Larry glanced away from his computer screen when he heard a familiar, obnoxious sneeze next to him.
The man who had sneezed began a familiar tirade. “We come down these horrible colds, and you shrug it off. How do you do it?”
Larry's co-workers always asked, and he would have preferred giving advice over shaking his head. But, as always, he shook his head. “Damned if I know.”
“It must be that Earthman vitality. Mars is so sterile, I guess we get sick worse.”
Tearing his attention away from the reactor readout on his monitor, Larry looked at his co-worker. The man, like all the colonists Larry had met since his arrival, felt an inexplicable need to talk.
“My name's Jim, by the way,” said the co-worker.
“Larry.”
He continued to work while Jim asked him about Earth. What could Larry tell him? Earth was Earth. And, to Larry, it was an unpleasant subject. Jim assumed that Larry had come to Mars as an employee.
Work, work, work. Try not to notice the sick people around you. Hope they don't notice your wellness. Hope the Doctor on Earth doesn't notice the outbreak of this season's “super-cold” on Mars.
Jim finally remembered his job and the Company that paid him to keep the City running. “Nice talking to you. I have to go, but we're dismissed in an hour. Want to get a drink after then?”
“Sorry, Jim. The Boss dumped a load of work on me. I have to take it home and finish it tonight. You know how it is.” He feigned commiseration fairly well.
“Hey, no problem! I'll see you later.”
Larry tried to find work to do long into the night, but the custodians' inquisitive glaces made Larry believe it would be safer to go home.
His walk through the City's tunnels was silent. His breathing apparatus was the only thing that reminded him he was there. He saw a few sleeping bums, and caught a few more bums eying him with indignation.
They think I protect myself from their sickness!
He reached the cleaner streets of the City. Its metal dome gave way at the top to Plexiglas. He shivered at the bright point he saw among the stars; the newspapers said that Earth was crossing the sky at this time. He was a rare man among the million in the City: he hated the home world.
Upon reaching his apartment, Larry knocked. He heard no noise from the inside, so he unlocked the door and entered carefully. When he was satisfied that he was alone, he ran his computer through the usual routine.
“Check Mars new for reports of type one.”
After a moment, the computer displayed a single match: “Old Remedies Helping East-Side Residents Through Cold Epidemic.”
Not as bad as yesterday. “Check Earth news for reports of type one.” A longer search, returning many results from different papers, all ran along the lines of “Mars Still In Cold Season.”
“Filter results for matches of type two,” he instructed.
It took long enough that he began to relax. He had taken a shower, and was drying his hair, when the computer announced, “One search found in extended database.”
He ran from the bathroom and read the article. It took him fifteen minutes to come up with a plan. He called the office and left a message:
“I'm coming down with the cold, Mr. Sykes. I can't go to work tomorrow. The doctor recommends a week off.” The Boss wouldn't mind; Larry worked hard enough that no one could complain about his performance. “Who knows,” he said to the recorder, “Maybe Doctor Winston can help me!” He cut the connection and wished for anything but Doctor Winston's help. He had to buy a security system.
The waiting tide of reporters swept to Doctor Winston as he disembarked from the spaceliner. He smiled for the cameras, upholding his reputation as Medicine's handsome spokesman. His rich voice resonated in the small docking chamber as he answered the reporters' questions.
“Well,” he responded, “I'm here for several reasons, but they fall into one of two categories: personal and professional.”
A reporter from the Mars Times asked, “What's the personal side?”
“I've never been to Mars before! I only made it as far as Luna, and that was for a day.”
“And the professional reason?”
“You gentlemen ought to read your own newspapers.” The reporters chuckled with the Doctor. “But really,” he said, “I want to study this 'super cold' that we hear of on Earth. There have been few studies of disease in the colonies.”
The reporter from the Chronicle asked if the visit would last longer than the Doctor's estimate of one week.
Winston made a show of thinking carefully. “No, I can't say it will. Not this time, anyway.”
“Will you have time for interviews?”
“I would prefer to keep my visit very low-key. I'll confer with my colleagues on Mars, but please wait until my trip's end to contact me. I will be happy to share my thoughts with you then. Now, I have a shuttle to catch!”
Winston carried his belongings to the throng of reporters and travelers. On to Backwater City, he thought.
He was fortunate that Mars only had one city, and a small one at that. The cold hadn't spread to the outposts scattered across the planet. He had found the man among the billions of Earth's people; a few million would be easy to sift through.
