Stretched over the surface of the planet in an intangible skin, Sarah frantically hummed away at her calculations. Her numbers were off. Way off.

This planet had seemed so violent!

Because this world was so riddled with violence, and because its inhabitants were so well adapted for combat, she had vastly overestimated the amount of conflict experienced in the course of the average human’s everyday life.

Her biggest mistake was underestimating the effect of social ties on her research trials. She had expected her subjects to pull back from their normal existences and focus on improving within the system, but that didn’t seem to be happening. Of the five, only two were hunting system beasts at all, and only one with any real urgency. Apparently, the possibility of transcendence beyond the limits of mortal ken wasn’t a strong enough lure.

This was unacceptable.

At the moment, she was drawing from every resource at her disposal, human media, stories and unconscious desires. Piecing together, bit by bit, an infrastructure that when integrated into the system, would introduce some much-needed struggle into her subject’s lives. She needed to finish this quickly.

Even now, her subjects were in the process of settling into routines, getting comfortable. And she couldn’t have that, now could she?

****

“Come in, Weber, Do you copy?” The radio crackled to life, and Sam’s eyes snapped open. It was bright, light streaming through gaps in the cheap tarps rigged up as blackout curtains, but it was always bright. She checked the clock on the floor next to her futon, little more than a thin mattress. 0527. Christ.

“Weber, do you copy?” the radio repeated, as Samantha fought her way up off the mattress and to the middle of the one room shack, where the radio rested innocently on a table. She grabbed the headset and replied.

“I copy. Do you know what time it is, Drea?” she said, her voice thick with grogginess. Possibly more than was strictly warranted, but who could say?

“I know, but it’s an emergency. You’re needed.”

“Fuck.” She quietly swore, before pressing the button to respond. “What’s the problem?”

“Some American kid fancied himself an explorer, and set about driving to the north pole in the best Arctic Transit vehicle money could buy. Damn thing’s an apartment on treads.”

“He got stuck?”

“He got stuck. Won’t tell us how, probably wasn’t paying attention and drove into a snowdrift. He called for help on his Sat phone, but the wind’s picking up, and you’re the closest for miles.”

There was silence on the line for a few seconds, until the radio sputtered back up. “Sam, do you read?”

“This station isn’t big enough for two, Andrea.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. You’ll only have to hold him for 48 hours, then a rescue team will be able to get through. They’ll pick him up, then swing back around to dig out the vehicle. The kid’s life is at stake, Sam.”

Sam took a deep breath, let it out, and picked up her spear. “Fine. What are his coordinates?”

She took them down, and started packing the sled for a two-hour journey, both ways. She packed extra fuel, flares, emergency kit, and lastly, buckled on a set of winter gear.

Not that she needed it any more, but it never hurt to be careful.

****

John was in the middle of cutting fruit when the bell above the door rang. He looked up to see a man with dark skin and close-cropped hair sidling up to the bar top.

“Can I help you, sir?” he said.

“Yeah,” said the man. “Can I get a Gin and Tonic?”

“Rail?” At the man’s nod, he grabbed a glass and began pouring the two-ingredient drink as the man slid onto one of the bar stools. “Coming right up.” Huh. He would have pegged this guy for a whiskey drinker.

“Not your busy period?” The man asked with an easy smile, and slid over a twenty.

“No, sir. That comes later, when everyone gets off work.” The two were the only ones in the bar at the moment, and while John’s statement was technically true, it never got particularly busy.

“It’s a pity, this is a nice place” said the man, and it was. While the bar was small, the whole room was constructed of rich, stained hardwood. The walls and ceiling were decorated minimally, but ornately, and every surface in the room was polished to a dull shine. The room was lit to a soft glow by lamps in glass sconces on the walls, and the bar itself looked to be made of one solid piece of wood, with sleek and modern taps and fixtures attached. The room was beautiful, luxurious without being imposing, and clearly well-loved and maintained. “It’s just in such an awful location.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, sir. We do all right.” John replied smoothly, as he began to move the cut fruit into partitioned containers, but it was true. The location was awful. It was almost as if the bar wasn’t looking for much business, but just enough to operate as a bar.

“Do you now? Are you the owner?” John shook his head, and slowly wiped down the countertop. Something was starting to bug him about this man, possibly in the way he spoke, or the way he held himself.

“No sir, I’m not. I’m just watching the bar for a friend until he gets back from a business trip.” He said, and studied the man more intently, resting his hands on the bar. The way the man only ever touched the glass with his fingertips stirred a vague familiarity as the glass was raised to his lips.

