Chapter 7: Father, Daughter, Gina-itra

The room was silent. Jonathon's gaze dropped, and for a long moment, the only sound was the deep inhaling of his breath. When he looked up, a flicker of something—grief, nostalgia, perhaps guilt—crossed his face before he spoke, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't want you to carry their burdens or mine," he finally said, his voice steady yet still carrying the weight of his revelation. "But I think it’s time you knew... some of the truth, at least."

In that moment, the room transformed from a simple space for a father and daughter into a fragile bridge between the past and present, built on secrets, pain, love, and the kind of truth that could only be fully understood when spoken aloud.

Casey's hands trembled. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and the truth sank in like a weight in her chest. Every word from her father seemed to unravel things she needed to know; yet the seriousness of his emotions made her question whether she truly wanted to.

Jonathon had always been so careful and protective with his words, shaping the past into something palatable. Now, suddenly, it was all falling apart.

"Dad..." her voice cracked, the single word carrying all the hurt, confusion, and betrayal she felt. She moved to step forward but stopped herself, unsure if she could bear to be that close to him right now. "How could you... how could you keep this from me?"

Jonathon stood, his eyes soft, as though he expected her to understand and forgive him. But all she could feel was the distance between them now, a chasm that had opened up or, perhaps realistically, had always been there and was now simply more apparent.

Her father approached her tentatively, but she recoiled instinctively. "Please..." she choked out. "Just tell me why. Why didn't you tell me the truth? Why didn't you trust me enough?"

His voice seemed unfamiliar, like a lecturer addressing students. "It's not that simple. There is still so much more you don't know, and it is too dangerous to tell you," he said.

She stood there, staring at him, her mind buzzing with a thousand disorganised thoughts. His words were raw, honest, yet unexpected, swirling around her like a storm. Every revelation brought another question, another piece of the puzzle that she couldn’t yet assemble. She needed time. She needed space.

Her breath quickened as she tried to steady herself. "I can't... I need to..." she began, but the words felt hollow, as if someone else had spoken them.

Her father, watching her carefully, sensed the storm brewing within her. His eyes filled with concern, but she also saw hesitation. He was unsure whether to reach out to her or let her be.

"I just need to think," she said finally, her voice small but firm. Her pulse raced in her ears as she tried to organise the chaos in her mind. The combination of Percy's memories, now hers, and what her father had told her was making her dizzy.

She needed solitude to begin understanding all that she now knew. Everything felt different, uncertain, and fractured.

“Dad,” she said. “This is not the end of our conversation; it’s only the beginning. I can’t continue it tonight, but be prepared—I won’t stop until I know everything, including what you work on every day.”

As she walked away, she stumbled. He reached out to steady her, but she raised her hand to stop him. Regaining her footing, she turned and reflected, saying, "There is one thing I do need to know now: the gnia-itra tablet—how did you know it was safe?" His lips parted, but no words came out at first. He seemed to be searching for the right thing to say, yet for a moment, everything was slipping away from him.

The silence between them stretched on, thick and heavy, filled only with the sound of her breathing and the racing beat of her heart. He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering between hers and the floor as if he didn’t see her, as if the weight of his guilt was too much to bear. Her heart tightened in her chest, torn between anger and a profound, aching sadness for him or herself. She wasn't sure.

She could barely hear him whisper, "For our safety, the only thing I will tell you is that your grandfather perfected it while he was head of the National Institute of Aging and caring for returning Vietnam Veterans." "I beg you," he pleaded. "Please do not ever mention this again."

Of course she would bring it up again, but now wasn't the time. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, too many to process all at once. She needed to make sense of everything and find a way to piece it all together. 

It might not sound like much, but the reference to the Vietnam Veterans pointed Casey to the next of Percy's files she should open, No. 2 Vietnam Veterans.

Casey's priority was sleep, and when she reached her bedroom, she fell on her bed exhausted. There was no point in trying to organise her thoughts when she was so tired, and she had work in the morning, which required a lot of focus. Tomorrow was particularly important as there were problems with the water generation process.

The chemicals stored in the membranes that hovered over the sea to capture seawater and purify it as drinking water were less effective than they had been in the past. There had been a change, and it was unclear why the standard formula invented by the chemists in the lab before Casey was not purifying the water to the required quality. As a result, the floating wells where the purified seawater is transferred now require additional attention, which is extremely costly and unsustainable.

Casey needed to debrief with Ruth about all this new information, so before falling asleep, she sent her an Airplay message, saying she would call by her place tomorrow evening after work.