Chapter 30

 

He tossed and turned in the night.

Despite feeling physically exhausted, his mind kept him up. Spinning circles, analyzing everything. He thought of his ship out somewhere in deep space—likely in danger. Perhaps even destroyed. He thought of Summers, and Rain, and Kalila and felt his heart quicken as a shot of adrenaline and mixed emotions surged through him. He thought of the Assembly, and how time was running out. How everything depended on him and how he needed to round up the Phoenix Ring leaders and expose the conspiracy—and soon. He thought of Kalila again, how she depended on him. He remembered how it’d felt, pretending to be her husband for that brief window of time, feeling like he belonged, that he was a part of a complete whole, rather than a lost and lonely soul. Was that the purpose of life? He wondered. Companionship? Or was it simply an attribute of being a mammal—his own DNA forcing him to crave the company of others, to only be satisfied when he belonged to social groups—of which the most rewarding was romantic companionship. An equal partnership. Someone else to rely on, and trust, and depend on, and gain support from…

He thought of Christine. Remembered her gaunt and dying face as the Remorii toxins savaged her. Calvin hurt to think of it, hating that in his mind’s eye he recalled every detail as clear as day. He tried to force it from his mind, tried to make himself believe that Christine was at peace, that there was no further need to mourn her. But the more he tried not to think of her, the more she stayed on his mind. He felt sick and as he flipped to his other side—making another vain attempt to fall asleep. He thought of Shen. And how the very thing that’d happened to Christine was happening to him. Rain had probably had to put the ops officer out of his misery by now. Shen, Monte, Rose, Major Jenkins, and seemingly countless others. Calvin’s dear friends and crew had paid in blood. And were still paying in blood. For all he knew the Nighthawk was space dust by now, and the Arcane Storm for that matter, making him the last one left of his crew. A terrifying, nauseating thought. But a legitimate possibility. When will it end? He wondered. When will we have paid enough?

Perhaps the universe demanded his life too. An ongoing tab, demanding everything in exchange for a glimmer of hope that the Empire—the pride and security of humanity—might be saved. Calvin remembered from history how the alien civilizations—especially the Rotham—had preyed on the early, disunited human colonies. Enslaving them and slaughtering them. It had only been through the rise of the Empire, guided by the Akira family, that humanity had been able to unite into something strong and formidable, something able to defend itself and grow. Out of the many they had become one. And now that great, rich tradition that had kept humankind safe for over a hundred years was on the verge of collapse. And Calvin would have given anything in the universe to be someone else right now. To not feel as though the fate of humanity rested on his shoulders. Others looked to him with confidence and hope, trusting him to make the right decisions and follow the right leads—Kalila especially counted on him to achieve results. But Calvin wasn’t so trusting of himself. He knew his flaws. He would do his very best, but his very best hadn’t been enough to save Christine, or Monte, or Shen, or… so many others… how could he be sure it would be enough to save the Empire?

I’m not in this alone, he tried to remind himself. And he thought of the many who stood by his side. From the Akira House, to his friends, to those in the military who still remained loyal. Even Raidan and his dark Organization had an interest in protecting the King. Calvin knew it was important for him to have hope and not despair.

He silenced his mind, as best he could, and made another attempt at sleep. To no avail. He thought of rockets raining down on armored cars, eviscerating them and violently tearing apart every soul inside them. Those men had died for him…

He tossed his sheets from his bed and got up. Deciding that, if his mind was going to conspire against his body and keep him from getting the sleep he desperately needed, he might as well put his mind to work reviewing the intel he had.

He went to his office in the estate and sat at the computer station. It was large and powerful with several more screens and features than Calvin needed—or knew how to use. He knew he should eat something but somehow the anxiety swirling inside him, collecting very uncomfortably at the pit of his stomach, removed his appetite. He hadn’t eaten anything in almost twenty-four hours. And over the last several days he’d noticed he’d lost almost five kilograms—and not in a good way.

Of course the desire for equarius seemed ever-present. It was a constant struggle, one that seemed to fade at times, enough to make him believe he’d broken free of his addiction, and then it would return with overwhelming force when it was most inconvenient. He knew if he had some still, he would almost certainly take it. Anything to numb the pain and the fear and the anxiety and everything else that made him want to simultaneously rip out all of his hair and curl into a fetal position and simply die.

