s03e16_BLOOD RIGHTS

A street in Sector 4

At first glance they looked just like any other young family in post-Pulse Seattle. The parents were dressed in shabby, probably second-hand clothes, and the little girl curled up in her father's arms was bundled up in a winter coat that was too big for her. A cop in a patrol car, passing under a streetlight, smiled at them. Poor, sleepy kid, his expression seemed to say. The parents smiled back.

But the cop didn't see the way the father's arm tightened protectively around the girl's waist, or how her mother stopped smiling the moment the patrol car vanished into the winter darkness. 

The parents glanced at each other. Cautiously, the woman knocked on the door of a run-down building. After a long wait, the door opened just a crack.

"Name?" said a voice from inside.

"Dr. Bowen sent us," said the woman nervously.

The door opened wider. "Inside," the voice commanded, and the couple stepped into complete darkness. Suddenly a bright light shone in their faces and they instinctively shielded their eyes. The little girl whimpered into her father's shoulder.

"Got the money?"

The woman reached into her coat and brought out an envelope full of cash, which was instantly snatched from her hand. "This way," the voice said. They made their way down a dark hallway into a room containing a battered old doctor's examination table and an IV stand. In the dim light they saw that their guide was a good-looking, young, Asian man wearing a black hooded sweatshirt.

"Here," he said, indicating the table. Gently, the man laid the little girl down. She whimpered again.

"It's all right, baby," whispered her mother, stroking her forehead.

A man wearing a medical tunic walked into the room and silently hung an IV bag on the pole beside the table. He turned around and left without saying a word.

The husband's eyes nervously followed him out, then returned to the woman and child.

"You sure you want to do this?" asked the husband. "All the medical experts are saying it's too dangerous--"

"I don't care! It's her only chance!" replied the woman fiercely. She turned to the man in the black sweatshirt, who had rolled up the little girl's sleeve and was swabbing her arm with a bit of cotton. "It works, doesn't it? Transgenic blood can cure anything?"

"It works," he answered shortly, inserting the IV needle into the girl's arm. Silently, desperately, her parents stared as clear liquid began to flow from the IV bag.

 

The black market house

The man in the tunic left the treatment room and walked down a short hallway to a steel door. He punched a password into the keypad by the door, which slid open to reveal a room lined with steel cages just large enough to stand up or lie down in. Each cage held a transgenic, the barcodes on the captives' necks clearly visible above the gray scrubs they all wore. Most were lying down, and some were chained to their cages. None of them moved or looked at him as he passed them. He passed a cage labeled X6-713, barely glancing at the young female who lay listlessly inside. Her bony frame and sunken eyes marked her more as a starvation victim than as a transgenic soldier.

As he neared the last cage, a door at the back of the room opened and Ave walked in, followed by two guards carrying tasers and dragging a struggling teenager. The teenager's head was shaved, revealing a barcode at the nape of his neck. Seeing the cage, he renewed his struggle with increased desperation. The guards responded by unloading both tasers into him, causing him to fall limply to the ground. While he was immobilized, they quickly carried him into the cage and laid him spread-eagled on his back, snapping metal cuffs on his wrists and ankles.

As the guards stepped out, the teenager regained his muscle control. He began pulling fiercely at his shackles, but only succeeded at drawing blood where they rubbed against his skin.

"Ave, I'll need three more units for the front," the man in the tunic said casually, ignoring the captive's frantic struggles.

"In the storage room," Ave directed, then turned her attention to the new captive. She stepped into the cage and placed into his arm a needle connected to IV tubing. The blood began to flow quickly, rapidly filling a bag hanging just outside the cage.

"I recommend that you don't resist," she said, her voice toneless. "The cuffs are titanium alloy. You won't be able to break out."

Ave stepped out of the cage and walked to an office beside the back door. The door was slightly ajar, revealing a tall man talking animatedly into the phone.

"Great news, Mr. Stevenson. We doubled prices this week and demand's still going through the roof," he said in a pleased voice. "I'll drop off today's cash in twenty minutes."

As he hung up the phone, Ave knocked tentatively on the door. The man turned around and eyed her appraisingly. "Come in," he said lazily, giving her another once-over.

"Excuse me, sir," she said nervously. "I've come with my daily report."

"Well, report then," he replied, giving her another stare.

"We've had no incidents from the donors for over a week. It appears they have resigned themselves to cooperation."

"Very intelligent of them," he said acidly.

"We received a new recruit today. He was connected to the production line immediately. We will recover three units from him today."

"Take four," the man smiled casually, "and hold off on his rations until tomorrow. It will make him more compliant." 

"Yes, sir," Ave replied softly, a flash of worry crossing her features.

"You're dismissed." The man waved her away.

"There is one more thing, sir," 

"Make it quick. I have an engagement," he snapped impatiently.

"I think we need to increase the donors' rations," Ave offered without looking up.

"Now why would I want to do that?" he asked, as if talking to a small child.

"I believe the rations are inadequate to sustain our current donation rate," Ave explained. "Some of the donors are becoming emaciated."

"They're X-series, they'll survive," came the abrupt answer.

"I'm concerned about production, sir. I'm not sure that we'll be able to maintain the current rate of supply." Ave looked up, and for a split second her eyes revealed something deeper than a concern for supply.

"Let me worry about supply," he answered, his voice suddenly gentle. He looked at Ave compassionately. "You're really worried about them, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," Ave admitted, surprised at his sudden openness.

"Tell you what," he said, placing an understanding hand on Ave's shoulder. Then his eyes turned ice cold. "You can give them your rations."

He picked up his cell phone and briefcase and left the room, not giving Ave another glance.

END OF PROLOGUE

Jam Pony - December 10, early morning

"Let's go, people! It's two weeks before Christmas and just like Santa, we've got packages up the wazoo!" Normal's voice cut through the early morning chatter at Jam Pony as Original Cindy, at her locker, impatiently scanned the crowd of messengers. Just as she was about to head for her bike, Max finally appeared, slipping up to her own locker almost as if by magic.

"Hey, sugah, where you been all night?" Original Cindy asked. Then, seeing the faraway look on Max's face, she added slyly, "Couldn't tear yourself away from Hot Boy?"

Max pulled on her gloves, shrugging. "Nah. Just out and about, you know, riding my bike. Went up to the Needle. No big deal." She slammed her locker shut. "We better go. Normal's not exactly in the Christmas spirit this morning."

"Hold up." Original Cindy took Max's chin in her hand and gently turned her face toward the light. "You still lookin' a little pale. You check with that doctor like we talked about?"

"Well--" Max glanced over her shoulder, took a deep breath, and was about to speak when Julie, a new messenger, cut in between them. 

"If you two are gonna make out, could you at least wait till you get out on a run?" Julie demanded rudely. Max's eyes narrowed.

"What's the matter? Jealous?" Max shot back, throwing her arm around Cindy's shoulder.

Julie curled her lip in disgust and stalked away. Original Cindy rolled her eyes. "Now what was you sayin', boo?"

"Well, yesterday I--" 

"Hey, ladies." Sketchy sidled up to Max, eyes on Julie, who was climbing onto her bike. "Listen, think you could, ah, use your influence with our new colleague? She's a fine--what?" he asked in confusion as Max and Original Cindy started to laugh. 

"Nothing. Sure thing, Sketch," Max agreed.

"Thanks. I appreciate any assistance--hey, on second thought, maybe you could hold off on that..." Sketchy's voice trailed off as a very attractive redheaded girl appeared in the doorway. Normal was nowhere in sight, but the girl spoke to one or two messengers, who pointed in the direction of Max, Sketchy, and Original Cindy. 

Sketchy raised an eyebrow, suavely. The girl smiled back. Sketchy gazed at the girl as she walked toward them, Max and Original Cindy forgotten.

"So like I was saying," Max began for the third time, turning back to her friend. 

"Excuse me," came the girl's voice, clear and pleasant. "I'm looking for a Max Guevara?" Max stopped speaking.

"This is Max Guevara right here," Sketchy said helpfully.

"Are you really Max Guevara, the transgenic freedom fighter?" the girl asked Max, seemingly awestruck. "Wow, you look just like your pictures on the news. I watched every minute of the coverage. I think you're the coolest, and you're so beautiful--"

Across the room, Normal emerged from his office. Instantly a look of horror swept over his face. "You! Idiot! Yeah, you!" he shouted as Sketchy glanced up. Normal broke into a run. "Who let her in here? Get her out of here right this minute--" 

Sketchy froze.

"What do you want from me?" Max asked the girl, immediately suspicious.

"Are you Max Guevara?" she asked sweetly.

"Yeah--"

"Then here." The girl's voice was suddenly brisk and businesslike. She slapped a manila envelope into Max's hand and walked away just as Normal reached them, shirttail out and headphones askew. 

"Awww!" he shouted in frustration, turning on Max. "I'd expect as much from the moron here, but you? I thought you were a genetically superior, highly trained soldier! How could you fall for that?"

"Fall for what?" asked Max, opening the envelope.

"That was a process server! She just slapped you with papers for a lawsuit!"

"How you figure that?" Original Cindy asked skeptically.

"Because, missy, she's been here before. You people don't seem to realize that when a bike messenger knocks down a pedestrian or runs into somebody's nice shiny car, I get the heat." Normal turned to Max. "What did you do? Take more hostages? Fly through a customer's window on a hoverdrone?"

Max slid the papers out of the envelope and studied them thoughtfully. "Says here--"

"Give me those." Normal snatched the papers from her hand and scanned them. "Max Guevara...Healthcorp...good. Don't see the name Jam Pony anywhere in here." He thrust the papers back at Max. "You're on your own, missy. And don't expect time off to deal with your legal issues," he called over his shoulder as he walked away. Shrugging, Sketchy followed him.

