Chapter 21 – Autonomous Life

The Lord seizes Gobby by both wrists. The temperature around his body rises, and the heat rapidly concentrates at the points of contact. Gobby’s transformed hands begin to burn. The blackened tissue regenerates almost immediately, but the previous form does not return. New flesh grows over the damaged areas. The bones extend, and the fingers fuse into a long blade, but it burns away before the structure can stabilize. The hands grow massive, become covered in plates of bone, then abruptly narrow again. Claws replace the fingers, break, retract, and give way to blunt bone protrusions.

The defensive mechanism cannot establish a priority fast enough. Restore the hands. Continue the transformation. Create a weapon. Select its form. Reinforce the area that is still being destroyed. Each new configuration forms over the previous one and breaks down at once. The muscles contract unevenly, the bones shift, and the skin tears open from within before sealing again. One hand tries to become a blade while the other expands as if preparing to absorb an impact. A moment later, the forms switch sides. Neither transformation reaches completion.

The Lord keeps hold of Gobby’s wrists. He has already understood the difference between their abilities. Gobby’s potential is high, but all his power is being spent at once on regeneration, defense, and an unfinished attack. The Lord destroys the tissue faster than Gobby’s body can select and stabilize the required form. Without releasing him, he jerks Gobby forward and drives his forehead into the bridge of Gobby’s nose. Gobby’s head snaps back. The second blow makes his knees buckle, but his hands continue changing, burning, and regenerating. After the third, his body goes limp. The Lord releases his wrists. The hands are already returning to their normal form before Gobby hits the floor.

The Lord confirms that Gobby is no longer moving and raises his eyes. Ulrich has already started toward him, but never completes the movement. A thin metal wire has tightened around his neck. Behind Ulrich stands the young man in the pale silk robe, the same man none of them had considered a threat. He feels no anger. He does not want to kill Ulrich. He takes no pleasure in what is happening. For him, this is only an action that must be completed. That is why neither Gobby, German, nor Ulrich himself sensed danger before the wire was already around his throat.

This young man is now Number One in the Lord’s private army. He holds a short handle in each hand. The wire crosses behind Ulrich’s neck and is held tight enough to prevent him from breaking free, but Number One has not finished yet. Ulrich jerks both hands up and tries to seize the wire from above. His fingers slide across the stretched metal. There is no longer any space to hook them underneath it. The loop has already cut deep into his neck. He pulls at the wire with both hands and succeeds only in cutting open his fingers and palms. Number One continues holding him calmly, without unnecessary movement.

The Lord notices Giselle moving. She moves around German through his blind spot. A small injector appears in her hand. German continues watching Ulrich and Gobby on the floor, trying to identify even one viable option. Giselle closes the remaining distance and presses the injector against the side of his neck. A short click. German jerks and grabs the injection site with his right hand. He turns toward Giselle while his left hand is already dropping to the holster secured to the outside of his left thigh. He releases the fastener and draws the spray canister.

For several seconds, German remains on his feet. His gaze continues moving between Giselle, Number One, the Lord, Gobby, the door, and the panoramic window. He raises his left arm and aims the canister at Giselle, but his wrist drifts aside. German tries to correct the movement. His fingers have already begun to stop responding. His right leg buckles. German drops onto one knee, immediately forces himself upward, and tries to aim at Giselle again. Then he shifts the canister toward Number One. His thumb settles on the actuator but cannot press it down. The canister slips from his left hand and hits the floor.

German still manages to stand and takes several uneven steps. He is no longer moving toward a specific objective. He simply keeps walking while his body still obeys him. The only unobstructed direction is the panoramic window. German reaches it and braces his right palm against the glass. Gobby… save… help… need… The words no longer form a sentence. He tries to turn, but his legs finally stop supporting him. German drops onto his knees and slowly slides down the glass. Gobby… His palm slips. He falls onto his side. His eyes remain open, but his gaze no longer focuses on anything. Several seconds later, German loses consciousness.

Number One has continued holding Ulrich throughout the entire struggle. The wire remains taut, but he does not increase the pressure. Ulrich is still trying to grip the metal, though his movements are growing weaker. Number One looks at the Lord. For several seconds, no one in the room moves. That’s it. Finish it.

