinctive response to the unknown. Jonas maintained his tranquil posture, an island of calm amidst the turbulence of discovery. His hazel eyes sparkled with the reflections of distant galaxies, his every cell resonating with the silent song of spaceways traversed and wonders witnessed. In this moment, he was the embodiment of otherworldly lore, a living testament to the vastness of existence beyond the confines of this world, or even the colonies. "Wayfarer," she murmured again, the word foreign on her tongue, "perhaps from the long-range division of the Transportation Guild?" Skepticism laced her voice as she considered the implications, her mind racing to reconcile the boy's otherness with her knowledge of physiology and genetics. “I know some people in the Guild, I’ll make some inquires,” the soldier said in a conspiratory whisper. The doctor poked at Jonas’ arm with a finger. “Do you think he’d let me take a blood sample?” “He was fine with the scans,” the soldier replied, “but if he is with the Guild, we might run into trouble legally by demanding blood draws. Alright, we know now what was tripping the security alarms, but internal hardware isn’t really all that suspicious. Plenty of people have pacemakers, optical corrections for eyesight, replacement joints, and I’ve even heard of bone replacements for injuries. We’ll just keep an eye on him for now.” Jonas glanced at Nikolay. “What’s happening?” “We’re done, we can go,” Nikolay replied. “But, I just told them I’m a Wayfarer,” Jonas replied, “Yeah, and that was pretty dumb,” Nikolay said with a half-grin. “They’ve convinced themselves that means you’re with the Transportation Guild, but if they start thinking you are what I think you are, they’d be dissecting you right now. Haven’t you seen any movies? Let’s take the win and get out of here while we can.”