The Trojan Horse Pandemic

by Veronica Preda

  The Trojan Horse Pandemic

  by

  Veronica Preda

  Copyright 2019, all rights reserved

  Part I

  At the Museum

  This must be the average temperature in hell! Timea thought.

  Around her, people were standing in line, crowding the museum entrance.

  ”For sure, there must be a few thousand people here... ” she said. Her husband fidgeted.

  “Is it really necessary that we see it?” Timea continued. “You seem as droopy as me. I would rather go to a tavern. I would drink a big black coffee and a cold lemonade, maybe some water as well...”

  A drinks menu appeared in her mind's eye, and an acrid sensation prickled her tongue. If only she had gone to a coffee garden... For now, she was stuck in this interminable queue. She had a bit of water left in the bottle in her handbag, but it had warmed like a soup on the stove.

  Ryan was sweating and biting his lips.

  “I believe that every day and every hour will be the same. If we leave now and come back later, we'll stand in line as much as we already have. We spent so much time getting here... I don't want to give up just now. Please have a little more patience!” he said.

  Timea nodded. After all, it was to be expected that people from all over the world would come to admire what the press had called “the greatest discovery of the century”. There were tempestuous debates, both on the Internet and on television. The team of archaeologists led by Marion Karides had needed 10 years to accomplish the project, starting with the preparation of the expedition and until the exhibit had finally been revealed to the public. From the moment they had found the artifact and proved beyond any doubt that it was what they had been searching for, Karides' team had not hesitated to submit all their information to the public.

  The revolutionary discovery had to undergo tests and ceaseless examinations by experts and to confirm theories, which had a lot of detractors. Marion Karides had requested that the first country of the tour be Greece, her father's homeland, and her wish had been granted.

  Timea pursed her lips. She knew all these facts, because of Ryan. She looked at him. He had read everything about the discovery of the artifact which was going to be displayed in museums all over the world. He had read it not once, not twice, but a thousand times. Since the beginning of summer, he had been lecturing her about this, insisting on visiting the inaugural exposition. They had made a habit of visiting a different region of Greece each year; this time, they had coordinated their vacation so that they would return to Athens again. To stand in line... Timea rummaged through her handbag for some napkins to wipe her face.

  ”Do I have something on my face?” she asked.

  “Huh?”

  “I think I have some paper stuck on my face. From napkins...”

  “You look perfect!” Ryan said, a big smile on his face.

  Perfect? After three hours on the road and at least two hours in line? Look at him... he's so happy... how could you be happy standing in line? Just this once, Timea, keep your mouth shut! - she thought to herself, tapping the ground with her foot. She struck a small stone with the tip of her sandal.

  “Maybe we rushed...” she said, fluttering her hat to get some fresh air. “We should have waited for it to arrive closer to home...”

  The discovery had brought people from every corner of the planet to Athens, but the museum's coordination had been impeccable. At least, Timea didn't find anything to complain about, although she had been on the lookout. UNESCO and many other organizations and cultural, archaeological and touristic societies had come to give a hand organizing and guiding the avalanche of tourists.

  Thus, after another 30 minutes, Timea and Ryan succeeded to enter the museum. The organisers were allowing groups. The entire visit was dedicated to a single purpose and the whole museum had been reorganised for a single exhibit. The roof had been elevated, and the permanent exhibits had been moved. The visitors were guided towards the big hall of the museum through a long corridor, which had been emptied of other exhibits and was now crammed with screens with videos of Karides' expedition, as well as stalls with products related to the great discovery. The tourists could choose small souvenirs, printed T-shirts, bags, magnets, books, even functional miniature prototypes of the expedition's submarine. On one of the screens, right next to Timea, a man in a white coat, probably a doctor, was speaking English to the visitors, advising them to take care, not to stand up too much and to drink plenty of water. His words were translated into Chinese, French, German and so on. The touchscreens were also registering requests: from visitors wishing to submit orders for objects related to the big discovery, which could be delivered anywhere in the world, and requests for thematic excursions. The waiting list for a trip with the trailblazing submarine that had brought Marion Karides international acclaim was two years long.