Number One raises his right knee and plants it between Ulrich’s shoulder blades. Then he pulls both handles backward with full force while driving his hands apart. His knee holds the body in place. The crossed wire cuts into both sides of Ulrich’s neck. Ulrich convulses. His fingers slide across the stretched metal for several more seconds, then his arms fall. His body goes slack.

Number One maintains the tension until all movement stops. Only then does he slowly ease his grip, lower his knee, and prevent the body from dropping. He brings Ulrich down onto his knees first, then onto the floor. He passes one handle around the neck to uncross the wire and removes the wire. He draws it several times across Ulrich’s shirt, wiping it clean on Ulrich’s shirt, examines the metal, folds it carefully, joins the handles, and places them inside the inner pocket of the silk robe. Then he straightens and looks at the Lord. Nothing in his expression changes.

Drogo’s body is delivered to a secure medical complex. The gurney moves through a long white corridor beneath a succession of scanning arches that record tissue temperature, residual electrical activity, and changes inside the body. A transparent wall runs along the right side. Beyond it lies a large white room with dense padding over the walls, floor, and corners. A teenage boy stands in the center with sensors attached to his body. Staff members observe him from behind monitors on the opposite side of the room.

The gurney reaches the glass. The boy’s head snaps backward. Within seconds, his eyes turn completely gray. His body becomes still. Then he slowly lowers his head and looks at his hands. Dark glossy scales spread upward from his wrists. His fingers thicken, the joints become denser, and the tips extend and harden into claws. One staff member leans toward a monitor while another quickly records the readings. The gurney continues down the corridor. The boy remains in the center of the white room, studying his hands as though he has never seen them before.

The doors at the end of the corridor open. Drogo’s body is brought into an isolated surgical unit and transferred to a table. Despite his death, the equipment continues to register faint activity in the abdominal cavity. The surgeon checks the readings again. The source is below the diaphragm.

He opens the abdominal cavity. The internal organs are no longer functioning. Circulation has stopped. Drogo’s own heart is missing. Yet the wall of the stomach continues to contract, irregularly and far too slowly, as though the body is still attempting to digest something. The surgeon widens the incision and lifts the stomach. A dark red fragment of tissue, roughly the size of several fingers pressed together, is embedded in its wall beneath a fine network of newly formed vessels. It has not become trapped inside the stomach and has not been digested. The tissue has grown through the stomach wall and anchored itself there.

The surgeon freezes. The fragment contracts, relaxes, and repeats the movement several seconds later. That is part of a heart, the assistant says. The tissue is doing more than staying alive. New vessels extend from it into the stomach and the surrounding tissue. Each contraction of the fragment triggers movement in the stomach wall, as though the heart is attempting to make the nearest organ work.

The body is dead, the assistant says. Where is it getting nourishment? The surgeon brings the scanner closer. Fine lines appear on the screen, extending from the living tissue into the surrounding organs. It is taking whatever remains. Oxygen. Glucose. Resources from cells that have not completely died yet.

The fragment continues contracting, gradually drawing the remaining resources from the fresh corpse. The surgeon studies the readings. It is not only surviving inside another body. It is trying to take root.

He orders a tissue comparison. The scanner passes over the open abdominal cavity again, and two profiles appear on the display. They do not match. It is not his tissue, the assistant says. The surgeon enlarges the image. Some of the new vessels are drawing oxygen and nutrients. Beside them, thin conductive fibers are forming, allowing the fragment to force the stomach wall to contract.

The surgeon looks at Drogo’s body, then back at the screen. He consumed hearts. The assistant turns toward him. You think this came from one of them? The surgeon studies the image. It is attached to the stomach. The profile does not belong to Drogo, but the tissue survived, resisted digestion, and began constructing its own blood supply.

The fragment contracts again. The stomach wall jerks with it. Do not remove anything yet. The assistant looks at the readings. But it is continuing to drain the body’s remaining resources. The surgeon points toward the vascular network. That is exactly why we leave it where it is. If we sever the vessels now, we may lose it.

He turns toward the equipment. Maintain the temperature. Establish artificial circulation through the adjacent tissue. Prepare an independent life-support system, but do not begin the transfer without my authorization. The assistant nods. The surgeon removes his gloves. I am going to the director.

The director’s office is located in another building within the complex. The surgeon enters without an appointment. The director looks up from his screen. What happened? The surgeon stops in front of the desk. During the examination of Drogo’s body, we found a living fragment of someone else’s heart.

