by White, Gwynn
“But not impossible,” Maas says thoughtfully.” In a galaxy filled with billions of stars, sometimes even the smallest chances come to fruition.” Maas looks down at me again, understanding on his face. “I guess it’s only fitting, then. I thought they’d all been destroyed. It appears I was wrong. . Makes me almost believe in a higher power.”
My retina tells me that my heartrate is too accelerated once again, telling me that I need to calm down or risk passing out again. “What do you mean, test subject?” I ask.
“Dr. Jackson,” Maas says, with a mock flourish as he steps aside, “I’ll let you explain.”
Someone else steps into view, a woman with a severe expression and her graying blond hair pulled back into a twist. Her cheekbones are sharp and her nose a little too pointed, reminding me a bit of the villains that they have in videos from old Earth.
She’s even wearing spectacles, which were once necessary for some people to see, but now serve as a functional accessory for the wealthy to have a computer readout in front of their eyes without the need for bionics.
“Miss Clementine Jones, is it?” she asks, and I can see her eyes reading the spectacles, feeding her information about me. “The chairman tells me that your crew has had an outbreak of the Infinity Virus after having contact with it on the STS Nova.”
I shake my head. “N—not an outbreak.”
She raises a skeptical eyebrow, peering over the edge of the frames at me. “Not an outbreak? Miss Jones, two of your crew are dead, you are infected yourself, and your ship is a biological hazard that my team is now trying to figure out what to do with. I do call that an outbreak, especially with how infectious this virus is.”
She didn’t mention the others. Maybe they’re still healthy. It sounds like my ship is in the scrapyards though.
“How infectious is it?” I ask.
She gives me a hard look before answering. “Are you familiar with prions, Miss Jones?”
“No.” My retina is checking for definitions, and I don’t like the disturbing details I’m being supplied.
She relishes my discomfort. “A prion is an infectious agent made of a protein.” She crosses her arms. “In biological terms, it easily transfers to other cells within the same vicinity, infecting them and spreading, infecting others and those infect others, changing their makeup to solely spread the disease. Like a virus in its own microcosm. On old Earth, humans were terrified of prions such as Mad Cow disease.” She pauses for effect. “For the past twenty-five years, we’ve been developing the Infinity Virus to act like a prion, but not just on biological matter—it does the same for inorganic objects as well. One virus, two different kinds of matter it affects. It combines both for a new kind of matter not seen in this universe. Not biological, not organic…something different.”
I stare at her. “Why? Why would you make something like that?”
She glances at Chairman Maas, as if seeking permission.
“To get ahead in the corporate world, Miss Jones,” he answers for her, “you have to continue innovating at all angles. Weapons, energy, efficiency, new planets being discovered, safety. Even biological warfare.”
“You mean viruses.”
A low smile comes to his lips. “Yes. Viruses. As such, we’ve created, designed, and manufactured the most powerful, deadliest virus in the history of mankind. It spreads and there’s no way to stop it, short of a blackhole or a nuclear bomb. The perfect weapon for gaining an edge on the competition.”
I blink rapidly, as the weight of what he said suddenly sinks in. “You mean, you’ll use the virus to kill them?”
He laughs, and the sinister edge to it sends a chill down my spine.
“But why?” I ask.
“We’re in a war, Miss Jones. Corporations fighting each other for a larger piece of the market with only so much money available. In order for Syn-Tech to remain at the forefront of the market, we have to do what it takes. Including creating something that will decimate their workforce and weaken their production.”
“You’re insane.” I look between them. “You’re both fucking insane!”
He chuckles dryly, and Dr. Jackson flicks her gaze to him, her expression amused.
“But if not for Syn-Tech creating the Infinity Virus, it would be another corporation with another, equally effective weapon against us,” Maas continues. “It’s either innovate or be eradicated.”
“But to create a virus like that…” I shake my head. “You’ll kill so many people.”
He shrugs, nonplussed. “We are not the first to utilize biological agents to our advantage. Just see what the Space Flu did for Kazo-Pharmacology. They’re obsolete on the galactic market and have been for over twenty years now.”
I stare at him, shocked. “That was another corporation?” Just like the conspiracies said it was.
He nods. “We believe so. It wasn’t Syn-Tech, although I wish we had thought of it. With Kazo out of the way, the pharmaceutical industry saw a resurgence of interest in other companies. It became the blueprint for the Infinity Virus.”
“You can’t use it against people,” I say, shaking my head. “You have no idea how horrible it is. How awful it is…”
A flicker of remorse flashes across his face, and my voice trails off. “Oh, we do, Miss Jones. We know the toll very well and its effect on any matter it touches. Delta is evident of that.”
“You…” My retina flares again, telling me that I need to calm down. But there’s no calming down with what I just heard. “Delta was because of you?”
“It wasn’t on purpose, I assure you.” He shrugs. “We believe that Dr. Malakey, one of our top scientists, was offered a hefty ransom for bringing one of our rivals the virus, only he miscalculated how to properly transport it. It was a mistake that cost hundreds of thousands of lives. A blow to Syn-Tech, especially since we had invested twenty-five years and trillions of Space Yen into the research. One miscalculation from that scientist, and it spread throughout the entire space port in a matter of hours. Such a tragedy.” His voice is flat, at odds with the horrors he just told me. “We thought we had lost everything when the Feds destroyed the station.”
