Genesis Cure (Genesis Book 7)

by Eliza Green

  Laura shook her head. ‘They’re still showing them around. I’ll speak to them later about it.’

  Clement closed the gap between them. Laura steadied her thundering pulse, as much to do with her feelings for Clement as the visitors. She allowed his hand on her arm; to ease out of it a second time would only invite questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

  ‘Don’t worry, Stephen and Serena will show them there’s nothing to worry about.’

  Laura wished she could share in his confidence.

  He bent his neck and looked into her eyes. ‘You don’t agree?’

  She answered honestly. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  Laura released a stress-filled sigh. ‘The only thing I can.’ She met his intense gaze. ‘I want to keep training. I want to know if I can talk to the black ghosts.’

  17

  Bill should have been happy. Laura was talking to him again; although that was three day ago now. Harvey was quitting his passive aggressive campaign against him. Yet, as he sat alone in his apartment that morning, it felt as though he’d won nothing.

  The floorboards in his studio-style apartment creaked loudly when Bill crossed the floor of his living room. No music played as he stopped at the drinks cabinet next to the dining table. The sound of soft humming didn’t break through the silence. Each noise was acoustically sharp.

  He opened the cabinet door and pulled out a bottle of replicated twelve-year-old Scotch whisky. Next, he plucked up a tumbler and set both items down on the dining table, next to his inactive DPad. Bill punched in a number and called the first floor of the office.

  Julie answered. He must have looked a sight because she frowned.

  ‘Bill, everything okay?’

  He mustered up a smile and ruffled his hair with one hand. ‘Fine. I’m taking the day off. I didn’t get much sleep last night.’

  That was a lie. With Actigen in his system, he’d gotten the usual amount of sleep since Laura’s departure. Dreams of his wife leaving him again ruined whatever few hours he’d managed to get.

  Julie nodded as though she understood. ‘We can cope here. I’ll check on your floor.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He clicked off grateful she could step into the breach, and poured a generous measure of whisky into his glass.

  He took a large gulp, wincing as the near-perfect alcohol substitute seized his throat. The burn reminded him that he controlled his body. But everything else? Fuck if he knew.

  Convincing Harvey to help was a victory, but Bill’s control over Exilon 5’s affairs was slipping. Harvey knew it; the rogue groups he mingled with knew it. Worse, so did the Indigenes. Why else would Stephen have lost the respect of, and control over, his charges unless they didn’t believe in the future? Stephen’s refusal to admit to the change that had percolated over the years worried Bill.

  One thing he had in common with his Indigene friend? Stubbornness.

  Laura’s perfect, oval-shaped face and shining, green eyes lingered in his mind. Had he pushed her away because she needed it, or had it been because of his stubbornness? She had changed him for the better. He hated the idea that she might be better off without him.

  Look at him now, drinking and taking Actigen—reverting to old habits like a duck swimming in water. Bill drank some more.

  The replicated whisky slid down his throat, numbing the hard lump lodged there.

  His apartment echoed with the sound of his fast breaths. He yelled out the frustration; it came out more like a strangled whine. Bill jerked the chair back and paced the double apartment, grateful for the extra square footage. He strode to his bedroom, turned, then strode back, passing the sofa and the dining table and stopping at the kitchen door. Then he returned to his drink.

  Bill stared down at the bottle next to it.

  Margaux’s sickness had come as a shock to him, even though he’d felt something wasn’t right for a while now. The Elite would not go quietly. But even though Laura had told him about it, nothing she’d said had linked the two events to each other.

  It had been too long since Laura had gotten in touch. Three days and no word from her. What if Margaux’s illness had been a false alarm? Because of that one conversation, Bill had handed ownership of a warehouse not far from the ITF offices over to Harvey, without knowing if it had been necessary. Now, Harvey had him over a barrel. How long would it take for the rest of Bill’s authority to crumble?

  ‘Stop it, Bill,’ he muttered in the silence.

