Chapter 11 Em #2
Idris closes his eyes for a brief moment—the smallest collapse—before he rebuilds composure.
But I…
I can no longer contain myself. My breathing slips into shallow, intermittent bursts.
My mind recognizes the physiological patterns I’m experiencing. Cortisol spike in heart rate and salivatory response. Peripheral vasoconstriction from my hands turning cold. I’m experiencing overload to my sympathetic nervous system.
Logically, I should feel relief. I try to convince myself to. Subject One—no, Sergio’s death had nothing to do with Kys, or my formulation, or my mistakes.
But my body doesn’t respond to the logic. My guilt doesn’t dislodge. It curdles, leaving a cold trail up my arms until it meets the heat in my neck. Warmth and coolness should cancel each other out. Yet nothing returns to normal. Everything feels wrong.
“Now this may very well be an incident of psychosis,” Set speaks.
I knit my brows. My entire body trembles.
“But based on the footage Darius sent to me, which we have given to authorities,” Set goes on, “the extraction appeared too exact to be self-inflicted or achieved by any of your subjects.”
Idris’ hands close around my arms in an attempt to perhaps stop my shaking.
Set sends a dry laugh through the speaker. “Unless you hid a surgeon as skilled as me or Idris in your ship, Emira.”
I clear my throat to speak, but my voice is stuck.
“Em,” Idris whispers too loud for my ringing ears.
I can feel him checking my pulse with his hand around my wrist.
“Mirror my breaths, Em.” His low voice sounds more and more urgent by the second, speaking quickly. “Can you answer me, Em? Please?”
Set laughs again. “Idris,” he says. “Slow down.”
I’m ripped from the spiral I hadn’t noticed I was in until now, from the sound of Darius dropping what he was holding with a sudden clink. My eyes take him in, how his breathing slows to something nearly motionless. His gaze narrows toward the speakerphone.
“Em—” Idris starts, but Set’s voice cuts clean, louder and commanding.
“You will maintain composure, Emira,” Set demands. “You are the clinical lead of this trial. Your intellect is required to remain in control of the situation.”
I try for a stabilizing breath. It fractures halfway in. My fingers curl in, nails meeting palm.
Idris steps toward the phone, sounding tense and speaking swiftly. “Father, Em needs a moment. We can continue when—”
“And as I’ve stated, Idris, slow down.” The words rattle in my mind as I close my eyes. “Emira has stayed silent for too long. We must proceed.”
My eyes remain closed as I feel the room spin, as if the ship is sinking sideways, when rationally, it isn’t. Yet my breath stutters. My arms remain cold. My neck much too warm. The temperature imbalance worsens. My body will not return to normal.
I blink my eyes open and see Idris. Concern sits on his face. It doesn’t fit, when I’m used to seeing him smile at me.
My eyes move toward the table, where Darius has gone still in a way that tells me he’s managing something internal as well.
Set’s voice occupies the rest of the room. His tone is measured, leaving little room for anything but compliance. My body responds before my mind can catch up. There’s too much input at once. Too many sensations pulling in different directions.
I start to separate them, out of necessity to continue functioning. The cold in my hands, Idris’ closeness, Darius’ stillness, the weight of Set’s authority—I shove them all into the back of my mind, where the memory of my mother flatlining has stayed for years.
All of those feelings filed away, closed and shut. The effect is immediate. My breath stabilizes. The room feels less intrusive, and I’m more present, staring back at Idris, whose creased browline alerts me to his growing worry.
It is none of my concern.
I school my features as if Set is right in front of me instead of the speakerphone blinking close by.
“Please proceed, sir,” I say evenly.
Set drones on. And I listen as well as I can.
***
Despite the best of my abilities, time blurs after the call. Minutes tick by, seeming to go past me.
I suppose I’m losing grasp of time.
There must have been tasks between then and now. Notes I tapped into my tablet. Orders Set gave that Idris and Darius are already carrying out. Conversations I moved through without registering them.
All I know with certainty is that, at this moment, I’m now standing in the mess hall.
The room is full of bodies, voices, and heat. But the usual buzz of conversation has a different pitch today. Higher. Tenser. Wrong.
My eyes scan over the people. Fellow staff and fellow subjects. All of us showing subtle—as well as open—signs of distress. I can’t fault them for feeling this way.
Idris stands in front of the room, where everyone can see him. Darius is by him, hands clasped behind his back, frowning and eyeing the floor. I take my place on the other side of Idris, tablet in hand.
