The warning appeared without a sound.
Not blinking red, not insistently demanding attention.
Simply, in one of the screen’s lines, the label disappeared:
RECOMMENDED ROUTE
Arnas stared at the empty space for a few seconds.
Then he restarted the navigation system.
Nothing.
Again.
The screen came on as if nothing had happened. The star chart was in its place. Ship diagnostics were running. The communication modules were running. Life support was running.
Only navigation no longer offered anything.
He waited.
A minute passed.
Five.
Ten.
The ship stayed silent.
For the first time since he’d woken up.
Arnas rose from the pilot’s chair.
The silence had weight.
He’d never noticed it before, because the calm synthetic voice had always been interrupting it:
Rest is recommended.
A course change is recommended.
Continuing the inspection is recommended.
Now only the hum of the ventilation remained.
And his own footsteps.
He walked without a destination.
Or at least, that’s what he told himself.
The corridors were unusually empty. No screens glowed. No lights blinked. Even the clock on the wall had stopped.
After a few turns, he found himself in a place he didn’t remember.
The corridor ended.
Beyond it, two passages led onward.
One to the left.
The other to the right.
They were completely identical.
Equally narrow.
Equally dark.
No numbers.
No markings.
No arrows.
Arnas waited for the voice to speak.
For a direction to light up on a screen.
For at least one light to blink more insistently than the others.
Nothing.
Only silence.
He lowered his eyes.
His palms were sweating.
Suddenly a strange thought struck him.
He could no longer remember the last time he’d chosen a path without knowing which one was right.
There had always been something that had already decided.
A map.
An instruction.
A procedure.
A system.
A voice.
Or simply the more convenient option.
He didn’t know if that had been good.
He didn’t know if it had been bad, either.
He only understood that now, for the first time, no one was waiting on the other side of the decision.
No confirmation.
No denial.
Only two equally silent corridors.
Arnas slowly breathed in.
Stepped closer.
Lifted his foot.
And in the instant before it touched the floor, he understood that this time, whichever way he turned, no one would be able to say it had been recommended.