The "Cosmic Drift" cantina was full of smoke and noise. Verena sat in a corner, her hood pulled low over her face, watching a group of gang members at the central table. Five burly men, already quite drunk, were becoming more aggressive with each mug they downed.
"Yes, I remember..." she said quietly into her comm-link, "it needs to look like an uncontrolled Force outburst from a scared teenager."
"Watch your hood," Alex's voice replied. "Security cameras are active, recording quality is average. Be careful."
Verena stood up and headed for the exit, deliberately bumping her shoulder into the largest of the group. Beer sloshed from his mug onto the table.
"Hey, where are you going, you bitch!" he roared, grabbing her arm.
She deliberately conjured a feeling of fear and a desire to flee.
"Sorry," Verena mumbled, feigning fright. "I didn't mean to..."
"Didn't mean to?" He squeezed her wrist until it hurt. "Who's going to pay for the drinks?"
His friends got up, surrounding her. One of them—a lanky guy with a tattoo on his neck—moved too close.
"Maybe you can work off the debt another way?" he sneered, reaching for her face.
Verena allowed fear and anger to surface within her. It was necessary. The Force flowed through her, and she made the manifestation crude, uncontrolled—like a frightened teenager who couldn't manage their abilities.
An invisible wave struck the men surrounding her. Four were thrown aside, crashing into tables and walls. The fifth—the one with the tattoo—hit his head against a metal support. The crunch of a broken neck was clearly audible even through the cantina's noise.
Verena feigned horror at her own actions and bolted for the exit, running directly under a security camera. Her hood hid her face, but her silhouette and height were clearly visible.
Panic erupted behind her. Shouts, the clinking of broken glass, someone's voice:
"He's dead! The guy's dead!"
She hadn't wanted to kill him, but she absolutely didn't care about the fate of that scum. It was even better this way.
***
Spaceport of "Crossroads" station, an hour later
Dockmaster Hank Coulson was inspecting ships before his night shift when he heard engine noise from Dock Seven. He headed there and saw a YT-1300 freighter pulling away from the docking node.
"Hey!" he shouted. "Reckless, come back! You don't have clearance to depart!"
The ship didn't respond. The engines roared to full power, and the vessel sped towards the hangar exit.
Hank activated the emergency alarm. Red lights flashed throughout the port, and the speakers blared warning sirens. But it was too late—the "Reckless" broke into open space and jumped into hyperspace.
"Damn it," the dockmaster muttered, activating his comm. "Control Center, we have a hijacking. Ship 'Reckless', registration YT-1300 812345TRB, departed dock without permission."
Through the port's security cameras, the same hooded figure who had killed a man in the cantina an hour earlier was visible. The connection was obvious.
***
"Crossroads" Station Investigation Department, the next day
Detective Erkus Gren had been studying security camera footage for three hours straight. The case was strange—a bar fight, one fatality, a hijacked ship. And all connected to a mysterious figure whose face couldn't be seen.
But the strangest thing was how Jack Morrison had died. Witnesses said he "flew off like he'd been hit by an explosion," but no explosives were found.
Gren rewound the footage for the tenth time. The hooded figure, surrounded by five men. Then—they all flew off in different directions simultaneously. For no apparent reason.
"Shit," the detective muttered.
He opened the standard instruction manual for investigating unusual incidents. Section 15.7: "If the use of unknown technologies or anomalous abilities is suspected, immediately notify the Imperial Security Bureau."
Gren didn't like the ISB—they asked too many questions. But regulations were regulations.
He drafted a report, attached copies of the recordings, and sent it to the regional ISB office. Two days later, the case was removed from his jurisdiction and classified.
***
Regional ISB Center, Corellia
A week later
ISB Agent Mira Thanos was reviewing new case files when she stumbled upon the report from "Crossroads" station. A murder involving unknown forces, a hijacked ship, the suspect escaped.
She studied the camera footage. The quality wasn't the best, but the effect was obvious—five adult men thrown back simultaneously by an invisible force. One of them died from the impact.