Max and Original Cindy looked at each other. "I'll deal with this later," Max said, opening her locker and stuffing the envelope inside. 

"No, you deal with it now. Call Logan." Original Cindy pulled the envelope out of the locker and held it up in front of Max. 

"I thought we were talking," Max objected, refusing to take it.

"We will. We'll talk tonight," Original Cindy promised. "But right now you got bigger fish to fry." She nodded towards the front desk, where Normal was engaged in a heated argument with a customer, pacing furiously and shouting into his headset. "Slip in there now and you could fax those papers over to Logan. Normal didn't say nothin' about dealin' with your legal issues on Jam Pony time, now did he?"

"You're right. He didn't," Max agreed, taking the envelope from Original Cindy's hand and hiding it under her jacket. 

 

Logan's Apartment

As the sheets of paper rolled out of the fax machine, Logan scanned them quickly, the phone cradled on his shoulder.

"So what do you think?" Max, hiding out in Normal's office, sounded a little anxious.

"I think you need a lawyer, Max. Let me call Marianne right away. And I can start looking into it myself. I'll have her call you, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Max sighed. "Gotta run, here comes Normal--"

"I have to go, I've got another call--" Logan said at the same time.

As Max hung up Logan switched to the other line. "Yeah?"

Across town, at Joshua's place, Alec paced impatiently by the window. "Hey, Logan! It's Alec," he announced enthusiastically. "I'm over here picking up Gem for work and I thought I'd just get a jump on the day, you know, see if there's anything you need us for." 

There was silence. 

"Am I, uh, calling at a bad time?" Alec asked.

Logan, distracted by the documents Max had just sent him, looked up. "What? No. In fact, I think you're calling at a very good time." Logan set the papers aside and opened a file on the computer. Listen, I got the results on that juice you gave Max a couple of weeks ago."

"And?"

"Turns out the 'juice' contained components not found in ordinary humans. It's in a highly active state, which could cause greater immunity to illness and enhanced bodily functions, which would explain Sketchy's increased physical ability."

"Which didn't last."

"That doesn't surprise me. Any guesses at the source?"

Alec stopped pacing. His face was serious as he answered Logan. "Why do I think I already know the answer to this?"

"Bingo. Transgenic blood. It was processed for administration. Now here's the problem: if it's not administered correctly, and if it's overused, it can cause organ failure."

Alec's brows met in consternation. "In other words, if non-transgenics take it in large amounts, they die and it's on us, right?"

Logan nodded grimly. "You got it."

Alex rubbed his forehead as if it ached. "Well, that pretty much puts us back in the cage." 

"And, since specialized equipment is needed for this kind of sophisticated blood processing, I searched for transfers of medical equipment in the last two months. There are four facilities that received deliveries, scattered throughout the city."

"Which I'm sure you've already started to investigate."

"No, as a matter of fact, I haven't." Logan looked back down at the faxed legal documents. "Something else has come up, something that can't wait. I was thinking maybe you and Gem could check out these places, see what turns up."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure, we'll start today."

"Thanks," Logan said.

"Thank you," Alec replied.

"For what?"

"For throwing some work our way. And...you know, for staying on top of this transgenic stuff. Most ordinaries wouldn't bother."

"Most ordinaries don't have transgenic girlfriends," Logan grinned.

"Their loss. Anyway, later. Take care of that transgenic girlfriend of yours."

"I try," Logan sighed. "You know how she is."

"I do, but I think you can handle it." Alec snapped his phone closed as Logan hung up.

At Joshua's, Gem appeared in the doorway, carrying Elfie. "Gem, we gotta leave," Alec shouted as he put the phone in his jacket.

Joshua immediately walked into the room. "You said you'd take me to the market."

"I know, Joshua, but I gotta run. We've got a transgenic situation." 

"This is a transgenic situation," Joshua objected.

Alec shook his head as Gem handed Joshua the baby. "Look, buddy, Gem and I have some really urgent work to do. It can't wait."

Joshua frowned. "The market is urgent, too."

"Not like this!" Alec snapped as he opened the door. Then, regretting his sharp tone, he relented. "Look, buddy, I really gotta run. We'll get your stuff. I promise. Just not now." He stepped outside the door, followed by Gem.

Joshua, holding the baby, stared after them as they rode away on Alec's motorcycle. "Maybe Joshua needs some urgent work to do, too," he told Elfie thoughtfully as he took her back inside the house.

 

A sector checkpoint

Max was stuck in a traffic jam at a sector checkpoint, bored and impatient, when her cell phone rang. She frowned at the display, then shrugged and answered anyway.

"Hey, Marianne," she said, pleased, when a familiar voice answered.

"Hi, Max. Logan faxed me the papers and I've got news for you. Can we meet?"

"I'm out on a run. Why don't I swing by your office?"

"No, I don't think that's a good idea," Marianne responded hesitantly. "Could we meet someplace private? Logan's, maybe?"

"I don't want to bother him. Would you, um, mind coming by my place?"

"Sure. What's the address?"

"339 Waverly." Hanging up, Max scowled at the phone. "Let's see what you think of me when I'm not in a mansion or a penthouse," she told the receiver. Then she hopped on her bike and went back to the checkpoint line.

 

Max and OC's place, an hour later

Max was sitting on the couch, unwrapping a burger and fries, when Marianne arrived wearing a black suit, diamond earrings, and heels. Max watched her size up the place quickly--the worn-out furniture, the hot plate, the candles, the Ninja--and waited. Marianne dropped her briefcase on the couch and hugged Max. After a moment Max relaxed a little, not returning the hug, but not pulling away from Marianne either.

"It's good to see you," Marianne said. "I just wish I had better news."

"Sit down," Max invited, pulling up a battered wooden chair. She held out the container of fries. "Want some?"

"No thanks." Marianne watched as Max took a huge bite of the burger, followed by several fries. "You must work up quite an appetite riding all over the city."

"Mmmm," Max agreed through a mouthful of food. The food tasted wonderful to her and somehow she couldn't eat quickly enough. "So what's up? Why couldn't we meet at your office? My Jam Pony cap violates the law firm dress code?"

"Well, it does, but that's not the problem. The problem is that Healthcorp, which served you with the papers for the lawsuit, is located in our building just two floors below the firm. You're famous, Max, and easy to recognize. I'd rather keep you off the radar just now."

"What does Healthcorp want with me anyway?"

"Right now, they want you to be a witness. You're required to appear in court to give a deposition, although you are not the defendant."

Max took another huge bite of burger. "Then who is?"

"The United States military, Max."

Max laughed. "You're kidding. You don't think someone who's suing the U.S. military might be some kind of crackpot?"

"Max, I am taking this seriously. Because apparently, back in the 90's, Healthcorp invested a good deal of money in a biotechnology startup known as Manticore."

Max's smile vanished. Slowly, she set her burger down. "Go on."

"Their claim is that in exchange for venture capital, they were granted a patent on the DNA that was produced by Manticore."

"What does that mean?"

"It means they are arguing that when the military took over Manticore, it did so illegally. That all products of the experimentation at Manticore rightfully belong to the patent owners and not the U.S. government."

"You mean these guys are claiming they own me? Alec? Joshua? All of us?"

"Something like that, yes."

"What's in it for them?"

"Do you really have to ask? Can you imagine the profits they could make from treatments derived from transgenic blood alone?" Marianne reached for some papers in her briefcase. "I also found out that they are searching for the founding partners of Manticore. One of them died in 2011. The other is called Sandeman, also known as Richard Sanderson." Seeing the look of alarm on Max's face, she asked, "Does that name mean something to you?"

Max shrugged, her expression guarded. "I heard it once in a while around Manticore when I was a kid."

"Well, everyone's looking for him. Since he made the original business deal with Healthcorp, he could very well be the key to this whole mess. Think Logan might be able to get any useful information out of some of his journalistic sources?"

"We can try."

"Good. That would be a big help." Marianne returned the papers to her briefcase and stood up. "I have to get back to the office, Max, but we'll stay in touch. We're due in court for your deposition in less than a month, right after the holiday break. We'll have to work fast."

"That's me, faster than the eye can see."

"We're still on for dinner with you and Logan on Wednesday, aren't we? We can catch up then. We'll kick the boys out of the kitchen and mix a little business with pleasure." Marianne grinned at Max. "Deal?"

"Sure. Unless I get impounded as evidence first."

Marianne's smile vanished. "Max, be careful. These guys--"

"You don't have to tell me how rough it can get when the big boys come out to play," Max reassured her. "Thanks. I really appreciate this. See you Wednesday?"

"Sure thing," agreed Marianne.

Max locked the door behind her, then flopped down on the couch, pushing the burger away. The sight of it made her nauseated. She put both hands over her stomach and looked down at them. "Welcome to this crazy-ass world," she said with a sigh.

End of Act I

Logan's Apartment - December 10, evening

Logan sat at his desk, swiveling his desk chair absentmindedly as he listened to messages playing back on his machine.

"Logan, just wanted to give you a heads up. The sector police have resurrected their impounding service. Thought our friend Eyes Only might want to warn..."

"Ow," Logan's pain-filled groan drowned out the rest of the message.

He flicked off the machine and pushed his chair away from the desk, revealing legs twitching with rapidly firing spasms. He placed his hands on his thighs, massaging slowly, methodically. Eventually the shaking slowed to a few intermittent tremors.

Logan pushed his chair to the edge of the desk, where his wheelchair sat waiting. Supporting himself against the desk, he partially stood on trembling legs, then sat down heavily in the wheelchair. He lifted one leg, then the other, onto the footrests. As the tremors stilled, he closed his eyes and relaxed back into the chair, sighing in relief. 

