The first time Taesu saw light coming from the bones of his own wrist was the night of the 23rd day after his retirement. Sleepless, he was drinking water in the kitchen when a blue-white line surfaced on the inner side of his left wrist, which he had rested on the counter. Between the radius and the ulna, the outline of bone showed through beneath the skin. Taesu shut off the faucet and brought his wrist close to his face. The light was not coming from the skin. The bone itself was glowing. When he turned his wrist, the angle of the light changed. When he switched on the kitchen light, it vanished. When he switched it off again, it came back. Taesu set the glass down in the sink and stood a long while in the dark.
In the morning he went to Hanseong Medical to pick up the results of his retiree health screening. After waiting 15 minutes at the reception desk, he was handed the report. Everything within normal range. Blood work, bone density, lung capacity, fundus imaging. Taesu asked the woman at the desk.
"Excuse me — you don't do anything like a bone marrow test?"
Without so much as glancing at him, her eyes fixed on the monitor, she said.
"Mr. Kim Taesu. The standard retirement screening package does not include that item."
Taesu folded the report, slipped it into his pocket, and left the hospital.
A mug stamped with the company logo, given to him as a retirement keepsake, sat beside the sink. 'Stella Energy — 15 Years of Service, With Gratitude,' the gold lettering glinting in the afternoon sun. Taesu poured coffee into that mug and sat down on the living room sofa. To confirm whether what he'd seen at night was a trick of the mind, he'd have to wait for night to come. It was the first time he'd had a day with nothing on his schedule. For 15 years his time had been a loop: up every morning at 5, onto the shuttle, into the mining line of the asteroid claim, 12 hours down in the shaft, then back on the shuttle to return home and sleep. That loop had been cut 23 days ago. Taesu drank his coffee and looked out the window. He could see Stella Energy's blue logo in three places across the Seoul skyline. On a rooftop, on a bus-stop billboard, on the wall of the apartment block across the way. The rare earths Taesu had dug were turning the power grids beneath those logos.
The sun went down and he turned off the lights in the room. He drew the curtains and, in the dark, rolled up his left sleeve. The light was there. Sharper than the day before. The outlines of the radius and ulna stood out clearly beneath the skin. Taesu pressed the glowing spot with his right index finger. No pain. No warmth. The bone was simply glowing. Taesu took out his phone and took a picture. Without the flash. On the screen, the blue-white line of his wrist came through sharp and clear.
Taesu scrolled through the contacts on his phone. People he'd worked with at the same claim. Kim Dohyeon, Park Jaeyun, Oh Seungcheol. Colleagues who had retired one to three years ahead of him. He called Dohyeon. Only the ringtone. He called Jaeyun. Same result. He called Seungcheol too. Powered off. He couldn't reach a single one of the three. Taesu put the phone down and looked again at his glowing wrist.
The next day, Taesu went to Dohyeon's apartment. An old building in Namdong-gu, Incheon. He pressed the buzzer. No response. Mail jutted out from under the door. Taesu checked the postmarks. The oldest was 47 days old. 47 days. Taesu had still been at the claim then. He went down to the security office.
"Mr. Kim Dohyeon, Building 3, unit 1204 — been a while since you've seen him?"
The guard gave his monitor a glance and said.
"More than a month, I'd say. Did he move out? It's not that he's behind on the maintenance fees."
Taesu left the security office and made a circuit of the complex. Dohyeon's car was still in the underground parking garage. Dust had settled on it. Three parking violation tickets were tucked under the wiper. The oldest was 38 days old. Dohyeon had vanished, leaving the car behind. Taesu pressed his face close to the window and peered inside. On the back seat, work clothes stamped with the Stella Energy logo lay folded. On the passenger seat, empty painkiller packets were scattered. The wrappers had faded. 5 packs. Taesu took a picture.
Taesu tracked down Jaeyun's address and went all the way to Suwon. The result was the same. Mail had piled up. Seungcheol's apartment in Goyang was no different. All three of them had vanished, as though they had never existed in the first place. Taesu sank down onto the cold stairs in front of Seungcheol's building. He pulled out a cigarette and put it to his lips, but the hand holding the lighter trembled faintly, and it took two tries before it caught. The cigarette smoke scattered in the glow of the corridor's fluorescent light. For 15 years these had been men who breathed the same dust in the same shaft, ate at the same canteen, dozed on the same shuttle. All three had left the claim ahead of him. All three had vanished.
Taesu returned home and took the bundle of retirement papers out of the drawer. Employment contract, health screening consent form, severance settlement. At the bottom of the health screening consent form was small print. 'This screening follows Stella Energy's standard protocol, and its items may be adjusted at the company's discretion.' Taesu read that sentence twice. Here was the reason the bone marrow test had been left out.
