Vile

Gemen: special kind of human that exhibits a power-wielding gemstone in the center of their chest, between their pectoral muscles. Their origins are unclear, but the powers that accompany their structure are indisputable: and sometimes, dangerous. This contrast between the small population and special powers of the Gemen and the much larger populations and lack of power of the normal people are a recipe for political tension. 

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Varitha faces her father. The father of not only her biological life, but her purpose in life. The father that saved her life, making it so that she could never be drafted into the war., The father that laid her new dirt path--the path out of Kytren and into her community in the forest The father of the enclosure of her true powers.

She walks towards him for the first time in ten years, almost tripping over the sticks that line the muddy path to Kytren. He stayed here--he had no other choice. There was no way out for him, like there was for Varitha. He must stay there despite the danger, because he knows he is the cornerstone of hope for people living in Kytren.

The cornerstone of the conspiracy against the dictatorial government. They reside deep in the forest, with such secrecy and skill that not even the likes of the new Kytrenian army could lead to their exposure. Varitha is one of them.

Her father holds the secrets that she needs. He holds the truth in his arms spread wide, just as he once held her life itself. 

The night is cold, dark, and damp: like a sewer. Except the waste is her, and she is drifting to be renewed into something useful. 

She feels her Heartstone warm. Not from it being used, but from the emotion that gushes from her father’s stunned disbelief.

“Varitha,” he says. His mouth gapes open, as if he is catching the string of fate that must have led her to him. 

“Dad?”

His arms wrap around her like a bird shielding its young from local predators. The embrace is short, because Conovas feels a million words bubbling up his throat. They’ve been scorching his insides for the last ten years.

“There are a few key things I must tell you,” he says, “before somebody sees us.”

Varitha stares intently, with her brown eyes sparkling under the illumination of the midnight moon. She is ready for the truth.

“Listen carefully.”

He tells her of the return of Halamous, the unfortunate dictator that came into power during Kytren’s weakest moments. His origins are publicly unclear, but those close to him know that his father was killed before his own eyes for third degree treason against the people. Those who are asked whether they remember that day are forced to pretend they do not. 

Only the scientists know of his true intent because they are the ones who will execute his plan.

“His plan is to breed a new species. All replicating him and his power,” he starts. “Everyone knows that he’s dangerous, but they think it for the wrong reason. They think he’s dangerous because he is a dictator. No, he is dangerous because he has powers that nobody else has.” He looks afraid: it is unclear if it’s from the recollection of Halamous or from the impending threat of being caught. “He has the power to drain the life force from anything.”

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The chilling air of the office room tickles my skin. In the corner of the room are endless shelves of ancient books and scrolls, detailing the history of our city, Kytren. I let go of the door handle and it slams into place behind me as I walk slowly towards Dr. Trellows’ perfectly rectangular desk in the center of the otherwise quite barren room.

“Hello, Dr Trellows,” I say with ease. He called me out on the announcements this morning to visit his office. The memory of last week--the words that I spoke--resurfaces.

He looks up to me and tilts his glasses. I try to find a hidden speck of conjecture, but am only met with the familiar wash of hot water that is his prideful smirk. I lean over the edge of the table.

“Conovas,” he says. “Thank you for showing.” He slides a slip of paper towards my hands. “I have a bit to talk to you about.” The chair makes a screeching sound as his legs lift him into a standing position. He’s much taller than me.

My face flushes with heat. “And what would that be?” I try to keep my voice calm, but it wavers on the last word.

“Well,” he says. He stops to look me up and down. His arms are crossed behind his back and his hands are clasped. I hear the scraping of his metal rings against each other. They sound like handcuffs.

A wave of impatience washes over me. “Well what?”

“Calm down there, Conovas. I have a small task for you.”

He walks to his back cabinet. Only the most important materials--or pieces of information--are kept in that area. I divert my eyes so as not to seem too anxious. 

His movements seem as though he is moving through molasses as he pulls out a vial. It’s about the size of a testing tube and is gray--I’m not sure if it’s from the tint of the glass or from the substance that lies inside.

Could it be a sample of DNA from Varitha? Does he know?

He hands me the vial. “This was found in Halamous’ bedroom last night,” he says. I almost sigh with relief, but remember that Trellows is known to trick his prey before he strikes. “I am giving you--and two other people whom you choose--to find out what it is.”

I listen carefully for more. If he knows about Varitha and I’s conversation, I won’t have access to inside information any longer. I’ll lose my job. I’ll become useless to the rebellion. 

