“Because Kyrkarta is a cesspool,” the professor says with disdain. “I’m the one who invented the scrubbing technology that separates out the maz-15 from the rest of the freely occurring maz. MMC may own that patent because it was created in their labs, but I’d love to see them try to stop me from setting up a private system in my own home. We have no competition for maz out here, and we’re barely two miles from Jattapore’s maz source, the caves down by the shore. We have all we need and more.”
The staircase dumps us into a room with a single door and nothing else. The professor presses his palm to the door, and the metal under his hand glows a faint steely blue, followed by an echoing click. The door swings open, and the room beyond flares to brilliant life.
The ceiling looks as if it’s been painted with pure sunnaz, the whole thing emitting a soft daylight glow throughout a room exactly the size of the one above our heads. Fourteen vast cylinders line the far wall, brimming with the fourteen common maz strains, more maz than Remi and Ania could go through in five years of daily use. Another smaller cylinder sits at the end of the row, glowing with eerie violet light. Maz-15. A deck screen the size of a bay window occupies another wall, displaying spell design sketches and calculations that are way over my head.
“Does this extend under the entire house?” I ask.
The professor nods. “Mimics the layout exactly. The kitchen is fully stocked with nonperishable food and enough water for a year. There’s a bedroom, a bathroom, everything we have upstairs. Once that door shuts above us, it triggers a concealment spell on the other side. Even if someone who means us harm manages to cross the wasteland and get into our home, the chances of them finding us or my work are slim.”
“Brilliant,” Remi whispers, reaching out to touch one finger to the giant cylinder of magnaz. The sheer amount of power contained within those glass walls is honestly unsettling. To me, at least. Remi looks ready to lick the glowing golden magnaz chamber.
“How long did it take you to gather this much?” they ask.
The professor strides forward and lays a hand against the cylinder of firaz, sighing. “I started collecting shortly after MMC ran me out of town. I built this place as soon as I was able, and once both levels were finished, I kicked on the extractors.” He raps a knuckle against a series of pipes that run into the ceiling next to the cylinders. “They’ve been full for the last two years. Feel free to replenish whatever you used to get out here.”
He notably does not apologize for the berserker rabbits.
Ania paces over to the deck screen to study the formulas while Remi refills their stores, but Jaesin hangs back for once, at a loss and out of his depth. I feel much the same way, honestly. The whole place positively drips with maz, more maz than any of us has seen since we were children. For Ania and Remi, it’s like something out of a fantasy. For Jaesin and me, it’s a whole vast world of power and knowledge we’ll never be part of. Our eyes meet, and for once, he doesn’t glare at me. He just shrugs, and his gaze returns to Remi, watching their attention bounce from thing to thing, bright-eyed and amazed. After a moment, though, he clears his throat and steps forward.
“Hey,” he says, voice gentle. “I know this is a lot, but we should probably do what we came here to do, right?”
Remi deflates a bit, but nods. “You’re right. Professor?”
Professor Silva sighs and gestures to the table nearest the deck screen. We all take up spots around it, leaning on the cold black tabletop, watching the professor expectantly. He seems to wilt before us.
“Okay, yes. What do you need?”
Remi looks to Jaesin, who shifts uncomfortably and shrugs.
“We found out about maz-15. MMC wants us dead. We’d rather not give up our lives to be on the run forever—no offense—and now that we know what caused the spellplague, we’re hoping there’s a way to . . . I dunno, stop it?”
The professor’s gaze alights on Remi, who, now that we’re sitting down, looks near collapse from the exertion of the fight to get here. They let their bag fall to the table, then rummage through it for a moment, coming up with their nebulizer and mask.
“Do you mind?” they ask.
“Not at all,” the professor says gently. “Let me know if you need more vitaz.”
