The last signal

chapter 4 — LOG SEVENTEEN

chapter 4 — LOG SEVENTEEN

Leo stayed at the window until the blue light disappeared.

He never saw it move. One second it stood across the street, a narrow column of blue hanging in the darkness, and the next second there was nothing there except the ordinary glow of the streetlights.

But something had been standing inside it.

He was certain.

The figure had been too far away to identify, and the light had made everything around it look blurred, almost as if the air itself had become distorted. Leo had seen only the outline of a person.

Then the figure had turned.

Not toward the house.

Toward him.

Leo stepped away from the window.

His room suddenly felt much smaller.

He pulled the curtains shut and stood there with his back against the wall, listening to the house. His father was still upstairs. No footsteps. No doors opening. Nothing.

For several seconds, Leo considered waking him.

Then he remembered his father's face when the data chip had activated.

He remembered the words.

Stay alive.

Leo sat on the edge of his bed.

His phone was still in his hand.

The strange call had vanished from the call log, but the last message remained in his head.

Don't go to the relay station.

He looked at the photograph again.

The message in the background was still there.

YOU WERE ALWAYS PART OF IT.

Leo rubbed his eyes.

"That's not creepy at all," he muttered.

He placed the photograph beside the others and opened the notes app on his phone.

He started writing down everything he knew.

Project Origin.

His mother.

The signal.

The symbol.

The data chip.

The northern relay station.

Number 17.

The photograph.

The voice.

The warning.

He stared at the list.

It looked less like an investigation and more like the world's worst shopping list.

He added one more word.

Why?

Then he stopped.

Something bothered him about the coordinates.

His father had said they were old.

But the data chip had activated only now.

That meant somebody—or something—had caused it to activate.

Leo opened the photograph he had taken at the archive and zoomed in.

He studied the old documents again.

Most of the text was unreadable, but the symbol appeared several times.

He enlarged one section.

There was a number beside it.

17.

Leo sat up.

He opened the picture of the metal object.

17.

Same number.

He opened the photograph from the envelope.

The corner of the building had a small painted marking.

17.

Leo stared at the screen.

Three appearances.

Three different places.

That wasn't a coincidence.

At least, he didn't think it was.

He wrote:

17 = ?

A message arrived.

Marcus.

Leo ignored it.

Another message.

Then another.

Finally, Leo opened the conversation.

Marcus had sent a picture of a mathematics worksheet.

Underneath it he had written:

Emergency.

Leo stared at the worksheet.

Then he typed:

What?

Marcus replied:

Question 7.

Leo laughed quietly.

You nearly gave me a heart attack.

Marcus:

Good. Now solve question 7.

Leo:

No.

Marcus:

You owe me.

Leo:

For what?

Marcus:

Friendship.

Leo shook his head.

Even with everything happening around him, Marcus somehow remained committed to being annoying.

Leo solved the question and sent the answer.

Marcus replied with a thumbs-up.

Then another message appeared.

Seriously though. Are you okay?

Leo stopped smiling.

He typed:

Yeah.

He deleted it.

He typed:

I'm fine.

Deleted.

Finally:

Just tired.

Marcus:

Okay.

A pause.

Then:

If you're lying, at least make it a better lie.

Leo put the phone down.

That was Marcus.

He didn't push too hard.

He just knew when to leave a door open.

Leo looked toward the curtains.

He didn't tell Marcus about the figure.

Not yet.

The next morning, his father acted as though nothing had happened.

That worried Leo more than anything else.

His father made breakfast, drank coffee, checked the news, and complained about the price of electricity.

It was almost normal.

Almost.

Leo sat across from him.

"Did you sleep?"

His father looked up.

"A little."

"You?"

"Not much."

"Why?"

His father returned his attention to the tablet.

"Work."

Leo waited.

Then he said, "I saw something outside last night."

The tablet stopped moving.

His father slowly looked at him.

"What did you see?"

"A light."

"What kind?"

"Blue."

His father's expression changed.

"Where?"

"Across the street."

"When?"

"After the power came back."

His father put the tablet down.

"Did anyone else see it?"

"I don't know."

"Did you see anyone?"

Leo hesitated.

"Maybe."

His father stood.

"Leo, listen to me carefully."

Leo looked up.

"If you see that light again, you stay inside."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know what it means."

"That's not what your face says."

His father sighed.

