Inheritance of Giants

Simple Man

Then came the chime.

Soft. Gentle. One of IDE's old tones — the kind you'd almost think was polite if it didn't also double as a system-wide alert in most SSSP facilities.

A light flickered in the upper corner of the room, and IDE's voice followed:

"Then you're the kind of simple man the world needs more of. Also, you're in luck!"

Kyotoku didn't jump. Didn't even look surprised.

He just sighed, like someone who'd already made peace with being haunted.

"...Tell me you've got something better than poetry, Ide," he muttered. "Or I'm going to start thinking I'm the one hallucinating. And what do you mean, 'I'm in luck?'"

"If you were, you wouldn't be wearing the same socks three days in a row."

Kyotoku grunted. "You've scanned my socks? Wait- don't go off topic-"

"You've been quarantining yourself in a sealed diagnostics wing with a possibly sentient cassette from hell. I scan what I need."

A beat.

"The device is inert," IDE said. "Not just now. Not this week. Not this month. The last detectable emission curve dropped years ago. Whatever it was carrying — whatever half-life it had — it's long since run its course."

Kyotoku's breath caught.

"...Years?"

"Yes. The radiation didn't collapse last night. It ended long before that boy ever pressed play."

He looked at the MP3 player again, heart sinking deeper.

"So it was never a threat. Not in the way we thought."

"No. The real danger wasn't decay. It was what was left behind."

"... I may have to call in the big guns, then- wait, you're absolutely sure that the threat is inert?"

"Yes, but I don't know about any, uh, psychological or paranormal anomalies, so... maybe wait on the big guns?"

Kyotoku looked at his hands and sighed. "I'm way past my prime on this, Ide. The big gun's all I got.

"Time to let little Kyoka take the wheel."

IDE didn't reply at first.

Then, gently:

"She already has."

Kyotoku blinked. "What?"

"Do you think I haven't been tracking her? She started investigating the MP3 player hours after you started studying it yourself, just by listening through the walls and writing it in her notebook. She was halfway through isolating the waveform signature before you hit the panic switch."

"She did it without gloves," IDE added, lightly. "Just earbuds. And curiosity."

Kyotoku laughed, low and bitter. "And no Geiger counter screaming at her. Damn, already surpassing her father at age 5- I feel something between pride and jealousy right now."

Another pause.

"She's waiting outside, by the way. Refused to go home. Said she wouldn't leave until she saw you not die."

Kyotoku felt something shift in his chest — not pain, not quite. More like the ache that comes after you've stopped holding your breath for too long.

He glanced down at his clothes. Three days in the same socks. The same shirt. His arms smelled like recycled air and bad sleep.