Natali Lonskaïa :
All this paperwork was starting to become unbearable.
I was locked inside my office — a sober, white room where only a large desk stood at the center, surrounded by two piles of folders threatening to collapse.
In one corner, a modern armchair served as my refuge during long work nights.
A lukewarm coffee in hand, I went through the documents over and over again, while a cart overflowing with new requests waited its turn.
Between repatriation demands, thinly veiled threats, and the endless complaints about the Liberty's technology, I felt the weight of exhaustion settling on my shoulders.
The President kept telling me we had to support Jérémy, but I still didn't understand why.
Because of him, we now stood at odds with several major powers, each demanding their share of the prize.
Fortunately, our neighboring allies still backed us.
Without them, an army would probably already be at our borders to force Jérémy's repatriation.
I had reread dozens of reports from our spies scattered around the world.
Some nations didn't even know how to react to this unprecedented situation.
And I couldn't blame them: ever since the first nuclear bomb exploded, nothing had triggered such global chaos.
And now, a single man — a reckless one, some would say — was defying the world order, embarrassing entire armies with a ship built in an old barn.
As if that weren't enough, he had the nerve to become the first human to set foot on Mars.
"Ugh… I've had enough of this."
Knock, knock.
Someone tapped on my door.
Another bad news, no doubt.
"Come in," I said, my voice tired.
A young soldier in uniform entered, his expression grave but determined.
"Madam, as you ordered, the subject has awakened."
"Finally… Sleeping Beauty decided to wake up," I sighed.
"Return to him and monitor his every move."
"Yes, Madam," he replied before leaving promptly.
Ever since their return to the ship, they had been found in a pitiful state.
Pavel Vinogradov was the only one who had remained conscious and had partially explained the situation before being taken to medical care.
It took him a full six days to recover from the effects of zero gravity after such a long trip.
He was still walking with difficulty, undergoing daily rehabilitation.
I had been told he often passed by Jérémy Chapi's room to check on him.
Had they become friends?
It wouldn't surprise me after reading Pavel's mission report — a fascinating document, and extremely useful for learning more about this mysterious man who had appeared out of nowhere.
I still didn't know what to think after reviewing Jérémy's file.
The intelligence service had retrieved it in France, just before all his records were quietly erased from public databases, as if someone wanted to bury everything about him.
There was clearly a desire to hide whatever surrounded this man.
At first glance, he was just a simple civilian, born in 1988.
A man with a tragic past, marked by the loss of his parents and little sister in a plane crash in 2001.
Taken in by his grandparents, he lived with them until their deaths in 2010, both due to old age.
Today, no one from his family remained alive.
What we knew was that he had worked in a small sheet-metal company as a maintenance technician before resigning, less than a year before his departure.
That already explained how he was able to assemble part of his ship: he had access to industrial machines such as laser cutters and press brakes.
His former colleagues described him as cheerful, well-liked, and deeply involved in the company's life.
Which made his sudden departure even stranger: he had shown no sign of dissatisfaction, nor given any explanation.
As if he had been preparing something in secret.
For nearly a decade, he had lived in his grandparents' old barn, turning that modest place into a true clandestine workshop.
What looked like an abandoned building was, in reality, the cradle of his project.
Now, nothing remained but faint ruins — erased traces of a plan that had escaped our radars for years.
After reading the file one last time, I forwarded it to President Atlas, along with a brief note:
"Subject awakened. Preparations underway for first interview."
I grabbed the briefcase beside my desk — an object I was explicitly ordered to keep with me at all times.
I left my office and walked through the long immaculate hallways of the facility.
Every step echoed in this maze where every movement was monitored.
The medical wing was no exception: soldiers stood guard at every corner while doctors worked silently.
I had been prepared for this interview.
The reports stated: "Subject weak but conscious."
Clinical details that did not matter to me.
I had other priorities.
I wasn't here to coddle him.
I had questions, and Jérémy Chapi was going to answer them.
Whether he liked it or not, he had escaped our control for far too long — but this time, there would be no escape.
When I entered the room, I found a blond man slumped on his bed, his gaze lost, his features marked by exhaustion.
At my arrival, he slowly turned his head toward me and said with a hint of irony:
"Hello. Do you speak my language?"
"Yes, I speak French fluently — among many others. My name is Lonskaïa Natali."
He gave a faint smile, as if he had been expecting me.
"I'm Jérémy Chapi. Sorry but… how long have I been here?"
"It has been two weeks since your landing."
"Two weeks already… I suppose you're here to interrogate me, since your previous colleagues didn't even try to talk."
His nonchalance didn't affect me.
"Indeed. I hope you understand the embarrassment you've put our country in. A compensation from you would be… appreciated."
He let out an amused sigh.
"Unfortunately, I have no money to offer. But I think I know what you want… You're after the technologies we developed, right?"
I didn't even bother to deny it.
"Like every major power, our interest in your technology is obvious."
I opened the briefcase and placed it in full view. Inside rested the generator — a small masterpiece of innovation.
"Adamai!" he cried out, trying to grab it despite his weak, sluggish movements.
With a deliberate motion, I held the generator just out of reach, letting it sway slightly.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" I said calmly. "According to Pavel Vinogradov's explanations and our analyses, this little marvel allowed you to fly to Mars and fire that beam. You understand the interest, of course."
His green eyes took on a desperate look.
"Please… give it back."
I held it toward him but didn't release it when his hand closed around it.
The gesture became a soft tug-of-war; our gazes locked in silent tension.
"Maybe we can make a deal, don't you think?" I suggested, fingers still on the generator.
"I can't…" he whispered, pulling harder. "Who knows what you'd do with it."
I finally let go. He clutched the object to his chest, as if afraid we'd take it again.
"We are not your enemies," I said, my tone firm but calm. "Our president holds you in high regard — for reasons I don't yet understand. But you must know we cannot offer you asylum without something in return."
He nodded, serious, though a spark of defiance remained in his eyes.
"I understand… but can you guarantee you won't turn this into a weapon?" he asked, scratching his left arm nervously until red marks appeared.
His anxiety was impossible to miss.
I smiled inwardly — my words were working.
"That," I said coldly, "depends entirely on you and what you're willing to offer."
He stayed silent for a moment, staring at the generator as if making a major decision. Then, with newfound determination:
"Energy."
I raised an eyebrow.
"What do you mean by that? Be specific. How much exactly?"
He lifted his head, defiant.
"Enough to power an entire continent."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
I studied him carefully, searching for the slightest exaggeration — but nothing in his demeanor hinted at a joke.
"That could be a first step," I replied, pretending indifference. "And it would cover your medical expenses."
He gave a tense smile.
"You're pushing it, aren't you? And I really want you to swear you won't turn this into a weapon," he added lightly, though his nervousness slipped through.
I remained cold, composed:
"That will be up to President Atlas to decide. And besides, you only have this generator left, along with a ship you partly sabotaged."
A sly grin crossed his face.
"That's what you think."
A chill ran down my spine.
"What do you mean? In case you aren't aware, your barn burned down. There's nothing left."
His smile faded. His gaze hardened.
"Are you sure? What exactly did they find there?"
I let a small silence build before responding, enjoying the tension.
"The latest report mentions burnt papers, debris from your cannon — the Tonbogiri, I believe — and the central unit inside."
I deliberately kept quiet about the AI.
He seemed strangely attached to it.
Claiming it was destroyed for good might destabilize him too much — better to keep that card hidden.
He stared at me, his green eyes more piercing than ever.
Then, in a calm, almost resigned voice:
"I'm ready to offer you, under my conditions, the technologies and much more… things you can't even imagine. But in exchange, I will need a favor. Please."