His hotel room was nicer than he had expected, but it still emanated the frontier feel that set Winston's teeth on edge. What are the doctors like? Still using leeches and prayers to cure their patients?
One of the handful of agents he had sent to Mars months before came to his door at the scheduled time.
“How is the search?”
The agent had always looked anxious, but his brow furrowed deeply while Winston waited for an answer. “He hides himself very well, but we have a few leads.”
“How few?”
“Agent O'Neil tracked him to an office building. We stopped hearing from O'Neil after that.”
“Damn. Do you think the target moved?”
“We have no indication that he did. We've been waiting for your orders before sending another agent.”
“Good. He might think that he caught O'Neil before his location was revealed.”
“What do you want us to do?”
“Wait. He doesn't know I'm behind this. He may even come to me for help. I'll pretend to study the disease elsewhere for a few days, then I'll go to the office. I will give you further orders at that time. Thank you, agent.”
The agent nodded. “Doctor.”
After the man left, Winston lay on his bed.
Easy, indeed.
The week had passed slowly for Larry. He had not bought a security system after all; he had learned that its installation and activation would take more than a week.
Instead, he had bought a horde of food, staying in his apartment until the newspapers had announced Doctor Winston's departure.
Even then, he couldn't lose the feeling that someone was following him. He had developed keen paranoia in his final days on Earth; it had never misguided him.
But he had a life to live, and without a job, he wouldn't live long. So he took extra care as he walked to work, noting who followed him, and for how long. He made it to his office without incident: the incident would occur inside.
As soon as he sat at his desk, Larry heard his co-workers causing a commotion. Jim rushed past, then noticed Larry.
“Hey, pal! Doctor Winston himself is here, at our office, as part of his study!”
“He left!”
“I just saw him. Take a look!” Jim pointed across the office. “Let's go meet him.”
Larry, he said to himself, you should have known; now he'll catch you, and that'll be the end. “Why don't you go ahead... I need to use the bathroom first.”
Jim ran off. The hundred other people like him gathered in a confusing mass around Doctor Winston. As Larry entered the men's room, he heard Doctor Winston pleading that the workers return to their normal places.
Larry spent the next hour leaning against the inside of a stall. He knew he had to escape. Suddenly, his long-term livelihood seemed insignificant compared to surviving the day. Winston was a cold-hearted devil, and Larry knew it.
Leave the bathroom and walk calmly, but quickly, to the door. Go home. Pack a single bag. Withdraw all your money from your account. Find another colony to hide in.
He was ready to go when someone came into the bathroom. Larry froze. He heard labored breathing as the person walked across the tile floor. Larry peered out of a crack between the stall's door and the wall, getting a clear view of the man's reflection: he was a janitor. The janitor let loose a volley of coughs, the wettest, most disgusting coughs Larry had ever heard. The janitor looked at himself in the mirror for a second, shuddering, and mumbled something to himself. Then he turned his head, staring at the door, and lurched toward it, fumbling with the lock.
Whatever he did, it failed to lock the door: a second later, Doctor Winston burst through the door, wearing a breathing apparatus. He stuck a needle into the janitor's arm and injected a vile substance with practiced professionalism. The janitor collapsed to the floor. Winston locked the door behind him.
The Doctor heard someone shuffling around in one of the stalls. He made sure the target was subdued and tested each stall. Predictably, the last one was locked and its occupant jolted as far back from the door as possible.
Winston had neither the time nor the patience for this idiot. Still, he had a problem on his hands. “Hello? I'm sorry if I frightened you. I had to sedate the man; he needs to go to the hospital.”
The stall remained silent. Its occupant wasn't convinced by the earnestness that Winston had forced into his voice.
“Anyway,” said the Doctor with more gravity, “you've been exposed to a dangerous contagion. You need to come with me.” After a few seconds of silence, he added, “My team won't let you leave this building alive.”
A minute later, the man came out of his stall. He looked like an average Earth-man. He had brown hair, blue eyes; he was rather short. Something about him troubled Winston. “Do I know you?”
His counterpart looked surprised; Winston guessed that he should have known. “Lawrence Cogburn,” said the other man.
The Doctor dismissed Lawrence's familiarity. “Help me carry this man. We will go to the elevator. If anyone asks, tell them what I told you.”
