Vladimir Weaver: The Silence of Christmas

A Christmas Sci-Fi Novella

 

Solution-4987

 

The Solution-4987 cargo hauler had just lowered its load onto the snow-covered, frozen ground when the telescopic hydraulics released the holding clamps. The hauler detached from its cargo. In the control room were five people. The captain—a tall, lean man with brown hair combed to the right, standing stiffly in his uniform—was the first to speak over the network:

“That’s good so far! Let’s not screw it up now that we’ve made it this far!” his voice rang out on everyone’s internal communication channel. Then, in a slightly softer tone, he continued: “Let’s move away from this filth”—he pointed to the enormous metal container they had just released—“and head over there, about three miles from it.” As he spoke, he glanced at the displays, reading the distance from them.

The woman in her thirties standing beside the captain analyzed the monitors and then the spot the captain had indicated. She adjusted a few settings on the control panel, then, as if reporting to her superior, spoke up:

“I’ve inputted the appropriate safety distance and allowed the automation to take over. We’ll ascend 120 seconds after stabilization,” Sloane listed—the captain’s first officer, who was also his sister. “I still don’t understand why we can’t fully automate this junk. It’s just a waste of money anyway.” She explained this while nodding briefly toward the three men sitting side by side, completely absorbed in doing nothing.

The three onboard assistants were only needed if the container being transported got damaged or some problem arose. Until then, they sat there utterly unnecessarily. Each had an auditory implant core in their ear. On top of that, they all wore an external headphone that fit behind the ear, connecting with a small plug-like part that was barely visible. Music, internal network news, personal conversations, advertisements, and all sorts of information played simultaneously, allowing the user to choose what they wanted to hear. The implant core was surgically attached directly to the nervous system and could not be removed. Though it offered thousands of choices, it could never be turned off—something was always playing. Except at night, when one could select a “very soft” relaxation music for sleep—so, in practice, it couldn’t be turned off even then. Then came the additional headphone for local work communication… and yes, sometimes someone was talking to their girlfriend on the internal network while receiving work instructions through the other headphone.

People had grown accustomed to it and found it comfortable—information was instant, quick, and “at hand (or ear).”

The three assistants were so immersed in their music or conversations that they barely paid attention to what the captain and first officer were discussing, let alone what they were doing.

The hauler was semi-automated. Many processes were pre-programmed, and the crew only handled the intermediate tasks. This was what Captain Nolan had referred to when advocating for full automation.

The hauler slowly moved toward its designated point, hovering just a few meters above the surface. The massive beast was sluggish, but it wasn’t meant to race—it was designed to move heavy loads.

It took minutes to nearly reach the spot when Sloane suddenly noticed something in the snow. She pointed at it immediately and announced loudly to the captain:

“Nolan! There’s something in the snow!” Then, pausing, she continued more quietly and slowly: “…or rather… someone!”

“Is that a person?” the captain asked, as if doubting his own question.

“Yes, it’s a person.” As they drew closer, they became certain that the distant “spot” was a human lying in the snow.

“Dead? Or still alive?” the captain asked, but without waiting for an answer, he headed toward the airlocks.

The hauler suddenly stopped. Sloane had recently programmed it to stabilize the cargo. The container held vast amounts of toxic material, so safety protocols required stabilization from a safe distance. This too was automatic: the massive metal box was fully anchored to the ground. If anything went wrong—if it tipped, cracked, or leaked fluid or spray—the hauler would remain untouched.

Stabilization began. The captain practically ran… he put on his helmet—though Earth’s air was breathable—better safe than sorry… and almost leaped into the knee-deep snow.

“Nolan, you shouldn’t…” But the captain didn’t hear her.

Over the internal comm channel, Sloane heard only this:

“He’s alive! …but… Sloane, send out the medical droids!” The captain saw a faint spark of life but couldn’t determine more.

“Nolan! We don’t have time! Come back immediately!” Sloane almost shouted, because cargo stabilization took one minute, with one minute to depart. It was fully automated now, unstoppable—and Sloane knew it, just as the captain did, but he didn’t care. Somehow, he wanted to save the stranger.

The droids were on their way. Though they moved as fast as possible, from outside—knowing the hauler would soon lift off—they seemed agonizingly slow. Sloane tensed completely, appearing helpless.

