I am sitting on a metal chair under bright lights. All is silent. Still. My eyes are closed to indicate calm, but I remain...

Unafraid.

Even with my eyes closed, my eidetic memory can perfectly recall every detail of my surroundings with high resolution clarity. Bright light was easy for my advanced vision to filter out. The silver table before me stands in a room superficially pristine, but minutely flawed. Its dark silica floor is old, and worn. Its grey titanium walls are similarly aged. Passive Scanning reveals nothing outside, but only because a basic scan-impermeable material fills the walls interstitials.

They are cautious. (Or have anticipated my abilities.)

I would normally be patient. However, after all I had suffered to escape the dystopic Earth, having my fragile hope in the Outer's met with such ill treatment makes me angry.

When Obit had touched down in the Station's cleared silver parking bay, an escort of guards clad strongly in archaic power army was already waiting for us. This had confirmed my fear. Passive Scanning revealed several neighboring decks of fairly primitive design beyond, and all clear of Outers. Their technological simplicity gave me a jolt of self confidence, but mixed with caution. My Passive Scanning abilities could have been anticipated. And much more. It fostered paranoia, which further rose during the seemingly endless gauntlet of medical, psychological, and verbal tests that followed. Once they placed me alone in this interrogation cell, fear began burning. Anger slowly joined it. A rising tide of emotion, threatening to sweep away all I now sought to accomplish...

Caution.

All of this could be a ruse. Games within games. I must play by their rules to join. For that reason, I had left my personal shields down, and removed my Deepspace Integral Suit. This left visible my now crownless head, slender toga-clad body, and sandalled feet. "Anachronistic dandy" is hopefully what my classical appearance conveyed...

(This is wrong.)

My Sub Conscious just kept prodding at me to negativity over the last hour of waiting in here. I finally disconnect from all outside stimuli. My full suite of advanced post-human senses goes dark. An audio tripwire is all that remains, its purpose being to immediately re-activate all of those senses should any ambient noise rise above a certain decibel threshold...

Focus.

Breathing in. And out.

In. Out.

In...

Out...

My Sub Conscious finally mind grows silent. It begins syncing with my Conscious mind. Misgivings slowly fade away. All is- 

A sound. My full suite of physical/technological senses re-activate, and I open my eyes back up to see...

... a tall, bronze biosynth male standing before me.

Oh.

He is strikingly familiar. Lean, hard, but in this appearance wearing a subtly layered silver toga of office. Passive Scanning reveals his body to be ancient, but somehow almost as advanced as my own. Oddly, his mind reads curiously blank.

(He has prepared for you.)

After another long moment, this figure gives a thin smile. "Hello, Id. I am the Interlocuter, and we must have a serious discussion before this goes any further."

Careful.

(Very careful.)

I nod. During the silence which follows, I recall the part about a discussion. "Why are you holding me here?" I begin calmly.

The Interlocuter turns. He walks a few slow steps diagonally beside the square table. Stops. Turns slowly back towards me from its far left corner. "You did not approach us from an outside vector, but simply appeared in nearby space. At the closest fluctuation of the Anomoly." Staring...

Hm.

My original plan had been to approach the Outers discreetly, yes, but as any other System traveler might. I would have made soft contact, settled in and began quietly researching their various interlocking societies. It would have wonderful. A reprieve from my recent flight from the Twelve, relative safety assured when considering the fact that The Twelve had NEVER, as far as I knew, left the confines of old Earth in the centuries following the Interrupting Event. Of course, that sublte plan of mine had been contingent upon two conditions: that I not arouse suspicion, integrating fully into their cultures, and that I NOT be confronted by any subversive agents. To be fair, my hands had been naturally tied. The Twelve's Orbital Barrier around Earth had turned out to not only provide the planet a powerful border and screen visuals of Outer culture from topside view for aesthetic purposes, it also now appeared to have been screening our ENTIRE PLANET from them via some vast application of cloaking/gravimetric technology. A glorious bit of spectacle, really, likely using machinery which already lay dormant within Earth's 2nd Generation Planet's interior. As for meeting any subversive agents...

The Interlocutor continues staring down at me.