Must… keep… fighting…

He made himself believe it was for the best that he’d disposed of his remaining equarius. Tried to take some pride in the decision to free himself. But at times like these such things as pride and dignity seemed worthless, and no freedom seemed sweeter than freedom from his troubles and concerns. The freedom a few white pills would give him.

He fired up a game of chess against the computer and hoped to distract himself. He played white, wanting to take the initiative and be bold, but was defeated in only twelve moves. He simply couldn’t focus on the game and, rather than take his mind from his occupations, the game seemed simply to be a part of the unimportant background. As he set up for a rematch, hoping to do better this time, his terminal received an alert.

It was a dispatch to him and several other high officials informing them that the operation on Renora had failed. The Prefect and his soldiers had fled the planet. Calvin wondered how that was possible. Even in the worst and most violently hostile circumstances, the millions and millions of troops that had landed should have been enough to stabilize the planet and pacify the population. But it hadn’t. Somehow violence and instability had increased, there were accusations of mismanagement, accounts of government troops slaughtering civilians and torching homes and even bombing civilian infrastructure from orbit. Calvin doubted this was the work of the King’s troops. No doubt the Phoenix Ring had a hand in it. The result of which had been a death toll that made Calvin white in the face to look at, and the perception that the King was a brute willing to slaughter his own citizens. This was more than a tragedy, it was also a major political defeat. Calvin was sure this news would be used to force a vote to oust the King—if a motion for such a vote hadn’t already succeeded. If the King lost his power, then Calvin would lose his, and so would the rest of the loyalists. And then the Phoenix Ring would takeover, alien forces would swoop in, and the Empire would be splintered into fragments. Probably collapse in the chaos. He imagined a dark future where Capital World and every other major human colony was occupied by Rotham. We would be slaves…as he thought about it, imagining what they would do, he knew they’d first slaughter huge sections of the population to make it more manageable. Then, those who were lucky enough to survive, would sweat and toil and die for Rotham interests. He shuddered at the thought.

It’s not going to happen, he reminded himself. Certainly, if it came down to that, and that was the future that awaited them all, Calvin made a promise to himself to go out fighting. He would give every last breath opposing such a reality until that final moment when Rotham missiles blew his atoms across the galaxy. At which point he supposed he would find out the answer to the greatest mystery of all and then either not exist anymore, or else, hopefully, be with Christine again.

An update to the dispatch arrived a few minutes later. Stating that not only had the people of Renora driven Imperial forces off their planet, they had managed to unite well enough to form a de facto government and make a Secession Declaration, disavowing the Empire and affirming their independence. There was still chaos, and looting, and rioting, and no proper military to speak of—other than the surprisingly powerful and shockingly well-equipped rebels who’d managed to overthrow the Prefect.

They can declare their independence all they like, thought Calvin. The King will never stand for it. Though in truth he wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was. Perhaps it would be best to allow Renora to go its separate way and be its own problem. If the people there truly did want independence, perhaps they deserved the chance to decide their own destiny and go down in the flames of their own foolishness. The trouble was, should the King respect such an unlawful declaration, it would not only begin a slow splintering of the Empire—perhaps creating a precedent that colonies could leave the union—it would also be seen as a sign of weakness and failure in the executive leadership. Many loyalists would withdraw their support of the King. Confidence would be lost. But, should the King drop the hammer on Renora, forcing the rebellious colony back into line, such an act would require an even greater force than what had been sent before, and would undoubtedly be seen as heavy-handed and extreme. And perhaps that would cause the King to lose as much support—or more—than if he chose to do nothing. It was a no-win scenario.

Damn the Phoenix Ring…

Not ten minutes later a third dispatch arrived. Bearing the strange and alarming news that the illegitimate government of Renora, which had seized the capital, had officially queried the government of the Rotham Republic, requesting annexation. They stated they would unconditionally recognize the Republican Senate and Prime Minister as the highest authority on Renora in exchange for official citizenship and immediate aid.

This was not a move Calvin had anticipated. Probably no one had. It was one thing for a disgruntled populace to wish to leave the Empire and proceed to govern itself, but it was quite another for them to try to join an alien nation. There had never been human citizens in an alien nation before, and the Rotham—many of whom were xenophobic toward non-Rotham—had historically been dispassionate and dangerous to humans. How could they be trusted?

