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Epilogue: Max

It took Max only three or four days to be back at what everyone else saw as full strength, but she could feel it, that the drugs pumped into her had taken a larger toll on her strength and stamina. Determined to tough it out– after all, even if she wanted to tell someone, who could she tell? The only ones who knew the story about her souped up constitution were Logan and Bling–and, given the givens, how could she with a straight face complain to either of them that she just couldn't jump into a third floor window from the ground these days as she could last week?

But now, three weeks past the events, she really was back, much to her relief. It bothered her a little to have been a captive, but it bothered Logan more, and bothered him still more that she wasn't all psychotic about it. He just wasn't making the connection–"prisoner" was lifestyle for her, a decade back–and for a lot longer, with a lot more pain–both physical and emotional. No, other things bothered her more...

Like falling for the lame bait they'd planted for her. It was evidence of how she'd let her emotions take her over where her family was involved. Not totally a bad thing, emotions, but not good at all to that extreme, losing herself to her hopes of finding the others. She filed it away as a matter to be watched and considered, always. She also filed away a reminder to pay more attention to Logan's take on things: a good yin to her yang, maybe? She knew full well she wouldn't often bow to his warnings completely, but would, from now on, take extra care where he felt it might be wise. Not a bad plan, all things considered...

And, bothering her too, Max saw that Logan seemed to be carrying more–everything-- inside: more concern for her, more care, more humor and fun on the good days, more frustration and, yes, pissiness, on the bad. He'd finally told her what had happened at the warehouse, what he'd seen, what he learned from Matt and Mama and Briley, what he inferred. At least, it was his spin on things...she suspected that he hadn't told her everything, and it was something there, unspoken, that led to the changes in him. But on the other hand, he'd seen how deeply she still ached for her sibs, and was better about letting her see the threads he was following to find them–nothing definite yet, but it was comforting to her that he was on it, that he had both her back and her heart's desire.

She wondered if she'd ever learn the whole story and suspected she would not. But it was Logan, keeping those secrets...keeping strong in the struggle...and for once, she felt safe in leaning back and letting him stay strong for her, too...

No, the only piece of unfinished business for her was inside the dingy brink apartment building in front of her. Looking along the street casually, she stepped off the curb to cross the street and go inside. Passing the rickety elevator, she climbed the stairs to the third floor, and walked along silently to Apartment 317. Without bothering to look along the hall–after all, she heard no one in the area– Max quietly jimmied the lock to slip inside...

Even in daylight, it was dim. The only artificial light in the living room was the television set, volume low, turned to some talking head, a political something or other. The room was empty. Max listened to hear sounds of poured liquid from down the hall, the kitchen, maybe. She heard nothing else; she believed the pourer was alone. She walked on down the hall, silently.

The kitchen wasn't much brighter. Max came to stand in the doorway to watch the woman at the stove, back to her, as she set the kettle back down. As she turned back toward the table where her tea cup waited she saw Max and gasped, stumbling in her shock. "452..." she breathed...

Max just stood silently, watching.

The woman wavered, waiting for what was to come: an attack? What else could it be? But when moments went by, and the younger woman didn't move, she became bolder. She of all people knew all that an X5 could do, and the fact that she was still standing–that she'd even seen 452–meant she wanted something more than her death. It emboldened her...

"You've grown into quite the young woman." The doctor offered. "Despite the seizures...and being on your own for what, ten years now?"

There was no response. Not one she could hear, anyway. At the moment Max was remembering years past, being on a cot in the infirmary, being tested and prodded and poked, with the same, cold eyes that would not make contact, would not recognize her or hers as human...the same cold voice which ordered her son to harvest her blood on a regular schedule before her drugs killed the donor...

Well, she looked at Max now, spoke to her. And even in this moment, the moment Lydecker would label as weak, yielding, soft...the moment that Logan had made possible...Max saw the truth: she was more human than this woman. The realization filled her and she felt stronger than she ever had...and she knew how this moment would end. She wasn't sure before that she could do it, but had always known it was the only outcome that would allow her to return to Logan–even if he were never to know, she would know. It was the only way she could feel as if she deserved the respect and...indeed, humanity...he'd always offered her... She looked back to the doctor.

