Chapter 16- Dr. Lena

  I met my sister for the first time, eight years after her death, behind a two-foot-thick glass, in a barricaded room where they kept her for the majority of her life. She looked nothing like me, nothing like our parents, nor the average human being.

  For one, her eyes were hazardous green, sickly blue veins spread from her lids to her cheeks like spider webs. The left side of her face sagged as if she were a doll that had been hovered too closely by fire and melted. She stood on two stump legs, flesh swollen, decaying, one jolt from bursting, yet her shadow looms tall over me.

  I asked Dr. Lena. “Ama, what’s wrong with her?”

  Though my heart knew the answer, I wanted a verbal confirmation.

  “She’s ill,” Dr. Lena replied. “You’ve seen this before. The first stage of Bonucleus.”

  Yes, but never to this extent. Not even the textbooks had descriptions or sketches this gnarly. The studies I’ve seen were early—hours or days after the virus infected the human body. They still appeared human. Sani had no indications she was even coherent, after all these years hidden in Lotus’s West Bowen facility.

  Dr. Lena was the director of the Neurological Research Facility, built thirty miles from the West Bowen’s border in the Void, where the closest Infectants were legally allowed to live without being shot on sight.

  People expected great things from the most renowned neurosurgeon. Dr. Lena’s most successful work was swapping the brains of two dogs. Puppies from the same litter, so their body won’t reject the organ. In post-studies, the dogs showed signs of old behaviors and habits from their former bodies. It was a huge breakthrough, even outside the scientific world.

  And she couldn’t have done it without Vikson.

  According to Dr. Lena, he had his eyes on her since her academy days when she made a light that turns on and off by wearing a head device. If she closes her eyes for three seconds, the lights connected to the device will flip on, and if she stares at the light for three seconds, it shuts off. Vikson offered her a position the moment she stepped out of her graduation ceremony.

  Then she went on to further her studies, creating the neurochip inserted right at the temples, a sensory drug that later became SNO we used in the Arena, and many of today’s tech I’d been too young to remember.

  The things I mostly remember were the lessons Dr. Lena drilled into me the moment I could walk. She didn’t put me in any schools or in anyone's care; she educated me herself. She quizzed me during car rides, walks in museums, at the dinner table, and whenever I’d get questions wrong, she’d cast a glare of disapproval, and I wouldn’t see her for days to come—her way of discipline. Then she’d hand me a textbook to study during the days between her absence and to answer correctly the next time I saw her. When I did, she’d give a sharp nod of acceptance, one I had learned to crave heavily.

  Once a season, she’d like to put me to a real test and enter me into a scholastic competition with other kids my age. I’d always win, of course, bring home a medal or trophy for the shelf. There was no world where I’d lose if I were Dr. Lena’s daughter.

  It was also the only time I ever dwelled or associated with other kids my age. After the competition, they would hold a small celebration for all contestants, a small cake, consultation toys and books, and a place for the six-year-olds to make friends. But Dr. Lena always pulled me out of the building right after they handed me my trophy.

  “Those kids are not your friends,” she explained on the ride home. “They’re your competition.”

  My mother never sugarcoated the harsh reality to me. She often spoke her mind, her undeniable facts, and logic. It was better to break the delusions and my picturesque mind early so that she wouldn’t hear any stupid questions out of my mouth.

  “I can’t speak to my competitors?” I asked. Dr. Lena gave me a glimpse over her shoulder. She was always prepared for my retaliation, any retorts, or defiance; in fact, she encouraged debate because she knew she’d always win with her reasoning.

  “You’re the smartest one there,” she said. “What do you hope to gain in a room full of children way below your intelligence? They’ll only pull you down to their ineptness.”

  I didn’t argue with that, but—“I still want friends. Like you do.” The other specialist, researchers in her facility, the ones with whom Dr. Lena shared her live events. Especially like Aba, who always attracted a multitude of people the moment he stepped into the room.