  “Do you want to sign up for one of the trips on New Ulysses?” Ryan asked Timea.

  “Who are they? Some travel agency or cruise company?”

  “Haven't you read about New Ulysses?”

  “Hmm... no!”

  “Do you want me to tell you about it? I've been reading a few things about this submarine...”

  A few things? I would say pretty much everything! As long as it's about history... and technology...

  “Well, do you?” Ryan repeated.

  “Uhmm... sure! As we still have to wait here...”

  New Ulysses, the expedition's submarine, was included in package tours, taking groups of inquisitive people who were sufficiently physically and especially mentally resilient, to the site of Karides' discovery. What made things even more attractive to tourists was that Ulysses would select his future passengers himself. The submarine’s computer was coordinated by a comprehensive system of artificial intelligence that, in addition to the essential functions of navigation and supervising the internal life-support systems, also had the role of tour guide. Furthermore, he selected the tourists from each group that was about to come on board not only based on their subscription to lists and the payment; he also took each person's profile, personal history and preferences into consideration. Furthermore, sometimes, when he considered that the information about the respective tourist was unclear or insufficient, he would call candidates to an interview.

  Ryan paused his presentation for a moment, looking upwards.

  “I think it would be peculiar and interesting to pass a face-to-face test like this. Or rather face-to-computer... ” He said this in a soft voice, then he resumed what Timea called the bossy tone, the tone he used with his students.

  At first there had been a fuss and many of those willing to pay had been outraged by this selection process. In their opinion, the fact that they were paying should have been enough. Ulysses disagreed. The tourists in each group had to be physically and psychologically strong and work together harmoniously. The fee for such an expedition was not meagre, but no one had complained so far.

  “Where does this submarine take us?” Timea asked with the voice of a child who had been looking out of the window as the teacher’s voice faded into the background.

  “To the bottom of the sea, where the discovery was made.”

  “OK... but what will I see there?”

  “Well... the archaeological site. The expedition drilled through the seafloor, you know?”

  “Which sea?” she continued.

  He sighed and muttered under his breath:

  “You exasperate me! Don't you have any knowledge regarding the Karides expedition? The Mediterranean Sea!”

  They were approaching a checkpoint, so they had to interrupt their discussion. Security at touristic attractions was becoming increasingly tight
these days, and now they were passing through the first scanner. Those at the museum had given up measuring body temperature and tegument humidity because, under the sun of Greece, most tourists were sweating, and were hot and nervous anyway. They passed through this first checkpoint that was similar to those at the airports and moved on, in the queue that had been quickly reformed by the people who had passed it. It was neither warm nor dark in the hallway, but Timea fretted in the crowd. She had lost track of the number of hours they had spent so far, both on the road and in front of the museum. She inventoried in her mind other places she had been. Neither at Gioconda, The Sistine Chapel nor in The Valley of the Kings had she stayed in a line like this. Well, she had never come across a similar situation, in which such a famous and newly discovered artifact was presented to the public for the first time. After all, it was the inaugural display, the first among an endless succession of museums that were included in this itinerant exhibition, which would travel the globe over the next five years.

  They managed to buy cold water at a stall. Ryan, drenched with sweat from head to toe, poured water into his hands and splashed it on his face and hair. Then he continued to splash water on himself every 10 minutes, drawing sighs and raised eyebrows from Timea. His shirt was soaked. They kept waiting, moving on slowly, bit by bit, until, after one more hour and another checkpoint, they managed to enter the big hall. The museum’s staff was only letting one group into the hall at a time, stopping the access of the following groups. So Timea and Ryan entered the gallery together with their group. As they did so, a murmur of surprise arose. Although all the information about the discovery and all the pieces of evidence supporting Karides's theories had been made public, because of the rigorous controls and the performance scanners, no one had managed to smuggle in a device with which to take a photo of the artifact. Naturally, countless visitors had tried in the most ingenious ways. Nothing had succeeded: no picture had made it to the Internet. The scanners revealed any video or photo device. Sensation hunters had tried with drones and camouflaged gadgets, and somebody had even tried with a robotic insect, but they had not been able to get pictures of the inaugural exposition. Karides wished that, at least at the inaugural exposure, the first view that people would get of the artifact she had been looking for for so many years, they would see it in its natural size.

