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Contravene Birth

02.04

"Nobody knows what happened."
      No kidding. "Of course nobody knows what the hell happened! That's the way it always works: something goes wrong, nobody knows why!" Doctor David Marcus took in a deep breath to calm himself. He was not normally a man of such strong words, but when things went so wrong as this, he couldn't help contain himself. "I want the exact times when this happened, and I want to know who was on shift then. One way or another, we're going to get to the bottom of this."
      The subordinate shift supervisor nodded meekly, turning away to follow the terse orders from his boss. Marcus glared at him on his way out, his veins coursing with an anger he had not felt in a long time. Aside the fact that this took weeks of his valuable time, along with that of his entire primary staff and the facility's resources, they had ruined a completely good test subject. What were the chances of them getting another one? The first one, surprise and awe aside, was a chance in a million. Normally, these things were killed on contact—the blatancy of war—but for one to be brought in with such a usable condition, preserved just for this purpose…it was maddening to lose it just like this.
      But this wasn't a simple mistake or natural fault with the developing being. No, this was something intentional done by someone with access to the chamber. He had reviewed the overnight information recordings, and saw an inexplicable change all of a sudden in the neural activity of the alien. Aside from that damning evidence—which had to be caused by some outside entity—the facility's computer recorded a mysterious opening of the chamber door late last night at the exact time the neural activity changed. Moreover, the computer, unluckily enough, had not recorded the perpetrator for some reason, a sure sign that someone had deliberately done this.
      Now, all they had left was a dead being still in the chamber, at an estimated ninety-percent developed. It was large, huge even by some standards, and was nearly ready to leave the chamber and be transferred to a holding cell for further study. Its consciousness had reached a near full level, and physical features were almost wholly developed; the only thing that remained was its birth from the natural protective bond encapsulating it. They were so close to learning everything about the early post-birth stages of this being, such as its instinctual and knowledge development—a very perplexing question even to him, as the being was to be considered an "adult," yet had no worldly experiences—along with its perception and awareness of birth into captivity.
      Everything was ruined now, though. Sabotage was the right word for it, and Marcus couldn't hold in the anger of this happening right under all their noises. It had to be someone with high clearance, because the chamber door was locked and required a security approval of only one level below his own. Who would do this? Who would destroy the project?
      "Sir, we just heard."
      He turned around to see two of the facility's Security Forces standing before him, their polished black shoes, spotless and creased black pants, and impeccable white collared shirts—overshadowed by a matching black tie—sporting black epaulets returning a very disciplined appearance of the men that kept this compound secure, but he wasn't impressed considering their failure to stop this. Marcus' eyes drifted down to their black utility belts, and briefly upon the hands that rested on the semi-automatic side-arms, as if his sudden shouting through the intercom to the security station had seriously aroused safety concerns. He looked up at the senior guard and waived him off dismissively.
      "You're about three hours too late, you won't need those now."
      "Yes, sir." The senior guard replied, consciously taking his hand off the side-arm still holstered and placing it behind his back in an 'at-ease' position, an obvious indication of his prior military experience. "What are we looking at?"
      "Unauthorized entry to the test chamber," Marcus said, motioning down the white featureless hallway towards the chamber doors. He looked down at the nametag of the man before him, blinking in recognition of the name.
      "Forced entry?" K. Dillon replied.
      "No, they had the clearance, but not the authorization to do whatever they did to kill our entire project."
      Dillon reached his hand up to the earpiece and pressed in, obviously receiving some sort of communication. He listened for a moment while staring at Dr. Marcus, his eyes hard and his expression emotionless, finally turning to his partner a moment later and bringing his hand back to his side. "Surveillance has everyone who accessed the chamber in the last eight hours on screen. Take Team Two with you and get them all here, even if they've already departed from the premises."
      The other guard nodded quickly, turning on his heels to head back to the surface. Dillon faced the Doctor again, a confident look on his face. "We've identified the perpetrator."