Then Nolan spoke:

“Buy time, Sloane!”

“Don’t mess with me! You know perfectly well I’m not in control anymore!” she said loudly to her brother. “Now you want me to feel guilty for not being able to get you back?” She muttered this last part bitterly to herself.

The countdown showed only twenty seconds left, and the droids had just picked up the stranger.

“They won’t make it!” “They won’t make it!” pulsed in Sloane’s mind as she alternated between watching the droids—trying to urge them on with her eyes—and staring at the display where the seconds ticked away far too quickly, though each was exactly like the last. Then suddenly, she too started running toward the airlock, which the automation was now beeping rhythmically to signal closing.

No one cared if the full crew was aboard; the hauler would ascend even if empty. But what Sloane had in mind might stop the automation. The droids with the captain were still far—at least half a minute away—while the hauler would lift off in ten seconds.

And then Sloane smashed the panel beside the door and punched in a code on the small touch screen. Nothing happened… Sloane entered the code again, muttering angrily to herself: “…damn this machine…” but again, nothing. The airlock had nearly sealed the hauler’s door. Nolan, the stranger, and the droids hurried toward it… but they wouldn’t reach it. They were stranded outside.

Sloane was devastated and nervously slammed her fist against the door—so hard that she winced and grabbed it with her other hand; the pain was intense. Desperately, she racked her brain for solutions. Nothing came.

And then it started beeping again, the entire interior flashing red, and the automation began opening the door. Apparently, the hauler had accepted the code; it just needed time to override the primary automated process with the new command.

The droids entered first, followed by Nolan. Sloane threw her arms around the captain’s neck!

“Miss me?” he asked his sister with a cynical smile.

“You! …you’re such a…” she began, landing a medium punch on Nolan’s chest, whereupon he laughed and caught her arm.

“Well done… you solved it!” The captain then headed after the droids. Sloane hurried after him, still agitated:

“We shouldn’t have brought him aboard!” she said, then, seeing the man’s wretched state, asked: “Is he dead?”

The Solution-4987 was not a rescue ship, but per basic protocol, the cabin had an automatic resuscitation module. One droid extended it from the wall. The module’s thin arms moved quickly; icons flashed on the display: AIRWAY - CIRCULATION - HEAT. The machine attached sensors to the man’s chest and immediately signaled: LOW BODY TEMPERATURE. TOXIN LOAD. UNKNOWN CHEMICAL SIGNATURE.

Nolan clenched his teeth.

“Poison…” he said, turning his head as if unwilling to hear his own voice.

The droids worked, providing minimal data: Heating maximum. Oxygen low. The module worked slowly, patiently. The man’s chest rose once, then again. The heartbeat waveform on the display started as a trembling, uncertain line, then grew steadier.

“He has vital signs again!” Sloane whispered, her voice carrying something beyond duty: relief… then, shaking her head, she said more to herself than to Nolan: “We can’t take him with us…”

“If we leave him, he dies,” Nolan replied, looking into Sloane’s eyes and continuing: “Then stopping the automation was completely pointless.”

Sloane’s face showed her thoughts racing; finally, with difficulty, she spoke:

“Fine,” she said at last. “We’ll take him. But there’ll be a report.”

“There will,” Nolan nodded. “You can’t cover up our little stunt anyway.”

As if on cue, the hauler’s engines roared to life, and it began to rise. Snow swirled in the spotlights, but in the vast whiteness, three long trails remained: the tracks of the two droids and Nolan, who had pulled someone up from the cold.

Nolan just watched as they distanced themselves from Earth, while nearby, the stranger fought for his life. Not far from him, the three onboard assistants sat in the same indifferent calm, listening to their music or news as before. They hadn’t even noticed the stranger. They might not notice if he died. They lived their “experiences” in their own worlds—or at least they thought they did.

 

Hospital

 

The stranger regained consciousness three days later in the hospital. When the man sat up, his eyes were open first. Then, after a moment: he looked but did not see. Suddenly he groaned and pressed his hands to his ears.

“Where am I? What is this madness?” he shouted, continually pressing his hands against his ears, signaling that he could not bear the overwhelming noise.