Taesu logged into Stella Energy's retiree portal. Once he entered his ID and password, there was a health-records tab. Fifteen years of his history lay listed there. Thirty semiannual screening results. Every one of them: 'No abnormalities.' Taesu set the first year's results beside the last year's and compared them. The items were different. The first year had 28. The last year, 19. Nine items had dropped out at some point. Among the missing items was 'bone marrow cell analysis.' It had been there through year four, then vanished from year five on. Taesu took a screenshot.
He searched for a retiree community from the same mine. There was one private board. While he waited for his membership to be approved, Taesu photographed his wrist every night. On the third day, the glow spread 2 centimeters from his wrist up his forearm. On the fifth day, the same glow appeared on his other wrist.
His membership was approved. There were 47 posts. Most were about severance pay or reemployment. Taesu found one titled 'The Quiet Glow.' It had been posted three months earlier. 'Since retiring, my wrist has been glowing. Is anyone else having the same symptom?' There were 8 comments. Three people reported the same symptom. The other 5 were the 'go see a doctor' sort of reply. Taesu sent the poster a message. A reply came back. 'Let's meet. In front of Exit 2, Euljiro 3-ga Station. Tomorrow, 3 p.m.'
He climbed to the second floor of an old print-shop building in Euljiro. When he opened the door, there was a cramped office. One folding table and four chairs. On the wall was a cross-section diagram of an asteroid mine. It looked like an internal Stella Energy document. A woman sat at the table. Short hair, a surgical scar below her left ear. The moment she saw Taesu, she asked:
"What day are you on?"
"Day 28."
"How far?"
Taesu rolled up his sleeve. The bones of both wrists and forearms shone faintly, even without darkness. It showed in daylight. The woman nodded.
"Fast. It took me until day 40 to get there."
She rolled up her own sleeve. The outline of the bone was exposed all the way to both elbows. The glow was far brighter than his.
"Eunjeong. Mine 8. Twelve years."
Taesu looked at the diagram. Same asteroid, the same mine he had worked.
"I'm Taesu. Mine 8. Fifteen years."
Eunjeong turned the laptop on the table around to show Taesu. A spreadsheet was open. 23 rows. Name, mine worked, years of service, retirement date, glow onset date, current glow extent. All 23 were from mines on the same asteroid. Taesu wet his dry lips with his tongue.
"These people… their bones are all glowing, like mine?"
"All of them."
Eunjeong said it as though it were obvious.
"And as you can see, five of them can't be reached anymore."
Taesu's eyes swept across the sheet. Kim Dohyeon, Park Jaeyun, Oh Seungcheol. Three names. In the current-glow-extent column it read 'whole body,' and beside it, in red letters, 'unreachable.'
"They're my coworkers."
Taesu said.
"I know."
Eunjeong opened a file folder that sat beside the laptop. Inside were internal Stella Energy documents. She had smuggled them out of the office. Eunjeong drew out one page. 'Radiation Exposure Assessment Report: Rare-Earth Cell Byproducts. Classification: Confidential.' The date was 11 years ago.
"What is this?"
"When the rare earths we mine get processed into energy cells, they give off a micro-radiation. Its wavelength isn't in any existing radiation classification, so the measuring equipment doesn't catch it. Stella knew about this. For 11 years."
Taesu took the document and read. It was dense with technical terms, but the core was clear. The micro-radiation produced during rare-earth cell manufacturing deforms the crystalline structure of bone marrow cells. The deformed cells form a crystal pattern that does not exist on Earth. In the report's recommendations section it read, 'Mandate bone marrow testing for miners in order to assess the long-term effects of exposure to this radiation.' Beside the recommendation was a handwritten note. 'Cost-benefit negligible. Remove item.' There was no signature, but a stamp had been pressed into the approval box for Stella Energy's Medical Safety Team Lead. The next page of the report held exposure simulation data. At 5 years of exposure, bone marrow cell deformation rate of 12 percent. At 10 years, 34 percent. At 15 years, 67 percent. The deformed cells, it said, form a hexagonal crystal lattice unlike the original structure, and this lattice emits light of a specific wavelength. There it was—the identity of 'the quiet glow.' Beneath the graph someone had written a note in red pen. 'Glow is irreversible. Rate of progression proportional to total exposure.' Taesu looked again at the number: 15 years. 67 percent.
Taesu pushed the document across the table. Even the sensation of the paper grazing his fingertips repelled him.
"So… that's why they cut the bone marrow test from year five on. Because it was going to come back abnormal anyway."