Max stood in the office doorway, silently watching Logan, love and concern in her eyes.

Logan turned the chair around and saw Max.

"Hey, Max!" he said, a pleased smile instantly lighting up his features.

"You okay?" Max asked softly.

"Wheelchair's more comfortable when I'm sore," Logan admitted, then broke into another grin. "You're early. Possibly staking out Chez Cale for a culinary masterpiece?"

Max didn't smile back. "You sure you're okay?"

"What's happened has happened, Max," Logan said softly. "No use dwelling on it."

"You're giving up?" Max asked, confused.

"Nooooo..." Logan flashed her a mischievous little grin. "I was actually thinking about investigating the curative properties of apple pie a la mode."

Max inhaled deeply, then finally broke into a grin of her own. "Can't argue with that train of thought," she admitted.

Completely captivated by the smell of apple pie, she walked quickly toward the kitchen, her movements almost catlike as she stalked her prey. She found it under a dish towel lying on the kitchen work table: two pies, cooling on a rack. Max bent over and took another deep breath, almost burying her nose in the pie.

"You made these?" she looked at Logan with amazement.

"Check out the freezer," Logan smiled, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Real French vanilla ice cream," Max sighed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were after this female's heart, or at least her stomach."

"Come and eat," Logan grinned, swiveling his chair rhythmically. He placed two forks and an ice cream scoop on the table.

"You run out of dishes?" Max looked at Logan in confusion.

"Tastes better from the pan," Logan explained. "Grab a seat." He took the ice cream from Max and dished a big scoop onto the pie.

They sat side by side, their chairs angled so they could see each other's face, the pie between them.

Logan held out a fork to Max, but then just as she was about to take it, he pulled it back. "Nice and easy now," he smiled mischievously.

"Fat chance," Max grinned, snatching the fork from his hand. They simultaneously placed their forks in the pie and took a bite.

"Wow," Max said quietly, her face brightening.

"Go for it," Logan smiled. He reached out his hand and took Max's in his. They ate silently for several minutes enjoying the simple pleasure of the moment.

"I talked to Marianne today," Max said, putting her fork down, her expression becoming more serious. "She wants us to find Sandeman. I'd sure like to be able to tell her something when she and Bennett come by Wednesday."

"It's weird that we haven't heard anything from him. I'll check the contact numbers he left you." Logan put his fork down as well.

"Speaking of Sandeman," Max pulled off her jacket, revealing new runes along her collarbones. "He sent me another message."

"Mmm," Logan murmured, instantly fascinated. He reached out a hand to trace the runes. 

"Did you get any further with the last batch?" Max asked, watching Logan's fingers as they traced out each symbol.

"It's almost like a message within a message," Logan explained without looking up. "I told you about the instructions, but if you take individual sections they have a completely different interpretation."

"Like what?" Max asked absentmindedly, her eyes still following Logan's hand.

"The gateway to thy posterity shall be opened," he told her."Whatever that means..." Max's voice drifted off, her focus still on Logan's hand. Her mouth turned up into a soft smile as she placed her hand on his, following it along. Her eyes grew soft, almost teary.

Logan looked up, sensing the change in Max. "What's wrong, Max?" he asked, his voice concerned.

"I was just remembering the first time you did this," Max said softly.

"We've come a long way," Logan said, his voice quiet as well.

 

Crash - December 10, evening

At a small table in a far corner, where no one could overhear, Alec and Asha shared a pitcher of beer.

"So, we checked out two of the warehouses this morning. Zip, zilch, nada. I guess we'll get around to the other two tomorrow," Alec was saying."

Asha nodded, refilling their glasses but saying nothing.

Alec looked at her curiously. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Well," said Asha, "...um...a warehouse seems like the ideal location. No one suspects they're anything other than food storage facilities..." She trailed off as if she hoped that would be enough to satisfy Alec.

It wasn't. "That's all you have to say about it?" he asked.

Asha gave him an amused look. "Not all of us have transgenic-speed brains, you know."

Alec snorted. "Don't start playing 'slow little ordinary' with me," he told her.

Asha smiled. "So, are you going to turn this over to Eyes Only?"

"No." Alec looked around, then said, "He's...I mean, Logan says he's busy with something else right now. Want to hear what I'm thinking?"

"Sure. Shoot."

"Okay. Most transgenics wouldn't voluntarily donate their blood. Even if some are, it doesn't explain the huge supply on the black market. Doesn't take a transgenic-speed brain to guess...somebody's capturing transgenics." He leaned forward enthusiastically. "So...once we find the place, I put myself out there as bait. They come after me, and wham! I'm in. Then, Gem and I take 'em down."

"You're kidding," Asha said. "Right?"

Alec's face fell. "Wrong," he said, insulted.

"Alec, whoever these people are, they've figured out how to deal pretty effectively with more than one transgenic at a time." Asha shook her head. "You'd be dead meat, both of you."

"You have something better in mind?"

"Yes." Now Asha leaned forward enthusiastically. "Let the S1W help. Just hear me out," she added as Alec opened his mouth to object. "We figure out some kind of a cover, get one or two of us inside, and then the rest of the team moves in. It wouldn't be the first time we've helped out Eyes Only, you know. And this time...maybe there's really something in it for me." Asha said the last almost to herself, her gaze dropping from Alec's face to her beer mug.

"I don't like it," Alec said.

"I don't like your plan either," Asha told him.

"Yours is too dangerous."

"Oh please! Now who's thinking 'slow little ordinary'?" Asha leaned forward. "I may not be Manticore, but I've got plenty of tactical operations under my belt. I know how to watch my own back."

"Never said you couldn't, but this stuff here is too dangerous  even for a transgenic."

"That's exactly my point! It's a lot more dangerous for a transgenic than it is for me." Irritated, Asha stood up.

"Oh, Asha, sit down. All I'm saying is I don't want to put you in danger -" 

"And you being the bait is not dangerous?" 

"That's different--"

"I don't think so." Asha reached for her jacket. "I think I'm going home." 

Alec stood. "You know what? I think I'm going home. Watch this transgenic speed." Before Asha could zip her jacket, he was across the crowded room and out the door. 

"Okay! Okay, fine!" she told the door. Then she sighed and sat down. "Might as well finish this," she said to herself, refilling her glass. She sat there for a long time, lost in thought.

 

Crash - an hour later

Max pushed her way through the crowd at Crash until she reached the bar. Jake, her favorite bartender, greeted her enthusiastically.

"Hey, Max, what'll you have?"

Max shook her head. "Nothing, thanks...you seen Original Cindy around anywhere?" Overhead, the news blared. 

"...and now for an update on this breaking story from our health reporter, Dr. Talia Nolan. Talia?"

Jake shook his head. "Haven't seen her...but if I do, I'll tell her you're looking for her."

"Thanks," Max said, turning to leave.

"...at a press conference tonight, executives of Healthcorp made a stunning claim. They say they own the patent on the DNA of the so-called "X-series" of transgenics covertly developed by the U.S. military."

Instantly Max turned back. "Great. Splashed all over the damn news again," she said under her breath.

The picture switched from Dr. Nolan to a hotel conference room, where an older man in a business suit stood behind a podium, surrounded by microphones.

"The growing black market in transgenic blood derivatives is illegal and dangerous," he was saying. "Healthcorp couldn't, in good conscience, watch innocent people endanger themselves out of desperation. That's why we've stepped forward to bring our claim before the American public. By working in cooperation with the transgenic community, we can provide legitimate, safe, effective treatments for a wide variety of conditions." He paused. "There's someone I'd like you all to meet." 

He turned from the podium and spoke to someone off camera. After a moment, a young family in shabby clothes appeared in front of the cameras. The shy, nervous parents stood next to the businessman, holding their little girl, who squirmed and pointed at the cameras and made silly faces. The businessman smiled.

"Twenty-four hours ago, this little girl was in the end stages of an advanced neurological disorder. She has barely been able to move since she was three years old. Last night, she was treated with transgenic blood derivatives. Today, she ran across the room." He nodded to the girl's father, who put her down. The girl ran over to her mother, and a tear ran down the mother's face.

"Excuse me," a reporter shouted. "Was this child treated by Healthcorp, at one of your facilities?"

"I'm sorry. On advice of our legal team, I can't say any more than that."

"Mr. Stevenson! Mr. Stevenson!" More reporters clamored for his attention as Max grimly left the bar, too preoccupied to notice Asha in the far back corner, staring at the screen as well.

 

December 11, morning

Joshua walked hurriedly up the steps of the old brick building in sector 8. He stopped in front of the door to confirm the address in the newspaper he was holding. With a nod of satisfaction, he walked in the door and down the hall. At the end of the hall, he stopped again in front of an old wooden door. The sign on the door read "Personnel Department  School District No. 3." 

Joshua knocked once, then turned the knob and stepped into the room. He paused in front of the empty reception desk for a moment, then walked past it to a door marked 'Director.' He knocked again, and upon hearing a distracted "come in," he stepped into the room.

"Tracy, I'll need..." the woman at the desk looked up, then stopped in mid sentence, her mouth dropping open in shock. She stared at Joshua for a moment, then, regaining some of her composure, she asked curiously, "Can I help you?"

Joshua stepped forward and nervously handed her the newspaper. "Advertisement says school needs qualified teachers."

"That's right," the woman nodded cautiously.

"I'm a teacher," Joshua said confidently.

The woman's eyes opened wide. "Did you bring a resume, Mr...?"

"My name is Joshua," Joshua offered, his voice contrite. "I'm sorry, I don't have...resume?"

"Well, what are your qualifications then?" the woman asked, her voice taking on a patronizing tone.

