Chapter 8

Log. 23364.f

Comet Treiny is getting closer everyday. Closer than it should be. Maybe the scientists were right. I’m starting to fear the worst. People from the Group are scared as well. I hope there are no big problems. I have read the research on the comet again and... the results were verified several times. Guess I just didn't wanna believe these projections, especially with so much that’s been happening at the same time.

Ganen had to admit, the lab in the hospital was much better than she expected. They seemed to have all the necessary tools to make herbal remedies, and cultivate microorganisms; there was a centrifuge and a fume hood, freezers, and tons of books.

They gave her a lab coat and a mask, then asked her to place some mouldy fruits into a large gallon. The other assistant, Myra, explained to her that they had been trying to make penicillin for a long time, but the bacterium culture didn’t seem to die when in contact with the penicillin paste.

Ganen looked at the mouldy orange on her hands; she had a good idea of what the Penicillium mould should look like from her days as a prime student in Tree City; she had also read all the books she could find on the subject. Making penicillin was one of the most prestigious jobs from where she came from, and she had some experience. She also knew getting the wrong fungus was a rather common thing. To the naked eye, they could be really similar.

— Is there a magnifying lens in here? A good one. — Ganen asked. They had a good one in Tree City.

— There should be one in that cabinet, but it’s fragile; why do you ask?

— A harmless little thing.

— You have to tell me, or else I can’t get it for you. — Myra was as short as Ganen, but her thick brows lent her expression much more power. — It’s the rule we agreed on, you agreed on.

— Fine.

They didn’t trust Ganen, and Yeff explained there would always be a guard near her, and she shouldn’t go around doing whatever she wanted to do; she had to follow the Chief Scientist’s orders until they knew she could be trusted.

After explaining her idea to Myra, the woman said Ganen wouldn’t accomplish anything, but got her the lens anyway. The machine looked like a weak microscope; it had a rather limited magnification, but that was enough for Ganen.

The Penicillium mould should look like a hand-fan made out of hundreds of tiny stalks finished in little balls. When Ganen adjusted the lens, that wasn’t quite what she saw. She raised her serious eyes to Myra:

— This is not Penicillium. It’s similar, but it’s something else.

— What?! It can’t be true, may I see?

— Yes. — Ganen took a step to the side.

After looking for a few minutes, moving the glass slide and turning it from one side to the other, Myra looked rather confused. She walked to a shelf in the other room and brought a book, opened it on a specific page and showed a picture to Ganen:

— This is the same as what I’m looking at. — Myra pointed to a picture. — It says here this is Penicillium.

Ganen asked to check the book and, as she read the introduction, there was a note saying some pictures had been placed on the wrong pages, and next to the text, a table showed the wrong and correct pages.

When Myra saw it, the colour fled from her face. They opened the correct page and Ganen pointed to a perfect little Penicillium.

— We’ve been growing the wrong fungus. — Myra covered her face in shame.

— You must always check this on books, sometimes printing goes wrong, even in the past. — Ganen set the book aside and looked at all that wasted food. — We should talk to the Chief.

Myra called the Chief Scientist and, once they explained the situation, the expression on his face made it clear he wanted to hide in a hole forever and disappear. He thanked Ganen for her wisdom, then sat on a chair, head resting on his hands.

— Right. Let’s clean this mess and get the right fungus. We have a small collection of plants and fungi, I’m sure the right one is there. Ganen, could you draw it for me, then make a note on the book? Ahn, write a note under the misplaced pictures, in red, so we don’t make the same mistake in the future.

— Yes, I can, it’s no problem. Is it okay if I do this while I check on Séra?

— I’d rather you don’t. You see, we try to keep the lab as clean as possible, we can’t risk getting pathogens on the books we guard in here.

— Oh, I see.

— But you may check on her before you start, it’s hard to work well when we’re worried about other things.

— Thank you!

She washed her hands and left the lab coat behind, then ran towards Séra’s room. It was small, large enough for a bed, some hospital equipment and an armchair — which had been her bed since she started working in the lab.

Ganen opened the door slowly, Séra seemed to be asleep. She’d been unconscious for almost two weeks, but at least her fever was better, thanks to the cold IV fluids, and she was starting to look a little less sick. She sat by her side on the narrow hospital bed and held her hand. It was bruised around the needle, but not swollen.