      Marcus brought a hand to his forehead, deciding whether or not he really wanted to know.
      "A Doctor Gregory Sheene accessed the chamber at 0103 hours, according to video surveillance."
      The director grunted in resentment, knowing that employee of this facility. He was a younger, middle class technician who did the menial yet necessary tasks to keep these projects going. Every encounter he had had with the man was courteous and uneventful, and he would have never considered him to be a treasonous fool with motive to ruin what was potentially the most prospective endeavor ever undertaken by any research and development facility.
      Though, admittedly, appearances were deceiving, and anyone could have been capable of such an act if they had the right cause and motivation. Now, with this event painfully present, he began to doubt just how reliable most of his staff was. With over a hundred employees under him, and with personal relationships with only about dozen or so, he did not know the majority of them well enough to ascertain their reliability and honesty towards what they were trying to achieve here. For all he knew, they all could be saboteurs waiting to act if the circumstances were right.
      No, now he was thinking far too eccentrically. He could trust his staff, as they went through a rigorous back-record scan, psychological evaluation and selective process sponsored by the United Nations Department of Defense. This was just in isolated incident—a very maddening isolated incident—that did not reflect upon the loyalty of the rest. Moreover, he couldn't hold a grudge against the Security Forces, for how could they have known that this Sheene fellow wasn't conducting some routine business? Rather, this whole failure was upon this one man, with no one else to blame. The best thing he could do for himself was at least start to get over this, and put his sights upon some future undertaking.
      If his mind could ever forgive this bastard and forget all the potential lost.
      "No, no, no."
      Marcus turned to see a tired yet frantic Matthew Swanson turn down the corridor from an intersecting one, his distressed voice echoing throughout the empty hallways. Understandably, he had not been on site, considering that it was only after four in the morning, thus his ungainly appearance was acceptable. He watched as his colleague moved past him and the senior security commander and down a ways to the chamber entrance, silently waiting as he swiped his card, entered the pin, then inserted his finger upon the security console. The two chamber doors opened, red lights flashing in general announcement at the act, and the drowsy doctor stepping inside and out of sight.
      The sight was a near exact repeat of what Marcus had done merely ten minutes ago, and he closed his eyes and waited for Swanson to exit the chamber. He pictured the sight in his head as he stood there, remembering vividly opening the door himself and walking into the large white, circular chamber, looking intently at the divan in the center, surrounded by the computers and machinery that made everything automatic or remote operable from the control room ten meters above. That very fact meant that the chamber was not supposed to be accessed unless there was a mechanical or computer problem—everything was supposed to be done from the control room, for safety and clarity.
      Then there was the sight of the motionless alien on the divan, still encapsulated in the slimy, oval cosset that had developed and enlarged as the creature did within. Such a menacing, chilling being that once heaved slightly with life was now motionless, the digital display overhead showing zero life. He was honestly scared of the thing, knowing the power and speed invested within that alien—as everyone else did—but he didn't want it to just die before they could finish the project. This left too many questions unanswered, too many possibilities open; now it was all lost.
      Swanson walked out a minute later, a hand on his forehead in anguish. The negative effect was obviously just as strong upon him as it had been for Marcus, and he could see the veins in his neck coursing strongly, something fairly uncommon for the man in his mid-forties. He looked back inside the chamber, finally closing the door with a press to the security console, and began walking back down the white corridor towards them.
      "It was Sheene," Marcus said flatly.
      There was a silent curse. "I can't believe this. After everything, after how close we got…"
      Shouting originated from down one of the many corridors, provoking all three men to look in the direction of the unusual sound. Sure enough, Dr. Gregory Sheene came around a distant corner, not struggling but clearly contesting his sudden arrest by the two guards who pulled him along towards the two directors and security commander. The trio waited in silence as the guilty man was brought before them, his face contorted with surprise and fear.
