The first hours of the second day passed in cold silence. Professor Geno Seliko buried himself in his papers and devices, while Doctor Dukken gazed out the window, observing the desolation and ruin after triple-checking the medical supplies. Meanwhile, the soldier, Milish, drove, following the path Geno had mapped out to ensure they remained undetected.
The driver broke the silence, addressing the scientist in the back: “You’re Geno Seliko, the one everyone’s after? The genius of Kovkon, as they call you, right?”
Geno gave no reply, his fingers tapping feverishly and nervously on his device.
“You don’t look anything like what I’d imagine for someone so important and brilliant,” the soldier added. But Geno’s tapping grew even faster and more violent. Frustrated, Milish barked: “Hey! I’m talking to you, old man!”
At that moment, Dukken calmly called out to the elderly scientist by name: “Professor Geno—”
Geno suddenly jerked upright, violently cutting him off: “Who? Who died?!”
Dukken froze in shock while Milish glanced at him through the driver’s mirror with disgust. The soldier sneered: “You will, if you don’t get a grip on yourself”
Geno stared blankly at Dukken with his wide, bloodshot eyes. Then he leaned closer, scratching his beard, scrutinizing the young doctor’s face. Finally, he asked: “He spoke to me, and I didn’t answer, did I?”, pointing by his hand towards Milish.
Before Dukken could say anything, the old man retreated, resuming his furious work with papers and devices.
Dukken watched the scientist and his actions closely, then mused silently: “I never thought I’d sit near one of them—let alone the oldest and most significant in recorded history!... The average Kovkonian lifespan is 350 years, but some live much longer due to a rare mutation: the Longevous”
He hesitated before cautiously asking Geno, hoping not to agitate him: “Professor Geno, if you don’t mind me asking... exactly how old are you?”
The old man raised his head sharply, his features distant and robotic as he replied: “One thousand, two hundred and twelve years, seven months, one day, five hours, thirty-four minutes, and fifteen seconds”
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After this meticulous response, Geno froze, his hands stretched forward like the paws of a dog, before suddenly turning toward the window with abrupt intensity.
Dukken continued his internal monologue: “What a living marvel! The oldest Kovkonian to ever live was seven hundred and five before he suicided. All of the Longevous go mad eventually—either taking their own lives or vanishing mysteriously. Yet this man has endured the ravages of our conflicts despite his deteriorated state. I must help him hold on—for beneath that chaotic mind lies knowledge and wisdom that could save our species after the war—”
His thoughts were interrupted by Geno’s frantic, high-pitched scream: “Stop! Stop! Stop! Stoooooooppppp!!!”
Milish slammed the brakes of the hovering vehicle—A vehicle floating on the ground with a magnetic force— and it almost overturned. Without hesitation, Geno leapt out and ran erratically into the scorched wasteland. Milish cursed and ran after him, followed by Dukken, who stopped a few steps later, unwilling to leave the vehicle unattended.
The soldier shouted at the old man to return, but Geno kept running through the dead land, a graveyard of burned trees, rubble from collapsed huts, and skeletal remains of Kovkonians. Suddenly, the scientist dropped to his knees, leaning close to the ground, his withered face lit up.
He had found a single, pristine flower that had survived the inferno that had engulfed the village. It was as if he had uncovered a treasure of his planet.
Milish, towering over him like a mountain with his massive gun in hand, glared down at the elderly man, who was smiling dreamily like a child.
“For this, you stopped us?” the soldier asked coldly.
Geno raised his head toward the muscular Kovkonian with an innocent grin. “Yes, yes! We’re facing an extinction crisis for plant species. This is a glimmer of ho—”
Milish silenced him by stomping on the flower, grinding it into the dirt and sending dust into the old man’s face.
“We’re on a mission vital to the nation’s survival, and you’re wasting our time for a flower?!”
He leveled his massive gun at Geno’s bald head, his voice dark and threatening: “I don’t care if you’re a scientist or a lunatic. Interfere with the nation’s interests again, and I’ll blow your head off!”
Geno remained kneeling, his face void of emotion, lost in another realm. After a few moments, he rose quietly, turned, and shuffled back to the vehicle without a word. Milish followed him, his weapon still raised, alert for any sudden movements.
Back at the vehicle, Dukken, who had watched the entire ordeal with growing anxiety, climbed in after them, and the group continued their journey.
Two hours passed, Dukken tried engaging Geno in conversation, but the scientist remained silent, staring out the window before eventually succumbing to sleep.
Dukken took over driving duties three hours later, allowing Milish to rest. Unlike the average Kovkonian, soldiers like Milish only required two hours of sleep. Once awake, the soldier inspected his weapons, keeping a wary eye on the sleeping scientist. He rarely spoke to Dukken, and when he did, it was only to discuss the brutal battles and massacres that had ravaged this part of the land.