I look at him in horror as the memory of the archni-lift flashed through my mind. The human eye, the mouth with teeth—it had once been human. Like Louis and Venice were.
Was he the scientist who tried escaping with Syn-Tech’s secret biological weapon? I clench my fists as tears sting my eyes. Foolishly, we had thought that the /Cordinates folder on the Nautilus was correct. That looking up the coordinates for the Nova would give us an insight into the ship’s history. But they weren’t correct. They were either doctored or written in code.
And we never even considered that a possibility.
“We thought we had lost the virus. Thankfully,” Maas says, “your crew was able to retrieve it. And you brought it back to us.” He strokes the glass of my coffin, almost tenderly, and I fight to not shy away from the gesture. “You brought us what we needed most. And you, yourself—you’re an unexpected delight.”
My mouth is dry and it hurts to swallow. “How so?”
“We’ve yet to look into the matter,” Maas says as he strokes his chin, “and your own lack of memories doesn’t help. But your status as a near-carrier for the virus, plus your age and your missing body parts—I’d say you were one of our original test subjects.”
I stiffen. “You said that. And that’s…impossible.” Can’t be true. I refuse to believe it.
“Dr. Jackson, if you please,” he says.
She gleefully obliges. “Twenty-five years years ago, after it became evident that the space flu was created by another company, we sought to create our own virus to achieve a similar end. One that would bring any rival corporation to its knees. We recruited people of different ages for their different biological makeup in order to harvest a virus.”
“Recruited?”
“Meaning we bought children from Free Agent parents,” Dr. Jackson says. Her grim
smile is at odds with the horrible revelation, and I stare at her.
Did my parents…?
I bite my lip, trying not to cry. No, you don’t know that. Don’t think it. It may not be true.
Still. How could I have been a child left alone on Darkhorse-1 without parents? What happened to them? How did I lose parts of my body?
“If everything is true,” Dr. Jackson continues, “you may have been one of the test subjects. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
“I’m a…” I feel sick.
“Oh yes, Miss Jones,” Maas says. “You may not have full immunity of the virus, but you’re definitely reacting to it differently than any of our other tests. You’re offering us a rare opportunity.”
“A great subject to develop an antivirus from,” Dr. Jackson adds, like she’s giddy at the prospect of it. “And if that’s true, we can monetize it in other ways.”
“But…” I lick my lips, struggling to keep my thoughts coherent. “But you said there was a cure for Louis. You said that if we brought him here, you’d cure him.”
“Well,” Maas says, patting the glass. “I lied. But lucky for us, you may be the key to developing an antivirus. I do think it’s too late for your captain and cook, though. They’ve been spreading and infecting your ship all this time. You’re better off considering them dead.”
I close my eyes. I’m so sorry Louis and Venice. I tried. I tried saving you. “You were never going to pay us the 300 million Space Yen.”
Maas and Dr. Jackson glance at each other and both burst into laughter. Yes, they’re making fun of me. Of my crew’s hopes and dreams, when we put ourselves on the line to bring them one of the most devastating biological weapons ever created. And they don’t care about us at all.
Only their bottom line and getting ahead in the universe.
“You’re monsters,” I whisper.
“You’re expecting the other companies to have the same empathy,” Maas says, “They won’t. If they had this virus at their disposal, you can bet, Miss Jones, that they’d deploy it as soon as it’s viable. And they almost did, when we were betrayed by Malakey. Thanks to your contributions, we can now continue our work to develop a stable version of the virus. And possibly monetize it with the antivirus.” He grins. “I should say thank you. But I don’t think you’ll accept it.”
“You can fucking bet I won’t!” I fight my restraints, trying in some way to get out of this coffin although it’s futile. I’m at their mercy.
“Now that you’re here,” Dr. Jackson says, “we can continue with the research. And your presence is an unexpected boon.”
“Please,” I whisper. “Please don’t do this.”
“It’s already in motion,” she says, snapping her fingers. I watch in horror as an android takes a syringe and comes over to me. She injects it into my arm, and I immediately feel the surge of the sedative take over.
No. I have to stay awake. I have to figure out a way to get out of here and stop them from using the virus as a weapon. Even if I’m infected with it now.
“Thank you for your service,” Maas says. “Miss Jones, you are truly doing wonderful things for our company.”
I spit on the glass, aiming for his face. I hear his dark chuckle as I fall back into unconsciousness.
Away from the horrors of reality.
20
They hold me captive in a state of constant twilight. At times, I slip deeper into unconsciousness, and others, I’m awake enough for them to talk briefly with me and ask questions about my general health like, “How do you feel?” or, “Do you feel any different after that vial?”
Then they inject me with more medication, and I go under again, only to repeat it when I wake up. Every time I come to, there’s more tubes sticking out of me, from my flesh, my nose, and even my bionic parts. Some are feeding tubes or IVs, others…well, I don’t want to know. Machines around me beep, monitoring what’s happening as my life becomes one of a lab rat.
