Author's note:
Here comes a romance of roughly 12k words. It's a stand-alone without further instalments. I hope you enjoy it and leave a vote or a comment.
Obviously, most of the places described or mentioned exist but the story itself and the character within are purely fictional.
The sexual content is minimal, so if you're looking for quick stimulation, I'm afraid this isn't the right story for you.
I want to express my gratitude to Stattion and Joffa, my two much valued editors. Many of you have commented on a perceived improvement in my writing. I can assure you, it's mostly their doing. I can't stress my appreciation for their effort enough! All remaining errors happened only after they gave their final input and are totally my fault and responsibility.
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I stood in front of the entrance to the assembly hall in which the class reunion was being held, taking a deep breath. I had arrived late as the necessary secrecy surrounding the flight from Cape Town to Zurich had caused some small delays. Ten years had passed since my graduation and three since I had last been here. Behind the wide doors, I could hear the sound of people conversing and laughing. A lot had happened since then but I really hoped that my former school friends and teachers would be able to put it behind them and remember me the way I was back then.
For the last five years, I hadn't experienced the feeling of being 'one of the guys'. I was always some kind of superlative. 'THE OUTSTANDING! THE ONE AND ONLY! THE INCOMPARABLE! THE UNPARALLELED! THE UNRIVALED! THE MAN WHO SAVED HUMANITY!' I don't think there was a superlative that hasn't been put before my name. Where ever I went, there was some huge event to honour me. Or maybe it was the other way around. A parade was held in my honour and I was morally obliged to attend. Sometimes it felt as if I could barely take a dump without somebody trying to make something out of it. I was so tired of it all.
When the Dark Fever first appeared in early 2020, it was just a space-filler somewhere in the depths of the international section of the newspapers reporting a handful of deaths from an obscure disease somewhere in southern Africa and I was just a student of biochemistry working towards his vague career goals. Soon though, the disease had spread northwards before making its way across the globe to South America and Asia. By March there had been deaths on every continent, the death toll already reaching thousands, increasing rapidly. From the moment somebody contracted the disease, the countdown began and it never took more than seven days to take their life, often less. It started with a high fever, quickly reaching over forty degrees. This was followed by the loss of eyesight when the virus interrupted the information flow along the optical nerves. The last stage was accompanied by the skin turning dark. That was where the name came from. The Dark Fever made no exceptions. There hadn't been a single confirmed report of anybody who contracted it and survived before the Cure was developed.
In April, everybody with only a minimum knowledge of medicine and chemistry was working on a remedy. I had been working on my doctoral dissertation in biochemistry when I was recruited by my professor to support him in his research. Our team of fifteen - we were twenty in the beginning but lost some members to the Dark Fever - was the successful one. We developed the Cure. We provided the formula and the production plans to every medical factory around the globe on the prerequisite that the drug had to be distributed for free. Governments were allowed to help cover the costs of production but in the light of the global tragedy, we felt that no profit was to be made of our work.
1,600,000,000. One point six billion. A one, a six, and eight zeros. Or scientifically spoken 1.6x10^9. That mind-boggling number was the official death toll. One of them was my father, another the professor who had recruited me into his team. About twenty per cent of the global population. Asia and Africa were hit the hardest, followed by the Americas but Europe and Australia also took heavy blows.
The consequences were far-reaching. Most nations had stood together in the attempts to defeat this threat to humanity. Previously opposing countries were forced to cooperate. The Dark Fever hadn't cared about the origin, skin colour, gender, wealth, religion, or sexual orientation and neither could humanity in our fight against eradication. Governments and NGOs organised the production and distribution. Raw materials, production capacity, logistics, and financing were all thrown into a global melting pot. In the face of extinction, Earth had united. The countries that waited the longest to join the global efforts, those that applied a 'we need to look after ourselves first'-policy suffered the most as they always lacked in at least one department. Some countries were initially excluded from the emerging federation as they had refused to adopt a 'free-for-all'-approach.
After the first threat had been eliminated, we faced a different one. The socio-economic fallout almost achieved what the Dark Fever hadn't but again humanity prevailed. The loss of critical know-how and manpower, the consequential partial breakdown of the production chains of literally every product and service the world had come to rely on were compensated by an unparalleled effort of the unified Earth.
Somewhere among all this madness, I was proclaimed as the man who had singlehandedly stopped the annihilation of humanity. My guess is that it was because I had been the one to face the press. All members of our small group of young men and women were petrified by the prospect of walking out on a stage and into the attention of the world's public eye. If he had still been alive, it would have been our professor's responsibility, but as he had become a victim to the Dark Fever two weeks previously that wasn't an option anymore. Nobody dared to expose themselves and step out in front of the world's media to make the announcement that a cure had been discovered. So, we drew straws. I lost and had to face the press and subsequently became the face that was indelibly connected to the Cure.
