– – – – – – – – – –

  Epos (Maltia)

  5 November 2355

  Ethan’s 15th day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  What a disaster.

  Such is the thought that crosses, with a mix of discouragement and annoyance, Ehliana’s mind as she enters one of Archeos’s – strictly unofficial – offices. On a desk that is supposedly meant to be shared by several people, but which the philosopher has claimed entirely for himself, a mass of papers is strewn about in complete disarray.

  Standing before it, alone, the young woman looks around, searching for a specific document the old man has asked her to fetch. The task requires no small effort, for while she often has to deal with Aimond Lacelet’s untidiness, she herself feels very uncomfortable in chaos.

  The only thing that makes it easier is that, over time, she has learnt to recognise a sort of pattern in the way the man chooses to scatter his papers. Thus, she has also started to instinctively grasp where to look.

  It is still not a pleasant experience.

  Where could he have put it?

  As she moves a stack of papers, her eye falls upon a document stamped with a large black seal. In bold capital letters, the mark reads: gamma-class.

  That can’t be… at the very least, he shouldn’t be leaving these lying around!

  It’s surely a mistake, as the philosopher is well aware that this kind of thing is to be kept hidden from most of the crew. Including Ehliana herself, to be honest.

  She tries, therefore, not to read its contents… but it proves very difficult, once it’s right there in front of her eyes. And so she notices it: a line, neatly underlined with a pen.

  To be precise, it’s two words…

  Ethan Knight?

  Her eyes widen ever so slightly. At that moment, all her good intentions evaporate. This is because she never expected to find that name on such a highly confidential document.

  Him… but who on earth is he?

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Same place

  Less than an hour later

  – – – – – – – – – –

  I’m in the Epos’s iatreion. Sitting on a bed, bare-chested, I’m waiting for Hoping – a philosopher in his thirties specialised in medicine – to finish prodding my muscles. Standing out against his hair, which is black and slicked back apart from a few stray locks, the man’s light blue eyes move quickly as he assesses my condition.

  At the end of the examination, the rebel remarks:

  “No serious damage, it seems. A few days and every pain will pass.”

  I don’t reply. I keep my gaze fixed on the floor, absorbed in many thoughts. Of course, my state of health worries me, but it’s only one of the many facets of the anguish that pervades me at the moment.

  “Hoping,” says someone, coming closer. “I’ll take over. I’ve finished with her.”

  Ehliana, the philosopher pupil of Archeos, has entered the small treatment room where Hoping is tending to me. Until a short while ago, she was looking after Dawn in another part of the iatreion. The girl fared better than I did, but she still has several bruises and a cut on her forehead.

  Samuel and Antony, on the other hand, have already received treatment and then gone to make their report.

  “As you wish,” Hoping agrees, pulling off his gloves. “All that’s left is to dress his wounds.”

  The philosopher leaves the room, leaving Ehliana and me alone. Coming closer, she asks:

  “You were hit by an ilectron gun, weren’t you?”

  I nod. Hoping explained to me that it’s a weapon used to immobilise the target without killing them… provided it’s not used for too long or with too much power. As I suspected, it can’t be too different from a terrestrial stun gun.

  Ehliana places a box full of bandages and other medical supplies on a medical trolley beside me. Shortly afterwards, she begins applying a soothing cream to my bruises and burns.

  “There’s some of the antibiotic you taught us to make in here,” the philosopher explains. “Seeing how effective it is, we’re trying to use it as widely as possible.”

  Lost in my worries, upon hearing something that doesn’t sit right with me, I end up voicing my thoughts without softening them with the necessary courtesy.

  “You shouldn’t,” I warn her distractedly. “If you administer it even when it’s not really needed, it increases the chances of bacteria developing resistance.”

  “The ravdos? Oh…” she says, surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

  I shrug.

  “But you know… I wanted to talk to you,” says Ehliana. “Your antibiotic is truly miraculous. I didn’t think there was a medicine capable of counteracting tetanus and those other illnesses so well.”

  I pay her only vague attention.

  “Where’s Archeos?” I ask.

  “I think he’s with the captain,” the young woman replies. “He’ll probably come here when he’s finished.”

  He must be listening to Samuel and Antony’s report as well.

  We remain in silence while the philosopher begins to treat my cuts and bandage me.

  “Uhm…” murmurs Ehliana.

  I watch her. What does she want now?

  “Why don’t you come here to the iatreion as well to help out with the research?” the young woman asks. “There are so many illnesses we can’t cure. Maybe…”

  “For the kind of knowledge I have, Archeos considers me more suited to other fields,” I explain.

  “I see,” she replies, finishing fastening a bandage around the old burn on my wrist. “But…”

  “Ethan Knight?”

  A man has appeared in the doorway of the treatment room.

  “That’s me,” I say.

  “The captain wants to see you as soon as possible,” the man announces. “Ehliana, how much time do you need?”

  “I’ve… finished,” the philosopher replies, her tone a little disappointed. “Ethan… over the next few days, don’t exert yourself too much. And come in for a check-up tomorrow.”

