Tedium ruled his life at the Institute.

The first day after his arrival, Sol kept to his room. Its furnishings were sparse and functional. For an organization prided on their cutting edge technology, his bedroom lacked any digital equipment beyond the complicated lock on the door. At least Sol had privacy—a freedom he never experienced at the Academy, which mass-housed the students in barracks and had an abundance of recording devices watching their every move.

No one came to check on him nor request his presence. They hadn't even dropped off a schedule for him to follow for whatever new training the Institute provided their new Speakers. When the novelty of freedom wore off, and hunger set in, Sol left the solace of his room.

Speaker Justin had given him a brief tour that first night, showing him the dining room, library, and gathering rooms where they held classes. Everything functioned on a smaller, more intimate scale than the Academy did. Their late arrival did not flatter the structure as the unlit building offered more shadow than substance, and the silence of vacant rooms felt deafening. Justin's droning voice, explaining their rules and protocols, hadn't held Sol's attention.

Now, in the illuminating light of day, Sol walked along the carpeted corridors, amazed by the opulence. Lavish art graced the walls and antique furniture that had to cost a fortune appeared worn from use. History and beauty spilled out from every corner. Muffled voices filled the empty spaces with living vibrancy.

The other Speakers, however, either ignored him or left the room when he entered. During breakfast, he watched how the residents stayed long enough to fill their plate before vacating the dining area. Those who lingered over their meal gathered in groups of two or three, chatting in low voices and refusing to make eye contact with him. The same happened at lunch and again at dinner.

The next day wasn't any better.

As the days turned into a week, Sol became their resident ghost, existing in the same space but never interacting with them. It appeared the Institute, though forced to welcome him into their ranks, did not accept him.

Left to his own devices, Sol explored the mammoth of a building. Most areas were off limits, requiring keycard access he did not possess. He entertained stealing one until he realized they were somehow embedded into each Speaker's palm.

The main entry door had no such lock. Sol often ventured outside, delighting in the fresh air that greeted him. Sculptured trees pruned into geometric shapes stood sentinel on the manicured lawn, dotting either side of the walkway leading to the massive ornate gate. As he approached, the hum of electronics resonated in a pitch at odds with the twittering of birdsong.

Sol walked the perimeter, accompanied by the faint crackle of electricity coursing through the artistic metalwork of the towering wall that enclosed the extensive grounds. Uncertain if they intended the walls to keep outsiders away or contain those of the Institute in, he gave the barrier a healthy distance.

The crisp greenery had a certain ascetic appeal, but he missed the wild wilderness of the Academy grounds. There a student could escape, losing themselves for hours within the miles upon miles of rugged forest. Here, one could only admire the craftsmanship that went into the taming of nature shaped by man's will.

Behind the Institute stood the famous Cybernetics Hospital. It, too, denied Sol entrance with its small gate and keypad, but it did not block out the bustle of activity just on the other side. Bits of conversations, some in foreign languages, were carried to him on the wind.

What drew the other planetary colonists to this remote corner of Terra? Was it curiosity or desperation? What caused the Speakers to welcome some and reject others?

Sitting on the lush grass, he watched the diverse responses as guests arrived in one mood and left, sometimes escorted by a pair of cyborgs, in a vastly different state of mind. Gratitude, sorrow, anger—their gambit of emotions contrasted with the stiff formality of his fellow residents.

A side door, deep in shadows, burst open behind him. Sol's heart kicked into overdrive.

A gruff voice came out from its interior. "There you are. Didn't they tell you to knock when you arrived? I keep telling those guards to give the volunteers better instructions—"

The door swung closed, halting the man's rant. Sol rose, peering closer. The angle of the sun cast this section of the building into shadows, but, now that he knew what to look for, he spotted the dim red light of a digital keypad next to the outline of a service entrance. The door popped open again.

"What are you waiting for? A golden invitation?" A wrinkled hand waved at Sol.

"I think you've mistaken me—"

"Come on, we're late as it is." The man pushed the door further open before turning away.

As the door arced back, Sol lunged, grabbing it before it shut. Who cared if the man had mistaken his identity? Eight days of boredom had taken its toll.