"You don't know what my face says."

"You look scared."

His father didn't answer.

Leo leaned forward.

"Was Mom afraid of it?"

His father looked at him for a long moment.

"Your mother was afraid of what came after it."

"What came after the signal?"

"Not the signal."

His father picked up his coffee.

"The attention."

Leo frowned.

"What attention?"

His father shook his head.

"I have to go."

"Dad."

"I mean it."

He grabbed his coat.

"Don't go near the relay station."

Then he left.

Leo sat alone at the table.

He looked at the front door.

Then at his phone.

Then at the photograph.

He had the strange feeling that his father had just given him another clue without realizing it.

The attention.

Something had noticed the signal.

The question was whether it had noticed Leo too.

By afternoon, Leo had made a decision.

He wasn't going to the relay station.

Not yet.

Instead, he was going to find out what happened there.

There was a difference.

At least, that was what he told himself.

He went back to the old district.

The Origin annex looked exactly as it had the day before.

Abandoned.

Quiet.

Wrong.

Leo stayed across the street and watched it.

A delivery truck passed.

Two people walked by.

A dog barked at something Leo couldn't see.

Nothing happened.

He waited.

Then he noticed a small building beside the annex.

A sign above the entrance read:

CITY ARCHIVES — COMMUNICATIONS RECORDS.

Leo stared at it.

He smiled.

"Much less illegal."

Inside, the building smelled like dust and old paper.

A woman behind the front desk looked up.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for old communications records."

"How old?"

"About twenty years."

She raised an eyebrow.

"That's a very specific amount of old."

Leo smiled.

"I'm doing research."

"For school?"

"Something like that."

She studied him.

"Do you have a request number?"

"No."

"Then you need to submit one."

"How long does that take?"

"Three to five business days."

Leo stared at her.

"I need it today."

She smiled politely.

"Everyone does."

Leo looked around.

There had to be another way.

His eyes moved toward the shelves.

A sign marked HISTORICAL ACCESS stood above a corridor.

He walked toward it.

"Excuse me," the woman called.

Leo stopped.

"Where are you going?"

"Historical access."

"You need permission."

Leo turned.

"How do I get permission?"

"Fill out the form."

"Where?"

She pointed toward a stack of papers.

Leo sighed.

Five minutes later, he was filling out a form.

Name.

Age.

Reason for access.

Leo stared at the third question.

He wrote:

Personal research.

He crossed it out.

He wrote:

Family history.

He looked at it.

Better.

Not exactly true.

But not exactly false.

The woman approved the request after checking his identification.

"Room four," she said. "Don't remove anything."

"I won't."

"And don't photograph restricted documents."

"I won't."

She gave him a look.

Leo smiled.

"I mean it."

He walked away.

Room four was almost empty.

Rows of cabinets lined the walls.

Leo searched for communications records from the year his mother disappeared.

He found them after twenty minutes.

The file was thinner than he expected.

Too thin.

He opened it.

Incident report.

Northern Relay Station.

Date.

Cause: equipment malfunction.

Casualties: none confirmed.

Status: facility closed.

Leo read the line again.

None confirmed.

Not zero.

None confirmed.

He turned the page.

There was a handwritten note in the margin.

Request original logs.

Leo's pulse increased.

Someone had written that after the report was created.

He searched the cabinet for original logs.

Nothing.

He tried another drawer.

Nothing.

Then he found a box with a faded label.

NORTH RELAY — PRIVATE ARCHIVE.

Leo opened it.

Inside were several old storage drives.

One had a number printed on it.

17.

Leo stopped breathing for a second.

He picked it up.

A voice behind him said, "You shouldn't have found that."

Leo turned.

A man stood in the doorway.

Not the man from the street.

This man was older, with gray hair and a dark coat. He looked like an ordinary employee.

That somehow made him more suspicious.

Leo put the drive down.

"I was just looking."

"I know."

"Do you work here?"

The man didn't answer.

Leo took a step back.

The man looked at the drive.

"Your mother asked the same questions."

Leo froze.

"What did you say?"

The man looked at him.

"She came here before you."

"When?"

"Years ago."

"What did she want?"

The man hesitated.

"The original transmission."

Leo's heart started beating faster.

"Did she find it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because someone had already removed it."

"Who?"

The man looked toward the hallway.

"I don't know."

Leo didn't believe him.

"Then why did you say I shouldn't have found the drive?"