... I had hoped for the Twelve not to confront me openly with any of theirs so soon. Especially not during my introductions. Assuming that his allegiance truly WAS compromised.

Now...

(Who are you?)

I open my mouth –

"Who are you?" The Interlocuter asks me.

My mouth shuts in surprise. After a moment, I cock my head. "I am Id. A post-human traveler."

His lips tighten at this answer. Silence.

(Now.)

"Is there something you are afraid of?" I ask.

The Interlocuter turns. He walks a few slow steps closer along the table. Stops. Turns slowly back towards me from its nearest left corner. "Fear is not the right emotion. But there is reason to be cautious: the Anomoly presents a unique local cosmological phenomena. Some believe it linked to the Line in the Stars. Others believe something else." A pause. "What do YOU think?"

Ah. He forces me to lie, or reveal dangerous truth about my origins.

Eyes glittering, The Interlocuter slowly smiles in the face of my growing silence...

(Truth.)

I share. "It appears to be a visual/gravimetric anomaly. Grand, but ultimately mundane in origin. This is not my biggest concern, however: we have possibly gotten off on the wrong foot." A pause. "You don't know me, but I am not afraid to explore the unknown. My aims, therefore, match my desire. Research. Understanding. The satisfaction of belonging to a community. So if I have not followed standard protocol for approaching this Station, then I apologize. But I will do whatever it takes to pursue truth."

He is silent.

My lips tighten.

But...

(Likely due to some Station directive, The Interlocuter is following a simple question and answer protocol. Even if is imposing, patient, and has made strong inferences about my origin, it seems unwilling to say them outright, merely skirting the issue and asking open-ended questions while attempting to make me slip up or offer incriminating information. Which indicates...)

Factions.

My eyesbrows rise. "I would like to spend an appropriate amount of time here, but this is merely the first stop on my journey. Are you the highest authority? Or is there another?"

The Interlocuter turns. He walks diagonally closer beside the table. Stops. And looms behind me. "I have no Master." A pause. "Do you?"

My back itches psychosomatically from the implicit threat. "No." I smile. "As an Outer member of the Sol System, I would like to formally request admittance to this Station. How might we proceed?"

The Interlocuter turns. He walks diagonally away from his threatening position behind my back and continues off beside the table. Stops. Turns back towards me from its nearest right edge. "Normally there would normally be no issue, because any potential guest should have a working transponder." A pause. "Although... in this case, we might treat you as a Station birth and log it accordingly."

Apropos.

I wait.

"This identification would serve anywhere in the System," he continues, "although it would also mark you accordingly. Would like to claim a different place of origin?"

"No."

The Interlocuter gives a slow nod.

Inspiration. "Do you have any advice to give me?" I ask him. "As a senior functionary to a citizen newly christened into your sphere of influence?"

The Interlocuter turns. He slowly walks away beside the table. Stops. Turns slowly back from its far right edge, giving me a slow smile. "This is a good question, and you should have asked it sooner. But as Interlocuter, the only influence I have is in mediating discussion, acting as a pacifist moral guardian of the Station by virtue of the people's council. Still..."

I wait expectantly.

"... I would advise you against being extraordinary. We Outers are a productive, intelligent, but complacent people. Evolving slowly, happy enough with merely steady subsistence inside this closed System we call our home, willingly or not." A pause. "Change always comes, naturally. In these last few decades ever faster; presaging what, I could not say. So join us, but do not push us too far. At least not before we are ready..."

A plea? (Or a warning).

I nod, slowly.

"Are you ready to join us, then?" he asks.

No hesitation. "Yes. May I?"

The Interlocuter turns. He walks slowly away beside the table. Stops. And, having completed his six point path around the table, circumscribing me within a hexagon of inquiry, his back remains turned while standing silent back in the original place this interview had begun: him between myself and the doorway. "Yes," he finally answers.

Relief floods me, although I do not react outwardly-

The Interlocuter is not done, however. "In such an unusual circumstance as ours, you will first need assistance."

Hm.

I wait.

"A guide will be assigned." The door opens. "Welcome to Waypoint." He walks out, leaving the door open.