Coming of Edge 7: Men who stare at Cows

Wout de Vries sat in a cheap plastic chair in front of a repurposed storage depot in Norrahammar. He hated small villages with gusto but it was rather obvious that the research project did not belong in a densely populated area. So, the project staff had rented and repurposed a depot as a base of operations about 10 kilometers south of Jönköping.

If everything went well, he would be able to keep a part-time position at the university and participate in the research here. Stockholm was only about three hours away and rented e-cabs had become amazingly cheap. He would still be able to enjoy the far more developed cultural diversions in the metropolis without suffering too much of their withdrawal.

He liked the cold, fresh air of what he perceived as relative wilderness, though. And enjoyed the potato crisps he bought at the little local supermarket. He could spot some cows grazing gently on the nearby pasture. Birds were singing in the late afternoon glow. He imagined sitting in a hot tub here in the wilds, a beer in hand and reading a nice book.

The door to the building opened and the project handler stepped out.
“Andrew!” de Vries cried out with a smile and offered him the bag with crisps. “You want some? Pretty good for a no-name brand.”

The other man shook his head.
“Thanks, Wout, but no. Just wanted to inform you about the progress. Radiology is up and running. And we are currently stocking up your Biolab. We have ten ICU beds available and fully equipped. The quarantine room is functional as well now.” He used his fingers to count and remember everything.
“I think we should be up and running next week. I wanted to coordinate with Elise if we finally could transfer the kids from Hamburg.”

“Ah, there’s nothing like being employed by rich and powerful people.” De Vries almost choked on a crisp. “Sorry, Andrew. I really appreciate your organizational skills. Managing all this within four weeks is rather impressive.” He looked appreciatively at the sleek, young man who smiled.
“Do we already have an arrival date for Curreri? I miss the old loafer. Never before did I meet an Italian who thought I was a decent cook,” de Vries chuckled.

“Curreri should arrive at the end of the week, together with Dr. Ebon Rosenberg,” Andrew answered.

“Rosenberg? You were able to recruit him?” De Vries’ eyes went wide. ”I mean, yeah, I did suggest him for the rooster but–” He was interrupted by the other man.

“It’s roster, Wout. The other thing makes ‘kukeleku’.” Andrew smiled benevolently.

De Vries laughed. “Well, whatever. I never thought anyone would be able to get him to leave his clinic. How did you convince him?”

“We didn’t, he basically hung up on us. The German did it. Elise told her boss, he went over to Ebon, had a chat with him, et voilà. A day later we get the call that he’s in. He mumbled ‘Higher probability to do something good at a much larger scale’ or something like that.”
The young man shrugged. “I’ll take it. I want to meet ‘Big Rob’ one day, though. I want to see how he really is.”

“Do you believe that, too?” de Vries asked.

Andrew looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
“How do you mean, Wout?”

De Vries stared across the road to the pasture, observing the cows ruminating, his mind wandering.
“That we’ll do something good. These operations tend to go sideways. Tight schedules, funding issues, stakeholder powerplay, unforeseen incidents. What might start as good intention can turn into something vile and evil.” He smacked his lips.

Andrew did finally sit down in a chair next to him and gestured him to hand over the bag of crisps.
“Honestly, I don’t focus on that. It’s outside my circle of control and it keeps me from doing what I am good at.” He shoved a good handful of crisps into his mouth.

The older man looked at him.
“So, you don’t give a shit?”

“Nah,” Andrew answered with his mouth full. “It’s not that. It’s just that I don’t see it. All I care about is that this project needs to be established. Why do I care? Because I like getting things up and running. Because it pays really well. And honestly, I do understand that a society cannot let those kids run around, just like that. Try to imagine being that boy. You wake up one morning, go to the doctor and boom! you kill people. This is fucked up.”
Andrew also watched the cows.
“What’s the alternative?” he said.

De Vries took back the crisps. He grunted and chewed.

Andrew looked at him again with empathy, then asked, “This is about Nitra-05, isn’t it?” The professor glared weakly at Andrew but the young man went on.

“Come on, Wout. Everybody knows. Researching your name, or the name of that biological or how the hell Western Europe was able to end the war - they teach it in schools!” The young man was arguing louder now.

“And how does it change my guilt, my shame, my responsibility, that everyone knows?” De Vries’ lips were trembling, his voice a deep rumble of regret. “If everyone can see it, why does nobody treat me with the scorn and hatred I deserve?”

“You speak as if you did it all alone. It was a project, was it not? You had assistants and specialists and liaisons and political and military leadership and at the end some people delivered the payload. It was not you as in you alone.” Project ‘Golden Apple’ was well documented. And it was on the darker side of European history. It also was one of the catalysts to transform Europe’s identity into a grittier and less idealistic, naive version of itself.

“It was my idea. Without me it would not have happened. I killed over six hundred thousand people!” The professor was furious. His hands crushed the remaining crisps in the bag to crumbs.

Andrew looked up at him sadly. “You saved half a billion,” he whispered, “without being smug about it.” He looked at de Vries. “Good enough for me.” Andrew finished and reclined on his chair.

They sat there for a while, not talking at all.
A cow raised her tail and dropped a major pie against the beautiful, serene backdrop of greens dipped in the golden light of dusk.

De Vries took out his smartphone, interacted with it, then handed it over to the young man. It was a video. “Watch.”

Andrew started the video. It was silent footage of a drone hovering over an average rural city in hilly terrain. A river could be seen meandering through the city, overshadowed by a mountain to the north. As the drone descended Andrew could make out the typical soviet bloc architecture in drab slab concrete, but also a preserved castle on a hill and what he considered baroque styles for many buildings in its vicinity. The city was rather spacious and had lots of green spaces. And while it certainly did not look rich and sparkling, it had the lovely visual quality of south-east European history.

The drone went lower and the closer it approached to street level, the more people Andrew could make out. Some lay in the streets, twitching, obviously starved and sunburned. Others seemed dead and decaying. Again and again, people hunted others, sometimes violating and brutalizing them in public. Feral humans were gnawing at extremities and bodies of other people lying on the ground in stupor or helplessness. Soldiers, mothers, children - the whole city.

“I will not let it happen again,” de Vries said in a low threatening rumble. “Never. Again.”

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