The night sky was covered with clouds, and the wind was calm, promising to continue the bad weather. That would be another moonless night for the southern ravines.

Hidden between the rock walls, Juzo Romita went through the stack of files one more time, folder by folder, and skipped from paragraph to paragraph, reading the lines that had not been obscured with a black marker:

Binary Project. Binary Proteins: R and C.

Totem Log 0402. Test Subjects: Binary Twins. Quantity: Nine pairs.

Project result: Transformation of the test subject into—BLACK STRIP—and with secondary effects. Plasma projection and electromagnetic combustion at will. Alteration of the—BLACK STRIP—with gravitational bubble effect at will.

Juzo couldn’t believe it. He felt lead in his head and weakness in his legs.

The photos attached to the files had lost their sharpness, though they were explicit enough to illustrate the atrocities that had been committed. Images of babies asleep in strange egg-shaped capsules, wrapped with wires and covered in needles. The images of those incubators, arranged in a circle around a huge computer that monitored them, were as intriguing as it was disturbing. That was a grotesque machine full of dashboards and monitors that had surely been the most avant-garde in its time, but now it looked archaic and bulky.

“That thing, according to the records, is the Totem.” Detective Colonel Rigel Beta was leaning against the ravine, deep in shadow.

“The Empire; were they the ones…?”

Rigel said, ‘I highly doubt it’ with his face.

“I don’t think the Empire was behind this,” he said. “They wouldn’t have done it in secret. The murder of the students wouldn’t have come to light, and the Criminal Division would never have set foot there. Besides, there’s this…”

He pointed at a paragraph and Juzo read it:

Scientists in charge of the project: The Order.

Who were those? Looking for more information about them, he opened other files, flicked through them, and reread them; but there wasn’t a single name there, nothing.

“We couldn’t identify them,” Rigel replied. “Data stored in computers and on magnetic tapes was lost due to an electrical surge. All that remained were the printed records of the project,”—he pointed to the files Juzo had in hand— “and some security recordings that my people recovered. No names. No recognized face.”

Juzo was overwhelmed; words didn’t come out. He released the breath he was holding in his lungs, while his eyes darted here and there.

Totem Log 0003: Administration of Primary Plasma to Test Subjects. The first dose (0.7 ml). Answer: Activation of their complementary proteins. Second dose (14 ml) is scheduled for the end of the Project: Date to be confirmed.

Chemical composition of proteins:—BLACK STRIP.

Synthetic protein and source of radiation to which it has been exposed:—BLACK STRIP.

Reactor-type protein:—BLACK STRIP.

Catalyst-type protein:—BLACK STRIP.

Damn! Regardless of whether or not he could understand it, he wanted to read at least one paragraph that was complete.

Totem Log 0609: Death of the Binary-R of group 6, 3 months after starting treatment. Cause: Collapse of vital organs produced by the Primary Plasma. We proceed to make use of the Binary-R of group 7.

Totem Log 0610: Death of the Binary-R of group 7, 2 days after starting the treatment. Cause: Allergic reaction to Primary Plasma. We proceed to use the Binary-R of group 8.

There were photographs attached to the report showing two massive solid white rectangular tubs; filled with a dark liquid that appeared to be blood or iodine, or both. And floating in that substance, laminated with a fine layer of dust, there were human remains; small remains.

Though his eyes held a chilling hardness, Juzo felt a revolution in the pit of his stomach. Those things floating there must be the remains of the babies who had not endured the exposure to this Primary Plasma that the files spoke of.

“Some of those remains are still preserved as they appear there,” Rigel pointed out. “That liquid has kept intact the tissue of the body all these years. My people are trying to find out what it is.”

“The Primary Plasma, perhaps?” Juzo wondered; although there would be no answer to his question. So, he closed the folder before reaching the end; he had seen enough, and he was feeling sick.

He went on to the next one.

Totem Log 1209: At eleven months and two days of age, the surviving Binary-C is transferred to the western continent. Destination: Proxima City.

This file contained, besides records, some photographs documented with date and time. One photo showed a little boy, identical to him as a child, celebrating his 10th birthday, and another photo, a college soccer team where one player was a teenager who might as well have been him but wasn’t him.

“There were about a thousand follow-up photographic records for each of you on the Totem image bank,” Rigel said; “all lost now.”

Juzo opened another file and read:

Totem Log 1276: At eleven months and fifteen days of age, the surviving Binary-R is relocated within the eastern continent. Geographic destination: Alps Town, province of Markabia.

Juzo took a deep breath. Yes, he had grown up in the Alps. The logs jumped to 1279, which said:

Anonymous delivery of the Binary-R to authorities of the local hospital: Satisfactory. Name given by the institution: Juzo Romita.

Juzo felt his throat rough and blood hammering at his temple. There was no doubt these files were about him, that they weren’t about some other Juzo Romita or a coincidence.

He saw the photos in the file. In one photo, a teenager was saluting along with some older men. That had been him at fourteen or fifteen. In another photo, a boy was lighting a cigarette as he left a bakery. That had been him at nineteen; he remembered it because during that season he had rented a room behind that store.