"I'm a painter, and I teach freedom," Joshua smiled.

"Freedom?" The woman couldn't help laughing. "Do you have a degree, Joshua?"

"A degree?" Joshua asked, completely confused.

"A university degree."

"No..." Joshua said sadly.

"I'm sorry, but at this time we are only hiring teachers with master's degrees," she stated matter-of-factly. She turned back to her papers, but looked up again at Joshua's dejected sigh.

"I'm sure you'll find something appropriate," the woman said, a hint of contrition in her voice. "Come, let me see you to the door." She stood up and walked to the door, holding it open for Joshua. "Good luck with your job search."

"Thank you, ma'am," Joshua replied as she shut the door behind him.

"Freak," the woman said sadly, turning around and shaking her head. She didn't see Joshua pause on the other side of the door before he walked away.

 

Healthcorp offices, downtown Seattle

"Mr. Stevenson?" The administrative assistant's voice came through the speakerphone into the elegant corner office, twenty-two floors above downtown Seattle. "Dr. George from the CDC is on line two."

"Thanks, Laura. I'll be with him as soon as I finish this call." Stevenson clicked off the speakerphone and returned to his cell phone conversation. 

"The CDC's on the other line...of course I'll let you know if there's even a hint that they're getting close to your operation...meanwhile, just keep right on doing what you're doing." Stevenson listened for a few moments, then smiled. "Listen, you're building up a better customer base for transgenic blood than we could get if we gave away free samples of the stuff at the supermarket." He snapped the cell phone closed, then reached for his desk phone and punched the blinking line two button.

"Dr. George," he said cheerfully. "You're a hard man to reach. You people must be working overtime on the transgenic blood investigation." 

Three thousand miles away in Atlanta, Dr. George set down the paperwork he had been reviewing with an exasperated sigh. "We are, and I'd like to get back to it instead of sitting here on hold all day."

"How's the investigation going? Any closer to tracking down our black market friends?"

"Not a whole lot," Dr. George replied shortly. "Look, Mr. Stevenson, I am actually busy trying to catch those guys. Is there something particular I can do for you today?"

"Actually, Dr. George, I called to see what I can do for you," Stevenson replied. "The CDC and Healthcorp are on the same side here. We both want to put a stop to this dangerous situation and verify the claims about transgenic blood derivatives."

There was a moment of silence, then Dr. George laughed sardonically. "That has to be the most noble-sounding bit of corporate baloney I've heard in a long time. What is it you really want?"

"Sounds like I've called at a bad time." The good humor in Stevenson's voice vanished abruptly. "I'll let you go."

"Thanks--"

"Just one more thing, Dr. George," Stevenson interrupted smoothly. "Did you ever track down those medical records on Linda Eastman? The Seattle woman you suspected might be transgenic?"

"We did enter her into our database last year, but her case file was corrupted a few months ago. Inept temp office assistant. Can't get good help these days."

"That's too bad," Stevenson replied smoothly. 

"Yeah. Sorry."

"I hope I won't have to bring you into court to testify about your little adventure here in the Northwest," Stevenson continued.

Dr. George looked at his computer terminal, where the records for Linda Eastman were clearly displayed. "So do I, Mr. Stevenson." 

He hung up and pressed the delete key. In five seconds the screen was blank. Dr. George sighed. "You helped a lot of people when that plague hit, Max. I guess this is the right thing to do." He closed the program and turned back to his paperwork. 

End of Act II

Sublime P.I. and Laundromat

The door chimes sounded as Asha entered the laundromat and walked into the back room. She smiled when she saw Gem behind the desk.

"Place looks nice," Asha complimented her.

Gem smiled back. "I should hope so. Particularly after I made Alec replace the sign."

Asha sat on the chair in front of the desk. "What was wrong with your old sign?" she asked.

"You mean aside from the fact that it said 'Alec and Gem Detective Agency'?"

A look of understanding passed between the two women. "Ahh..." Asha nodded.

Gem laughed. "Actually, we thought of a better name. So, are you looking for Alec? He's out."

"Good, because I actually came here to talk to you."

"What's up?"

"Alec told me last night about tracking down the source of the 'juice' that's been showing up in the black market," Asha explained. She watched Gem carefully. "They must've captured some transgenics when everyone rushed out of Terminal City..."

"That's what we figure," Gem agreed.

"I know you had two more locations to check out, and I told Alec I've got some, ah, friends who can help out with that. So if you can, ah, give me the locations for those two warehouses, my friends want to move on it right away." 

Gem looked at her thoughtfully. "Alec was okay with that?"

"Well...I offered to put an armed investigative team at his disposal. How could he say no?" Asha smiled at Gem, trying to look as innocent and helpful as possible.

"Hmmm. What's the plan?" Gem asked cautiously.

"My team makes the ID. You track us to the location. Then, you come in and rescue us."

Gem frowned. "What about security?"

"My team will take the first crack at them. But a few more of your transgenic friends would come in handy."

"I'll see what I can do," Gem said thoughtfully.

Asha stood up, then turned back. "One little thing. Kind of a personal favor? Contact Alec only after I'm in."

Gem adamantly shook her head, "Oh no. No, no, no. I am not getting in the middle of this."

"I need to do this, Gem. I saw what they did to Alec the last time. I don't want him subjected to that again. My people will totally have my back. I won't get hurt." She looked appealingly at Gem.

Gem hesitated, then gave in. "Okay. Any girl who can round up her own armed force must have some resources. And speaking of resources...you got any comms for this little adventure? I'm afraid Sublime isn't exactly well-funded at the moment."

"No problem," Asha said, opening her backpack to reveal communications equipment.

"More than enough," Gem grinned. "Asha, when this job is over, we're going to have a talk. I need to know how you finance and organize your team."

"No problem," Asha grinned back, relieved. "Any time."

 

Community Services Center, Sector 5

The sign over the doorway of the ramshackle building read "Community Services Center  Sponsored by Dove Industries and the Seattle Fire Department." A few teenagers played basketball in front of the building while little children ran around the yard, giving a wide berth to the scaffolding that was propped up against one wall of the building. 

Standing on the scaffolding, twenty feet up, was a big man dressed in jeans and a Firehall 49 t-shirt and a teenager dressed in typical street grunge. They were methodically scraping paint off the side of the building.

Suddenly the scaffolding on one side shifted, knocking the teenager off. In a heroic gesture the fireman threw himself down against the plank and was able to catch the teenager's wrist. At the fireman's action, the structure shook again, threatening to pull away from the wall.

"Oh God! Oh God!" shouted the teenager, accompanied by the terrified screams of the children in the yard.

In a split second, a tall, long-haired man appeared out of nowhere and braced himself against the scaffold, pushing it back against the wall.

"I've got it," he growled at the people above. "Climb down slowly."

The teenager was able to wrap his legs around the scaffold frame and work his way down, the fireman following carefully behind him.

"Stand back!" Joshua shouted once the teenager and fireman were down, sending the children in the yard scurrying back. "I'm letting go." 

As the scaffolding crashed down into the yard, Joshua disappeared around the back of the building. 

"Go inside, everybody," a priest in a dusty black shirt and white collar called to the children. "We'll take care of this in a bit." He quickly ran around the building and caught up to Joshua. 

"I haven't met anyone that strong since..." he began, placing a hand on Joshua's shoulder and turning him around, then suddenly stopping in shocked silence. Quickly regaining his composure, he reached out his hand. "I just wanted to thank you for saving our friends. My name is Father Destry."

"Max's friend," Joshua grinned, recognizing the name.

"You know Max?" Father Destry asked with surprise.

"I am Joshua. Also Max's friend," Joshua smiled, shaking Father Destry's hand enthusiastically.

"Well, Joshua, also Max's friend, it's a pleasure to meet you," Father Destry laughed. "Why don't you come join us for lunch?"

"People don't want a freak to have lunch with them." Joshua looked down sadly.

"I'm sure there are at least a couple of people back there who would like to thank you. You're a hero today," Father Destry insisted.

"Okay," Joshua nodded reluctantly.

"So what brings you out today?" Father Destry asked conversationally as they walked back toward the front of the building.

"Looking for work, but nobody wants to work with a freak," Joshua hung his head.

"What do you do, Joshua?" Father Destry asked.

"I'm a painter, and a teacher. I like to teach children."

"As you can tell, we're doing a lot of work around this place. It's not exactly your specialty, but we could use a hand," Father Destry offered.

"I don't mind. I'll help you clean up the scaffold after lunch," Joshua grinned happily.

 

A warehouse, Sector 7

Two young men dressed in jeans, work boots, and ragged flannel shirts got out of a battered blue van. They carried clipboards and flashlights. Crossing the street, they headed for a row of dumpsters next to a warehouse. While one man stood facing out to the street, pen poised over his clipboard, the other lifted the lid of the first dumpster and shone the light inside.

"That's it," he said softly to his partner.

"Pay dirt," said the partner into the microphone concealed in his shirt collar, pretending to write on the clipboard.

A few seconds later, the back door of the van opened and Asha peered out cautiously. Seeing nothing but the two men at the dumpster, she crossed the street and, with a quick nod to the men, looked inside the dumpster. Under a few black plastic garbage bags were boxes containing paper wrappers from medical equipment, used IV bags, and tubing. Asha dropped the lid. 

"Nice sanitation," she commented to her partners. "Ready to head in?"

As if they were moving on to inspect the other dumpsters, they walked along the alleyway, glancing up occasionally at the filthy windows. Suddenly one of the men breathed in sharply. "Security guard coming toward us," he said quietly.

Asha made an instantaneous decision. "Back to the van. Both of you, now. I'll handle this. Call for help if I'm not back out in two hours." The men nodded and turned back down street. The security guard approached her, a confrontational look on his face.

