The Zero Signal, part 12: Signal Off

The Zero Signal, part 12: Signal Off

The light above the service entrance was already on, but Lea did not feel any safer beneath it. Only a short time ago, they had all been glad that they had stopped the emergency start-up and restored power to the city. Now they were going back down the stairs because something underground was still unfinished.

Denis walked last. At every turn, he looked back to check that their way out was clear. His white trainers brushed quietly against the concrete, and the sound carried towards the service room.

“If there’s smoke or anything starts overheating, we leave,” Lea said. “We don’t take anything apart. We call for help.”

“And if a cover gets stuck, we won’t try to force it,” Viktor added.

Tami adjusted the headphones around her neck. “I’m all out of persuasion today anyway.”

Nobody laughed aloud, but Denis’s shoulders relaxed a little.

Below, the same hum greeted them. Small indicator lights glowed behind the equipment’s closed panel. Three lines remained on the service display: start-up cancelled, system active in standby mode, permanent shutdown not completed.

Lea read the last line twice. When she had seen the city’s bright windows upstairs, she had briefly believed it was all over. The display would not let her keep believing that.

Meanwhile, Viktor took out his phone, checked the battery and opened the camera. He took a test photo of the corner of the console. Then he enlarged it to make sure the small letters were sharp enough to read.

“It works. We can save this.”

At the screen, Lea opened the standby menu, then permanent shutdown, and finally review consequences. Her finger paused above the last option.

“It clearly says that viewing the information won’t start anything,” said Tami, reading over her shoulder.

Only then did Lea tap it. A warning appeared: opening the information would not carry out the shutdown. The hum continued without any change.

Viktor pointed to the final operating log tab. “This first.”

The log was plain and brief. No video explaining things. No voice welcoming them by name. Just dates, test labels and details they had to read slowly.

“Zero channel,” Tami began. “An experimental channel for synchronising technology and human participants. Not intended for public transmission.”

Lea stared at the word participants. Before the first blackout, nobody had asked whether they wanted to take part. Now they stood facing its consequences in their school jackets, with messages from home waiting on their phones.

The next line listed the first blackout. Someone had started the test deliberately, even though they had no valid permission. But the field for the operator’s confirmed identity was empty. A note said the information was unavailable.

“So it wasn’t a fault,” Denis said.

“An unauthorised test,” Viktor corrected him carefully. “That’s what we know. This won’t tell us who started it.”

“Or who else knew about it,” Lea added.

The boy nodded and photographed the whole log. At last, they had an answer to the question that had brought them to the tower. But that answer had no face or name.

The next section described an automatic repeat cycle. Under certain conditions, the system would schedule another attempt. It was not a decision made by the machine or a response to their fear. It was simply a process built into its operation.

“So if it tries to start again, that doesn’t mean it wants to stop us,” Tami said.

“It means we’re still giving it a way to continue,” Viktor replied.

Beside the log, he opened a shutdown diagram. Lea compared it with the two labelled covers near the console. Beneath them were insulated handles on the outside of the equipment and small windows showing the mechanical positions. Both still showed that the connections were closed.

The order in the diagram was clear: final confirmation, disconnect the control link, then disconnect the experiment’s power supply. The second cover would not unlock until the first connection was physically open.

“Confirmation only gives us access to the first handle,” Lea explained. “It’s not a button that solves everything.”

“And we need to read all of this,” Tami said.

The warning stated that the effects of permanent shutdown on individual abilities had not been tested. Their powers might change or disappear. The log could not say whose, when or how.

At the bottom of the diagram was a symbol for a separate service battery. The display would stay readable after the experiment was disconnected, but its battery could not power the transmission equipment. The room’s normal lighting was separate too.

Viktor photographed the warning and the diagram, then opened the saved pictures. Tami enlarged the text with two fingers. Every line was readable. Meanwhile, Denis checked the stairs again. No tools or cables blocked the way.

Just then, a new status appeared above the log: programmed repeat. The indicator for a waiting transmission began to flash.

Viktor’s phone lost its connection, although the ceiling lights stayed just as bright. He raised his head and immediately pressed his palms against his temples.

“Pressure,” he said. “Too much at once.”

Tami stepped away from the console with him. She did not silence the room. She needed to hear the others, and she knew what strong silence would cost her.

“Don’t focus on the signals. We’ll read the screen.”

Viktor leaned against the cold wall and stopped concentrating on what he could sense. Meanwhile, Lea found the details of the waiting cycle. No transmission had been recorded yet, but their time to decide was running out.

She placed her hands beside the display. She could already move small amounts of current through touch, but that would not make this equipment safe. Her fingers closed, as if she needed to remind herself of that limit.

“I don’t want to lose it,” she admitted.

Denis looked at her without his usual remark.

“Your ability?”

She nodded. “At first, I wanted to get rid of it. Now… I don’t know. It’s something only I can do. I’m afraid I’ll miss it.”

For a moment, all she heard was the fan behind the closed cover. Nobody tried to explain why she should feel differently.

“I’m afraid something will stay,” Tami said. “But it won’t work the same way anymore. I won’t know when I can trust my own ears.”

“What bothers me is that I might change again without choosing it,” Denis said. Then he lowered his eyes to his trainers. “And yes, I’m scared of that too.”

By the wall, Viktor took a slow breath. “I’m afraid we’ll treat these few facts as proof of everything. That we’ll say it’s switched off and pretend we know all the rest too.”

