Our young girl used the upper floor of a facility, formerly a methane gas factory, as her charging point. The lower floor, according to the Uruzens, was a butcher shop. According to our girl, however, it was a medical laboratory suitable for genetic intervention. Or, to put it more intimately, it was a hospital. But for the Uruzens, who had never seen a health institution in their lives, it was perfectly possible to call this place a butcher shop and our girl a butcher.
The lower floor was a long corridor, half a kilometer in length but only fifty meters wide. The area, once covered with fences where livestock used to line up, was now filled with hospital beds and medical devices. Glass enclosures had replaced the fences. These glass enclosures could be lit or darkened by pressing buttons next to their doors, and everything from their internal temperature to atmospheric density could be adjusted.
Throughout the corridor, cleaning robots resembling small cannonballs roamed with lasers pointed in front of them. A white gas was constantly being released from the vents in the ceiling, dispersing and spreading around before it could drop even a few centimeters. As the gases were released at a certain frequency, the slight creaking sound of the pipes vibrating during each release could be heard.
Occasionally, bald young boys with different skin colors, wearing doctor uniforms and holding hologram papers, wandered around. They moved along the glass enclosures. These were our girl's Uruzen assistant boys.
Walking slowly along the corridor, our young girl looked at the glass panes one by one. The glass would clear at the point where she looked, as if sensing her eyes, and then return to darkness once she withdrew her gaze.
The girl looked at a patient to her left. A young boy's ribcage had been opened by surgical robots. The robots must have been trying to clear a blockage in a vein in his heart. Our girl was glad she had turned off her sensory sensors; otherwise, that nauseating scene would have been truly revolting for her.
One of the young girls approached her. It was clear from the curves of her lips and her pearl-like shimmering eyes that this young person was a girl. Straightening the collar of her gown and avoiding looking into the void behind the glass, she showed the hologram in her hand to our girl.
"Good morning, 24," said the Uruzen.
"Good morning, 18." The people here did not want to be referred to by names. Numbers felt more natural to them. They thought that numbers could not be racist and could not be indicators of status, so they preferred numerical names.
But in reality, this was a massive cultural lie. Long, long ago, when the companies that came to this city turned this planet into a colonial factory, they had given people numbers like ID numbers because they didn't want to memorize their names. They had woven this naming with numbers so deeply into their culture and religion that these people did not show much tolerance for those whose names were anything other than numbers. That's why our girl called herself 24 while she was here, unable to use her real name.
The fact that colonies tried to impose their exploitative cultures on others was something that made our girl quite uneasy. That was why she had adopted the name 24 from the very first day she set foot on this planet. Even her own name, Sevda, had started to feel strange to her.
So why was the number twenty-four given to her as a name? Because this hospital, which was under construction at the time, was on 24th Street. The public simply gave her the name 24, after the street. Every rumor that began with, "You know that new girl who moved to 24th Street..." eventually became our girl's name. Everyone else named 24 had changed their names to other numbers, trying to cast off the perceived ill fortune of the name 24.
Sevda began to examine the hologram paper in her hand. She navigated through the pages one by one with small hand movements.
18 was one of the oldest employees of this facility. She had been poisoned by excess ammonium residue in the last meal she ate. By chance, 24—our girl named Sevda—was passing through the middle of the market where they were eating. She had rushed to the agonizing 18, scanned her for a while with her blue eyes, and after grasping her illness in just a few seconds, had brought her to the current hospital. More accurately, in Uruzen terms, she had abducted the girl to the "slaughterhouse."
At that time, 18 was planned to be married off. Her father was grateful to Sevda for saving his daughter's life, but he didn't think he could take care of his daughter if she didn't marry. The hospital was running smoothly with robots, but Sevda had understood the intention of 18, who did not want to marry, and had hired her as an employee in her hospital. Since that day—for five years now—she had been working continuously at the facility. 18's father had passed away at the age of 32.
The salary the facility promised the Uruzens consisted of clean food and clean water. Since Sevda spent money like crazy for the facility and every single medicine, this was the most she could pay her employees. In any case, on this planet, clean food and clean water were more valuable than gold.
"No one has died for 1 hour and 34 minutes, is that right?" Sevda murmured, scanning the paper.
"Yes, Master 24…"
At that moment, 18 looked at the boy named 91 lying on the operating table. That boy had been taking up space in the operating room for a very long time. Exactly 1 year, 2 months, and 15 days… One-thirtieth of an Uruzen's life…
As an Uruzen, 18 thought differently from Sevda on certain points. The citizens who died were their own citizens. There was no status difference between them. While 24 was saddened by the children she couldn't save, 18 was saddened for the other children who couldn't even find a bed because of the excessive time spent trying to save certain children. Since she was the only one who could speak with 24, she saw this as her duty and finally gathered her courage to ask:
"Master…" she called out to Sevda suddenly, in one breath.