...who had seen the change and paled. "What do you want?" She whispered. When no answer came, she asked again, her voice more shrill with fear. "What do you want of me?"

Max drew a breath. You've already shown me all I want to know... she thought for now... "This. To see what you are. For you to see me. For you to understand which of us is human." She considered, then added. "Your son will be in jail for some time. I know where you're living; you know I can find you–or your son–and you know what I can do. If you don't want to see me again...if you don't want me to pay your son back myself for what he did to me...you'll talk to Logan Cale, any time he calls, tell him anything he wants to know about Manticore, anything at all, related or not; whatever he asks you, you tell him all you know, all truthfully."

She turned to go, and the doctor, rattled with relief, babbled, "That's it? All the research and planning that went into creating you, a perfect soldier, and you walk away?" When the woman turned back to her and the dark brown eyes bored into hers, she quailed, for a moment, regretting her arrogance at stirring a hornet's nest.

But the perfect lips smiled slightly, the eyes seemed to lighten, as she nodded. "And, that way, I win the battle." And as she walked down the hall, down the corridor, her step became stronger, her stride more cocky, a smile curled her lips....and with a toss of her head, a laugh of freedom bubbled deep from her chest...

Epilogue: Logan

Logan had sworn to himself that he wouldn't say anything to anyone, wouldn't let his hopes go too far...but only two days had passed after Logan had written to the doctor when, anxious with possibility, he came into the kitchen where Bling was brewing one of his herbal concoctions to leave with his client.

"Hey, Bling."

"Hey" the tall man glanced down, sideways, at the teal-green eyes, not for a moment buying the attempt at casualness. He waited, knowing there would be more. There was.

"What do you know about HikiroTanaka?"

"The geneticist? Just the basics–he's going to be in town next week, at a conference." Bling turned back to his task. "He's presenting on some breakthrough genetic therapy he's developed."

"I know. I was thinking..." Logan stalled, looked for an excuse. Bling seemed able to see through his fictions, and he temporized... "I read that he's been able to do some work on the regeneration of otherwise damaged nerve and other tissue, essentially triggering the body to regrow the damaged parts. With press credentials I could get in to see him."

Bling's eyebrows lifted. "You think he could repair your spinal cord?"

"Can't hurt to ask..."

Bling saw the desperate hope in the man's eyes, and would not let Logan see his skepticism, but suspected that if it was truly possible in the here and now, that he'd have heard of tests and trials and presentations some time ago. And the timing...it had been an awkward three weeks since Logan had brought Max here after she'd been captive. Each of the two had been scrambling wildly to appear to be casual, unaffected... "normal." Several times now he'd wondered which of them would explode first...and now Logan, who'd all this time managed not to succumb to all the quack promises for cures and remedies out there, had found a possible snake oil salesman to get up his hopes that he might get rid of the chair. "No..." Bling finally admitted. "But you know this kind of medical breakthrough has been sought for generations. It's a tough problem to fix."

"Bling, the guy is respected all over the world," Logan's irritated snap merely served to convince Bling that his client was indeed putting too much hope into this "cure." "He's bringing a patient he treated– severe brain injury, now the kid's off the IQ scale. He's not a quack."

"I'm aware of his credentials" as always, Bling was unflappable. "And, as you say, it can't hurt to ask. I suppose he might have something to offer Max too, for the seizures?"

The look on Logan's face surprised him: stunned, Logan realized that it had never even occurred to him that Max's genetic error messing with her ability to produce serotonin might be even more amenable to Tanaka's rewiring than his own injuries. He felt his cheeks warm in embarrassment that he'd been so self-absorbed. "Well, sure; of course. That's the point, isn't it?" Logan heard his voice growing testy. "He can use the genetic layout of any individual as a map to fix the flaws..."

"That's the goal, I know." Bling looked at Logan, levelly--this was all still experimental, at least for adults, notwithstanding the subject of Tanaka's latest attempts, and he could see that Logan was not going to handle disappointment well. "But you need to be ready for the fact that you may not get the answer you want."

