“But this is the only time we can hope to defeat them,” Ermy completed.
“Right! Philippa interrupted him, “just during barely thirty seconds.”
“Thirty seconds?”
“Yes, afterwards, they get their super skills back.”
“So, it’s easy. We just need to strain them, and, as soon as they are out of energy, just shoot them between the eyes!”
Philippa interrupted her.
“Believe me, I’ve never seen anyone surviving them for more than two dozen seconds...”
“But, Philippa...” Ermy intervened.
“Nobody, Ermy... nobody, do you understand?”
Ermengarde exhaled deeply, pouting. Matilda could feel this matter was quite mysterious, but she preferred not to intervene. She understood the message. Recklessness was useless when facing a militiaman. The only option was to use their brain. A good strategy was much better than acting in a pushy way.
“So? When do I start my training?” Matilda asked, excited.
“Haha! I like this kind of energy,” Philippa declared. “You will start tomorrow, from 9am to noon, every day. In the afternoon, you will train on handling firearms with Blanche. Lord Trancavel will introduce you to the use of state-of-the-art equipment.”
“Lord Trancavel? That alone!” Matilda asked surprised.
“You’ll see, better not to upset him.”
“I fear I already saw the expense of this,” the young woman joked.
Ermengarde smiled for a bit, thinking back at how Matilda got her place in the team. Or almost. She would have to defeat Blanche on long board. Looking at her, so motivated from the simple idea of fighting with the militiamen, and, also so naive, the firery-haired man could feel some admiration and respect for her. But wasn’t it more than that?
Laïka
Like her old master, Laïka’s life was moving toward the end. Being 80 years old, Phoebus knew his time left was scarce, as for his old and loyal pet. She could barely stand when she had to go to the housing unit after a hard day of work. They had lived so many things during the last 15 years. Fifteen years. An old age, even for a mongrel dog. When she was young, Laïka looked like a Beauceron mixed with a Pyrenean Shepherd. She was almost thirty inches tall at the shoulders, with silky hairs, a squared jaw line, floppy ears and a lazy tong. With a bit of an impulse she could jump six feet high obstacles and she was smelling rats in a 20 cubits area. For some times, maximum a few months, Phoebus had arranged a comfortable space in the laboratory for her, next to an air vent blowing some hot and damp air all day long. Thanks to all the pillows, Laïka was feeling good there. When they were arriving in the morning, she nonchalantly lied down, her ears always looking out for any noises, and her big eyes, now bulging because of her old age, always looking out for any moves. She was making the least effort, but she was the kindest one, Phoebus thought.
The nano-container was exposed in a small fridge, which glass door was allowing to look at its content. Held straight by a bracket adapted to its size, it was exposed like a very precious trophy. Since it had been surprisingly revealed to them, Phoebus couldn’t stop looking at it, day after day. A real obsession. One week already. One week, he had been coming every day, with a single idea torturing his mind - injecting the substance in his own veins to discover once and for all its effects. Finally, discovering the secrets of this black liquid moving imperceptibly, with its organic aspect and its metallic reflections. Sometimes, he would open the small fridge, hesitating to take the mysterious product. Sometimes, he would hold it for a few seconds, even a few minutes, then put it back on its bracket, feeling a too oppressive tension. Nevertheless, he was getting used, step by step, to this forbidden proximity. Every day, he was holding it in his hands a bit longer. Every day, he was getting familiar with the idea of feeling this substance spreading in his flesh, and was starting to consciously accept the potential terrible consequences.
“You will get your eyes burnt from looking at it so much!”
Phoebus opened again the small fridge, in a slow and confident motion, laid back the nano-container on its bracket and turned back, stroking his forked beard, acting as if there was nothing amiss.
“What brings you here, my dear Ermessende?” He simply answered, barely daring looking at her.
“Are you becoming crazy my dear?”
“What are you speaking about?”
“We planned to assess, this morning, the options we have to analyse this nano-substance.”
“Hmm!”
“What’s worrying you that much? You have been roaming this place like an injured animal for a few days,” Ermessende worried.
Phoebus was faking reorganising his working plan covered with old books, which had turned yellow with time, rolls of papers with various architectural drawings, and computer equipment waiting to be fixed. Getting no answer, Ermessende came closer to her old fellow companion, tenderly laid her hand on his shoulder and asked him in a low and composed voice.
“You still want to believe this old story, don’t you?”
Phoebus took a deep breath, stopped pretending and laid his two hands on the warm woods of the working table.
“Don’t you?” He answered curtly.
“How many times have we spoken about this?”
“You’ve never believed me, admit it!”
“This isn’t the question, Phoebus. You know it. I never doubt this militiaman told you about a technology empowering physical skills, but to reach the point of conceiving a cure to defeat death itself...”
“That’s what he told me,” he interrupted her.
“What he tried to tell you, before getting kill by one of his fellows,” Ermessende said ironically.
Phoebus’s face closed up. His fingers buried in his beard, he was dwelling on a few inaudible words. Then, Ermessende added.