The director stops typing. Living? It has grown into the stomach wall, formed vascular connections, and continues to contract. More than that, it is trying to keep the surrounding tissue functioning. The body is dead? Completely. Did you remove the fragment? No. It is currently using the body’s residual resources. We are supporting the adjacent tissue and preparing an autonomous system. The director watches the surgeon for several seconds. Are you certain it is not part of Drogo himself? The genetic profiles do not match.

The director rises. Stay here. He takes a secure phone and selects the only contact stored within it.

In the hotel suite, the phone resting on a narrow console against the wall begins to vibrate. Giselle approaches and answers. Yes. The voice on the other end speaks rapidly. She stops looking at Ulrich’s body and turns toward Gobby. Wait. She lowers the phone slightly. Mark, it is for you. Very urgent. The Lord looks at her. Urgent enough that it cannot wait five minutes? Giselle glances from Gobby to German beside the panoramic window. It cannot. It concerns them. The Lord extends a hand. She gives him the phone. Speak.

The director reports the living tissue inside Drogo’s abdomen, the incompatible genetic profile, the new vessels, and the contractions continuing after the death of the body. The Lord does not interrupt. His eyes settle on Gobby. Do not remove the fragment. Prepare an autonomous support system. Begin the transfer only after complete stabilization. He listens to the answer. Once the transfer is complete, dispose of Drogo’s body. The director asks something else. I am coming now. Have the test results and the full report ready by the time I arrive. Until then, not a word to anyone.

The Lord ends the call and returns the phone to Giselle. He continues watching Gobby for several seconds, then turns toward her. Giselle, get my suit ready. I am taking a shower. We leave for the center in five minutes. All right.

He looks at Number One. Move these two to the room one floor below. Have a physician examine both of them. After that, continuous surveillance. No one is to enter. Take no further action yourselves until I return. Number One looks from Gobby to German. Understood. The Lord turns his attention to Ulrich’s body. Call the cleanup team. Remove everything. Dispose of the body. It will be done. Any questions? No.

Giselle is already calling the security detail. Number One approaches Gobby and crouches beside him, checking his condition before moving him. The Lord examines the suite one final time, turns, and leaves. Everything begins moving at once.

The restaurant on the top floor of one of the twin towers is closed to the public. Only the staff, several security officers, and two men seated beside the panoramic glass remain inside.

Elias is around forty-five. He cuts his meat slowly while looking out across the city. From this height he can see the river, the old districts, new buildings, and roads extending far beyond the center. Sunlight reflects from the glass of the neighboring tower. I love our city so much, he says, setting down the knife. For several seconds, he simply watches it. And our country. It really is unbelievably beautiful. Elias smiles and picks up his fork again.

The man across from him says nothing. He is a little over fifty, and his dark suit fits perfectly. He is not watching the city. He is watching Elias. There is love and pain in his eyes at once.

Elias is still handsome, but the illness has changed him. His skin has become paler, his face thinner, and his movements have lost their former ease. Even during an ordinary meal, he sometimes has to stop and recover his breath. The man across from him knows every one of those pauses. He knows which are ordinary and which mean he must act immediately.

Elias raises the fork toward his mouth and suddenly freezes. The utensil slips from his fingers and strikes the plate. He drags in a sharp breath and presses one hand against the center of his chest. Elias? He tries to answer but cannot draw enough air. His face loses what little color remains. His shoulders tighten, and his other hand catches the edge of the table to keep himself upright. The man rises immediately, rounds the table, and lowers himself beside him. Elias. Look at me. Elias raises his eyes. His breathing becomes shallow and rapid. Again… he manages to say. Do not speak. The man turns toward the staff. Medical team. Now. Security begins moving before he finishes the sentence. One officer heads for the exit while another is already speaking into a radio. The man takes out his phone and selects a number. The call is answered immediately. We are coming to you. Elias is having another episode. Tightness in the chest, severe shortness of breath, sudden weakness. Have the cardiac team ready. We will be there within minutes. Questions begin coming through the phone. You will receive the readings during transport. Just be ready. He ends the call and takes Elias’s hand. Look at me. Elias opens his eyes. The man tightens his grip around his fingers. I am here.

The accompanying physician is already approaching, and security clears the route toward the service elevator. Elias tries to turn his head toward the window. Beautiful, he says, barely above a whisper. The man looks at him and moves his thumb across his palm. Yes. That is why you will be looking at it for a long time yet.