There were more bruises up her arms; as much as Ganen tried to keep her hydrated, her efforts didn’t bear much fruit, and finding a vein without hurting her had been a struggle. She hated seeing someone she loved so much like that, sick, weak, in pain, but at least Séra was getting a little better and they were closer to getting a working medicine.

— Can you believe they’ve been cultivating the wrong thing? — Ganen whispered as she brushed Séra’s dirty blonde hair with her fingers; it seemed as pale as her skin. — I’ve just discovered. But at least this is why it wasn’t working, so it’s going to work now, I’m sure of it. They’re using the same methods we use in Tree City, so it’s bound to work.

Ganen stared at her for what felt like hours. She just wanted her to get better. She wanted to see her smile again. Feel Séra’s arms around her in a gentle embrace.

— I don’t know what that word is, the 5-letter one, but it should be “Séra”, because you definitely are tough as nails. — Ganen dried her eyes and stood up. — I’ll call someone to change your IV bag, it’s almost over. I know you’re doing the best you can now, I’m doing my best too. I hope we can talk soon and leave all of this behind us.

She waited for an answer which didn’t come, then she kissed Séra’s forehead and said she’d be back in no time.

Log. 23357.r.b

So for now, I will be responsible for learning and making the necessary repairs. This is not ideal, in fact, it’s a very bad solution, but there’s nothing else we can do. At the moment, I'm the most suitable. I just hope I don't have any more problems with my battery.

The detectives still didn’t have conclusive evidence of who was the culprit, but they had a list of suspects, which was talked about quite a lot. Ganen wasn’t invited for those conversations, but nothing stopped her from overhearing.

The list had names of all of those who worked in the hydroplant the day before the infection started spreading, and it was a relief to hear herself and Séra weren’t among those names anymore. The people in the lab didn’t trust her yet, but at least they didn’t look at her as if she had killed their children anymore.

Alid and Ori, however, were still in the list, and they weren’t happy to hear about a new medicine in the hospital labs. Alid almost ripped the notice pamphlet as he read it. The younger man seemed calmer, he got up, slowly walked to his bag, and got a knife out of it.

— I think we’ll have to deal with the traitors, at least, in a more direct manner.

— Traitors? — Alid asked.

— The ones who left Sand City and abandoned the Sun.

— Oh, the blasphemous ones.

— Séra included. — Ori was calm, but his eyes glowed with hate.

— Let me see the names.

Ori offered him a polite smile and sat by his side, paper in hand. He recognised most of them, Tara, Raff, Earm…

— I think we should start as soon as possible. Tonight, even. Have you finished tracking all of them?

— Yes. I think that black girl should die with them. — Alid felt his own knife in his pocket. — People like her are dangerous.

— Do you know where she lives?

— Of course I do.

— Then it’s settled. Tonight, the Sun shall repent their lives while the Moon watches.

It wasn’t long before the sun sank in the west, and both men were prepared to bring justice to those who deserved. They decided it was faster if they split the work, so while Ori went looking for some people — those who lived alone and wouldn’t be missed so soon —, Alid walked to Ganen’s house.

He didn’t like walking at night, it was a treacherous time, and the Sun wasn’t there to protect him. Alid looked up to the Moon and cursed it; it had taken everything from him when he was not much older than five. His family, his house, his friends. No one helped him, no one cared, no one stopped to even look at him. And at that time, he was sure he would die on the streets, like a wretch.

Until a Sun priest offered him her hand and the kindest of smiles. Atana took him to Sand City, gave him a home, food, siblings, and a family. She gave him something to believe. And when she passed, her keen sense of justice was his heritage.

The Moon had taken everything, but the Sun gave it back. People respected Alid, and heard all he had to say. He was to be a missionary and a saviour, so as Atana had been in her life. He wanted to bring light and hope, and for such he had to take down the bringers of darkness.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Ganen’s house was dark and empty, the car — so obviously stolen from Sand City — was parked in front of it. It was impossible to miss. Alid took a deep breath, calmed his heart, and opened the wooden door.