They bent down, Winston taking hold of the janitor's feet, Lawrence lifting the janitor's shoulders. Winston noticed Lawrence's disgust; sores covered the janitor's body. “Don't touch the pus. God knows how easily the disease will spread to you.”
They unlocked the door and carried the janitor around the perimeter of the office. Shocked workers moved out of the way, covering their noses and mouths when they saw the burden between Lawrence and the Doctor. Winston simply smiled at them. So easy to reassure these hicks. Several of the Doctor's agents met the two at the elevator, taking the ill man from them. Winston inclined his head toward Lawrence. “He's coming with us. Keep an eye on him.”
One of the agents spoke up. “Our transport is at the rear of the building. Security will escort us there.”
There were no incidents on the way to their transport truck, a bulky electric model with an odd, ambulance-like compartment tacked to the back. A spray of decontaminant wafted onto the Doctor's body as he passed through this compartment.
After taking their seats among the agents, they had a long, quiet ride to the suburban outskirts of the Martian City.
Winston thought about the drugged janitor who lay in a compartment to the rear. Lawrence looked at him and noticed him smiling; he turned away, perhaps in disgust.
Winston was wary of this man. The Doctor still could not get rid of the nervous feeling that accompanied his vague familiarity with him.
Remembering a smaller part of his plan, Winston nodded at the agent sitting to the right of Lawrence. The agent stuck an injector to Lawrence's arm; in a second, the tranquilizer took effect. Lawrence fell asleep.
Winston smiled to himself again. I doubt this test subject will be missed.
Larry awoke behind a clear plastic curtain. He groaned when he remembered who had brought him there. Winston will regret it, he said to himself half-heartedly.
After he had blinked the last blurriness from his vision, he saw the Doctor himself standing outside the curtain.
“Good morning,” he said from behind a repulsive smile. “How do you feel?”
“I'm pissed off, but other than that, I'm fine.”
The Doctor stopped smiling. “That what I was afraid of.”
Same asshole as ever.
With no response from his patient, Doctor Winston began a long speech. It was filled with more medical terminology than Larry had thought he would ever hear. Scattered among the long sentences were a few he understood. “...injection was the most certain way... a high concentration of diseased blood... with an immune response that, while impressive... you should soon find yourself on the verge of death.”
“You gave me the disease that the janitor was carrying?”
“At least you understood that much. It's a far more powerful form of the 'cold' that is infecting this entire city. Except, oddly, you.”
Larry didn't feel like telling the Doctor his own side of the story. But he was curious. “What made you pick that janitor out of the million other people here?”
“He is from Earth. I tracked that walking corpse through the cities until I was right on his tail. I was sure he didn't know of my pursuit, but he left for Mars about four months ago.”
Same time as me. It's beginning to make sense. “What happened to him?”
“Ah, yes. A very interesting case.” Winston paced outside the curtain as he wasted more time trying to confuse and impress Larry with his medical discourse. Larry sifted through the jumble of words. He was alarmed at the Doctor's calm assessment of the illness.
“It ate his brain away?”
“Of course! I just said that.”
“How is he alive at all?”
“The disease has spread into his nervous system. As I said a few minutes ago, it has taken control of his vital organs.”
“How?”
Winston's superior sneer slipped a bit. “I don't know.” The sneer returned with force. “Soon, I will have the answer. After you fall under the same conditions, I will have a much better understanding of the nature of this illness.”
Winston had changed little since Larry had known him. In college, it had been a tormented obsession with dying rats. With a Ph.D and the attention of the press, the Doctor got away with whatever he wanted.
“Doctor, I hate to break your heart, but I must warn you that it will be a long wait.”
“Damn him!” yelled Doctor Winston. “Damn them both!”
The young assistants in the lab had learned to ignore the Doctor's outbursts over the past four days. As much as he grated on them, they did not want to believe his behavior; they had already invested too much in worshiping him.
Mary sighed. “Doctor, what's wrong?” She was certain she knew, but the petulant Doctor always wanted someone to ask.
“The disease has left Subject B's bloodstream completely. Subject's immune system destroyed it to the last microbe.”
“Was the subject already immune?”
Winston looked at her sharply. “How could he be? This disease mutates every time it infects a new host.”
Mary returned his gaze. “A simple test for antibodies—“
“God damn it, I know that! He is immune, but he shouldn't be! The smug bastard knew it, too; I could see it in his eyes.”