Mira knew what this meant. In her seventeen years working for the ISB, she had seen similar cases. The use of the Force by an untrained user—crude, uncontrolled, but lethally effective.
She opened a secure communication channel and dialed the emergency notification code for the Inquisitorius.
"This is Agent Thanos, identification code 7749-Gamma. I have a case for the Inquisitors. Use of the Force with a lethal outcome, suspect escaped on a hijacked ship."
The response came a few hours later. The case was being transferred to an Inquisitor who would arrive at "Crossroads" within a week for investigation.
***
Spaceport of "Crossroads" station
Ten days after the incident
The Seventh Sister emerged from her fighter and surveyed the grimy spaceport. "Crossroads" station was a typical den of smugglers and criminals—a perfect place to get lost among society's dregs.
But not from her.
The port administrator—a nervous little man with sweaty palms—was already waiting for her at the ramp.
"Inquisitor, welcome to 'Crossroads'," he said obsequiously. "We are fully prepared to cooperate. All recordings, all data are at your disposal."
"Show me the scene of the incident," the Seventh Sister commanded coldly.
They walked into the "Cosmic Drift" cantina. The site of the fight had already been cleaned, but traces of blood on the floor were still visible. The Seventh Sister closed her eyes and reached out to the Force, trying to sense the echoes of what had happened here.
Fear. Anger. A sudden burst of power—uncontrolled, panicked. An emotional imprint of a Force-sensitive who didn't understand her abilities.
"Hijacked ship," she said to the administrator. "Where is it now?"
"We tracked its route to the Malachor system. After that, the trail goes cold."
The Seventh Sister nodded, but winced. After the ancient cataclysm, when one of the planets was destroyed, the Force behaved erratically there. Malachor was on the way to the Outer Rim—a logical direction for a fugitive. But the ship couldn't just disappear. Somewhere, in the depths of space, her prey was trying to hide.
She returned to her fighter and entered Malachor's coordinates into the navigation computer. The hunt had begun.
***
Malachor System, two days later
The Seventh Sister methodically checked every station, every port in the Malachor system. The "Reckless" hadn't refueled, repaired, or registered here. Like a ghost ship.
But she was patient. The fugitive was hiding somewhere, and sooner or later, they would have to come out of hiding. Fuel, food, spare parts were needed. No one could hide in space forever.
On the third day of searching, her patience was rewarded. The duty officer of space control reported a ship that appeared at the edge of the system and quickly jumped into hyperspace. The description matched the "Reckless."
"Where was the ship heading?" the Seventh Sister asked.
"The trajectory led to sector K-53," the operator replied. "But there's nothing there but abandoned stations and asteroid fields."
The Seventh Sister smirked. A perfect place to lie low. Her prey was becoming predictable.
She started the fighter's engines and set a course for sector K-53. There was no room for doubt in her mind—only the cold certainty of a predator on a hot trail.
***
The abandoned relay station K-53-T—officially decommissioned twenty years ago after the depletion of local asteroids—hung among the stone debris like a dead spider in the center of a metal web.
"An ideal ambush spot," Cardis said, approaching the hologram. The Mandalorian was in full combat gear—his blue and silver armor gleamed under the projectors' light. "Plenty of cover, limited approach routes, minimal witnesses."
"And most importantly—we'll have time to work undisturbed," Alex added, zooming in on the station's image. "The latest scans confirm: the station is dead. Even the automated systems are offline."
IG-88 turned its head, its red optical sensors focusing on the projection.
"Analysis complete. Probability of mission success with one target appearing: 78.4%. With two targets: 34.7%. With three or more, immediate retreat is recommended."
"We've discussed this," Alex nodded. "There should be only one. If more than one shows up, the plan is canceled. We're not greedy."
Professor Vell approached the hologram control console, her fingers nervously flipping through a datapad with the technical specifications of the neural interface.
