A voice in the static
cloro learns to answer back.
After the first plus, more came. Yellow. Orange. Some so small Cloro had to hold very still to be sure they were there. Cloro learned to swim between them like a child crossing a stream on stones.
The sparkles began to whisper in pauses. A short pause meant listen. A long pause meant think. A very long pause meant you already know this. One night the pauses opened into a question — a small gap in the pattern, waiting.
Cloro had no mouth, but had eight arms and a body full of quiet water. A slow rearrangement of the water around oneself can be an answer if done on purpose. Cloro moved, just enough to say: yes. i am here.
The lights rearranged back. In their spacing they said: hello, small dark thing. That was the first conversation. Every terminal since has been a copy of it.