"I'll have to ask you to leave, ma'am," he said not too politely.

Asha stared back at him calmly. "I don't think you want to do that."

The security guard laughed. "Sure I do."

"Not when I tell you I think I have a source for you. A very good source." The guard hesitated and Asha took a step forward. "Well? Don't you want to go tell your boss?"

"Wait here." The guard backed up a step or two, keeping his eye on Asha. He pulled a radio from his jacket pocket and spoke into it. He said nothing more to Asha.

A few seconds later, something hit her from behind, hard. She fell sideways, striking her cheek painfully on one of the dumpsters. A young Asian man in a black hooded sweatshirt roughly pinned her arms behind her back and pulled her toward the warehouse.

 

Healthcorp offices, downtown Seattle

Kathryn Birman walked into Healthcorp's presidential office with an air of importance. Dressed in a thousand-dollar couture suit and high-heeled patent leather shoes, she had the presence of a woman who commanded attention. She placed her briefcase on Jeffrey Stevenson's desk and sat down in the polished leather chair facing him.

Stevenson looked up and smiled. "You're looking well, Kathryn."

"So are you," Kathryn smiled, only a hint of coolness in her expression. "How long has it been?"

"Twenty years."

"Twenty years. Has it been that long?" Kathryn sighed, but there was no indication of surprise in her voice. "The last time we spoke, you were expecting your third child. He must be in college now."

"Yes, M.I.T., graduating next month," Stevenson replied, his pride clearly evident. "And yours?"

"Harvard law," Kathryn replied, calm confidence in her voice. She turned to look around the office appreciatively. "You've done well for yourself. Your father would be proud."

"He provided a solid foundation for the company's growth, but I must admit our success has been gratifying," Stevenson smiled. "How about yourself, Kathryn? I was expecting you to be at the forefront of our field, but you seem to have dropped out of the industry."

"I prefer to keep a lower profile," Kathryn said simply.

"So what brings you here today?" Stevenson's voice took on a more businesslike tone.

"In fact, I'm here on business. You could say it's in a consulting capacity. I have a question for you," she replied.

"Yes?"

"I'm wondering why, after your considerable success, you've chosen this time to put all you have built at risk?"

"What are you getting at?" Stevenson asked sharply.

"Come now, Jeffrey, we both know what I am talking about." Kathryn's eyes turned cold. "The group I represent is not pleased with your renewed interest in transgenic technology."

"Times have changed, Kathryn," Stevenson replied, his voice hard. "We both know that there is vast potential in genetic technology. It's time that Healthcorp took its rightful place in the field."

"Your father was a very intelligent man. He knew when it was more prudent to pursue other opportunities." Kathryn stared at Stevenson. "It would be a shame to see his legacy go to waste."

"I'm not one to rest on my laurels, Kathryn. This is an opportunity to develop a new legacy," Stevenson said pointedly. "Despite the risks involved."

Her face hardened. "I'm only telling you this one time, Jeffrey. Shut down your backstreet operations and withdraw the lawsuit."

Stevenson stood up and stared across his desk. "Kathryn, you can tell your group to shove it. I'm not withdrawing from anything. I think you'd better leave."

Kathryn Birman stood up, her smile cold. "Think about what I said, Jeffrey. It would be a terrible shame to miss your son's graduation." She picked up her briefcase, turned on her heel and walked out smartly.

 

A warehouse, Sector 7

Asha stepped into the dark, narrow hallway of an abandoned warehouse, her hands cuffed behind her back. She winced at the painful bruise on her left cheekbone as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. A muscular Asian man walked behind her, prodding her with his gun to walk faster. Through a door at the end of the hall, he shoved her into a room that was empty except for a table and two chairs standing in the middle and a mirror on one side of the wall. 

"The boss wants to meet you," he said, pushing Asha into one of the chairs.

Asha stared at the mirror in front of her. "I thought I was gonna meet your boss."

"You are. I didn't say you were gonna see him." The man left the room and Asha heard the lock click into place.

"Glad you could join us," came a voice from behind the mirror.

Asha faced the mirror confidently. "I don't make deals with people I can't see."

"You do know you're not in any position to do anything about it."

"Oh, I believe I am. I can provide you with a supply of willing donors...if we agree on the terms. With all the media attention your operation is getting, it must be hard getting donors these days."

"We manage."

Asha stood up, nodding. "For how long?" She gave the man a few seconds of silence to think this over.

"Can't say I've heard of any mutants willing to give us their blood before," the voice said cagily.

Asha shrugged, "Can't say they're a generous lot." 

"But you think you can change that?"

"Many of them would be more than willing to assist in your endeavors...for the right price."

"And I may not be too willing to share my profits. Besides, what makes you think you can give me something I don't already have? My men are very loyal and our tasers have proven very effective."

Asha paused for moment. "But I can guarantee you a consistent supply."

"And what places you in such an enviable position?"

"Let's say I have a close relationship with X5s 452 and 494. You gain their cooperation and the others will fall into place."

"Sounds very promising..." the voice said thoughtfully, then turned cold. "But I have my own method for gaining their cooperation."

Just then, the door opened and the Asian man reentered. He stepped toward Asha and tried to cuff her. Asha grabbed and twisted his wrist, pulling him toward her and slamming the palm of her hand into the man's nose. His head snapped back on impact, sending him crashing to the floor. Asha kicked the man in the stomach and bent over him, reaching for his keys. Suddenly, two guards entered the room and tased Asha until she fell, convulsing on the floor. 

 

Logan's Apartment

Logan and Max sat with Bennett and Marianne at Logan's table, the remnants of a just completed meal in front of them.

"I did some research on Healthcorp." Logan looked at Max and Marianne. "They've got their hands into everything medical. They started as Pacific Northwest Healthcare, a research firm, here in the Pacific Northwest in the 1980s. It was founded by a James Stevenson. His son took over in 2005. They have since expanded throughout North America. They dropped the Pacific Northwest from their name just after the Pulse."

"Pretty presumptuous name, thinking they're the only game in town," Max said.

Logan frowned, "Not the way they've been swallowing up other companies. Most recently they've been acquiring hospitals. At their current rate of acquisition, in a couple of years they'll be the only healthcare in the country."

"Great." Max shook her head, then, seeing Bennett stifle a yawn behind his hand, smiled. "Hey, enough business for one night, huh?"

Marianne looked over at Bennett. "Wasn't there something you wanted to ask Logan?" she reminded him.

Bennett grinned. "Show me the secret to your superhero stunts?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure," Logan smiled, a boyish glint in his eyes. "Come on."

"Boys and their toys," Max said to Marianne, rolling her eyes in amusement as the men headed for the exercise room. Marianne laughed out loud.

"Let's stake out the kitchen," Max suggested, standing up.

"Sure," Marianne agreed, standing up as well.

Max nodded toward the exercise room. "It's got bells and whistles, too," she said deadpan, sending Marianne into another fit of laughter.

---------------

"Very cool," Bennett said, admiring the exoskeleton.

"Yeah," Logan agreed, running a hand over it.

"So when's your next superhero adventure?" Bennett asked eagerly.

"Probably never." At Bennett's surprised look, Logan went on, "You've heard what they said about transgenic blood on the news. Well, they left one thing out." Logan gave Bennett an ironic smile. "The so-called cure doesn't last."

"You had...?" Bennett asked, looking scandalized.

"Long story. It gave me a good six months. I'm grateful for that. But in a few more weeks I'll be back to where I was after I got shot."

"I'm sorry," Bennett said quietly.

"Don't be. Pain's not as acute now as it was a few weeks ago. But then again, nothing is as acute as it was. Can't really stand on my own," Logan explained, his voice soft and even.

"You...ah...okay with it?" Bennett asked after a moment.

Logan looked directly at Bennett. "A couple of years ago this would've killed me...but now I've got other priorities. Besides," he added with a grin, "there aren't too many ordinary people who can claim a few superhero maneuvers of their own."

"Guess I taught you something all those years we played cops and robbers," Bennett laughed out loud.

 

The warehouse, Sector 7

Asha felt herself being wheeled along a corridor. She could hear voices.

"...put her in storage...we need to deal with that shipment first...he gave the go signal...take a few units from her as well... we can use it as filler." That was all Asha heard before she fell back into the abyss.

The next thing she knew, she was lying inside a cage, her wrists and ankles shackled to the floor. Through blurred vision she made out the form of a woman kneeling over her. The woman placed a needle attached to an IV tube into her arm. Asha watched without interest as her blood slowly drained from her body. Her head lolled against the metal bars of the cage as she began to lose consciousness again. 

"Wake up!" the woman whispered urgently.

Asha struggled to open her eyes, "Wha-?"

"Stupid girl," Ave shook her head as she opened her hand to reveal the comm from Asha's ear. "Did you think they wouldn't find this? You're lucky it was me."

Asha looked at the transgenic with real fear in her eyes. "Don't...don't tell 'em," she pleaded, struggling to remain conscious.

"Who are you?" Ave asked, then sighed sadly. "Doesn't matter anyway. You'll be dead of hemorrhagic shock in a few hours."

Asha tried to explain, "...was supposed to...let 'em know..."

"Let who know?" Ave asked urgently. Asha closed her eyes and didn't respond. 

An intense female voice broke into the earpiece, "Asha! Tell me what's going on! Gem over."

Ave looked incredulously at Asha, then over her shoulder. No one else was nearby. She bent down.

"Asha?" she asked hesitantly. Asha opened her eyes for a second before closing them again. "Gem's on the comm! Tell me where we are." Asha did not move. "Get it together!" Ave whispered fiercely. "Just tell me where we are!"

