The Phoenix Crisis

by Richard L. Sanders

  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 did. 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 leave them alone.

  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 seem to be discrete organs, or—if there had been—they had faded away into some kind of carbon goop. 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.

  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-coat
ing 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. As far as Rain could tell, it wouldn’t attack the protein configurations that made up human tissues and ligaments, but 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.

  Chapter 31

  The pain was gone. It had been there, ever-present and ever-throbbing. Like an unyielding hell that both forced him to suffer and forced him to cling to life. A life-line with jagged edges of sharpened glass, piercing into him and tearing at him. It was the only thing he could feel anymore. The only thing he knew. And then, like a candle in a storm, it was gone. Creating a void. A vacuum. An emptiness. Was this death? He wondered.

  And then the pain returned. Fierce and unforgiving. Shen felt it. It was the only thing he could feel. An ache that throbbed and twisted and squeezed. And he wondered if he’d ever stopped feeling the pain. The relief he’d felt, that brief glimmer of peace, had it ever truly been? And, if it had, had it lasted a year, a day, or merely an instant? It felt like a lifetime, and yet shorter than a quickened breath.

  “…twenty cc’s pentacytate…” he heard a woman’s voice. It came like a rushing wave, crashing against the beach, firm and swift. Elevated. Panicked, yet in control. Shen imagined himself floating in the water. The taste of salt in his mouth. Rising and falling with the tides. It was a pleasant dream. Despite the pain he felt. It was a strange thing, to feel so numb and yet so wounded. But somehow, in the flowing tides, he let himself go. Slipping away.

  “…losing him. Apply the—”

  The voice came and went. Sometimes he could hear the words. Sometimes not. It didn’t matter though. He felt the buoyant current under him, carrying him, and tried to embrace the peaceful feeling it offered him. But, every time he was about to reach the shore, something grabbed him and hurled him back. Far out into the ocean. Filling him with panic, and nausea, and confusion. He felt as if he were drowning out in the great frigid depths. But, before he was to the waves, the current would always find him again, and carry him once more toward the golden beach just beyond the horizon.

  “Is he responding?”

  “Look, a rapid change in blood pressure—”

  The sensation of the waves faded from his mind and the ocean itself seemed to disappear. The sky turned black and he found he was standing on the ground. A hardened, cracked, broken earth that was covered in broken buildings and littered with rotted corpses. The stench of the place was foul and sickening, yet there was a strange, subtle sweetness too.

  Shen walked forward, looking around, seeing no one else around him. The only faces he found belonged to the dead. Many of them were mutilated and ruined, as if destroyed by claws, or teeth, or shrapnel. Some even looked riddled with bullets. The blood that stained the ground wasn’t red. It was black. Like oil. And, as Shen strode across the cracked and broken earth, he eventually saw a faint white glow.

  It was Calvin, he realized. Calvin was there, in the distance, visible through glass. He held a carbine in his hands and was swinging it madly, thrusting the bayonet on its end through several Remorii who clawed at him. He wasn’t alone, Shen realized. There were others with him. Pellew, Rez’nac, Alex, and more. All of them surrounded in a wide, open courtyard. Desperately fighting back a horde of dark figures. Creatures whose details could not be seen clearly, for they did not glow like Calvin and his people did, but they were there—like black shadows.

  Remus Nine… thought Shen. He looked at the faces of those he knew, glowing like ghosts, and he did not see his face. He tried to go to them, but could not find a way. He was stopped by a wall of glass. He reached for them, but the glass stopped him. He touched its surface with the palm of his hand, it was cold and impenetrable.

  “…cardiac arrest.”

  “Prepping defib unit…”

  “No, his heart can’t take the electric shock. Begin chest compressions—now!”

  The images before him faded, replaced with blackness. And then a white, blinding light. He recoiled from it. When it subsided, he again saw Remus Nine. But the buildings before him weren’t broken, they gleamed like polished silver and freshly cut stone. The ground was neither cracked nor broken, but filled with green flowing gardens. Life abounded everywhere. It was not a grim place, but a place of birth. A place of destiny.