"Yes, 18…"
"This young man has been in this operating room for a very long time… It's been 1 year, 2 months, and 15 days."
"Indeed…" said Sevda, also known as 24. "…I was looking at the robots' reports, and it seems there is still a possibility of recovery."
"But… but just think how many patients we could have saved in this much time. Why don't we just let him die?"
Sevda gave 18 a sharp look with her shimmering blue eyes. She noticed the good intention in 18's words, but there was something 18 didn't understand. No matter how many lives she saved here, 24 and her actions held no importance in the eyes of the Uruzen people. Even the lives saved would end up back in the hospital a few months or years later due to another illness, and this time their deaths could not be stopped. The only thing being done here was delaying death. In an age where death had been completely defeated elsewhere, delaying it was nothing more than a childish endeavor.
You might think that living a few extra months would matter to the Uruzens. Actually, it wasn't quite like that. These colonized people, whose lives were short and who were so accustomed to death, couldn't even understand that they were dying or would die. Not a single person had ever come to Sevda's door of their own will or desire, despite her bringing so many people back from the brink of death. There had been no gratitude, nor had any Uruzen ever left this hospital happy after treatment.
When Uruzens who thought differently appeared once in a while, they already wanted to stay at this hospital and help Sevda. 18 was an example of this. 44, who was currently emptying the casing of one of the cleaning robots, was another example. The others were examples too…
But these examples were exceptions. According to the Uruzen people, they were "sickly" individuals who thought outside the norms of society. The Uruzens who left this hospital, instead of being grateful for defeating death, possessed the anger of being healed by a woman. And the women? They envied the beauty of the woman named 24, accused her of being a prostitute and many other things, and consumed her with gossip. They were jealous of her height, her stature, and her blonde hair. Yet, blonde hair was a feature that could be bought for just a few dollars in the SWR.
18's thought had saddened Sevda. Because 18, too, had broken away from the Uruzens' fake perception of reality and had begun to value life. On this planet, living without that fake perception was nothing but a conscientious captivity. Perhaps 18 had started to think this way because she hadn't left the hospital to mingle with the people outside for a long time.
Also, she had learned mathematics while at this hospital. Year and month calculations, duration calculations, and many more things… Her brain could calculate that an average Uruzen could heal in just a few weeks, and that in more than a year, many Uruzens could have been healed. This was a beautiful thing. However, no Uruzen came here wholeheartedly by choice. Most of the beds were empty anyway unless those in the hospital wanted them.
Sevda couldn't decide if not taking these details into account made 18 cute or sad. Because she had learned math, yes, but through her mathematical calculation, she had concluded that this young boy should die. If she could have used her logic, she should have thought that patients could also be healed in the empty beds. There it was… for centuries, through chemicals and propaganda, a people—despite being part of the human race—could be made this "stupid," so to speak. And the logic she built was dangerous enough to cause a child's death.
It took them about four years to learn basic math. Even if they lived far from disease and injury in this facility, their lifespans weren't very long. Therefore, four years was quite a long time. It seemed Sevda would have to dial back the math a bit and teach some logic.
Sevda put her hand on the shoulder of the young girl, who was slightly shorter than herself, and said: "You've made a very good mathematical calculation, 18." 18 had learned what praise was here, and it was a feeling that felt very good. Especially since Sevda was a total professional when it came to giving praise. Even if all Uruzens tried to praise each other, it wasn't nearly as satisfying. 18 would sit down and think about what caused this at some point. "But you didn't take into account that patients could also occupy the empty beds."
18 couldn't understand what this meant. While she looked on with her mouth open, Sevda pinched the young girl's cheek and said, "Think about this for a while…" as she continued walking.
The data on the hologram was in order. At least, there was no problem with the Uruzens currently in the hospital. Their treatments were progressing properly. In the past, Sevda, who tried to save everyone, would bring Uruzen children here as if kidnapping them; she would connect them to machines and try to heal them without anyone knowing. In her desire to save everyone, she worked so hard with her team that a new child arrived every hour.
The Uruzen population was quite crowded. You could see an Uruzen family under every rock, inside every hollow, or on top of every hill. They had become accustomed to multiplying incredibly fast at a young age and dying at an incredibly young age.
That's why you could see an Uruzen dying every hour outside. Since most of the patients in the hands of Sevda—who had the dream of healing everyone—were patients who were late for treatment, the patient arriving once an hour back then would either die within an hour or recover and return home. Sevda wasn't the one held responsible for those who died. This people wasn't going to hold anyone responsible for deaths.
It was just that at some point, Sevda realized she could neither afford the cost of treating the entire population nor keep the hospital under control while trying to heal everyone.
