– – – – – – – – – –

  Hoddesdon (England)

  21 October 20XX

  1 day until Ethan’s disappearance

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Wow… how beautiful…

  That thought runs through my mind, accompanied by a mix of sweet and sad emotions. Again and again, my eyes go over the final lines of the chapter I’ve just read this evening—from the novel I’m currently into. It’s late, and I’m quite tired, but that has faded into the background, eclipsed by the story’s events.

  And to think, the mattress in my room, where I’ve been lying for hours, has been calling me to sleep for a while now. Especially after the headache which, though dulled by a painkiller, has still left me fairly worn out.

  Eventually, once I feel I’ve fully absorbed the meaning of the words that struck me most, I stop rereading them. I then rest the book on my chest and lift my gaze to the ceiling above me, dimly lit by the lamp on my bedside table.

  How… romantic it was.

  I’m not reading a love story. That’s not exactly my thing. But then again, maybe that’s a contradiction… because truth be told, I do feel a strong attraction to that kind of thing, and if a story I’m following doesn’t include a romantic subplot in some form, it just feels like… something’s missing.

  In my search for novels that ignite my passion and stir my imagination, I’m especially drawn to epic and adventurous tones. However… when I start to sense sentimentality, the excitement and wonder give way to a quieter, deeper interest—one that stirs a gentler part of my soul.

  And now, after having felt the protagonist’s emotions of love, something lingers inside me, floating like a warm little flame in my chest. A gentle blaze that soon connects to something similar that already lives within me.

  Inevitably, Lizzie’s image comes to mind. And suddenly, they become more real: the warmth of my feelings… and the melancholy of not being able to express them.

  My mind drifts, overlaying the scenes I’ve just read onto me and the girl I have a crush on. I find myself imagining the same moments, with the two of us in place of the characters; the only real way I have to live out these emotions I keep hidden inside.

  It happens to me… far more often than I’m willing to admit. To others, I show a cynical, almost cold mask, but the truth is that the feelings I keep hidden matter far more to me than I let on. You could even say that… they’re my true driving force, well concealed despite the enormous weight they carry in my life.

  Yet, despite their importance, I’m stuck in inertia. Around me, couples form as if it were the easiest, most natural thing in the world, while I just sit here wasting time, never taking any real step towards making what I want come true.

  The fear of rejection is certainly a major reason. The embarrassment, the shame that would follow… and above all, the feeling I know I’d have—that I hadn’t properly prepared the ground.

  To do something like… I don’t know, confess my feelings… I’m inclined to think I’d first need to reach an ideal condition that probably can only exist in a love story. Excessive perfectionism and idealism—but ones I find hard to let go of. So I stall, making vague attempts that never amount to anything real. It’s almost as if I don’t truly have the will to act, preferring to wallow in my emotions. But of course, that’s not true at all.

  In reality, I know exactly what I feel and what I want. I also know that if I had enough determination, I’d be planning a way to get closer to Lizzie. No, who am I kidding? I already do that… constantly… but I always end up applying only the parts that don’t involve any actual “risk”.

  Let’s be honest… the root of the problem is that I don’t have confidence in myself.

  It’s true. My fears are nothing more than the result of terribly low self-esteem. I don’t believe I have any real chance of success—something I made painfully clear to Maggie today. And that, in turn, only makes me feel even more convinced that I don’t stand a chance.

  After all, how can someone who doesn’t believe in himself expect others to like him? How could I hope that Lizzie might feel something for someone like that?

  Would I?

  For a moment, I ask myself that very question—flipping the perspective. The answer… depends.

  Maybe yes, I think. I mean… I’m not proud of my insecurity, but at the same time, I don’t think I’d be put off by sensing it in someone else. In fact, if I saw it accompanied by a desire to fight back against it, I think I’d appreciate it. In the end, if someone’s insecure… couldn’t it simply mean that they place exceptional importance on certain things—so much so that they become very cautious when it comes to them? And if, despite all that difficulty, they still try to fight… doesn’t that make their efforts all the more meaningful?

  By that logic, I should be kinder to myself, shouldn’t I? In theory, yes… but for some reason, I just can’t manage it. In many ways, I’m much harsher with myself than I am with others.

  And in this particular context, that tendency leads me to believe that Lizzie—and any other girl, for that matter—couldn’t possibly like someone with a personality like mine. It wouldn’t even be surprising if, even faced with clear signs of interest from a girl, I still failed to notice them—too busy telling myself that what I’m seeing couldn’t possibly be what it seems.

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Epos (Maltia)

  ?? ?? ????