  He hadn’t gotten this far without trusting his instincts. Keeping the Elite alive had been just that, instinctual. Extending his help to the Indigenes when Laura had called, likewise. His brain still buzzed with the possibility that changes were coming. He always knew the Elite would continue to cause trouble. But without proof, he was flying blind.

  Bill picked up his DPad again and called Jameson. The doctor answered after five rings.

  He appeared flustered on screen. ‘Bill, are you calling for an update? Because I don’t have one for you.’

  The Elite’s DNA was aging too fast. They needed to halt the degradation.

  ‘Well, you’re going to have to work harder. Something’s potentially happening with the Indigenes and I need those Elite alive.’

  Jameson frowned. ‘If you need information, the Conditioned bodies playing host to their minds can give you that.’

  ‘Not without compromising the Conditioned mind. You told me that.’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct. If the plan is to swap the Elite minds back into their bodies, we shouldn’t risk waking them for any other reason.’ Jameson looked puzzled. ‘Then why?’

  ‘Same reason as before. We still may need live bio samples from the Elite.’

  ‘And you still can’t tell me why?’

  He wished he knew. It was still just a feeling. ‘As soon as I know I’ll tell you.’

  Jameson shrugged. ‘All I’m doing here is slowing down the inevitable.’

  ‘Keep trying. And Harvey is back on board.’

  He hadn’t spoken to Jameson since his visit to the safe house. Margaux’s illness presented him and Harvey with a more urgent problem.

  Jameson’s eyes widened. ‘Since when?’

  ‘I spoke to him a few days ago.’

  ‘He’s not returning here, is he?’

  ‘No. I have him working on a separate project related to the same potential issue. But I need you two to play nice.’

  ‘Tell that to him,’ scoffed Jameson.

  ‘I did. Now I’m giving you the same message.’ He resisted an eye roll. It was like dealing with a couple of teenagers. Ben Watson was more of an adult than these two. ‘That’s it for now. Let’s keep in touch.’

  Bill clicked off and sipped more of his whisky. He sat there for an hour, staring at the walls.

  A knock on his door startled him. He got up, wondering who it could be. He never had visitors. Hope caused his heart to flutter.

  Bill jerked the door open to find Julie standing there. His hope faded.

  ‘When you said you were taking the day off, I thought, “That’s odd, he never takes one of those.”’ She quirked a smile and held up a bag of food. ‘May I come in?’

  Bill hid his disappointment behind a smile. While he didn’t want company, he didn’t want to be alone either. He stood back and let her into his and Laura’s apartment.

  Julie did a three-sixty turn in the open-plan room that had once been two separate apartments. The square footage was about fifteen hundred.

  ‘Wow, this place is amazing.’ She slid her gaze to him. ‘You decorate this or Laura?’

  He lifted one side of his mouth. ‘Who do you think?’

  She nodded and walked over to the dining table, setting the food down next to the whisky bottle. Julie’s visit had forced his gnawing loneliness to retreat, but it would return as soon as she left.

  ‘You know I have a replicator,’ Bill joked. ‘I can eat when I want.’

&nb
sp; Julie turned, lifting a brow. His breath caught when, in that brief second, he saw Laura.

  She gestured to the bag. ‘This is from Cantaloupe. Much better, don’t you think?’

  He didn’t disagree. The smell drew him closer. Donning a breezier expression he didn’t feel, Bill collected two plates from the kitchen and placed them down next to the bags of food.

  ‘This wasn’t necessary.’ He rummaged through the bags, catching the smell of lasagne from one. He flashed a genuine smile at her. ‘You got lasagne.’

  Julie grinned. ‘You mentioned it was your favourite.’

  He frowned at the food, then at the projection on the wall that said 10am. ‘It’s a little early for dinner.’

  Julie nodded to the bottle of whisky. ‘Earlier for the food than it is for that. How about you pour me one?’

  Bill grabbed a second glass from the cabinet and set it down on the dining table. He poured a measure for Julie. Her blonde hair bobbed as she set the table for dinner. His chest tightened once more at seeing her at his and Laura’s table, in his and Laura’s apartment. Laura should be here, not her.