Because of that, she had trained a small scouting team. These consisted of a few Uruzen children. She had given them a stretcher robot and told them what kind of patients they should bring. She instructed them that if the person to be brought was elderly, they should get permission from their family or bring them secretly; if the person to be brought was young, they should bring them very quickly without asking anyone's permission and without being seen by anyone—essentially kidnapping them if possible.
This people, if their child fell ill, saw it as a right to abandon them to death or even kill them with their own hands if necessary. If they fell ill at a younger age, they wouldn't be able to adapt to the atmosphere of this planet as they grew up and would constantly cause problems. Funnily enough, since children's immune systems weren't strong, it was quite possible for them to get sick. Therefore, children lived without letting anyone notice if their illnesses weren't fatal.
What about babies? Babies didn't have the ability to speak. They couldn't say they were sick, and these people didn't understand that their babies were sick anyway. 98 out of 100 babies died. They accepted their deaths as a twist of fate and moved on with their lives. The important thing was not to show your illness after becoming a child. If you were a young child, you wouldn't say "I am sick."
The elderly, on the other hand, did not hesitate to say they were sick. Since most had already had children and completed their Uruzen duty, they were respected, and their illnesses weren't minded. The food eaten by a sick and elderly Uruzen was not seen as waste because they were honored. But the food to be given to a sick youth… that was the greatest waste of all! Even a single piece of bread was too much for a man who would die before he could have children!
She was just about to ask where 56 and 77 were when the red light on the barn's massive metal shutter began to flash, and an alarm sound started to spread around. Sevda was quickening her steps toward the metal shutter when, as the shutter opened, two children and a stretcher robot—with a floating stretcher body, a funnel-shaped head, and bud-like hands—suddenly burst in through the white gas.
These children, who were only about 13 years old, rushed forward excitedly, and the young boy named 56 fell to his knees. As the boy rose with excitement, the stretcher robot moved toward one of the empty glass enclosures. 77 pointed with his hand toward the stretcher heading into the room and said:
"He fell from very high…"
"What do you mean?" Sevda stepped out of the glass room with quick strides. The survival percentage of the child being slowly connected to the machines appeared on the screen as 78%. The robots were preparing to begin surgery. The stretcher robot removed the blood bags it had connected to the child. Then it laid the child in its arms down onto the bed. The machines were preparing to start the surgery.
The right knee of the brought child was broken and the bone was sticking out; the bone of that knee had been driven into his stomach, and his organs protruding from the cut in his stomach were clearly visible. If Sevda didn't have cybernetic restrictions, she would definitely have felt nauseous. 56 and 77, however, didn't care about anything.
"Should we tell 24?" whispered 56 to 77.
"I think we should tell her, otherwise…"
"Otherwise what?"
"Otherwise, I don't know what."
"Hey!" Sevda shouted, putting her hand on her hip. "What are you two whispering about? Answer me properly…"
The children looked at each other nervously, as if they were about to hug one another, but they nodded and reached a common decision, and 56 stepped forward and began to explain:
"24, all day long…" he said and looked at the paper he took out of his pocket. "…we searched for people with these criteria but couldn't find them."
"Too many people were dying, but…" 77 interrupted.
"…but…" 56 took the word back. "…we couldn't kidnap anyone."
"They were all young…"
"They were young, but they were dying right next to their families."
"Ah… and there was such a beautiful girl."
"Yeah… that girl, right? It was like that girl had a little bit of hair."
"Oh, come on, 56!" shouted 77. "You say every beautiful girl you see had hair."
"I'm going to marry a woman with hair."
"Would a woman with hair even look at an ugly guy like you?"
"Hey, kids!" Sevda finally shouted. "Please, get back to the subject!"
"Ah… we're sorry. Well… how should I say it? We were just returning home when this kid fell right toward our heads."
"He fell on your heads?"
"Yes… Thanks to him, we didn't return empty-handed! Talk about a stroke of luck!" 77 said and held out his hand. 56 slapped the young man's hand hard.
"We're bombastic, man! This must be our 12th time in a row! It's a record! Look at those damn 44 and 32! They're bursting with jealousy! We broke their record!" said 56.
"And with a stroke of luck that fell on our heads!"
"We didn't even do it with our own effort."
"Yes! It was all luck!"
"They were defeated by luck! This will make them even more furious!"
The fact that these idiots called this poor mutilated child a "stroke of luck" was something Sevda still couldn't get used to in the culture she grew up in. She took her hand, trembling with anger, to her temples and massaged them for a while.
"So, why did the child fall? Do you have any idea?"
"We saw one of the TESO robots looking down."
"Do you think one of the TESO robots did something?" said Sevda, clenching her fists.
"Yes… Probably…. You know the TESO employees."
"How dare they! I'll need to have a meeting with them!"
"Ah… looks like our butcher has woken up," said 56, seeing Sevda's eyes turn red with anger.