  Ethan’s 4th day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Nipria keeps watching me with a strange expression, a smile still playing on her face. The hand I grasped when we were introduced remains in mine, not really returning the gesture. It’s almost as if she hadn’t expected me to take it.

  Oh, no… I’ve done something wrong, haven’t I?

  Even so, it seems a bit much to be staring at me like that. It’s like she’s… looking at something she can’t quite grasp.

  Archeos bursts out laughing.

  “You can talk to him, you know!” he says. “You won’t embarrass yourself, even if he does count as a philosopher.”

  “Oh… well…” she stammers, blushing, before suddenly raising her voice for no reason. “Nice to meet you! I’ve never seen you before… are you new?”

  “Um… not exactly…” I hesitate, letting go of her hand.

  “He’s, for now, something of a guest,” Archeos steps in. “I’m giving him a tour of the Epos.”

  “It’s a fine ship—the largest in the Resistance, and maybe the biggest in all of Maltia,” says Nipria. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely,” I agree with unusual enthusiasm, trying to smooth over the awkwardness I feel I’ve caused.

  “Sorry, Nipria, but we really must get going now,” the philosopher says, winking at her. “Mind if I borrow the young man?”

  “Sure!” she says, drawing her head down between her shoulders. “Well then… back to work I go… bye Archeos… bye Ethan.”

  And off she goes in a hurry. Aimond Lacelet bursts into another laugh.

  “That little face of yours is starting to cause trouble!” he exclaims.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Though truthfully, I think I do. But I don’t agree with the man. I’m sure the girl’s behaviour was down to the weirdness I give off.

  “Doesn’t matter… come with me,” the philosopher dismisses it.

  As we continue down the corridor…

  “By the way… you said she’s an artificer, right? What’s that?” I ask.

  “A… machinery expert. Most of those working in the engine rooms are artificers.”

  So she’s a mechanic, an operator or an engineer… or maybe all three.

  Still escorted by Sion, we leave the engine room and take a lift—or elevator, as they call it here.

  “Why don’t we try letting you solve some of the problems we haven’t been able to crack with our knowledge?” Archeos suggests. “Maybe you have insights that can succeed where ours fall short.”

  “We can give it a try,” I nod.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  As the philosopher explains to me, we reach about the mid-level of the airship. Once there, we head towards what he introduces as the “iatreion”, which I take to be some kind of hospital area. It consists of a series of spacious rooms filled with bunks, some of which are occupied by the infirm.

  For a few minutes, Archeos leaves me alone with Sion, saying he needs to change clothes. When he returns, he’s replaced the mechanic’s coverall he was wearing until now with a white coat.

  “Come.”

  He leads me over to a small room enclosed by glass walls. On one of the bunks inside lies a man—either asleep or unconscious. Near the bed are two people dressed in white, both with cloths covering their mouths and noses.

  “Cover your face,” Archeos says, handing me a piece of fabric taken from a nearby table.

  We both put the cloths over our faces, and then the philosopher opens the door to the room and takes me inside.

  “How’s he doing today?” he asks.

  The man on the bunk doesn’t react, but the other two turn to face us.

  “Master, it seems the illness is still getting the better of him,” reports a woman.

  “I see,” Archeos nods.

  “Master… who is he…?”

  “Yes, he’s a stranger, but I’d like him to take a look at the patient. Ethan, what do you think?”

  Puzzled—and slightly uneasy at the thought that there might be some dreadful contagious disease here—I hesitantly approach the bunk.

  “He’s suffering from an illness that’s hard to cure,” Archeos explains meanwhile. “He may seem normal, but he’s actually under the effects of a series of treatments to keep the deadly symptoms in check.”

  But what do I know about medicine? This is way out of my depth…

  Even so, I look at the man.

  “The condition causes muscle paralysis and contractions,” the philosopher goes on. “Without medication, the patient risks respiratory paralysis and death.”

  “But…”

  Some memories come to the surface: a doctor speaking to my mother, describing the symptoms of a certain infection. It must have happened many years ago.

  I still remember something like that?

  “What… what do you call this illness?”

  “Tetanos,” replies the woman.

  “I knew it,” I say. “It’s tetanus! Haven’t you used—”

  I stop short.

  “Antibiotics?” I finish.

  The reaction that follows is one I’ve been seeing far too often these past few days: surprise and bewilderment.

  Of course!

  Besides, either this tetanus is different from the one I know, or people here don’t know much about it. As far as I’m aware, it isn’t airborne, so covering our noses and mouths is overly cautious.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Archeos decides. “You too, Ehliana. Hoping, you go on.”

  We leave the little room. Just outside, the philosopher removes the cloth from his face and turns to me:

  “So, what is it?”