      Dillon nodded for the two guards to ease up on him, and Sheene shook them off, looking condescendingly at the two men who had dragged him down here. The culpable doctor then looked over at Marcus and Swanson, his face full of question, as if he didn't know why he had just been pulled away from his graveyard shift to the lowest level of the subterranean complex.
      "Well?" Swanson said expectantly.
      Sheen looked at him, his face still in confusion yet his eyes betraying him. "Well what?"
      Marcus had to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing the man by the collar. "Why'd you do it?"
      His expression changed slightly, as if realizing that he couldn't play the 'it wasn't me' card on them. Sheene took a deep breath in, his eyes darting between the two directors, his mouth open but his mind delaying as it tried to form the right words. The two gazes seemed to cut through him, and the younger technician blanked for a moment. That was all they needed to convict him, but both directors wanted an explication, a reason for this treason.
      "I, well, we," he stuttered through the first couple words, as if he was still formulating a response. Marcus, having considerable experience in inter-personal communication as one of his minors during college, interpreted the delaying act as either an attempt to formulate a believable yet false story in his defense, or his mind trying to decide how much information to share. It was damning evidence on the guilty man's part, but apparently trying to look good wasn't a high priority anymore.
      "Let's start with what you put in the chamber, okay?" Dillon said after another moment of silence, his voice steady but his eyes critically condemning the technician.
      "I can explain, it's not what you think—"
      "Bullshit," Swanson interrupted. "This is exactly what we think."
      Marcus held up a hand, a surprising gesture contradicting his own feelings for this treasonous man. "Start from the beginning, and tell us what you did."
      Sheene nodded, taking a deep breath, finally settling on where he should start. Marcus withheld words in suit with Swanson's, as his quick talking resembled a guilty man trying to cooperate for his own good. "I discovered a substance during my side-studies of the parent being that existed within its spinal chord, a substance that was extremely rich in minerals and other unidentified matters." The doctor wiped the perspiration off his brow, continuing in a shaky tone. "Upon further testing, I found it to be connected directly with the parent being's brain, as if it were some sort of assistance in its consciousness. Sometime later, while the test subject was still in early development, I saw the same substance forming in its developing spinal chord, so I did a comparison test to see the full extent of the similarities, and found…"
      His voiced trialed off, much to the annoyance and dislike of all those around him. Swanson raised a hand, gesturing gruffly for the man to continue. Sheene nodded and took another deep breath, looking down at the ground as he continued. "We—I found that they were exact matches. Granted, the parent being and the developing one would share a considerable amount of genetic code, but nothing is exact, you know that, of course."
      Both directors nodded.
      "So we deduced that if the parent being and the developing being had the exact same substance embedded within them, that the spinal chord was the focal point of growth for the alien, and that the substance was intrinsically intertwined with their consciousness, then it meant that the developing being would have all the same consciousness properties of the parent—memories, abilities, intelligence—or, easier said, taking into account that its physical properties stemmed off the spinal chord, the developing being would be an near exact copy of the parent being."
      Marcus raised his eyebrows, all his prior anger towards this man suddenly gone and his mind going into overdrive. If this was true, it would explain why the alien developed completely physically to become an "adult" while still having never entered the world to gain its own existence. It would explain development, learning, natural abilities—everything. Why hadn't he made such a connection?
      "So it's a natural clone of the parent." He said dryly.
      Sheene nodded nervously. "Exactly."
      Swanson frowned. "You still haven't told us what you did."
      There was another pause. "Well, we—I did some research," Sheene stuttered, but regained his composure enough to continue. "I was able to access the records of the shipment of the parent being, and found that it was transferred to us through the some unknown branch of the UNSC, well, it didn't say, but I did track down the man who had sent it to us. We never conversed directly, and I never got anything more than a first name, but he apparently thought I was one of you two, and forwarded an information package without even asking.
      "It was a lot of data I haven't even looked over, but the one thing I did stumble upon was the account of how they actually got the parent being—"
      "Why didn't any of this come up to us?" Swanson asked, cutting him off.