Calvin shuddered to think what the implications would be if the Republic accepted the proposal of the Renoran people. It would give the Rotham a foothold in Imperial space and probably lead to the shooting-war the Empire was so desperately unprepared for. Calvin recalled the haunting images of the Fifth Fleet’s flotilla, led by the Andromeda, moving to engage the Rotham squadron in Abia. And how the human ships had fired on one-another, until almost complete annihilation, before they were even in firing range of the Rotham ships. He shivered thinking it was an apt metaphor for what an Imperial-Rotham war would look like should one happen. Which was starting to feel like a forgone conclusion.

When the fourth dispatch arrived, Calvin was hesitant to open it. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t bad news, specifically that it wasn’t the bad news he most dreaded. This won’t be the Republic’s response to the Renoran request for annexation, he thought. The Republican government was slower to act than the strongly executive Imperial government, they would need time to debate the issue. It would have to go before the Senate and resolutions would have to be made and passed. It would take weeks, maybe months. Not mere minutes or hours…

And yet, as he opened it, he found exactly what he feared. The Rotham Republic had issued a statement, responding favorably to the Renoran request. They recognized the de facto government on Renora as the legitimate local authority and declared the populace under Republic protection as a legitimate territory of the Republic. And that aid would be dispatched immediately. Which, Calvin was sure, meant a war fleet. He almost couldn’t believe what he was reading. Everything was happening so swiftly, it almost seemed arranged. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that it had to have been arranged. This news must not have come as a surprise to the dominant power in the Rotham Senate. How else could they have acted so quickly?

Upon the release of the Republic’s pronouncement, the Network lit up like a dried-out tree put to flame. Alarm, concern, intrigue, rumors, and all sorts of speculation shot through the Empire over kataspace and all other forms of communication. The cat was out of the bag now, there was no keeping this news quiet. Calvin felt his heart in his throat and turned on the news, knowing that the King would be forced to respond to this soon. Not ten minutes later the anchor, who’d been trying to paint a picture of what was still speculation and what had been confirmed, announced that the King was about to address the Empire. The camera then jump-cut to a view from the ground at the Imperial Palace. There was a large gathering of people there, including a massive press-corps. The camera changed angle to a close up of the center podium where the King stood. He did his best to look regal and in command, but there was tiredness in his red eyes. And he hadn’t taken the time to have much makeup applied to him, so he looked somewhat sickly under the harsh lights.

“Citizens of the Empire,” the King said; his voice was deep and his words carried a full-measure of authority. “There are rumors that the colony of Renora has declared its independence from our great union and has petitioned the Rotham Republic for recognition as a Rotham territory.” He paused for a moment. “Those rumors are true.”

The crowd reacted noisily to this. And, as Calvin flipped through various channels he found that every media agency was taking this confirmation like it was the biggest news scoop in their broadcasting lifetimes. Even the state-run media seemed unsure what to make of it.

“But those people on Renora who have seized the capital and made this declaration are rebels, and not the official voice of the citizens of Renora. They do not speak for the people, nor do they have the authority to do as they’ve done. They are an illegitimate body and their claims and authority shall not be recognized by this government, or any other government in the galaxy. It is an unlawful regime. And one that shall not be given validation in any form. The Republican Senate has hastily responded to the regime’s petition, and has claimed to offer the regime and the rest of Renora citizenship in the Republic. But their words are empty and their offer is no more legitimate than the broken, seditious regime that has taken temporary control of the colony of Renora. The people of Renora have been—and always shall be—citizens of the Empire. We are only strong so long as we find strength from each other. Every citizen on every colony of this Empire is united to every other, and shall be protected. As a royal proclamation to the Empire, I—King Hisato Akira, First of My Name and Fifth Monarch of the Empire—hereby declare to all peoples on all worlds everywhere that the colony of Renora is, and always shall be, a colony of the Empire. And every measure necessary shall be taken to preserve our glorious Union.”

The King finished his speech and refused to take any questions. As he left the podium, flanked by his guards and several members of his administration, the camera changed back to the lead news anchor who was interviewing a mid-level government official. Calvin had no time to listen to their speculation so he shut off the terminal and rested his head in his hands. Trying to make sense of this latest turn of events himself.