He whispered a prayer as he walked into the house, maybe in death the girl could see the light and be saved. Or so he thought before seeing so much technology in such a tiny space: there was a metallic book on the bed, a soul-catcher, so many small devices he couldn’t even fathom what for. He wanted to burn it to the ground, but that would bring too much unwanted attention.

— I see you aren’t here, pest. — Alid mumbled. — I can’t destroy it now, but hopefully the Sun shall do it once it rises tomorrow.

He cut the tip of his finger and drew a sigil on the wall, a circle with four long rays and four short ones; in the centre of it, a flame. He was angry she wasn’t there and he couldn’t fulfil his role, but there was nothing he could do if the Moon was hiding her at that time.

Alid decided to look at the car, maybe, if it hadn’t been compromised, he could take it back once they were dead. He didn’t like them, but had to admit they were useful. The keys weren’t in the sun visor, as he expected, so he started looking around inside.

There weren’t as many abominable devices in the car, it seemed as if the woman had tried to hide all of them in the house, and as he was about to give up, he remembered cars generally had a boot for bags and tools. At first glance, it seemed normal and undisturbed, until Alid saw a padlock.

— The only things behind locked doors are secrets and disgrace. — he whispered.

Alid looked around to check if no one was watching; he couldn’t break the padlock, it wasn’t worth the risk of breaking his knife, but he could try to remove the hasp. He placed the blade between the metal and wood, then pushed. It resisted. He pushed again, and made a small gap. Good enough, he thought as he put the blade deeper.

— May the Sun shine its light on all your terrible secrets, blasphemous woman.

He pushed his knife one last time with renewed strength, and the sound of breaking wood had never been so harmonious. He smiled; people always concentrated on making the wrong thing sturdier. Always the body, never the mind, never the soul. Alid wasn’t a strong man, he was getting old and his muscles were starting to thin, but the Sun gave him all the necessary strength, his faith, and that’s all he needed besides his wiry muscles.

Without the hasp, he was able to remove the wood from the boot, and once he glanced inside, his heart stopped for a second. There was a person curled up in the boot.

— No, not a person. A Machine!

He almost fell as he stumbled backward, he had never seem such a thing, but there was no mistaking it. It had the shape of a person, but its metal body reflected the moonlight, promised ages of terror and disgrace.

— That’s why the Sun told me to stay.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down, with no success. His hand firmly gripped the knife and he plunged it down into the Machine’s neck. To no avail. There was, however, the most discrete scratch.

— I suppose the Sun will have to take care of you later, treacherous evil thing.

He scratched the same sigil he did inside the house, though not as well done as the first, then let a drop of his blood fill in the shallow lines. It had to be enough. That devil should never walk the earth again.

Log. 23357.r.a

I’ve needed to study more about our new bodies. We can no longer go to the Workshops, the last time the Robot Physicians already looked at us with distrust. I don't want to take any chances. It seems they know who is happy and who is not. And the Programmer draws attention when it’s needed to check something more complex in his system. We can no longer take risks, not now that we are so close to... not much, but, eh, we cannot lose the little we have.

Ori was on the other side of Bridge City, strolling around as if he wasn’t up for no good. It was better to start with people who wouldn’t be instantly missed, people who lived alone and were already sick. Once the city knew some were dying by knife, someone would certainly be arrested. But he wouldn’t be there when it happened.

And that’s why Raff was his first victim. They had been friends as children, but once a piece of Ori’s soul was stolen, people started avoiding him. And Raff was one of those. He stopped by the door for a moment, closed his eyes and asked the Sun for guidance.

He had never killed anyone before, the sick didn’t count. He had merely presented a challenge, and the Sun decided who was worthy of living and who wasn’t. Ori felt the knife in his pocket, felt the sun crest on his necklace, and prayed once more for strength.

Just like in Sand City, there weren’t locks on the doors, so he just walked in. The house was small, designed the same way as his, so it was easy to find the bedroom. Raff laid in the bed, he seemed to be asleep, and Ori thanked the heavens for it; he knew he couldn’t fight him if the man was awake.

He stopped by the bed, and stared at the man for a long time. He was pale and sick, thinner than Ori remembered, and his sheets smelt bad. His death would be merciful, the Sun wouldn’t let him suffer as much as the others.