This seemed to get through to Asha as she mouthed, "Sector...seven...507 4th...s-street...second...warehouse..."

"Thank you," Ave said quietly, stepping out of the cage as Asha passed out again.

 

Logan's Apartment

"Grab a seat," Max said casually, nodding toward the bar stools as Marianne followed her into the kitchen. Max rooted around in the cupboards, pulling out a bag of tortilla chips and retrieving a bowl of salsa from the fridge.

"I know we just stuffed our faces, but you gotta try Logan's salsa," Max said enthusiastically, placing a bowl in front of Marianne and dumping the chips into it. She climbed onto the stool opposite Marianne and grabbed a chip, which she dipped into the salsa.

"Gotta love these modern men," Max said with an amused smile. "They save the world in the morning, then make salsa from scratch at night."

"They do have their benefits," Marianne smiled back.

"How'd you and Bennett hitch up?" Max asked, turning to look at Logan and Bennett, who had returned to the living room.

"I met him in a college class. He has a fundamental decency, that's a rare quality these days," Marianne said, smiling in her husband's direction.

"And I thought Logan had cornered the market on decency," Max quipped with a grin.

"I can't tell you how much Bennett appreciates having Logan in his life again. He really missed him," Marianne said sincerely. "Thanks for encouraging Logan to connect up with him."

"What do I know from relationships?" Max shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. "I was raised in the military equivalent of an emotional wasteland."

"I'd say you've picked up quite a bit since then," Marianne reassured her.

"I'm not so sure sometimes." Max looked down at her hands. "This dealio with Logan has got me spun. He says he wants me, but then something happens and he shuts me out."

"Sounds like your modern man has a touch of the Neanderthal," Marianne said, gently placing her hand on Max's. "When the going gets tough, he retreats into his cave."

"Yeah," Max gave Marianne a sad smile. "But if he doesn't tell me what's up with him, how can I be there for him?" Max turned to look at Logan once again. He was deep in conversation with Bennett, completely oblivious to her. Max's eyes softened and a warm smile played on her lips.

"You love him very much," Marianne said softly.

"More than anything in the world," Max replied, her smile broadening.

-----

"You know, I had an opportunity to go to New Mexico for a possible cure. But I couldn't leave Max." Logan was saying. 

"You love her very much," Bennett answered.

"More than anything in the world," Logan smiled, his eyes lighting up. He turned to see Max smiling at him.

They held each other's gaze for a long moment, then both looked away, letting out a nervous little laugh.

Logan backed his chair away from the sofa and wheeled toward the kitchen, still smiling.

Suddenly the front door slammed open and Alec and Gem rushed in.

"We've got a situation." Gem was all business, barely casting a glance at a stunned Bennett and Marianne.

Max looked from Gem to an uncharacteristically quiet Alec. "What's up?"

"Asha infiltrated the black market op. She's been in there for 30 minutes now and she's not responding."

"Do you have a location?" Logan asked.

"Warehouse, Sector 7. That's all she passed on," Gem answered.

"There's a couple dozen warehouses in that sector. Let me see if I can narrow the field a bit." Logan quickly wheeled toward his computers.

Suddenly Gem's comm unit crackled to life. "Gem, respond please," an unfamiliar female voice whispered intensely.

"Who is this?" Gem asked.

"Not important, just listen," the voice brushed her off. "Your friend's location is 507 4th Street. Basement level. Steel reinforced doors at ground and basement entrances. Two guards armed with tasers and machine guns patrolling ground level. Another four on the basement level. Exterior security unknown. You will not hear from me again." The comm went dead as quickly as it had come to life.

"Let's move out." Alec was out the door in an instant, followed closely by Max and Gem. 

"Be careful," Logan mouthed softly, exchanging worried looks with Bennett and Marianne. 

 

The warehouse, Sector 7

Two guards carrying machine guns paced in front of the door of warehouse 507. They made eye contact periodically but didn't speak, each intent on performing his job. Despite their heightened sense of alertness, neither saw or heard the two shadowy figures that came up behind them. Without making a sound, the figures wrapped their arms around the guard's necks, cutting off their oxygen supply. A few moments later the guards lay behind a dumpster, their mouths duct-taped shut and their hands and feet tied together behind their backs with bindings designed to tighten with each movement of their inevitable struggle when they awoke. 

Max reached into the guards' pockets, pulling out their keys and comm units. She tossed a set each to Alec and Gem, who quickly moved to open the warehouse door. Exchanging hand signals, the three transgenics moved stealthily into the building. Using their enhanced eyesight, they tracked the guards in the area, easily taking them out and leaving them in the same position as their associates outside.

Two minutes and another four disabled guards later, they arrived at the steel basement door. 

Max looked at the security keypad at the side of the door and sighed with frustration. A split second later she flashed a hand signal to Alec and Gem, causing them to flatten themselves against the wall. The door opened, revealing a man dressed in a tunic carrying what looked like a medical cooler.

Max shoved him back through the door and entered the room, followed closely by Gem and Alec.

The half dozen staff members looked up in shock. One reached for his weapon, only to have Alec appear in front of him. Alec twisted the man's arm, breaking it with a sharp crack. The weapon fell to the floor.

"No one moves!" Alec shouted, picking up the gun. Everyone froze.

Max, at the first cage, released the lock with the confiscated keys. She stepped into the cage and looked around for a moment. Shaking off an obvious shiver, she bent over and released the captive.

"Alec," she shouted.

"Gotcha!" Alec shouted back, quickly herding the staff members into the cage.

Catching a movement out of the corner of her eye, Max quickly ran into the office near the back door, arriving before the cage door had even shut. 

Max quickly scanned the room, taking in a tall man standing behind the desk. He was pointing a gun at a young woman, who stood passively in front of him. She had the unmistakable buzz cut of all the transgenics in the clinic. Her barcode was also clearly visible above the medical tunic she wore.

"You move and she's dead," the man announced in a cold voice. "Amazing weapon, this. It has a firing delay of 1/32nd of a second. Not even a transgenic can move that fast."

"It doesn't matter. I died a long time ago, sir," Ave said softly.

"What you don't understand, my dear," the man said giving Ave a predatory look, "is that you're my ticket out of here."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot permit that," Ave replied. "I cannot permit this to happen again."

"You're in no position to permit or deny anything," the man smiled icily.

"I've sworn to relieve suffering," Ave said, her voice gaining strength. "I know what I must do."

In a flash, Ave was face to face with the man. Ignoring the gunshot, she wrenched the gun out of his hand and, maneuvering behind him, she placed her hand on the back of his neck. With an almost imperceptible twist of her wrist she snapped his neck, killing him instantly. Then, wincing in pain, she pressed her hand against her abdomen. She removed her hand to reveal a tunic drenched with blood. The stain grew quickly, like a crimson wave across the white fabric. She smiled softly to herself, then collapsed onto the floor.

Max rushed over and took Ave into her arms, using one hand to put pressure on the wound. "Aveta?" she asked, looking at Ave's familiar face in confusion.

"You know my s...sister?" Ave asked, smiling through the pain. 

"Yes," Max said, staring at the stranger in her arms.

"T...tell her that I miss...her," Ave gasped before her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

"Yes, ma'am," Max said softly, closing Ave's eyes and laying her gently on the floor.

-----

Alec moved quickly down the row of cages, using the butt of his gun to open the doors as Gem followed, rapidly unlocking shackles. 

At the second to last cage, Alec stopped abruptly, staring at the figure inside. As Gem caught up with him, she saw Asha lying there, unconscious. 

"Go," Gem said sharply, breaking Alec out of his shock. In a blur of motion he had the door open and was inside.

"Gem," called a weak voice from the end of the row.

Gem looked at the emaciated figure in the cage with confusion. "Lynn?" she asked as she broke open the door. She released the girl's shackles and helped her sit up. "What happened?"

In answer the girl clutched Gem, enormous sobs wracking her frail body.

"It's okay now," Gem said slowly, handing Lynn her cell phone. "You think you can call Terminal City to have the infirmary ready for us?"

Lynn nodded, accepting the phone.

Two cages away, Alec cautiously took the IV tubing from Asha's arm, then carried her limp form out of the cage. He sat down heavily on the floor, cradling Asha close to him.

"Anything I can do to help?" Gem asked. When Alec didn't answer, Gem nodded in understanding. "She'll be okay," she said softly, laying a hand on Alec's shoulder. "She wasn't here that long. They couldn't have taken more than a unit or two. We can replenish her fluids in Terminal City." With that she walked away.

End of Act III

The streets

Max hopped on the Ninja and headed for the address Gem had forced from the man in the tunic back at the warehouse, the address where he routinely delivered the blood collected at the warehouse. I'd love to haul ass right up to this black market headquarters and kick the door down, Max thought furiously as she sped through the dark, damp streets. Wait. Make that ride right up the steps and bust through the door. Too bad Manticore trained me not to pull dumb stunts like that. Woulda been fun.

A block away, she pulled to a stop and cut the engine. Under the cover of locking up the bike, she did a quick reconnaissance of her surroundings. Couple of dive bars, couple of shops with security gates down, a few run-down homes. Deserted.

Smiling grimly, Max began to run. In two seconds she was moving so quickly she was only a blur crossing the intersection and speeding down the next block.

Despite her speed she clearly saw the man coming out of a building halfway down the block. He was carrying a cardboard box. Max zoomed her vision in on him and saw that the box contained medical equipment, and that he wore scrubs under his winter coat. 

She ran toward him at full speed so he would not see her, slowing only at the final second before she grabbed him, knocking the cardboard box out of his arms. IV bags and tubing spilled across the sidewalk. The man tried to cry out, but Max had her hand over his mouth so tightly he couldn't make a sound. 

