Humanity must be preserved.
Since life settled on the stars, from tiny mitochondria to the largest mammals on Earth—the whales—there has been an unending trial of evolution.
Humans were no different. Once a species no different from apes, they began walking upright, developed thumbs, and made tools.
They discovered fire to ward off cold and strange beasts,
and, like most small animals with weak power, lived in groups to more easily acquire necessary resources.
The development of civilization—the golden age of the human species.
Humanity, as the most prosperous species and supreme primates on the star, exerted effort both openly and covertly to prevent extinction.
“-And it is precisely in the shadows where we, the Humanity Conservation Foundation Union, operate. Does that make sense to you?”
Raimund nodded with his mouth slightly open, though more reflexively than with true understanding.
Cosette smiled, seemingly satisfied with his reaction.
“To put it simply, there is a world unknown to No. 101, where people live following their own rules and systems. More than you’d expect. Until now, you didn’t know anything about this because you were a human of the light.”
“Ugh.”
“Of course, if humans of the light knew, it wouldn’t be a foundation operating in the shadows. I know that. I was just bragging a bit.”
This woman doesn’t even give me a chance to ask questions.
After leaving the block and meeting the woman, Raimund was crossing a bridge under her guidance.
Of course, he had no idea where they were going, just wandering suspiciously through the space where white blocks hung in abundance.
“Aren’t you curious? About exactly what we do, things like that?”
“Uh huh.”
“Oh, right. You still have issues with fine muscles. Here, use this.”
Cosette pulled a notepad and pen from her jacket pocket and handed them to Raimund.
Gratefully taking them, he wrote down the questions he had wanted to ask.
His trembling hands, as if thawed after being frozen stiff, moved slowly and with difficulty, but Raimund persevered.
[My name is Raimund Geppert. What does 101 mean?]
“Ah, that’s a number temporarily assigned by the Foundation Union. So... can you recall everything that happened until now?”
Raimund nodded vigorously.
If he couldn’t remember, he’d be a complete idiot.
“According to what we’ve organized so far, you indeed died at the explosion site in the economic zone. We secured the corpse at the site and brought it to the Foundation laboratory.”
Nodding again.
“But then, an anomaly suddenly occurred where you were. To be exact, inside the autopsy room. Our external contractors entered there and came out carrying your head. That wasn’t the original purpose, and usually there’s little that can be taken out of an anomaly besides images, so it was unusual. The external contractors hypothesized that the reason for your presence and the anomaly might be related.”
Images, anomalies — what are those?
Raimund updated his list of questions in his mind and waited patiently for Cosette’s explanation.
“Well, you know... those things are dangerous, so we have to suppress them as quickly as possible. Field agents including myself entered there. But the external contractors carrying your head used devices the Foundation Union researches to temporarily awaken you.”
Huh? Raimund opened his mouth again.
Where to begin? How is that even possible? How advanced is modern science without my knowing?
“Don’t look at me like that. I understand it’s hard to accept. But such things happen often in the shadows. Artifacts like right-angled scalene dodecahedrons that reveal suspicious things exist. Anyway, since you voluntarily sent a rescue request, anomaly suppression was halted to monitor the progress. Right here, right now.”
[I remember that. But what happened afterward? Did I faint?]
“The brain specimen in the jar was unfinished. Still, the brainwaves were checked and the research team was able to transplant a new body to you.”
[New body?]
“That part is a secret of the Foundation Union. But I can promise you won’t be hurt or bleed much anymore. It’s patented technology.”
[Then what about the original body?]
“Unfortunately, it hasn’t been recovered yet. It was severely damaged from the start, and since we now have your head, the body is of little value. You don’t need a new body that can’t function properly, right?”
Raimund bit his lip at her words.
She was right. Even if the bomb hadn’t exploded, his body would have been beyond repair.
Cosette, seemingly unaware or uncaring of Raimund’s distress, tapped the safety railing beside the bridge cheerfully and continued.
“Our foundation exists for the preservation of humanity. At that time, I judged you to be human and made your rescue a top priority. But many institutions or groups assisting the Foundation Union don’t think so.”
[What do you mean?]
“The criteria for defining ‘human’ are strict. So provisionally, we assigned you the number 101. If that’s inconvenient, shall I call you Mr. Geppert?”
[Please do. Then what happens to me? Can I go home?]
“That depends on the higher-ups. And you will be interrogated. The interrogation will take place not at the quarantine facility, but at the tracking and transfer department at the surface center of the UK Shelter branch. I think I will accompany you.”
[Cosette?]
“Escort by field agents is mandatory for those leaving quarantine. Currently, Image levels from safe to grade 5 reside in Quarantine Block 1, but more dangerous ones are held in other blocks. By the way, be careful—the lower the number preceding the grade, the more dangerous it is.”
Cosette pointed beneath the bridge where the two stood.
Raimund glanced suspiciously at the darkness where water rippled. What could possibly be down there where no light reached?
