Champion (Legend 3)

By the time we reach the Central Hospital’s lab floor in the Bank Tower and are ushered in to see Day, Eden, and the Patriots, the sirens have stopped. The sector’s electricity must have been switched off again, and aside from the main government buildings like the Bank Tower, the landscape outside looks eerily black, swallowed nearly whole by damp morning shadows. Down the hall, the screens show an empty podium where Anden will be standing any minute now, poised to give a live national address. Ollie stays glued to my side, panting his distress. I reach down and pat him several times, and he rewards me with a lick of my hand.

I meet Day and the others in Eden’s room right as Anden appears onscreen. Eden looks exhausted and half conscious. He still has an IV hooked up to his arm, but aside from that, there are no other tubes or wires. Beside the bed, a lab tech is typing notes onto a notepad.

Day and Pascao are wearing what look like dark Republic suits meant for physically demanding missions—it’s the same sort of suit I’d once worn back when I first needed to break Day out of Batalla Hall, when I spent a late night skimming building roofs in search of Kaede. Both of them are talking to a lab tech, and based on their expressions, they’re not getting good news. I want to ask them for details, but Anden has stepped up to the podium already, and my words fade away as we turn our attention to the screen. All I hear is the sound of our breathing and the ominous, distant hum of approaching airships.

Anden looks composed; and even though he’s only a year older than the first time I met him, the weight and gravity on his face make him look much more mature than he actually is. Only the slight clench of his jaw reveals a hint of his real emotions. He’s dressed in solid white, with silver epaulettes on his shoulders and a gold Republic seal pinned near the collar of his military coat. Behind him are two flags: One is the Republic’s, while the other is blank, white, devoid of color. I swallow hard. It’s a flag I know well from all my studies, but one that I’ve never seen used. We all knew this was coming, we had planned this and we know it’s not real—but even so, I can’t help feeling a deep, dark sense of grief and failure. As if we are truly handing our country over to someone else.

“Soldiers of the Republic,” Anden begins addressing the soldiers surrounding him at the base. As always, his voice is at once soft and commanding, quiet but clear. “It is with a heavy heart that I come to you today with this message. I have already relayed these same words to the Chancellor of the Colonies.” He pauses for a moment, as if gathering his strength. I can only imagine that for him, even faking such a gesture must weigh on him far more than it already does on me. “The Republic has officially surrendered to the Colonies.”

Silence. The base, filled with noise and chaos only a few minutes ago, is now suddenly still—every soldier frozen, listening in disbelief.

“We are now to cease all military activity against the Colonies,” Anden continues, “and within the next day, we will meet with the Colonies’ leading officials to draft official surrender terms.” He pauses, letting the weight settle over the entire base. “Soldiers, we will continue to update you on information regarding this as we proceed.” Then the transmission stops. He doesn’t end with Long live the Republic. A chill runs through me when the screens are replaced with an image of, not the Republic flag, but the Colonies’.

They are doing a stellar job of making this surrender look convincing. I hope the Antarcticans are going to keep their word. I hope help is on the way.

“Day, we don’t have much time to get these bases ready to blow,” Pascao mutters to us as the address stops. The three Republic soldiers with us are geared up in a similar fashion, all ready to guide them to where the air bases will be wired. “You’re gonna have to buy us some time. News is that the Colonies will start landing their airships at our bases in a few hours.”

Day nods. As Pascao turns away to rattle off some directions to the soldiers, Day’s eyes flicker to me. In them, I see a strained sense of fear that makes my stomach churn. “Something’s gone wrong with the cure, hasn’t it?” I ask. “How’s Eden doing?”

Day sighs, running a hand through his hair, and then looks down at his brother. “He’s hanging in there.”

“But . . . ?”

“But the problem is that he isn’t Patient Zero. They said they’re missing something from his blood.”

I look at the fragile boy in the hospital bed. Eden isn’t Patient Zero? “But what? What are they missing?”

“It’d be easier to show you than try to explain it. Come on. This is something we’ll need to alert Anden about. What’s the point of staging this whole surrender if we won’t be able to get help from Antarctica?” Day leads us out and down the hall. We walk in a tense silence for a while, until we finally stop in front of a nondescript door. Day opens it.

We step inside a room full of comps. A lab tech monitoring the screens rises when he sees us, then ushers us over. “Time to update Ms. Iparis?”

“Tell me what’s going on,” I reply.

He sits us down in front of a comp and spends several minutes loading up a screen. When he finally finishes, I see two side-by-side comparisons of some slides of what I assume are cells. I peer more closely at them.

The lab tech points to the one on the left, which looks like a series of small, polygonal particles grouped around a large central cell. Attached to the particles are dozens of little tubes sticking out of the cell. “This,” the lab tech says, circling the large cell with his finger, “is a simulation of an infected cell that we’re trying to target. The cell has a red hue to it, indicating that viruses have taken hold inside. If no cure’s involved, this cell lyses—bursts open—and dies. Now, see these little particles around it? Those are simulations of the cure particles that we need. They attach to the outside of the infected cell.” He taps the screen twice where the large cell is, and a short animation plays, showing the particles latching on to the cell; eventually, the cell shrinks in size and the color of it changes. “They save the cell from bursting.”