My chest squeezes tight with a suddenly desperate feeling as Remi fits the mask over their nose and mouth, settling in for their nightly treatment, a cocktail of medicines aerosolized with vitaz. We’ll have to take it as easy as possible for the next day or so, let them build some strength back up, unless they want to catch the next cold or flu or whatever other infection happens to wander by. Last time, it meant a month in bed and at the doctor. What would it be this time? And would we be able to find a place to hide out long enough for them to recover?
The words spill out of me before I can control the ragged tone of my voice.
“How do we fix this? How do we keep them from coming after us?”
The professor gives me a pitying look. “My dear, the only way to stop them is to stop the spellplague at its source.”
Ania slumps back against a work table and covers her eyes. When she speaks, her words come out watery and low. “We can’t go back in time and stop the big quake. No maz in the world is strong enough for that.”
At that, Professor Silva looks up sharply. “You have your cause and effect a bit backward there, child. Maybe you know less than you think about these matters.”
“What?” Ania wipes her eyes and scrunches up her forehead in confusion. “That big earthquake ten years ago. It cracked something open underground, released the contaminant. We knew that as soon as it happened.”
“No, no, no, no,” the professor says, picking up a deck interface from the end of the table. “You have it all wrong.”
He settles on a stool and brings up a document on the wall screen. It’s on MMC letterhead.
MEMORANDUM
TO: MMC Executive Board
FROM: MMC Research and Development Division, Lab Nine
CC: R. Wolfram, MMC Chief Operating Officer; M. Hart, MMC Chief Financial Officer
SUBJECT: Summary of Effects of Maz-15 and Recommendations
The research team in R&D Lab Nine, led by Professor Aric Silva, has completed a full analysis of the newly identified fifteenth strain of maz, proposed name kyraz. Complete findings are contained in the attached report. Our primary recommendations are as follows:
• Immediately cease drilling operations at all stations worldwide until new safety guidelines can be established
• Take corrective measures to seal the core breach at Kyrkarta junction station twenty-nine
• Divert additional R&D funding to the development of a cure for the spellplague
We request the opportunity to present our findings to you in person at an emergency meeting of the executive board. We look forward to your swift response.
Regards,
Aric Silva
Kamil Morad
Vi Huang
Darrin Washington
Tamar Kohl
MMC Research & Development Senior Staff
Page 1 of 50
Ania, the fastest reader of us, blows out a hard breath when she finishes.
“Those names . . . they’re all the scientists who were suddenly laid off two years after the plague, who disappeared just like you. They were the ones listed in the back of that dissertation you found, right?” She glances to Remi for confirmation, and they nod.
“You discovered the truth, and they fired you for it,” Remi says, muffled behind the mask. “Didn’t they?”
The professor’s mouth firms into a hard line. “Yes. They didn’t just fire us, though. They tried to have us killed. They did it quietly, once we’d all been forced out of the city. They succeeded with the others. I’m the only one left. Because this is how the spellplague really happened.”
Ania’s hands fly to her mouth. Jaesin turns and walks away, pacing the length of the room with pent-up frustration. Re
mi just looks sad. Unsurprised. They’ve always hated MMC, so I guess it isn’t much of a stretch for them to believe the worst. That the company would literally commit murder to cover up something that devastated not just our city, but the world. That killed our parents. They tried to have us killed too, after all. What else are they capable of? My whole body goes hot, then cold, shivering.
The professor scrolls through the document until he comes across a cutaway diagram of the planet, the same six-layered image we’ve all seen at school.
“Crust, outer mantle, inner mantle, outer core, inner core, and here.” He traces a finger along the narrowest section, a thin, bright green layer between the outer and inner mantle. “The Maz Sea, where the planet converts heat and pressure energy into the fourteen previously known strains of maz. Twenty years ago or so, before you all were born, a little company called Maz Management Corporation began drilling deeper than anyone ever had, all the way down to the Maz Sea, to create greater flow and access to high levels of the freshest, most potent maz. Their idea was that if the drilling worked, we would be able to build new cities around drilled maz wells, rather than being restricted to constructing settlements around natural maz points like geysers, canyons, the caves here, and so on. It was a decent idea, though some of us were opposed. We were concerned that too many of these human-made wells might result in more maz being used than the planet could produce. It turns out that was the least of our problems.”
