Malin came in. The smell of disinfectant there, in that small white room, was more penetrating than in the hallways, so much so that it almost made her sneeze.

After sharing a long look, Adam said, “Mah mouth’s-numb-cause-da-medicadion.”

His voice was a babbling full of Z’s and no R’s. He could barely open his mouth without his jaw hurting, or without the cuts on his lips reopening. Either way, he tried a smile to break his nervousness. Malin didn’t respond. She looked concerned and somewhat pale.

“Whoz-wehe-those guys in-ghay? Whad-says-da-note they-gave you? Is id-a thicked? Must be serious if you-hade-da gdim face.”

“Now I understand how Juzo felt when I went on and on talking,” Malin said and handed him the letter.

It was a subpoena. What the agent had overwritten with his pen was the date and time the meeting would take place.

Proxima City. October 11 of the current year.

Miss Malin Marie Viveka

Mister Adam White

We are writing to officially send you a MANDATORY summons to our offices, which are located in the Orbit II tower at the intersection of Sixth and Ninth Avenue in this city. The summons is scheduled for October 15 at 8 a.m. Please announce yourselves at our front desk.

Cordially, T.H., district chief.

As Adam read it, Malin got close to him and personally observed the conditions he was in. One thing was what the doctor said, and another thing was the verdict of a soldier who had seen hundreds of wounded during her short but intense military career. Just because she didn’t wear a uniform—and not have worn one for years—it didn’t mean she’d lost her experience.

Malin touched him here and there, opened his eyes, and looked at them carefully. To her surprise, he endured the discomfort without a single groan. The Adam who a few hours ago had left the apartment to go to the gym and the Adam she was in front of now were two different people… almost.

“Ocdobed 15? A liddle impaziend, don’-you dhink?”

“Consider yourself lucky,” she said. “When it comes to Satellites, few have the luxury of an extension date.”

She finished inspecting her partner and gave him air so he could stand up. Adam looked better than she would have imagined.

“I’ve waited for them since we first crossed the Kappa Point with Juzo,” she continued, tucking her hair behind her ear. “What surprises me is that they’ve taken so long to say hello.”

“Whad do-dey-do?”

“They are with the Satellite Agency, a secret international investigation agency with their eyes fixed on everything that comes out of my country,” Malin said.

Adam understood what that meant, and the dizziness that haunted him disappeared in a heartbeat.

“Whad comes out? Things like…?”

“Things like Juzo, me, Broga, Kitten and so many others,” Malin finished. “I assume they’re conducting an investigation into what happened that Friday night, and they want us to fill in the blanks.” She helped him to his feet. “Let’s go home. I’ll tell you about the rest on the way.”

They walked slowly down the uncrowded corridor of the hospital to the exit. That night, apparently, there hadn’t been any accidents or emergencies in that sector of the city; the only one hurt had been Adam.

“Don’t forget chamomile tea,” the gray-mustached doctor in a loose-fitting gown reminded them, sitting outside with a colleague, waiting for another patient to arrive. “It’ll help reduce the swelling.”

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They got to the street, and Malin looked for a taxi.

“We are in an era where science has given people the power to throw energy grenades through their hands,” she whispered to Adam, smiling, “and there’re still people who recommend chamomile tea for a swollen face.”

Adam nodded.

She looked at him. “You’ll try it, won’t you?”

Adam nodded again. “Anydhing to erase these hoddible marks as soon as possible.”

Midnight had fallen, and a cool wind ran between the buildings.

Adam moved his eyes—the only part of his body that didn’t feel numb—looking for men who wore gray suits and dark glasses, who might look familiar. Few people walked the street, no one with those characteristics. The only one in a suit was a fat man who looked more like an office worker than an agent.

Malin also observed the few passers-by, and then gazed up, looking around as if waiting to find someone peeking out a window or watching them from a nearby rooftop. Satellites could be anywhere. They could be right under their noses without them noticing.

“I know you think that unusual things never happen here; attacks with energy grenades and other things like the ones you’ve experienced in recent weeks,” Malin said. “I have news for you. They do happen. You just don’t see them because these people make sure you don’t. Just as they’ve taken Kitten away, they’ve taken many others.”

To Adam, the idea of an intelligence agency was not abstract at all. It was a very broad concept to digest so quickly, that was all, besides what it meant to be involved in the investigation into the murder of his brother. However, there were more urgent issues to attend to for the time being; like the pain he had just discovered by putting his ass in the taxi seat, for example.

“Andromeda skyscraper,” Malin said.

The autonomous taxi’s computer registered her order, and on the screen next to the steering wheel—which moved as if an invisible driver were driving it—the map of the city and the route to follow to their destination appeared.

The taxi moved forward, and the orange lights of the streets painted its silhouette.

“There’s another problem,” Malin continued the conversation.

Adam didn’t want to know anything about problems. He had no choice but to hear, though.

“You see, the Satellites don’t sympathize with the Imperial Army, no one in the world does,” she said; “that’s why they tend to turn a blind eye to the people who escape from the Markabian territory and settle elsewhere, alright, as long as they keep a low profile. The problem is that, if for some reason it is not convenient for them to have undocumented fugitives swarming foreign territory, they can deport them. And you know that Juzo and I have come clandestinely, using private military equipment. If the Satellites see me as a threat, they’ll hand me over to the Army, and there…” Malin made a motion as if hanging by the rope.

Adam had a lump in his throat.

“Ade you-goind-do-be depodted?”

Malin shrugged.

“I don’t know. If they had wanted to, they’d have done it by now, but—”

“Hey, they don’d-think I’m Juzo Romita, and I jusd changed-mah name to Adam White to throw them off, do they?”

“They know perfectly well who’s who, and I bet every strand of my hair they’re aware of the circumstances in which Juzo died,” Malin said, and Adam awakened that face that was beginning to be familiar to her; the face that asked to be told everything, but not everything, because everything scared him. She was about to say nothing, but she decided not to. Adam needed to know whether he wanted it or not. “The Satellites know where you live, where you work… They know everything about everyone. Through them, our informant located your whereabouts.”

Adam felt relief. He wouldn’t be confused with his twin and deported by mistake. Before Malin had spoken, he’d seen in her a gesture that he began to know; a gesture announcing that whatever she was about to tell him would have a terrible impact on him. But, contrary to what the girl thought, the fact that there were people aware of his life did not make him feel threatened at all. After all, every time he punched in his code to pay for something or contacted the phone company to request anything, what he was doing was announcing his movements to anyone with access to the networks of the corporations and banks in the city. Not to mention, of course, that he was the purchasing manager for one of the most important companies on the Rodinian continent. Hell! He’d even appeared on the cover of Loud magazine! If there was an intelligence agency that didn’t know who Adam White was, they had to quit their job and pursue something else.

All right, now that he thought it out, he’d been a fool for thinking he could be mistaken for Juzo.

The taxi got into a not-so-busy tunnel, and the orange-toned lighting changed to a blue one. According to the map on the screen, they were only a few blocks from home.

“Malin, I wandda azk you zomezhing. If everydhing goes well with da-Sadellites, I wandda you to-train me.”

The girl nodded with a smile.

“Following a lead on an obituary,” she said, “and wasting my entire day on a bus, touring this damn city in search of a damn warehouse, slapped my spirit as an intelligence soldier, maybe forever. I’m much more tempted by working as a drill instructor now.”

No more beatings, Adam thought and felt a lump in his throat once again. His pride had gone to the trash, but he was ready to pull it back out.

No more beatings. It was a promise.