“Hey, John?” The man said, and color began to drain from both of their faces. He had never told the man his name. John paled as the man’s skin began to lighten. His hair straightened, changed color and began to grow at a rapid rate. His facial features rearranged themselves, giving way to high cheekbones and a strong jaw, as the man gave that same slow smile. John knew this face, better than he knew his own.

“Did you miss me?” said Andrew Redd, one of the most notorious criminals in Seattle.

****

In the slums of New Delhi, there was a rumor being passed from person to person. It was one of those only spoken in the dark, and only then among those you trust absolutely. This rumor was powerful, because it lent those who previously had no hope a spark, and made living in the refuse just that much more bearable. It wasn’t much, but for the broken and downtrodden men and women who called this place home, it was enough.

The rumor changed depending on who was telling it, but the most common form went a little like this.

In the most crowded streets of the city, there lives a spirit. The spirit never shows itself, but it is there, present and watching.

They say that if you are injured, or sick, or crippled, and if you go to one of these crowded streets in the early mornings or late evenings, when the press of bodies is slow, and allow yourself to be seen by the crowd, the spirit will take notice of you. When the spirit sees you, you feel it first as a shiver in your spine. Next, your mind is overcome with a supernatural calm. Finally, you grow very tired, and need to fight to stay awake.

When the moment passes, you will feel stronger, more whole. You will not be cured completely, but will feel improved from even the gravest of ailments.

Those who experience this always come back, trying crowded street after crowded street, hoping to find the spirit who takes their pain away. Sometimes they find it, and they grow stronger. Sometimes, they don’t, and they grow weaker. Those who have been following the spirit since the beginning say that the effect has grown since the first time it was felt, and the very first of them are almost all the way healed.

Ones club foot has almost completely straightened out. Another is beginning to regain sensation in his legs, lame for so long. Another still has been coughing less and less, and the flush of color is returning to his skin.

They say that one woman has even begun to regrow a lost arm, millimeter by millimeter.

The craziest and most fanatical of them insist that the spirit is feeding on their ailments, taking them into itself and using them to grow stronger.

They are absolutely right.

****

“Baby, where are you going?” Lindiwe De Beer called to her daughter, who was in the process of racing out the door. The girl stopped midstride.

“Off to build my empire, Mama.” Kaya said, knowing her mother wouldn’t listen.

“Be back before dinner. I don’t want you out on the street after the sun goes down.” She said, and her daughter nodded, and raced out the door. “Silly girl,” she muttered to herself, and put the phone back to her ear and resumed jotting down notes. “Mr. Johnson, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. You were saying about your companies order…”

The girl raced out of the suburbs at a breakneck pace, never stopping, never slowing down until she reached a quiet stretch of road, where under a shady tree her closest confidant was waiting.

“Nathi. Any news?”

“I’ve given the orbs to as many people as I can without making them suspicious, and even paid a friend to give them out at his school. I’ve given away all that you gave me.” The boy seemed nervous, shifting from foot to foot and searching the area with darting eyes, as if he thought something would jump out at any moment. The boy was a full five years older than her, a 14 to her 9, but he was more skittish by a mile, and less… precocious, let’s say.

“Good.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Progress. I have more for you to give out, spread them wider this time. You’ve done well.” She favored him with a pat on the shoulder, which took considerable effort considering their difference in height.

“What is this about, Kaya?” He said, hands in his pockets and eyes continuing to dart. “Why are you having me do this? Is this helping you, somehow? You promised you could help her.”

She let out a breath. She needed to bring the boy in, she had decided. He was useful, loyal, and most importantly, her friend.

“Now, I can’t tell you everything,” she said, and he sputtered, but she continued to speak. “But, I can at least tell you what the orbs are for. Do still you have one?”

He nodded.

“That you’ve been carrying with you for a week?”

He nodded again, and brought it out. To him, it looked like a plain black marble, or possibly a particularly round, smooth stone. To her, however, it glowed from inside with a weak, golden light.

“Watch closely now,” she said, and when he focused on it, she breathed.

The marble shattered, turning into a fine powder which formed into a cloud of golden dust. As he watched, the cloud streamed toward Kaya and into her, seemingly driven by the power of her lungs. She waited for the dumbstruck boy to process, and eventually he spoke.

“That… that’s going to help you cure my sister?”

“No, Nath. With these, I’m not just going to cure your sister of the virus.” She said, handing him a small handbag filled with marbles. “I’m going to cure everyone.”