Viral Airwaves

by Claudie Arseneault

  David calmed his breathing and lowered his firearm. “Faith in you hasn’t been very rewarding. I need more than that now. You say he is preparing another pandemic?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have proof of that?” Vermen wished he could glance at Seraphin, but he was afraid it might trigger David’s anger again. He shook his head. Lungvist slid his gun back into its holster. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  As he strode toward the exit, Vermen called after him. “Be careful, David. They’ll kill you.”

  His lieutenant turned with a confident smile. “This is what I’m good at, Captain. This, it seems, is the only reason you kept me around for so long. I will get to the bottom of this. And if I find nothing…I’ll be back.” He set his hand on the doorknob, but a last thought seemed to cross his mind and he added: “In the meantime, Hans, enjoy yourself.”

  As the door closed behind David Lungvist, Vermen allowed himself to collapse into the closest chair. He couldn’t tell if he’d escaped disaster or provoked it, but at least they were free and alive. He hoped the same would stay true of his lieutenant. Then Seraphin leaned over his shoulder, his expression set into an angry mask.

  “If he does come back, I’ll shoot him.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Andeal laid back on the lake’s beach and contemplated the perfect starry sky. No city lights marred the spectacle above. He’d yearned for the sight when trapped in Galen’s labs, or as he lived under Mount Kairn. Sometimes he’d climb atop the peak and spend the night outside with Maniel, talking until sunlight muffled the stars’ shine. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was also out there, looking up at the same sky and thinking of him, or if she’d been buried under the rocks, never to see another star again.

  He rolled over, frustrated not to find peace. Maniel haunted him, like a ghost already dead. Andeal stood, brushed the sand off his back, and stalked back to the balloon’s basket, parked inside the forest’s shadows. A bite might help him. It had, last time, if only for the amusement of reproducing Henry’s coping mechanism. He’d just climbed in when the unmistakable sound of Henry crashing through the underbrush reached him. His friend appeared between two trees, huffing and panting, with a backpack as tall as him strapped against his back.

  “Very subtle,” Andeal said. “How did it go?”

  Henry set the pack on the ground with a relieved sigh and collapsed on the ground before he provided any answers. A film of sweat covered his forehead and his arms glistened in the moonlight. Andeal was glad he couldn’t do those long treks into town. His gunshot wound had healed well enough but his leg was still rather stiff. Sitting all day in the balloon didn’t help.

  “Perfect!” Henry’s voice had none of the enthusiasm such an answer should bring. “I strolled into an unknown village with an empty backpack, fumbled for words to draw reactions about our radio without being outright suspicious, trusted a complete stranger who caught up to the game and offered nutritious help, snuck into her house while her husband slept. Then I got lost on my way back, carrying a ton of food, so it took me a good four hours to reach this place. This expedition couldn’t have been better. Give me water.”

  Andeal laughed as Henry extended his hand, then shook his head. “We’ve got none left. That’s why you had to go, remember?”

  “Oh yeah.” He crawled to the pack, zipped the side pouch open and drew out a liter, which he promptly poured into his mouth. Once refreshed, Henry corked it and threw it in Andeal’s direction. “Here, have at it. Best water I’ve ever had.” He patted the backpack with a short smile. “At least with all this we won’t need another trip for a while.”

  “Excellent.”

  Andeal climbed out of the balloon, grabbed the heavy pack, and brought it back on board. Henry had a point: his load weighted a ton. To think the poor man couldn’t walk half the distance between Ferrea and Mount Kairn with a tiny pack before. He’d shaped up in the last months.

  As his friend rested against a tree trunk, Andeal unpacked the new provisions. He stored what he could in their small chest, prioritizing anything that’d spoil if it got too humid. Most of the load was dry food—with a surprisingly small quantity of noodles—but Andeal eventually discovered a bag of fruits and vegetables. He couldn’t help but squeal and shove an apple in his mouth. They hadn’t eaten anything of the sort since leaving Reverence and he was dying for the freshness. Andeal paused, eyes closed, as he enjoyed the slight sugary taste. Perhaps they should do these expeditions again, just for the fruits.