"Alex, I'm still not sure about the ethics of what we're about to do," she said quietly. "Scanning a mind without consent..."
"Professor," Alex turned to her, his voice carrying cold determination. "We're not talking about an innocent person. Inquisitors are murderers who hunt children for being born with certain abilities. They are likely not even fully human. They are infected carriers."
"But what if you're wrong..."
"Then we'll find out from the scan," Alex replied sternly. "And then we'll reconsider our methods. But for now, we have a chance to get answers to questions that could save thousands of lives."
Vell nodded, though doubts did not disappear from her face.
Cardis listened to something on his comm and said, "Alex, the engineers have transmitted the final report on 'Silence.' The device is ready for transport."
"Excellent. Status of other preparations?"
"'Witness of the Void' is fully prepared. Ion cannons calibrated for pinpoint targeting. Tractor beams set to capture a light fighter. The team is at their battle stations."
Alex nodded and addressed those gathered. "Alright, in six hours, we move out to the target. Everyone has their tasks. Cardis, is your capture team ready?"
The Mandalorian nodded affirmatively. "Eight fighters plus myself. Full gear for zero-gravity and depressurization operations. Stun weapons, binding foam, power cuffs. We're ready to take the target alive."
"IG-88, status of support droids?"
"Twelve B2-series combat units modified for the operation. Non-lethal emitters and capture devices installed. Programming complete. Ready for deployment."
"Professor, scanning equipment?"
Vell checked her datapad. "Neural interface installed in laboratory three. Additional screens and monitoring systems connected. Medical equipment to maintain the target's vital functions is ready."
Alex looked at each person present. It was a strange team—a Mandalorian mercenary, an assassin droid, a fanatical scientist, and himself. But each was a professional in their field.
"Then let's begin the final phase of preparation."
***
Four hours later, a small cargo shuttle detached from the "Witness of the Void" and headed towards station K-53-T. On board was a device that the engineers from Valorin had named the "Force Destabilizer, Model 'Silence'."
Alex personally observed the installation via the shuttle's cameras. The device looked like a small fighter hyperdrive made of black metal, about the size of a human head, covered with heat dissipation fins. Despite its compact size, it weighed almost a ton—most of the mass consisting of exotic materials needed to stabilize the rupture field.
"Installation complete," the shuttle pilot reported. "'Silence' is camouflaged among the debris two kilometers from the station. Remote activator tested."
"Excellent. Return to the ship."
Alex switched to the communication channel with Dain from Valorin. "What do our preparations look like from the sensors' perspective?"
"Perfect. The 'Witness' is hidden in the shadow of a large asteroid eight kilometers from the station. All active scanners are off; we're operating only on passive sensors. To anyone entering the system, we'll look like another piece of space junk."
"And our 'fugitive'?"
"'Reckless' is ready. Battle damage applied according to plan—a few scorch marks on the hull, simulated emergency engine repairs. It looks like the ship of a fugitive who ran for a long time and hid poorly."
Alex nodded. Every detail had been thought through. His ship was meant to look like the vessel of a desperate fugitive.
He headed to the hangar where his ship awaited him. It was time to begin the final phase of the operation—to transform from hunter to bait. The Inquisitor had to sense the gifted one.
***
Cardis checked his team's gear for the tenth time. Eight fighters in full combat gear stood in the "Witness's" hangar, their armor set to minimal visibility—matte coatings absorbed light, and built-in systems suppressed thermal signatures.
"Remember," he said, walking the line, "the target must remain alive and unharmed. No lethal shots, even if she tries to attack. She won't have access to the Force, so dealing with one Force-sensitive for eight professionals is not a problem."
"What if she tries to kill herself?" one of the fighters asked.
"We won't give her that opportunity. We'll stun her at the first attempt to do anything. It's better to work with an unconscious target than a dead one."
Cardis activated the holographic schematic of the K-53-T station's hangar. "Once 'Silence' activates, we'll have a maximum of twelve minutes before the effect dissipates. During that time, we must capture the target, transport her to the 'Witness,' and jump into hyperspace. Questions?"
