The cold hallway light, tinted green, illuminated only part of the room. The sepulchral silence of the hospital was broken by the sound of machines.

  Mick lay in the bed. He looked even smaller beneath the white sheets. Equipment surrounded him, monitors displaying unstable lines that oscillated slowly. His vital signs were weak—but still stable.

  Morgan stood beside the bed, hands rigid, as if any wrong movement might shatter something invisible.

  Slowly, Mick opened his eyes with effort.

  His breathing was shallow.

  — Dad… — he murmured. — I don’t want to die…

  His voice was fragile, almost swallowed by the constant beeping of the monitors.

  Morgan gripped the boy’s hand tightly. His fingers trembled.

  When he felt his son’s cold hands, his own seemed to grow colder still. Fear made him break into a cold sweat. Despite all his efforts, tears insisted on forming. But Morgan forced a smile.

  When the boy drifted back to sleep, Morgan left the room as if the air inside had run out.

  In the hallway, a doctor was waiting for him. Firm posture, expression trained to balance compassion and distance.

  — I’m very sorry, Mr. Jones, — she said. — All we can do now is ease his pain.

  Morgan shook his head, unable to accept it.

  — Please… — his voice faltered. — There has to be something you can do.

  The doctor hesitated for a second.

  — Gentech is testing a new treatment, — she said cautiously. — The project is still in its early stages… but it seems promising.

  Morgan lifted his eyes.

  — What kind of treatment?

  — Nanorobots, — she replied. — A new type of technology. They talk about cellular regeneration, correcting failures… I can’t guarantee anything, but…

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  A spark appeared in Morgan’s eyes—made even more striking by the deep circles beneath them.

  The word echoed in his mind:

  Technology.

  Technology could save his son.

  Elysium’s dining hall was spacious and bathed in natural light. Long wooden tables filled the space, and members ate breakfast in silence or in low conversation.

  Elysium’s completely natural food looked and smelled different from anything Morgan had experienced before. Eating there was a pleasure—a pleasure that seemed shared by everyone. An atmosphere of reverence arose almost spontaneously.

  Morgan and Silvia sat side by side.

  Silvia tilted her head slightly.

  — Gentech?

  Morgan nodded.

  — Yes.

  No sooner had he confirmed it than he noticed the expression of disdain on Silvia’s face.

  The name felt out of place there, in that space where technology was treated as something nearly profane.

  Austere, Morgan kept his gaze fixed ahead, though his conscience tormented him. Why bring that damned corporation into a conversation in such a pleasant place?

  Suddenly, they found themselves in uncomfortable silence.

  The coffee in front of them was nearly cold.

  Silvia ran her fingers along the rim of her cup before speaking.

  — My father worked for Gentech, — she said. — His life was that company. I remember it was common, when I was a child, after it got dark…

  I must have been eight. I waited on the sidewalk outside school, backpack on my shoulders, feet swinging restlessly.

  All the other kids had already gone home.

  — I think he loved that job more than anything… — Silvia’s voice echoed.

  Then he would pull up near the curb. He was already middle-aged. He’d step out in a hurry, apologizing:

  — I’m a little late, had to work overtime.

  Have you ever waited for someone to come pick you up? It’s one of the worst feelings you can have. If he knows what time he’s supposed to come, why isn’t he here?

  Usually I didn’t say anything. I let the anger eat at me. But he’d frown.

  — Are you really going to make that face over being a little late?

  — That’s the second time this week.

  My father would lose his temper.

  — I don’t have time for this! Do you think your things fall from the sky?

  He’d grab me by the arm— Silvia looked down at the white bracelet on her wrist, lost in memory—and drag me to the car.

  That feeling of being powerless. Having no choice.

  — Then, when I was fourteen, he found out about the tests being conducted in Asia.

  Men wearing gas masks walking through a poor village.

  My father was among them.

  It looked like a ghost town. No sound.

  Sick bodies lay in doorways. Some people coughed. Others simply didn’t move.

  In a narrow alley, he saw a woman lying on the ground. Dead. In her arms, a baby still trying to nurse.

  — I remember my father coming back from that trip. He told me everything after drinking almost everything we had in the cellar.

  That same night, I opened his bedroom door.

  When the hallway light spilled inside…

  It revealed my father hanging by his neck.

  The world seemed to stop.

  — Knowing what they were doing destroyed him… — her voice continued, distant. — It was like his world collapsed, and he chose the easiest way out. He was gone…

  …and I stayed.