Uri closed his eyes and returned to the world of dreams and mixed lives.

Until he woke up and immediately realized he felt better.

The feeling that his brain was melting on a spinning wheel had gone away. He was a new person. The pains had ceased to weigh; his muscles had relaxed.

It took him a few seconds to place himself in space, and a little longer to do it in time. He was in the apartment room. What day was it? He didn’t know exactly. Malin? The blonde girl had been right next to him, and…

“Welcome back to the world of the living, fights prince,” she saluted him. She was sitting at the opposite end of the bed, watching him with a calm smile.

“Hi,” he saluted back, untying the last ties that sleep had woven over him. “What day is it?”

“Sunday.”

Uri sat on the bed and discovered he could do it without getting cramps.

“Did you sleep next to me?”

She laughed kindly.

“You would have to be on the brink of death for me to grant you such a favor,” she said and took him by the hand.

Uri had his bladder about to burst, so he went to the bathroom and unloaded it without closing the door. The noise of the urine falling into the water toilet lasted for several seconds.

“I’ve learned to get used to that sound,” Malin said. “Doesn’t mean it’s nice, though.”

The color of the expelled liquid was dark yellow, and its odor was pungent. It was the meds, Uri knew, and he ran the water. He looked in the mirror and discovered with pleasant surprise that the swelling had gone down and that the bruises had lost prominence on his face.

He closed his eyes, and by the time he reopened them, the bathroom mirror had gone from being a small square over the sink to something huge that went from floor to ceiling. He saw himself in front of it, sitting in a barber chair and covered with a white cape from the neck down. He was at the hair salon outside business hours; most of the lights were off and the blinds facing the street were closed. There were only them.

“The cargo will pass at 0800 hours on Route 226. The guys and I will go first,” he said. “I’ll need you to stay alert. When I give you the signal, you’ll shoot a Fotia in front of the truck, and then you’ll position yourself above us. With the thruster, it’ll be a lot easier for the plan to work. Understand?”

Malin, who was behind him, cutting his hair, raised her chin so that both looks could meet in the mirror.

“I won’t go,” she said.

“Come again?”

“I won’t go.”

“Malin, you’re the only Grenadier among us. I have no powers. And according to Rigel, this will be our only chance to—”

“Juzo, I don’t care what Rigel said, I’m not going hunting anymore. And let me tell you, I’m sick of that thing going on between you two. You know well that, if there’s anything that makes Rigel tingle beside his sick obsession, which both of you share, it’s me; another thing you guys have shared.”

“What do you mean?”

“That I don’t like you feeding Rigel’s addiction to nose around by asking him for information, even knowing that if they catch him, they’ll lock him up. Rigel doesn’t measure how dangerous his endeavor is, Juzo, but you should; and I want you to stop because he won’t, not as long as I’m with you.”

“Malin, Rigel is a big guy who can make his own decisions.”

“He’s not, that’s the point,” she said without stopping working on his head. “Rigel still is an idealistic teenager, only that he’s too old to have the courage to leave the service and live that hobo’s life many of those he admires live. His problem is that he still fantasizes about clearing his conscience by playing spies, and that’s where you come in because you’re also stuck in the paradox of the eternal idealistic teenager. You keep having wet dreams about overthrowing the Empire, and you don’t realize it’s a machine way too big that won’t bite the dust at the moment; not for your efforts, not for those of the fanatics you call comrades.”

Juzo’s jaw hardened. “I remind you that many of those fanatics are also your comrades, and they’ve offered you shelter more than once,” he said.

“I know, and who said I’m guilt-free in all this mess? I just want you not to get Rigel into this. He gets to you because it’s a twisted way to get to me, y’know?”

“So, what, Malin? Why are you with me? Why did you get into this revolution?”

“Those are two questions with the same answer, Juzo,” she said. “I’m with you because I love you, and I’m part of this revolution because I love you; because I’m terrified of you getting shot in an altercation without me around to help you, and then, finding it out when I have to go to recognize your body among the casualties.”

He sighed, annoyed.

“Then,” he said, “you don’t do it for our ideals.”

“Juzo… Look, it’s not that easy.” Malin stopped, holding up the scissors and the comb. “Yes, I do believe that this military dictatorship must end, but tell me, if democracy were to be established, what kind of place will you get? The whole country has operated in the same way for five centuries; not decades, centuries! Also, I remind you more than fifty percent of the inhabitants of this territory work for or are related to the army. Hell, even I stayed in the army almost by osmosis! Because there is nothing to do after the mandatory service period ends. People are not prepared to take responsibility for their decisions, and that’s something people know. Otherwise, you would have had everyone on the street raising banners and setting tanks on fire. If that’s not the case, it’s because they know that the cost of that freedom will be much higher than the benefit that they would get from it.”

“And the alternative is—what, Malin? Accepting mandates with our heads down for another five hundred years?”

Malin shrugged.

“No… I-I don’t know,” she said and continued cutting his hair. “But keep something in mind, Juzo: The only way to win is to take the Imperial Citadel by force and take command, right? Well, guess what, that city is a fort guarded by legions of soldiers, and Grenadiers, who have weapons you people have only carried in your dreams. Do you think the assault on a convoy will scare them? How many robberies would have to be successful for the old men of the Imperial Council to take you guys as a serious threat? And in the event that you succeed, which politician is qualified to take the reins of the city without the help of the military?”

“Malin, I’m hearing the same nonsense that cowards say.”

