She had read the historical reports of the first manifestation of the disease, an algal bloom, back at the island, how the seas had glowed with phosphorescent cyanobacteria.
And now the patient's eyes glowed.
There must be some clue here. But what?
Based on these earlier findings, Lisa had discreetly performed a second tap of the patient's cerebral spinal fluid. She wanted to know if anything had changed in the fluid around the brain. The results should be back by now, fed into the computer in the corner of the room.
Lisa finished her exam, shed her gloves and mask, and crossed to the computer station. It was out of direct view of the other room.
She brought up the menu for laboratory tests. Her CSF tap's results had indeed returned. She glanced through the chemical analysis. Protein levels were rising, but little else had changed. She switched over to the microscopic exam. Bacteria had been detected and identified.
Cyanobacteria. As she had suspected.
When the blood-brain barrier had been weakened to allow the Judas Strain virus into the brain, it brought some company.
Company that was growing and multiplying.
Anticipating these very results, Lisa had done some earlier research. Cyanobacteria were one of the most ancient strains of bacteria. In fact, they had the distinction of being among the world's oldest known fossils. Almost four billion years old, one of the earth's first life-forms. They were also unique in that they were photosynthetic, like plants, able to produce their own food from sunlight. If fact, most scientists considered cyanobacteria to be the ancestor of modern plants. But these ancient bacteria also proved to be very adaptable, spreading into every environmental niche: salt water, freshwater, soil, even bare rock.
And with the help of the Judas Strain, apparently the human brain.
The glow of the patient's eyes suggested that the cyanobacteria in the brain must have traveled along the optic-nerve sheath to the eye, where they were now setting up house.
Why?
From the sample Lisa saw that a technician had performed a new microscopic scan of the Judas Strain virus. Curious, she brought the fresh image to the screen. Once again, she was faced with the true monster here: the icosahedron shell with the branchlike tendrils sprouting from each corner.
She remembered her earlier words. No organism is evil for evil's sake. It just sought to survive, to spread, to thrive.
The file was also cross-indexed to the original viral photos. She brought those up, too.
Old and new. Side by side. All the same.
She reached to close the file, but her finger hovered over the button.
No...
Her hand began to tremble.
Of course . ..
Lightning cracked, blindingly bright through the balcony doors, followed by an immediate clap of thunder that made her jump. The entire ship shuddered. The balcony doors rattled.
The lightning had struck right over the ship, maybe hitting it.
The cabin lights flickered. Lisa glanced up just as they went out. Darkness fell over the cabin.
The orderlies yelled out a complaint.
Lisa stood up.
Oh. My. God.
Then the lights zapped back on with a surge of current. The computer squelched a complaint and made a loud smoky pop. The television in the other room garbled, then settled into regular movie dialogue.
Lisa stayed where she was, frozen in shock.
She continued staring down at the figure in the bed. In the moment of brief darkness, Lisa had made another discovery about the patient. Had no one ever turned out the lights in here? Or was this phenomenon new?
It wasn't only the woman's eyes that glowed.
In the darkness, dressed only in a thin gown, the woman's limbs and face had glowed with a soft blush, a sheen of phosphorescence that was not evident in the bright light.
The cyanobacteria had not just spread to her eyes—but everywhere.
Lisa was so stunned that she failed to note one other detail for a full breath: the patient's eyes were open, staring back at Lisa.
Parched lips moved.
Lisa read those lips more than heard the words.
"Wh-who are you?"
8:12 p.m.
Monk listened to the radio's earpiece as he climbed the stairs from the lower decks. He had gone down to check the access to Ryder Blunt's private dock, where he kept his boat. It was unguarded. Few knew about the private slide launch.
"I have the electronic key to the dock's hatch," Ryder said. "Once I'm free, I'll head down there, get the boat gassed up, and be ready to launch. But can you free Dr. Cummings by yourself?"
"Yes," Monk said into the mouthpiece. "The less commotion the better."
"And you've got everything prepared."
"Yes, Mother." Monk sighed. "I'll be ready in a half hour. On my word, you know what to do."
"Roger that. Out."
Monk climbed to the next landing of the stair, crossed to a janitorial closet, and collected up the blanket, pillow, and clothes he had hidden inside earlier.
His earpiece buzzed again. "Monk?"
"Lisa?" He checked his watch. It was early. His heart thudded harder. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. At least not exactly. We need a change of plans. We need room for one more."
"Who?"
"My patient. She's awake."
"Lisa. . ."
"We can't leave her here," she insisted in his ear. "Whatever is happening to her is critical to everything that's going on. We can't risk the Guild escaping with her before we can return."
Monk breathed hard out his nose, recalculating. "How mobile is she?"
"Weak but mobile enough. I think. I can't judge more with the orderlies in the next room. I'm in my room where I can talk. I left her back there, feigning still being catatonic."
"And you're sure she's that important."
"Positive."
Monk asked a few more questions, settled a few more details, revising on the fly. Lisa signed off to get ready at her end.
"Ryder?" Monk said.
"I heard," the Aussie billionaire said. "My radio was still on."
"We'll have to move up the timetable."
"No bloody kidding. When will you be here?"
Monk flipped the safety off his weapon. "I'm heading up there right now."
8:16 p.m.
Lisa returned to the infirmary suite. She had donned a sweater. She had complained earlier to the orderlies that she was cold, a simple excuse to return briefly to her room and make the radio call to Monk.
As she entered, Tweedledee and Tweedledum were still engrossed in their movie. Some shoot-out was under way on the television. Life was about to imitate art.
If all went well.