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  Epos (Maltia)

  5 November 2355

  Ethan’s 15th day on Tersain

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  Hey, hey, hey… get a grip!

  This won’t do. Somewhere, at a subconscious level, my mind has been triggered by Dawn’s familiar behaviour to create connections I’m not used to. The problem isn’t her gestures themselves, but the meanings I attach to them.

  Honestly… I wasn’t prepared to deal with this situation.

  It’s getting a bit too warm…

  No… it’s definitely far too hot. I’ve started to sweat.

  Come on, I’m overreacting! All because a girl’s treating me with a lot of familiarity… well, it is a rare event… sure, Maggie does that too, but… I don’t know, it’s not the same…

  Such thoughts chase each other frantically around my mind in an instant. An emptiness opens up in my chest, while a cascade of sensations floods my head—a sign that who knows what absurd quantity of neurotransmitters is being released in my brain.

  In front of me, Dawn smiles, unaware of what’s happening to me. Then, she looks surprised.

  “But…” she says.

  I blink.

  “Wha…what?”

  “The scratches… on your face…”

  Dazed, I mechanically touch my face.

  “I’ve got scratches?”

  “You scratched yourself during the fight…”

  The girl reaches out to touch my face. With all my sensations heightened, I feel as if I’m catching fire.

  “But… for a moment they became more visible, and then…”

  My whole body is burning. It’s a bizarre reaction, concentrated in certain areas. My face, my neck, but also my torso, my left wrist, and even my muscles.

  Wait… something’s odd.

  When I realise that this warmth isn’t just coming from my emotions, the embarrassment suddenly vanishes, replaced by puzzlement. In that very instant…

  … the heat fades, leaving me as I was before.

  What the hell was that?

  I stare at Dawn, who returns my gaze. She looks amazed.

  “Curious,” she says. “Your scratches… look older than they actually are.”

  “I… but…” I murmur, realising something. “My muscles… they don’t hurt anymore.”

  “Good for you, isn’t it?”

  “But…”

  I examine my arm.

  “Ever since they shot me with the ilectron gun, I’ve been full of aches,” I assert. “Sometimes I’ve even felt jolts running through my body, as if there was still some electricity left inside. Obviously, it was just a sensation. But now… it’s suddenly all gone.”

  Dawn takes a few steps back and stares at me, hands on her hips.

  “You’re a quite strange one,” she declares. “And even stranger things happen to you.”

  She huffs. Then, almost marching, she comes over and grabs me by the arm.

  “Let’s go,” she says. “I want to get something to eat.”

  And as if firmly determined not to let me sink back into an abyss of overthinking, she drags me away. I let myself be led, but as we leave the room I touch the places where I banged myself when the velivus crashed. At least those still hurt.

  But, come to think of it, those are some of the very spots where I felt that intense warmth just now.

  ???

  Half an hour later, having left the mess hall, we head together towards the quarters. Perhaps because I’m now feeling physically better, I’m back in a good mood. I almost end up forgetting the strange events of the day, or at least I manage to confine their memories to a corner of my mind.

  Stay there and vent in silence, I told myself, as if the recollections rising up in my mind had a consciousness of their own. I’ve had enough of you for today.

  We’re near the lift that will take us to the quarters when a figure comes running towards us.

  “Oh… hello, Nipria,” I greet her, recognising the artificer.

  “Ethaaaan!” she bursts out, almost knocking into me.

  Stopping in front of me, the girl looks me up and down. Then she sighs.

  “Thank goodness!” she declares.

  “Eh?”

  “They said you’d been caught up in a gunfight!” Nipria exclaims. “And that you even ended up in the iatreion! I was worried, you know?”

  “Ah…” I reply. “Well, thanks… I mean… I’m fine, you see?”

  “Why does a philosopher have to go on this kind of mission? I don’t get it!” protests the artificer. “You should stay safe and leave those tasks to the soldiers!”