“Doctor, it's just a rat.”
Winston was quick to add, “yes, of course.”
Mary already knew the truth. She had seen the supply list for Subject B. Toast, eggs, and cigarettes were unorthodox materials to give to a lab rat.
She had tried to expose Winston's lie to another assistant, Hal.
He hadn't been pleased. “You're crazy.”
“I've worked in these labs long enough to know that we give those things to human beings! Winston told us he was using rats so we would agree to help with this horrible project in the first place.”
“It must be a mistake.” Hal's voice had lowered as he made sure no one else was listening. “What can you do, anyway? He's Doctor Winston.”
She remembered the futility of Hal's answer as she watched the Doctor write furiously in his notebook. She hated him.
The work in the laboratory came to a halt for the next half-hour while the brilliant criminal scribbled; the lab assistants had learned to wait until Winston began instructing them again. He stopped abruptly. “You!” he yelled at Hal. “Give me a comparison between Subject B's DNA and the DNA of the strain residing in Subject A. Run it, then all of you get out of the room. Provincial doctors only distract me.”
Mary appreciated Winston's deftness. He had given the assistants enough of a reason to hate him that they would not question his motives for sending them away. He did not want them to see the diagnostic results: Subject B had human DNA.
They left without a word. They only waited a few minutes before the Doctor called them back in. He looked different from before: he was happy without a trace of malice in his face or voice.
“As I suspected, a significant part of Subject B's DNA exists in the disease found in Subject A. Therefore, it must have originated, not in Subject A, but in Subject B!”
The staff applauded Winston briefly and he beamed back.
“What will come of this, Doctor?”
Winston's smile faded as he regained his superiority complex. “I suspect that the powerful strain of the disease we see in Subject A is part of the immune response of Subject B. I shall complete a few more tests before I announce what may be the most important discovery humanity has ever made!”
Winston was well-known for such grand statements. Mary didn't cheer along with her friends. She was worried about how the Doctor might use the discovery.
Larry hated to admit that he was enjoying himself. Winston was at last afraid of him, for reasons Larry could only begin to guess.
Today, the Doctor was in a very good mood, in spite of the horrible subject of which he spoke.
“I gave you yet another illness as you slept; a simple form of conjunctivitis. The culture I developed from the small sample I drew from your eyes before your body eliminated the microbes—that disease caused blindness in several of my lab assistants.”
“I'm just a disease factory, aren't I?” As he spoke, Larry paid more attention to balancing his cigarette between his lips than to his words.
Winston smiled his slimiest smile. “Precisely. However, it is fortunate—or perhaps unfortunate—that your resulting immunity destroys the mutation caused by the introduction of your own DNA. The resulting disease is so well-adapted to its environment, there is no doubt that we'd have an epidemic if one should survive.”
After a long, reflective drag on his cigarette, Larry said, “But one did escape.”
“Yes, it is odd.”
“How could it have done that?”
“Presumably, your immune system would not destroy the new strain if it became benign. Or if it simply stopped attacking your immune system.”
“You mean it could choose not to attack?”
“I don't think we'll ever know. As long as its effects on the populace are only the symptoms of a mild cold, and the illness remains confined to our janitor friend, there is nothing to worry about.” Winston tried to fake friendliness. “Besides, we have the cure right here!”
Larry knew what the Doctor was planning. It only took minimal deduction to realize that enormous profits were to be had in introducing a horrible disease, with sole possession of the cure. “When will you release the disease on the City?”
Winston sat down next to Larry in shock. He avoided the question and instead posed his own. “Why are you so familiar to me?”
“I'm surprised you don't remember. During college, we knew each other through a common acquaintance: my room mate, your friend.”
Winston's face grew red. “He... died. Of a rare strain of influenza that ate his guts out.”
“I truly regret that. I hated him as much as I hate you, but, as you know, I can't control my immune system. Nor was I aware at the time that I had such an ability. I came to realize it years later.”
Winston looked at Larry with new loathing in his eyes. “He was my best friend. You killed him! I should kill you.” He seemed to regain his composure for a minute, but his words finally burst out. “I will kill you!”
Larry had anticipated as much. “You'll lose your germ factory—and your cure.”
What Larry hadn't anticipated was the Doctor's response. “In a few hours, you will be dead, and I'll have used your genes to make a new incubator.”
