Inspiration Does Not Exist

"Remember," the old professor was preaching passionately from the lectern, "the most dangerous thing in science is to give in to inspiration. It's just as destructive in the arts, but there it leads merely to an inevitable internal exhaustion, whereas in science it easily throws one into the abyss of falsehood. Pseudoscientists — practitioners of pseudoscience — they don't lie because they consciously decided to deceive people. They lie because they have come to believe in their own fantasies so strongly that they have completely drained them. Beyond that lies only emptiness, where you must either abandon everything that once inspired you, or betray evidence-based science and begin to fake it under its mask. The fate of such people is a sad one. So, if you ever find yourself at that boundary — leave science and take up art. Write books, paint paintings — but don't stoop to deception!"

For some reason, these words echoed loudly in Ivan's mind — all the way from his undergraduate years.
He had just come home after his consultation, taken a few breaths from his oxygen tank — the hyperventilation system had finally been installed — and collapsed onto the bed.

"Now I somehow have to finish all this, three weeks left," he glanced at the calendar.
Of course, he could still go to another consultation next week… or even finish the writing before then. As long as he had something to ask about.

***

"Alright, come on, open it up!" Thomas was rubbing his hands impatiently as Akemi carefully placed the box on the table and rummaged in a drawer for a utility knife.

"Is there no one else around?" she whispered to him cautiously.

"Wittek and a couple of others — that’s it," Thomas replied.

Akemi nodded, slit the tape along the box seam, and opened it.
A strong scent hit her so sharply she staggered back.

"What kind of Pokémon is this?!" she gaped.

Thomas looked no less shocked.

From the bottom of the box, a small lilac sprout in a jar was peeking at them, modestly putting out fine roots — but the fragrance coming from it was like that of a full-grown bush.

"Instructions inside the package," Akemi recalled Reifenberg’s words over the phone.

Indeed, there was a small sealed envelope addressed to the Heidelberg University Botanic Laboratory. Akemi carefully opened it and unfolded a few sheets of paper.

Together with Thomas, she leaned in to read:

"The sample you have received was provided by a source of the highest trustworthiness. It is a special variety of lilac — at the source’s request, it is named 'Heimlich.' Poetic naming is not essential here; remember the code name.
The trustworthiness is confirmed by preliminary tests — amateur and at-home analyses — which is why it was forwarded to you for laboratory studies. Study it thoroughly, but in complete secrecy.
This project is off-the-record.
There are strong grounds to believe that this lilac variety could be a true alternative to the 'Airhole' project — an alternative for Germany, and, if we're lucky, for the whole world.
Destroy these instructions after reading."

Akemi and Thomas exchanged glances and nodded in unison.
Thomas, without getting up, rolled over to a nearby burner, switched on the ventilation, burned the letter, waited for the ashes to cool, and dumped them into the trash.

"Hey, why the ventilation now?" protested one of the lab workers, "I just opened the oxygen!"

"Sorry, it's done already!" Thomas made sure there was no more burnt smell and turned off the ventilation.

Akemi rolled her chair after him:

"How are we going to study it?" she whispered. "Better not tell anyone yet, at least until we figure out a little ourselves."

"Looks like we'll have to stay after hours," Thomas shrugged. "When everyone leaves."

"Won’t that look suspicious?"

"What?"

"I mean, everyone leaves, and the two of us stay late, day after day?"

"Come on," Thomas whispered back and waved it off. "At worst, they'll just assume what they're already gossiping about us anyway — I'm not deaf, I hear them."

"You mean—"
Akemi made a suggestive gesture, clapping her left palm against the edge of her right fist.

Thomas nodded.

***

Night was falling.
Linda yawned and cranked the radio volume to the max.
There was no real reason to rush back anymore. She checked her navigator — she was nearing Cologne, right about halfway between Heidelberg and Bielefeld.
The whole day behind the wheel — plus that annoying detour through Erfurt.
She had no idea what exactly she was transporting — and it wasn’t her habit to ask — but the hefty wad of cash in her pocket was reassuring.
Goods — money — goods.
Yeah, it had been a hectic day, but she earned in one day what usually took two weeks of courier work — and they even threw in extra for gas. No complaints there.