She dragged him up the steps into the building he had just left. In the pitch-dark entryway, she growled into his ear, "I'm gonna let go of your mouth. I want you to answer me when I ask you questions. Don't even think about trying to get away from me. Got that?"

The man nodded. There was a scuttling sound in the background, like rats moving through the walls.

"Okay." Max released the hand over his mouth slightly. "I know you've been stealing transgenic blood. Thing is, you don't look smart enough to me to be the head honcho. So why don't you tell me who you're working for, and maybe I won't leave you tied up here in the dark with the other rats."

"Stevenson," gasped the man hoarsely.

"Stevenson who? You can do better than that."

"I dunno. Mister Stevenson?" spat back the man, struggling in Max's grip. Max tightened her hold on him until he gasped. "Okay! Mr. Stevenson at Healthcorp. He's the one we report to."

"Healthcorp?" Max repeated incredulously. "You mean the company?"

"No, I mean the nail salon," snarled the man. Max jerked him off his feet and again he shouted. "Ow! Yeah, the company. All I know is he lives somewhere outside of town, where all those swanky mansions are."

Wordlessly, Max tied him up with his jacket, leaving him on the floor of the dark entryway. "I'll call the cops later to rescue you...if I remember," she told him over her shoulder as she left.

She ran back down the street to her bike, dialing Logan's number as she ran. "Hey. Can you find something out for me? I need the address for a Stevenson in the mansion district."

"Got a first name?" Logan responded.

"Nope. Got an address for me?"

"Just a...second...here we go. 6028 Summerhill Drive. What's up?"

"Thanks. Call ya later," Max said, snapping the phone shut and hopping on to her bike.

Summerhill Drive, Mansion District

Stevenson's "swanky" home was surrounded by an iron fence topped every few feet with ornamental gold suns. When Max cautiously examined it, however, she saw what no ordinary burglar would have noticed: motion sensors hidden in the center of each sun. 

Max waited. Eventually she saw a cat creeping through the grass inside the fence, apparently without triggering the sensors. By watching the cat's path she was able to estimate their range. Then, keeping to the shadows, she moved back, took a running start, and leaped over the fence, extending her jump as far as she could. She landed in a crouch and then hit the ground, lying motionless while she waited for the sound of alarms or guards.Nothing disturbed the silence.

Approaching the house, she saw several huge oak trees, their upper branches reaching the darkened second-story windows. "Guess I get to do this the easy way," Max told herself. Quickly she climbed one of the trees until she could reach a nearby casement window, which was unlocked. She pulled it open and jumped lightly into a dark room, then crossed to the doorway and peered out.

A man was coming up the stairs. Keeping in shadow, barely breathing, Max waited until he was just past the door that hid her. In one quick motion she stepped out into the hallway and said quietly, "Mr. Stevenson?"

Startled, Stevenson turned. "Who the hell are--" he began, then recognized her. "Max," he said wonderingly. "You're Max Guevara. X5-452." He indicated a room across the hall. "Come into my office. Let's talk."

Max scanned quickly around, heard and saw no one else, then nodded. "You first," she said. Stevenson went into the office and turned on the light. After a last check of the hallway, Max followed him in and closed the door.

"I've been wanting to meet you for a very long time," Stevenson told her. "To think that this is the result of that venture capital my father invested so long ago. And a very impressive result, I might add."

"Save the compliments," Max snapped. "I'm here to ask you some questions."

"I suppose you want to know about my patent claim to your DNA."

"Right now, I'm even more interested in hearing about why you're kidnapping transgenics and stealing their blood. Afraid you'd never get your hands on it legally?"

Stevenson shrugged. "I'm quite confident I'll get my hands on it legally, as you say. I have the patent documentation in a very safe place--not here, in case you were considering any more breaking and entering. But the legal system is slow, and plenty of transgenics are out there on the street--broke, hungry, desperate. You'd be surprised how many of them are willing recruits. And the ones that aren't, well--"

Suddenly the window glass shattered inward and Stevenson, a look of amazement on his face, crumpled to the floor. Max dropped instantly, slithering on her belly to where Stevenson lay. Blood poured from the left side of his chest. There was no heartbeat.

Quickly Max crawled across the floor to the dark hallway, and, caution thrown aside, raced to the window where she had entered. As she climbed back out on the tree branch, she heard footsteps pounding up the mansion stairs behind her. Jumping to the ground, she sprinted across the lawn and climbed rapidly over the fence, no longer caring about the motion sensors. Alarms sounded.

By the time security guards reached the fence, she was on her bike, speeding back to Logan's in the darkness.

 

Jam Pony - the next morning

"Dude! Didja catch Eyes Only last night?" Sky shouted across the Jam Pony locker room in Sketchy's general direction. 

"Yeah," Sketchy replied uncomfortably, avoiding Sky's eyes.

"So is that what you were on, dude? That transgenic blood stuff he was talkin' about?"

"Who knows," Sketchy muttered, turning away only to confront Max, who was staring at him with her arms folded.

"Look, I didn't know, okay?" he blurted out defensively. "Max, you know I wouldn't take advantage of your people that way. I have too much respect for you and Alec and the rest--"

"Promise me it'll never happen again," Max said.

"It won't--"

Max stepped closer to him, menacingly. "Say, 'I promise it won't happen again, Max'."

Sketchy dropped his eyes. "I promise, Max."

"Good," Max began, but at that moment her cell phone rang. Gratefully, Sketchy slipped away as Max answered, covering her other ear so she could concentrate in the noisy locker room.

"Max? It's Marianne. Good news!" Marianne didn't bother to keep the excitement out of her voice.

"What?" 

"Healthcorp has withdrawn their lawsuit. You're off the hook, Max. They called me about fifteen minutes ago and now they're giving a press conference."

"Hang on a second," Max answered, heading over to a group of messengers gathered around the television. Over shouts of protest she took the remote control and switched the channel to the news. They were replaying the Eyes Only hack Logan had broadcast late the night before, after Max told him about the warehouse and Jeffrey Stevenson. As the replay ended, reporters began to shout.

"Did last night's Eyes Only broadcast influence your decision to withdraw your claim?" an off-camera reporter bellowed. 

The woman at the microphone smiled approvingly. "I'm glad you asked that," she replied. "We don't know where Eyes Only got his information, but he is mistaken. Jeffrey Stevenson is not dead, and he was not running a black market transgenic blood derivatives ring. Mr. Stevenson is currently traveling on confidential Healthcorp business in Europe. He has asked me to explain to you all that after giving the matter some serious consideration, he and our board of directors have decided that they are not comfortable with the ethical and moral implications of exploiting transgenic DNA. He wanted me to emphasize that Healthcorp still owns the patent on transgenic DNA; however, we are not going to act on it at this time. Next question?"

"I'll be damned," Max said slowly into the telephone.

"What?" Marianne asked. "Honestly, Max, I thought you'd be a little more excited."

"Excited?" Max tore her eyes away from the screen. "I'm definitely relieved...I guess it'll take a little time to sink in."

"Gotcha," Marianne answered. "Well, I'm late to a staff meeting..."

"Marianne? Thanks for everything. I really mean that," Max said quietly into the phone.

"Hey, it's the least I could do for the woman who loves Logan more than anything else in the world," Marianne replied softly.

"Thanks," Max whispered and shut the phone before Marianne noticed that she was starting to cry. On the television, the press conference continued. 

"... and now we have a statement from Dr. Michael Cheng of the Centers for Disease Control. Dr. Cheng?"

"Thank you." Dr. Cheng stepped up to the microphone. "Early this morning, at the street address provided by Eyes Only, the CDC did uncover evidence of an illegal clinic providing transgenic blood derivatives to those willing to pay for it. We have shut down the operation and arrested several people. We will continue to shut down any of these illegal clinics as we find them, and we encourage the citizens of Seattle to come forward with any information they may have regarding these operations..."

Max turned away and picked up her bicycle.

 

Community Center, Sector 5

Cold rain poured down in sheets, puddling in the deserted courtyard of the community center. The rebuilt scaffolding stood abandoned as the members and volunteers congregated inside to escape the rain. The adults and teenagers were playing cards at some fold-out tables, while the younger children were playing a boisterous game of tag, chasing each other around the tables. Some would stop periodically to nervously look at Joshua, who was painting a wall at the far end of the room. The bold ones would even offer him a tentative smile. 

A young boy dressed in tattered jeans stopped to stare thoughtfully at Joshua's wall, which was awash with bold strokes of yellows, golds, and oranges. The boy slowly walked up to Joshua and tugged nervously at his shirt.

"Hello, little fella," Joshua smiled down at him.

"What are you doing?" the child asked tentatively, craning his neck to look at Joshua.

"Raining outside, so I'm painting sunshine inside," Joshua grinned, putting a bright smile on the child's face.

"Can you show me how to do that?" the boy asked, mustering up his courage.

"You're a painter, too!" Joshua exclaimed with a pleased grin, handing the boy a paint brush. 

The boy took the paintbrush, then his eyes drifted to his friends, who were huddled nervously together a few feet away.

"Can you teach my friends, too?" he asked, growing bolder by the moment.

"I can teach them to paint sunshine," Joshua smiled happily, hurriedly handing out brushes to the children who quickly surrounded him.

 

Unknown location, Sector 5 

A man wearing a medical tunic took an IV bag of clear fluid and placed it in a small cooler. Another man wearing a similar garment took the cooler from the area and transferred it to another warehouse, where a woman in her late 70s lay on a hospital bed. The man in a tunic placed the IV bag on its holder and stuck the needle into the woman's arm.

