“No. I need Remedy’s help—or, rather, Genesis does.”
When Abel explains what’s happened on Genesis, Ephraim’s expression shifts from confusion to horror. “Dear God,” he whispers. “This is mass genocide.”
“Not if we can get them better antiviral drugs.” Abel has been calculating the probabilities. Earth virologists would have assumed that Genesis could receive no medical supplies from the worlds of the Loop, and thus would not have bothered reengineering Cobweb to be more drug resistant. “It would mean sending medical supplies to Genesis en masse, and if any entity is capable of doing that, it’s Remedy.”
“That’s a big if, my friend.” Ephraim shakes his head. “We have the people. We can get the drugs. What we don’t have is the network. Remedy is made up of individual cells that don’t know that much about one another; it’s safer that way, for everyone involved. Of course, that means we aren’t all on the same page about what we should be doing, and why, and how. Communication between cells is strictly limited.”
Ephraim breathes out in understandable frustration. The radical wing of Remedy sees the moderates as weaklings; the moderate wing sees the radicals as terrorists. Abel agrees with the latter philosophy but knows better than to take sides in a fight not his own.
“We’ve never acted in concert before,” Ephraim continues. “Never stood up as—as an army, mostly because your brother and sister mechs would kick our butts. Earth outguns us by a factor of ten.”
“More like a factor of one hundred and seventy.” Perhaps that correction was unnecessary. Abel quickly adds, “Forgive my interruption.”
“The thing is, what’s happening on Genesis—that’s what Remedy’s been waiting for! It’s a war crime, something so heinous Earth had to do it in secret. Plus, the bioengineering makes it clear that Earth was behind Cobweb all along. Even the bloodthirsty bastards who might be okay with biological warfare against Genesis would be furious to know Earth messed with its own people first. If the citizens of the colony worlds learn the whole truth about this, they might finally rise up. Earth’s own population might join us!” Pounding his fist into his open hand, Ephraim adds, “But we need proof. We need Remedy to band together to get that proof. And I don’t know how to make that happen.”
“There must be some form of communication,” Abel reasons. “Riko Watanabe had wider connections—”
“Yeah, but Riko and I parted ways more than four months ago. She got me set up with a new name, new identification—and I’m thankful for that—but we were never going to truly agree.” The narrowing of Ephraim’s eyes suggests regret, even hurt. Even as Abel registers this, Ephraim’s emotion is wiped away by new focus. “Higher-level operatives have relay codes for use only in major emergencies. Plug those codes into your communication, and you could get information to the large majority of Remedy pretty damn quick.”
The rest is obvious. “But you don’t have any of the relay codes, nor any idea how to obtain them.”
“Bingo,” Ephraim says. “Riko might have access to those, but again, she’s God knows where by now.”
“I found you within two hours,” Abel points out. “It seems rational to conclude that I can also find her.”
Ephraim turns out to have a booming laugh. “You’re the best detective I’ve ever known. How long do you think it’s going to take you, searching multiple planets? A whole day? A day and a half?”
“Noemi’s in trouble. I have to help her first.” Abel’s peripheral vision has been tracking the decryption this entire time.
“Wait. What’s happened to Noemi?”
Abel shakes his head. “You shouldn’t get involved. The situation is—complicated.”
Although Ephraim clearly doesn’t like the vague explanation, he accepts it. “Then what I’m going to do is reach out as broadly as I can. Right now it’s tough—we’re in a hurricane zone, about to see some people through a superstorm that’s making landfall within the day.”
Such superstorms have become more and more frequent during the past three hundred years—mega-hurricanes capable of lashing half a continent with their fury. Abel’s memory banks make it clear that during such times, chaos reigns. “You won’t be able to fully reach out until communications are unblocked after the storm.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t make some progress,” Ephraim insists. “I might not be able to contact many Remedy cells, but I might be able to find one that does have the relay codes. Regardless, I know I can get us connected to plenty of hospitals and medical ships. As soon as this storm’s passed, we’ll start gathering together as many antiviral drugs as we can. That way, once we get the info we need, we’ll be ready to act.”
The decryption glows brighter and clicks: Mansfield’s message has been unlocked.
“I have to go,” Abel says. “Proceed as quickly as you can, and don’t wait to hear from me again. According to Noemi’s account, Genesis has very little time.”
“Got it.” Ephraim’s facial expression indicates concern. “How much trouble are you and Noemi in?”
“You would find it more psychologically reassuring not to know.” Abel shuts off the communication without another word. He can’t waste even the few seconds it would take to reassure Ephraim Dunaway, not with Noemi’s life on the line.
He inserts the memory device into the holography unit and inputs the full decryption code. The hologram flickers into action and a blue-tinted image of Burton Mansfield takes shape—wearing a bathrobe, sitting in the same chair Abel occupies right now. His creator looks terrible, more dead than alive, and the creak in his voice pierces Abel through. But his words are even worse.
“So, you found the device right where I knew you’d look. You thought I didn’t understand what you’ve become, didn’t you? I do understand, Abel. That’s why you’re so precious to me.” This means That’s why I intend to take over your body. But Abel remains focused as Mansfield adds, “I’m giving you