The man smiled faintly.

"Because some records are better forgotten."

"That's what my father says."

The man's expression changed.

"Your father knows?"

"Knows what?"

The man didn't answer.

Instead, he walked toward the door.

"Take my advice, Leo."

Leo stiffened.

"I never told you my name."

The man stopped.

For a moment, neither moved.

Then the man said, "No. You didn't."

He walked away.

Leo stood there.

His eyes returned to the drive.

17.

He picked it up.

Then he heard footsteps running down the hallway.

Leo quickly put the drive inside his jacket.

A security officer appeared.

"You need to leave."

"Why?"

"Building is closing."

Leo checked his phone.

It wasn't closing time.

"Already?"

"Yes."

The officer pointed toward the exit.

Leo left.

Outside, the city seemed brighter than before.

Too bright.

He walked several blocks before stopping beside a closed shop.

He pulled out the drive.

There was no label except the number.

He couldn't read it with his phone.

He needed a computer.

His father had one at home.

Leo smiled.

Then his smile disappeared.

If his father found out he had taken the drive, he would never let him hear the end of it.

Leo returned home after dark.

His father wasn't there.

Again.

Leo went upstairs and entered his father's room.

He found the computer.

It was old compared with the technology most people used, but it had a physical drive reader.

Leo inserted the storage drive.

The screen remained black.

He waited.

Nothing.

He checked the connection.

Nothing.

Then a small message appeared.

AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED.

Leo frowned.

He tried his mother's name.

Denied.

His father's name.

Denied.

Project Origin.

Denied.

He stared at the screen.

Then he remembered the number.

17.

He typed it.

The screen changed.

AUTHORIZATION ACCEPTED.

Leo leaned closer.

A folder appeared.

Only one file.

17-ORIGIN.

He opened it.

The screen went black.

Then a date appeared.

June 17, 2049.

The same date on the photograph.

Leo swallowed.

A recording began.

At first, there was only static.

Then a room appeared.

Leo recognized it immediately.

The laboratory from the photograph.

His mother stood beside a console.

She looked younger.

Tired.

But alive.

Leo stopped breathing.

She turned toward the camera.

"Log seventeen," she said. "If this recording is being accessed, the original system has been compromised."

Leo moved closer to the screen.

His mother's voice continued.

"We were wrong about the signal."

The recording skipped.

Leo waited.

The image returned.

His mother was standing in a different part of the room.

"The transmission isn't asking for a response."

Another interruption.

She looked frightened.

"It's already receiving one."

Leo stared.

Receiving one.

The same idea from the note.

Then his mother looked directly into the camera.

"If Leo ever sees the signal, do not let him—"

The recording cut out.

Leo froze.

The computer screen returned to the folder.

One file.

Nothing else.

He tried opening it again.

The system refused.

He sat back.

"What was she going to say?"

A sound came from the hallway.

Leo turned.

His father's voice came from outside the room.

"Leo?"

He closed the computer.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you in my room?"

Leo looked at the drive.

He slipped it into his pocket.

"I was looking for something."

His father opened the door.

"What?"

Leo stared at him.

For a second, he considered telling him everything.

Then he remembered the man's words.

Your mother asked the same questions.

And he remembered his father's warning.

Don't go near the relay station.

Leo said, "Nothing."

His father studied him.

"You've been lying a lot lately."

"So have you."

His father went quiet.

Leo walked past him.

Neither spoke.

That night, Leo placed the storage drive beside his bed.

He didn't know what his mother had been trying to warn him about.

He didn't know who had contacted Project Origin.

He didn't know why the symbol kept appearing.

And he still didn't know what had happened to his mother.

But he now knew one thing.

The signal wasn't simply transmitting information.

It was receiving something.

And whatever it was receiving might have been coming from him.

Leo turned off the light.

The room became dark.

Then his phone lit up.

A new message appeared.

No sender.

No number.

Just four words.

WE FOUND YOU, LEO.

He stared at the screen.

Then another message appeared beneath it.

17 WASN'T A NUMBER.

It was a location.

Leo's blood ran cold.

Before he could touch the screen, the message disappeared.

Outside the window, the blue light returned.

This time, it wasn't across the street.

It was much closer.

And the figure standing inside it was holding something that looked exactly like the photograph Leo had been carrying in his pocket.

THE LAST SIGNAL