Everyone else faces us. I scan the room and see Nil looking stoic, at a table near the middle.
Stan’s next to him, face unusually solemn.
Fewer smiles today. More gritted teeth. Others I know by intake number first, then by name.
Chronologically… Jonathan. Gerald. Walter.
Marco. Edward. Alphonso. Rami. Connor. Tomas.
Stan. Nil. So many of them for only twelve.
No…
Only eleven now.
My eyes dart to my tablet screen as the murmur dies down as soon as Idris clears his throat. “Thank you all for coming,” he says, his voice carrying across the crowd easily. “I know this isn’t how we usually start the day.”
Silence becomes tense in the space between tables.
Idris lets some seconds pass before speaking. “There’s no easy way to say this,” he says with a heavy sigh, “so I’ll just say it. Late last night, one of our people was found in his room. He was unfortunately found unresponsive. Despite our best efforts, we were unable to resuscitate him.”
The silence that comes after is heavy. My ears ring again.
A hand goes up near the back. Someone blurts, “Who?”
Idris purses his lips, breathing in deeply before saying his name. “Sergio.”
The sound that follows isn’t a single noise. It’s a layered reaction. A gasp from one side. A curse from another. Chair scraping. Someone shakily mutters, “No way,” under their breath.
Idris keeps his tone steady. “I know many of you spent time with him. Some of you more than others. His loss is a heartbreaking misfortune.”
Questions fire from different directions.
“What happened to him?”
“Was it the new Kys?”
“Is this experiment safe?”
“Are we next?”
The pitch of the room spikes. My body reacts as my mind tries to contain everything in order. My heart rate jumps. My palms dampen around my tablet. The air feels thinner even though the vents make the same sounds as always.
Idris raises a hand. The crowd reaches a quiet murmur. “Take a breath,” he says. “I’ll answer what I can.”
The room quiets by decibels. My ears barely ring.
“First,” Idris says, “someone noticed Sergio’s cabin door wasn’t closing properly during late hours and alerted me. That person did the right thing. They did not harm him. They did not cause this.”
“Who found him?” someone calls out. “We should know.”
“Yeah,” another voice adds. “If his door was open, Sergio must’ve opened it for someone. That’s suspicious, right?”
Agreement moves through the crowd.
My breath catches. Based on who I saw at my room earlier today, I might know who found Sergio.
“I’m not going to give you a name,” Idris says. “That person is a witness, not a suspect. They flagged a medical emergency. They didn’t cause one.”
“How do you know?” Jonathan demands from the front. “You just said you couldn’t save Sergio. For all we know, whoever ‘found’ him—”
“Jon.” Idris’ voice cuts through the rising noise.
Jonathan’s mouth snaps shut. He looks like he wants to keep arguing but doesn’t. He even earns a pointed glare from Darius.
Idris continues, “I understand you’re scared. I am too. But we’re not going to turn on each other.”
Around the mess all, shoulders lower. A few people look down at their hands. My gaze finds Nil, arms crossed and staring at Stan, who’s looking around like he’s taking stock of our surroundings.
Idris goes on, “We’ve contacted the relevant authorities on land.
Sergio’s body will be transported with care as soon as we reach port.
We’re advancing our course toward Cairo now, since it’s the closest docking area.
From there, all of you will be flown home to your families or designated contacts. ”
Someone from the back interrupts. “We’re going home? Like, now?”
“Soon,” Idris says. “We still need to reach Cairo first. That was always the destination. The difference is timing. We’re heading there earlier than planned.”
Some more words are shared as I try to stabilize myself. But soon, all eyes move to me. The attention feels like a spotlight, even though the overhead lighting hasn’t changed.
My throat feels rather dry. But Idris is staring at me too, inviting me to speak.
“We’re suspending today’s dose,” I say my part as practiced. “There’s no current indication that this version of Kys contributed to Sergio’s passing. However, out of caution and respect, we will pause administration while we review all available data.”
“Review?” someone echoes. “Review what?”
I hold my tablet a little tighter. “Neural scans. Vitals. Behavioral logs. Anything that can clarify patterns in response to the new formulation.”
The mess hall stirs. Some nod. Others whisper.
“So you don’t know if it’s safe,” someone in the far back says too quietly for my ears, which I strain to focus on his voice. “You’re just…hoping?”
I can’t help but frown. They make a fair point. Hope is not a helpful factor.