  This was a mistake. ‘Thanks for the food, but I think I just want to be alone.’

  Julie scooped up the glass and drained it. ‘If you wanted to be alone, you wouldn’t have let me in.’

  That was true. Maybe he needed company more than he realised.

  They sat down at the table and ate in silence. On occasion, Julie would look at him, then away.

  When the food was gone, she asked, ‘Any word from Laura?’

  It felt weird to talk about his wife with anyone who wasn’t a close friend of hers. But he supposed Julie was the closest thing to Laura’s friend at the office.

  ‘She got in touch a few days ago,’ he said. Julie’s eyes widened a little. ‘But she’s not coming back yet.’

  The tension left her eyes. ‘Don’t worry, Bill, you won’t be alone.’

  He had no issue with being alone. He just didn’t want to lose his best friend. Every day since he’d told her to go, he’d questioned if he’d made the right decision.

  Julie swapped seats and sat in the one next to him.

  She squeezed his arm. ‘Whatever happens, it will be okay.’

  ‘I just miss her.’

  He hadn’t admitted that to anyone, not even Stephen. Maybe women were easier to confide in.

  Julie squeezed his arm a second time. ‘I know, but she left you and you have to accept that.’

  Did he? His pessimistic side wanted him to pretend for the rest of his life, for him to feel miserable as he checked the apartment each evening for signs of her return. Or he could accept she had made her choice. That choice was not him.

  ‘I know, but it’s hard.’

  He brought his eyes up to meet hers. Julie’s hair shade matched Laura’s, but the eyes, mouth and expressions were all wrong.

  ‘It will get easier, I promise,’ she said. ‘We have to keep each other company now.’

  Julie sat close enough that Bill caught a floral scent from her. She leaned in, her hand switching from his arm to his neck. She pulled him closer. Bill closed his eyes and pretended she was someone else, the only woman he wanted. Warm lips grazed his and for a second he gave into the desire. This didn’t mean anything. It was someone who could ease his pain.

  Gentle caresses turned into deep, throaty moans, fast breaths and exploring hands. Bill pulled her in closer and devoured her mouth just for a second...

  What was he doing?

  He snapped his eyes open and scooted back in his chair. With a shake of his head, his desire was knocked loose. He covered his mouth with his hand. Julie pulled back, sporting red cheeks and a look of surprise on her face, but she kept hold of his arm.

  Bill eased out of her clutches gently and stood up. Rubbing a hand over his salt-and-pepper hair, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Julie. That was inappropriate behaviour.’

  Julie stood up, looking more composed. ‘I’m not sorry, Bill. Laura’s gone. She made her choice. We have nothing to apologise for.’

  Yet, she wasn’t gone for him. He looked at the woman before him. She was beautiful, strong and confident. Any man’s dream woman.

  ‘I think it’s best if you go.’

  Julie paused for a second, her lips parted as if she wanted to say more. But then she collected up her bag and coat and left.

  Alone again, Bill paced the apartment. What had he allowed to happen?

  His mind tried to rationalise it. Laura’s not here and Julie is a lovely woman. You did nothing wrong.

  No matter what his head said, his heart disagreed with him. He marched over to his work desk next to his bedroom and opened the drawer. Sitting inside was his old friend.

  He popped a couple of Actigen, illegal on Exilon 5 due to its dangerous side effects, and downed them with more whisky.

  Sleep was overrated anyway. He had other problems to solve. Might as well work through day and the coming night.

  18

  The double mattress Stephen shared with Serena felt lumpy and too hard. The last few years had stripped away his enjoyment of life with his mate. Not that he’d known how to relax before becoming an elder, or during, but with Serena it had been easier to begin with.

  His back ached, probably due to his risky hunt a few days ago. He hadn’t told Serena about hunting without an air filtration device. Ten minutes in the Nexus hadn’t been long enough to repair the damage the wolf had done to him.