      "Initially I was going to, but we—I had thought to look into it a little more first, because of this hunch I had; I didn't want to approach you empty-handed." Swanson was obviously not satisfied with the answer, but beckoned for him to continue. "There was a transcript account of how the parent being was retrieved, and it was sort of, well—"
      Marcus was fully enamored with this elaborate story, but didn't have the patience for this stuttering man to continue. "Take us to your office, where this information better be."
      Sheene nodded, now looking sheepishly at the two guards by his side. They turned around and began walking back down the corridor towards the main elevator to the surface, the two directors and the security commander pausing for a moment as Sheene and his escorts got farther ahead.
      "Do you believe this?" Marcus asked blatantly.
      Swanson looked over, his voice betraying his curiosity. "I'll let you know when I read that information."
      "Then let's find out what this punk has been hiding from us."



      Doctor Gregory Sheene's office was small, but held all six of them well enough. It had one lone window, overlooking a grass courtyard and a far-off chain-linked fence that surrounded the entire surface-portion of the facility. Street lamps illuminated the area, a far different scene from the well lit, white corridors, and in the distance the horizon began to warm to a light yellow.
      Normally, Marcus loved the mornings, but this morning was one straight from his worst premonitions. Everything had gone wrong, and on top of that, he was just now uncovering information that had been withheld by this man for over a week. How much other data was with this supposed information? Perhaps, if he had gotten it, along with the results from Sheene's testing of the parent being, things would have come together far more easily.
      But he couldn't rest everything—well, most of everything—upon Sheene's treasonous incompetence. He hadn't even considered tracing the source of the delivery any farther than the military contact who had just said it was a "test subject courtesy of the UNSC." That was one of his shortcomings, which meant he would have never gotten this information packet, but even still, at least that alien would still be alive if Sheene had never been in the picture. He had to admit, though, that in Sheene's disobedience and betrayal, he had gotten something that would be of help in the future. Of course, that didn't get him off the hook; he would be seeing a prison cell in the near future.
      "Here it is, all of it." The guilty doctor said, bringing it up on his computer screen.
      "Alright," Swanson said, nodding. "Bring up the portion you were last talking about."
      A few key taps later and the screen filled with text. Both directors walked up closer to the screen, squinting to read what lay before them. Their expressions changed from annoyance to interest quickly as they examined the information, their methodical minds devouring it.

      The target was identified as a High-class warrior (UNSC Designation: 'Elite'), and, according to the Covenant armor-ranking system, was branded a Company Commander (Intercepted Covenant Rank Designation: 'Field Master'). The target was directing subordinate units into combat when it was singled out by -CONTENT DELETED- and neutralized, using a special electro-paralysis round under the direct order of -CONTENT DELETED- (Note: See Electro-Paralysis in the Non-Lethal Weaponry database for more information).
      The target was presumed dead by hostile forces, and was not evacuated from the Area of Operations (AO) by Covenant forces. Special air support was called in to deter the hostile units while -CONTENT DELETED- retrieved the body and evacuated it to friendly space.
      Upon a physical review aboard the -CONTENT DELETED-, it was found that the 'Elite' contained an unknown contagious infection, one that had fully developed until the time period between its seizure and the physical review. The three reviewers caught the infection and were quarantined immediately. Special precautions were then taken and a second team went in to review the 'Elite,' finding that the infection still subsisted, allowing them to take a sample for testing.
      Testing of the infection revealed that is was actually an offset to an unknown Covenant-induced substance that is injected into its soldiers. The substance, still unknown as to its purpose, was by some means aggravated by the electro-paralysis's neutralizing shock, mutating it away from its intended purpose to a flesh-infection. Moreover remarkable, the transformation from substance to infection took place in a time window of less than an hour, and the contagiousness developed in less than fifteen minutes thereafter. Infection of the original review team took an estimated forty-five seconds upon their entry to the test room, and symptoms developed in a notable mere five minutes.
