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And the game would be played out, win or lose, without her able to do anything about it.

She tried to tell herself that this wasn’t the same thing. She was on the forefront of this potential holocaust, after all; she was the front line of defense. This wasn’t out of her control but rather — quite literally — resting squarely in her hands. For some reason, however, that rational, adult knowledge couldn’t banish the little girl’s fear that there was nothing she could do to affect this game’s outcome.

She wondered how Amos could ignore that feeling, or if he even felt it at all. He hummed the theme song to Hawaii Five-O for the millionth time, yet Margaret was too tired to complain. She sipped at her coffee. She’d downed pots of the stuff, hoping it would stimulate her, yet nothing seemed to cut through her lethargy. It felt good to breathe normal air, air not filtered by the biosuit. She wanted to sleep, or at least stretch out and relax, but there really wasn’t time. They needed to finish up the work, incinerate the decomposed remains, and get the h.e.l.l out of that hospital.

Amos turned to her. His hair was askew, his clothes wrinkled, yet his eyes were alive with excitement.

“This is really quite amazing, Margaret,” he said. “Think about it. This is a human parasite of unparalleled complexity. There’s no question in my mind that this creature is perfectly suited to its human host.”

Margaret stared at the wall, her words quiet, barely audible. “I hate to paraphrase a tired old cliché, but it’s almost too perfect.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like you said, the creature is ideally suited. It’s like a hand in a glove. But think about it, Amos, think of current technology levels — this creature is miles above that. It would be like the Russians suddenly landing on the moon while the Wright brothers were still struggling at Kitty Hawk.”

“It’s amazing, sure, but we can’t ignore the fact that it’s right here in front of us. This is no time for sensitive American egos. There’s some genius out there that’s so far beyond us we can’t even comprehend it.”

“What if there is no genius?” Margaret asked, her voice still small.

“What are you talking about? Of course there’s a genius — how else could this thing have been created?”

She turned to look at him, her skin almost gray, fatigue covering her face like a caul. “What if it’s not created? What if it’s natural?”