“And I’m watching you do things only fanatics do, Juzo. Why don’t you question your motives from time to time? Didn’t you realize our only success in the last confrontations with them was getting out alive? The other time, following a false lead, we walked right into the lion’s den; and what for? Just to say we were able to get out of there to tell the story. What sets us apart from a teenager playing car racing, when victory is a mere adrenaline rush?”

Juzo glared at her through the mirror’s reflection.

“Our ideals,” he said.

“Which ones? Feeling too macho for tickling a beast too lazy that doesn’t even bother to take a swipe to keep us away from her?” Malin put the scissors and comb away, covered her forehead, and took a long breath. “Look, I’m so exhausted. That’s all.”

“You need a break from this madness,” Juzo agreed.

“That won’t do,” she denied. “What I need is for you to do something to take a weight off my back. And you know what weight I’m talking about.”

He stood up, yanked the white cape off his neck, and flung it on the chair. He hated when Malin touched that subject so lightly!

“I won’t. I won’t put myself through that,” he said. “I could die.”

“Oh, of course!” Malin jumped, upset. “It’s better for me to die out of the wear and tear than you for trying, right? You selfish bastard!”

“Nine out of ten men fail to survive treatment.”

She shook her head.

“That’s BS,” she said and continued in a low voice, as if afraid that whoever was passing by on the street might hear them. “There’s a way to know if your body is ready to resist treatment.”

Juzo stared at her, interested.

“It’s classified information,” Malin continued, feeling the heat of shame on her cheeks, perhaps from keeping this a secret for so long. “Only the Imperial Council and some of the High Command know about it to avoid crowds lining up to test it. Though, well, being the General’s daughter, there are things I’ve learned. The truth is that if 60% of your genetic profile comes from the Lowlands, you know, the Middle Ecuadorian area, the Edda Peninsula, and New Somalia, you have a 99% chance of resisting treatment. And judging by those cute features of yours, I’m sure you will. I mean, that tanned skin, that brown hair, and those green eyes, they can only come from there, right? It is just a matter of taking a DNA test to confirm it.”

Juzo hesitated.

“C’mon! I wouldn’t lie to you about this,” Malin said. “The genome of those of us who have survived has that particularity. Everyone who died didn’t have it.”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t do it.”

“Yes, Juzo. If your ideals are as high as you say, that would be little less than a small sacrifice to fulfill them.”

Juzo was enraged and stormed out of the salon, slamming the door like a spoiled teenager.

But all of a sudden, he realized he was making a fool of himself by being so stubborn. Malin was right to ask him to do that. Damn right she was! How come he hadn’t seen it before?

Right. Because he had been Juzo Romita, but now he was Uri O22, and his nature and way of thinking had changed.

“And the cargo?” he asked. He felt his mouth pasty, and his throat hurt a little. “It was crossing Route 226 at 0800.”

“What are you talking about?” Malin’s voice came from somewhere not far away.

Uri woke up and sat on the bed; he was alone in the room, in the temporary apartment.

“Forget it,” he shook his head, sleepy. “Today is the hearing?”

“It’s still Sunday,” Malin replied from the kitchen.

“Sure, of course.” Uri waited for his senses to place him in time and space, and he stood up. “You still don’t know what they’re gonna tell us? I’m talking about the audience.”

“No,” Malin said. “But we could make up reasons for the sole purpose of dialing down our anxiety, as we did yesterday.”

Uri frowned. Yesterday? Did they talk about that yesterday?

“One thing, though,” she added. “We’ll reach the same conclusion: Time will tell. Oh! I know. What a revelation!”

He smiled.

“Did you know nine out of ten doctors recommend lowering the dose of sarcasm? They say it’s bad for your health.”

“Really? And I thought you liked to dine sarcasm with cheese and tomato.”

“I love it, but it causes me heartburn.”

The next morning, Uri peed again with the door open and put himself in front of the mirror.

There were parts of his body that resisted forgetting what Kitten’s monstrous fists had caused him, parts like the left side of his hip, which still hurt when he hit it against the bathroom door frame, as he entered all wobbling and dizzy. However, much to the joy of his vanity, only one vestige remained on his face; a tiny, dark, wedge-shaped spot under his left eye.

He touched his face; it was wet, cold, and it smelled like—chamomile tea? Malin had put wet patches with chamomile tea over his face! At what point?

But no. Tea-bag compresses had little to do with that sudden improvement.

“It’s the black pill, isn’t it?”

“What’s that?” Malin asked from afar. The sound of her heels was increasing.

“That my recovery is thanks to the pills you gave me.”

“Uh-huh. It’s a drug developed by the Empire. I brought two tablets.”

Uri saw her through the mirror peeking into the bathroom. Malin had a kitchen rag in her hands; she was making breakfast.

“They call it the Black Pill,” she added; “very original, as you can see. It speeds up the healing process. You’ll heal three or four times faster than you would under normal circumstances. It depends on each body, but well… It’s the best way to remove the dreadful scars left by war wounds. How do you think I erased the burns Simon drew on my back?”

Amazed, Uri returned to his reflection and looked for what other marks on his body had disappeared. The bruise on the ribs, the one on the arm, the one on the pelvis; of all of them, only traces remained. His dislocated finger didn’t hurt anymore. What a pill!

“Hurry. You’ll be late for the dentist,” Malin told him.

And so, October 15 came. The day of the hearing.