“Even the American army, with their huge budget, never managed to create super soldiers as it was always bragging about. Instead, the government spent most of its time trying to contain the psychiatric issues created by the experimental nano-agents they were injecting in their soldiers. How many suicides happened? How many of them became crazy and backfired on the people they were supposed to protect, their own population and their brothers in arms, struck by madness and out of control.”
“Simple collateral damages! That’s how science is working,” Phoebus retorted.
“They completely lost what made them human. Was it worth it?” Nano-technology was supposed to revolutionise the world, cure all diseases - what became of all those promises?” Ermessende wondered.
“So, how do you explain Guilhabert’s physical prowess? Leaping like a mountain goat, at his age! Only the militiamen are able of such prowess.”
“We weren’t there.”
“Do you doubt Matilda’s account?”
Now, Ermessende was pouting, without knowing what to answer. Phoebus exploited this opening.
“What will we do? Do we wait to find the equipment needed to analyse those substances. What’s the probability the ongoing mission will succeed? We’re wasting some precious time. One injection in one of us would be enough to know.”
“Or not! What are the probabilities we would really discover the effect of this nano-substance before the wilful volunteer die? You’re perfectly aware many things could go wrong before we’ve the slightest idea. And what about those seeds? What will we do? Are they related to this black liquid? There are too many questions left. The risk is unconsidered.”
“Sometimes, science takes some short cut, you’re fully aware of this! Didn’t Newton press himself a needle in his eye to discover how he was perceiving colours?”
“We aren’t speaking about a simple needle! We’re speaking about a substance which effects could be deadly!”
“Or healing!”
Ermessende came closer. With her two hands, she lovingly interlaced his face.
“We’ll cure you, we’ll find a treatment, but not with this. I promise you
.”
“How much time have I left? At the pace this damn tumour is spreading, two, maybe three months!”
Ermessende tenderly kissed him, like she hadn’t for a long time.
“Keep faith, my love. Despair is a pitiful adviser. When it doesn’t push us to make some regrettable choices, it diverts our attention from what really matters.”
“And what really matters?”
“The mission. Finding Esclarmonde. Overthrowing Inosanto’s empire. Rebuilding a prosperous civilisation based on science and rational thinking. And also, we’ve Matilda. Indeed, she’s still naive, but she’s full of energy, and the blood of two great scientists is flowing in her veins.”
“I just see a stupid young girl, completely lobotomised by some silly medieval beliefs. You know how dangerous religious faith can be, when deeply anchored in the human mind. What would be her decisions when she would have to choose between a Kathar and one of Inosanto’s followers? Can you certify she won’t turn against us when the time will come?”
“Why shouldn’t we believe the opposite?” Ermessende declared, baffled.
“You see this!” Phoebus interrupted her, showing the nano-container in the fridge. Why did she hide it from us? She’s like all the others. She’s driven by interest only. If she hadn’t understood her mother could still be alive, this vial would still be in her bag, under her bed or maybe at the bottom or the Ariège River, deep in the water! Who knows?”
“I trust her. Leave her a chance to prove herself worth.”
“Do I really have the choice? Can you imagine if we could discover that this substance is the source of the militiamen’s destructive power? We could fight in equal terms. We would have a real chance to end Terra Fecundis! If only we could test it to clarify everything.”
Ermessende took Phoebus in her arms. They briefly closed their eyes, tired from that too long exile, those burdensome frustrations, and those constant struggles. When Phoebus opened his eyes again, Laïka was lying at their feet, staring at him, barely wagging her tail. Ermessende felt her coming next to her calf as she had been doing for a long time to relieve herself from the joint pains she felt on her hips.
“See this!” She declared with affection. “You too, you can’t stand it any more, right my dear granny?”
Ermessende sat on a chair to stroke the old dog, whose breathing was giving away her very precarious health.
“Poor animal,” she added, looking at Phoebus. “Maybe it’s time to shorten her suffering, don’t you think so?”
Phoebus looked at the suffering animal he had adopted 15 years ago. She was really deserving to reach her peaceful heaven. As usual when he was thinking, he let his fingers fidgeting deeply in his beard.
Would you grant me with a last favour, my dear old Laïka?
*
* *
Esclarmonde
Despite not having used such equipment for almost 20 years, Esclarmonde was feeling remarkably confident with the biopsy devices and process. She was working hard, trying not to think too much about the inhuman detention conditions of her dear Paul. Inosanto had taken care of leaving the surveillance camera of the jail on, so she would keep in mind the reason why she had to struggle every day in the small lab.