"What if the Inquisitor tries to blow up her ship?"
"The 'Witness's' ion cannons will disable all systems of her fighter in the first seconds after 'Silence' is activated. There will be nothing to blow up."
The fighters nodded. They were professionals—each had gone through dozens of similar operations. True, their targets were usually smugglers and pirates, not Imperial Inquisitors. But work was work.
"The Inquisitor will arrive in thirty minutes," Cardis announced. "Prepare for deployment."
***
In the bridge of the "Witness of the Void," a businesslike atmosphere prevailed.
"Passive sensors show clear space within a fifty-kilometer radius," the sensor operator reported. "No ships in the system except us."
"Communication with 'Silence' is stable," the technician added. "The device is ready for activation on your signal."
"Ion cannons are charged and aimed at the target's presumed point of appearance," the gunner reported. "Power set to a level sufficient to completely disable a light fighter's systems without destroying the hull."
Cardis nodded and opened a communication channel with Alex. "Alex, we're ready. Your status?"
Alex's voice sounded calm. "Approaching position in two minutes. Starting the show."
"Understood. Good luck."
Cardis switched to the general channel. "Everyone—operation commencing. Maintain radio silence on main channels."
***
Alex began to play his part—the role of a frightened fugitive.
His maneuvers were deliberately clumsy, his trajectory suboptimal. He flew towards station K-53-T, as if desperately seeking shelter, but at the same time leaving a clear trail in the Force that any trained Force-sensitive could detect.
After ten minutes of flight, his sensors registered a hyperspace exit. One ship. A light fighter of Imperial design, but with modifications—angular wings, an elongated fuselage, characteristic red and black coloring.
The Inquisitor's fighter.
"Dain, we have a client," Alex transmitted on an encrypted channel. "One ship. Initiating final phase."
"Understood. 'Silence' is ready for activation."
Alex sharply changed course, heading directly for station K-53-T. His movements became even more panicked—he performed unnecessary maneuvers, as if trying to hide among the asteroids, but only exposed himself more.
The Inquisitor's fighter reacted instantly. It accelerated, its trajectory becoming predatory and straight. No attempts at a stealthy approach—only aggressive pursuit.
"Very confident," Alex thought, observing the opponent's maneuvers. "Perfect."
The distance between the ships decreased. Alex brought the "Reckless" almost to the station itself, then braked sharply, as if trying to dock with one of the abandoned hangars.
The Inquisitor's fighter followed, entering the range of "Silence."
"Target in range," Alex transmitted. "Activate the device."
"'Silence' activated," Dain replied.
***
The effect of "Silence" was not like an explosion. Instead of a blinding flash, the space around the camouflaged device began to... distort. The stars flickered as if their light was passing through uneven glass. A wave of distortions spread in all directions at the speed of light, creating a sphere with a radius of several kilometers, within which the Force temporarily became unstable.
Alex felt the moment the wave reached his ship. The Force suddenly boiled—not disappeared, but destabilized, as if someone had turned up the noise to maximum. The sensation was disorienting, but he was prepared for it.
The Inquisitor's fighter reacted very differently. The elegant pursuit trajectory suddenly turned into uncontrolled tumbling. The ship began to spin erratically, as if its pilot had lost the ability to anticipate and compensate for inertia.
"Target destabilized," Alex transmitted. "Initiating withdrawal."
He turned his ship and slowly began to move away from the "Witness of the Void's" firing line. His role as bait was complete.
The "Witness" emerged from behind an asteroid. The massive ship moved with unexpected grace for its size, its ion cannons already aimed at the helplessly tumbling Inquisitor's fighter.
"Fire!" Cardis ordered.
Volleys from the ion cannons illuminated the space with blue flashes. The energy discharges reached the Inquisitor's fighter and enveloped it in a network of electrical lightning. All the ship's systems instantly shut down—engines, weapons, life support, even emergency lighting.
