Pain was the first thing Kwam felt. A dull throbbing behind his temples, as if his skull were about to burst.
He forced his eyelids open. The sterile white neon lights of his biotechnology lab were gone. In their place was a dark thatched roof and the overpowering scent of damp earth and woodsmoke.
"Where... where am I?" he whispered.
His voice was hoarse. He tried to sit up, but his muscles felt like lead. He remembered a blinding flash during his accelerated photosynthesis experiment, then... nothingness.
A low moan pierced the silence. Kwam turned his head. Beside him, on a raffia mat, a young boy no older than six was trembling violently. His deep black skin was slick with cold sweat, and his eyes were rolled back in his head.
Kwam forced himself to stand. His biological instincts took over. His photographic memory activated instantly, projecting pages of a tropical pathology textbook he had read years ago right before his eyes.
Symptoms: Severe dehydration, cholera-like facies, muscle spasms.
"It's a waterborne infection," Kwam muttered.
He stepped out of the hut, and the shock hit him like a physical blow. He wasn't in London anymore. Before him stretched a village from another era. Circular mud huts, men dressed in bark cloth, and at the center of the square, an old man was waving ox tails over a fire while chanting incantations.
All around them, dozens of villagers lay on the ground, agonizing.
"Stop this!" Kwam shouted, stepping forward. "The smoke will only choke their lungs! They need purified water, not prayers!"
Silence fell over the village. The witch doctor froze. A massive man with shoulders as broad as an Iroko trunk, wearing a necklace of leopard claws, stepped out from the crowd. It was the Village Chief.
"Who are you, stranger dressed in strange fabrics?" the Chief growled, pointing a spear whose bronze tip glinted under the scorching sun. "My ancestors say you fell from the sky during the storm. Are you the demon who brought this plague?"
Kwam looked at the spear just inches from his throat. He didn't blink. His engineering mind was already calculating the odds.
"My name is Kwam. I am not a demon, and I was not sent by your enemies. I am the man who will save your son and your people."
The Chief narrowed his eyes, hatred warring with desperation. "My son is dying. Our healers have tried everything. Why would a stranger succeed where the spirits have failed?"
"Because your spirits cannot see what hides in the water of your river," Kwam replied firmly. "Give me salt, honey, and fire. If your son does not stand before the moon reaches its zenith, you may use that spear."
The Chief stared at Kwam for several long seconds, searching for a hint of fear. He found none.
"Give him what he asks," the Chief ordered. "But know this, Kwam: if you fail, your blood will water this earth before the sun sets."
Kwam nodded. He had no equipment, no lab. But he had his brain. The war against death had just begun, and science was his only weapon.