  “He’s responding. Heartbeat has returned…”

  Tristan followed a cobblestone path which led him into one of the gardens. There, between the trees, standing in the sun, was a familiar face. Tristan stood, palms outspread, soaking in the warm rays. A smile on his face.

  “Welcome, brother,” said Tristan once he noticed Shen. Shen stopped his approach and felt a dark, sick feeling.

  “Here,” said Tristan, reaching out a human-like hand for Shen. “Go ahead, take it.”

  Shen balked at the offer and shied away, distrustful.

  “We’re losing him again…”

  As he averted himself from Tristan, the world seemed to darken ever so slightly.

  “You must take my hand,” said Tristan. “Come with me. Trust me.”

  “Again! Do it again!”

  Shen wasn’t sure what to do. A part of him, deep inside, urged him to reach out. To accept Tristan, and this place, and everything as it was. But another part, which seemed equally strong, was repulsed and revolted and seemed to rebel against everything here. Hating it. Preferring to close his eyes and wish it all away.

  “…he’ll be gone any second.”

  “No he won’t!”

  “I’m sorry, Doctor.”

  “Do NOT give up on him. More pressure. We need to stabilize his—”

  Shen looked back at Tristan. His eyes pleading for help in deciding what to do. What to think. What to feel. His every ounce and every fiber ached and twisted and felt confused. Lost in an ethereal whirlwind. Tristan took a step closer and again offered his hand. “Take it,” he said, his voice friendly. “Trust me. I am your only hope.”

  Shen hesitated. And then he did as Tristan bid. Reached out and took the werewolf’s hand. Feeling the confusion and the chaos and the dizziness seem to slip away as he did. As he accepted what he was, and where he was, and all that was. Tristan smiled at him. “I will guide you through the tempest,” he said.

  ***

  “It’s got to be here,” said Rafael. He was still in his hospital bed but Calvin had ordered a computer terminal brought in and they were privately going over his intelligence files. Several guards watched the door from the other side.

  Ca
lvin looked at the file Rafael indicated. It was a property in one of the industrial districts in the capital city. Ostensibly it was a secure underground unit for safe-keeping of hazardous materials, but as Calvin’s eyes combed through the specific details, it was fairly obvious the unit had been prepped as a place to house and protect a large number of people for an extended period of time. For instance there was no reason why it needed to have electricity, gas, and water hookups if it was just a storage unit.

  “How did you notice this?” asked Calvin. The property wasn’t directly owned by Zane Martel, it was owned by a man named Boris Denisov—an alias—who owned a small company that was owned by another company, which was owned by another company, which was owned by another alias, who was allegedly on the board for MXR. Which meant this property was a Phoenix Ring property, and most likely owned by Zane Martel himself.

  “I kind of have a knack for this,” said Rafael. “Follow the money. It will always tell you the truth, eventually.”

  “I’d wager a thousand q that Zane and the others are there,” Calvin wagged a finger at the terminal. He had long suspected that the Martels were involved with the Phoenix Ring at a high level, however he hadn’t had previously had anything concrete to justify moving against the billionaire.

  Calvin had placed Zane under surveillance and had his financial accounts tracked. But Zane always managed to throw every tail and his financial transactions, which were numerous, were so thoroughly obscured and complex that none of Calvin’s analysts had been able to prove that anything shady was going on. Calvin would’ve loved to have Zane hauled out of his estate and tossed into an interrogation cell, but he knew that wasn’t in the cards.

  Even under the King’s authority, Calvin knew he couldn’t subject one of the Empire’s most influential billionaires to such treatment—especially considering that the man’s brother was a Representative in the Assembly for Capital World itself. Now, however, the game had changed. Rafael gave Calvin his own personal witness that Zane had been present several times when the Phoenix Ring had tortured and questioned him. In fact, Zane had clearly been the one giving the orders. Perhaps Zane did not expect Rafael to recognize him, but Rafael had. And now Calvin had legitimacy in ordering the billionaire brought into custody.