Larry tried to stand, to fight, but Winston grabbed him and used his favorite dirty trick: he injected tranquilizer into Larry's bloodstream.
“Doctor, please reconsider the consequences of this experiment.”
He looked at the attractive young assistant. “I already have.”
The young woman did not back down. “My report on the possible effects of having an additional incubator in the environment—“
“...Are silly and unfounded fears of medical progress typical of a backwards establishment such as this. In any case, Subject B will be put to death as soon as we have successfully transplanted the incubation properties to Subject A.”
“You're going to kill him?”
“Why, yes.” Winston looked into her eyes and understood that she knew the true species of Subjects A and B.
She recognized the understanding in his cold stare. “I can't believe it.”
“You don't have to believe it; nothing will stop me.” He looked at the other assistants in the lab. They were obedient enough not to question the ethics of performing experiments on human beings. He decided to invite them to help with the genetic transplant. “Ladies and gentlemen, please give me your attention. I hate to admit it, but all this time, I lied to you about Subjects A and B. They are not rats; they are human volunteers.”
Predictable angry murmurs ran through the lab.
“I only lied to you so that you would not be squeamish about these experiments. Now that we have almost achieved success, I feel that you can help me with the final procedure.” Winston watched as the light complement worked its charm on the assistants.
A few hours later, it was nearly done. Subject A lay in an isolation bubble. His deterioration at the hands of the disease had all but dissolved his facial features. He was less human than he was a lump of decaying flesh.
Winston was the only person allowed inside the bubble: he wore an environment suit. He activated the machinery that stimulated the growth of the augmented cells in the janitor's lymph nodes, watching the still body until the stimulator turned off.
“Observe carefully,” said the Doctor.
Almost at once, all sores and diseased patches of skin disappeared from the test subject. There was nothing left of the illness.
The assembly of laboratory assistants applauded; Winston turned to accept their adulation. The body was still alive, but it would remain immobile until Winston could produce an artificial gland containing the augmented cells. Then, the body wouldn't matter anymore. They could kill it. He didn't notice their gasps until someone grabbed his shoulder from behind and spun him around.
He stood face-to-face with the walking body of Subject A. It opened the wilted orifice on its head that had been its mouth and sucked air into its lungs.
Then it forced the air through its decayed vocal cords. It spoke. “Doctor Winston.”
Winston, paralyzed, found no that reply came from his lips. He could only gape.
The corpse used its claw-like hands to tear the mask off Winston's face. A black liquid came from the pores on Subject A's fingers, finding its way into Winston's eyes. Within a second, the Doctor was blind. He screamed until he could no longer hear. His body grew numb. He heard the disease in his mind. It thanked Winston for his help before it ate what remained of his brain.
Mary was the first to recognize what had happened to the Doctor. She told the others to evacuate, but none of them showed any sign of hearing her. They watched in horror as Winston stumbled toward them, dragging the discarded body behind him.
Grabbing the young woman next to her, Mary looked into her eyes and asked, “Where is Subject B?” The woman remained silent in shock.
One of the other assistants turned to her, amazed at the irrelevance of her question. “Block 188.”
Mary ran.
Within five minutes, she had found the location of Subject B, but the door was locked. None of her attempts to force the door had the slightest chance of opening it, but when she knocked and shouted, “We need to get you out of there,” the door opened from the inside.
The man, whom she presumed was Subject B, looked at her with understandable astonishment; she was probably the first person other than Doctor Winston he had seen in weeks. “Where's the Doctor?”
“Dead, or close to it. Come on.”
The man wore normal clothes, but he was barefoot. “Let me get my shoes.” He ducked inside for a second. When he emerged from the room, she pulled his arm, and they ran as hard as they could.
As Subject B ran by her side, Mary cast several sidelong glances at him. He was taller than her; his legs carried him swiftly; his face revealed an understanding of why they fled.
Mary knew her way to the vehicle hangar. “We're going to take a rover to another Settlement,” she said breathlessly. “I know of one whose director is my friend.”
“How long until we get to a rover?”
“We're almost there.”
When they reached the hangar, several lab workers approached them. “Doctor Winston gave us orders to deny all personnel use of vehicles,” said one. He noticed the barefoot man next to Mary. “Who's he?”
“Allow me to introduce myself,” said Subject B. He extended his right hand. “Lawrence Cogburn.”