"They cut the test because doing it would turn up abnormalities. And they left it out of the retiree screenings too."
Eunjeong closed the file folder.
"Stella is a company that sells 'clean energy.' If it got out that the miners' bones were glowing, questions would arise about the safety of the energy cells. Right now 38 percent of the world's electricity runs on these cells."
Taesu leaned back in his chair. The fluorescent light on the office ceiling flickered. The print shop was an old building, its wiring unstable. In the instant the light went out, both of Taesu's forearms and both of Eunjeong's arms glowed in the dark. The two of them, bone by bone, washed the cramped office in blue-white.
"Do you know where the 5 who vanished went?"
"No idea. Stella could have taken them. Or they could have gone into hiding on their own."
Eunjeong opened another file on her laptop. It held the last activity records of the 5 who'd gone dark. Carrier logs, card transaction histories. She had gathered them herself. All 5 had used their cards for the last time in the same place. 'Hanseong Medical Health Screening Center.' The day they went in for their retiree checkup was the last. After that, no card use, no call logs, no location data.
"They went in for a screening and never came back?"
Taesu asked. Eunjeong nodded.
"Hanseong Medical is a subsidiary of Stella Energy."
Before he knew it, Taesu edged his chair back a little. The fact that, 23 days ago, he had been in that very place felt like a hand closing around his throat.
"What reason would they have to hide on their own?"
Eunjeong looked at him. There were shadows under her eyes.
"Because once your whole body glows, you can't hide it. Walk outside at night and people see you. A man whose bones show plain as day, no X-ray needed."
Taesu looked at the spreadsheet again. He compared the glow-onset dates and current spread across all 23. There was a pattern. The longer the years of service, the faster the glow advanced. Taesu, at 15 years, had reached the forearms in 28 days. Eunjeong, at 12 years, had reached the same extent in 40. The 5 who'd gone silent had all served 14 years or more. On average, 72 days after onset, the glow had spread through the whole body. 72 days. Working backward, that left Taesu about 50. Eunjeong raised her left arm. Where the skin thinned on the inside of her elbow, the crystalline structure of the bone was pressing a faint pattern onto its surface. A hexagonal lattice. Taesu reached out and touched it. Under the skin he felt hard little ridges. The bone was growing toward the skin.
"It doesn't hurt," Eunjeong said.
"But since yesterday my elbow bends less."
She folded the elbow to show him. It wouldn't close all the way. It stopped with some 30 degrees to go.
Taesu asked.
"Where are you going to report this?"
Eunjeong shook her head.
"Report it and change what? The exposure already happened. There's no undoing it. What I'm doing is keeping a record. Copying these documents and stashing them in several places. So someone can find them later."
"Later? What later is there!"
Taesu's voice burst out.
"38 percent of the planet's power. The bones of the people who make that electricity are glowing like this, and you want to just bury it?"
Eunjeong took out a cigarette and set it between her lips, but didn't light it. She spoke as if chewing the words.
"You think Stella's going to give you a round of applause if you blow this open? Five people, gone. That's their answer. Did you forget?"
Taesu didn't answer. Eunjeong might be right. But on his way out of the print shop office, he checked the photos saved on his phone. 7 shots of the glow on his wrist, a screen grab of the screening results, the comparison of line items. He hadn't been able to photograph the internal company documents Eunjeong had shown him. She hadn't allowed it. Walking the alleys of Euljiro, Taesu thought. 50 days.
Ten days passed. The glow crossed the elbow and reached the upper arm. In a short-sleeved shirt at night, the bones of both arms stood fully exposed. Even by day, indoors in the dark, they showed. Taesu started wearing only long sleeves. It was August.
Taesu called Eunjeong.
"Make me one more copy of the documents."
"Why."
"I'm sending them to the press."
There was a long silence. Then Eunjeong said.
"You'll regret it."
"If I've got time left to regret it, I'll count myself lucky."
The next day, at the Euljiro office, Eunjeong handed him the copies. Right there, Taesu photographed every page with his phone. 26 shots. While he shot, Eunjeong looked out the window. On the wall of the building across the way hung an ad for Stella Energy. 'Clean energy lighting the Earth.' An image of white beams of light streaming up over a blue globe. Turning back, Eunjeong said.
"If you end up disappearing, at least get word to me. I'll need to add it to the record."
Taesu left the office and went to the post office. He loaded the photo files onto storage media and split them among 3 envelopes. One for a broadcaster, one for a newspaper, one for the National Assembly's Environment and Labor Committee. Before sending them, he wrote a letter. Brief. Name, work history, symptoms, the deleted screening items, the missing colleagues. On the last line he wrote: 'The enclosed document is an internal Stella Energy report. I request that its authenticity be verified.' He pushed the 3 envelopes across the counter.