My fingernails dig into my thigh as I force myself to breathe, breathe. I can already see where this is going.
“MMC managed to drill deeper and deeper, advancing drilling technology in the process and making good money off of it. When they finally reached the Maz Sea, it was . . . amazing. We knew of its existence through subsurface imaging, but had never interacted with it. It was the most important discovery of the century. I felt honored to be alive for it.”
I glance over at Remi, who has their eyes closed, breathing steadily as the vitaz mist swirls around inside their mask. They said almost the same thing about maz-15. It was a marvel, a fabulous opportunity, a gift to be able to study it. How bitter real life is in comparison—and the professor isn’t even done.
“The maz they harvested was incredibly potent, half again as effective as the stuff that made its way to the surface naturally. After a few months of observation, when it appeared that the planet naturally reestablished an equilibrium by adapting its maz production, the MMC engineers got curious. They wanted to drill even deeper. See what else they could find.”
“And they found maz-15,” Remi says, quiet.
“They did,” the professor says, with the air of a man leading a funeral service. “They pierced the inner mantle, and out poured this new, powerful form of maz with incredible properties the likes of which we’d never seen before. But it killed the drill operators who discovered it on contact. And there was no one to spread the word. No warning.”
Parents there. Parents gone. No warning. None at all.
“Thousands, then millions of people died before we put together that it was this new strain of maz that was killing them, but by then the entire Maz Sea was contaminated. Kyrkarta got it the worst, obviously, being the site of the original rift. Huge amounts of maz-15 spilled out of station twenty-nine and the fissures in the bridges district. The currents of the Maz Sea carried the contamination far and wide, though, so that even Wisst City, on the opposite side of the planet, was affected, albeit to a lesser degree at first. Soon maz-15 made its way to the surface across the whole planet.”
Ania shakes her head, face twisted in horror. “I can’t believe they would just . . . let this happen.”
Can’t she, though? After everything else we’ve seen from MMC, after they tried to kill us to hide this secret, is it really so surprising they’d take things so far?
“Why is maz-15 so deadly? What is it that makes it so different from other maz?” Remi asks, their voice muffled by the treatment mask.
The professor sets down the deck interface with shaking hands, his eyes haunted. “This is maz that planetside life was never intended to touch. My colleagues and I believed that maz-15 is the fire at the heart of our planet, the source material for all other maz. What we do know for sure is this: the longer the rift stayed open, the more maz-15 poured out, the more the oceans started to warm, and the more frequent the disasters became. Hurricanes here, quakes in Kyrkarta, volcanic eruptions in Tolenne and Nuramoto. Correlation does not imply causation, as any good researcher will remind you, but the evidence is damning, no? These natural disasters spiked sharply in frequency after the spellplague, and have been getting worse year after year ever since, to the point where I fear the planet will rip itself apart. And MMC caused it all.”
I yank at the hanging thread at the end of my sleeve harder and harder until it snaps, and with it, my anger. Nausea roils in my stomach, and my vision blurs, black and white sparks dancing at the edges. In my ears, my mother’s voice: “Your father died at work, baby. But I’m okay. It’ll be okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Before my eyes, her body slumps in the corner of the grimy bathroom she’d lost the energy to clean, her face mashed against the filthy tile floor with a trickle of bile at her lips, her skin so ashen, and her arm twisted under her in a way that couldn’t be comfortable, but she was dying at the time, or dead, dead already, and who cares about comfort then? Who cares about a seven-year-old girl alone in a run-down subsidized apartment with a dead body, too frozen and beaten down to do anything but vomit into the toilet, add to the mess, but not cry, never cry, not until Davon came and made the call and made a promise and held everything together.
