– – – – – – – – – –

  Epos (Maltia)

  30 November 2355

  Ethan’s 40th day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  It turns out that Jim has come to fetch me at Archeos’s request. In particular, the philosopher wanted to warn me about the Epos docking tomorrow.

  “We’ll load aboard the first batches of steel produced according to your instructions,” the elder explains. “We’ll use it to reinforce the ship.”

  Wow, they were quick. I mean, I didn’t expect them to put together production lines capable of yielding concrete results in a month. It has to be said that, for all their shortage of resources, the Resistance know how to make use of what they have. Besides, I mustn’t forget that this world has technology that shouldn’t be underestimated—capable, in certain areas, of putting Earth’s to shame.

  “Before you ask, know that we won’t let you set foot on the ground,” Archeos states.

  I imagined as much. After my escape, it will still take time before they trust me.

  As the philosopher goes on to explain shortly afterwards, however, it seems I’ll be helping, together with him, to organise the loading operations for the material.

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Same place

  1 December 2355

  Ethan’s 41st day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Thus, in the early afternoon of the following day, the Epos draws alongside an island rather separated from civilisation. Several constructions are carved into the rock, difficult to distinguish unless one gets close enough.

  The airship docks in a sort of natural bay of the fragment, hiding itself partly from view. The loading operations take place through the hangar, in which suitable cranes are assembled. The crew begin hauling aboard large bars of steel, piling them up along the edges of the large rooms usually meant to contain the aircraft.

  “But… how much is there?” I ask, wearing a suit similar to those of Earth’s mechanics as I stand beside Archeos to catalogue the material.

  “Enough to remake half the hull,” the elder declares. “With this, the Epos will become a flying fortress.”

  “And what’s it for?” I ask. “I mean… the Epos is an operations centre. Would it ever risk going into the field?”

  “In exceptional cases, it certainly would,” the philosopher nods. “And it has happened. Each time, the Republic has received a sound lesson. They’d give anything to discover the Epos’s location and send a fleet to destroy it.”

  I look around, observing the various piles of metal bars. As I raise my gaze to some mezzanines at the edges of the room, I spot there the familiar figure of Dawn. The girl is helping carry some crates of supplies. I keep staring at her until she turns her gaze in my direction. Then I give her a wave. The rebel seems to see it, for she responds in kind.

  “Ethan, focus,” Archeos scolds me.

  I return to scrolling through a list I have in hand.

  “That load looks complete,” the elder says, indicating a pile of bars near one of the cranes. “Could you go and count the pieces?”

  I nod and head to the designated place. Several artificers are already there, busy assessing the state of the metal. Nipria is among them.

  “Did they come out well?” I ask her.

  “Perfect,” she nods. “We’ll do great things with these.”

  “Not you, since you won’t be working on them,” one of the artificers chimes in.

  “Oh, I’ll be working on them all right,” Nipria retorts, in an impertinent tone. “Like it or not, you’ll move me from the engine rooms, mark my words.”

  The artificer raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, before returning to his work.

  “I hope the job won’t drag on into the afternoon,” the young woman wishes.

  “I hope so too,” I agree. “I don’t want to postpone the visit to the engine.”

  My tone might have sounded sarcastic, so I smile as gently as I can to make it clear that I don’t mind doing that sort of activity with Nipria. She returns the smile, just before the group of artificers is called elsewhere.

  “See you later, then,” the girl says.

  “Can’t wait.”

  As the artificers leave, I notice that Archeos is signalling from afar for me to get a move on.

  “Well then…” I mutter, turning towards the bars.

  I start counting the pieces making up the great heap of metal. Near me, a crane keeps working, hauling more steel aboard.

  “Forty-five,” I mutter, marking down the result of the count. “That’s all of them.”

  All of a sudden, I hear a loud noise above me. I lift my gaze, just in time to see the bars loaded by the crane slipping out of the chains holding them.

  I realise at once the serious danger. As the bars strike the nearby pile of steel, I bend my knees to dart away. Some poles fall around me, and I dodge them instinctively.

  Then I see something drop from my breast pocket and land on the floor.

  What…?

  I recognise it: it’s the pendant Dawn gave me yesterday, which, ever since, has remained in the pocket of the shirt I’m wearing beneath the suit.

  An instant. I hesitate for only an instant before reaching out a hand to retrieve it. That gesture makes me linger too long: when my fingers close around the chain, one of the bars that rolled down from the pile reaches me.

  Damn…

  I raise my left arm in defence. The edge of the bar strikes my forearm, and an explosion of pain fills my head. Driven by the weight of the object, I end up on the floor. There I let out a cry, the hand of my uninjured arm rushing to protect the one that’s been hit.

  Dizziness. A shadow falling over my sight. A ringing that floods my ears.

  The pain is such that my consciousness falters. Clenching my eyelids shut in an effort not to faint, I hear cries of alarm, and then the footsteps of people running towards me. I’m surrounded by rescuers.