It wasn’t a declaration of war, not an official one, but it seemed just as good as one. If the Republic had any interest in a war with the Empire, the Rotham now had their excuse to send hordes of battleships through the DMZ and into Imperial space—especially if they’d brokered a deal with the Alliance. Calvin hoped the King’s bold words, and the general reputation of the Empire’s fiercely powerful military, would be enough to intimidate and dissuade the hawkish members of the Republican Senate who wanted the war. But he feared it would not be enough. All of this felt too arranged… too designed. Someone wanted this war to happen. And that someone seemed to hold the governments of the galaxy like puppets on strings.

Could this really be just the influence of the Phoenix Ring? Or was there a darker, more invisible puppet-master lurking somewhere in the blackest nether-regions of space? A terrifying thought to be sure. Calvin remembered what Alex had told him, about the Rahajiim who were an elusive, influential, and deadly faction inside the Republic. So secretive and so powerful that even the mighty Advent—the Republic’s premiere intelligence agency—was powerless against them. Calvin wondered what part in all of this they’d played—if any.

There was so much to think about now, so much to process, that Calvin’s fatigue left him and he felt wide awake. His body flooded with adrenaline. He set to work checking on his teams, giving them new orders and instructions, and doing all he could to accelerate his investigation. He was out of time. He knew it. Kalila knew it. Everyone knew it. If he couldn’t deliver the Phoenix Ring to the Assembly on a silver platter soon, it would be too late.

Another dispatch arrived. He felt his stomach flip over as he opened it. Praying to any gods that would listen that it wouldn’t bear news that Imperial and Rotham ships had already engaged each other. It didn’t. In fact, this dispatch carried the first truly good news he’d heard in a long, long time. He felt a smile spread across his face and couldn’t keep back a small cheer.

Rafael had been found. As Calvin’s people had raided the secret Intel Wing dungeons and safe houses, using Rosemarie’s information, they’d found a lot of interesting things, including prisoners who were now being nursed back to health and—very gingerly—squeezed for information. But there had been no sign of Rafael as each of the many prisons was stormed by Imperial troops, under orders of the Executor. Calvin had lost hope with each new report. Believing, deep inside his heart, that his friend was dead.

“He is alive and stable,” the report said. It went on to state that, while he had sustained several injuries and was being treated and given medical attention, Rafael Te Santos was not only alive but his mental faculties were in good condition. The extreme interrogation methods that had been applied to many of the prisoners, including him, hadn’t succeeded in breaking him. At least not yet. And now he was safely in custody and being transported to a secure hospital not far away. They’d found him in the very last Intel Wing safe-house they’d raided.

Calvin felt a rush of relief and excitement pour through him. He jumped up from the computer station and charged out into the hall. He put on his jacket as he walked, not stopping for any reason. His guards came to his sides immediately. And he ordered them to prep the vehicles.

When his motorcade arrived at the hospital, his guards advised him to remain in the car while they set up a secure position outside and did a perimeter sweep. Calvin, anxious to see Rafael, ignored their advice and got out of the car immediately. As he ran across the walkway to the hospital’s entrance, his guards rushed to take up positions all around him. Trying to screen him from any possible attack. Calvin didn’t care if the Khans, CERKO, and every terrorist organization in the galaxy had sent every sniper in the universe to stop him. It wouldn’t work. He was going to see Rafael. No matter what.

When he arrived at Rafael’s room, he ordered his guards to remain outside and he entered alone. As he stepped inside and the door slid shut behind him, he saw a familiar man sitting up in a hospital bed. He was attached to an IV and some other equipment, and a computer monitor displayed his regular heartbeats. There were no windows. For security purposes, he’d been put in one of the hospital’s private “safe rooms”.

“Can you believe it?” croaked Rafael, his voice hoarse. “Stuck in a hospital and they don’t even give me a view.” He cracked a smile.

Calvin walked to his side and beamed. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you,” he said. He’d lost a lot of sleep over the past several weeks worrying that he’d sent Rafael to his death. And that his name would be added to the growing list of those who’d been tragically ripped away as they’d struggled to defend the Empire from threats within.