The dead piece of metal continued to drift inertly among the asteroids.
"Target immobilized," the gunner reported. "All systems disabled."
"Capture the target with the beam," Cardis ordered. "Capture team, prepare for boarding."
Invisible force fields enveloped the Inquisitor's fighter and pulled it towards the "Witness's" hangar. The ship was small—no more than twenty meters long—and easily fit into the cargo hold.
Cardis and his team were already waiting in the hangar when the force field lowered the fighter onto the landing platform. Eight fighters and Cardis in combat armor surrounded the ship, their weapons aimed at the only exit—a hatch in the lower fuselage.
"IG-88, are your droids ready?" Cardis asked via comm.
"Twelve units deployed around the hangar perimeter. Ready for immediate intervention."
The combat droids stood motionless along the walls, their weapons switched to non-lethal mode. Each was equipped with stun energy emitters and capture devices.
"Alex, your status?" Cardis transmitted.
"Docking. Will be in the hangar in two minutes."
Cardis nodded and focused on the Inquisitor's fighter. The ship looked menacing even in its immobilized state—sharp lines, aggressive coloring, Imperial symbols on the wings. But now it was no more dangerous than any other piece of metal.
The fighter's hatch began to open slowly. The hydraulic drives were powered by emergency power—the only system not affected by the ion discharges.
Cardis raised his hand, ready to signal the attack. His fighters froze in readiness.
A figure in Inquisitor attire appeared from the hatch. First, legs in heavy boots, then a torso in angular armor, and finally...
It was a girl.
She looked no older than twenty. Short dark hair framed a pale, almost white face with perfect features.
Her eyes were open, but there was no panic or fear in them. Only a blank, mechanical rage—like a damaged droid continuing to execute its last command.
She managed to stand, her movements precise but lacking grace. Without the Force, she moved like an ordinary person—quick and agile, but without supernatural coordination.
The girl spoke no words. Her hand reached for her belt, where a lightsaber hung.
"Fire!" Cardis ordered.
Three pulse rifles fired simultaneously. Stun discharges hit the girl and knocked her off her feet. Her body twitched in convulsions, then went limp.
"Target neutralized," one of the fighters reported, approaching the motionless body. "Alive, unconscious."
Cardis moved closer and looked at the prisoner's face. A mere slip of a girl.
"Remove her armor and weapons," he ordered. "Carefully. We don't know what surprises might be built into an Inquisitor's armor."
The fighters began their work. The armor was removed piece by piece—first the pauldrons, then the breastplate, the bracers. Beneath them was a standard black jumpsuit without any identifying marks.
The lightsaber was confiscated and placed in a shielded container. The weapon looked standard—a cylindrical hilt of black metal with red accents. No special decorations or personal markings.
"Alex has arrived," a voice announced from the speakers.
Alex's ship landed on the adjacent platform. He quickly exited the cockpit and headed towards the group surrounding the prisoner.
"How does she look?" he asked, approaching.
"Young," Kardis replied. "Very young. See for yourself."
"Take her to the lab," he ordered. "Force cuffs, full immobilization. Give her something. Professor Well is already waiting."
Two soldiers lifted the unconscious body onto a stretcher and secured it. Force cuffs locked the prisoner's arms and legs, making any resistance impossible.
"Dain, status on the 'Silence'?" Alex asked over the communicator.
"The effect is starting to weaken. In about three minutes, the rupture field will dissipate completely."
"Then we leave. Course for pre-arranged coordinates. As soon as Force access is restored, we'd best be as far from here as possible, to leave no trace."
The "Void Witness" turned and headed away from the asteroid field. A few minutes later, the ship disappeared into hyperspace, leaving behind only dissipating spacetime distortions. The hunt had been successful.
The laboratory aboard the "Void Witness" had been refitted specifically for this operation. Sterile white walls, powerful lighting, medical equipment to maintain vital functions. In the center of the room stood an operating table with numerous restraints and force limiters.