      Symptoms upon the 'Elite' were heavy bruising around all major arteries, in addition to brain swelling and spinal chord deformation. Neural activity of the 'Elite' altered dramatically, despite its unconscious state, and ascended to a peak before the test subject died of brain failure. It was at this point that -CONTENT DELETED- directed the deceased test subject to be handed over to a research facility for subsequent testing.
      For the infected review team, symptoms included nausea, inflammation of the eyes, back pain, and severe headache. The symptoms ascended to a high—which included unusual brain activity—before all bodily functions ceased upon brain failure. From these premises, it was deduced that the infection was a primarily brain and mental-oriented illness, and at this time no cure is known to exist.
      However, the infection is only known to be produced by electro-paralysis shocking of a live 'Elite,' and should therefore be fully avoidable so long as that weapon is not used against this particular species.
      The substance found with the 'Elite,' which reacted negatively to the electro-paralysis weapon used upon it, is suspected to be an enhancing additive to the alien's diet as a standard augmentation prior to entering combat. The substance, perhaps considered more of a drug, is supposed to increase reflexes and mental reactions times, as well as raise the pain-threshold of the alien considerably. From this information, we believe the Covenant intentionally—though maybe not openly—inject all combat units with this drug as a means of gaining better and more reliable troops on the battlefield.

      Marcus let out a whistle, frowning as he finished reading the portion on the screen. Drugging their troops for combat? It wasn't all that foreign of an idea, since humanity had done that—and perhaps still did—many times to turn men into machines, free of conscience and fear to kill and obey. Still, he had always figured that those menacing 'Elites' were naturally strong, fast, and fearless. Perhaps they were to a high degree, but whoever commanded this Covenant wanted more than just that.
      Though, unfortunately, that was not the condemning part. The clincher was the infection, the 'reaction' of this substance to the electro-paralysis weapon. It was obviously fatal, everyone in the initial review team's deaths testimony of that, and deductively it was very contagious. The infection and symptom times were nearly unheard of, and more accurately resembled a manufactured biological weapon than a simple reaction to one of their specialized weapon. How could something of complete accident create such a damning disease?
      This information obviously tied back in with Sheene and his decision not to approach them. Somehow, this report convinced the man that doing the "right thing" was not to sound out his concerns, and contrarily take some action to kill the developing being. But why? Why would it be more right for Sheene to take such extreme actions before even approaching them? Something was missing; there had to be a reason.
      "And so," Sheene said, staring blankly at the screen, "if the parent being developed this infection before the its offspring was extracted…"
      Marcus turned away and stared out the window, his pride yelling at himself for missing the ever-clear reason. If the parent being developed this disease—found to be deadly both to humans and to this species—before the embryo was removed, and with the offspring being a natural clone genetically of the parent being, then the infected heredity was transferred over as well. If that being were to leave its encapsulated state, the infection could have spread everywhere.
      "I see it now," Marcus stated bleakly, suddenly realizing why Sheene had taken such pre-emptive actions. "But even still, we would have made the same decision you had; we would have stopped this."
      Sheene nodded, believing him. "I know that, Doctor, but one more thing complicated the situation."
      Everyone in the room looked at him expectantly.
      "We still don't know for sure whether the infection would have carried over to the developing being; we had good reason to believe so, but not absolute proof. On top of that, it was about to birth any hour at that point, and if it left its cosset everyone could have potentially been infected. I couldn't wait for you two to react to the information, especially when it wasn't one-hundred percent certain; I either acted upon my information at that moment, or waited as this infection leveled the entire facility."
      Swanson leaned back, conflicted by his own emotions. "He's right. Unless we could be sure that the developing being was going to be infected, I wouldn't have allowed it."
      Marcus nodded in agreement. So much had already come along, and for them to kill the alien under the mere suspicion that the infection would carry over...well, it wouldn't have happened, not if he could have helped it. Part of him still denied that Sheene had done anything right, but seeing it from the younger man's perspective, it was indeed the safest move to take under the time constraints.
