Patterns of Chaos: Book One - The First War

Jennifer thumbed through the transcript she had stolen. Nothing she’d found out about Morsalis prior to her employment by Psi-Omega indicated this kind of brutal sadism. Nor in Karman’s history. He did have military training, serving as a member of the military police at West Point, given a medical discharge when he was diagnosed with cancer, no reprimands on file. Hired by Psi-Omega Industries in 2048. Morsalis was a graduate of the University of Barcelona, minor in psychology, major in political studies. Originally hired as a negotiator for Psi-Omega’s government contracts, diagnosed with early stage Lou Gehrig’s Disease in 2046.

Similar files were easy to find for most of Paul’s inner cabal. Tilial Dalth, former RAF pilot, several medals, medical discharge for cancer. The major exception to this rule of employing people who were already dying seemed to be Simon Peters. Multiple PhD’s in medicine and robotics. Hired as chief researcher in 2042. So before Psi-Omega hit international prominence.

If Paul had bought the others’ loyalties by saving their lives, what was Peters’ loyalty based on? All the records she had obtained showed that the doctor, while approaching middle age, was healthy as the proverbial horse.

“More coffee, ma’am?” The waiter at the sidewalk cafe in London had appeared beside her. The cafe was spitting distance from where the embassy had once stood.

“Thank you, please.” In addition, Jennifer had never really been to London, and since Paul was technically paying for it, why not mix a little business with pleasure? She went over more and more information, trying to deduce how so many had sold their souls to the insane devil orbiting the moon.

Her coffee refilled again, she noticed a slice of blueberry pie had been delivered alongside it. “Pardon me, I didn’t order this?”

The waiter pointed out an elderly man across the cafe. “He sent it, ma’am. Said it was your favourite.”

The man was staring at her. His face was vaguely familiar, and not just because her bore a passing resemblance to the actor Donald Pleasance. Blueberry was her favourite, however, so she put her files away and carried it over to where he was sitting.

“Do I know you?”

“Probably not. But I know you, dear girl.” The man’s voice was American, mid-west, Kansas perhaps.

“Really, and how would you?” The town she and Paul had grown up in was smack dab on the Canadian border, so she certainly didn’t have too much connection with people from that part of-

This will make you well.

A voice from the past. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his rather sad-looking face.

She was six years old, and she was dying. Cancer, they called it, saying it was in her neck. They could not operate; only give her injections that made her throw up and her hair fall out. She was awake sometimes, but unconsciousness was always welcomed, for in the land of dreams she was not sick and had hair like other little girls. She had heard a noise that had woken her up that night.

The boy across the room was dying too. He had a funny last name, she had heard he had been hurt badly by another boy at school. That wasn’t right. A doctor was there, injecting something into the boy’s arm.

The pie plate fell out of Jennifer’s hand in shock.

As he was injecting the boy, he saw little Jenny looking at him. He pulled the half-full needle from the boy’s arm, looking at her sadly. He walked over, looked at the papers on the end of her bed.

“Poor child.” He had whispered, and then looked around. Making a shushing gesture, he injected the rest of the needle into her IV. “This will make you well.” He smiled, but it was a sad smile.

Like the one he wore now. “Who are you?” Jennifer whispered.

“My name is Crichton. And, I guess I am the man who damned the world.”

Jennifer escorted the elderly man back to where she was staying, making him sit on the bed, while she occupied the only chair.

“From the beginning, doctor.” Jennifer was surprised to see her hands shaking.

“The beginning, dear child?” Crichton shook his head. “The beginning was the discovery of DNA. When Watson and Crick published and were awarded the Nobel Prize for their work, that was when my work began.” he paused. “Actually, it goes more recent than that. Robert Gallo discovered the first human retrovirus in 1979, and the governments of the world were so interested in his research. I had been studying animal retroviruses at the same time as he was, wondering how best to apply the idea to human beings. I theorized that a retrovirus could be used not only to cure diseases such as cancer, but as a way to alter our own genetic profile, to make us something more than we were.”

He paused to drink some water. “Do you remember what was going on in the world at that time?”

“The Cold War, the Iran-Iraq war, African genocides, the AIDS epidemic…”

“Exactly so. The threat of annihilation of all human life on Earth seemed iminent. I threw everything into my project, maintaining as much secrecy as I could. And in 1985, I had the breakthrough: a retrovirus that consumed dead or dying cells and excreted stem versions of whatever it consumed.” He sighed. “Of course, it only worked on mice to start with. Any cancers they were infected with were cured quickly, and then I exposed them to hard vacuum. Freezing temperatures. And of course, radiation. The results were certainly impressive, but the time had come for a human trial.”

