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impossible to read them all. Interpretations vary. Accounts vary. Whatever knowledge we can extract and whatever conclusions we draw from the breadth of information is openly shared among all Sequencers. However, what the council of each settlement chooses to believe and hence, communicate to its citizens, is often an oversimplification of what we really know.’
    The first CRACK! splits the dark, hitting some poor tree deep in the woods. ‘You picked a good spot,’ he says calmly, probably noticing the tremble that ran through my back.  
    But it’s not fear that shakes me. It’s excitement. ‘Why are you called a “Sequencer?”’
    ‘We let people believe that it’s because we sequence genomes of microbes and map their occurrences and capabilities wherever we go. Our…profession…originates from a group of scientists, engineers, and historians who investigated the sequence of events that led to the demise of most of humanity. But if we were only investigating what caused what, we’d still be only a bunch of scientists, engineer, and historians. We call ourselves Sequencers because we create sequences of events.’
    I swallow. ‘What events?’
    ‘We move settlements from one place to another, for example.’
    ‘And…that leads to what?’
    ‘A mixing of beneficial genetic traits. Thinning of unfavourable genetic traits.’
    ‘Are you saying that you guys are lying when you wipe clean a whole village? It’s never really cholera but some… some breeding program?’
    ‘A dangerously simplistic view.’ He squints up at the black clouds. ‘Cholera is a serious threat, as are the small and isolated human subpopulations.’
    ‘I want proof of your identity. I don’t even know your name.’
    ‘I haven’t introduced myself yet,’ he shouts over encroaching squall.
    I wait, but he remains silent. The world around us blares with thunder, storm, and rain as if the weather wants to uproot all trees and move the whole forest to some other place.
    The dry wash begins to fill —   little at first, not more than a trickling of needles, soil, and water. Then, all of a sudden, a wave gushes down the hill, lapping at the small elevation we sit on, splashing us with muck. I can’t help but think of disease and poison being washed down, spreading into my village, into the lowlands and into the oceans. I’ll never again view water in the simplistic “Oh look, it comes out of the ground!” way. It’s more like… like a networking organism, maybe?
    ‘I’m Runner,’ he says between two thunderclaps. He bends closer and speaks with an urgency that drives goosebumps up my arms. ‘Whatever I ask of you during your probation time — two things are more important than anything else and justify breaking every assignment or order I may give you. One: Your survival. Two: Your own values. That’s it. Never risk your life, never betray yourself. Is that understood?’
    ‘Yes,’ I answer, although I’m not sure what he means by the value thing. ‘But your name isn’t proof of your identity.’
    ‘Do you know how Sequencers are identified?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘So how would you know if my identification is valid, should I show it to you?’ He leans back against the tree. ‘Your first assignment is to survive, Micka. One week in the woods. You do not ask anyone for help. You do not contact your parents. If a search party combs the hills, you hide.’
    ‘My parents don’t know I’ll be here for a week?’
    He shakes his head.
    ‘They’ll think I’m dead. They’ll be horrified.’ Why does this suddenly bother me?
    ‘Yes. You can abort your probation at any time.’
    How helpful. Thank you very much. When he wipes rain off his face, a thought hits me. ‘You asked Ralph to kiss me.’
    ‘I asked him to distract you. He chose to ask you for a kiss.’
    ‘It was disgusting.’
    ‘That’s your responsibility. You said, “Okay, one kiss, no tongue. Then you go home.” Your choice, Micka. You are of age.’
    I