      "Put Doctor Sheene on monitored house arrest for the time being, we'll decide what to do later."



      Dr. Marcus collapsed into his office chair, his mind exhausted from the day full of contemplation and division. He was tired, and the events of the day had taken a radical toll, now leaving him with an empty feeling. He couldn't morally charge Gregory Sheene with anything higher than dismissal from the facility, because the man had, given the circumstances, done the right thing. He couldn't have said he would have acted, which was exactly Sheene's reason for not telling them first, or even afterward, but that didn't change the facts surrounding the incident.
      Though the emptiness was not from what he knew to do with the charged man, but rather with the pointless outcome of the project. Aside form learning some interesting facts about the species, as well as some alarming information about the Covenant as a whole—which would be properly passed up to the right people as soon as he willed himself to make the call—they ended the venture with nothing of significance. As a whole, nothing would be held against them and their "wasted" time, but on a personal level he felt the disappointment. Here was his chance to make a difference, a real difference in this war, but the inauspicious factors in this creature's capture meant that they could not, in full confidence, carry out the ordeal.
      Maybe there would be another time, another project that held the same potential. Marcus leaned forward and filled the small shot glass with the dark alcoholic fluid, watching in misery as it filled to the top. He cocked his head back and downed the foul liquid, wishing that something else could have come of this. At least there was some possibility in the future, some hope to achieve what he longed for.
      To end this war.
      The ringing phone cut through his dark outlook of the reality around him, and he reached out a weary arm. He didn't especially feel like talking to anyone at the moment, but it was something to occupy the time and distract his mind from its bleak downward spiral.
      "Yeah?"
      "David, it's Matt."
      Marcus leaned back in his chair, bringing a hand to cover his eyes. "What is it?"
      "There's another factor, one that no one knew about." Swanson paused on the other end, the shuffling of papers filling the line for a moment. "I've got the full print off of that information packet Sheene had gotten, and there's some stuff in here that complicates things."
      So this isn't over? "I'm listening."
      "This species has a phenomenal immune system, on that is capable of defeating all but the toughest viruses and diseases, such as that infection produced by the electro-paralysis weapon, but in most cases it can persevere. When a destructive organism is implanted into the body of one of these aliens, the immune system goes to work at destroying it, but aside from whether it succeeds or fails, the methods it uses to destroy—or at least begin to destroy—the infection is somehow copied down subconsciously into that matter found in the spinal chord, which as we know transposes down from the parent being into the offspring.
      "This, in turn, means that the whatever natural measures were taken to beat off any attacking organism within the body are given to all subsequent offspring, making them invulnerable to the same disease at any future point in time. Of course, this is assuming that the immune system prevailed the first time, but as I had said, even its mere attempts at breaking the disease are recorded for future use by its progeny."
      "Okay," Marcus said, thinking. "But the parent being did not survive that infection."
      "Right, but the attempt the immune system made while it was still living were recorded down into the developing being's genetic memory."
      Marcus let out a sigh. "And your point? The developing being is dead."
      Swanson's voice became energetic. "Yes, however it was only brain dead."
      "What?"
      "What Sheene did was add a narcosis to the divan, something that distorted and then agitated the brainwaves of the developing being, which—because of its delicate state, being unborn and all—killed it from that aspect solely. However, because it is still in its protective cosset, the body has remained in an impeccable state, being fully functional just without a mind to support it. Contrary to what we might have assumed, it will not rot or decay so long as it is in that cosset."
      Marcus took his hand off his eyes and leaned forward. "The body will be perfectly preserved then, so what?"
      "Dave, I believe we can revive it." There was silence over the line. "Upon further research, I have concluded that we can reignite brain activity, thus reviving the being and finishing birth."
      "What about the infection? What if it does exist in it?"
      Swanson paused on the other end. "All containment protocols will be followed. It will be safe."
