Breathless Excitement

No matter how hard Thomas tried, he couldn’t persuade Akemi to take a proper break. She’d had a good sleep, and by 4 p.m. she was already back in touch with Thomas and the others about the “Airhole” project (a working title).

“So it’s real?” Akemi asked, licking the last bit of yogurt from her spoon.

“Hell if I know,” Thomas replied, clearly agitated.

“So what happened?”

“Some clown showed up — like, at the lab in Saratov, you know how things are with the Russians. The moment something starts working, the state shows up, slaps its greasy hands on everything, and turns it to crap. Like King Midas, only in reverse. Anyway, they were ordered to stop all development and cut ties with foreign labs —state security, all that jazz…”

“And the fact we’ll all be dead in a year — that doesn’t count for anything?” Akemi asked offhandedly.

“They’re Russians,” Thomas sighed. “That’s kind of their national idea — if we can’t live well, nobody will.’ But not all of them are like that. Someone in Saratov secretly passed the data to Standarová in Prague. So she —” Thomas mimed dramatically — “wakes up, stretches, and boom — ‘Chinazis, get in here.’ She forwarded it to Reifenberg, then Berlin, then us.”

“So there’s a chance?”

“Sort of. They started sequencing the virus genome, but didn’t have the power to finish it. Birmingham and Fukuoka are working full throttle now.”

“We won’t make it. Remember COVID? It took two years to get a working vaccine. We’ve got barely one left — less, actually,” Akemi said, glancing at the calendar.

“So you’re saying we just sit on our hands?” Thomas bristled. “Look, Reifenberg’s already assigned us a task —not just us, Berlin’s going all in too.”

Akemi opened the document Thomas had sent:

“The first rule of Project Airhole…” he began.

“Is not to talk about Project Airhole?” Akemi joked.

Thomas smirked briefly, appreciating the reference, and continued:

“To assist in all ways possible. The vaccine is in development. Don’t panic, but don’t slack off either.”

“Wait a sec,” Akemi said, finishing her yogurt. “We’re not virologists, we’re botanists. I mean, sure — we can identify symptoms, apply treatments with conventional methods…”

“Birmingham and Fukuoka are already working hard,” Thomas repeated. “I’ve sent you the data — read through it by tomorrow. You coming in tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Akemi replied.

“You… at least got some rest?” Thomas softened unexpectedly, dropping his businesslike tone.

“Mid-rest,” she smiled.

“Well then…” Thomas quickly returned to his usual clipped manner — sentimentality didn’t suit him. “See you tomorrow!”

“Yup.” Akemi ended the call.

“Rest, sure… with this bunch…”

 Still, despite the grumbling, she was genuinely glad. She wanted to believe — especially after all the horror and hardship of recent days, all the soul-draining news — that maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of hope.
And she was glad not to be alone in this. Right now, far away across oceans and borders, like-minded people were doing incredibly important work that might just save everyone. And that was true.
But it was too early for breathless enthusiasm.

“Will we make it?” Akemi murmured to herself, gazing at the bright sun.

She checked the time. 5 p.m. She was due at the lab at nine tomorrow. She could’ve easily taken another day off, but she already felt guilty for wasting half of today. There were still a couple things to clarify.

“Thomas?”

“Yes?” he replied quickly on the team messenger.

“About Reifenberg — I’ll finish parts one and two by tonight. Can we tackle the third together in the morning?”

“Sure. Just don’t touch the end of part two, you’re clueless in that area anyway.”

“Screw you,” Akemi grimaced in mock annoyance. He always brought up those old university jabs at the worst times…

***

Ivan had been struggling with his report for three hours straight. His head was still pounding from last night, and he was trying to fix it with cold tea.
The other story wasn’t writing itself — the analysis of Derrida’s concept of “différance” had to be finished by Monday. He’d gotten through the first half earlier in the week, but the second half wouldn’t come.

He got up and closed the window — it was too stuffy. He reached for a hit — oxygen was out. Damn it.
He got dressed, grabbed his keys, and headed upstairs.

Ivan lived in the university dorms. Turned out Rodrigo did too — one floor above. Last night, they’d gotten wasted at the bar and lost track of each other. The last thing Ivan remembered was Rodrigo and Linda leaving together and after that he just woke up in his own bed.

“213, 214, 215” — there! Rodrigo had given him his room number with a “drop by if you need anything.” Ivan found the door and knocked. No answer.

He knocked again. Still nothing.

Third knock — click — the lock turned, and Linda appeared in nothing but pink panties. Ivan couldn’t help but notice her hairy chest.

“Forget something?” Linda asked, leaning in the doorway.

“Got anything to hit?”

Linda turned and walked deeper into the room, her hairy hips swaying, then came back with a pack of cigarettes.

“No, I don’t smoke,” Ivan waved his hands. “I meant oxygen.”

“Rodrigo!” Linda rasped.

From deeper inside came rustling, a grunt, the sound of a blanket being tossed aside, and then Rodrigo appeared — smeared in lipstick and wearing only briefs.

“Well, damn,” Ivan thought.

“You boys figure it out,” Linda yawned and crawled back into bed.

Rodrigo nodded sleepily.

“Got anything to hit?” Ivan asked again.

Rodrigo seemed to think for a moment, then shook his head and said:

“Yeah, hang on,” and disappeared.

“At least he doesn’t sway his hips,” Ivan thought.

Rodrigo came back with three oxygen canisters.

“Here.”

“Bless you, man. They haven’t installed me the hyperventilation yet, so...”

“Should be next week, I heard,” Rodrigo yawned and leaned against the doorframe, exposing his hairy armpit.

“Hey, um…” Ivan hesitated.

“About Linda?” Rodrigo asked bluntly.

“Well… I mean… I thought jazz was girls only.”

“Some like it hot, y´know,” Rodrigo said without a trace of shame.

“Well, nobody´s perfect!” Linda shouted from the back. “And I can hear you perfectly well, by the way!”

“Anyway,” Rodrigo gave a tired smile, “take those, I’ll see you at the uni Monday. Stay safe.”

They shook hands and went their separate ways. Rodrigo shut the door, and Ivan went back downstairs.

The oxygen canister was running low. They were supposed to get a new shipment Monday, but this three he got from Rodrigo would do for now.

“-84%,” blinked the ceiling sensor.