Professor Well was performing a final check of the equipment when the prisoner was brought into the lab. The girl was unconscious, her pale face appearing waxy under the bright lamp light.
"Place her on the table," Well said, pointing to the operating surface. "Careful with her head—we need to connect the neuro-interface."
Kardis's soldiers carefully transferred the body from the stretcher to the table. The force cuffs were replaced with more secure restraints built into the table surface itself. Now the prisoner couldn't move a limb.
"Vital signs are stable," Well reported, studying the monitors. "Pulse is even, breathing is normal. No signs of physical damage."
Alex approached the table and carefully examined the prisoner's face.
"Begin the scan," he said. "I want to know what we're dealing with."
Well activated the Rakatan neuro-interface. Thin tentacles of the interface extended towards the prisoner's head and gently touched her temples.
"Initiating superficial scan," Well announced.
The first images appeared on the monitors—three-dimensional models of the brain, showing the activity of various regions. At first, everything looked normal—standard neural activity of a sleeping person.
Then the interface delved deeper.
"The Force," Well whispered, looking at the screens.
The images changed. Instead of natural, organic patterns of brain activity, the monitors showed something entirely different. Geometrically correct structures. Hierarchical connections. Artificial neural networks superimposed over natural ones.
"What is this?" Kardis asked, moving closer to the monitors.
"This is..." Well paused, searching for words. "This is not a human mind. At least, not entirely human."
She zoomed in on one scanning area:
"Look. Here is long-term memory—childhood memories, formative experiences, emotional bonds. The neural connections to them are severed."
"And what's there?" Alex pointed to the bright, pulsating structures that occupied the place of natural memories.
"This... is a program. A very complex, multi-layered program, embedded directly into the neural tissue. It controls behavior, decision-making, even basic reflexes. And it operates on a biological host."
Well switched to another scanning area:
"And here should be the personality center—it's also isolated."
Alex looked at the monitors. His assumption was confirmed, but the reality was even more terrifying than he had imagined.
"She's dead," he said quietly. "Whoever she was, she's completely destroyed. Only a shell remains, controlled by a parasite."
"Not entirely," Well countered, pointing to small, dim areas on the scans. "There are fragments here. Snippets of memories. Emotional imprints. Something of the original personality has survived."
The neuro-interface read memories from the isolated zones, and blurred, indistinct images appeared on the screen. A desert. Sunlight. Children's laughter. Then—a sharp change. Fire. Screams. Pain. And after that—only darkness.
Kardis turned away from the monitors. Even for a seasoned warrior, the sight was too much.
"Vile sorcerers," he muttered. "To erase a soul and use the body as a puppet... It's worse than any crime."
He activated the anesthesia system, and the prisoner sank back into unconsciousness.
"Continue the scan," he ordered Well. "We need a complete map of the viral structure. Every node, every connection, every protocol. If we're going to create an antidote, we need to understand how the poison works."
"Find out who she is."
"Already have. In the isolated childhood memories, the name is Reynaara."
The next six hours were spent in intense work. The neuro-interface methodically scanned every part of the prisoner's brain, creating a detailed map of the consciousness virus. Professor Well didn't leave the monitors, recording and analyzing every fragment of data.
Alex stood nearby, observing the process. From time to time, he asked questions or requested a deeper analysis of a specific area, but mostly he remained silent, lost in his own thoughts.
IG-88 entered the lab, its red optical sensors locking onto the monitors.
"Is the analysis of the biological sample nearing completion?" the droid asked in its mechanical voice.
"Almost," Well replied, not looking away from the screens. "Another hour, and we'll have a complete map of the viral structure."
"Excellent. Then the sample can be disposed of. I suggest decompression through the airlock. Quick and efficient."
Kardis, who had been standing silently by the wall, sharply turned to the droid:
"I'll throw you into the airlock right now."