  “In actual fact, we weren’t supposed to fight.”

  The girl huffs, glancing away with a dissatisfied air. I glance at Dawn, instinctively asking for help in handling this odd situation. She looks puzzled, and clearly doesn’t want to get involved either.

  “Anyway… try to be more careful, ok?” says Nipria.

  “I’ll try,” I agree, not really knowing what else to say.

  It’s not as if what happened was entirely up to me.

  The artificer nods. At that moment, the lift arrives on our floor, and the three of us get in. An awkward silence falls, lasting until we reach the quarters level.

  Maybe I should say something, I think during the ascent. But… after that little scene earlier, it’s a bit difficult to come up with a suitable way to start a conversation.

  Once we get out of the lift, Nipria, almost reluctantly, parts from us. Dawn and I, on the other hand, still have a corridor to walk down together.

  “She seems to have grown fond of you,” the girl comments, presumably referring to the artificer.

  “So it seems… and yet, we hardly ever talk,” I reply. “After all, we work in different areas.”

  “Mm… oh, really?”

  I find it a strange response, but I don’t worry about it much. So, we don’t say anything more until we reach a junction of corridors. There we part ways.

  Dawn’s “goodnight” is this:

  “Make sure you’re in shape tomorrow, because I want to see if we can put your so-called martial arts to use in a real fight.”

  Are you kidding? I think, as I enter my quarters. Frankly, I just hope I won’t have to fight anyone again.

  And yet, I can’t help but recall what I’ve effectively promised: to help the Sanders… no… deep down, I’ve committed myself to helping Dawn find her father. In all likelihood, I’ve just signed myself up for a series of situations no less dangerous than the one I faced today.

  Come to think of it… does it really matter? I wonder, adjusting the bandage on my left wrist. If there’s no way to get home, I could throw myself into risky situations and…

  I stop, weighing my inner reactions to such a thought.

  … no. Even in these conditions, I don’t want to die.

  I think about what I have back home and can no longer reach. My family… yes, I care about them, but I won’t die of anguish for being far away from them. Perhaps it’s because, deep down, I was already prepared for the idea that sooner or later life would naturally drive me away from the “nest”.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  As for my class… I don’t much care about them. Sure, there are a few exceptions: Maggie, Nate… and Lizzie.

  I would have thought that I’d miss Lizzie more, I consider, sitting down on the bunk. But…

  For some reason, recalling Lizzie’s image no longer stirs much emotion in me. I’d already noticed it over the past few days, and I assumed it was just the stress of having to adapt to this new environment. But now, I realise that thinking about my crush affects me even less. It’s a disorientating change, given how strong my emotional reactions were just a couple of weeks ago—reactions that had remained steady for years, ever since I first fell for my classmate!

  But if, on that front, a strange emptiness seems to have formed within me, my capacity to feel emotions doesn’t seem impaired… on the contrary.

  I touch my face, memories drifting towards what’s happened in the past hour. I recall the heat triggered by Dawn. Then, suddenly, my gaze shifts to my wrist. Just now, while I was adjusting the bandage…

  “Nothing?” I murmur.

  This afternoon, the skin showing beneath the dressing was still a bit blotchy from the old burn. Now, though, the skin is smooth and a natural colour.

  I untie the bandage, not caring about how I’ll put it back on afterwards. When I’ve removed it, my eyes widen.

  It’s healed!, non avremmo dovuto combattere?.

  La ragazza sbuffa, spostando lo sguardo altrove con aria scontenta. Lancio un’occhiata a Dawn, in un’istintiva richiesta d’aiuto nel gestire una situazione strana. Lei è perplessa, ed evidentemente non vuole neanche intervenire.

  ?Comunque… cerca di stare più attento, eh?? dice Nipria.

  ?Ci proverò? acconsento io, senza sapere che altro rispondere.

  Non è che sia proprio dipeso da me, quel che è successo.

