The new serum wasn't usable for curing those already infected, but it worked beautifully as a vaccine. Those inoculated were not only free from the fear of one day losing themselves to the disease, they could touch rhixis-ridden bodies with their bare hands and walk away unaffected. The only human to be saved from the disease after infection was Grady, the chancellor's son. (The chancellor himself, along with Dr. Kreshner and other medical personnel, were sentenced to life in prison shortly after their vaccination.) He was revived from stasis crippled for what hoped to be an otherwise very happy life, as the virus hadn't reached his nervous system. He was cured from the worst before it was too late.
Once the serum went into mass-production it was at last revealed that the contraceptive genes were the cause of rhixis, and breeding facilities across Aurora were either prohibited from raising offspring with the alterations or pressured into making such changes by public demand. The next generation would consist almost entirely of naturally reproducing humans.
It was amazing, the Doctor thought, how small of a fight the breeders were putting up; after all, it was their business they were throwing away with all those soon-to-be-fertile human beings leaving their warehouses. Things would have to change, and change quickly. Society would have to focus its energies back to obstetrics and curing cancer.
"Excuse me, sir?"
He blinked.
He'd been standing in the middle of a field ripe with blue Hecatian grass, staring up into the darkening sky at the looming crescent of Aurora. Aurora and the thousand-odd stars behind it, with their thousand-odd worlds, which should have struck him as a thousand times more significant—should have put things in perspective.
It had been a week since they had invented the cure and Camelia had died; flying to Hecate had since become much easier. Beside him, next to the TARDIS, stood a freckled young girl in florally-decorated coveralls.
She cocked her head to one side. "You alright?"
He sniffed. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright. I'm always alright."
"Well . . . okay . . ." She smiled—an uneven, gap-toothed smile— and skipped away back down the hill.
The Doctor took one last look at Aurora. Then he turned, stepped into the TARDIS, and shut the door behind him.
"Well? You said it was urgent."
Captain Warsaw was not held directly responsible for the chancellor's crimes, but he still had to spend a considerable amount of time in prison. During the first two months of his sentence, there was only one person he asked to see. Friends and family didn't matter; he was concerned with the greater good, and the greater good demanded he speak to the minister of security, Rex Listings.
"It is urgent," he said. "It concerns the incident at Ilythia Major Hospital four months back."
"Ahh, yes." Listings folded his arms. "Where you helped Barkhoff hold more than two hundred Hecatians against their will for grotesque experimentation, correct?"
"Three hundred," growled Warsaw. "I was just following orders. And I never went in the lab."
"Oh! then, let us see to your release at once."
"I didn't come here to talk about me. Something happened that day that I think you should know about."
"Hm?"
"When we first found out that someone had breached security, it was after one of the nurses had discovered a break-in. We checked the records for the door and discovered that her key had been used to open the door twice."
"So?"
"So, there was no way out of that lab except through the one door. But according to the records, someone used the key to get in, and then, before anyone left, used the same key to get in again."
Listings frowned. "Would you necessarily need a key to leave through that door?"
"No."
"Well, then, the intruder must have used Medley's key and left it outside, where she found it and used it after them."
"No, that's just it, Medley had been wearing the key all day. We found records of her key's signature in the tower within the same minute the basement laboratory was broken into."
Listings furrowed his brow, growing worried now. "So, what is it you're trying to say exactly?"
"Someone made a copy of her signature!"
Listings shook his head. "No, that's impossible. Multiple signatures are not permitted in the sphere, you cannot make a copy."
"Why do you think I called you down here?" demanded Warsaw. "Obviously, someone can!"
Listings leaned back in his chair. His face knotted in concern and his mind raced. The implications were terrifying. One man, if he could mimic his way through a system presumed impenetrable by governments the world over, had the power to instigate untold horrors. It didn't stop with simple mischief like vandalism or theft. He could start a war without batting an eyelash. He could use various identities to trick world leaders into entering a conflict or launch all the missiles himself.
Listings looked at Warsaw. "Well, is that it, or were you expecting some kind of deal in exchange for more information?"
"Nothing more. I am only interested in the safety of my country."
Listings snorted. "I suppose that was your rationalization for carrying out Barkhoff's dirty work." He sighed. "As it happens, it's your lucky day. And mine. The council is voting in five days on whether to make tagging the mandatory method of identification. In light of this new evidence, I think we'll all be able to agree that the days of the wristband are over."
"You think tagging would solve the problem?"
"Of course." That was what he'd have to make the council believe, anyway. "A genius might be able to deactivate a wristband to disassemble, hack or replicate it, but once anyone has a tag implanted he'll have to physically dig it out of his hand before he can turn it off. And once it hits the air, we'll know."
"And what if someone cut off his own hand? . . . You laugh, but I've seen criminals do more for less."
"Well, you can cut off your own hand, but not your own head. Men with criminal records will receive the processors for their tags in the forehead." He smirked drily as he gathered his things and made for the door. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Warsaw. If all goes well, you'll be sure to know. Look for our mark in the bathroom mirror."
With that, he stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him.
"Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin,
and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death." (James 1:15)
...
This story is dedicated to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ,
by whose sacrifice we are remade:
"We were buried therefore with him by baptism
into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised
from the dead by the glory of the Father,
we too might walk in newness of life."
(Romans 6:3-4)