“The feeling is mutual, Captain,” said Rafael. He turned his head to look at Calvin directly and only then did Calvin notice that a large bandage covered Rafael’s left eye. He was also missing his pinky and ring finger from his left hand.

“Are you all right?” asked Calvin, concerned.

“I’ve been worse,” said Rafael, clearly lying.

“How’s your eye?” Calvin was almost afraid to ask.

“Oh it’s gone. So are the fingers. But a small price to pay for keeping my honor, and my word,” he said, giving Calvin a resolute, almost proud look. “I never cracked. Not for a minute. Nothing they tried got anything out of me.”

Calvin was impressed. And grateful. “I admire your courage,” he said. “And your steel.”

“It wasn’t all duty and honor,” admitted Rafael. “There was a selfish motive too. I knew that the information I had was the only thing keeping me alive, so I was loath to part with it.” He shot Calvin a crooked grin, which looked strange with just his one eye showing, along with several fresh scars on the side of his face. He wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants, but Rafael held himself as if every new injury and blemish was a medal of honor. And, as far as Calvin was concerned, they were.

“How long do they need to keep you here?” asked Calvin. He was eager to continue his investigation and he didn’t just want the information Rafael could give him, he wanted Rafael’s help and analytical skills too. But he didn’t want to compromise Rafael’s recovery. Certainly the man had earned a reprieve and more.

“As far as I’m concerned they don’t need to keep me here at all,” said Rafael. “I’m as healthy as a horse. Healthier, actually. Horses don’t live very long.”

Calvin wondered if that was true, or if this was just a show of strength, a tribute to Rafael’s high tolerance for pain and strong force of will. For that matter, Rafael might simply be responding to the powerful pain medications that were undoubtedly flowing through him. It made Calvin remember how anyone within reach of the Phoenix Ring might be a replicant, and how Rain had devised a method to test whether or not someone was. Calvin wanted to trust Rafael, and wanted to unequivocally believe this was his friend, and that he’d been saved. But a tiny suspicion inside him wondered if this Rafael before him was a very elaborate replicant. A ploy to get someone inside Calvin’s organization and discover what he knew, perhaps also sabotage his efforts. He had to be sure.

“What pain medication do they have you on?” asked Calvin. He moved closer to look at the instruments, to see if it was displayed somewhere.

Rafael smirked. “I probably shouldn’t tell you,” he said.

Calvin recognized the code on the machine. It was the same code that had stared at him when he’d been in the hospital after the Trinity incident. Rafael was being doped with equarius, and he wasn’t dead or reverting back to some kind of strange original dark Polarian state. That meant he wasn’t a replicant. He was the real thing. Calvin smiled. “Get better soon,” he said.

“I’m better now,” said Rafael, chuckling slightly.

Calvin turned to leave, intending to go find a medical official and ask when Rafael could be released. As he was about to go, he heard Rafael call after him.

“Wait,” he said, with a slight cough.

Calvin turned back

“I have something for you,” he said. “Information you should know.”

Calvin looked at him. “What is it?” he returned to his friend’s side.

“Martel,” said Rafael coughing again. “Zane Martel.”

 

***

 

The ops officer’s condition took a turn for the worse. Rain did all she could for him. Desperate to keep him stable. As his heart rate slowed even more, to levels that should have proven fatal, and his body-temperature continued to decrease… she found herself quickly running out of ideas to try.

“I said twenty cubic centimeters, not twenty-five—twenty-five is too much,” she said frantically, ordering her medical staff about. Now that their people had returned from the Arcane Storm, along with a new medic, they were again fully staffed. Which meant Rain could have three other people assisting her. Unfortunately, there seemed little anyone could do.

She fought for the better part of an hour, trying every idea that came to her mind to stabilize him. Praying in her heart to any god anywhere, if there was a divine presence in the universe, that her mind would be quickened and her hands would be true. All the while trying not to stare into Shen’s gaunt, grey face. Or to smell the stink of rot and death that was coming over him.

He went into full cardiac arrest.

“Code blue,” she said, and her staff rushed new equipment to him. She began chest compressions while two other medics ripped open Shen’s shirt and the third attached the defib unit. It was crude but proven.