  “There’s something else,” Henry said, breaking his reverie. “Look in the side pouch, the one opposite the water.”

  Andeal obeyed and soon held the day’s newspapers in hand. The headline read CHAOS IN ALTAER which, really, wasn’t news at all. The students were always restless. Packing the Regarian city with universities—and as a result, young folks from across the continent—had always led to unrest. He had done his fair share of protests with Treysh, launching her homemade fireworks into the sky. Large protests didn’t happen as often in the middle of summer, but something important must’ve triggered their passions. Could his broadcast have reached so far? If people had built their own transmitters as he’d asked, they might be able to pass the signal far enough to reach Regaria. That had been the idea.

  Then the second title drew his attention. In the left bar listing other important news was a simple announcement: Four suspects wanted for conspiracy. His heart sped as he flipped the pages open until he found the article proper. The text was a brief tribute to Lieutenant Lungvist’s investigative work following Mount Kairn’s explosions, which now led to a large-scale manhunt for four individuals. And right under the summary, his picture stared back at him, along with Maniel’s, Henry’s, and Seraphin’s.

  The police forces had found recent pictures for the two latter. Henry might be three years younger than now and he faced the photograph with a large smile, waving the camera. They’d cropped the image close but Andeal could make out a crowd in the background. His friend didn’t look the part of a dangerous criminal. Seraphin, on the other hand…The Regarian had his hair pulled into a long ponytail, wore a dark leather overcoat with the collar turned up. Tiny red veins shot through the blue of his eyes, giving him a mean, angry glare—an expression so far from Seraphin’s mocking half-smile that Andeal stared, disturbed, for a long time.

  The most interesting, however, was Maniel’s and his pictures. They’d been taken out of their college albums, some eight years ago. He couldn’t help but smile at his younger, fatter self. He’d always skipped exercise as much as possible during school, sometimes devising ridiculous apparatuses with Treysh to avoid moving around the house. For a year they’d had a special device that started the coffee maker on its own, with the right amount of water and coffee grain to make six cups. They activated it from their desks and only stood to pour themselves the much-needed caffeine—and only because multiple attempts at having the machine do that had resulted in failure and burns. Until the labs’ experimentation sucked the fat away, Andeal had always been plump. He suspected he would be again as soon as he stopped starving—which he looked forward to. That was the strangest thing about these pictures: they predated their arrest and kidnapping, came from a time he was healthy. His skin was greasy, sure, but of a perfectly normal pink. Under the images, his appearance was detailed—height, weight, eye and hair color and, in his case, a short sentence mentioned that he may have blue-colored skin.

  “I can’t believe this,” he said.

  “Tough luck, isn’t it? I don’t think I can roam the villages in search of food again.”

  “No, no, that’s not it.” The newspaper rustled as Andeal held it, his hands shaking. “Henry, they are acknowledging we exist! Treysh said they told my parents I must’ve run away and refused to search for me. There is no paper trail of either Maniel or I at the police station we were taken to and certainly none after, at the labs. Yet according to this newspaper, we’re not only out there, al
ive, but they admit I have blue skin. That kind of color doesn’t just appear on runaways.”

  Andeal had given his name on impulse when they started broadcasting—a message to Galen that he’d survived, that his secrets weren’t safe, and that he was coming after him. He’d never thought they’d dare to provide his description to the public. His heart hammered against his chest as he considered his next move. Henry studied him, looking a bit confused. Andeal smiled at him and snapped the newspaper shut.

  “Launch the balloon. We have an important broadcast.”

  Henry groaned but lumbered back to his feet. “Here I hoped to sleep somewhere other than a cramped basket for once.”

  He offered no further complaints, however, and within an hour they’d joined the stars. Andeal deployed the antenna under them while Henry pumped gas out to give them altitude. The lake shimmered in the moonlight, outlined by black forest. He counted four nearby clumps of green roofs. Together they housed hundreds of honest citizens who’d receive his broadcast loud and clear tonight.