“Is that all the information you can give me?”

He nods his head. “We need the results back by tomorrow,” he explains. “It is imperative that we know who has conspired against us.”

I shudder. Not physically, but mentally. “You can count on me,” I say.

“Oh, I’m sure we can.”

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My stomach turns over as I leave the room and turn the corner away from his office. He has to know. And he has to care. But if he did, why would he give me such an important task? And who tried to kill Halamous?

Was it Varitha?

The thought of it echoes inside of my mind as my eyes well up with tears. Not from sadness, but from frustration. I need to call my two most trustworthy friends for this task, but I feel paralyzed with my questions left unknown. I decide that the only way I will ever find out is to get along with it.

I call Dr. Pepet and Dr. Iropis on the Holo-Phone. They both helped me out with the DNA testing of the citizens of Kytren, and they proved to be prompt and responsible workers. 

The first of them to appear, blue and wavy, is Dr. Pepet. “Hello, Conovas. How are you today?”

“I’m good, actually.” Iropis steps into the frame. They look to be playing a game of cards. “I was wondering if you guys could help me out with this task that Trellows assigned to me.”

“And what would that be?”

I consider the circumstances. I don’t want anybody not involved hearing about it. “Just come meet me outside of the labs. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Alright. See you there.”

I look outside my window. The overcast clouds dull the shining sun. For some reason, I can’t shake my impending feeling that something terrible has already happened.

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Drizzles of cold rain fall on my skin as I lock my car door and walk towards the tall translucent doors in the front of the labs. I carry the vial in a soft, yet large, compartment in my most fortified bulletproof bag. 

Pepet comes from the inside to open the door for me. He looks older, with his hair appearing more gray than jet black and his wrinkles digging further into his tanned skin. 

Iropis manages to look younger still, even after all the years that have passed since we were hired under Halamous. His skin is clear, with his only blemish being a dull scar that runs across his face from the time that he spent as a Fisherman.

“We must be quick,” I begin. I look around to make sure that nobody is listening. “Trellows has assigned me to a very important task.” I hold out the vial, strong in my hand’s tight grasp. “We need to figure out what the substance inside of this vial is.”

“Why?” Iropis asks.

I sigh. “Somebody left it in Halamous’ room. He presumes that somebody tried to kill Halamous.” They gasp. “He wouldn’t--couldn’t--say anything else. Let’s get on with it.”

I listen to the comforting clicking of our shoes against the white tiled floors. Halamous had the entire lab base recreated after he took power--it was one of the only things that he did. The labs are now more active than ever. It’s only during off-hours, like these, that silence is able to console our always-thinking minds.

We turn the corner for our room of choice--27. The same room that I began my career as a scientist in. It’s worth using on a day like this.

I still can’t shake the way that Trellows called upon me for this task. It seems too perfect--that I was able to talk to Varitha yesterday night, and now I get the assignment of a lifetime. 

This is either my turn to be the greatest, or a turn for the worst.

It comes to my realization that I could lie about the substance in the vial. I could continue the assassin’s plan, and kill who it was meant to kill. I could kill Halamous with a lie. I don’t care about the consequences. All I care about is the hundreds of lives Halamous has taken.

I walk to the back of the room and place the vial in the specimen container. The plastic hugs the glass of the container. I check for any minor cracks or scratches and find none.

I gaze at Pepet and Iropis. They’re whispering so quietly that I cannot hear a mutter of a word. My palms begin to sweat. I realize that Trellows knows that I feel comfortable with these two. He probably knows that I would tell them anything.

As I walk over to them, I realize that they’re not whispering at all. They are both chewing spearmint gum, by the smell of it. They are unpacking their equipment bags, full of testers and empty vials. I need to be less suspicious.

“You guys ready to start working?” I ask.

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An hour passes before any of us decide we need to break. The three of us tend to lean towards the workaholic side of the spectrum. But the storm outside is worsening, and as we listen to the pounding of rain on the roof, a storm inside of each of us manifests. 

“Nothing is coming up as positive,” Iropis says with a grunt. It’s the third time he’s mentioned it. His forehead glistens with mental strain. “We should report back to Trellows.” 

“We can’t do that,” I say quickly. I don’t want to know how he’ll react if we quit the task. And he might deem me even more suspicious if I do. “We need to figure out what this substance is, so that we can trace it back to the possible creator.” The lie comes easily.

