Chapter 1 - Inari

Three Decades After The Expo

If space had a smell, it would be as sterile as this hospital; empty, pristine, all remaining signs of life scrubbed clean. Silence prevailed just a step through the doors, save for the dull background whirr from dying equipment. Meanwhile, thick steel cables twanged outside like the sound of a ship straining at anchor. Something monumental was under construction.

A space elevator.

The doors closed behind Vish, cutting out the metallic reverberation, but it let the hushed patter of footsteps emerge from beyond the various ward doors at the far end of the foyer. Tap-tap, tap-tap.

Vish loved little more than finding the heartbeat of order hidden within chaos, the vital signs of life refusing to be snuffed out. He approached the admin counter, where a young nurse spoke on the phone. She glanced up casually, but recognition hit and she slammed a hand over the phone mouthpiece.

“Prime President V Hari, sir… I mean Doct—Professor! What are you even doing here? Are your foxes sick? This isn’t that kind of hospital—”

She blocked her own mouthpiece this time, then spoke through the muzzle of fingers, “How may I help you, Mr President?”

All those titles made him sound old. He might be all and grave, but his beard was still black as a fox’s nose.

“Professor is fine,” he said politely. “Delivery ward, please.”

Her eyes widened above her clamped mouth. The last time hospital staff reacted like that, doctors had been trying to put down thousands of babies. Those government doctors were behind bars now, but their genetic ‘viability’ screening—or infant murder—still made him shiver. That was why his guard was always up when government agents were around.

The nurse’s wide eyes moved to something behind him. There was a government agent behind him, wasn’t there? He glanced back, and almost jumped out of his lab coat. In black and white attire, dark glasses covering their eyes, stood an agent basically breathing down his neck.

“Good day, Prime President,” the man said, then nodded to the nurse, who straightened up but still looked like a frightened animal: shoulders curled in, back rounded.

She took a card from a pile and scribbled on it. “Uhm… who do you need to see, Professor?” She looked up with a forced smile that was so awkward, he couldn’t help but mirror it as if they were kids colluding to get away with a misdeed.

“Lynch,” he said.

She went back to scribbling. This young nurse and others from her generation might not have been here today if those first doctors had succeeded. But with them gone, it didn’t make sense why he was still so unwanted here.

He acknowledged the agent, and the man walked away saying, “…not without issue. Just proceed as normal after,” into his phone then sunk into a corner by the door where he was easy to miss.

As long as they weren’t killing anyone, Vish would stay out of their way. Hopefully they returned the favour, since he was here for personal matters today. He thanked the nurse, and moved on with his pass.

Every hospital on the continent shared the same design. The corridors to the delivery ward glowed in soft bioluminescent amber light, but beneath the warm tones, the same cold sterility from the entrance reigned: smooth walls without ornamentation, bulky vents and piping in the open, and armed agents standing at every corner, black bioluminescence oozing from their holsters.

He knocked on the ward door, flashing his pass at the agent through the glass window. The man said something into a receiver, then eventually swung open the door as if it was business as usual. Every agent along the way tried to act casual, but he noticed the cues: dark glasses slipping into place, spines straightening. Nobody liked when they had to work harder, and for some reason, Vish’s presence in a hospital put them on high alert.

What were they hiding?

The great United Sirius Government (USG) should have trained them to hide their tells better, since he had earned his PhD, apprenticeship, and current position primarily through his sharp nose for subtle animal behaviours. It also made him feel a little paranoid at times.

He proceeded down the hall, looking for the room of his former student, Lynch, a man not just from the same generation as the nurse, but from the group of babies who had almost been culled. Vish felt responsible for every life brought into this world by his project, so it rubbed him the wrong way when anyone meant them harm. And when any of them made a reasonable request, he always did his best to fulfil it, as in today’s visit.

He arrived at Lynch’s room and knocked gently. A lanky man stepped out, his shirt creased and rolled up at the sleeves, his hair damp with sweat. Darker circles than normal surrounded his eyes and his shoulders trembled as though he’d just returned from a battle. He had never looked older, but at the same time there was a new radiance about him.

“Prof, I’m so glad you could come.”

Vish placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder, partly to soothe himself. “Is everything all right?”

Lynch's eyes shone, not just with exhaustion, but with excitement. “Come,” he said. His voice nearly caught in his throat. “Come see her.”

The air was warmer inside, almost heavy. The mother, Jane, lay against the pillows, her eyes half-lidded as she greeted Vish. On her chest, wrapped in thick cloth, was the child. Small, fragile, impossibly new. A flicker.

Vish smiled and approached—reverently, slow and low out of habit. He’d delivered countless fox pups, and vixens always snapped at callous people, showing that despite the ordeal they’d just gone through, they were strong and had their eye on you. Hopefully this mother didn’t think him callous, since this ‘pup’ stirred his heart and he found himself kneeling at the bedside, itching to cradle her in his arms. The child’s face was rosy, her short breaths steady. Tiny fingers curled as if grasping for something they could not see.