  Andeal closed his eyes to calm his wild heart and gather his courage. Up until now, his radio had been all about the Clarin twins. He’d reminded them of Galen’s role in the oil disaster—of how even as a young man, he’d managed to create an overpowered microbe, lost control over it, and tried to deflect the blame on others as the bacteria ate through the continent’s oil—and he had expounded on Omar’s less-than-stellar military record and on the Clarin family’s long-lasting hunger for power. He’d read some of the papers Stern had stolen from Omar the night he left the army. Everything that could set up the twins as major actors in the Threstle Plague was on his program.

  Now it became personal. His story, linked into the overall scheme.

  Andeal cracked his knuckles, picked up his microphone, and flipped the transmitter on. The radio screeched for a moment, then stabilized. Henry gave him the thumbs-up.

  “Good evening, listeners! We apologize for disturbing so late in the night again, but I’m afraid I can’t choose my time for important news. Take a minute to gather your folks, we’ll be waiting with some music.”

  He set the microphone down, checked the time, and wiped his hands on his pants. The ten minutes he allowed his audience to get comfortable stretched on, endless. His heart beat so loudly he wondered if they could hear it through the radio. Henry had turned the burner off and sat on their chest, listening in like all the others.

  “All right, here we go,” Andeal said. “I hope you guys followed my instructions on building homemade transmitters to pass the signal on, because tonight’s broadcast is on a special subject and I would love to reach as many ears as possible. Tonight we’ll be talking about me.

  “If you’ve read the day’s newspaper and followed our broadcast since the beginning, you realize my picture’s in it. The blond college student who’s a little on the fat side of life? That’s me. Or, well, that was me eight years ago, when I attended classes in Altaer to become an electrical engineer. There’s a strange note at the bottom of my photo that says if you were to meet me today, I might have blue skin—I do! And that’s our program for tonight: how I acquired this particular skin color and all it implies. It’s a long story, and not an easy one, but it is worth your time.”

  He glanced at the stars and thought of Maniel again. If she’d watched them earlier tonight, she would also be listening in now. He hoped she’d agree with his decision to disclose their tale, to talk about it openly on the air. And if she didn’t, he prayed they’d have a chance to fight over it soon.

  With a smile, Andeal brought the mic to his lips and launched into his narrative.

  * * *

  “And that, listeners, is how I came to be blue.”

  Andeal concluded his long monolog and paused. Seraphin’s group of rebels—reduced to the Regarian, Maniel, Jan, and Vermen since Joshua and Stern had left with the others—sat around a small campfire some distance off the road. The captain lowered his gaze to his right hand, where minuscule scars still marked Andeal’s bite. He remembered his friend’s visceral terror, brutal enough to risk dying to get away. He’d guessed most of what had happened from that reaction and their short talk later, but hearing it laid out drove the reality home. Two years of ceaseless tests that would put some torturers to shame. How had they even pulled through with their minds intact? His short and, in retrospect, peaceful imprisonment among the rebels had nearly driven him mad.

  “There is one last thing,” Andeal continued, “a last experiment which I fear is relevant, even today, and must be detailed.”

  Vermen frowned and glanced at Maniel. She had stared at a specific tree branch throughout the broadcast, her lips pressed together, her back straight. There was a glaze over her eyes. She was listening, yes, but her mind had left the campfire and returned to their horrible cell. Young Jan sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of the daze. She turned to him with a brief smile but did not say a word as Andeal went on.

  “Silver—which I received—is an antimicrobial agent. Maniel received specific antibiotics. Our third cellmate, Lenz Schmitt, was inoculated with the actual illness. He got sick.”

  There was a pained exclamation in the background, the microphone thumped—probably Andeal’s hand over it—and a short, muffled exchange followed. Less than a minute later, Andeal continued his story.

