The first sound Arnas heard upon waking wasn’t the engines.
It was the scratch of a pencil.
Short, dry, as if someone behind the wall were scribbling on paper.
He listened without moving. The sound repeated. Then stopped.
The ship’s systems showed normal mode. Temperature — stable. Oxygen reserves — sufficient. No signal. As it should be.
Arnas unbuckled his straps and drifted into the central module. Everything looked like yesterday, though “yesterday” was a concept he could no longer distinguish from a week ago, or a month ago.
A thin black book lay on the floor.
It couldn’t be there.
There was no paper on this ship.
He lifted it with two fingers, as if afraid the cover would crumble. The book was bound in cracked leather, its corners worn smooth. The first page held neither a date nor an author’s name.
Only two handwritten words.
Flight Log.
Arnas leafed through several pages.
The entries were short.
“Third day. Dreamed of the same corridor again.”
Another page.
“If you’re reading this log, that means you chose the slow route.”
Beyond that — blank.
He furrowed his brow.
This ship had only one planned trajectory.
At least, that’s how he remembered it.
Approaching the navigation console, he opened the star chart.
The system stayed silent for a long time.
Then two white lines appeared on the screen.
The first ran almost straight. Beside it blinked a label:
ROUTE A. Pilot confirmation required.
The second curved in a wide arc around a dark, unmarked sector.
Beside it glowed a green marker.
ROUTE B. Recommended. Confirmed.
“Who confirmed it?” Arnas asked quietly.
The ship didn’t answer.
Only after a few seconds did a calm synthetic voice say:
“The recommendation was prepared based on data from previous flights.”
“What previous flights?”
Silence.
Arnas looked once more at both trajectories.
His finger hovered over the first.
It looked shorter.
More logical.
He’d even managed to tell himself this was the one he’d choose.
But his hand slid a little to the right.
Without the slightest hesitation.
As if repeating a motion it had learned long ago.
The screen lit up.
ROUTE B CONFIRMED.
At that same instant, the ship changed course, barely perceptibly.
Arnas stood motionless for a while longer.
It seemed to him he hadn’t done something.
That he’d forgotten an important step.
He tried to remember why he’d chosen the second route at all.
He found no answer.
But returning to the book, he noticed something he hadn’t seen before.
On the last page, in the very corner, someone had written, barely legible:
“You always choose the one someone else has already chosen for you.”