  I take off my own face covering as well, and so does the woman he asked to come with us. Now that I get a proper look at her, she seems only a few years older than me. She has long, straight blonde hair, tied into a soft braid that falls over one shoulder, and her eyes… are red!

  Now that’s an unusual eye colour!

  “Oh, yes!” adds Archeos, as if only just realising he’d forgotten something. “This is Ehliana, a natural philosopher and my pupil, specialised in medicine. Ehliana, this is Ethan. I’d like you to listen to him and tell me your opinion.”

  I nod to her and offer my hand. She shakes her head and gestures to her own: she’s wearing a leather glove that goes up to her elbow, probably used during the examination. Maybe she doesn’t want to risk contaminating me through contact.

  “As I was saying… do you know about antibiotics?” I ask. “Drugs that can stop certain diseases?”

  “I’ve never… heard that word before,” Ehliana replies hesitantly.

  She seems reluctant to admit it.

  “But the description is a little vague too,” she adds. “Could you be more specific?”

  “That man is suffering from tetanus, a disease caused by a bacterium,” I try to explain. “At least, do you know what a bacterium is? Tiny creatures, invisible to the naked eye?”

  “I think he means ravdos,” Archeos suggests, when the woman gives him a puzzled look. “Ethan, you’re saying that this… bacterium is harming the man in that room. And it could be stopped with a certain substance called…?”

  “Antibiotic,” I finish. “There are different kinds… mmmh… I could tell you about penicillin: it can be extracted from a fungus.”

  And I go on to explain about Penicillium chrysogenum, how to culture it from food mould, and finally how to extract penicillin from it. Not exactly a straightforward process, but I’m hoping it can be done with the equipment available on the ship.

  School labs are turning out to be very useful. I never would have thought.

  “What do you think, Ehliana?” Archeos asks once I’ve finished my explanation.

  “At this point, in theory, any method is worth trying,” she replies. “But is this substance… poisonous?”

  “Only to the bacteria,” I reassure her. “It’s still a drug, so it might have side effects, but it’s the only remedy I know of. You’ll need to decide how to administer it and in what dose—my knowledge doesn’t go any further.”

  “Ehliana… give his method a try,” Archeos says.

  “But…”

  “Don’t worry,” he interrupts. “We’ll follow his instructions step by step.”

  His pupil nods, still looking unsure.

  “Come on, Ethan,” the man urges. “There must be some spoiled supplies in the mess storeroom. Let’s go look for some of that mould.”

  And so we leave the iatreion behind as well.

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Epos (Maltia)

  ?? ?? ????

  Ethan’s 7th day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  The three days that follow turn out to be much like that first one with Archeos. Every morning, the philosopher comes to fetch me from the cell, taking me around the ship to study technologies and the problems linked to them together.

  By the second day, there’s no one escorting us anymore. I’m also given some new clothes—although simple and quite different from those I arrived in. By the third day, even the meals change, becoming more varied than the usual dehumidified sticks. It almost feels like they’re rewarding me for good behaviour.

  In the end, though I get to see many sections of the vessel, including the research labs, I still only see a small part of the Epos. Not only that—I’m never taken anywhere of strategic importance, nor left on my own, so even without a blindfold, I couldn’t pick up on anything sensitive. Archeos clearly isn’t careless.

  On the third day in particular, while the philosopher is leading me into an engine room, I run into Jim.

  “Ah-ha!” the tanned boy exclaims when he sees me. “Look who it is!”

  He’s not wearing the usual coveralls typical of engine room workers, and he’s shovelling coal into a boiler. Looks like, once his guard duty ended, they assigned him to help out here. It seems everyone on board has to contribute according to their abilities.

  “You’re an artificer too?” I ask him.

  “No, no, they’re just using me as muscle,” he laughs, adjusting the white cap he often likes to wear. “Hey, admit it—being in that cell without me standing guard just isn’t the same!”

  “You’re absolutely right,” I agree. “The other guards they assign aren’t talkative at all.”

  “Not that you were a chatterbox either, eh!” Jim remarks.

  “Well… I do say a word or two every now and then.”

  I glance at Archeos, but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush—he’s busied himself inspecting a boiler and taking notes. As I turn back to Jim, I spot another familiar face in the corridor.

  “Dawn?”

  Hearing her name, the girl notices me. Just a moment ago, she was walking straight towards me, her gaze lost in the metal grid that makes up the floor. Now she slows her pace for a moment, a visibly surprised expression on her face, before continuing forward.

  “You work here too?” I ask her once she reaches me.

  “No, I’m just passing through,” Dawn replies. “You… what…?”

