[Can I go home?]
"If things go well, yes. But take it easy—you have to go through interrogation."
[What if it doesn't go well? If they find some crime or decide something bad about me?]
"Then what."
Cosette scratched her cheek and said
"You'll just have to remain No. 101 of the Foundation Union quarantine. Can't be helped. But human-type images get better meals."
Raimund was deeply hurt by Cosette's characteristic indifferent attitude.
After talking with her, escorted under surveillance, Raimund had to crouch on a hard metal bed in Block 101, tormented by anxiety.
He hadn't hoped for Cosette to say she'd help him.
There was no trust or friendship between them.
But maybe she could at least guide him through appointing a lawyer or such procedures?
What if they interrogated him and still wouldn't let him go home? He had no idea how many days had passed since the explosion.
What about his home? Would it be sold as it was?
Would the orphanage director come again asking for money and causing a fuss?
Fioni? Olive? Hazel? Were they already caught by the police?
If he was labeled a criminal and sent to prison, what then?
Who would feed the three of them?
Worry piled upon worry until it became a mountain.
Raimund felt as if he might die crushed beneath his own thoughts.
But despite his mental torment, his body steadily entered recovery.
He forced himself to sleep, and each time he woke up, his body felt lighter.
Now he could perform delicate, fine movements and had started to speak short sentences.
Running, walking, rolling, sitting, standing.
Most daily motions were confirmed to be problem-free, and once the researchers approved, his interrogation date was set.
That day, the researcher in charge of checking Raimund's condition brought him new clothes.
Not the full patient jumpsuit he'd worn until then, but real shirt and pants.
Still, for safety, clothes with metal were prohibited, so the pants were fastened with a string at the waist.
Whether tied or loose, Raimund cared little about clothes as long as he could wear underwear again.
Finally dressed somewhat decently, he left the block.
Cosette, waiting ahead, greeted him lightly.
"See you again. Wow, is that really you? Suddenly looking handsome."
"Hello. Am I really that different now?"
"You had stem cell transplants on your face. Before, the scars were quite visible because the healing wasn't complete. Now it's very neat."
"Didn't know because there's no mirror inside."
"If you broke one and attacked a researcher on purpose, that'd be troublesome. It's happened before."
The more Raimund heard, the less he understood what environment these people worked in. Did they even get paid properly?
He followed the researcher and Cosette crossing a long bridge.
The bridge sometimes connected to other places, sometimes ended abruptly.
Cosette and the researcher seemed familiar with the paths and found new ways anywhere, but Raimund felt a strong sense of intentional complexity in this quarantine facility's layout.
After wandering in circles for several minutes, they finally boarded an elevator going upward.
Operating the elevator seemed to require qualifications; besides the researcher's ID card, fingerprint, iris, and voice verification were needed before the huge machine started moving.
"Strict."
"Banks must be easier to break into than the Foundation Union. Passwords and codes don't work here."
"What if an intruder tries to get to important places? What then?"
"You just saw. Anyone coming down here would have to cut out the eyeballs and hands of an authorized person and come. They'd have to master voice mimicry, too."
Ugh. Terrifying.
Raimund felt a bit uneasy at Cosette's matter-of-fact answer.
The elevator rose a long way.
When the hanging blocks looked small, the quarantine floors disappeared completely and other spaces quickly passed by.
People in black suits, staff in blue plastic suits, white-coated researchers, ornamental plants, chairs, office floors.
Just when he felt a little dizzy,
–Ding.
The elevator stopped completely.
Where they got off was a sleek, modern lobby.
The predominantly white lobby received bright artificial sunlight from the glass ceiling.
Many employees busily walked around.
One man holding a briefcase glanced quickly at his wristwatch as he passed Raimund.
A large screen on the wall displayed a slowly rotating huge planet logo with the letters 'H.C.F' on a blue background,
and below it six big clocks showed shelter times for continents
UK, Kazakhstan, Korea, Canada, Ecuador, Congo.
From somewhere came a calm female voice:
[Face, defend, survive anomalies. For humanity's perpetual protection and prosperity, the Humanity Conservation Foundation Union is with you.]