The first thing you feel is the generator.
It throbs through the floor even before you hear it as you follow Eddy down to a backroom of the substation. The room was once a storeroom, when there were things to store. Now its main attraction is what looks like an old industrial generator. Battery-powered, probably recharged by solar. An OBUS, if you had to guess, though any brand markings have long since worn away.
The shelves are tidy, though not out of any sort of organisation; there simply isn’t enough to create a mess. Even so, there are a couple of notable empty spots – Eddy frowns but shrugs, saying the Relic Seeker must have taken some stock to work on the comms. Still, you don’t need much; a couple strands of wire and a battery should be enough for a shunt resistor and reference voltage. This addition could be what you need to crash over the threshold into functionality.
You almost had it last time – you could feel it, the potential thrumming at your fingertips. It is a flimsy lifeline without a cure – but given enough lifelines, survival will clutch at one of them. Naomi seems just as enthused – she says before the complete collapse she was assisting with a similar project. Before you can probe further, she is pulled away by Devin.
Guneir is less convinced, but willing to cooperate with the limited extent of his knowledge. His answers are largely things you already know or unhelpful scepticism, but a couple comments stand out to you:
“…that being said, with recent developments in the apparent infection cycle, it may be more difficult to verify any control subjects. Perhaps with a protracted quarantine period…”
“…in terms of samples, I hesitate only because of the likelihood that the blood will be not only contaminated but quite possibly contagious. L– a live subject (with Naomi’s permission) may pose less of a risk if handled correctly…”
Despite his doubts, he insists on being present for your first test of the component with the new modifications. An excited spark is a worrying start, but it flickers to life with only the slightest wisp of smoke.
There is a palpitation of interest in his eyes behind all the words, and Guneir leans forward to present his finger. A slight prick, and you carefully provide a drop of blood to the device. It hums briefly, before emitting an almost hypnotic series of flashes.
“Well?” He looks to you expectantly, and can’t hide the glimmer of relief when you tell him it’s negative.
A little irritated that he imposed upon your initial test, you feed in a drop of your own. The flashes are a little more urgent this time. You know what those signify.
“What does it say?”
You quickly wipe the device clean and put your hand in your pocket, muttering something about calibration. You can feel the dense blood pulse into the fabric. It must be wrong.
“What does it say?”
“I need to calibrate it. It needs an infected sample. To calibrate.”
Guneir hesitates.
He nods. “The infirmary.”
You snag a plaster on the way out of your tent, and wrap it around your finger as you leave. Guneir doesn’t seem to notice.
The substation seems popular today; you spot Kathleen and Clark arguing outside with a haggard collection of furniture.
Guneir frowns.
He starts forward.
And then a gunshot rings out.
{[]}