“Look at the date that picture was taken,” Rigel said.

“Lion 24, year 585,” Juzo read; indeed, he could attest that it had been that year.

“That image was the last record made before the project was interrupted four days later,” Rigel said.

“Interrupted?” Juzo asked.

Rigel took one folder from Juzo’s hands, reached for the last page, and pointed to the paragraph that said:

In the last stage of the project, within the last twenty-four hours before its completion, the Binary twins will be reunited in a place to be agreed upon. The mobilization, according to the order of the Director, has been scheduled for the date: Maiden 2, year 585 of the Imperialist era.

“But that was five years ago,” Juzo was surprised.

“Exactly. The project was canceled five days before the end date.”

Juzo looked at him, intrigued. Rigel discovered his mobile and displayed a series of holographic photographs that were drawn on top of the screen. The faint glow of the projection touched their faces in the gloom.

“These are photos taken by my men in the same room where we found those tubs with the remains and the Totem,” he said. The photos portrayed different parts of an operating room that had been blown up; the green tile walls were covered with dark spots that looked like paint splatters made by a delusional artist.

“That’s…?”

“Remains of bodies with pieces of clothing,” Rigel said. “What’s left of the project scientists.”

Juzo looked up; his eyes wide open.

“We thought it was an explosion due to the electrical surge,” Rigel said. “But if we follow the pattern of how the remains are located”—with his finger, he marked the points he was talking about on the photo-hologram—“Blast’s ground zero should be near the center of the room, next to the operating table, right? But there are no signs of anything there.”

“So?”

Rigel minimized the photographs and started a video that, according to the date that the vertex appeared, had been recorded on the 28th of the Lion of the year 585. It was the silent recording with the washed colors of a surveillance camera that showed a hallway from the laboratory. It was recognizable by the green tiles on the walls and the black-and-white tiles on the floor, repeated in the other images of the place.

At first, the hallway was empty. Then there were two men dressed in lab coats, probably scientists, walking with their backs to the camera; apparently, they were arguing over the reports one of them was carrying. Suddenly, there was interference in the recording, a flash, and the ceiling lamps spat out sparks. Startled, the men turned to where they came from. Something had happened behind there—an explosion, perhaps? A woman came out of one of the hallway doors, alarmed. It was impossible to distinguish their identity; they were out of focus. One of the scientists, the one with the reports, started running in the opposite direction to whatever had happened there, knocking down the woman; his papers fell to the floor. The other man helped the woman up, and they hurried away from the non-visible ground zero. The interference and flashes grew stronger and stronger until the playback ended.

“This is a recording we recovered from the monitoring room,” Rigel said. “It was the same day the project stopped.”

“Those people, the Order?”

“Probably. We recovered a couple of dental samples from the room walls, but—” Rigel shook his head.

“Any clue what might have happened?” Juzo asked.

Then, Rigel showed a new video.

The second silent recording began to run.

This showed a small room filled with shelves with medical samples. The door opened, and a person entered, although the lights from the office made it difficult to see his identity. He was wearing a long lab coat; apparently, he was a scientist. His gait was strange, though; somewhat stiff. Then, as he turned away from the lights, the man’s face was revealed. He had an empty face with a bright spot in the center. It wasn’t a person.

“A Cyclops,” Juzo said.

“That beautiful eye is unmistakable,” Rigel confirmed and activated the third video.

Here there was the same hallway from the first video; there was the still open door from which that woman had come. On the floor of black-and-white squares were the reports that that scientist had dropped in his eagerness to escape from there. The spotlights in the ceiling continued to release sparks, and now there was some smoke spreading through the place. The interference drew rainy bars on the image. And there, the same Cyclops android dressing in a lab coat, entered the frame, coming from ground zero, walking slowly as if the surrounding chaos didn’t exist. One of his arms had been partially destroyed; cables dangled from his elbow. His other arm flashed.

“We compared the dates of these recordings to the Totem’s main matrix and lab access logs,” Rigel said, “and although we didn’t get his full license code, we do have the part of his name: Broga. And another entry is repeated in the database: Brun.”

“What about him?”

Rigel showed a holographic photograph of a small metal plate, dented and with burn marks, where it could be read: 4547.BRU. The rest of the code was unreadable due to wear and tear.

“We found Bru-n there, destroyed,” he said, and moved on to the next image, the broken face of an android with a cartoonish painted mustache. “Perhaps the first victim of Broga.”

Rigel put his cell phone away. The gloom overcame them again. And Juzo stared at him as if expecting something else from him, an extra piece of information, something.