  “Archeos is showing me around,” I explain, gesturing toward the philosopher, still focused on the boiler. “You see… he’s interested in my knowledge.”

  For some reason, it feels like I’m bragging. Well, not that I’m not proud to finally be showing off all those ‘useless’ bits of knowledge I’ve collected over the years for no particular reason.

  “Knowledge?” she echoes, confused. “You mean the stuff you wouldn’t say during the interrogations?”

  “No, I mean knowledge of… philosophy.”

  “But… so you’re a philosophy student?”

  “In a way…”

  “Hi, Ethan!”

  Nipria, the artificer, has appeared behind me. She’s got a big smile on her face, and when I turn to look at her, she studies my face for a long moment before snapping out of it and glancing away.

  Seriously, what does she find so odd about me that she keeps staring like that?

  “Are you studying the engine rooms with Archeos again?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I nod.

  “I’m on a break,” she tells me. “Want me to show you something? He’s a philosopher—he doesn’t understand machinery the way an artificer does! Oh…”

  She suddenly stops herself.

  “I didn’t mean— I mean, philosophers really are knowledgeable people, it’s just that maybe when it comes to this kind of thing…” she starts to say, incredibly flustered.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not offended—I’m not a full-fledged philosopher!” I assure her, smiling.

  I try to come across as sincere as possible, so my words can’t be doubted. I don’t like making people feel uncomfortable if I can help it.

  “Oh… yes, you know, I didn’t mean… never mind.”

  The girl lets out a big sigh. For some reason, Jim bangs the boiler with his shovel and brings a hand to his mouth. I notice he’s trying—rather unsuccessfully—to hide a grin.

  “Anyway… if you’d like to see the machinery…” Nipria continues.

  “Ethan, why don’t you take her up on that offer?” says Archeos, without looking up from the boiler. “It might give a boost to the level of our conversations.”

  “O… okay…” I agree.

  “Then let’s start from the back,” says Nipria, grabbing the hem of the shirt I’m wearing to give me a few tugs.

  ???

  And so the young man is abruptly separated from the others. As Ethan walks off, Jim can’t hold it in any longer and bursts into laughter.

  “Seriously!” he exclaims.

  “You’re jealous, just admit it,” teases Archeos, suddenly losing interest in the boiler.

  “Are you kidding? It’s just…”

  Jim doesn’t know how to finish, so he just keeps laughing. Dawn, meanwhile, still looks puzzled.

  “What are you doing here, Dawn?” the philosopher asks her.

  “I was working in the storeroom over there,” she explains, pointing in the direction she came from. “But… I don’t get it. Isn’t he considered a spy?”

  “You mean Ethan? We’re not worried anymore,” the man declares. “At least, not about him being dangerous or able to harm us. But that doesn’t mean he’s been cleared, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Are you one of the people trying to get information out of him without interrogations?” Dawn asks.

  “Ah, you’re one of them too?” Archeos replies.

  “Yes… but honestly, I haven’t even tried,” the young woman admits. “I know the captain wants to learn something from the people who interact with Ethan, but I’ve pretty much avoided him.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know… I guess I don’t want to deceive him.”

  The philosopher smiles.

  “It’s not necessarily deception,” he observes. “Look at me: actually, I’m personally interested in his knowledge. The fact that I report our conversations to the captain is just a side detail. Anyway, perhaps things will change from today, and you won’t have to feel uncomfortable talking to him anymore.”

  He winks at her.

  “You know… I think he might see you as a point of reference. After all, from what you’ve told me, of all the people on board, you were the first he met when he arrived in Maltia.”

  “What…?” says Dawn, astonished. “When he arrived… what do you mean?”

  “Don’t ask—not yet,” Archeos replies. “I think you’ll understand this afternoon.”

  ???

  Several hours after my tour of the engine room, while I’m back in my cell, the two big guys who took me to the interrogation days ago come to fetch me again. I expect them to blindfold me, but they don’t. So this time I’m able to follow the path all the way to the interrogation room.

  When I enter the bleak room, the captain is already seated. My eyes widen.

  My phone!

  Indeed, the man has my mobile in front of him—along with the rest of my personal belongings. Even the clothes I arrived in on Tersain are there, cleaned and neatly pressed.

  “Ethan Knight,” Martin Young begins. “Sit down. The time has come to decide what’s to be done with you.”

  It… doesn’t… promise anything good.

  At this point, I’ve resigned myself to whatever fate awaits me. I’m even starting to get used to being a prisoner. Still, those words suddenly fill me with anxiety.

  Despite everything, I sit down as ordered and wait for the verdict.

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