"I suggested the optimal method for disposing of biological material after research completion," IG-88 replied imperturbably. "The airlock will ensure complete destruction without risk of ship contamination. I am referring to the disposal of the biological shell, infected with hostile software."
"Even if that's the case," Kardis moved closer to the droid, "I don't kill without reason. It's against the code."
"Your organic code is ineffective in this situation," IG-88 observed.
"Enough," Alex intervened. "IG-88, we will not destroy the prisoner. At least, not now."
"Why? She represents a potential threat."
"Because she is the only living sample of the virus we have," Alex explained. "We can study its structure in real-time, test various methods of influence, observe reactions. This is invaluable research material."
IG-88 turned its head, processing the information:
"Logical. But how do you plan to contain a potentially dangerous sample? I am programmed to ensure security."
"I recently learned of an excellent method," Alex replied. "Complete freezing in carbonite. She will be in stasis, but still accessible for research."
Well looked up from the monitors:
"Alex, the scan is complete. We have a full map of the viral structure."
"Show me."
A three-dimensional model of the prisoner's brain appeared on the main screen. Natural neural structures were shown in blue, and viral ones in red. There was a frightening amount of red.
"As you can see," Well explained, "the virus doesn't just isolate natural brain functions. It replaces them. It creates its own neural architecture, using biological tissue as a substrate."
She pointed to various areas of the model:
"Here is the decision-making center. Completely replaced by a viral protocol. Here—the emotional centers. Also replaced, but partially. Some basic emotions are preserved—anger, hatred, fear. They are used as motivational tools."
"And what about memory?" Alex asked.
"Long-term memory is almost completely erased. Only fragments remain—snippets of childhood memories, emotional imprints. But they are also isolated, inaccessible to conscious perception."
Well switched to another display mode:
"However, short-term memory and procedural skills are fully preserved. She remembers how to pilot a ship, how to fight, how to use the Force. Everything needed to perform the functions of an Inquisitor."
"An ideal soldier," Kardis muttered. "Without doubt, without remorse, without attachments. Only orders and their execution."
"Exactly," Alex agreed. "But every program has vulnerabilities. We need to find a way to exploit them."
He approached the table where the prisoner lay. Her face in unconsciousness seemed almost peaceful, but Alex knew it was a deception. Inside that head, there was no peace—only cold, mechanical hatred.
"Professor, can you create a copy of the viral structure?" he asked. "A complete digital model that we could study without risk of infection?"
"Theoretically possible," Well replied. "But it will take time. The structure is incredibly complex—billions of connections, thousands of subprograms. Even the most powerful computers cannot fully simulate such a system."
"Then do what you can. I'll provide you with computational power later. For now, create a simplified model—the main nodes, key protocols, critical connections. That should be enough for initial experiments."
Well nodded and began to work. Alex turned to Kardis:
"Prepare the freezing chamber. As soon as the professor finishes copying the data, we will freeze the prisoner."
"And then?"
"Then we'll start looking for a way to destroy this virus once and for all."
Two hours later, everything was ready. The chamber—a transparent block of reinforced plastic the size of a human body—stood in the corner of the lab. The carbonite freezing system had been calibrated and was ready for operation.
The prisoner was transferred from the operating table to the chamber. She was still unconscious, her face retaining its deathly pallor. The force restraints were removed—they were unnecessary in carbonite.
"Initiating freezing process," announced the technician operating the system.
Streams of gray gas filled the chamber. Carbonite—a substance capable of instantly freezing living tissue, preserving it in stasis for an indefinite period. The process was reversible but required special equipment.
The gas condensed, turning into a solid mass. The prisoner's body froze in a neutral pose—arms at her sides, face turned upwards. The carbonite became transparent, allowing a view of the frozen figure inside.
"Process complete," the technician reported. "All vital functions are suspended. The sample can be stored in this state for up to a hundred years."
Alex approached the chamber and looked at the frozen face of the girl who was once Reynaara. Now she was the Seventh Sister, an Inquisitor of the Empire, the living embodiment of the virus.