  “Friends. Hmm.” Dr. Lena nods to herself, neither approving nor disapproving. “Do you know who you can trust? Definitely none of those kids you compete with. Think about it, Qonni, they all want your spot. The moment a chance arises, they’ll betray you just to get ahead. That’s what these friends do.”

  Unless I find another kid whose intelligence was similar to mine and not my competitor in any way, Dr. Lena disapproved of a single soul. And most of the time, she was right. The other kids I’d been introduced to couldn’t understand most of the fallacies that could be easily disproved, that the gum they swallowed won’t stay in your stomach for seven years; that they probably shouldn’t eat the candy on the ground even if it passes the ‘five-second-rule’; or that the chocolate in the sand pit wasn’t actually chocolate.

  “Here,” Dr. Lena says and pulls out a textbook from her bag. It was her latest published work. “It won’t be on shelves for another few months. You’re the first to read.”

  Her reward for my victory. Upon laying hands on the textbook, a grin curved across my face. This was our bonding time. We’d have plenty of discussions, and it was a magical moment. Our thoughts would intertwine and spiral. I’d add onto her thoughts, and she’d do the same to mind. She never once rejected an idea of mine; instead, she turned it into a concept, expanded it into something tangible until it was within reach. A special connection between us, we couldn’t link with anyone else.

  I was her seed; she nurtured me closely, making sure our roots were entwined in the same soil. I was happy to accept it all, her knowledge, her entire life experience, even if I’d become the product of her ego.

  I was never happier to show off what I was to her associates, her staff, and co-workers at her facility. I introduced myself to all of them, properly like any adult would—a firm handshake and good eye contact—and was able to practice my languages with them, along with sharing my ideas. But they never reciprocate the same way Dr. Lena would, and praise me for being so knowledgeable. After all, our ages were decades apart; no matter how much I spoke of the subject in their field, they saw me as nothing but an ambitious child to be rid of quickly.

  “What do you do here, Ama?” I asked the first time I stepped foot into the facility.

  “All sorts of things.” She gestured to the many departments in the wards. “But mostly, we’re all here because we want to know the truth.”

  “Truth about what?”

  “Of life. So, really, about everything.”

  When Dr. Lena finally introduced Sani into my life, I never felt more psyched to have another like-minded person in my life. Though I was still heavily disappointed to learn that Sani wasn’t a carrier, the feeling of kinship never left. I knew Dr. Lena brought me into this facility for a reason.

  “You’ll save her, right?” I asked. I was jumpy, tapping on the glass since Sani didn’t respond to my wave and shouts.

  Dr. Lena seized me back from the glass. “Do you remember what I said about spooking them?”

  I swallowed my thrill. “It wasn’t my intention.”

  “Whether it was deliberate or not, anything small can trigger Bonucleus to mutate. And this facility cannot keep any Mutants. Do you remember why?”

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  I nod. This was another one of her quizzes. “Once the Infectant turns into a Mutant, there’s a likely chance they’ll evolve into a Variant.”

  “And what happens when there’s a Variant among this many Infectants?”

  “They’ll all heed the Variant’s call and mutate. The change is irreversible, thus the cause for many outbreaks in history.”

  At this research facility, Dr. Lena studies brains from mutated individuals salvaged during outbreaks. Most of them were from Infectants, and a few mutants. And, if viable, pieces from Variants. She kept live subjects like my sister, of course. Hand-selected those who were amenable and non-violent when they were healthy, since those traits carry over.

  Dr. Lena nodded and dropped her shoulders. “But luckily for this facility, there’s a failsafe in case any of them do shift into Variants.” She points above her to a small hole in the ceiling. There were a number of them in every room and in every hall I’ve walked across. “You see these openings? When the cameras detect a Variant, the pair of red eyes, the system will go into lockdown. All doors and windows will seal shut; no one can get in or out. Then flames will erupt from the opening. Do you know what will happen to everyone inside?”

  I took a long moment to answer, hoping I was wrong. “They’ll all burn.”

  “Correct.”

  My stomach sours. “But…you’ll be safe, right? It’ll only kill the Infectants?”