  The risk, though, had been worth it. The blood from that kill had meant each of his charges got one small measure. A token gesture and in no way meant to satiate, but with it came a boost in spirits that had been flagging for weeks. Now, it appeared the elders’ presence was doing that.

  Thinking of the four weakened his resolve, made him feel like less of an Indigene. Anger did not make him a good leader. Fighting his anger made him soft.

  He turned to the wall, expecting to find Serena next to him, but she was not there. He touched the mattress, feeling the warmth of her hotter-than-normal Indigene body, lingering on the sheet. She hadn’t been gone long.

  With no reason to linger, he got up. The private quarters carved out of the omicron rock dulled his abilities too much. He hated how he struggled these days to sense the moods of his charges or to see their auras in bright colours. But, as Serena kept reminding him, he could not be “on” all the time. Their soundproofed quarters offered him a peace he no longer enjoyed; peace had been rare, even before he’d become an elder. But his faulty senses irritated him more than he let on to Serena.

  He opened the door and a rush of emotions hit him. A jumbled mess of feelings, thoughts and moods all at once—nothing that alarmed him. A rush like this was common when he switched off his abilities, or, in his case, the rock switched them off for him.

  The emotions dipped suddenly, like an abating gust of wind. Ignoring the stone steps, Stephen stepped off the top tier and jumped down to ground level. A deep shudder ran through his legs and reminded him he was alive. But the levelling of emotions, dominated by a sense of relief that the four elders were here, reminded him that his charges no longer trusted him.

  Stephen exited the space through one of the access tunnels, moving at a fast and even pace. What he wouldn’t give to hunt right now. But with the elders staying for an indefinite length of time, he didn’t want to give them a new reason to find fault with his leadership.

  He sensed Serena in the Central Core and headed there. Maybe she could send some of her influencing calm his way. Just enough so he could think clearly.

  The crowds in the Core stunned him. He looked around the space, packed with more Indigenes than usual. They huddled, not in the usual small groups, but in a larger one. They appeared to surround someone.

  Stephen searched for Serena, sensing her deep in the crowd. He pushed his way through, irritated at how long it took for some to notice him there, or to make way. Colourful green and blue auras intermixed to make a ribbon of turquoise o
verhead. That should have pleased him, but he knew their better mood was not because of him.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he murmured to those around.

  The crowd loosened their hold on the space the farther in he got. And that’s when he saw Serena.

  She was standing between Emile and Marie, while Maxime and Clara looked on.

  Why didn’t anyone call for him? He stopped among his charges.

  Emile’s smile widened briefly when he noticed Stephen. Serena flashed him a look of apology. He would speak to her later about this.

  He stepped closer to the four. ‘What’s going on, Emile?’

  ‘Stephen!’ Emile gestured him forward. ‘We started without you.’

  He frowned at the elder, younger than Gabriel by three years. ‘Started what?’

  ‘A new way of doing things around here.’

  He stiffened at Emile’s words. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Emile fanned his hands. ‘Please, do not misunderstand me. Marie and I took a walk last night while you were asleep. We spoke to your charges, many of whom said you have placed restrictions on hunting.’

  It was not him who had restricted hunting practices, but the ITF and their peace treaty.

  ‘We are only permitted to kill one animal a day. You have the same restrictions in your district. This should not come as a surprise.’ Stephen failed to keep the anger out of his voice.

  Emile smiled again while Maxime and Clara stood like a pair of emotionless clones, staring at the floor and nodding at whatever Emile said.

  ‘We understand the restrictions,’ Marie said, ‘but we also noticed how unhappy your charges are. We feel that a loosening of the restrictions will lift morale here.’

  If they felt that way, they should have discussed it with him first.

  Serena, what the hell?

  In company, her shrug was barely imperceptible. Marie ambushed me outside our quarters. I had no time to get you.

  Stephen lifted his chin. ‘The rules are in place to protect lives, Emile. I’d appreciate it if you’d discuss any ideas you have with me first.’

  Emile fanned his hands again. Pierre used to do the same thing, but somehow when Emile did it, it seemed less genuine.