A gentle touch on my knee brings me back to the present, and I realize I’m hyperventilating, noisy, ragged gasps, with sweat dotting my forehead and the table before me gripped hard between both hands. Ania pats my knee again, but otherwise stays back, grounding me but giving me space. I can feel the eyes of the others on me, but can’t bear to look up, to endure their pitying gazes. Remi and Jaesin were both orphaned even earlier than me, but their parents just never came home. They didn’t have to find them, lie next to them, dead flesh touching live flesh. My stomach lurches.
“I can’t . . . I need—”
I stumble down off my stool and run.
Twenty
I BURST THROUGH THE BATHROOM door and vomit, my mostly empty stomach contracting again and again in painful spasms. This bathroom is so different from that one, so many years ago. That bathroom had a big frosted window. This one is part of an underground bunker, lit with maz but closed off from the rest of the world. The tile here is a cool, clean, neutral marble of white and gray. Back then, it was green, or it was when it was clean. Blue towels here. Ragged, threadbare things with ugly patterns there. Bathtub here. Single shower stall there. Empty here. There . . .
I squeeze my eyes shut and take three deep breaths before pushing myself to my feet and stumbling over to the sink. There’s mouthwash in the cabinet, thank the stars, and I rinse once, twice, three times, four, before I finally drink deeply from the tap and shut the water off. I avoid my own eyes in the mirror, already knowing what will greet me. Light brown skin gone ashen, just like hers. Rich brown eyes, just like hers. Black hair. Hers. Limp, sallow, wrecked.
I’m okay. It’ll be okay.
Liar.
She was never okay. She lied to me, and nothing was ever okay again.
With that thought, the world snaps back into focus, back into sense. I straighten, meet my own eyes in the mirror, shadows and all.
Three more breaths.
I unlock the door, close it behind me, and walk back to the study where the others wait. Remi stares straight at the deck screen, glazed over and unblinking, while Jaesin’s and Ania’s eyes snap to me as soon as I arrive.
“Sorry,” I say curtly. “What did I miss?”
The professor frowns. “Are you—”
Ania catches his eye and gives a slight shake of her head. Good. Norma
lly I’d chafe under her coddling, but now of all times, I really need to not be asked if I’m okay. I lean against the edge of the table, bracing on my forearms and letting the long side of my hair fall across my face.
Professor Silva clears his throat and turns back to his deck interface.
“Well then. I was just telling the others that I began researching a cure immediately after we sent that memo, but not long after, my entire lab was unceremoniously served with terminations and very firm reminders from the MMC lawyers of the nondisclosure agreements in our employment contracts. Then I lost my teaching position at the university. From what I’ve heard, that was due to pressure from MMC as well, and it happened to another colleague of mine too. And one by one, we were forced out of Kyrkarta altogether.”
“I don’t understand,” Jaesin asks, pinching the bridge of his nose like he does whenever things get academic. “They did all that just to cover up the fact that they were responsible for the spellplague? And they were so desperate to do it that they wouldn’t even let you work on a cure that would help absolve them?”
The professor shakes his head. “No, if that were the only factor, then MMC might have fessed up and used the cure research to earn public forgiveness, like you said. Why does a company like that ever do anything?”
“Money,” Remi says, hollow.
Professor Silva nods. “Yes, always money.”
“Besides,” Remi says, “there may not be a cure. Just because we know the source of the plague doesn’t mean we can automatically reverse the effects.”
That punches a nice hole in something I didn’t realize I’d been holding on to. “But there could be. It’s a possibility.”
“Maybe.” Remi flicks off the nebulizer and removes the mask once the flow of vitaz and medication stops swirling around inside, looking straight at me as they do. “But also, maybe not. Don’t get attached to the idea. Assume there’s not a cure. I’d hate for anyone to wait around for something that might never happen.”
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