Ori got his knife and paused. He wasn’t sure how to do it. He knew that cutting someone’s neck would kill them, it was basic knowledge, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to kill Raff like that. Maybe it was too easy. If he stabbed the man, he would also perish, no one would come for him, even if he managed to scream.

Then a smile filled his face; there was a good way of doing it, alright. Slowly, he got one of Raff’s hands and sliced his wrist open. Only then he noticed his mistake: the man opened his eyes and looked at him in pain and despair. Maybe because Ori knew pain so very well, he stepped back in awe.

— What are you… doing? — It took much more effort to raise his arm and, once he saw the blood pouring on his sheets, Raff’s eyes widened. — What is this?!

Ori swallowed hard as the red blood stained the beige sheets. Raff was trying to sit or get up — he would never know — when Ori’s body acted faster than his mind: with his knife firmly in his hand, Ori pounced over the sick man and plunged it into his chest.

The dying eyes looked at him with despair while Raff tried to grasp for air. He tried to reach the knife with his hands, but there was no strength left in him. Ori removed his knife, suddenly cold-headed, and watched as the man tried to stop the bleeding, even though he knew nothing could save him anymore.

The priest sat on an armchair by the bed and just breathed for who knows how long, while blood trickled down the bedding and stained the stone floor. He stretched his fingers and touched the dark red liquid, so thick, so warm, and wondered what it would be like when he died.

— Next time, I’ll just stab ‘em in the neck and get it over with. — he decided. Making it look like an accident or suicide was too much of a hassle.

He washed his hands and knife before he left, then closed the door as if it had never been opened. He looked at the sky, where the Moon shrouded itself in darkness. He had time for one or two more traitors, depending on how fast he was.

Earm was the next on his list, his house wasn’t far and he also lived alone. It should be easy. He thought all of that as training, practice for when he finally had the chance to kill Séra and get his sweet revenge. Maybe killing her would give him back the pieces of the soul he had lost, and he would finally be able to have a normal life, free of pain, full of breath. No more yellowish eyes and skin, no more having the floor swept off his feet. A normal life.

Once he arrived in Earm house, however, he noticed his intel was wrong: the man wasn’t alone. On his side in the bed, there was a woman who he held as he slept. Ori had never known love, his body ached when he thought too much about it, so he had cast it aside long ago. But looking at the man, he only felt rage.

Earm had something he didn’t deserve to have, while Ori would never have it. Even if someone was willing to try it with him, the pain wouldn’t let him continue. He wondered what sins he had committed in his past lives to deserve such a thing, for in this life, he had done nothing but dutifully serve the Sun.

He knew there was no way of killing only Earm, he would have to kill the woman as well, there could be no witnesses, they wouldn’t understand, but he only had one knife, so he had to think carefully of what to do next.

In the dim light of night, he couldn’t really tell who was sicker, Earm or the woman, and he knew he couldn’t fight them. Ori looked around in search for anything that could help him, a weapon, a club, anything, then gave up. There was nothing, and even if there was, he didn’t want to use any other thing besides his blessed knife.

He closed his eyes and prayed so that neither of them would wake up. Then he felt his answer, he should kill Earm first, he was the traitor; if the woman was able to get up and fight, then so be it. The will of the Sun would be fulfilled one way or another.

He placed one hand above Earm’s mouth, and the other — with the knife — on his neck. Ori counted to three, then pushed both down at once. Earm’s eyes opened and recognised his assassin for a split second, the Ori slashed his neck and the little life left in those brown eyes vanished into the dark.

Ori got his knife out slowly, he had to be sure Earm was gone, then he looked at the woman. She was still asleep. Maybe she doesn’t have to die, he thought, Maybe I can let her live. However, having the power of life and death on his hands messed with his head. She could be faking. She could recognize him and go to the law enforcers as soon as he left. He couldn’t let that happen.

Even though his bloody hands trembled as he walked around the bed, he was certain of what had to be done. She would go to the enforcers, they would investigate and find out he was responsible for those deaths. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let her live.