The body tissues she had extracted from the Prophet’s chest wasn’t like everything else she had analysed as a microbiologist. The cell culture provided some unexpected results. The cellular division, fundamental process of the living world, was non-existent, nor the apoptosis. In fact, it was something different. Normally, a cell follows a very specific life cycle. It’s born, sometimes it regenerates, but it always ends up destructing itself to be replaced by a new cell, and so on. This had been the case forever. No living organism could escape this weary rule. Esclarmonde had always been doubting about Inosanto’s alleged immortality. She had even doubted he existed. She was only considering him as a mighty impostor. Nevertheless, she had to admit that his cellular tissue structure was telling her something completely different. The cells she had extracted from the stigmata were never declining, even when she was trying to intentionally kill them. Also, the issue was they weren’t really alive. They were staying in an intermediary state, like we could expect from a living dead. As soon as the cells were declining, they were immediately regenerating before disintegrating again. They were in a perpetual advanced state of putrefaction that she defined as viable. During the clinical examination, she was able to note the stigmata were moving on the Prophet’s body. According to him, they were never staying more than a day at the same place. Esclarmonde concluded the same after observing them. During a 24-hour cycle, the cells were going from a phase of organic instability, as Esclarmonde called it, to a phase of cellular stability. The mechanism behind such a biological prowess was completely unknown to her. Then, she decided to analyse the tissue with the Rohrer IV, a powerful scanning tunnelling microscope at the back of the room.
She laid a few tissues on a glass plate then put it in a special compartment of the device which ensured the lack of atmosphere and dust. With the high definition control screen, she was able to start her thorough exploration task of the infinitely small. The picture, which was lacking accuracy at the beginning, let appear a very chaotic organic structure. She zoomed in more and she increased the resolution level to look inside a degenerated cell, looking for any element she wouldn’t know the origin yet. A trail, a clue, anything which could allow her to guide her work.
“What’s this?” She suddenly declared out loud.
“Something new, my dear Professor Lecuyer?”
Esclarmonde was startled on her chair, while Inosanto was just entering the lab.
“Do you sometime warn people when you’re coming?” Esclarmonde raged, while staring at him in a very hostile way.
“Please, accept my most sincere apologies for being so unpredictable,” the Prophet retorted. “You seemed to be focused on your research, so I didn’t want to interrupt you in the middle of a potential interesting discovery. It seems I arrived at the right time. Am I mistaken?”
Esclarmonde pointed her finger at the STM screen where the zoom to an atomic level was showing a small black and grey structure, moving wildly in the viscous medium.
“Do you see this?” She interrupted him bitterly.
Inosanto came closer.
“What do you want me to tell you?” He finally answered.
“I want you to explain me what millions of nano-robots are doing at the heart of your cells.”
“I am pleased to see it didn’t take you long to discover it. I’ve to admit, this is encouraging for what will follow up.”
“You knew it and you didn’t tell me anything. If you want me to get some results, you will have to share everything you know,” she raged.
“If you give me some time, I can explain you,” he quietly and peacefully said.
“Hmm!”
Seeing his degree of self-control, Esclarmonde realised how ridiculous she was. Staring blankly, she nonchalantly gestured him to go on.
“What you’re seeing on the screen is the work of your late husband. He has worked all those years to create a nano-substance. A billion nano-robots which should be able to infiltrate each cell of my body to stabilise and stop the stigmata proliferation.”
“Without any success as I can see.”
“As you have rightly foreseen it by yourself during our first working session, it’s quite hard to interfere with a divine punishment, even with all human science.”
“Victor was the best in his field. If he didn’t succeed, I am not sure I could fare better.”
“Keep faith! Victor didn’t have all your knowledge about cellular microbiology. You will definitely look in another way than the one he had chosen to follow. He was always saying that, with your help, he would have found a treatment a long time ago.”
“So, sometimes he was speaking about me, wasn’t he?”
“He was speaking about you in the past tense, like speaking about a g
host.”
“He might have left some research studies, some analysis reports or some structural plans about the nano-robots he has developed, didn’t he?”
“As you can imagine, he really took pleasure in destroying everything before running away,” Inosanto mourned before being struck by a deep and loose cough.
Even though she was feeling only disdain for the old 170-year-old man, Esclarmonde surprisingly felt mercy for him. She got closer to help him standing back, as he was bent from the strong pains caused by the muscular contractions going along with the cough.
“Very kind of you,” he thanked her in a husky voice.
Esclarmonde felt trapped by her silly maternal instinct, even if it was occurring toward an old man. Embarrassed, she moved back toward the STM, looking humbly and faking to sputter. This attitude, which should be completely natural, was just a sign of weakness, while she was willingly trying to maintain an untainted conflict, if possible a fruitful one. Nevertheless, by showing some compassion, she might be able to learn more about her late Guilhabert. By all account, their relation had been biased. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Paul, huddled, naked, psychologically bruised, in this space of three by six feet invaded by rats and other pests.
“I will need to perform some new biopsies to understand the mechanism occurring in your organism.”
“Hmm! What do you have in mind?”
“I think there should be a part of your organism where I would be able to find healthy cells, which aren’t affected by the same ailment.”
“That’s an interesting theory. What part do you have in mind?”
“Hmm!” You won’t like it.”
“Just go on!”
“The brain stem.”
“Hmm!”
Inosanto did his best to hide his discomfort from the simple idea of a biopsy inside his brain. Then, Esclarmonde added again.
“You have to understand, I need some material to work on. Your intellect doesn’t seem to be affected by this ailment. If your brain was corrupted by the same ailment as your body, you wouldn’t be here with me, able to reason, argue and think. So, I guess your brain is healthy.”
The Convoy Page 4