“Me.” Jennifer stated more than asked.

Crichton looked up at her. “Heavens no, dear child. Him.” He pointed at the ceiling, his meaning clear. “The purest test of Project Paradigm, that was what I called it, was to infect someone gravely injured to the point of death. Therefore, I studied news reports, and discovered one about a young boy whose skull had been crushed in a ‘schoolyard accident’, was essentially brain-dead. He was perfect in another sense, as young as you were at the time, I could study the long-term effects in secret. But, something happened when I went to the hospital that day.”

Jennifer was hanging onto his every word. “What was that, doctor?”

Crichton laughed brittlely. “I had an attack of conscience. My goal was to save lives -First Do No Harm- and lying opposite that poor boy was a young girl dying of cancer. So I only administered half the dose to the boy, and the other half to the girl.”

Jennifer felt tears forming in her eyes and wiped them away. “So why didn’t the project continue? Why aren’t there others?”

“Oh the project continued more or less. Until the world changed. I had concerns when it became obvious that he paralyzed the boy who had injured him, but shrugged them off. But then he found out something had been done to him.”

“Paul found the retrovirus?”

“Basically, yes. I noticed his intelligence had made leaps and bounds since his brain repaired itself. And I felt a kinship with him when he started to take his interest in science. However, when he found the retrovirus...he made a logical jump that still confounds me. Rather than think that an outside party had introduced it to his system, he decided that instead, the retrovirus had always been there, and as such, that he was the next step in human evolution. Even I realized that something was very wrong then.”

Jennifer nodded. “That was when he began amassing followers. Promising immortality to his select few.”

“Yes. And when he discovered how to bolster the original retrovirus, mutate it into its new form.” Chrichton shook his head in disbelief. “To this day, I have no idea how he did it.”

Jennifer rose, walked to the balcony door, looked out over the London skyline. “I couldn’t tell you either. All I know is he injected both of us with his formula. He didn’t say anything about retroviruses or finding the source in his own blood. He…” Jennifer’s voice faltered. “He told me that we would live forever, that our love would outlast man’s foolishness. And God help me, I believed him.”

Chrichton put his hand on her shoulder. “About living forever?”

“About love. I learned too late that he only loves power. The more he has, the more he loves it.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. “And because a teenage girl was dumb enough to believe him, the world is on the brink of a new war. Because I couldn’t bring myself to kill him when I realized what he had become.”

“Really? Do you think that the current state of affairs is all because of your inaction? From what I’ve been able to put together, you left him to die in an explosion he prepared.”

She nodded.

“Do you really believe that you could have done something more...permanent in the time you had? Being incinerated in a blast seems rather permanent to me.”

The elderly man turned her to face him. “No, my dear. You have no guarantee that shooting him with a gun or strangling the life from him would have been any more permanent than trying to blow him up. I was not lying when I said that I am the one who damned the world. The road to hell, good intentions, and all that. The threat above our heads is my doing. My unfortunate legacy.” Chrichton’s eyes were equally wet. “But I hope that you might be my greater legacy. The one who rose against the madness that I accidentally unleashed on the world.”

Jennifer blinked back further tears. “Doctor...how old are you?”

Chrichton smiled. “Far older than I should be. I needed to see how this ends. Which of you will be triumphant. But, the Paradigm retrovirus was not designed to defeat old age, only injury and disease. Your lack of aging is the result of his work. Not mine.” He sat back down. “Yes, I administered the retrovirus to myself as well. My aging merely slowed, and soon I will pass on. Humans were not meant to live forever, after all. I viewed my work as no different than all the other advances we’ve made over the past few hundred years to extend our lifespans a little bit more each time.” Chrichton sighed deeply now. “I gave myself the extra years of life more as a punishment; forcing myself to watch what I had been the cause of.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Jennifer whispered. “Any more than I could have.”

“You’re probably right. And yet I still chose to play God.” He reached into his jacket and removed a small medical phial. “This is the last of the Paradigm retrovirus. I will entrust it to you, if only because I believe you have far better judgement than I do, Miss Safyo.” His sad eyes met hers, and he smiled again. “For what it is worth, I am very proud of how you’ve turned out. You’ve struggled, but didn’t give in to despair.” He stood, placed a hand on her shoulder. “Keep fighting, my dear child. Don’t let the madness hovering over all our heads win.” He shuffled to the door.

“Doctor Chrichton...thank you.” Jennifer smiled at him through tears. “Thank you for saving my life as a child. I never had a chance to say it to you then, I thought you were a dream.”

“My dear, as far as I am concerned you are the dream.” And with that, he was gone.