—I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
—You’re not “supposed” to do anything, Couture. You decide. You have no idea what to do, well here’s one for you. Get your head out of your ass and get that kid of yours home!
—The Council might rule our way, I—
—The Council? You’ve been waiting for them for five goddamn years! They’re not helping us. How long will it take for you to get that through that thick head of yours? Eva’s fifteen now, Couture. Fifteen? Are you gonna wait until she’s thirty? Get her away from this place. We don’t belong here, son. She doesn’t.
—I don’t know—
—I don’t know what to do … Is there an echo in here? Boohoo. You find a way home, and you take it. I told you to make friends. You barely get out of your house. You can’t even see what’s right in front of your nose. I just told you your daughter spends all her days with an Imperial Guard trainee. What do you think these people do? They pilot big-ass metal robots, that’s what they do.
—He can’t do it on his own. I already asked. They control all the robots from one place. We’d need someone to let us go. We could try and take that command center by force, but I …
—You what? You’re afraid it might be dangerous? You don’t want to put her in harm’s way? She’s already in harm’s way, Couture. There are riots every day. Someone bombed—well, vaporized—a government building in Osk this morning.
—I didn’t know.
—This place is on the verge of revolution, and we’re smack-dab in the middle of it. One side blames us, the other one uses us.
—They know we have nothing to do with what’s going on.
—Oh, we’re involved. We’re involved whether we like it or not. Your daughter is. Don’t fool yourself into thinking she’s safe because they haven’t hurt her yet. You get your kid off this rock, you hear me? You need to promise me you’ll get her home.
—I’ll—
—Goddammit, Couture! You don’t try. You do it!
—Yes, sir.
—That’s my boy. Now hand me that loaf of bread, will you?
—What? This?
—Are you making fun of my bread?
—You made this … thing?
—You try making bread with what they have here.
—It looks more like a pancake. Did you use any yeast?
—And how would I do that? Go to the market and ask for fungus? Would you eat that?
—Probably not.
—That’s right. Could be someone’s athlete’s foot. I hate this place. There’s nothing good to eat. Not a goddamn thing. You know the first thing I’m gonna do when I’m gone?
—What?
—I’m gonna have the biggest goddamn steak anyone’s ever seen. What? I’m dying! You think that’s funny?
—You think there’s steak in Heaven?
—Oh, I don’t know if I believe in Heaven.
—You don’t know if you believe in Heaven, but you’re sure about the steak.
—Yes. Do you have anything to say about that?
—I …
—Be very careful with the next words to come out of your mouth, Couture. You’re addressing a brigadier general in the Earth Defense Corps.
—I hope it’s bloody as hell, sir.
FILE NO. EE151—PERSONAL FILE FROM ESAT EKT
Personal Journal Entry—Dr. Rose Franklin
Location: Assigned residence, Etyakt region
They won’t do a thing. Eugene is dying, and the Ekt won’t lift a finger to help him. It’s against the rules. That’s not true. It might be against the rules. If the Council lets the Etyakt vote stand, then Eugene is a citizen, and they have to save his life. But they haven’t. They haven’t said anything, or done anything, in five years. I wrote to them. I wrote this long letter to the Council of Akyast, telling them we’d gladly accept our fate and stay here if it means saving our friend. Eugene told me not to send it. He said it was a waste of time. I didn’t care, of course. I gave the letter to Enatast this morning. I could tell he was uncomfortable. I found out Eugene had given him an even longer letter asking, begging the council to let him die. I can’t believe how stubborn that man is.
We’re not as close as we used to be, but he’s still my friend. I won’t let him have the last word on this one, not if it means losing him. The Ekt won’t save him, but they also won’t stop me from doing it. I just need to cure cancer.
It sounds insane, but I think I know how to do it, sort of, on paper. Targeted therapy. We were making progress with the idea when we left Earth, developing drugs that target specific DNA mutations. That’s just what cancer is. Cells accumulate certain mutations over time and become more and more disconnected from all the mechanisms that are supposed to regulate them, including those that tell the cell to kill itself. At some point they stop caring completely and begin to divide uncontrollably. If I can identify the mutations responsible for Eugene’s cancer, and target the right cells … I know it’s easier said than done—humans have been trying to do just that for decades—but I’m certain it can be done here. They’ve done it. I’ve seen it.
The weapon they used against us on Earth did just that. It targeted certain DNA strands and made the cells do something that triggered an immune response against them. It’s like an airport sniffer dog. It can be trained to find different things—fruit, drugs, explosives. I need to train mine to find cancer and do the same thing it did on Earth. If I can get the same immune response, but only with cancer cells, Eugene’s body will cure itself, theoretically.
I’ll need all sorts of samples from Eugene, a way to sequence DNA from healthy and mutated cells. I’ll need equipment though it’s possible I already have access to everything I need. I don’t know what half the things do in the lab where they let me work. My biggest problem is that, even with all the lab equipment in the world, I don’t know enough about genetics. I have no idea what I’m doing, or how na?ve this idea of mine really is. I never thought I’d say it, but I need Alyssa right now. Short of that, I need to learn, fast, and figure out if this is even remotely possible. I’ll have to convince the Ekt I know more than I do, again. I hate being dishonest with them, but I’m not going to let my friend die.
I need to believe I can do this.
FILE NO. 2130
PERSONAL JOURNAL ENTRY—EVA REYES
Location: Kaarina Work Camp, near Turku, Finland
So close. We were almost there. We were stopped by local cops, who turned us over to the Russians.
Of course, they knew who I was. They plastered my picture everywhere. Déjà vu all over again. I think I might be the most wanted person here too. This is nuts.
“Bob” managed to convince them he was taking me to this camp. They bought it because we were so close, and no one would lie to get into a work camp. They even escorted us to the gate. He said he’d get me out, but I don’t see how he can manage that. They’ll talk to their bosses at some point, soon, and figure out who he is. Then they’ll come for me. I probably have a day at most, maybe two.