  “It's truly inconceivable how they kept the secret!” a tourist whispered to Timea.

  “It's not at all how I had imagined it!” another said.

  People around her were murmuring among themselves, and short exclamations, with pitched tonalities, were rising towards the ceiling, echoing in the gallery.

  In the middle of the hall, imposing and in perfect condition, stood the Trojan Horse. It was there, beyond any doubt. Around the hall, fixed on the walls or suspended from the ceiling, flat screens were displaying images from the expedition. She saw how a crane pulled the enormous statue out of the water. Seaweed and shells slid from it and its surface began to glitter in the sunlight. Timea squinted as the glow from the screens and from the statue in front of her enveloped the hall. Unbelievable! she thought.She opened the brochure she had received at the gallery entrance: a long list of archaeological organisations “proudly presented to the public the greatest archaeological discovery of the twenty-first century”, inviting them to admire its smooth surface, its perfect curves. The brochure mentioned: “Far beyond anyone's expectations, Karides expedition brought before our eyes a huge crystal, unerringly shaped, untouched either by the sand, the salty sea or, above all, by the passing of millennia.” The statue was eight metres tall. She nodded; it was indeed “the embodiment of perfection” as it had been called. When you come to think of it, though, it consists mainly of silicon dioxide... I wonder how she felt when she discovered it... Timea asked herself, remembering some pictures of the leading archaeologist. As though an invisible director had heard her, the images on the screens changed, showing a woman standing on the deck of a ship, with headphones on her head, gesticulating as her long hair kept getting in her eyes. “Then we put in in the designated container!” The screens displayed the same woman, this time speaking from behind a row of microphones. Timea recalled that Marion Karides' press conference had been announced all over the place. She smiled, seeing how the archaeologist was tucking her hair behind her ears, as black curly strands kept falling on her face. She seems younger than me... she has a funny accent... Anyway, a little work on the public speaking wouldn't hurt.

  Ryan interrupted Timea's analysis, as he shuddered from head to toe. Timea furrowed her brow and whispered:

  “Thrilled by this beauty or for more prosaic reasons?”

  He looked at her askance. It was chilly in the gallery and his shirt and his back were wet. He opened his mouth to say something. But with no warning, Timea grabbed his hand.

  “Please, let's go!” she said. Ryan frowned. She had barely spoken and he had not had a good look at the statue yet. The staying time of their group was just starting. “Something is wrong!” she whispered.

  Ryan touched her forehead. It was covered with cold sweat. Her face's paleness accentuated within seconds and she started trembling. His hand was shaken by her chills.

  “We stood too long in that endless line!” he said. “The warmth and the crowd... Come on, take a deep breath, it's just a panic attack because you are surrounded by many people... You're very tired and dehydrated.”

  He glanced at the horse one more time, then took her hand and started out, far ahead of the others in the hall. Flurrying, she stumbled and he grabbed her waist, supporting her as they walked. Once in the courtyard, Ryan searched for a place where she could lie down, but there was no bench. He dragged her to the shade and urged her to sit on the ground and drink water.

  “Something is wrong!” she repeated.

  She squinted, searching for objects to focus her sight on, but trees and buildings had lost their contours. Another sip of water would have soothed her and allowed the air to cross her larynx, but the bottle's weight pinned her arm on the ground. She shook her head, wishing to gather her forces, but she only got dizzier. The Earth was spinning with her. Ryan's figure began to fade from her vision.