"If I'm to have a long life, I'm going to need this transfusion weekly," the old woman said. You can contact my secretary for my bill. After all, you wouldn't want it getting traced from my accounts."

Back in the other warehouse, several transgenics were strapped on hospital tables while others were placed in cages. One of the transgenics grabbed the hand of what looked like a sixteen-year-old boy overseeing the blood transfers. "Why are you helping them?" he asked.

"Because this is the most profitable enterprise in rundown Seattle, dimwit!" the sixteen-year-old replied. "Besides, you don't even look human. Do you really think there's a place for you out there?" He sneered at the caged transgenic before he shrugged off his grip. The boy held onto his rifle more tightly as he walked along the aisle. The transgenics stared at the retreating boy's barcode.

 

Warehouse, Sector 11

The doors of a warehouse in sector 11 were blasted open by the force of the grenade that was thrown against them. A dozen soldiers entered the building, silently shooting anyone who crossed their path. Halfway down the hall, they placed plastique against a second door, which also blew open. 

They stepped into the room and began to shoot. In less than a minute, the staff of the clinic were all dead, one expertly-placed bullet in each target's head. The soldiers lowered their guns then, stopping to survey the room. Along one wall was a row of cages, each holding a transgenic hooked up to an IV line.  They moved systematically down the row, opening the cages and releasing the transgenics. The former captives climbed out slowly, holding onto the cages for support as they struggled to stand on weakened legs. An officer stepped through the hole that a few minutes before had been the door.

"Attention!" a sergeant screamed, bringing the transgenics instantly into stiff attention. 

"My name is Commander Martin," the officer said sharply, looking each transgenic in the eyes. "I want you to understand one thing. You are not free. We did not come here to rescue you. You were designed to do a job, and it is time you began doing it." 

He turned on his heel and left as the soldiers began herding the captives out of the room.

 

Jam Pony

Business hours at Jam Pony were nearly over and Max was at her locker, wearily shaking off her rain poncho, when a dripping wet Original Cindy rode in. Normal, holding a last package, opened his mouth to shout out to her, but Original Cindy cut him off.

"Don't even think about it," she announced, holding up her hand, palm out, as she brushed by him to get to Max's locker. Normal closed his mouth again and walked away, frowning. Max looked up, relief spreading over her face. 

"Where you been, boo?" Original Cindy asked, hugging Max. 

"Same old same old," Max answered, hugging her soaking friend.

"Makin' that lawsuit dealio go away?"

"Yeah."

"Good. 'Cause it ain't good for a girl in your condition to be stayin' out all night fightin' bad guys." She looked Max sternly in the eye. "Am I right?"

Max hesitated a second, then nodded, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. "Yeah. You're right," she whispered shakily. 

"Awwww, sugah, I'm so happy for you two--" Original Cindy's voice rose above the locker room babble. A few heads turned.

"Shhhhh!" Max hissed in alarm, looking around. 

"Sorry. You told Hot Boy yet?"

"Nnnoooo...I'm a little nervous," Max confessed. "What if he's not ready...I mean, what if he doesn't want a..."

"Sugah, you mean to tell me he knows you were cooked up in a test tube and raised to be a killing machine, that you got all kinds of soldiers, lawyers, and other creeps on your tail, and that you came back from the dead...and you think this is gonna freak him out?"

Max giggled through her tears. "OC, he's a guy..."

"A guy who's crazy in love with you. Give him a chance." Original Cindy took Max firmly by the shoulders and looked her directly in the eye. "I thought you two were all through with this keepin' secrets business anyway."

"Yeah." Max sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Yeah, you're right."

"Then go," said Original Cindy, giving Max a little shove towards the door. "Get your ass on over there right now."

 

Logan's Apartment

The rain had brought darkness early. Logan was reaching over to switch on the lights at the computer table when the phone rang.

"Hey," came Max's voice. "You getting off work any time soon?"

Logan smiled. "Depends."

"On?"

"On whether something better comes along."

There was a short silence, and then suddenly Max was standing behind him. Deftly she removed the phone from his hand and leaned close to his face. "How's this?" she said softly into his ear. Logan leaned his head back and Max bent forward, kissing him gently.

"That...will do just fine," he finally said.

Max smiled, then stood up. "Not to mess up the mood or anything, but I'm starving. Could we maybe eat something? I can go out to the market if you need me to--"

"Are we going to pick this up again later?"

"That's a definite possibility," Max promised. But she had turned her face away and was looking out towards the rain-streaked windows and the darkness.

"Then sure. To the kitchen," he said, pivoting the wheelchair with a flourish. After a last look at the rain, Max sighed and followed him out of the office. 

----------------------

An hour and a half later, with dinner over, they sat on the couch together, Logan with his arm around Max and Max resting her head on his shoulder. Max, holding the remote control, lazily changed channels while Logan gently stroked her hair. 

After a while she stopped and looked up at him. "When we got interrupted the other night..." she began, smiling a little.

"Mmm-hmmm," he answered, bending to kiss her hair.

"What were you and Bennett talking about so seriously?" she said softly.

Logan shrugged. "You know...life and stuff." He looked at her upturned face tenderly. "And you?"

Max shrugged. "You know...life and stuff." 

Logan grinned as he bent his head for a kiss, which Max returned. Then Max leaned back and said quietly, "Well...speaking of life and stuff..."

"Hey." Logan's attention was suddenly focused on the television. "Isn't that your friend Stevenson?"

Reluctantly, Max looked up. "Yeah, that's him. I still don't get the dealio with this guy. Who cares if he's dead? Why are they trying to hide it?"

Logan watched the screen thoughtfully. "My guess is that there's more to this story than we know. Stevenson may have upset some pretty powerful people. Let's face it, Max. When it comes to the black market, transgenic DNA is a little more high-stakes than used car parts and imported olive oil."

Max frowned, pretending to be offended. "Are you comparing me to some dirty old carburetor?" she challenged.

"Well..." Logan began, but stopped abruptly. 

"...the little girl you met just twenty-four hours ago--the little girl who was given a miraculous reprieve thanks to her treatment with transgenic blood derivatives--is now facing a future of doubt and uncertainty. According to the CDC, it is highly unlikely that her cure will be permanent. Without further treatment, she will most likely begin to deteriorate. When? No one knows how long she has..."

Max looked up at Logan. His face was expressionless as he concentrated on the story. The picture switched to a close-up of the girl's father. He was clearly angry.

"No, I don't consider Eyes Only a hero," he was saying. "Depriving kids like my daughter of their only hope is the biggest injustice of all. If my daughter dies, her blood will be on his hands..."

Instantly Max reached for the remote and shut off the television. In the silence, Logan stared at the dark screen. A gust of wind shook the windows and splattered rain hard against them.

Max sat up. "Hey," she said softly, taking his chin in her hand and turning his face to meet her eyes. "Don't be too hard on yourself. Not all of my choices have worked out perfectly either, you know."

For a long moment Logan stared at her. "Thanks," he said simply, reaching up to caress her hand. 

"What were you saying before? You got interrupted," he went on in a lighter tone, trying to smile. 

Max hesitated for a moment, then shrugged, trying to match his tone. "Oh, nothing that can't wait till tomorrow," she replied casually.

Logan slid his hand up her arm, then stopped suddenly. "What's this?" he asked, turning her arm toward the light. A fresh set of runes was rising on her skin. Max pulled her arm away and flopped back on the couch.

"Here we go again," she said resentfully.

"How about this?" Logan asked, watching her. "I've already got a few leads on Sandeman, thanks to the lawsuit. Let's find him."

"You mean make him explain? He wouldn't tell me very much back in Terminal City."

"It's worth a try, Max. You want some answers, don't you?"

"Yeah," said Max thoughtfully, putting a protective hand over her stomach. "Yeah, I think I do."

 

Washington D.C.

Kathryn Birman strode briskly through the doors of one of Washington's many federal buildings. She swiped her pass card and stepped through the turnstiles just inside the door, nodding at the security guard who stood a few feet away. She stepped into an elevator and pressed B. When the elevator reached the basement, she pulled out another pass card and placed it on the scanner. The elevator began moving again, dropping another two floors which were not marked on its panel. The doors opened and Kathryn stepped into a short hallway, which ended in a concrete wall. She faced the wall.

"Kathryn Birman," she said sharply. The wall slid away, revealing a rich mahogany door. She turned the polished brass handle and opened the door.

"Good news, ladies and gentlemen," she said, striding purposefully into the room and taking a seat at the head of the table.

"We had our reconstruction team in there within two minutes of the event. Jeffrey Stevenson was suddenly called away to close an important deal in Europe. He will decide to remain there for several months and take an extended vacation. His last order of business will be to sell Healthcorp's patent rights to an unnamed party for an enviable sum. Then he will retire into obscurity. He will die from an unexpected heart attack on..."

Kathryn looked around the table with a questioning look.

"November 20th, 2023," came Harriet Short's quick answer.

"Done." Kathryn agreed with a nod of her head. "We have also succeeded in taking over several of Stevenson's back room operations. We have added several dozen X-series to our stable. We are on track with our timeline," she said, smiling slightly.

"On a more troublesome front, we do have an issue to deal with. It appears that Eyes Only has discovered the true nature of events."

"Yes, we have a copy of his hack on file," Rex Selkirk commented. "How do you propose to deal with this?"

"There is no way Eyes Only can prove his claims, nor trace the event's source. All the evidence has been destroyed. Still, considering what he was able to accomplish with Manticore, I'd prefer not to leave any loose ends." 

A murmur of agreement rose up around the table. 

"Matthew, please add to the agenda: Find and eliminate Eyes Only," Kathryn requested, looking around the room.

END OF EPISODE 3.16