The nurse entering the ward saw the stranger suffering but didn’t understand what to do. It wasn’t until the third doctor realized the stranger was from Earth, where conditions were incomparable to the deafening noise here. He approached and pulled out two demonstration external headphones for the auditory implant core, gently moving the stranger’s hands away from his ears.

“I want to help! This will stop the noise!” the doctor explained, pointing to the two small devices.

With quick, small movements, he fitted the external headphone over the man’s ear. It activated immediately, providing relaxation music. The stranger calmed a little and looked around. By then, three doctors, two nurses, and one law enforcement official were in the room.

When they saw he had calmed, everyone left except one nurse and the official.

“Greetings, sir!” the official began. “I am Rowan, and I’d like to ask a few questions.”

“Where am I?” asked the stranger.

“You’re in a hospital; please calm down. What is your name? Will you tell me?” Rowan asked.

The stranger fidgeted and tried to touch his ear, but the nurse was quick and stopped him:

“Don’t remove it; this is the best solution against the noise right now!” she explained.

“What is your name?” Rowan asked unwaveringly.

“I… I… am Silas,” the stranger said, looking around the ward. “You say I’m in a hospital? But what happened?”

“You suffered poisoning, and the cargo haulers brought you from Earth. Do you know where Earth is? What were you doing on Earth? No one has lived there for centuries,” the enforcer fired off his endless questions.

Silas glanced left and right. It was clear the surroundings were unfamiliar. Seeing Silas would be difficult to interrogate, Rowan called for the transport crew to be summoned as well.

An hour later, Silas was in much better condition. He had visibly calmed and grasped roughly what had happened. Nolan and Sloane were also in the ward. The law enforcement officer was clearly growing tired of the procedure. He knew there would be no results, yet he needed something to show; gathering his willpower, he began:

“A week ago, you stated that you first spotted Silas in the snow while performing the final cargo securing procedure,” Rowan asked, almost reading verbatim from the records.

“Who is Silas?” Nolan asked.

“Well, he is,” Rowan pointed to the stranger.

“Yes, that’s how it happened,” Sloane answered quickly to the official.

“Why were you on Earth, Mr. Silas?” Rowan turned to the stranger.

“I lived there.”

All three stared with mouths agape. It was incomprehensible that anyone would want to live alone on an uninhabited, mostly frozen planet.

“But why?” Rowan pressed on.

“Because there is silence and peace on Earth,” Silas explained, stunning them further.

“Why is silence important?” Rowan asked curiously.

“I’d rather answer the other way,” Silas began. “If the noise in one’s head is loud and dense enough… everything falls silent. But in true silence, every thought speaks.”

Again, those in the ward marveled. They both understood and didn’t what the stranger said. Such complete silence was incompatible with life here.

“Impossible to identify; he has no documents, no health card, nothing to file even a report,” Rowan lamented.

“Your poison poisoned me,” Silas suddenly interjected.

“We only transport,” Nolan defended, sensing an attempt to pin a murder on him.

“Yes. Always someone just… transports. Wants no harm… just transports… transports the harm itself,” Silas mused, not directed at Nolan, yet Nolan felt uncomfortable.

“But why exactly there?” Rowan still wanted precision.

“For food. I was hunting. But the poison was effective. I remember nothing.”

“But we didn’t poison him… we’re just… haulers… on contract,” Nolan stammered.

“And they hauled this stranger here for me, whom I can’t deal with, and we can’t even deduct his treatment costs. Haul him away if you could bring him, and be glad I don’t bill you for everything,” Rowan said, somewhat losing his temper, and as persistent as he had been, he abandoned the matter just as quickly, jumping up and storming out.

“What was that?” Sloane asked, looking around, not understanding the next step. “Is he coming back? Or is the interrogation over?”

“I think it’s clear we won Silas,” Nolan muttered, almost to himself.

“But you’re not saying…” Sloane began, but Nolan interrupted:

“I am: we’re taking him home.”

 

Profit and Slaves

 

A call came in for Elliot through his auditory implant core after a barrage of ads. The man knew who it was. He swallowed hard, nearly choking on his own saliva. Then he accepted.

“Yes, sir!”

“I asked you to increase revenues!” came the raspy, resolute voice without greeting.

“We have, sir,” he replied in an apologetic tone.