As the worker took Lawrence's hand to shake it, Lawrence slammed his left fist into the worker's chin, bringing him to the floor. Blood dripped from the worker's mouth. His companions, who had not expected Lawrence's violent reaction, left themselves open to the punches that brought them to the floor as well.
Before any of them could recover, he said, “Let's get the hell out of here.”
Mary took his hand. They ran to a nearby rover. It was sleek, fast, and expensive. It must have been Winston's. She shoved Lawrence into the passenger's seat; he seemed uncomfortable with the thought of driving it. The rover's engine started with no problems.
The workers had recovered enough to run towards the vehicle; it was time to go. Jamming her foot on the accelerator, Mary guided their rover to one of the exit tunnels. Using Doctor Winston's preset command console, she drove into the airlock, sealed it, and opened the door to the outside.
The surface!
Mary spoke to Lawrence as she tore down the rough road.
“My name is Mary. It's nice to meet you, Lawrence.”
“Call me Larry.”
They had remained silent since they had reached the desolate Martian road. The surface of Mars always evoked silence in the people who regarded it. Larry wondered how many hours had passed since their escape, and how many were to come before their flight would end.
He didn't mind the silence, but something bothered him. “Why did you help me?”
“Have you ever wondered what would happen if there were two people with an immune system like yours?”
“Occasionally.”
“Did you ever realize that two of you in close proximity would be the cause of rapid mutations in the strong diseases you carried?”
“That's what happened to the doctor?”
“Subject A—the other man who was part of the experiment—was by all means brain-dead. The illness had infested his nervous system. But Subject A stood from his operating table. He infected Winston with the same disease.”
“I knew it! The disease was intelligent!” Larry thought about how things had fallen into place since his arrival on Mars. “I thought Doctor Winston had followed me here. Instead, he followed the disease, which came here for me.”
“It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? I saw it myself, and I still can't believe it.”
Larry grew more anxious. “So, how did you kill it?”
“As far as I know, it's still alive.”
Larry had nothing more to say. He knew why she was taking him so far from civilization. The disease would never cease in its search for him.
The sound of the rover's wheels turning led Larry into a fitful repose. He had never liked sleeping in cars, and this road was rougher than any he had seen on Earth. But he slept. He had no definite dreams, only vague images of a rotten mass reaching out to him.
He awoke to the sound of radio static. Mary withdrew her hand from the dial, preparing to apologize, but Larry looked at the frequency displayed on the radio equipment, interrupting her with a worried movement of his hand. “How far must one go from the City before the radio signals weaken?”
“The stations have broadcast antennae all along the roads. They reach the Settlements with their transmissions. Why?”
He pointed to the dial. “This is the City's most popular station. Why is it broadcasting static?”
Mary ran the radio through its other Martian presets. The frequencies that were not static played the jarring tones of the emergency broadcast system. She looked at him, and there was no need to speak.
Half an hour later, they reached a fuel station on the side of the road. No one was there, except the station manager. He looked at them blankly through the airlock window. The automated fuel pump accepted their money.
They knew that turning back was even less of an option than it had been at the outset.
“We still going to a Settlement?” asked Larry.
“Mary nodded. “Nowhere else to go.”
Neither noticed the station manager using his office phone, staring at them as they left.
Mary looked across the small conference table to her long-time friend. She recalled the lines she had rehearsed with Larry, speaking them readily. It had been a long hour of negotiating the evacuation of this Settlement. Things had gone well so far; the Director seemed ready to consent with the demand.
“You know,” said her friend, “this explains the strange things that have happened today.”
Mary tried to hide her concern. “Like what?”
“You already know about the radio stations. Our colonists also reported quite a few bizarre phone calls from family members in the City. Every single call ended with the same request: look for a man and a woman.” He looked at the two. “In fact, their descriptions match yours.
“Interesting. Did they say anything else?”
“No, and that's just the thing.”
Mary had to think quickly. “They must have heard that we were coming to the Settlements, and wanted to reassure your colonists that help was on the way.”
The director believed her. “Very well. When should we evacuate?”
“As soon as possible. You should set up an encampment about two hundred kilometers away.”
“I'll begin the evacuation immediately.” The director glanced at the freshly-forged Directive from the Martian Health Organization, signed by none other than Doctor Winston. Mary smiled, happy that the Doctor's rover had contained the equipment necessary to create the forgery.