      Marcus rubbed his chin, considering what his colleague was saying. If they did try and revive it—successfully—then this project could continue, possibly even achieving his greatest goal at heart. If it did continue, though, and that infection was found to exist without a counter, they would be in a very precarious position.
      "Meet me down there in the morning," Swanson added persuasively. "Let's at least talk about this face-to-face."
      "Alright."
      The phone turned off with a slight beep, and Marcus placed it on the table gently, considering what he had just been presented. He wanted to continue this endeavor, to take it to those great lengths and accomplish something that could change the tide of war. With this being considered, if they took every precaution necessary to contain that infection, should it exist in the first place, they would still be safe and able to continue for as long as it remained alive. Maybe if they were lucky, the developing being's immune system will beat it off and they could develop an antidote, and could hit two problems with one stone.
      Marcus' mind indulged in the possibilities that this could attain. His rational side reminded him that Swanson's idea was purely theoretical, and may not even work, but if it did, they could do something monumental; something great.
      He reached out and poured another glass of alcohol, but instead watched in excitement as it filled up the small glass, not pessimism. A slight grin stretching across his face as the Doctor reached out and ingested the dark liquid; not anymore in despair or misery, but now of exhilaration and optimistic forethought. The smile continued to shine as three words crossed his mind, renewing his resolve and enthusiasm towards the entire project.
      It's not over.



      "Hello?"
      "Brent, it's Greg."
      The voice on the other end of the line sighed. "Damnit, do you know what time it is? I just got out of there, and now you wake me up—"
      "Brent, there's a problem."
      Gregory Sheene heard his friend role over and sit up. "So you did it?"
      "Of course I did, just as we discussed, but I was caught."
      "How?" The question was completely sincere. "I disabled the computer recording for you to get in and out without being traced."
      "Yeah, well I guess we forgot about the damn video surveillance."
      "What the hell, Greg? I told you I can't get into that portion of the system, it's controlled solely by Security. You were just supposed to be discrete enough."
      Sheene cursed. "Well thanks for the accurate locations of all the cameras."
      "Bullshit, man. If you couldn't keep a rag over your face or something, that's not my damn problem." The man took a calming breath, pausing for a moment as he thought. He came back over the line, his voice more sympathetic. "Listen, Greg, I'm sorry. I thought I had enough information so you could get in and out without being recorded outright. How bad is it?"
      "I'll be incarcerated for sure, though maybe not for as long as I might have thought. After I was apprehended I told Marcus and Swanson about the predicament, and they seemed more understanding. But there's another hitch."
      "The being is dead, right?"
      "Yes," Sheene replied. "The narcosis worked, just as you directed, but as I was being escorted off the premises, Doctor Swanson stopped me and asked what I did to kill it. I told him about the narcosis and—"
      "You did what?" The question was full of surprise.
      "I told him about the narcosis, and—"
      "Oh, shit." The man went on to curse several more times, his tone full of fear. "What were you thinking? Are you mad?"
      Sheene took the response defensively. "What do you mean 'am I mad?' Who cares anymore, Brent? It's dead, we did our part."
      The cursing didn't subside on the other end of the phone. "So they know that it's only brain dead?"
      "Yes, that's why I'm telling you this. I think they want to revive it." Sheene pulled the phone away from his ear as a long foul word flooded through the phone on the other end. "I know, I know, we're back to square one."
      "No, no, no. That thing can't be allowed to birth—not yet, at least."
      "The infection? I know. I don't know what to do."
      There was a sigh of exasperation on the other end. "That's the least of my concerns."
      Sheene paused. "What are you talking about?"
      There was rustling sound over the phone, as if his comrade was hastily getting dressed. "Just—just keep your mouth shut. Don't talk to anyone anymore. I'll finish this off."
      "Brent, they're going to be careful now that they know, I just thought you'd like to know what they might do."
      The man stumbled and dropped the phone, but quickly picked it back up. "Just keep quiet."
      "Why?"
      Click.

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