“She’s beautiful, Jane,” Vish murmured, the words coming without thought. “May I hold her?”

“Of course, Prof.” Her hoarse voice betrayed her fatigue but she mustered the strength to sit up and pass the baby into Vish’s arms.

The weight surprised him. He rarely ever held babies, but his hand automatically supported her little head. He cradled her in both arms, naturally swaying side to side. Tens of thousands had already been born with his work spliced into their DNA, and those were now having children of their own before he actually held one of them, felt them breathe in his arms. It glossed his eyes over. He felt like an absent father, a man who had sacrificed fatherhood for his vision.

Vish let her hand grab his finger. She had the softest skin, which smelled of fresh flowers. The purple bioluminescent glow of the self-warming cloth framed her face, making this spark of life all the more surreal. How he wished Professor Brahm could be here to see what they’d created.

Even this project was once just a babe, Professor Brahm and his apprentice in a lab full of foxes, a small family. Would Vish double check this little one’s work the way the Professor had checked his? She could even become his apprentice one day. Or would she yearn to escape the colony like her father once had?

“Professor,” Lynch said.

Vish blinked, torn from the world of past and future the angel in the bundle had transported him to.

Lynch settled beside his wife and took her hand, their eyes glistening. “I called because I wanted to ask you something.”

“More than to see her?” Vish asked.

“I want you to be her godfather.”

Ah. Godfather. He heard the words, but at the same time, didn’t. Godfather… Godfather?

“What—” Vish blurted, almost choking, emotion rising against his restraint from the depths. “Me? Are you sure? There’s Favian… Levine…”

“I’m sure,” Lynch said firmly. “It is not a decision I made lightly.”

The young man held Vish’s gaze, as if steeling himself before saying something extremely difficult. His wife smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

“You’ve always been like a father to me,” Lynch began. “To all of us. Throughout the experiments of our childhood, and even at the height of the rebellions. Signing up to live in Project Quantum was a selfish decision our parents made without thinking about us, but… that’s not your fault.”

Vish lowered his head. He wasn’t so sure. The youths rioting in the streets, Lynch’s entire generation across all eighty colonies collectively demanding their freedom… It still gave Vish sleepless nights.

“I grew up in a home haunted by paranoia and regret,” Lynch continued. “I don’t want that for want her. I want her to reach her potential.” He looked to his daughter wrapped up in Vish’s arms, that look of difficulty on his face again. “I trust you and your vision for this place, for us.”

Lynch had no idea how much that meant. For a moment, the hospital room felt warm, truly warm.

The door hissed open abruptly.

Two USG agents filed in, their attire awry compared to their colleagues: unbuttoned collars, loosened ties. They were in rush. A doctor followed behind them, acutely aware of Vish, but the same could not be said for the agents. The shorter agent dumped a sealed metal case on Jane’s side table and unlatched the case, not even noticing Vish’s presence. The case opened, revealing syringes and other blood test equipment. A sinking feeling rose in Vish’s gut.

The other agent approached Jane like he’d arrived for another day at the office—if that office had an unhealthy hustle and bustle. He reached out towards the woman, then paused. Frown lines stroked his forehead as he stared at Jane’s chest. Only then did he take in the room, his eyes roaming until finally resting on what was in Vish’s arms. The snarl muscle above the agent’s lip activated almost imperceptibly. Frustration. The brow muscle on the same side pulled down for an instant as well. A wince. A problem he wished he didn’t have to deal with.

“Prime President, what… are you doing here?”

“Gentlemen,” Vish said. “I’ll be asking the questions.” He nodded towards the open case on the table. “What is the meaning of this?”

Lynch squeezed Jane’s trembling hand.

“Please hand it over,” The agent said, ignoring his ‘president’. He hesitated, then despite better judgement, reached out to take the baby saying, “For screening.”

Vish’s blood turned to ice, and before he knew it, he was twisting the baby away. He regretted the impulse immediately because that set Lynch off, who pounced. He shot up from his seat with all the fury of his youth, putting himself between Vish and the agent and, worse, striking down the man’s outstretched arm.

In a flash, the agent gripped the sidearm on his belt. The agent behind him fully drew his weapon and pointed it at Lynch, the pistol’s blue-black bioluminescence coiling around the cylinder. The extensor tendons in his upper hand stood out; he was milliseconds away from pulling the trigger.

Jane’s terrified shriek filled the room.

On instinct, Vish shouldered Lynch out of the way and turned his back to the bullet, leaning onto the bed so he wouldn’t drop the child if shot.

He looked into the baby’s eyes. His goddaughter and the culmination of his life’s work. If he died to protect her, it wasn’t such a bad way to go. He even thought he saw a “thank you” smile on her tiny red lips.

But the bullet never came.

“Apologies,” the first man said. An entirely inept hand-wave. “Just our training.”

Vish swallowed hard, taking a moment as the flood of adrenaline drained from his veins. He took a deep breath and returned the child back to her mother, who he hadn’t noticed was weakly reaching out for her baby. The little one hadn’t cried in his arms or Jane’s, even with all the fuss. Such a strong girl.