Speaking of gas — she needed to refuel.
She pulled into the nearest gas station, paid for fuel, grabbed a couple bottles of mineral water and a small oxygen canister, tossed them into her backpack, and headed toward the restrooms.
The women's restroom was closed for cleaning.

"Hmm," Linda shrugged and pushed open the neighboring door marked "Herren" (Men).

"Miss, that's—" the cashier tried to call after her.

"No worries, I'm not shy!" Linda tossed over her shoulder and walked in.
With a skeptical glance at the urinals, she slipped into a stall out of habit.

***

Meanwhile, Reinhardt had finally cooked the meat he’d been planning (a couple of days late, but still), enjoyed a hearty dinner, and was now watching the evening news with a cup of tea and a slice of lemon cake.

The main story? The recent earthquake in Heidelberg — the same one that had caught Akemi and Thomas off-guard — though Reinhardt had no idea about that, of course.

"Mild underground tremors — no more than 5 on the scale — but geologists are puzzled. In all the years of monitoring, nothing like this had ever been recorded in Germany..."

"The situation is completely under control, no casualties or significant damage, minimal losses," Minister Reifenberg reported cheerfully on the screen.

"Busybody," Reinhardt grimaced and turned off the TV.
He finished his tea.
Finished the lemon cake.
Licked the sugar glaze off his fingers.
Sighed and leaned back, thinking — that damn Tai Ming was definitely up to something!
All that talk — "You, my friend, you discovered something so incredible, something you must share with the world..." — and he didn't even bother telling Reinhardt before handing the lilac off to outsiders! 
"Damn it all... All he’s good for is hanging noodles on people’s ears — must’ve learned it from his wife, they sure serve top-notch ones at their café..."

But it wasn’t even about "credit" or "recognition" — Reinhardt truly couldn’t care less.
It was about the fact that there was never really any "discovery" to begin with.

He got up from the couch, opened the garden door, slipped on his garden clogs, and stepped outside.
It wasn't as fresh as it had been after the rain last night, but it was still nice — cool enough after the day's heat.

"So, how are we doing?" Reinhardt lovingly stroked a few of the remaining flowers. "Still hanging on?"

And if anything was still hanging on — it was the lilac.
Majestic yet modest, blooming against the oppressive summer air — lush and fragrant even at the end of June.

Reinhardt inhaled deeply, pulled out his phone, and dialed Tai Ming.

"I'm listening," came the voice.

"Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you!" Reinhardt exclaimed. "Listen, I had a little drink—" he faked a slurred voice, "you know, they say we’ve only got a year left anyway..."

"I can hear that..."

The ruse worked.
Reinhardt switched the phone to his other hand and went on:

"Li-i-istening, I'm standing under the lilac — that same lilac — it's grown so huge, you wouldn't believe it, it's amazing..."

And it was true — the lilac had grown massive, and the scent, if you stood nearby for a few minutes, was so intoxicating you barely needed to fake anything.

"You took away my inspiration!" Reinhardt wailed dramatically. "You betrayed our botanical ritual, traded it for your greed to be the first discoverer — what kind of friend are you?!" - Reinhardt diligently threw himself into his "drunken", hysterical act.

"Listen," Tai Ming sounded rattled - even he could be thrown off balance with enough effort, - "I already explained — your name won’t be erased. 'Heimlich' made the maneuver. I'm pretty sure you'll hear from Heidelberg soon..."

"Heidelberg."
That was all Reinhardt had wanted to know. His "drunken act" had paid off.

"Heidelberg, Schmiedelberg — I don't care! Let them go to Erfurt for all I care!" he grumbled theatrically. "And sniff my lilac straight from the source — not the scraps you’re handing out—" - he delivered the last part in a teasing, sing-song voice.

He ended the call, exhaled deeply, and coughed.
No inhaler again — he instinctively leaned against the lilac.

The cool, fragrant air surrounding the plant worked better than any medicine.

He breathed for a few minutes, gazing at the stars.

Now he knew the crucial thing: Heidelberg.
Tomorrow, he would deal with it.
Tonight — he needed sleep.

Reinhardt broke off a small branch from the lilac, went inside, climbed upstairs, got ready for bed, and laid the lilac branch on the pillow next to him — where his late wife once slept.

The gentle night fragrance enveloped him, and he drifted off.

71% — but even that sensor didn’t worry him anymore.