  Dr. Lena stared at me blankly. For a flash in my life, she gave me the feeling she might just lie. But of course, that was not who my mother was. She faced directly at the ceiling, the hole directly above her nose.

  My mind pictures the flames blasting down, the fire burning everything to cinders. “No…”

  “I’m afraid it’s all protocol,” she regrettably answers. “There’s no need for you to worry. I’ve been in this facility since the beginning. For over a decade, I’ve never once come close to an incident so perilous. As long as I’m still the director, an incident like that will never happen under my nose.”

  In this facility, there’d never been a record of an Infectant mutating. Most of them are discarded as protocol once an Infectant reached the late stage where they couldn’t see or breathe on their own. It’s a slow and painful death, and Sani is coming close to that stage. Dr. Lena estimated Sani had another three years to live.

  Admittedly, Sani should’ve been dead long ago when Bonucleus symptoms started shortly after I was born. I wasn’t sure if my parents knew she wasn’t a Carrier, perhaps they did, and hid it well, hid it until they couldn’t, so they could keep the Gaia they yearned so hard for. But the moment Sani’s eyes blinked green, Dr. Lena took her to NRF and, with some connections, signed her death certificate.

  My mother was careful, embalming Sani at the mortuary herself, with a closed-casket funeral, burying an empty box. She registered Sani as an unfortunate orphan in her system, so no one looked into her history. Other than Aba and I, no one else knew of this clandestine operation.

  “What can I do?” I asked once I understood what I was doing here.

  Dr. Lena's smile was burdened. “The two of you share the same blood type; her body won’t reject your blood transfusion. We need your blood.”

  So once a week, I traveled back and forth from north to west Bowen to donate my blood. I was never told what they’d done with it, only that they needed it to mix with a serum. I’d watch Sani through the thicket of her confinement, and witness her improvement in the year that followed. She’d respond when I showed at the window, and walk toward me. Her swell had waned, and she wobbled less in her steps. I remember how thrilled I’d been seeing her well again, and the following week couldn’t come any faster.

  That was until six months later, when Sani spewed buckets of blood and bile from her mouth. Her entire confinement was soiled, dripping in hazardous steam. Her body was rejecting Dr. Lena’s dosage. The months that followed were horrid and unfruitful.

  “Why is this happening?” I asked.

  Dr. Lena shut the curtains, closing the view on Sani, where she’d lie on the bed, green drool staining the sheets. “Bonucleus is a virus. Viruses adapt and evolve, just as humans have throughout history, to survive in their environment. Unfortunately, Bonucleus adapts and evolves quickly than we can counter. Which is why we’re losing the war.”

  The neurosurgeon kept a blank face as she entered the reports into the system, but I could tell she was shaking underneath her calm demeanor. She’d been on edge the last few months, smoking more outside the facility, and quick to lose her temper.

  “Is she going to die?” I dared to ask.

  I expected a shout from her, or at least demanded I leave the room so she could think in peace, about what she’d been doing the last few visits. Instead, she replied, “Death is always a possibility, and I’d been lucky to keep it at bay.”

  She closed her panels and dropped her shoulder, her sleepless eyes down on me, expression grim. Have I done something wrong?

  Then, in a voice so low and thin as if she couldn’t imagine herself asking me, “There is one solution, though. An operation.”

  She told me in depth precisely what would happen and the chances of success. But I don’t remember a single word from two weeks before to the day after the operation, only that I agreed.

  And why wouldn’t I? Sani was family, the only closest person I’ll have as a friend.

  The operation was risky and unendurable, the longest operation Dr. Lena has performed, and it was successful.

  I woke up one day in a hospital bed, assuming I’d be sore and in pain, but I felt nothing but refreshed. Under the bloody bandages was nothing but smooth skin. None of my prior bruises and scars showed, even the gnarly one on my knee from a bicycle fall vanished as if it’d been a false memory.