"Yeah, well, it would cut back your hours here, wouldn't it? Can't have that." Logan snapped, pivoting tightly and pushing himself quickly out of the room. The therapist sighed after him, dark eyes clouding in concern. Logan's anger at his paralysis was sharper than it had ever been. Bling suspected that it had a lot to do with being face to face with his feelings for Max...and his accompanying stubborn determination that he wasn't worthy of her...

Bling sighed, finishing the tea, and lifted the mug to walk out to the front room where the man in the wheelchair sat staring out rain streaked windows to the thin grey light of mid afternoon. On nearly silent tread he came toward the nearby table and set down the steaming mug. "Here–it tastes a lot better if you drink it while it's still pretty warm." Straightening, he turned calmly to go. "See you tomorrow, Logan."

"Bling..."

The voice was raw; Bling turned as the chair did, and the green eyes carried a new pain and acute remorse. "I'm sorry..." He looked beaten, ragged. "I don't know where that came from."

"Well, I think I do, so I'm not taking it personally." The trainer looked at the man before him, and offered quietly, "Logan, no one else sees the chair as negatively as you do. No one who matters to you thinks less of you for it. If Dr. Tanaka–or the next guy, or the next–can help you heal, then that's great. But you need to understand that, if they don't have the cure you're hoping to find, the only one who will be devastated is you." He hesitated, but decided to add, "You know Max won't be thrown."

"Yeah, well..." Why should she be? he thought we're not like that–but had the grace not to voice it, knowing it would only stir Bling into more pep talks. "Whatever," he finished, lamely. "I was way out of line, no matter what or why I said it. I am sorry."

"Yes, you are" Bling's smile was slow, deep...subtle. "You are about as sorry a client as I've ever had –so drink up the tea and I'll see you tomorrow.

Logan nodded, lifting the mug. "Yes, mom" he said for the millionth time. "See you tomorrow..."

..........................

Dear Mr. Cale:

Please let me say how much I appreciate your interest, and would be delighted to provide whatever time and information you need for the article you propose on my work.

However, I am sad to say that the aspect of our research that you mention has not been borne out as we hoped. You are correct that we had hoped that the treatment instituted in the Swedish Neurological Institute, allowing for the regeneration of brittle bones and atrophied muscle tissue, could be paired with our own efforts to allow those with longer term paralysis a reversal of their injuries as well.

But it appears it won't be enough. I now believe that our treatment will need to be instituted within 6 months of injury–optimally, three months–to allow a not only a viable sensory reconnection between nerves and CNS processing in the brain, but an acceptable regrowth of bone density and a muscle control to complete the restoration of function. Maybe in time we can extend that somewhat, and we can certainly restore some function to those injured a few months longer. However, at this time we can offer repair only to those who are under the age of 2 years, or whose injuries occurred in the time frame noted.

I would be happy to meet with you, however, for the interview you requested regarding our research done so far. My thanks for your interest in our endeavors.

Sincerely,

HikiroTanaka

He pushed across the room to the back corner with enough of a jolt that his chair frame creaked, moving back to the table holding his latest files. He had work to do; projects to complete; he wouldn't agonize...

This fix was supposed to have cured anything, wasn't it? Was the man a quack, as Bling had cautioned? Either way, it didn't matter; turns out the good doctor wasn't quite up to the task.

...it had meant so much...it had meant he could be on his feet, back to his old life...maybe never as tough as Max but maybe able to keep up with her. But now...

Work. Eyes Only had a responsibility. If he could just...

...but it had meant so much...

With a grimace he pivoted with a push, hard, back toward the computers, only to feel his world reel as he tipped over backward, his anger fueling his turn. Landing on his back, hard, he was instantly reminded of what a cure could have meant, if only...his head slowly lowered back toward the floor, where he wondered if he'd have the energy to get up...

Until he heard the last thing he'd wanted to hear at that moment...

"Anybody home...? Logan...?"

Episode 6: Prodigy