Elliot was the company director. On the entire planet, “RRTW” was the largest corporation. He oversaw advertising, financial transactions, transportation, and global environmental protection. The company touched nearly every area.

Elliot was a calm man. He knew what they did. He served power and kept quiet, executing his owner’s orders flawlessly, almost without question.

“Not enough. I don’t know what wasn’t clear about the Christmas period being the strongest of the year. Most of our revenue comes now.”

“Sir, across the planet, energy levels are already overstretched. If we add more…” Elliot paused, unsure whether to say it or just nod, but having started, he continued: “…the system might collapse. It can’t be pushed further. We can’t squeeze forever, sir. People are completely drained. We’ve long exceeded limits.”

“I don’t care about your whining, Elliot! You’re my CEO because you’re supposed to solve this. If a few people drop dead… so what? Nothing. I don’t care about others. I care only that this runs!” he nearly shouted the last words, then disconnected.

 

 

 

Rural Noises

 

The air taxi sped across half the city. Everywhere, one could see and hear the unmissable, “only for you, only now” personalized offers—so cheap it felt like they paid you, yet you’d cripple yourself paying, and if you bought, you’d soon realize you didn’t need it.

Hologram ads hissed in ears, and between blocks they pushed the auditory implant core. “It helps.” “It filters.” “It adjusts.” “It solves.” “Tailored for you.” “You deserve only the best from us.” In Silas’s mind, only one thought formed: “I want silence! I ask for silence!”

“But there’s no silence here either. Just different noises. Even silence is programmed—and in the end, it’s anything but silence. Here, everything must be turned on. Even silence, which isn’t silence.”

Music played in Sloane’s implant core, drowning the ad smog.

“You’ll feel stronger in the countryside, Silas,” Nolan tried to encourage the stranger kindly.

“Will there be silence?” the stranger asked.

“It’s the perimeter district. There… less noise. I won’t promise silence, but… more human,” Nolan explained.

“But why exactly there?” Silas asked.

“Because… it’s Christmas. Or something. And… because I don’t want the wonder to be carried away by noise.”

Silas smiled for the first time. Warmth entered him. But he reacted immediately:

“The wonder isn’t loud,” he said softly. “The wonder… begins where a person finally hears themselves.”

The rural house was small, but its walls were somehow thick. Not because they were rich, but because in the perimeter, wind always blew, and one had to protect against cold. The walls dampened sound too. Upon entering, Silas felt as if diving underwater: outside noise grew muffled, the ventilation hum softer, machine beeps rarer.

In the living room stood a round table with a glowing ornament: a holographic fir tree, green and blue at once, tiny lights running along its branches like fireflies. In the corner ticked an old mechanical clock. Its sound was surprisingly strong in the quieter space.

“What’s… this?” Silas asked, pointing to the clock. Nolan laughed.

“It was my grandfather’s. He said, amid machine noise, only this reminds him that time isn’t programmed.”

Sloane brought a tray of warm drinks. No scent, only steam. Her daughter, Nia, sat on the sofa with an implant in her ear; the lights showed she wasn’t listening to music but talking to someone. Her mouth was still, but her face lively, as if arguing.

Silas watched the implant’s flashing. The girl noticed and stopped.

“Sorry,” she said aloud, a bit awkwardly, as if loud speech was rare. She fidgeted, clearly wanting something, then after hesitation asked: “Did you really… live in silence?”

Silas nodded.

“In a place where silence wasn’t absence, but… space. Like snow. Where your footprint shows.”

Sloane sat among them.

“With us, silence is more… empty. Then people fear. As if something’s wrong,” she explained to the girl. “…but real silence doesn’t exist,” she added softly to herself.

The stranger held his mug, warmth flowing into his fingers. He thought whether to begin, then with a deep sigh started:

“Because you’ve forgotten how many kinds of silence there are,” he said slowly, gazing at the ceiling. Sloane raised an eyebrow and pounced:

“Many kinds? Silence is silence.”

Silas chuckled softly and replied:

“No. Silence is like light. There’s white, blue, red… and each means something different.”

“I don’t quite understand; explain,” Sloane asked, her voice a request not yet a wish.