  “Get a doctor!” someone shouts. “He’s losing blood!”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “How did he manage to injure himself?”

  “It must have been the sharp part of the bar.”

  “Ethan!”

  Opening my eyes again, I look around. Dawn has reached me.

  “It’s broken,” a man says, assessing my arm.

  The mere awareness of the meaning of those words is enough to intensify my dizziness. I clamp my eyelids shut once more, as a surge of nausea brings me close to vomiting.

  I hear another familiar voice. It could be Nipria, but I no longer have the strength to make sure. I’ve by now lost control of myself, overwhelmed by pain and emotion.

  Before long, I slip into unconsciousness.

  ???

  After an indefinite time in which my consciousness comes and goes, I recover in the Epos’s iatreion. It is the pain that wakes me: my left arm hurts a great deal. Turning my head, I can see that I’m in a vest, and that the injured limb has been bandaged and splinted.

  I am lying on a bunk in one of the large common rooms of the iatreion. Apart from the various sick and wounded around me, the first person I see is the philosopher Ehliana.

  Alerted to my awakening by my neighbour in the next bed, the woman hastens over to me.

  “How do you feel?” she asks.

  “My arm hurts… very badly.”

  Obviously. I imagine she had already worked that out herself.

  “You’ve fractured your radius, and you also have a laceration of the skin and muscle,” the philosopher states, placing a hand on the shoulder of my uninjured arm. “Can you bear it? It’s better not to overdo the painkillers.”

  “I’ll try.”

  I realise I’m gripping something in my right hand. I open it, discovering it is the chain with the cross attached. Apparently, I held on to it the whole time.

  A stab comes from the injured arm. I close my eyes, trying to drive away the pain that threatens to make me faint again. I raise my eyelids when I hear agitated voices drawing closer. At the entrance to the iatreion I see Hoping trying to stop someone from getting in.

  Ehliana reaches her colleague, beginning to argue in turn. I recognise the voices of those trying to enter: they’re Dawn and Nipria. At a certain point, I hear Archeos’s voice as well. Then Hoping and Ehliana seem to give in and allow the girls into the room.

  Nipria shoots inside like a rocket. She looks around, scanning the place. When she spots me, I lift my right hand in a vague greeting. The artificer responds by running towards the bed, so much so that I’m prompted to draw back as if to avoid an impact. Naturally, that doesn’t happen, and the movement only gives me another stab of pain.

  “Ethan! How are you? Does it hurt?” Nipria squeaks.

  I don’t know whether I’m misinterpreting her movements, or the way she leans towards me, but she seems to be holding herself back from throwing her arms round my neck.

  I give a bitter smile and shake my head in what I hope is a reassuring gesture. I see Dawn approaching slowly, and just behind her Archeos, taking things more leisurely than anyone.

  “Hi,” I say, when Dawn reaches me.

  She doesn’t answer. She stares at me for a long moment, then turns her gaze to my right hand, from which the chain of the pendant is sticking out. She looks back at me. Then exclaims:

  “You’re an idiot!”

  And she brings her fists down on my chest. I jolt in surprise, but the rebel hasn’t put much force into the gesture. Rather, still bent over me, she grabs me by the edges of my vest.

  “Why did you waste time picking that thing up?” she bursts out. “You fool!”

  “But…” I say, stunned by such a reaction. “I didn’t want it to get damaged. It would’ve felt wrong towards you…”

  Of course, it’s not like I had much time to think in that moment. You could say I moved under the… push of the heart, if you like.

  I consider it something positive: a sign of how I care about something Dawn gave me. And yet…

  “Fool! Don’t you know how to prioritise things?” she retorts with vehemence. “Stupid… stupid… you could’ve got yourself killed over something that ridiculous…”

  At last she seems to calm down. Still gripping my vest, she looks at my left arm. I glance around. Nipria is frozen with an expression of astonishment and uncertainty on her face. Further off, Ehliana had looked about to intervene to stop Dawn, but Archeos placed a hand on her shoulder to halt her.

  It must be a strange situation for everyone. Myself included. In truth, Dawn’s reaction hurts me a little, but not too much. After all, I understand what she means. She’s angry with me, yes… but because she was worried. I can’t hold it against her for that, even if she is using strong words.

  The rebel turns her eyes back to mine.

  “You’re getting a proper thrashing for this,” she says, this time in a more moderate tone. “So many that you’ll think twice before doing something that stupid again.”

  “I think I’ve already had my punishment, don’t you?” I try to joke, to normalise the discussion a bit.

  “Better to be safe,” Dawn replies.

  And she wraps an arm round my head, pulling it against her shoulder. It’s a quick gesture, one I barely have time to realise is happening as it happens, and it leaves me startled and confused. Then the young woman lets go of me and straightens up.

  What was that? She’s never done anything like that before. I… okay, she’s made my heart race.

  “Now you really will fall behind on training!” she exclaims. “You need to try to get back on your feet quickly.”