"Registered, please."
Taking the envelopes, the clerk looked at Taesu's hand. Even under the post office's fluorescent lights, the metacarpals on the back of his hand shone faintly through. The clerk paused a moment, then, saying nothing, slid over the receipts. Taesu tucked the 3 receipts into his wallet.
When he stepped out of the post office, the sun was going down. He walked across the plaza in front of Seoul Station. One by one, the streetlamps of the plaza were coming on. As he passed through a stretch of shadow the lamplight didn't reach, both of Taesu's arms glowed. Through the fabric of his long sleeves, a bluish-white light seeped out, passing through the cloth. Someone walking past turned to look. Taesu folded his arms and quickened his pace. In his pocket, his phone buzzed. An unknown number. Taesu didn't answer.
He reached his apartment, opened the front door, and went in. He didn't turn on the lights. He took off his shoes and stood in the hallway. There was a mirror. In the dark he looked at his own reflection in it. The bones of both arms were glowing distinctly. Radius, ulna, humerus. Even the joints where they connected were sharp and clear. He took off his shirt. His collarbones were glowing. Above the sternum, too, faint lines were beginning to show. Taesu raised both hands in front of the mirror. Every single finger bone was glowing bluish-white. Phalanges, metacarpals, carpals. Like a diagram in an anatomy textbook. Taesu lowered his hands and took the phone from his pocket. The unknown number was calling again. This time too he didn't answer. Instead he texted Eunjeong. 'Sent the three envelopes. Registered mail.' Eunjeong's reply came. 'Got it. Be careful.'
Taesu set the phone down on the table and sat on the living-room floor. In the dark he watched the light his own body made. Both arms, his shoulders, his collarbones. The bluish-white light spreading up past his sternum was faintly reflected on the ceiling. From 50 days it had dropped to 40. Taesu leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes. Even with his eyes closed, he saw the light. Beyond his eyelids the bluish-white had bled through. His own eyes were sensing the light his own body made.
At 3 in the morning the doorbell rang. Taesu opened his eyes. The doorbell rang again. Taesu got up and looked through the door's peephole. Two men were standing in the hallway. They wore black jackets. One had an earpiece in his ear. Taesu stepped back. He took his eye from the peephole. He could hear his heart beating below his ears. In the dark, his self-lit collarbones flickered at the corner of his vision. Taesu went to the bedroom. He pulled a backpack out from under the bed. Wallet, a change of clothes, the original document copies Eunjeong had given him. Not the ones he'd sealed in the envelopes—he'd kept one extra set separately. The ones Eunjeong had given him. Taesu shouldered the backpack and opened the veranda window. He was on the 3rd floor. Below, he could see the mounting bracket for an air conditioner's outdoor unit.
A knock came from beyond the front door. Twice. A voice.
“Mr. Kim Taesu? This is the employee welfare team at Stella Energy. We've come to consult with you about retiree health matters.”
Taesu cinched the backpack straps and climbed over the veranda railing. He set his foot on the mounting bracket. There was a pipe running downward. Taesu gripped the pipe and lowered himself onto the 2nd-floor bracket. As his sleeves slid up, the light of his forearms was revealed in the dark. In the darkness of the apartment parking lot, both of Taesu's arms glowed bluish-white. Once he'd made it down to the ground floor, Taesu climbed over the parking-lot fence and slipped out into the alley.
The predawn streets were empty. Taesu walked. Each time he passed through a dark stretch between streetlamps, the light of his arms was revealed. When he moved under a lamp, it disappeared. From light to light, from dark to dark. Taesu took the phone from his pocket. He pressed Eunjeong's number. She answered on the 4th ring.
“I've left the apartment. People came.”
Eunjeong was silent for a moment.
“It'll be because of the envelopes.”
“Where should I go?”
“Don't take the subway. Don't take a taxi either. Come to Euljiro on foot.”
Taesu hung up and began to walk. The streets were deserted. Seoul at 4 in the morning. Taesu walked with the backpack straps slung over his long-sleeved shirt and both hands in his pockets. Inside the pockets, his finger bones were glowing. The light leaked out through the cloth. Taesu pulled his hands from his pockets. He walked with his glowing hands hanging at his sides. There was no one on the predawn streets. The envelopes were already sent. The document copies were in the backpack. Taesu walked toward Euljiro. The bones of both arms passed their light through his sleeves, spilling it into the predawn air. With each block he passed, the light grew a little brighter.