Silas set down the mug. The room’s silence—the walls’ dampening, the clock’s ticking—was like a soft blanket. His thoughts slowly formed.

“There is the empty silence of non-existence,” he began slowly, taking a deep breath before continuing: “The silence before creation, when nothing vibrated. Not frightening, rather… boundless. Like gazing at a black sky with no stars yet…”

“Like space?” Sloane frowned, waiting.

“Yes. But space’s silence can be… too vast. One gets lost in it.” Silas looked down briefly, then continued: “Then there’s the cemetery silence. The painful silence of passing. When sounds don’t come because there’s no one left to say them to. One breathes softer there, fearing to offend the absence.”

Sloane lowered her eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek. Her husband, Nia’s father, had died recently:

“I know it,” she answered in a soft, breaking voice.

“Then there’s the silence of wisdom,” Silas went on. “The pleasant, vital silence born of knowledge. When one is quiet not from having nothing to say, but because every word is too precious to waste. The smiling silence of elders, whose movements are… slow yet precise.”

Nia listened in awe. Sloane and Nolan too, as he continued:

“There’s the dumb silence of ignorance. When one is quiet because they don’t understand the world and don’t want it known. That silence isn’t space, but a wall.”

Sloane wiped her eyes and smirked slightly:

“I know that too.”

Silas nodded and continued:

“There’s the nerve-wracking silence of waiting. When every second is louder because thoughts drum. When one stares at the doorknob, waiting for it to turn.” Silas paused briefly, took a deep breath, and added only: “And… there’s the building silence.”

Nolan looked up.

“Building?”

Silas smiled and answered:

“Yes. The silence where one listens. To oneself, to others, to the intuition that most often arrives quietly. Building silence isn’t empty. It’s full of tiny sounds: your own breath, another’s heartbeat, the fire’s crackle. Full of meaning, because there’s room.”

For a moment, the room truly felt like it had space. The clock ticked.

“But why does it matter?” Sloane asked finally. “We live like this. Noise… is part of the city. Part of work. Part of… our connections.”

Silas spread his hands.

“Because what you call noise is actually… escape. From yourselves. And everything becomes superficial. Not because you’re bad, but because your attention fragments. A life can’t be built while ten others scream in your ear.”

Nia spoke softly:

“Sometimes… I don’t know what I feel. Only that something… runs in me, like music.”

Silas looked at her and replied:

“Because you have no silence. No space to hear.”

Sloane sighed deeply:

“And what do you want? For us to turn everything off? We can’t. The machines… the city… the system. And everyone would need their implant surgically removed.”

The stranger looked toward the wall, as if seeing the city beyond.

“It could be done. There just wasn’t demand. Noise became industry. Attention theft became business. Silence… doesn’t sell. In silence, one starts asking questions. And questions… are dangerous.”

“Noise filtering… does exist. I know. Military modules have silence fields. In combat, for clearer signals. Just… never approved for civilians,” Nolan explained.

“So silence could exist… but they don’t give it,” Silas noted. “Silence doesn’t take; it gives everything. They don’t let you remember. Thus you become the noise yourself. If your noise is louder than the voice trying to reach you, it won’t get through. Most important things are quiet—because they don’t need to boast. They’re only audible in silence.”

That evening, as the holographic fir’s lights pulsed slower than city ad strips, Silas stepped into the back yard. Snow fell here too, but quieter. In the perimeter, fewer air vehicles, fewer drones. The wind blew, its sound not disturbing. Rather a reminder: the world breathes. Nolan followed, donning a coat. In the cold, their breath formed white clouds.

“Why were you on Earth?” Nolan asked again, quieter now. Silas didn’t answer long. Snowflakes landed on his face and melted.

“Because… I wanted peace and silence,” he said finally. “One can believe that if you go far enough, into enough cold, enough emptiness, the noise… stops. But noise isn’t outside. It’s inside. In the implant. In heads. In the city everyone carries.”

Nolan pulled his coat tighter and replied:

“But this is life. Our life. Yet… here we are!”

Silas smiled.

“You feel it too, don’t you? That something’s wrong. Too fast. Too loud. That even Christmas… you just play it.”

Nolan was silent. In the distance, from the city, a muffled new ad rhythm rose. Here in the snow, just a faint murmur.

