“But I wasn’t making a case with Mother Rose for the weapons aboard that plane,” she said. “I only want access to Dr. McReady’s notes, samples, and clinical studies and—”
Before she could say more, her body was racked by a coughing fit that was deep and wet. It made her frail body hitch and pulse with pain, and her bird-thin bones creaked. She pressed a red kerchief to her mouth. Saint John was aware that red cloth was chosen because it more effectively hid the droplets of blood torn from her with each barking cough.
“The darkness calls out to you, my sister,” said Saint John.
When she could speak, she said, “Praise to the darkness. But please, listen to me. I’m almost out of time. Look at me, Honored One. To read and process that research takes more than a healthy mind, and when my body fails my mind will go too. The Night Church will lose a valuable opportunity to understand why this plague is changing and what those changes will mean for our mission. I don’t know how much longer I can do reliable work.”
“The plague is the plague,” he said. “It is no threat to our god’s plans.”
“I believe it has become a very real threat,” Sister Sun said. “The pathogen that started the plague was really an amalgam of several super-viruses and some genetically engineered parasites. As you know, this was not something nature—or god—created. The Reaper Plague was a weapon of war, however—”
Saint John interrupted. “No. It was the voice of god whispering in the ears of certain people. They were told to create the plague as a way of cleansing the earth of the infection of life. The Reaper Plague was the sword of god, and it is from that sword that I took the name for the servants of god whose knives open the red mouths in the last of the sinners.”
They rose and walked in silence for a while. Finally Sister Sun spoke. “Honored One, that is a theological discussion, and I defer to your holy insights. However, the matter of Dr. McReady’s research is a more . . . um, mundane matter. It’s science.”
“Yes, I do understand that. She wants to stop the Reaper Plague,” observed Saint John. “Dr. McReady is an enemy of god, and her works are blasphemy.”
“No doubt,” said Sister Sun quickly. “My point, Honored One, is that the pathogen may have become unstable.”
“Don’t all living things change?”
“Not this,” she insisted. “The Reaper Plague—from everything I learned about it before kneeling to kiss the knife—was designed not to mutate. This is a bioweapon, a designer plague. It was designed to remain stable so that the outcome of any implementation could be precisely predicted. That means that if the plague is mutating, it isn’t happening naturally. Someone is causing that mutation. And I think we both know who.”
They walked well beyond the perimeter of the reaper camp before Saint John spoke. “What danger do you foresee from a mutation?”
“If the gray people mutate into something that would prey on the reapers, wouldn’t that send the wrong message to our people? We tell the reapers that the gray people are like sheep and we are shepherds, but that would change. We’d become hunted. The message would get mixed, and that could hurt us. It would weaken our control. It might shake the faith of the people.”
“Or,” said Saint John, “it could test that faith.”
“Dr. McReady’s research is far too dangerous to leave unaddressed. We must act. We must find her.”
“Our best guess is that Dr. McReady is somewhere in California,” mused Saint John. “Or perhaps Oregon. If she’s still alive, then explain to me how her experiments hundreds of miles away could be causing mutations here.”
“Honored One . . . I think we may have caused this.”
“How so?”
“When Mother Rose found the plane, there were many things aboard. The gray people she’d captured, the medical records, biological samples, and bags of some red powder. I was never allowed to examine any of this. However, I know that one of Mother Rose’s reapers opened one of the bags of powder. Probably out of idle curiosity. He found nothing of value and dumped that bag out of the hatch. If I’m right, then it may have contained a mutagenic agent of some kind. It would explain the mutations that we’ve been seeing, because they all began after that bag was opened.”
Saint John frowned. “That’s disturbing.”
“I think McReady had compounded a mutagen and was taking it to Sanctuary for development and possible mass production.”
“Ah . . . Sanctuary,” murmured Saint John. “The time may come when it will be necessary to burn that pestilential place from the surface of the earth.”
“They have a whole army division there.”
“Do they?”
“It’s what our spies say.”
He gave a soft grunt.
“If I had access to McReady’s research,” continued Sister Sun, “I might be able to do something about the mutations. Possibly stop them. Or maybe devise another kind of mutation. Something that would serve the Night Church rather than pose a threat to it.”
Saint John pursed his lips but said nothing.
“Please,” begged Sister Sun softly, “let me have access to McReady’s research.”