64 Days after Viral Event
She looks tired. But then, she always looks tired. It has been over a month since the last entry. What has she been doing all this time? Unfortunately, only part of that is revealed. The part she thinks is the most important at the moment.
"I know why the altered virus is so large now," she says without preamble.
She is sitting in her office again, but some things have changed. There are more holographs on the walls- images of an older man with dark hair and tattoos on his face, images of the woman in the first holo, images of the pair of them, sometimes will a child and sometimes just the two. Happy, smiling. Family to watch over her shoulder. Obviously she has returned to her home since the last entry, but she makes no comment about it.
The office also has more of a lived in quality. Though neat, it's possible to see a hammock slung in a corner, clothing hung on makeshift hooks. The desk isn't dirty, but there is more clutter on it, including the remains of whatever she'd been eating last.
"Whomever created it including the genetic coding for every small variation of the Gulag Plague that.... well, perhaps ever existed. Including mutations not in the system at all. Rather than a single, mutated virus, this pathogen contains every mutation within it. A virus like this would naturally mutate over time. But this version has the potential to mutate much faster- more data, more chances for corruption over each generation. It could eventually mutate in to a less deadly form- many viruses over the course of history have done that. After all, if it cannot replicate in a host enough before the host dies, that's a maladaptive strategy for most pathogens. Being spread, copying itself, that should be the goal. But the original version of the virus never did that- never became less deadly. But with all of the additional genetic material here, there's a chance of that happening. But over what kind of time frame?"
She leans back, haggard but thoughtful.
"There's no way to even guess. But I would bank on not within my lifetime. The virus spreads so efficiently, the usual stop gaps that would encourage a less deadly mutation aren't there. It is able to replicate and spread to new hosts before the old one dies, so there is no pressure for a less destructive version to succeed."
Irajah sighs, rubbing her hand over her face.
"It's already as good as it needs to be. Any further mutation will likely not be in my favor."
Her shirt cuffs slip, revealing that the deep bruising from two months ago is still there.
"It's not mutating as any rate beyond what would be expected in my own body. It's replicating because it can't help but do that, but the individual viroids aren't long lived. In my body at least, because it's not killing me, the rate of replication and cell death have reached a balance. I don't think the creators of this ever expected to be studying it in such a manner."
Her face hardens.
"Nor will they. I am a little surprised that, after all this time, no one has come to look at their handiwork. I have been expecting company in some for or another for two months now, but all of the airspace around our world has been as dead as the planet itself. But no one has come. It seems as though the destruction of my people was enough of a show."
Teeth grit together, Irajah's face darkening.
"If I'm ever going to find who did this, I will have to find a way off planet. I've never piloted a ship. I don't even know how to start one up. But I can learn."
Leaning over to switch off the recording, she whispers, more to herself than anything else.
"I can learn."
[member="Jonathon Patches"] [member="Skye Mertaal"]