  Dr. Lena hardly paid attention to me after the procedure, since I knew how to take care of my own wounds and the upkeep routine, she left me to my own devices. Soon, the odd recovery and vanishing of scars left my mind as I had other matters to attend to.

  Sani was human, again. I went up to the glass, and it was as if looking into a mirror. All her distortions were gone. Her eyes are dark like mine. We had the same nose, lips, and facial structure. I was able to touch her for the first time, clasp my fingers between her hands, without the fear of triggering a mutation. Sani didn’t speak; she never learned how since she’d been rehabilitated the moment she grew out of her dependency. But she learned quickly, mastering various objects, simple mathematics, and eventually brushing her own teeth and washing herself. Her development exceeded expectations.

  Which meant Dr. Lena no longer needed me.

  I couldn’t visit the facility anymore and was forced to stay at my Gaia. Dr. Lena would return once every two weeks to bring me good news and to check in on my education. I made sure to answer every question she asked, hoping she’d visit more frequently. Instead, her short visits stretched to once a month, and sometimes she skipped them.

  During that time, Raze had been my savior. We have known each other for almost two years now. I’d never once told him about Sani, no matter how much I was dying to spill.

  He was a sweet boy who never made me feel alone and always kept me by his side. He was a good listener, often quiet. He spoke when it was necessary. I remembered babbling for hours, and he’d just listen and nod. Better yet, he asked follow-up questions as if he were genuinely interested in the topic at hand, not just being polite.

  Nothing like those other boys who spoke empty words that disgusted me.

  He was the reason that, for the first and only time, I dared to think that the renowned Dr. Lena had been wrong, and Raze didn’t need to be as intelligent as I was. He was smart in his own way. Kind, gentle, clever, and witty.

  I only regret learning that too late.

  Then that dreadful day finally came. I was reading a passage in the introductory quantum textbook in the dining room when Aba received a call. Without a word, he urgently rushed out the door, leaving me with the nanny. He didn’t return for days. And when he did, he was angry, devastated, vengeful, an explosion of emotions I’d never seen from my father before.

  He never said a word about the incident, but I already knew. It was breaking news the afternoon he left. I watched the whole thing unfold. The familiar facility Dr. Lena worked in had erupted into flames, as shown in a drune footage. Firefighters spent hours trying to douse the fire, only to find the water from the Void tanks had dried out halfway. The throng of them stood aside as each wall collapsed, until the last of the fires died out, the number of casualties bold on the headlines. Dr. Lena’s headshot was enlarged on the screen.

  I didn’t know what to make of it. The news seemed fake, like a test. But despite what I refused to believe, a small voice echoed in my head over and over in Dr. Lena’s words, “—it’s all protocol.”

  When I finally digested the event and accepted that my mother was gone, I cried until my tears were wrung dry, so depleted and withered that my nose bled. They dripped onto my pillow, drawing red, vibrant dots, stained across the fabric. My chest jolted. I’d seen my blood every week for over a year, so seeing mere dribbles again shouldn’t unnerve me the way it did now.

  My heart begins to race, pounding hard against my ribs. My peripherals darkened, tunneling my vision until the only thing I focused on was the red specks. I clawed at my pillow, at the red like a mad bull.

  Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. I’d never felt this rawness of emotions, untamed and hungry, flaring throughout my body.

  I wanted to call Dr. Lena; she’d know what to do. Only then did I remember that she was gone. Instead of sadness, anger erupted from me, pounding through my head, a fire demanding a wind just as unyielding, to spread the fire until the world charred to ashes.

  I tore at the bloody pillow until it ripped apart like paper, the stuffing scattered across my sight. It didn’t cross my mind to ask where this formidable strength came from, only that it wasn’t enough. I destroyed most of the furniture and objects in my room until the springs popped from my mattress, the windows shattered, and my desk toppled to the ground. All the textbooks ripped, paper coated my room, until I was out of breath, and the ferociousness waned.

  I headed into the bathroom to wash my hands and my face, barely making it through the door, and caught a glimpse of a pair of alarmingly red eyes in the reflection.