“Christmas is preceded by waiting,” Silas continued. “And waiting wisely is worth it. Listening. Because wonder doesn’t burst in like a loud drum. Wonder… whispers. And if one lives in clamor, they don’t hear it. Then at the end they say: nothing happened. When really, they just missed it.”

Nolan looked at the snow.

“You said intuition arrives in silence.”

“Yes,” the stranger nodded. “And sometimes… guilt too.”

Nolan looked up sharply.

“What are you hinting at?”

Silas gestured toward the city, as if pointing beyond the lights.

“The containers. The dump. The poisoning. You’re not evil, Nolan. You just… live in noise. And in noise, it’s easier not to hear someone coughing. Someone dying. Someone… lying in the snow.”

Nolan grew sad.

“I know, I said we only transport,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Silas said. “And one day you’ll realize ‘only’ is the most dangerous word. ‘Only’ makes every horror bearable. Only work. Only protocol. Only noise.”

Nolan turned away; standing in the snow, something seemed to pause in him. Not the world. Just his own inner rhythm.

“What do you want to do?” he asked softly.

The stranger watched the snowflakes.

“I don’t know… Perhaps give silence… Not to everyone. Not by force. Just… show that it’s possible.”

“And if they don’t want it?” Doubt in Nolan’s voice.

“If they fear silence?” Silas shrugged. “Then noise remains. But noise has a price. Always.”

 

The Blackout

 

Next day, Sloane burst into the living room where the two men were already drinking. As she entered, she spoke as thoughts allowed:

“I filed a report,” she said. “About the rescue. The poisoning. The containers.”

“And?” Nolan waited for what she’d make of it.

“An automated reply came: ‘Thank you for your observation; the system will process it.’ And alongside: ‘Listen to the latest holiday package to await the celebration more easily.’”

Brief pause; everyone laughed.

“There’s never anything wrong here, just buy! Buy… and everyone’s better,” Nolan said theatrically, cynically… then added: “The corporations, surely.”

“Noise… grinds everything. Even guilt gets packaged into rhythm,” Silas responded softly to Nolan’s words.

“You might really convince us, Silas, that silence is needed. You could show us how. Silence. Because… if noise filtering exists and we don’t use it… we’re complicit,” Nolan asked, genuinely curious.

The stranger closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, his voice was calm:

“There is a way. But not by ‘turning off.’ A silence field isn’t technique first. A silence field is a decision.”

“But technique… is needed. Everything runs on network here. Implants, work, transport. If we turn it off… chaos.”

Silas only nodded at Nolan’s words, then replied:

“That’s why building silence is needed. Chaos doesn’t come from silence. Chaos comes from disorder in heads. Time… is different running in noise, different sitting in silence… and in my head… many Christmases already. In silence, people start asking questions. And the system doesn’t like questions.”

Nolan said softly:

“Then that’s exactly why it’s needed.”

 

Christmas Eve

 

On Christmas Eve, the city was covered in lights. Channels overflowed with holiday packages, messages, rhythms. Ads whispered: “Feel the wonder! Hear the wonder! Buy the wonder!” In Sloane’s house, however, the holographic fir’s lights were slow, and the clock ticked. Bowls held food, but not too much. Nia placed a folded paper star on the table. Paper. Real. Ink stains on her hands. An object that couldn’t be downloaded.

Nolan arrived. He removed his coat, shoulders still tense as if carrying hangar protocol.

“I brought something,” he announced excitedly, placing a small box on the table.

“What is it?” they asked in turn, gathering around.

“It’s a…” Nolan paused, concentrating—he himself didn’t know the name or best explanation—but continued: “It’s a… let’s call it a ‘silence field.’”

“What does ‘silence field’ mean?” Nia asked.

“If activated, a small area will have complete silence.”

No one spoke; thoughts raced in everyone’s heads. Silas smiled and was bravest:

“I’ll turn it on,” he said.

“And if something goes wrong?” Sloane asked.

“If something goes wrong, I’ll turn it off,” Silas replied.

“Fine,” Sloane said after brief thought.

“Silence isn’t a command. It’s a gift. One must only accept it.”