He placed his hands the same way he did to Earm, counted to three, then lowered them at once. She opened her eyes in terror only to close them in the next second. She was gone. And it was so easy. So, so easy. The Sun was indeed full of mercy, even for those who didn’t deserve it, it provided a quick relief from a sinful life.

Log. 23301.a

We decided that we are no longer fighting in the shadows! Huzzah! There is a town further east, an underground city where many of those who know about viruses seek shelter. The city is responsible for distributing energy, messages, and signals, in the event a disaster stops satellite signals from reaching Gaya. There are many humans, organic and inorganic, who have taken refuge in there. If we can get the antidote-code there, we may be able to distribute it more easily and to a much larger region. I’m thrilled!

Myra and Ganen had finished cleaning the incubation tank the day before, and Ganen had high hopes as she placed some mouldy oranges into it. They had confirmed it three times, it was the correct fungus, and by the end of the week, they would be able to test it.

She was excited with the prospect of saving Séra, of telling her she was the person she loved most in the whole world. She wanted to sleep by her side again, hear her laugh, and be hugged by her strong arms. She took a deep breath under her mask and worked until the Chief Scientist entered the room, late at night.

— Hey, Ganen, you look tired. And it’s late. You should rest.

— Are you sure there’s nothing else I can help with? — she asked.

— There’s always something to do. — He smiled; he also seemed tired. — But we can’t work well if we’re half-asleep. Shush, go rest. Tomorrow there’s more work to do. Do you want a ride to your house?

— No, I’m staying here with Séra. In case she wakes up, I think it will be good for her to see a familiar face.

— Are you married? — he asked, as he took off his lab coat and hung it on the wall. — I ask because I see how deeply you care about her.

— No. We’re… we’re friends. I do love her and I know she loves me back, but we haven’t really talked about it.

— Just acted on it? — He smiled as an old man hearing of his young grandkids adventures.

— Yeah. — She looked down, a bit embarrassed. She hadn’t had the chance to talk to someone about it, and the man wasn’t her first choice. — I don’t want to force anything or put any pressure, what we have now is good and it works for both of us, so… — She shrugged.

— I suppose that’s what matters. I’m just saying because I’d been in a similar situation a few years ago, and it was good when we sat down to talk about what we wanted with the relationship.

— What happened then?

— We got married. — He smiled, a shy expression she had never seen on his face before. — He is the most wonderful person in the world and my days have been brighter with him by my side. If your heart yearns for it, talk to her once she’s awake.

— I had been planning on it before she got sick. Guess I should take the chance once she’s better.

He nodded in agreement and, once out of the lab, they said their goodbyes and each walked their own path. Ganen let out a long yawn as she headed for Séra’s room. They had been working extra hard those last few days to make up for the ones they lost with the wrong fungus. She hadn’t been home in so long.

— Hello, hun. — Ganen entered the room and closed the door behind her. — Are you feeling any better? — She waited, but there was no answer. — We should start talking about waking up. If you stay in bed too long, you’re going to get sores.

She got Séra’s right leg and pushed it to her chest, bending the knee. Ganen held it like this for a few seconds, then did the same with the other. One of the nurses had taught her how to do it properly, and it would help with blood circulation and keeping the muscles from whittling away.

Once she was done with the leg exercises, she started stretching Séra’s arms, then her hands, and each of her fingers. They felt thinner than before, the skin was dry and even her nails looked frail. Ganen kissed her hands and rested them on the bed once more, always careful with the IV needle.

— I’m so afraid, Séra. I brought you here, so you can’t die on me! I’d feel guilty for the rest of my life. I don’t want to forget you, so you have to stay with me. — Ganen cleaned the tears on her face. — I love you… not in a “you’re my bestest of friends” way, but in a “my life has been happier since we’ve met and I’d love to share all the years I have left with you” way. — She waited and waited, brushed Séra’s hair with her fingers, then laughed of her own misery: — In books and stories, this is the time you open your eyes and say you love me back. Once we know the medicine works, you’ll be the first one receiving it, I promise. We’ll get out of here and we’ll live, okay?

Once again, Séra didn’t answer. Ganen knew she wouldn’t, her body was still too weak for her to wake up. And for the first time in almost twenty years, Ganen put her hands together and asked the Great Tree of Life to keep her beloved safe.