Dr. Moviitch sat back heavily in his swivel chair, a deep sigh accentuating the motion. He rubbed his tired eyes with one hand as the microscope stared unblinkingly back at him.
“Tison, it’s back.”
“Again?” The younger man’s incredulity brought him rushing into the room. “But we eradicated it. There was no trace left.”
“We did,” Moviitch clenched a fist, “but the door was left open.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It always returns with a different name, but the symptoms are ways the same. Call it a variable strain.
“How can we stop this?”
“It’s unclear how. There are dozens of theories and hundreds of proposed cures. Not one has proven capable of permanently eradicating it.”
“Then the only hope is immunity. Certainly through this many exposures it can’t have the same effect.”
“That is my hope as well. It does seem to diminish after each invasion, but still always present, always attacking.”
Tison stood with arms crossed, thinking hard. Moviitch switched off his equipment and the lights, and the two men left the lab.