The colonists, who had always been a hardy group, left efficiently and without complaint. As she watched them packing the last of their meager belongings for their voyage, Mary was touched by the trust they had placed in her.
When the last of the two dozen colonists had disappeared over the farthest ridge in their all-terrain rovers, the two fugitives took a moment to relax. Larry smiled. “You're a slick liar.” He noticed that she was not pleased, so he changed the subject quickly. “It's odd what he said about those phone calls. I wonder why they were looking for us.”
Mary replied, “Remember how the disease ate away at the brain of the victim that Winston brought to the lab?” Larry nodded. “And do you remember what happened to Winston when he became infected?” Larry grew pale. “Don't forget that almost everyone in the City is sick.”
“They're all like Winston? That's horrible!”
“I don't think it's so bad as that. The disease is spread thin, so it can only make suggestions to its hosts.”
“It's looking for us.”
Mary didn't need to reply.
“I hope none of the colonists called back, to say that we arrived.”
They both knew it was true as soon as Larry said it.
“Well,” said Mary, “We can figure the disease will send the most advanced hosts—Winston and the original victim—to join with you.”
“And?”
“We can wait for them here. I have a plan for destroying this disease.”
It went completely wrong, thought Larry. He checked his watch. How long until destruction? Eight minutes?
“The reactor will over-load in five minutes,” prompted the Public Address system.
“Damn!” Mary's plan had backfired. He thought about the events of the past hour and wondered if he had any hope of living.
“Set a trap for it,” she had suggested. What better way than destroying the reactor while they fled from the Settlement? But they needed to make sure the disease had come. And it certainly had, but not in a form they had anticipated.
He thought about the tanker truck, filled with black, stinking ooze. Winston's corpse had pumped it into the plumbing.
Mary had become infected.
There was no escape, despite their careful plans. Mary had even said so, just before the disease had seized her.
Worse, he couldn't hide forever. He heard someone walking around in the sub-basement. How long before it finds me?
Mary's voice echoed off the cement. “Lawrence, you can make a deal. You can come with me. The disease only needs you one more time. And you can cure me. We can all leave happily.”
Larry shook his head in silence. How could he trust her? How could he trust it?
“Remember, Lawrence, that we don't have long.”
To emphasize this, the sirens began to blare. Why? he asked. Who the hell would stay here long enough to hear these?
He didn't want to die. If the disease lied, it wouldn't matter. If it told the truth, he had a chance.
“Take me,” he said.
He heard Mary walk to his hiding place. She fumbled for him in the dark.
Their hands met.
“Follow.”
She led him through the small Settlement complex with frightening accuracy. When they stopped, he saw it: the rotting corpse of the janitor in a tub of black filth.
“One minute,” the Public Address reminded him.
Larry took a deep breath. “Cure her first.”
“No time,” Mary said. “We must touch him.”
“But why?”
Mary dragged him to the janitor, forcing his hand to touch the body. The vile blackness crawled from the janitor to Larry's arm, then to his mouth, which was open in an effort to scream.
He heard a distant warning that they had only ten seconds to live.
He felt the disease inside him, moving, expanding. It covered his entire body.
He didn't know it, but the entire building was mired in slime when the reactor blew.
He felt an enormous heave under his feet and heard a distant rumble. Mary's hand still held his. The slime grew warmer, but became rather pleasant. He felt it shifting and hardening around him.
He had to be dead.
Waiting in the darkness, he fell asleep.
An engine, a radio announcer.
A voice. “Larry! Wake up!”
Mary? He opened his eyes, blinded by the Martian sun.
“Thank God! I thought you were gone!”
No Goddamn way. “We're alive?”
“You won't believe me, but I'll tell you anyway. We survived. Know how?”
His frown told her what he could not, through his shock: Of course not!
Mary laughed beautifully. He noticed that she was driving an odd vehicle. A tanker? “The disease! It saved us!”
“Excuse me?”
“It told me as it infected me. It needed you in order to evolve. But its aim was no longer to consume living things.”
“Then what would it eat?”
“Larry, it ate the thermonuclear reaction. It used the energy to grow, and it used you to adapt.”
“How did we get here?”
“The settlement survived. It just needs a new reactor. I took you to the hangar, where Winston's corpse had parked this thing.”
“And the disease?”
“God knows where it is. But it told me... to thank you.”
Larry couldn't stop laughing.