“Clear,” said Rain, once everything was set. Andrews pressed the button and a wave of electricity shot straight to Shen’s heart.

No effect.

“Again,” said Rain.

Another jolt of electricity. Still nothing.

“Again!” she said, practically screaming. She would not lose him. Andrews pushed the button once more.

This time a very weak, very irregular heartbeat returned. It wasn’t much, and probably would not improve—she knew—but at least it was something. His organs were starving for oxygen. And his brain, which needed it the most, had to compete with all the other organs for it. The weak heartbeat had little chance of supplying the entire body with the oxygen it needed. But at least he had one thing going for him. In an ironic twist his dangerously low body-temperature—which, despite all she’d tried, Rain had not been able to elevate—had the side effect of reducing Shen’s body’s need for oxygenated blood. The coolness of the body reduced the metabolic demand, which gave Shen’s weak heart a fighting chance… but not a great one.

“He’s stable,” said Andrews, looking at her darkly. “For now.”

Rain looked from him to the other medics; they all had bleak expressions on their faces. Clearly none of them believed Shen could be saved. No one in the universe seemed to believe, except Rain. Rain made herself believe. But now, as she looked over her patient, she realized that he’d faded away into basically nothing. There was a trace of him left. And until it was gone, she would do all she could for him—not giving a millimeter—but a kind of realization set in and she felt her mood change from desperate to somber.

“Keep monitoring him,” she said, keeping her voice even. “Begin a regimen of Xinocodone,” she added. “To manage the pain.” Despite Shen’s lack of consciousness, his brain still registered a tremendous amount of pain. Rain had avoided giving him high doses of strong pain medications, knowing such a regimen would erode Shen’s chances of recovery, but now… she did not see the purpose in forcing him to suffer. Especially if today was his last day…

Damn you, Calvin, she thought. Remembering how he’d cautioned her. How he had asked for Shen not to suffer in vain. She hated that he might be right. That Shen might be beyond saving. But Rain didn’t regret fighting for Shen’s life, nor did she regret believing in him, and his chances. No matter how small and slim, when the life of a human being was on the line, those chances were always worth fighting for.

“I’ll be in the lab,” she said. Not wanting to stay and watch Shen make the final transition from life to … whatever came after it. “Notify me if… his condition changes.”

“Yes, Doctor,” said Andrews. The others nodded. They knew what that meant. Let her know once it was over. And Shen was gone.

She left them, feeling sick and saddened. It wasn’t the first time a patient had been lost under her care. But she still believed, fundamentally, that this case was one that could have been solved. That Shen, young as he was, should have been savable. But it seemed that the toxins that had infected him always adapted too quickly to whatever she tried. Almost as if the virus itself was intelligent. She’d never seen anything like it. And it troubled her to think that she might see it again, and again, and each time she might be forced to contend with the same outcome. The same grim results.

There was still a tiny part of her that had not given up on Shen. That hoped for good news and recovery. But it was hard to believe in that part, no matter how much she yearned to, when she had no strategy to implement to save him. It seemed unlikely, considering how the virus had progressed, that Shen’s own immune system would be able to fight it off and save him. Rather, it seemed much more the case that his body was killing itself. Like his immune system was rejecting his organs.

Rain arrived at the lab and quickly found herself removing the deceased replicant from the freezing unit. There were two analysts in the lab, working on something for the bridge—Rain couldn’t care less about what it was. So long as they left her alone, and let her use the equipment, she was happy to pretend they weren’t there.

Running tests on the replicant corpse had become something of a strange hobby for Rain. She’d spent many hours over the past several days examining and studying it. Finding it to be a good form of stress relief. It was both relaxing and intriguing, studying this biological marvel, and it helped her organize her thoughts and sort through her emotions.

She’d had the computer analyze the subject’s DNA and she’d done several tests to help her understand the chemical and genetic makeup of the creature. Like most life in the galaxy it depended on long chains of carbon and hydrogen, but that seemed to be where the similarities ended. There didn’t appear to be any discrete organs, or—if there had been—they had faded away into some kind of carbon goop when the organism died. The only organ that seemed in anyway intact was the epidermis. As a stratified squamous epithelium, it was mostly still together and the proliferating basal and differentiating suprabasal keratinocytes seemed to have evolved to function very similarly to most other animals, such that Rain could understand how the replicant body was able to not only effectively mimic the appearance of other carbon-based life—such as humans—but also keep out pathogens and unwanted contaminants from the internal systems, whatever they were.