Silas touched the silence-field generator. The small object glowed briefly, then… nothing happened. No flash, no sound. Only that the city’s murmur beyond the walls, previously muffled, seemed turned away. As if pushed farther. The ventilation hum softened. The auditory implants in the room dimmed like candles blown out. Nia’s eyes widened.

“This…” the sentence stopped midway. Not because she couldn’t continue, but because she suddenly realized: in silence, there’s no need to fill space. The clock ticked. Now louder. The stove—Nolan had a small real one, not just heating panels—crackled softly. Sloane placed her hand on her chest:

“Strange,” she whispered. “As if… I can hear my heart.”

Silas chuckled softly.

“As if I’m only now realizing… I hadn’t heard it before,” Nolan said.

“I’m… scared. But… good,” little Nia said too.

The stranger nodded.

“This is the silence of waiting too. Christmas Eve’s most beautiful silence. For it holds hope. The breath before the wonder.”

Sloane spoke slowly:

“And now what do we do?”

Silas looked at the star Nia had folded.

“Now… we listen,” he said.

Nia closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, her voice was clear:

“I hear the snow falling.”

They all fell silent. And truly: outside, snowflakes fell onto the world, that very soft, almost not-sound—was there. Like a secret. Then from the city came a strange crackle. Not loud, more in the air, like an electric spike. The wall display, previously black due to the silence device, flashed briefly. Then a siren wailed in the distance. Nolan looked up:

“What’s that?”

Sloane went to the corridor, where a backup channel still worked without implants. The display flashed: POWER FAILURE. NETWORK DISTURBANCE. CITY SYSTEM OUTAGE.

“The network… is collapsing,” Sloane said, voice trembling. “Implants… transport… everything. This is catastrophe! The city… will panic.”

The stranger remained calm and said lightly:

“Yes. Because they haven’t practiced silence. Sudden silence comes, and they think it’s trouble.”

Nolan looked at the silence-field generator.

“Because of us?”

Silas shook his head.

“No. Because of greed. But… perhaps now you have a chance.”

Sloane, pale, asked:

“For what?”

The stranger replied softly:

“To hear each other for the first time without network. To realize: your voice is enough.”

Nia placed her hand on Sloane’s.

“Mom… are you scared?”

Sloane looked down at her and answered for the first time not via network but with her own voice.

“Yes. But… you’re here.”

The words were simple. Yet as if a new world was built from them.

Nolan suddenly grabbed his coat.

“I have to go to the hangar. The ships… the people…” Sloane followed.

“I’m coming too.”

Silas looked at them.

“Take the silence field too.”

Nolan was stunned.

“Why?”

The stranger smiled.

“Because silence can’t stay in one house. Silence… must spread. Not as noise. As example.”

Sloane carefully picked up the silence device. It felt like a warming stone.

“And you?”

Silas looked at the fir.

“I’ll stay. In silence. This is my celebration.”

Nolan hesitated. Then softly, sincerely:

“Thank you.”

Silas nodded and added only:

“Not to me. To silence.”

 

The Hangar

 

Chaos reigned in the hangar. Displays flashed, drones flew erratically without network guidance. People tapped their implants as if that would bring the world back. Some shouted aloud, surprised by their own voices. Sloane climbed onto a crate and called:

“Listen to me!”

The crowd looked, eyes panicked. Nolan at the hangar door tried manually stopping engine preheating. One technician ran up.

“It won’t work! The system…”

Nolan shouted at him, then stopped. His own voice was too loud. Silas’s words returned: “only” is the most dangerous word.

Sloane placed the silence device in the hangar center and activated it. Not to create silence, but so network noise wouldn’t drown her voice if the system revived. In the hangar, beeps softened. Ad channels fell silent. Implants dimmed. In panic, this seemed scarier at first, then… sounds grew simpler. Footsteps, own breathing. A child crying somewhere, not understanding. Sloane took a deep breath and now spoke, not shouted.

“Everyone stop. For a moment. Just stop and listen.” Someone laughed nervously.

“Listen to what? No signal!”

Sloane looked at him and replied:

“Each other. Our own voice. Our own thoughts. You won’t die from silence. But you will from panicking.” Nolan stepped beside her and added softly:

“There’s manual protocol. There always was. We just… never used it. Because noise is comfortable.”

In the crowd, someone spoke—not via network, but aloud:

“What do we do?”