  “I don’t think this is the moment for that sort of thing,” Nipria cuts in. “He’s unwell. He needs to rest, and you’re thinking about play-fighting?”

  “I’m only thinking about him making a swift recovery,” Dawn replies, staring at her in bewilderment.

  “Oh, I can tell,” the artificer says, sarcastic.

  She seems to be holding her voice in check with difficulty, as if she’s about to explode. I sense a sort of tense vibration in the air, giving me an unpleasant feeling. It’s the first time I’ve seen the rebel this on edge.

  “To get him back on his feet only to throw him into more trouble, right?” she goes on. “With your dangerous missions…”

  “Nipria, come now, it isn’t Dawn’s fault if we involve Ethan in missions,” Archeos interjects.

  “Oh, no, but with all her training she encourages him to fight,” the artificer insists, unyielding. “And then he ends up hurting himself every single time!”

  “I… I don’t encourage him,” Dawn denies, eyes wide. “Even staying on board he’s managed to hurt himself worse than on missions. If he gets hurt, it’s because he’s not capable of looking after himself. That’s why I train him.”

  I can’t look after myself?

  I follow the argument with growing dismay. I can’t say I’m thrilled to hear people speaking ill of me.

  Seeing Ehliana approach, I try to distract myself by asking her:

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Almost an hour,” the philosopher replies.

  I sigh, contorting my face at a new stab of pain. A groan escapes me, which seems to bring the girls’ argument to an end.

  “I think you’re behaving disrespectfully,” Ehliana states, a stern note in her voice, taking advantage of the moment of silence. “We’ve allowed you to visit him, but now he must rest… like all the other patients. Could you go out and continue your discussion outside?”

  “She’s right,” adds Archeos. “Come on. You can visit him later.”

  The two rebels hesitate for a moment, then nod in unison. They seem to realise how much commotion they’ve caused.

  I don’t like the thought of them feeling guilty.

  “I’m sorry… I don’t think I’ll be able to train or see the engine,” so I apologise, sincere.

  “Oh no, there’ll be time for that, don’t worry!” the artificer replies in a bright voice, waving her hands in front of her.

  “Just focus on getting better,” Dawn follows. “See you later, then.”

  And with that, first she and then Nipria leave the bedside and go out of the room.

  “What energetic youth,” comments a patient on a nearby bunk.

  “Tell me about it,” agrees Archeos.

  The philosopher comes up beside me.

  “How do you feel?” he asks.

  “Setting my pride aside… terrible,” I answer. “When I was little I broke an arm falling off my bike, but I didn’t remember it being this painful.”

  “You’ve got a complicated wound,” the elder states. “But we’ll try to make it heal as best as possible.”

  I nod, and with a sigh close my eyes. I feel exhausted, and I’d gladly fall asleep again to escape the pain.

  “Rest,” Archeos recommends. “Ehliana and Hoping will take care of you.”

  And the philosopher leaves as well.

  Good… just what I needed, I think. Am I simply unlucky, or does someone have it in for me?

  I lift my gaze to the ceiling, though in my mind I imagine I’m looking at the sky. Usually I don’t connect the events of my life with some will beyond human perception.

  However, if it’s simply a matter of posing idle questions, or of pursuing intimate existential reflections…

  What do you think? I end up asking within myself.

  And there that momentary religious question ends.

  ???

  Several hours later, Ehliana stops by Ethan’s bed to check his condition. The boy seems asleep, so the philosopher can at least hope he isn’t suffering too much.

  In the past few weeks she has had several opportunities for exchanges of views with the young man. For Archeos it is not a priority, but the elder has nevertheless allowed Ethan, now and then, to devote himself also to passing on knowledge useful in medicine.

  And the boy kept his word regarding his offer of help.

  Thus, between him and Ehliana a courteous and collaborative relationship has begun to form.

  Hurting himself for a reason like that, though… he really does seem na?ve. But is he, truly?

  The philosopher would be curious to put him to the test a little. However, now she must focus on his recovery. At this moment in particular, she must carry out a few checks, and so she gently touches him to rouse him.

  The young man doesn’t react. Then, leaning over him, the woman shakes him lightly.

  “Ethan,” she says to him, passing a hand over his cheek.

  The philosopher furrows her brow, moving her fingers along the boy’s face and neck. She straightens abruptly.

  “Ethan,” she repeats, shaking him more firmly.

  Muttering something, he opens his eyes a little. They are glassy, and the young man looks around in confusion.

  “Hoping,” calls Ehliana.

  “What’s the matter?” the doctor asks, coming over.

  “He has a fever,” the woman reports. “A very high one.”

  “Have you checked the wound?”

  “I was about to.”

  The philosopher carefully loosens the bandages covering Ethan’s injured limb. Once she has removed them, she and her colleague observe the wide laceration running across the boy’s forearm.

  “Ouch,” Hoping remarks.

  The skin around the sutured cut is very reddened, and a little yellowish substance is seeping from the lesion.

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