  “It started with headaches and coughing, but within two days Lenz had a fever and nausea and he complained about pain in his chest. That evening he spat blood and we all knew he didn’t have long left. I started having headaches of my own…” Andeal paused. They could hear the tightness in his voice. Vermen wondered how Schmitt felt, listening to the gruesome details of his father’s death. “We escaped the next morning and…and…I’m sorry, listeners, but this tale will have to wait. It’s a better one, I promise. I’m just…I need a day.”

  The second pause lasted even longer and they all heard his ragged breathing. Maniel wiped her eyes and excused herself. Both Vermen and Seraphin watched her disappear between the trees. The captain wanted to follow, but if she sought comfort, she would’ve stayed. On the radio Andeal wished everyone a good night, then the familiar screech of a finished broadcast followed. Vermen gritted his teeth as it ripped through his ears. He’d never get used to that sound.

  Seraphin hit the receiver’s switch and turned it off.

  “Well, I sure hope your lovesick lieutenant decided not to listen to real radio for once and heard all that.”

  Vermen’s head shot up and he glared at the rebel leader. Since their encounter with Lungvist a few days ago, Seraphin had not missed an opportunity to ridicule the man. “Don’t mock him. Lungvist is the most intelligent man the Union Army has in service. He found your base. He’ll figure out where Galen’s is.”

  “Oh really?” Seraphin stretched his legs with a half-smile. “I’ll bet he wished you were half as perceptive as he is quite a few times, then. You never noticed how he looked at you? Can’t have been easy.”

  “It wasn’t obvious,” Vermen replied, but there was no conviction in his tone. He wanted Seraphin to shut up because he knew he was right. He should have seen it, addressed it. Now that he looked back, he saw all the clues, the barely controlled impulses. Lungvist would’ve known, would have noticed his lingering gazes and heard what they used to say about him. He’d waited and hoped. “He doesn’t deserve your derision.”

  “Then he should have left Treysh alone.” Holt bent forward, clasping his hands together with a dangerous look. “This ‘Reverence contact’ he caught? She’s Andeal’s best friend. She knew him long before the labs and I’m sure seeing her for however long it lasted was an incredible relief. But now she’s gone. We all know what they do with prisoners.”

  “He wouldn’t—”

  “He’s not with her.” Seraphin stood and glanced at the woods where Maniel had gone. “Just like you weren’t with any of the rebels you captured. Whether or not he knows, her arrest is a death penalty
.”

  Vermen turned away, incapable of holding Seraphin’s gaze. There would be no saving Andeal’s friend. “What do we do?”

  “We hope they take their sweet time executing her and go to Regaria, exactly as planned.”

  Seraphin strode into the forest, following Maniel and leaving Vermen to deal with his frustration. Running into Lungvist had exposed how detached he’d become from his old life. He wasn’t that captain anymore, no longer held any of his prejudices or aspirations. Hans was ready to scrap it all—or almost all. David could be convinced to join. He’d been an incredible partner for years. Vermen hoped he wouldn’t get killed looking for the truth, and that he would get a chance to sort things out before the end. Not any time soon, though. They had a long road ahead to get to Regaria.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Hard rain beat against their balloon’s envelope, weighing it down. The horrible weather had held up for hours, forcing Henry to sacrifice his waxed coat to cover their chest and protect the radio materials within against water. Now his clothes stuck to his skin, drenched, and he could hear his shoes squish with every step despite the battering rain and howling winds. They had been in the sky for weeks now, but he couldn’t remember flying in worse conditions. Henry had developed many tricks since launching off Mount Kairn and grown into an expert pilot, but none of them were any use in the rain. He hoped he’d never have to do this again.

  A powerful gust rocked their basket and he clung to the slippery railing until the turbulence passed, cursing the rebels for removing the security holds inside while they redesigned it. Had nobody thought flying for weeks would lead to rain and wind? Those rope handles were built in for a reason! He could think of several enhancements for the Lenz Balloon, but its engineer had crouched inside the basket, a hand over his mouth, half-sick. He hadn’t expected such storms and wasn’t built to deal with them, that much was obvious.