Lea looked at the flashing indicator. “We don’t know the rest. But if we leave it connected, another test could start.”

“I’m voting for shutdown,” Tami said. “Even if I don’t like what might come after.”

Denis nodded. “Me too. I want to stop the next cycle from starting.”

“I agree,” Viktor added. “But afterwards, let’s write down exactly what we actually saw.”

Finally, Lea said her own yes and selected final confirmation.

There was a click. The control-link cover unlocked, but the handle beneath it remained in the connected position. The second cover did not move, and the hum still filled the room.

Denis stepped up to the first handle. For a moment, he looked towards the stairs, then back at the label. Lea read him its name and the correct position from the diagram. He stayed outside the sealed equipment and held only the external insulated handle.

The movement was shorter than he had expected, but near the end he felt firm resistance from the mechanism. When the handle settled into the disconnected position, a confirmation appeared in the small window: control link open.

“I can see it’s open,” Tami read out.

At the same time, the waiting cycle changed to interrupted on the display. The reason given was the open control link. Only then did the second cover click open.

But the hum did not stop.

“The power supply is still connected,” Lea reminded them.

She had not expected the first step to change everything. Even so, the continuing sound made her uncertain for a moment. She looked at the mechanical window showing the open connection, holding on to what they could check rather than what she felt.

Then she moved the second external handle into the marked position. It settled with a soft clunk, and its window showed that the experiment’s power connection was open.

The indicator lights behind the panel went out. The hum faded so suddenly that everyone heard Tami breathe in.

The ceiling lights stayed on. So did the service display.

Denis bent towards both mechanical windows without touching the covers. “Both open. The handles are staying in place.”

Tami watched the cycle log. The interrupted repeat did not change its status, and nothing new appeared in the list of transmissions. The screen confirmed that the control link and the experiment’s power supply were disconnected, with no new transmission events.

From farther away, Viktor photographed the windows and the final status. Then he checked the pictures, so they would have readable evidence rather than just a blurry memory of success.

For a while, they stayed near the stairs, watching the completed record of the attempt that had been waiting. The experiment’s lights did not come back on, and the hum did not return.

“We’re not going to find out whether we can switch it back on now,” Denis said.

“No,” Lea agreed.

She put her hands in the pockets of her black denim jacket. She had no answer about what would remain of her ability. But the equipment in front of her no longer had either its control link or its operating power connected.

They went up the stairs together. Viktor walked more slowly, so Tami gave him space and did not hurry him. At the entrance, they all stopped to check that they could manage the journey. Only then did they continue onto the public pavement.

Outside, the air smelled of wet asphalt. The streetlights shone steadily, and a narrow strip of evening light still remained between the buildings.

Tami called home. This time, the call connected.

“Yes, I can hear you,” she said, turning slightly away from the others. “I’m with Lea, Denis and Viktor. We’re going to the bus stop.”

A question came from the phone. The girl half closed her eyes.

“I know it’s late. I’ll explain at home. No, I don’t want to blame the battery again.”

Meanwhile, Lea sent a message saying she was safe and coming home. A delivery confirmation appeared beneath it. The boys received the same confirmations for their messages.

“I’ve got an uncomfortable conversation booked at home,” Denis remarked.

“Probably two for me,” Tami replied after ending the call. “One about being late, and another about why the first conversation wasn’t enough.”

This time, Lea really smiled. Ending the threat underground had not magically cleared away everything else. Tomorrow they had school and unfinished homework. Tonight, they had parents waiting for them.

Viktor opened a note and began typing. Alongside it, he had saved the photographs of the log, the diagram and both windows showing open connections. The others waited while he recorded the results they had confirmed.

Later, they walked towards the brightly lit bus stop. The last evening light disappeared, and a dark sky spread above the roofs. Their phones stayed connected. No more strange alerts arrived.

Under the shelter, Lea took out her phone to check the time. Beside its edge, she saw a very thin cyan thread.

She held her breath. When she tilted the phone slightly, the thread disappeared.

“What is it?” Tami asked.

“Maybe I saw something. Beside my phone. Like current, only very faint.”

She pointed to the place where there was now nothing. It could also have been a reflection from the bus-stop light. She could not tell the difference.

“Should I write it like that?” Viktor asked. “That you saw it, and we’re not sure?”

“Yes. I didn’t try to make it happen.”

Nobody asked her to try again. Tami sat on the bench, and Denis placed his backpack beside her. Nothing obvious had changed for them or Viktor, but that was not a test result either.

A little later, the boy showed them the whole note:

“Tower experiment: control link physically disconnected, experiment power supply physically disconnected, waiting repeat interrupted. No further transmission was recorded before we left. Normal calls and messages worked outside. The first blackout was part of a deliberately started, unauthorised synchronisation test. These records do not identify a confirmed operator. The results for individual abilities remain untested. At the bus stop, Lea reported one faint cyan thread beside her phone while it was on. It disappeared when she changed the angle and was not produced again. No obvious change was observed in Tami, Denis or Viktor; this was not a controlled test. Do not restart the tower to test abilities. Tomorrow at school, compare only new observations, and discuss the consequences at home.”

Everyone read the text. Lea only corrected a typing mistake in her name. Then Viktor saved the note.

“Tomorrow during break?” she suggested.

“Even if there’s nothing new,” Tami said.

“Even then,” Denis agreed.

The bus lights appeared around the bend. Lea looked once more at her phone. Nothing glowed beside it now, and she put it away. When the doors opened, she waited for the others to join her, and they got on together.