[What do ‘anomaly’ and ‘image’ mean? What about grades?]
“They’re beings that can’t really be defined, so it’s hard to explain. Grades are assigned by the Foundation Union based on risk levels. Hmm, shall I give you an example? Do you know what fireworks are?”
[Yes. They sparkle when lit.]
“Right. Common fireworks are small. They’d hurt if you touched them, but mostly they’re safe. That’s by design. But what if they were dynamite?”
[People… would explode, right?]
“Exactly. The Foundation manages risks similarly—small fireworks children can play with have a safe grade; slightly more dangerous ones watched by adults have a higher grade.”
Raimund might not grasp it fully yet, but he understood that a huge organization managed dangerous things.
He looked again at the blocks hanging all around.
[Can I go home?]
“If things go well, yes. But take it easy—you have to go through interrogation.”
[What if it doesn’t go well? If they find some crime or decide something bad about me?]
“Then what.”
Cosette scratched her cheek and said:
“You’ll just have to remain No. 101 of the Foundation Union quarantine. Can’t be helped. But human-type images get better meals.”
Raimund was deeply hurt by Cosette’s characteristic indifferent attitude.
After talking with her, escorted under surveillance, Raimund had to crouch on a hard metal bed in Block 101, tormented by anxiety.
He hadn’t hoped for Cosette to say she’d help him.
There was no trust or friendship between them.
But maybe she could at least guide him through appointing a lawyer or such procedures?
What if they interrogated him and still wouldn’t let him go home? He had no idea how many days had passed since the explosion.
What about his home? Would it be sold as it was?
Would the orphanage director come again asking for money and causing a fuss?
Fioni? Olive? Hazel? Were they already caught by the police?
If he was labeled a criminal and sent to prison, what then?
Who would feed the three of them?
Worry piled upon worry until it became a mountain.
Raimund felt as if he might die crushed beneath his own thoughts.
But despite his mental torment, his body steadily entered recovery.
He forced himself to sleep, and each time he woke up, his body felt lighter.
Now he could perform delicate, fine movements and had started to speak short sentences.
Running, walking, rolling, sitting, standing.
Most daily motions were confirmed to be problem-free, and once the researchers approved, his interrogation date was set.
That day, the researcher in charge of checking Raimund’s condition brought him new clothes.
Not the full patient jumpsuit he’d worn until then, but real shirt and pants.
Still, for safety, clothes with metal were prohibited, so the pants were fastened with a string at the waist.
Whether tied or loose, Raimund cared little about clothes as long as he could wear underwear again.
Finally dressed somewhat decently, he left the block.
Cosette, waiting ahead, greeted him lightly.
“See you again. Wow, is that really you? Suddenly looking handsome.”
“Hello. Am I really that different now?”
“You had stem cell transplants on your face. Before, the scars were quite visible because the healing wasn’t complete. Now it’s very neat.”
“Didn’t know because there’s no mirror inside.”
“If you broke one and attacked a researcher on purpose, that’d be troublesome. It’s happened before.”
The more Raimund heard, the less he understood what environment these people worked in. Did they even get paid properly?
He followed the researcher and Cosette crossing a long bridge.
The bridge sometimes connected to other places, sometimes ended abruptly.
Cosette and the researcher seemed familiar with the paths and found new ways anywhere, but Raimund felt a strong sense of intentional complexity in this quarantine facility’s layout.
After wandering in circles for several minutes, they finally boarded an elevator going upward.
Operating the elevator seemed to require qualifications; besides the researcher’s ID card, fingerprint, iris, and voice verification were needed before the huge machine started moving.
“Strict.”
“Banks must be easier to break into than the Foundation Union. Passwords and codes don’t work here.”
“What if an intruder tries to get to important places? What then?”
“You just saw. Anyone coming down here would have to cut out the eyeballs and hands of an authorized person and come. They’d have to master voice mimicry, too.”
Ugh. Terrifying.
Raimund felt a bit uneasy at Cosette’s matter-of-fact answer.
The elevator rose a long way.
When the hanging blocks looked small, the quarantine floors disappeared completely and other spaces quickly passed by.
People in black suits, staff in blue plastic suits, white-coated researchers, ornamental plants, chairs, office floors.
Just when he felt a little dizzy,
–Ding.
The elevator stopped completely.
Where they got off was a sleek, modern lobby.
The predominantly white lobby received bright artificial sunlight from the glass ceiling.
Many employees busily walked around.
One man holding a briefcase glanced quickly at his wristwatch as he passed Raimund.
A large screen on the wall displayed a slowly rotating huge planet logo with the letters ‘H.C.F’ on a blue background,
and below it six big clocks showed shelter times for continents:
UK, Kazakhstan, Korea, Canada, Ecuador, Congo.
From somewhere came a calm female voice:
[Face, defend, survive anomalies. For humanity’s perpetual protection and prosperity, the Humanity Conservation Foundation Union is with you.]