  La geniera annuisce. In quel momento, l’elevatore giunge al nostro piano, e tutti e tre saliamo su di esso. Cala un silenzio imbarazzante, che perdura finché non raggiungiamo il livello degli alloggi.

  Forse dovrei dire qualcosa penso durante l’ascesa. Ma… dopo la scenetta di prima, è un po’ difficile trovare una frase adatta ad iniziare una conversazione.

  Una volta che scendiamo dall’elevatore, quasi a malincuore Nipria si separa da noi. Io e Dawn, invece, dobbiamo percorrere ancora un corridoio insieme.

  ?Sembra ti si sia affezionata? commenta la ragazza, immagino riferendosi alla geniera.

  ?Parrebbe… eppure, non parliamo granché? replico io. ?Del resto, lavoriamo in zone diverse?.

  ?Mh… ah, sì??

  La trovo una strana risposta, ma non mi cruccio molto. Così, non diciamo altro finché non arriviamo a un incrocio di corridoi. Lì ci accomiatiamo.

  L’augurio di “buonanotte” di Dawn è questo:

  ?Domani fa’ sì di essere in forze, perché voglio vedere se riusciamo ad applicare le tue cosiddette arti marziali in un combattimento vero?.

  Scherziamo? penso, entrando nel mio alloggio. Piuttosto, spero di non dover combattere di nuovo con nessuno.

  E tuttavia, non posso non ricordare quanto in pratica ho promesso: aiutare i Sanders… no… in cuor mio, mi sono impegnato ad aiutare Dawn a ritrovare suo padre. Con tutta probabilità, ho sancito il mio ingresso in una serie di situazioni non meno pericolose di quella vissuta oggi.

  A rifletterci… importa qualcosa? mi chiedo, aggiustando la benda che porto al polso sinistro. Se non c’è modo di tornare a casa, posso ficcarmi in situazioni a rischio e…

  Mi blocco, valutando le mie reazioni interiori a tali ipotesi.

  … no. Anche in queste condizioni, non ho voglia di morire. Per quante cose abbia perso…

  Spontaneo, mi viene da pensare a ciò che ho a casa e che non posso più raggiungere. La mia famiglia… sì, ci tengo, ma non morirò d’angoscia standone lontano. Forse è perché, in fondo, ero preparato all’idea che prima o poi la vita mi avrebbe fatto naturalmente allontanare dal “nido”.

  Riguardo alla mia classe… di quella m’importa poco. Certo, qualcuno si salva: Maggie, Nate… e Lizzie.

  Avrei creduto che Lizzie mi sarebbe mancata di più considero, sedendo sulla brandina. Ma…

  Per qualche motivo, il rievocare l’immagine di Lizzie nella mente non mi trasmette più molta emozione. Me ne sono accorto già negli ultimi giorni, e ho supposto che fosse dovuto allo stress causato dall’adattarmi a questo nuovo ambiente. Ma ora, noto che pensare alla mia cotta mi fa ancor meno effetto. Un cambiamento disorientante, visto quanto potenti erano le mie reazioni emotive giusto un paio di settimane fa; reazioni rimaste stabili per anni, da quando mi sono infatuato della mia compagna di classe!

  Ma se su quel versante uno strano vuoto sembra essermisi formato dentro, la mia capacità di provare emozioni non pare compromessa… anzi.

  Mi tocco il viso, i ricordi che vagano verso ciò che è successo nell’ultima ora. Rammento il calore scatenato da Dawn. Poi, di colpo, rivolgo lo sguardo sul mio polso. Poco fa, mentre mi sistemavo la benda…

  ?Niente?? mormoro.

  Oggi pomeriggio la pelle che sporgeva da sotto la fasciatura era ancora un po’ macchiata a causa della vecchia ustione. Adesso, però, la cute è uniforme e di un colore naturale.

  Mi sciolgo la benda, senza preoccuparmi di come rimetterla dopo. Quando l’ho rimossa, sgrano gli occhi.