“Look, Juzo, I criticize my officers when they throw up theories without concrete proof,” Rigel said, “but I doubt we’ll have them anytime soon in this case, so here’s one: The Order commissioned the androids Broga and Brun to track you and your brother. What better than androids to take control of a long-term project, monitoring it from a laboratory in the back of beyond so that everything is kept secret, right? They don’t have to be paid overtime; they don’t need to take breaks to go out to smoke; nothing. Until one day an electrical surge occurs, and Broga suffers a short circuit in his matrix.”—It was either that, or his circuits melted from boredom from recording your life, he was about to add, but he wasn’t sure of the extent of Juzo’s sense of humor, or even if he had it, so he continued, “The android goes haywire and ends up killing everything that breathes in there. It would not be the first violent accident involving a Cyclops model. Last year, I had the case of 0241.Pepe, an android who dismantled cars in a factory. Pepe suffered a malfunction that altered his Directives and killed a technician and left another without arms by mistaking them for the crane controls. Because of the state in which we found the archeology students in the Canyon, and the remains we found on the walls in that room… Well, I’ve seen many violent crime scenes, and I recognize when a massacre was committed by the same hand. That would explain why in both cases we found no traces of the killer. I think the students got close to the lab, and that the android attacked them to protect the place; his Directives may be altered, but his Protocols are still active.”

Juzo considered the theory almost a fact.

“Did you find the android?” he asked.

Rigel shook his head again.

“My men found his tracks in the forest. I have a tactical group that went in search of him. But we’re talking about an android with broken circuits and no locator, so we’ve distributed the confiscated equipment at the various perimeter bases as a second measure, so he can feel free to go to the nearest post to claim his stuff. I’ll let you know when we catch him.”

“Do you think he could have gone looking for other members of The Order? Some survivor, perhaps.”

“I don’t know,” Rigel said. “But let me tell you something, those who died in that room must have been important players, otherwise the project would have continued as planned, and by now, you and your brother should have been celebrating the tenth anniversary of your reunion.”

Right. That was a good point.

“And about my brother, what do you know about him?” Juzo looked up the name in the records and read: “Uri O22.”

“According to the information provided by the Satellite Agency, he lives in Proxima City,” Rigel replied. “He occupies an important position in a company and leads a normal life.”

Rigel was about to say, ‘I hope you don’t think about gonna meet him,’ but he stopped. If he had been in Juzo’s shoes, he’d have done it no matter how crazy it was.

“I need you to find out his exact whereabouts,” Juzo requested. Goodbye to the warning about not going to meet him. “Does anyone else know that he and I were part of this?”

“No,” Rigel said. “I photocopied these files to avoid digital records. The originals that are in my official report lost pages with certain names along the way.”

Juzo felt a relief that showed in his eyes, perhaps the first relief in the whole night.

“Thank you,” he said.

Rigel accepted the thanks, but with a gesture announced that there was still more to tell.

“The overload spoiled the Totem’s memory,” he said, “but my men discovered a second hardware still active in it… One that requests a biometric energy reading to access it.” Rigel saw in Juzo the oddness he expected. “Exactly,” he pointed out. “Nobody goes to such trouble to hide the car keys. And listen to this, the system is programmed to delete its database in case an attempt is made to open by force. My people are working to bypass the security code, but they found a list of people with access in the main database, and you…”

Juzo thought he understood what Rigel was trying to say.

“My name is there?”

“No. There are no names. There are positions,” Rigel pointed out. “The Binaries are fourth on the list, under the project director, the lead neurosurgeon, and the androids in charge. It may be a leap of faith, but I think it’s worth a try, right?”

Interest grew in Juzo.

Rigel continued: “The Totem was taken to the Bellatrix barracks. I can provide you with a code to enter there. Sure, if you want to take the risk.”

Rigel’s words were filled with longing and ulterior motives. Juzo knew that the Colonel was using him to satisfy his own curiosity. On the other hand, what else could he do, ignore the possibility of knowing more about what had been done to him?

“All right,” Juzo said. “I’ll go.”

“If they catch you, I’ll deny knowing you,” Rigel warned.

“I know,” Juzo agreed. He knew he wasn’t weighing the consequences, but right now he didn’t care. He lowered his head for a moment to absorb what he had heard, then raised it again. He was so lost that he even looked vulnerable.

Rigel wrapped up his work as a spy for the moment and got ready to return to the barracks. But he stopped, and with a gesture announced there was something else to say.

“Two years ago, other students found the bones of an unidentified child in that same cave,” he pointed out. “I heard the case was closed for lack of evidence, but… Look, maybe the Empire wasn’t involved in the project, but someone on the inside could have been.”

The wind blew strongly.

“And that someone could have closed the child’s case to prevent them from finding the lab,” Juzo finished.

Rigel paused again to ponder his words, something unusual for him. He raised a finger and cleared his throat.

“Perhaps there’s a way to clear the doubt,” he said, “or at least to know if that lab was on the Army’s radar unofficially. The Break-in Squad is the heavy division of military intelligence. Their members know even the blueprints of every clandestine place on the continent. I don’t have access to their records, we’re different divisions, and let’s just say their captain and I don’t get along. But you know someone who worked there. Maybe she can help you.”

Juzo got it. And with the information stuck in his head, and a twisted epiphany in his heart telling him that whatever he did, his life would never be the same again, he bade farewell to the detective colonel with the military salute.

Rigel disappeared into the night, among the high ravines.