CLARK (to the screen)
You know, you’re really not the sort of critter I would prefer to
be spending my spare evenings with. Wait...I could have
phrased that better.
He places the mug down on the table and pushes up his thin-framed glasses.
CLARK
I mean, you’re not an animal. You’re not even a living thing, really.
Okay, you sort of are. But not really. I guess the cytocentric theory
of organism biology is pretty outdated at this point, anyway. So
what if you don’t have a cellular structure to speak of? You’re still
damn interesting.
He gives a wary glance over to the chrome box, which is gently whirring.
CLARK
Of course, you’ll excuse me if I don’t want to get TOO well
acquainted. Once was enough for me, Candidate 17. We should
really come up with a better name, but I think I’ll wait until
you’ve been formally described in the literature.
CLARK continues the painstaking work of modeling the virus’ RNA structure in a protein modeling program that looks, to the contemporary eye, severely outdated.
CLARK
Blake’s blood, I wish I had sprung for the cutting-edge software.
Oh well, who figured I’d be doing immunology again all these
years after finishing my post-doc work? Heh, nothing like
gene-sequencing on a budget.
CLARK opens a new window to begin plotting the necessary conditions for a PCR run to amplify useful amounts of cDNA from the small sample of RNA he managed to salvage after creating the vaccine.
CLARK
I guess we have time. It doesn’t look like the other members of
the Resistance are in any special hurry. But hey, planning secret
operations right takes time and resources. I hope they can accept
that we want to help. It’ll be nice to have some direction.
CLARK sets the program to run in the background, while a small “ding!” indicates that the necessary data has been acquired from the RNA sample. He gets up and walks over to the chrome box, donning gloves and a surgical mask just in case.
CLARK
It’s funny, when you think about it. We’re sort of like viruses in
the Word of Blake’s vision of Terra. We hide out in their structured
society, gathering strength and resources before bursting forth to
cause mayhem. There’s a little poetic license there, I grant you,
but a little truth, too. Maybe we’re not so different.
CLARK pauses.
CLARK
Except for the part where you indiscriminately kill untold numbers
of people. Who knows, though? I think this Resistance stuff might
start getting ugly before too long. Up until now, we haven’t had the
resources or logistic support to pull off anything that could actually
make a dent in their forces. I guess I don’t disagree with that in
theory. But actually killing people? Those TerraSec officers were
bad enough. I still dream about it, sometimes.
After a moment of sober silence, CLARK pops the top of the chrome machine open and carefully extracts a small, red-capped tube of cloudy media. Wisps of condensing vapor surround the open machine, indicating the low temperature inside the analysis chamber. The tube is labeled BIOHAZARD.
CLARK
It was sure a puzzle figuring out what those other Resistance guys
were up to. I think I could’ve figured it out my way with a few more
minutes, but...credit where credit’s due. The big grid got us the right
info. As far as we know, anyway. At least Simon was able to make
contact with Alexei and get us an exact date for the first operation.
CLARK returns with the virus to a refrigerator in the corner of his small working lab/operating theater. The refrigerator has a recently-installed electronic lock, which takes CLARK’s retinal scan before allowing him to enter the passcode on a digital keypad. He places the vial in a rack alongside a number of other samples of various animal pathogens.
CLARK
And how did Operation HPG go, you ask? Pretty normally. A couple
of Resistance agents put a signal router on the HPG’s main transmission
tower. Sounds like Shin and Cho made contact. Boy, if I could have
picked the LAST two people I’d want talking to someone I want to be
my ally...but they couldn’t have made too bad an impression. Could
they have?
CLARK grimaces and closes the fridge door. He strips off the gloves and mask and disposes of them in a BIOHAZARD canister.
CLARK
Boy, talking to viruses. I’ve hit a new low. My ma always
used to say I could make friends with anything that walked
or crawled on God’s green Earth. I think I need to start
screening my friends a little more carefully than I used to, though.
CLARK sits back down at his computer before glancing back over to the closed refrigerator.
CLARK
Especially friends who are so good at killing.
Fade to black as CLARK frowns.
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