  è guarita!

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Epos (Maltia)

  6 November 2355

  Ethan’s 16th day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  “… are you really sure?”

  The iatreion room I’m in is a more secluded space compared to the large hall full of patients that serves as the entrance. It’s a bit quieter here, and this is where Ehliana brought me when I came in for the check-up she recommended after the expedition.

  The young woman is examining the skin on my wrist. One of her fingers moves hesitantly over my skin, as if testing its texture.

  “Yes,” I reply. “I know it sounds absurd… but… it wasn’t like this yesterday morning.”

  A strange tremor slips into my voice. An involuntary manifestation of the confusion I’m feeling.

  As if sensing it, the philosopher lifts her gaze to meet mine, staring straight into my eyes.

  Given how close she is, I’m able to observe her scarlet irises particularly well. It’s not the same red as that of albinos; apparently, on Tersain, it’s a rare pigmentation, but nonetheless present in the population. It’s odd for someone like me, who isn’t used to it… but not unpleasant.

  “All right,” she says, letting go of my arm. “Don’t worry. Healing is always a good thing.”

  “Yes, that’s true. It’s the way it’s happened that… well…”

  There’s no need for me to go on. It’s obvious that I shouldn’t have recovered so quickly.

  It’s not just what was left of the burn on my wrist that’s disappeared. There’s also no trace left on my torso of the burn caused by the lightning. It’s almost comforting that I’ve still got some aches from the velivus crash—the only normal thing about all this.

  Last night, at first, I concluded that maybe I was just a bit confused, and that I’d actually been feeling better for longer than I’d realised. Even the disappearance of the lingering effects from the ilectron gun could be justified. And yet, I couldn’t help but find that rationalisation… forced.

  Pacing back and forth in my cabin, I eventually decided it was best to ask for an “expert opinion”. And here I am, discussing it with Ehliana.

  I probably look a bit of a fool, but I can’t just ignore it. It’s worth a try if there’s even a small chance the philosopher can give me some useful information.

  Ehliana doesn’t answer my words. Her gaze shifts to the side, uncertain. Yes, I must seem rather odd to her. And she doesn’t seem to have an answer for me.

  Oh well. I gave it a shot.

  “Never mind,” I tell her. “It’s nonsense.”

  “Don’t your own knowledge suggest anything useful?”

  She asks me this suddenly, turning her gaze back to me. I blink, puzzled.

  “… sorry?”

  “Something like the story about antibiotics and those ravdos… the bacteria,” she says. “I can’t explain what’s happened to you, but what about you?”

  “Ah… no, it’s abnormal even for my…”

  I stop. I was about to say “world”. But I don’t want to seem even stranger to her.

  “… well, for the place I come from,” I finish. “I mean, I believe—and I do mean believe—there are ways to make wounds heal faster, but it’s not as if I’ve used any. I don’t even know them.”

  “Mmm… well, I don’t clearly remember what your old wound looked like yesterday,” she says. “It’s a bit hard for me to judge.”

  Her gaze is fixed on me… and now, her previously thoughtful expression shifts ever so slightly. I see small wrinkles forming around her eyebrows as she raises them, the corners of her mouth turning down a little.

  “Anyway, try not to brood over it,” she tells me. “There’s no point dwelling on it too much. Let’s see how things go over the next few days.”

  I sense an attempt not to make me worry.

  Does she feel sorry for me? Yes, it seems like a display of compassion. I must be coming across as a bit too anxious.

  But in truth, what reason do I have to feel this way? It’s not as if anything bad has happened. It’s inexplicable, yes… but I haven’t got symptoms of some illness I don’t understand. So there’s no benefit in getting lost in fruitless reflections… and in anxieties I might end up unloading onto others.

  Even though I’d like to make sense of this, I have to accept that I lack both the elements to succeed, and a way to obtain them. For now.