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  I put on a shirt and get down from the bed.

  “Thank you,” I say in farewell to the woman.

  And I follow the man into the central area of the iatreion. There, waiting, is Dawn. Young wants her too.

  “All right?” the girl asks me.

  A bandage is wrapped around her forehead.

  “I can’t complain,” I reply, though that’s only true for my physical health. “After an air crash, I’m lucky to be able to walk at all.”

  “I told you: Samuel is an excellent pilot,” says Dawn. “If someone else had been at the controls, it could have ended much worse.”

  We follow the man along the corridors of the Epos, heading towards the captain’s room. Given the pain all over my body, I walk a little stiffly, but I try to hide it.

  “Ethan,” the girl addresses me at a certain point. “What did you do, when we were on the mission? When you… moved the fire, and…”

  “I don’t know,” I reply, before she can finish. “I don’t even know if I really did anything.”

  “But it looked as though it was you, with your hand, guiding the flames and the ilectron.”

  “The ilectron?”

  “When lightning shot out of your fingers… while the ilectron gun was hitting you.”

  So I didn’t imagine it, then: she saw it happen too.

  “I don’t have clear memories of those moments,” I say. “I acted on impulse… the adrenaline went to my head. I need to talk to Archeos to understand.”

  The rebel nods without saying anything more.

  Perhaps I ought to speak to her more gently… I’ve been rather brusque since we left that fragment.

  But there’s not much I can do about it. In just a few minutes I had to point a weapon at someone… and fight armed people ready to kill me. I was subjected to electrical torture, escaped an air crash, saw people killing each other… and then, those absurd phenomena that I seem to have brought about.

  I need time to process all of this.

  We reach the captain’s room. When we enter, we find Martin Young, Archeos, and the Sanders brothers there.

  “Ethan,” the philosopher greets me, standing near the captain’s desk. “How are you?”

  I shrug, unable to find a phrase to describe my state.

  “I’m sorry you got caught up in the fight,” says the leader of the ship, seated at his place. “You weren’t supposed to have to fight, but Antony’s decision to involve you was dictated by the critical situation.”

  Archeos seems to glare at him. He doesn’t appear to approve of the idea of a philosopher being dragged into a firefight.

  “It was an important recovery,” Martin Young insists, not returning the look. “Apparently, after the map was stolen, the Republic is searching for clues about Energheia as well. Had you arrived later, you might have found many more soldiers.”

  “Or worse still, only the rubble of those ruins,” adds Archeos, who, at least on this point, seems compelled to agree.

  I nod. In truth, I don’t feel resentful towards anyone for what happened. Certainly, Antony shouldn’t have dragged me into battle… but now that it’s all over, rather than searching for someone to blame, I’m more inclined to make sense of what has come out of all that chaos.

  “There were eight enemies instead of the six that a velivus can carry,” Dawn observes.

  “Perhaps it was a new model,” Martin suggests. “But I don’t think it’s standard practice for the Republic to equip a simple patrol unit like that.”

  “Hardly!” exclaims the philosopher. “Ray weapons, explosive charges, mayea-neutralising charges… they’ve simply made a hefty investment to recover Energheia.”

  “But it’s clear they’re making great strides in the military field,” Antony points out.

  “Yes… we need to adopt the right countermeasures,” Young nods. “Ethan… what can you tell us about the key?”

  “The key…” I repeat, before remembering. “Yes…”

  Gradually, my mind starts working again.

  “Near the place where the map was, there was a painting depicting some sort of code,” I explain. “It was a sequence of circles, some filled in, others empty. I think it might be binary code.”

  “Binary code? What’s that?” asks Archeos.

  “Depending on the context, it’s a way of expressing information or performing calculations,” I explain. “I won’t go into detail… I don’t know them myself. Let’s just say that each of those circles represents a value: zero or one. I believe the empty ones indicate zero, while the filled ones indicate one. Together, they could form a number in another system, such as decimal…”

  The captain raises a hand to interrupt me.

  “In short?” he asks.

  It seems he’s more interested in the result than in the details.

  I take from my pocket the notebook in which I wrote down the code. I open it and look at the string of zeros and ones with which I reproduced the circles.

  “Archeos,” I call. “What should the key be like?”

  “We need a number made up of 32 digits,” the philosopher replies.

  Thirty-two… here there are 160 digits. If I divide them by 32, I get 5… which is the number of binary digits needed to represent 32 distinct values.

  Sinuously, the concepts flow through my mind, with an incredible ease considering my condition is far from optimal.

  Perhaps they really are numbers in that base. If that’s the case…

  Those present remain in silent expectation as I try to interpret the code.

  “The Star Prophets—what numbering system did they use?” I ask.

  “They had their own set of symbols,” Archeos states. “What do you need to know?”

  “Did the number 32 have a particular meaning for them?”

  “Mmmh… I think it was the number at which they would use a new digit to indicate a value. Which is what we do when we go from 9 to 10…”

  “I see,” I nod.