The first agent looked back and shook his head, a small, sharp movement, making the other agent slowly lower and put his gun away. Weapons they seemed very well trained at.

“What screening are they talking about, Professor?” Lynch growled. “You’ve said those were abolished years ago.”

Vish held his tongue until they fully holstered their pistols. “Gentlemen, care to give us an answer? I’m sure any information you need can be obtained from our doctor here in due time.”

The doctor smiled awkwardly.

“I can personally assure you,” Vish continued, “when the data comes, it is rigorous enough for any Project Quantum test or experiment. So why do you need to take your own blood sample?”

“I do not know, Professor President. But, we have a job to do.”

He really did have too many titles. “I’m sure you are aware of the past. Until you explain why you need that blood, we are at an impasse.”

After a long while, the agent in the back said, “Genetic viability screening.”

“Viability?” Vish said incredulously. Something flared inside him, a pressure gauge swinging red. His voice erupted far too loudly. “On whose orders?”

“Professor Brahm’s.”

The name hit him like a slap in the face.

“Oh…” was all he said for a good minute.

The samples were for the Professor. He couldn’t imagine why a quantum computer engineer would need blood samples, but it wasn’t his place to question the Professor’s half of the project. Perhaps the old man was just double-checking Vish’s results as a force of habit…

The doctor stepped forward, his hands rubbing together. “If I may, every child is checked, please do not worry.”

Vish’s alarms hadn’t settled yet, and his brain was telling him that the USG had instated these weak-looking doctors who’d let the agents come in and do whatever they wanted. But the agents were here under Professor Brahm’s request this time…

The professor was so hard to catch these days, if Vish dug in his heels, he might set the professor back who knew how long.

The doctor and agents looked to Vish.

“As long as you are gentle,” Vish said, “I will not get in your way.”

A compromise. He exhaled, stepped aside. He was going to have to confirm with the Professor when he eventually made contact again.

Jane looked to Vish with troubled eyes, and only released her baby when he put on the most reassuring smile he could muster.

The agents retrieved the child with far too well-practiced gentleness. They took a small sample with a prick to the heel. No words. No further explanation. Back to procedure for them.

The child whimpered, her small hands curling in the air, seeking someone already gone. She cried.

Lynch tensed, but his wife grabbed his arm so tight her nails bit into his wrist.

“Don’t aggravate them while they have her,” she said.

That motherly fierceness veiled her own terror; she’d be on red alert until they handed her baby back safely.

When it was done, the agent sealed the sample into a sleek, steel container and clicked that into an interface within the case. In red, a small monitor read, ‘SCANNING’.

“Hold on,” Vish said. “What’s that automated thing scanning for? You said the professor needed the samples.”

“Procedure.”

“Does that procedure require you to hold onto the child? Can you not see the mother is distressed?”

The agent glanced at the busy scanner, then at Vish. Annoyed as the agent was, he handed the baby back to Jane, who clutched and hunched over the child.

The agent read a result off the monitor. For some reason, it prompted some kind of conflicted glance between Vish and the baby.

“What is it?” Vish asked.

There was clearly more to this procedure, but the man clucked his tongue and he rolled his eyes a fraction of a degree.

His partner called him aside and whispered in his ear. Vish might have heard the word, ‘backup’.

“We’ve got a good thing going here.” the agent responded. “Who cares if one slips through?”

He didn’t seem to care if they heard either.

“Slipped through what?” Vish asked, dread creeping back.

The agents thought for a moment before the partner said, “Uh, failed scan. Needed another prick, but mother and child seem stressed.”

“We’re very sorry for the disturbance,” the first one added, and then the two left the crying baby as they departed, the hydraulic arm the only thing keeping the door from slamming shut. The warm lights felt colder now.

Lynch glared after the agents like a feral animal on a leash. The fury wasn’t buried that deep.

The doctor followed, and on his way out, he tried to reassure Jane, “Project Quantum always puts its people first,” but she only clutched her child tighter.

That name was once an innocent thing he’d come up with to save the project from the older Professor’s elevator-tall name. Now politics raised it into something ominous. He looked down at the child on her mother’s chest, slowly returning to peacefulness and sleeping away. So small. So fragile. So innocent. Every now and then, something good came of the chaos.

Now that they finally had their privacy back, he asked, “So, what will my goddaughter’s name be?”

“Inari,” Lynch said, a smile slowly turning his expression around.

“Inari.” Vish let the name turn in his mind as his gaze drifted from her, out the window, to the construction site looming in the middle of the city. Sunlight bathed the space elevator in the brilliance of Sirius’ white light, christening the birth of something new—a bridge to the heavens. Segments of steel and cable stacked upwards, each one part of a larger whole. Orderly. Designed. Like the children of Project Quantum. Like Inari.

She began to cry.

Whether in protest or prophecy, Vish wouldn’t know for seventeen years.