What fascinated her most about the replicant body was not actually its ability to permanently take another form, effectively cloning its appearance to match a foreign DNA code, but rather the overall adaptability of the organism. She doubted that much of anything could have caused it to experience a systemic failure, the way the Xinocodone had, and the fact that she’d stumbled upon something so effective against it had been quite the freak occurrence.

She thought of the most aggressive virus she could imagine—the Remorii Pathogen—and guessed that the replicant body would actually be able to resist it. She had a frozen culture of the virus, which she’d taken from Shen in a vain attempt to study it in the lab, and she applied it to a sample of biological matter that had been excised from the replicant before complete death had set in.

There was no guarantee the two could react, though she thought it likely. She’d noted that, among other systems affected, Shen’s skin had been attacked by the virus and was undergoing a subtle but noticeable change. The tissue sample she had of the replicant was, by closest comparison, skin tissue. So she hoped she could provoke a reaction from it with the Remorii pathogen and observe the results. She’d tried this earlier, but had been unable to get the intracellular parasite to attack the replicant tissue. Or so she’d thought. This time she had a different idea and paid attention to something else.

“I wonder…” she said, deeply distracted by this new experiment.

At first the pathogen seemed ineffectual, just like before, but as she excised a sample of the affected tissue and scanned it with the computer, what she saw was actually rather amazing. Without relying on traditional counter-infection methods, such as agents in the blood stream that directly tried to fight pathogens, the replicant tissue itself adapted to the virus and thereby rendered it ineffective. The transformative nature of the replicant tissue cells were able to physically adapt to the virus and, rather than become prey to the virus and turn into spawning centers for the virus to reproduce, the cells changed to include the virus in their natural process. The virus reproduced and spread, but the fundamental nature of the cells changed to allow it. Compensating for the virus rather than fighting it directly.

“Amazing,” she whispered. There was no way for her to make Shen’s cells, or any human’s, perform like this. The human body simply wasn’t designed to undergo such sweeping transitions. But it gave her an idea.

Because the virus was not being targeted by any kind of immune response, there was no inflammation in the tissue sample or other complications. The tissue simply seemed to be unaffected. She excised a smaller piece of it—from where she had first injected the contaminant—and had the computer scan it She expected to see that the virus had taken up residence in all or most of the tissue cells. But what she saw shocked her.

The virus was gone.

“What?”

She studied it more. And discovered that, after the replicant tissue had adapted to include the pathogen in its natural process, it was able to build a counter-pathogen to sweep the cells. A microorganism that seemed to attack the very specific, and very rare, kind of protein that acted as the armor-coating for the Remorii pathogen. Without that protein shield, an immune response was possible and the virus had been eliminated. Though the significance of the discovery would not be evident to most people, to Rain it was perhaps the most amazing thing she’d ever witnessed.

She checked the rest of the tissue sample and found that it too had begun creating the counter-pathogen which had resulted in the total destruction of the Remorii Pathogen. The virus she’d injected seemed completely purged from the tissue sample.

“It is possible,” she whispered. The Remorii Virus could be beaten. A complex organism could implement an effective defense against the pathogen. “I knew it.” The next question was, could she make Shen’s body apply the strategy?

There was no way to know for sure, not by simply looking at it. And for that matter, if she introduced the counter-pathogen into Shen’s system, it might be as harmful to him as the Remorii Pathogen it was designed to target. But, from what she could tell, it wouldn’t attack the protein configurations that made up human tissues and ligaments, though she couldn’t know for sure.

She felt a rush of hope return to her and she immediately began planning one final strategy to try to save Shen. Perhaps if I suppress his immune response, and then introduce the counter-pathogen system by system, I can eliminate the virus… There was no guarantee it would work. Aside from the fact that the counter pathogen might be dangerous to Shen, there was also the consideration that the infection had spread much further and much deeper throughout Shen’s body, threatening a complete systemic failure. But she had to try. She would not give up.

She collected samples of the counter-pathogen, taking as much as she could, and then she bolted for the door. Hoping she wouldn’t arrive too late.