For five years now, I've tried to explain that it was a team effort, that there were tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of others who had done at least as much - if not more - during the research, the production, and distribution of the Cure. That those who had tried to treat the sick or provided comfort to the dying were the heroes we should laud. That those who kept our world running on a daily basis should be celebrated. But not only did my statements fall on deaf ears, I was praised even more for my perceived humbleness. At times, I felt like Monty Python's Brian Cohen, being pushed into a role I neither wanted nor deserved.
I was shamelessly showcased around the globe. I've visited more than fifteen hundred towns and cities and have been to every single country, even though they have been degraded to mere administrative entities. The Dark Fever had ended the era of nation-states and heralded the age of a unified Earth. It wasn't suddenly all peace, love, and happiness. Many of the old quarrels were still brewing in the background but most understood that collaboration was a necessity in order to compensate for the sudden loss of know-how and manpower. One of my very few accomplishments in this time was that I successfully rejected the post of Earth president. To this day, I don't understand what made people think I would be in any way be qualified for such a job. I was barely able to get the team around me doing anything I wanted. A side effect of my rejecting the post of Earth president was that the post was never created in the first place. Instead there was a governing body of nine persons who all had their specific ministry. My Swiss origins certainly played a part in this decision as the chosen set-up was very close to the system used in Switzerland before the crisis. I had to remain very careful with what I said, though. I'm quite sure if I had ever said something like 'The White House would look better in pink' or 'The Eifel Tower would look great in Phnom Penh' it would have been repainted or relocated the very next day.
These last few years had been a whirlwind as I was carted from hospital opening to school renaming and on to some parade in my honour. Nobody ever stopped to ask me what I wanted. I had become a symbol and as such, I was treated. In the beginning, I had tried to decline but had let myself be convinced for a few public outings. Then, after the first couple of appearances, I couldn't refuse anymore. It would have been interpreted as favouring one country, region, religion or whatever over another. The circumstances took control of my life and I couldn't do anything but tag along. I had an entire team taking care of almost everything. They planned the outings, the flights, the hotels, the transportation, the meals, and my clothing.
I met World leaders, both political and religious, but I didn't have an audience with the pope, the Queen of England, or the nine newly elected members of the governing body of the Global Federation, they had an audience with me. It was ridiculous. It was sickening. More than a few lunatics tried to form a religion around me but, fortunately, in another of the few personal victories I could celebrate, I successfully put a stop to most of that. I'm told there are still some people out there who think I have a direct line to God, though.
On one of the opportunities I had to talk to my mother over the video phone, she had told me that I had received an invitation to the ten-year-reunion of the class I had graduated with, before going to university.
My decision to participate had almost caused a panic among my closest advisors. For five years, I had never seriously stood up for myself but this time I insisted. It had taken a massive planning effort both in logistics and in secrecy to grab this opportunity. As far as the public knew, I was on my way from Cape Town to Mombasa where I would cut the ribbon for a newly opened university. So far, only Rasheem who was my personal assistant, chief of staff, and confidant all wrapped in one, the bodyguards accompanying me, the flight crew, and my mother knew I was here. Rasheem had arranged for a short meeting with my Mum and surviving grandparents at the airport. It was only the second time we had met in person since it all had started. After that small family reunion, I was taken to the school - now named 'Sebastian-Fischer-School' after me, its most prominent graduate.
So here I was. Moments away from what hopefully would help me feel some kind of normalcy. I had ordered my security to stay outside as it would be difficult enough to fit in with my peers and there was no reason to expect any dangers. I pressed the bar and pulled the door open.
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It took a few seconds but I could literally see the silence spread through the crowd assembled in the room as those closest to the door stopped speaking when they realised who had just entered the venue. Alerted by those that fell silent, those next to them looked over and also went quiet and so on. Three or four seconds later, the room burst into thunderous applause while everybody unconsciously took a couple of steps away from me.
Of the many things that annoyed me, that was what I despised the most. Everybody keeping a physical distance from me. Nobody would give me an embrace, a pat on my shoulder, or even a handshake. Before today, the most intimate touch I had felt in the last few years had been when I had my hair cut. Even my mother had been reluctant to take me in her arms and I had nearly cried from the first real physical contact with another person, a simple embrace, in five years. In the minds of the people I had become so immense, so powerful, so unreachable that they were scared to, I don't know, burst into flames or something if they touched me.
When the applause didn't stop, I made my way through the hall, a four-metre-circle free of people except for me in the centre moving with me, to the stage which had been set up for a performance of the school choir. I took one of the microphones and switched it on.
"Please, everybody. Stop."
I gestured for them to stop applauding. It only took two minutes; that was probably an all-time-best.