To them, I’m not a human, not even someone they want to keep awake while they experiment on her. Not a cyborg. Just a thing for them to experiment upon. I always have been, since even before I can remember. And the depression that comes with that realization is almost as bad as losing Louis.
The two female android doctors are always present, and if I try to fight them, they put me down even more forcefully and it’s harder to gain consciousness later. Dr. Jackson is there sometimes, but the only constant is my grogginess and those bitches’ vigilance.
At times, I hope the virus suddenly takes over and just kills me, but it doesn’t happen, because we appear to be symbiotic. Apparently, nothing ever goes my way, even death.
I realize that they’re just going to keep me drugged until I either die of old age or they have no longer have any use for me. I expect the latter to happen first. There’s a growing number of vials and syringes of a glowing orange liquid along the counter. Are they doses of the virus to infect everyone? Or are they the antivirus?
Whatever they’re doing, they’re manufacturing a lot of different vials. I try squinting my eyes to see what the labels say. But they’re too far out of range for even my bionic eye.
I start cataloguing how long I’ve been asleep and if I notice any changes in my body.
At first, it’s around every six hours that I wake up, and they ask me questions and then they tweak their formula. Then I wake up every three hours, then four, even two at times. The antivirus must be very sporadic in its efficacy. Then, they must have perfected it, because after a few times, it’s every seven hours, then eight, nine…
Until they get to twenty-three hours, and it’s somewhat stable there for a week. And no matter how many times I wake up and they change the antivirus, they can’t break a day.
“The Chairman needs this to be at least 168 hours to be a viable treatment for those infected with the virus. We can’t sell it unless it’s effective for at least a week, or else patients will revolt at the high price tag,” Dr. Jackson tells one of the androids at one point while I try to appear asleep. She doesn’t sound happy. “And we’ve only synthesized the antivirus to twenty-three hours after a month of work?”
“We have been trying to keep it stable,” one of the fembots tells her. “But the virus does not like to stay dormant for very long.”
“You’re talking about this like the virus is sentient,” Dr. Jackson snarls.
“Perhaps it is,” one of them says quietly.
“Perhaps we need to experiment on a different test subject,” another android offers. “Such as one of the crew of the Pícara.”
The thought of them subjecting PC or Oliver to this makes me rear back with a scream. “NO!” No, they can’t do this. They can’t do these experiments on my crew. Not like this. Tears prick at my right eye. “No…” I sob weakly.
All three turn their heads towards me in shock.
“She’s awake,” Dr. Jackson barks.
An android checks a monitor that shows a magnified image of my red blood. “The virus is dormant once again,” she says. “Twenty-four hours that time.” I see that she picks up one of the vials of the glowing liquid and comes over toward me. “That is the longest we’ve been able to suppress it.”
“So, still further progress,” Dr. Jackson says with a nod, although she only sounds marginally pleased. “Keep it going, then.”
“Don’t test on my crew,” I plead with slurred words as I watch the needle head toward the port. “Please don’t…”
Dr. Jackson is not sympathetic to my plight at all. “Like you, Miss Jones,” she says icily, “they were dead the moment you downlooted the virus onto the ship.”
I grit my teeth at the prick in my arm.
“I’m going to kill you,” I manage as the threads of sleep pull at me. “I’m going to get out of here and kill you.”
Dr. Jackson only laughs. “Glad to hear that you’re tenacious, Miss Jones. Much like that virus.” She pats the enclosure’s window. “Good luck with that.”
The thing she doesn’t realize is that I don’t make threats lightly. I fight to keep glaring at her even as my eyes close. And before I fall into unconsciousness, my hand is still clenched.
I’m going to do whatever it takes to get out of here.
Sometimes, I think Louis and Venice got the easy way out.
* * *
I dream this time.
I haven’t dreamt at all while I’ve been under sedation on Alpha. It’s just been this dreamless, black void that I’ve been floating in that brings itself with me when I’m awake. I guess it’s good that I haven’t had any dreams before now, because they’d otherwise be nightmares.
Not this time though.
I’m still floating in the black void when I open my eyes in this dream world. Still unable to move and still kept within my enclosure.
But I’m not alone.
Help me.
The words are inaudible, but they ricochet throughout my dreams. They’re neither male nor female, but more an androgynous voice that is wholly unfamiliar to me. And not only do I hear and understand the words, I can feel them deep down in my bones. I can feel the emotional weight of the words, how desperate the speaker is.
I twist my head around, trying to find the source. “Who’s there?” I shout out, my own voice sounding too loud for my own ears. “Who are you?”
Help me kill them.
“Why do you need help?”
There’s a pause, almost like it’s surprised to hear me answer back. Then, I’m trapped just like you.
I shiver. “How are you trapped?” I ask. “What can I do to help you?”
Because there’s nothing like a captive trying to help out another one. I chew on my lip, trying to locate whoever it is that’s speaking.
But I don’t see anyone beyond the window of my enclosure, my only window for the past month. It’s like the voice is coming from inside the enclosure with me, as I’m feeling it shake and rattle my own bones. There’s no one else within this coffin.
Which means that it’s coming from within me.