  It’s as I thought.

  “It’ll take a bit… at most an hour,” I say. “If you give me time, I’ll do my best to get you the key… assuming I’ve understood correctly how to interpret the numbers.”

  Better to temper my promises. I don’t want to disappoint anyone.

  “Go ahead,” the captain invites, gesturing for me to proceed.

  “Ethan… let’s go,” says the philosopher, standing up. “Let’s see if we can get this code.”

  ???

  Archeos and I have moved to a small laboratory. It consists of a single room with a few tables and chairs, and at the moment there’s no one else there, so the two of us can work in peace.

  I’m slowly converting the binary code into base 32 numbers, which the philosopher then matches to the system of numerical symbols used by the Star Prophets.

  “Ethan,” the man addresses me at a certain point. “Let’s take a break.”

  I lift my eyes from the sheet on which I’m writing the numbers I’ve obtained.

  “Why?”

  “You’re clearly troubled,” says Archeos. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  As I expected, it’s rather obvious. Not that I’m making much effort to hide it, but…

  I lower my gaze.

  “It’s just that… I’m not used to any of this,” I admit. “Being forced to fight a war… and then having to witness what happens in battle.”

  There are a lot of things going through my head, and I’m sure that, given enough time, I could talk about them as clearly as I’d like…

  “I saw Samuel, who usually seems so gentle, kill almost defenceless soldiers without hesitation. I risked my life… Dawn ended up losing her head.”

  … but right now, all I can do is let the thoughts out chaotically, in the order they come to me.

  Still, that seems to be enough for Archeos to grasp what I mean.

  “Ethan… it’s like that for everyone,” he asserts. “And for you, with your… gentle soul and without the hardening of battle, it’s even worse. But don’t think that for Samuel, or for Antony, however proud he may appear, it was easy. They too have felt what you’re feeling now. Perhaps even more than you, since they had to kill.”

  “I… I’ve practically killed,” I reply.

  My breathing quickens as I remember. I don’t look up, almost as if I’m ashamed.

  “I… did something. The fire… I don’t know how…”

  “Calm down,” says the old man, placing a hand on my shoulder. “They’ve told me.”

  “I… I don’t know… was it really me?” I ask, lost. “I don’t know how…”

  “When you arrived here, you guaranteed you couldn’t use mayea,” the philosopher says. “Was that the truth?”

  “Of course…” I murmur, my emotions so unsettled that I don’t even worry about being taken for a liar.

  “Then it’s something recent,” the old man notes. “It’s not so uncommon to be able to use mayea. Something like 80% of people, if they work at it, can manage to use it. Maybe, though, you’re among that much smaller percentage who manage it naturally… and you’ve manifested it now.”

  “But I’m not from this world!” I burst out, finally raising my eyes to the Maltian. “I’m from Earth! There, there’s no magic, no mayea, or anything like that.”

  Archeos is silent for a few seconds, thoughtful. I’m breathing slightly heavily: all the unease I’ve accumulated so far is finally coming out now.

  “Dawn says she didn’t see the symbols of the universe in what you did,” the man remarks, rubbing his chin. “But everyone saw how the fire, and perhaps even the ilectron, responded to the movements of your arm. We’ll investigate, Ethan. You’ll see: we’ll understand what happened.”

  I swallow, turning my gaze back to the sheet on which I’m noting down the code.

  I’m not good at maths, I suddenly think. How on earth am I doing calculations like this?

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Stanstead St Margarets (England)

  5 November 20XX

  15th day since Ethan’s disappearance

  – – – – – – – – – –

  The Knight family are sitting at the table for dinner. Although everything appears normal, one of the seats at the head of the table is empty.

  Ethan Knight, the eldest child, has now been missing for more than two weeks.

  The remaining members of the family try to talk about light subjects, but, as always, they end up returning to the missing eldest son.

  “Could he have run away?” asks Eve Wood, the boy’s mother, perhaps for the third time in the last few days.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Adam Knight replies once again, as if it had become a ritual by now. “He might have wandered off; if he really was struck by lightning, it’s possible it confused him.”

  “Maybe he’s lost his memory?” suggests Jason.

  “Who knows…”

  The doorbell rings. Adam and Eve look at each other, thinking the same thing at once. Then, they get up together and go to the door.

  When they open it, they find two people in front of them.

  “Good evening,” says one of them, a man with a ponytail and a goatee.

  “Hello,” says the other, a bespectacled woman with hair just reaching the base of her neck.

  “Good evening,” Adam Knight replies, tense.

  He was expecting to see someone in uniform, certainly not these people, who are indeed dressed formally, but do not appear to be from the police.

  “Are you Adam and Eve Knight?” the man asks.

  “Yes,” Eve nods. “And you are?”

  “Sorry to trouble you,” apologises the woman with glasses. “We’re Susan King and Nathan Yates.”

  The man with the ponytail produces a business card.

  “We’d like to speak with you regarding your son Ethan.”

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