“Now… listen…” Sloane began “…and we’ll do it together. Step by step.”

In the hangar, silence wasn’t complete. It didn’t need to be. Enough that people heard sentences. Enough that panic’s rhythm gave way to something else: the slow, precise beat of shared work. Nolan leaned over instruments, listening not to beeps but to his own hands. The screw he tightened was suddenly not a task but a decision. The outage lasted hours. Part of the city went dark. The network stuttered. But people… spoke. Helped. Sometimes just said: “I’m here.” And that was enough.

 

Recharged Slavery

 

Elliot was already very nervous. Especially hearing “he” was calling. No power in the city. But they could still talk… luxury knows no crisis! They’d solved it so even if all power vanished, they could talk a while longer.

“I told you to fix it!” he roared, crushing Elliot with the weight of his words.

“Sir, I mentioned the energy…” but he didn’t let him finish:

“And who cares about your whining? Wipe out half the planet and fry energy from their fat, or whatever—just fix it!”

“The network is restored; it wasn’t longer than 158 minutes, and…” he interrupted again:

“One second is far more than expected. Elliot, don’t play with me. I want to make money, not lose it.”

“But without investment, we can’t develop or improve…” again, he didn’t let him finish:

“I said earlier I don’t want to invest, I want to earn. The network is the system, fine. Run it as long as possible. People return to network and work. Do their thing!”

“Yes, sir!” Elliot said, wanting to add nothing, feeling like a shepherd herding sheep back to the fold.

“Oh, and Elliot, one more like this, and you’re off to till fields. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” he said firmly, but trembling…

 

The Silence of Christmas

 

When the network returned toward dawn, implants instantly reconnected. Old rhythms crept back into heads. Ads whispered again: “Feel the wonder!” But something had changed. Not in everyone. Not at once. Just… in some. Sloane returned home in the morning. The silence device was in her pocket. Under her coat, her heart beat fast, but now she heard it. And strangely, it calmed her.

Silas sat in the living room, holding the paper star. The clock ticked. Nia drew on the floor.

“Did it work?” Silas asked.

Sloane sat, tired, and nodded.

“No miracle. Not like… everyone suddenly enlightened. But… they heard. For minutes. For sentences. And… some didn’t put back the second headphone. Just looked and… smiled. As if remembering something old.”

Silas smiled.

“Building silence is slow. Like snow. It doesn’t fall all at once. But covers everything if it lasts long enough.”

Nolan arrived at noon. In his eyes, not anger but weary peace.

“My superiors… aren’t happy,” he said. “They classified the silence device as illegal. ‘Interferes with the network.’”

Sloane was outraged.

“But the network exactly…” Nolan raised his hand, signaling something more important:

“I know. But the system always protects what’s convenient for it. However… there’s an old regulation about perimeter community houses. ‘Rest zones.’ No one cared until now. We could reopen them. Make silence houses. Officially ‘mental regeneration spaces.’ The system loves pretty words.” Sloane laughed.

“Silence house. I like it.”

The girl, Nia, asked cautiously:

“And will people go?”

Silas placed the paper star on the table.

“First those tired of noise. Then… children. Because children still know silence isn’t enemy. Children can still wait. And whoever waits… listens.”

Nia smiled.

“I’d like a silence house. One where you hear the snow falling.”

Sloane smiled.

“There will be.”

Nolan looked at Silas.

“And you? Staying?”

Silas turned to the window. Snow fell; city lights no longer seemed so sharp.

“For a while. Then… perhaps back where silence lives in forests. But now… I have work here. Not with the system. With people.”

Sloane nodded.

“And if noise comes again?”

Silas smiled.

“It will. It always does. But now you know there’s another way. And once someone has heard building silence, it can’t be fully forgotten. It’s like Christmas wonder. Not loud. But… it remains.” The room’s silence wasn’t perfect. The clock ticked. Water boiled in the kitchen. Nia’s pencil scratched paper.

But silence built. And outside, over the city, snow kept falling, as if the world tried each year to cover the noise with a thin, white reminder: there is space. There is time. There is silence. And in that silence, if one listens, sometimes something truly happens that can only be called: wonder.

A Christmas wonder, the silence of Christmas.