  “That’s true,” I say with a smile, trying to dispel the mood I must have caused in the philosopher. “The fact I’m all right is a good thing.”

  “Exactly,” she nods, returning my smile. “Yesterday was a bad day for you, and it’s normal for you to have a few paranoias. It happens to a lot of the injured I see here.”

  “Ah… I imagine you have them often,” I murmur.

  “Not all that often, but it’s not rare,” the young woman replies. “You… how are you feeling?”

  Once again, she’s looking at me intently, as if to make sure nothing escapes her notice.

  She’s right to expect that I’m not fine. Yesterday, I was truly out of sorts. Feeling threatened by a flood of worries and anxieties, I pre-emptively pushed away many thoughts before they could invade me, but a few still managed to brush against me while I was lying in bed trying to sleep.

  The mysterious healing… the flames moved by my hand… the tension of the battle… the possibility that I might have contributed to killing people. That last thought took a good deal of rationality to remind myself that, even though I dealt serious wounds to the soldiers, the fatal blow didn’t come from me. Probably.

  “… fine,” I reply, nonetheless. “I’ve recovered a bit… ah…”

  I think it’s time to do something. There’s another worry that struck me at some point last night. One that, though the least serious of all the things that happened, turned out to be important enough that I clung to it.

  So much so that I got up from my bunk and sat down at the cabin desk to write, putting to the test what Archeos has been teaching me about the Maltian alphabet.

  “I was really… rude yesterday,” I admit, reaching my right hand behind my neck, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. You were trying to talk to me, and…”

  She widens her eyes for a moment. Then, she raises a hand.

  “It was me who was tactless,” she says. “You’d just come back from the mission, and I started asking about things that were completely irrelevant at the time. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Oh, no… it didn’t seem strange to me at all,” I assure her.

  Ehliana watches me, her expression unreadable. I can’t tell whether she’s puzzled, thoughtful, or something else entirely. This woman hides her emotions very well… ah, look who’s talking.

  “Anyway, it’s true I don’t know anything about medicine,” I add. “I’m sorry, but I really wouldn’t know how to help you here in the iatreion.”

  “… all right, never mind,” she nods.

  “But if it’s something not directly related to the subject… that’s a different matter,” I go on. “My knowledge is a bit theoretical, but… perhaps there’s something in chemistry, or physics, or biology that could be of use to a doctor.”

  She blinks, a hint of confusion showing on her face, perhaps because of the terms I’ve used. There’s also a trace of annoyance. She doesn’t seem to like being in a position where she doesn’t know what the other person is talking about.

  Is it pride? If so… I need to try to get past that obstacle. And perhaps what I prepared yesterday will help me with that.

  “I’ve put together what I know,” I explain, pulling a folded sheet of paper from my pocket. “I still struggle a bit to write in your script, but I hope it’s legible.”

  And I hand her the piece of paper. She takes it, unfolding it and studying its contents closely.

  “If you give me some specific problems you want to solve, maybe I can work on them,” I suggest. “In the meantime, those are ideas I thought might have a chance of leading somewhere. They’re complicated matters, but… if we collaborate, maybe something useful will come out of it.”

  It’s curious that, of all the things that bothered me yesterday, the idea of having hurt or offended the philosopher was the one that pushed me to act. Perhaps because it was the only uncertainty I could actually do something concrete about… but I think there was something else driving me as well.

  In the midst of confusion and negative emotions… worrying about someone else’s problem felt like a kind of saving grace. It’s a strange sensation, one I’m not used to… and now, seeing a light come on in the philosopher’s eyes, I feel it intensify.

  I did the right thing, writing down those ideas.

  “Oh… collaborate, uh?” she smiles, glancing up from the sheet. “I’m not someone who’s easy to work with. I’m rather fussy.”

  “… ah, I’m not particularly,” I reply. “But… I’ll try to adapt.”

  “Not particularly… you say?”

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