Minutes later, a convoy pulls away from the service entrance. A security vehicle with flashing lights leads. The medical vehicle follows. The man in the dark suit sits beside Elias while the accompanying physician monitors his condition. Two more security vehicles close the formation. Blue light reflects across storefronts and the windows of passing cars. Intersections are cleared in advance. The convoy does not stop.

They are already waiting at the entrance to the private clinic. The medical vehicle stops beneath the covered arrival bay, and the doors open immediately. A gurney is brought forward, and the doctors transfer Elias onto it with care. The man in the dark suit steps out behind them. The chief physician of the clinic approaches at a rapid pace. Mr. President. The President looks at him. Doctor, you know what to do. Save him. The chief physician glances toward Elias. We will do everything we can. The gurney moves down the corridor at once. The President walks beside it, still holding Elias’s hand. At the double doors of the unit, the accompanying physician stops him. Elias’s fingers slowly slide from his grasp. The gurney disappears beyond the doors. The President remains in the corridor. His hand is still closed as though Elias’s fingers remain inside it.

More than an hour later, the President waits in the chief physician’s office. A cup of coffee stands on the desk. It has been cold for a long time, but he has not touched it. Two security officers remain outside, one on either side of the door. Others control the corridor and the entrance to the unit.

The President stands at the window. During the entire wait, he has checked his phone only a few times and called no one. An hour ago, he was holding Elias’s hand. Now there is nothing to do but wait.

The door opens. The chief physician enters, still wearing surgical scrubs beneath a coat thrown on in haste. The President turns from the window. What is his condition? The physician closes the door. Elias has been stabilized. We restored his cardiac rhythm and are holding his blood pressure. He is conscious, but he will remain in intensive care. Some of the tension leaves the President’s shoulders. Can I see him? Later. For now, he needs complete rest. The President studies him. What are you not telling me? The chief physician pauses. I have bad news. Say it.

He places a tablet containing the examination results on the desk. This episode was significantly more severe than the previous ones. We used to stabilize Elias more quickly. Today it took longer and required far more intensive support. But you succeeded. Today, yes.

He opens the results. His heart can no longer manage the strain. The congenital condition, multiple surgeries, and everything that followed have left almost no functional reserve. The President looks at the images. What does that mean? We can control his rhythm and blood pressure. We can reduce the workload and stabilize individual attacks. But supportive treatment no longer addresses the underlying problem. How much time do we have? The chief physician studies the data. There is no way to give an exact estimate. If his condition remains stable, perhaps several months. But another severe episode could occur at any time, and the next one may no longer respond to treatment. What would it take for him to live without this hanging over him? A heart transplant.

The President does not look away. Then perform the transplant. We need a suitable donor organ. What makes one suitable? The chief physician hesitates for a fraction of a second. A compatible blood type. An appropriate heart size. An acceptable immunological profile. The organ must be recovered within a strict time frame and delivered without delay. So you need one suitable person. The physician slowly straightens. We need a donor organ obtained through the established procedure. I did not ask about the procedure.

Silence settles over the office. For the first time, the chief physician is not looking at the public politician shown on television. Not the man who addresses parliament. Not even the man who held the hand of the one he loves an hour earlier. He is standing before the Ruler of the country. Mr. President, even with maximum priority, we cannot guarantee that a suitable organ will become available in time. I do not need a guarantee. The President remains beside the window. I need a heart. The chief physician says nothing. Can you solve this problem? Within the ordinary transplant system, our options are limited. Then go beyond it.

The chief physician answers carefully. This is not a decision I can make on my own. The President watches him for several seconds, then slowly turns back toward the window. The chief physician understands at once that he has made a mistake. Nothing in the office changes. The same walls. The same desk. The same man in a dark suit. Yet the space around him becomes different. The air grows dense. Pressure settles across the physician’s chest, making each breath require effort. For an instant, a second outline appears behind the President, far larger than a human body and too dense for the room. The chief physician blinks. The outline disappears. The President turns fully toward him. On your own? His voice remains quiet. The physician tries to answer. Mr. President, some decisions require– Did you think I was asking for your permission? The question is calm. That is why the physician does not immediately register what has changed. The President is no longer addressing a doctor. He is addressing a subordinate. I meant that the established procedure does not allow one person to– I do not care what your procedure allows. The pressure intensifies. The chief physician falls silent. The politician from the news is gone. He is standing before the man who owns this country. The decision has already been made. Elias will receive a new heart. But there is no suitable organ available. Then you will find one. I cannot guarantee– You are still telling me what you cannot do. Tell me what you need.