  Part II

  At the Hospital

  Doctor Loukas slammed down the pile of medical records on the desk, rubbed his eyes, yawned and asked the nurse for one more cup of tea and an aspirin. “No! Make it two pills!” he said. “I think I’ve had over one hundred consultations today!” On his way home, he knew he would have to push through the waves of tourists that were flooding the streets. He gritted his teeth while rubbing his forehead and muttered a few profanities under his breath. “Didn’t I tell you to turn on the air conditioning! This hospital is suffocating! As is the whole of Athens!” Since the launch of that exhibition, which newspapers and television wouldn't stop broadcasting, and which everyone was talking about day and night... and of which I’ve had enough! - he continued to think, the number of tourists had risen, and the city’s atmosphere, already crowded and eternally incandescent even without it - had become unbreathable. The medical examinations repeated, one after another, the same symptoms. He repeated his recommendations as well, but he didn't pronounce the word he had in mind. Every day, the hospital was assaulted by dozens, even hundreds of cases. He had had to redirect the ambulances and patients to other hospitals. There were no more available beds.

  The nurse approached, and he growled to her:

  “Did they transmit our press release?”

  “Yes,” she said, putting down his tea and his aspirins. “There was something on TV.”

  “Can you be more precise?”, he asked, looking up at her.

  “Doctor,” she said. “I haven’t slept for thirty hours.”

  “I understand,” he said, softer. “Tell me, did they put it on the news?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I saw they put posters up around the queue to the exhibition.”

  “Good. Did they tell them to wear hats and d
rink lots of water?”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  “Did they tell people with chronic diseases to avoid standing in the queue outside?”

  “Yes, doctor. Yes, yes, yes,” she said, sitting down at her desk and covering her ears with her headphones.

  He muttered. If everyone was so aware of these common-sense tips, why did he have to see so many cases of sunstroke every day? The patients showed the same symptoms every time: states of extreme weakness, chills, palpitations, followed by loss of consciousness. As in previous years, the tourists didn't give up their bad habit of abusing the sun at the beach or of spending too many hours at tourist attractions, forgetting about hats and water. But since the Trojan Horse, their number could no longer be controlled. In order to put them on their feet, he had to keep them at least one night under observation, to hydrate them and to calm the ones who were extremely agitated. Now he had no more available beds. He had mounted intravenous infusions on the corridors and left the patients there; the others – he had even sent them to their hotels with the drips attached to their arms. The hospital had already purchased equipment far beyond the allocated spending limit.

  The state had even called private clinics to take over the tourists. Then, when they couldn't handle any more, even those providing home care had been involved. Medical students had been sent to hotels, to change infusions and to check the status of tourists.

  “What about the video?” he asked the nurse, gesticulating. She removed the headphones and beckoned him to repeat.

  “Yes, doctor, the movie has been transmitted by the televisions as well. It is all over the internet. As far as I know – a few tourists have told me – it runs also on the screens at the museum.”

  Loukas had filmed a short video, trying to explain in simple words the dangers of exposure to the sun and standing up, combined with the lack of proper hydration. He had highlighted the seriousness of the problem in the case of those already suffering from certain diseases, especially heart conditions. The film had been dubbed and subtitled in various languages. He knew that the museum was running it on screens from time to time, because some patients had told him that as well. It had been in vain, apparently, because the wave of tourists that was flooding the hospital seemed to never end. “You know, he started to feel sick right at the museum!” or “You see, a few hours after I left the museum, I felt sick and fainted. I don't remember anything else!” or “Today, I didn't stay in the sun, not even a bit!! I don't understand why I fainted. Even now, I don't feel quite fine!” He had heard the same sentences over and over. In Greek, English, French, Japanese, in all the languages on Earth, as around 10 interpreters had come to the hospital to help the physicians and the nurses to communicate better with the victims of this improperly named sunstroke epidemic; improperly named as there is no pathogen involved. - he thought to himself.