{Earth}

“No memory at all?”

Pablo nervously chafed the chain on his neck as Kyle explained a most interesting case to him over the Icarean comms device.

The Progeny screener sighed. “The only memory I gleaned from her is that she didn’t wake up. She was awoken. Her memory’s choice of words. Not mine.”

A chill shot down Pablo’s spine, making him shiver.

“Look, man, I know you’re busy saving our races, but I’ll need you to make this a priority.” The telltale pause followed by a long exhale meant Kyle took a hit on his joint.

Pablo absently wondered how he kept in rolling papers, post apocalypse. “I’ll find someway to access nacre memory banks.” A thought struck him so hard that he frowned. “…Or push through encryptions.”

“Thanks, Doc. Over and Out.”

Nacres stored memories perfectly. Without all the interference from emotions and unreliable recollection. Three years into their reconstruction work and this was the first instance of Kyle failing to download a person’s history.

King Rayne of Earth and Cinder declared all Icari required examination upon entry into Earth. The Progeny males, nicknamed Story Taker and Conscience, screened the evacuating population of Cinder. Once cleared, they supplied the refugees with provisions before relocating to integrated communities dedicated to establishing a united world. Jobs, responsibilities, and education came with the package and all their needs fulfilled—as proclaimed by Rayne’s brother, King Regent of Earth, Jack Callahan.

For an Icarus to pass through the conduit without initial introduction to the system and supply no memories to screen certainly raised some red flags—

“Dr. Suarez. You’re needed in Med Lab 2.”

Pablo pushed up the sleeves on his lab coat. The medical calls never ceased. He crossed the suspended walkway connecting the cliff-face entrance into the Tritan-made facility, hanging off the mountainside. The seamless glass floor gave him an unobstructed view of the surf crashing miles below.

The sight of the water colliding with the rock reminded Pablo of the reason he hit up the comms device in the first place. Nothing—not even a weird nacre mystery and an inconveniently timed page—could ruin Pablo’s good mood. He hopped down a precariously mounted staircase and danced his way into Med Lab 2.

“Oh, not this again.” One of the technicians groaned the moment she laid eyes on him.

The second one held up his hands to stave Pablo off. “No. No. This is a professional facility. I won’t permit it.”

The newest technician stared at Pablo as he crossed the room with a dance slide to the glass panel. “What’s going on? Dr. Suarez? Is something wrong?”

Pablo Suarez grinned until all his teeth showed. “Not. At. All.”

“He only gets this way when she comes to visit. How long do we have to batten down the hatches?” The first technician made the sign of the cross.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Pablo chuckled without answering as he entered the lab.

Before the door closed behind him, the male technician remarked, “We may as well take off for the week. He won’t get any work done with Chief Lynn here.”

He was so very right. The Chief Medical Officer of the Two Worlds rubbed the gold-laced tattoo on his sternum. No work at all.

“Good morning, Dr. Suarez,” the Icarus called from his cell.

Pablo smiled. “Hello, Twenty-One. I apologize for interrupting your sleep rhythm.”

The tall alien shrugged in his scrubs. “I’m unbothered. Your presence is always welcome. What’s the occasion for the visit?”

In the dim lighting of the detainment pods, Twenty-One affected Pablo as a polite, retired soldier. His carriage always that of a man prepared to fight, but not encouraging one. In the scrubs, he almost came across as unintimidating.

But then Pablo remembered when Kyle told him the man’s memories included the lone massacre of a Colombian village during the initial 2006 invasion. How the Icarus laughed at the human children on fire crying for their parents. He belonged in this facility, and now Lynn wanted him transferred to hers.

“Twenty-One, you’ll see the night sky soon,” Pablo assured.

“Transferring me to weapons, are they?” The man approached the nacre-resistant barrier separating them.

“Well, you volunteered for this over Gait.”

The three-hundred and twenty pound mountainous warrior shuddered. “Anything is better than that hell.”

Pablo popped his brows and sighed. “Good to hear. I’ll get you set up—”

“You didn’t intend for it, Dr. Suarez, but your treatment of me here was better than anywhere else in my entire life. I thank you.”

Pablo shoved his hands in his lab coat pockets and tilted his head to the side as he considered the Icarus’ words. Nox’s Verse. It prepared him for moments like this. The decision to allow a man to find reformation under the care of better treatment. To consider this an opportunity for rehabilitation. To forgive.

“You’re right, Twenty-One. I didn’t intend for it. I treat you like a person ought to be treated, so maybe you’d learn how to treat others.” He scanned the Icarus’ eyes, a brown darker than his own. “We’ll find out during your transfer if I was wrong.”

The Icarus put his fist to his nacre, the salute of the Progeny’s asylum efforts. “I won’t disappoint you, Doc.”

Pablo smiled on his way out the door. He offered over his shoulder, “Good. You don’t want to upset Lynn.”

He let the door close on the Icarus’ shiver.

The three lab technicians—two lifers and one newbie—set about their preparations for the next experiment. Trademark design of the Tritans, the entire facility consisted of white stone and glass. But the original crew made it their own. A black, white, and gray color palette with the occasional pop of blue and red.

For Xelan.

Gray tile flooring and black walls for this lab. Dim perimeter lighting appeased the residents. The nicer word for the detainees.

“Did the volunteers sign all the consent forms?” He picked up a clipboard with the answers to his question. All six prisoners agreed to the latest Vittle supplement trial. “Good. Make sure we patch the results over to Conscience. He’ll want to adjust the growth formula based on this.”

This and the weapons facility existed to research nacre interaction on human and Icarean kind. The Brethren—the body governing the Two Worlds—hoped to improve performance, famine-tolerance, and intellect. While Enki sentenced most of the war criminals to Gait, many prisoners volunteered as specimens for the betterment of their people.

He approached the technician standing at the Enki projection of an advanced alien computer. “Can you pull up all the files for me on the nacre memory banks? It’s a direct request from Story Taker. If you could, I’d appreciate getting it by this evening. Please.”

“We’ll see to it, Dr. Suarez.” The newbie chirped up at Kyle’s codename.

Pablo didn’t mean to stare at the young woman for so long. In this life, they learned not to trust people. People with an abundance of enthusiasm were often spies. Imminent spies. Enki spies. Hell, human spies.

The original apocalypse crew, or the Shadow, looked after each other. Their mutual dependency mattered. They loved and lost together. They saved the Two Worlds together.

“I need some air.” He wasted no time to order a second, more extensive background check on the new technician. No chance of someone accusing him of paranoia. They lost so much to treachery and misplaced faith already.

As Pablo left the lab, he paid special attention to the expansive slate sign bearing the facility’s name.

Iona Medical Ecology

Take no chances.