The chief physician swallows. A compatible organ. The correct size. Blood type. Immunological profile. The ability to recover and transport it within a limited time. The President watches him. I am asking you for the second time. Do you need a suitable person? We need a donor organ obtained through the established process. I am not asking about the process.

The President takes one slow step away from the window. The distance between them closes, and the pressure inside the office grows heavier. The chief physician tries to hold on to medical standards, transplant procedures, and the need for authorization, but the connections between his thoughts begin to fail. He remembers why he must object, yet cannot build a single argument to completion.

The second outline appears behind the President again. This time, the physician sees it more clearly. An immense presence compressed inside a human body. It does not threaten. It does not attack. It simply occupies the room until there is no space left for refusal.

Fear does not arrive as an ordinary emotion. The physician feels his consciousness beginning to break apart. First, the links between words disappear. Then he can no longer hold the meaning of his own thoughts. A little more, and he will stop understanding who he is, where he stands, or what he was trying to protect. Only the body will remain. A body capable of carrying out an order.

The chief physician lowers his eyes. If a suitable heart is available, the operation can be performed.

That is your task.

I cannot organize a search outside the official system on my own.

The outline behind the President twitches. The physician’s thought cuts off. His mouth opens, but for several seconds he cannot remember what he intended to say.

You still do not understand. Your task is to tell me what kind of heart Elias needs and who is capable of performing the surgery. Everything else is none of your concern.

The pressure disappears. The chief physician draws a sharp breath. The walls return with the air. So does the distance to the door and the ability to connect one thought to another.

He remains silent for several seconds, then finds the only option he can still offer. We can convene a closed medical panel. A limited group of specialists: cardiac surgeons, transplant experts, and specialists in complex congenital conditions. Possibly representatives of restricted research institutions. Initially, without an official protocol.

When? Organizing it will take several days. Today. Some of the specialists are in other cities. Give me their names. We will need transportation. You will have it. And authorization for personnel from restricted institutions. You already have it.

The chief physician nods slowly. I will assemble the panel.

Do it.

The President returns to the window. The chief physician heads toward the door, but hears his voice before reaching it. One more thing. Elias must know nothing about this conversation. The physician stops with one hand still resting on the handle. Until there is a concrete solution, we can avoid discussing the details with him. Not the details. He must not know where you find the heart, who participates in the search, or what obtaining it requires. He will need to provide informed consent before the operation. He will consent to the operation. The chief physician hesitates. And if he asks about the organ?

The President does not answer. The second outline appears behind him again, but this time it does not remain still. It expands sharply, filling the office from floor to ceiling. The chief physician does not even have time to inhale.

The office disappears.

For a fraction of a second, he sees himself lying on the floor of his own home. His neck is bent at an impossible angle. His eyes are open, but the body no longer belongs to him. The next image arrives before he understands the first. The faces of the people he loves. Blood across the walls. Motionless hands. Empty eyes. Then a hospital corridor where his colleagues pass his body as though they no longer recognize the man they worked beside for years.

The images change too quickly. In every one of them, he remains alive just long enough to understand what is happening, but never long enough to change it. Fear breaks through the body before thought can form. His legs buckle. The body surrenders before the mind. Warmth spreads down the inside of his thigh, but he barely registers it. His entire consciousness is occupied by one certainty. This is not a warning. It has already happened.

The office returns. No more than a second has passed. The chief physician is still beside the door, both hands locked around the handle. His breathing no longer obeys him. He looks at the President but cannot remember where he is.

The second outline contracts until it fits inside the human figure again. He will not ask. The physician pales further. I understand. The President slowly turns his head toward him. No. Now you understand.

The chief physician tries to open the door, but his fingers cannot manage the handle at first. If Elias learns about this conversation… The President does not finish. The physician sees his own body on the floor again. Only for an instant. He will not learn. Good.

The door closes. The President remains at the window. Below him, the city Elias admired several hours earlier continues moving.

You will be looking at it for a long time yet, he says quietly.