They agree to my request. But I have an idea--one that swims uncomfortably on the surface of my mind. That there is no way he didn’t see Varitha and I talking last night.

And that if he did, he could be planning something terrible. 

I check to see if Pepet and Iropis are looking. They're busy on the computers, likely researching. It’s against the fundamental rules that the vials should be left unattended. But this is more important.

The drawers open with ease, like a snake slithering across the ground. I know that this is Trellow’s usual room of choice as well--I’ve seen him working here on countless occasions. My hands rummage through the useless scraps and pieces of paper before laying my eyes on one.

On the front, it reads Trellows. It must belong to him.

But it belongs to my pocket, now. I stuff it in there, suffocating in the thick material and packet of tissues. 

Trellows made a mistake.

I hear a screaming crack emanating from the side of the room where the vial was. It is leaking--and sending thick gray smoke from its cracks.

And so have I.

Pepet’s eyes widen so far that I can see their curvature. He is wincing already, although the gas has not even surpassed him yet. I take his hand. Iropis is already lost in the fumes.

“We need to get out of here,” I growl through bared teeth. He turns to me, his finally narrow. I take a step back.

“It was you!” He shouts at me. His finger points towards my heart. “You’re the one who left the vial in Halamous’ room!”

“It was not me,” my yell fills the room with cascading anger. I shake and the entire room shakes with the thunder of a false accusation. “We need to get out of here!”

“I’m not going away with any murderer,” his eyes burn holes in mine. My vision blurs.

He tears his hand from mine and my heart strings tear the same. But I cannot dwell on it, for I am already lunging towards the door, already opening the door, already sprinting down the white-on-white hallways of the place I used to call home.

I watch the room behind me slowly fill with the fumes as I draw closer into the exit doors. Their silver color is unmistakable--and it will be my only way out. 

My hand grabs onto the handle and I pull as hard as my skinny arms will allow. 

It doesn’t budge. 

I yank harder. And harder. With more force. More power. Until my hand burns from the grip of the textured metal against my sweating palms. Until my brain finally registers that there is no getting out of here.

I search in the back pocket for the slip of golden paper that I took out of the drawer. Unfolding it is as natural as combing my hair after a shower. I flip it open, and read the messy letters that sit before me.

Specimen 132 by Dr. TRELLOWS: Noxious gas. Open at your own risk.

It’s a cryptic card, with little information, but I am able to interpret it: they already know about the gas. They know what they have gotten us into. My looming question remains at the forefront of the battle that is my mind: why?

Gas masks usually line each hallway in case of emergency. I’ve been so preoccupied with my anxieties over whether Trellows knew about Varitha and I’s conversation that I failed to remember them. And I failed to recognize that they all were missing. 

My hands are burned with the red markings of lost hope. Small droplets of blood, sprinkled over my hand: the only connection to my own vitality that I have left. I smear my hand on the wall, hoping to wipe the red away, but it turns my hands a stained red instead. 

A small glimmer of hope travels from my brain, trickling shivers down my spine and torso. 

I can still warn others.

The communications room. I find my legs carry me to the seat where the controls lay in front. The buttons are plentiful, but I know which one to press. It’s large--it’s red--and it will screech to the external building that there is an emergency inside.

Not only will I be okay, but everyone around me will be too. There will be no more tragedy today.

My hand goes to press the button. It flies downward towards the red button like a plane crashing into the ocean. Or, rather, into lava.

The alarm starts to go off. 

But it’s not from outside. It’s from behind me.

The decision reigns clear in my mind. I can break a window--I will escape the toxic gas that I’ve already seen Iropis and Pepet fall victim to. But the gas itself will also escape--so there may not be any escape at all. 

The other option is to stay inside. To stay and keep everything in the labs closed. And that would end in certain death--both of the quickly spreading gas and myself.

As the haze streams further into my view, I wonder why nobody even tried to walk in or out of the labs this entire time. Until I remember--the doors probably had been locked. By who? And why were all of the gas masks missing from their container?

Suddenly, everything folds together and creates the fabric of truth that I had been failing to sew all day. Trellows knew. He saw everything. And he knew me so well that he tricked me into a fake task. A fake task with the sole purpose of killing me--and both of my most trustworthy friends. My eyes become blurry with tears as smoke fills the room. 

The gas smells of rotten corpses and curdled milk from the 

As I breathe my last whiff of the fumes, through the harrowing haze, my mind finally comes together. I should’ve known that Dr. Trellows does not act without carefully calculated plans. And his intentions are always, in some way, vile.