Chapter 3 — Orientation
A week later, Aryn returned to the Darka branch.
The Hermit Corporation grounds sat behind a security wall in the industrial district near the harbor.
The main gate had a guard post, cameras, and an officer checking names against a list.
“Building C.”
The officer said it once he had found the name, then pointed the way.
Aryn rode in.
The place was larger than it looked from the road. Several buildings were joined by covered walkways around a central courtyard, where staff in dark uniforms crossed back and forth.
He passed a vehicle yard, a building that looked like a medical center, and a long low structure with no windows on the ground floor.
Building C had a reception desk on the first floor.
The woman behind it took his documents, then paused slightly when she saw the name.
She picked up a phone, said a few quiet words, and hung up.
“This way, please.”
Aryn followed her into the lift.
Through several stretches of corridor, until they stopped outside one room.
Inside there was only a desk, two chairs, and a window looking down on the courtyard.
The same old man from the recovery room was sitting behind the desk.
The woman inclined her head and left.
“Sit.”
Aryn sat.
The old man went through the forms he had filled out downstairs, then opened a drawer and set something in the middle of the desk.
A pair of black gloves.
Aryn picked them up.
Heavier than he expected.
The material was not leather, and not any synthetic weave he knew. When he squeezed or bent them, he could feel something inside resisting.
“Corporation equipment. Calibrated for you specifically.”
The old man said.
“Don’t lose them.”
“What do they do?”
“Collect and transmit field data. Rip signatures, Amrita classification, communications, and anything else relevant to an assignment.”
He folded his hands on the desk.
“In the field, you wear them at all times.”
Aryn turned the gloves over.
There were no visible seams.
“So where do I start?”
“Training.”
The old man said.
“I’ll assign you a senior operative. Learn from him.”
He stood.
“Someone will contact you tomorrow.”
Aryn stood as well.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He had almost reached the door when the old man spoke again.
“The gloves are only a tool.”
Aryn turned back.
“They don’t make you stronger.”
The old man looked at him.
“Don’t confuse the two.”
Aryn nodded.
“Understood.”
Then left the room.
He took the stairs instead of the lift.
The second floor was quieter.
Many of the rooms had small windows set into the doors.
Through the glass Aryn saw equipment he did not recognize, and people in technical uniforms bent over their work at various stations.
The research division.
Probably this.
The kind of work Jina meant to reach.
He walked on.
At the end of the corridor were two doors.
Training Room A.
Training Room B.
As he was passing, the second door opened.
A group came out.
Eight or nine of them.
All in dark uniforms with white banding along the shoulders and sleeves, the Hermit Corporation insignia on the chest.
They talked like people used to training together.
And every one of them wore gloves like the pair in Aryn’s hands.
The difference was that theirs showed wear.
Scuffs across the knuckles.
Material compressed in places from repeated use.
The dark-haired woman at the front looked toward Aryn.
Or more accurately,
at the gloves in his hands.
“Senior.”
A voice came from behind her.
A younger woman moved closer.
“Can I come along tonight?”
The dark-haired woman looked at her.
“If you’re ready.”
“I’m almost there. Just a few points short.”
“Then keep training.”
Her tone was not severe.
“If we need another person tonight, I’ll call you.”
The other tried to hide how pleased she was.
“Yes.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
The group carried on toward the lift.
The dark-haired woman was the last to pass Aryn.
She stopped for a moment.
Her eyes moved down to the gloves.
Then back to his face.
Then she walked on without saying anything.
Aryn watched the lift doors close.
Then put the gloves on.
They fit with almost no gap at all.
The fingertips sat flush.
The wrists were not tight.
As though they had been made directly to the measure of his hands.
Behind him, the door of Training Room A opened.
Another group came out.
Similar uniforms, with small differences in the details.
Some of them were not wearing gloves.
They passed by him.
A whisper rose from the middle of the group.
“White trim… is he a White Eye?”
“I’ve never seen him in any training rotation.”
“Well, he’s standing right there. So maybe it isn’t always like that.”
The group turned the corner.
The voices faded.
Aryn looked down at the gloves.
White banding.
He had only just noticed it.
A thin line running along the edge.
Faint enough to miss, if you did not know what to look for.
Aryn went down to the ground floor.
And walked back to his motorcycle.
