by RS McCoy
Silas was halfway through the cheap brandy when he decided to write a few ecomms while he could. Might as well. He collapsed against the padded headboard and pulled up the ecomm app on his tablet.
He started with Nick. He wrote simply:
TO: DR. NICOLAS PASTROMAS
FROM: DR. SILAS ARRENSTEIN
MSG: FUCK YOU.
It felt good, even though he would have much rather delivered his sentiments in person. Via his fist.
Then Knox. It took Silas a few minutes to find his real name in his contact list, but soon enough, he wrote up the ecomm to his longest-running agent.
TO: MARK LENNOX
FROM: DR. SILAS ARRENSTEIN
MSG: TAKE CARE OF RAMONA. ARES PROTOCOL AT 1200.
He would know what it meant. They’d been over it a dozen times.
After that, he struggled. He wanted to send Maz another version of Nick’s ecomm, but he couldn’t. She was the only one who could save him. He wasn’t so desperate yet. Maybe after a few more.
For Maggie, Silas didn’t even know where to begin. What would he say to her? Sorry? Words could never convey the depth of his guilt—his regret. He should have left her where she was. He should have never brought her to CPI. He knew that now more than ever. Now, he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe, as he’d tried to do for so long. Anything he wrote would be a shadow of the truth.
So he wrote to Kaufman instead. His fingers swiped the virtual keyboard, though many times he had to backtrack and fix a mistake. He’d just typed the last line when he heard the sound—a knock.
Silas hit SEND and walked to the door. Blood raced through his veins. His damp palm clutched the handle and pulled the door open.
It was Maz.
He let out a huge sigh, not caring that she saw. Her hair was coiled in the tight bun of a Scholar, and her figure was mostly hidden in an indigo pant suit, but in there, somewhere, was the woman he had known for many years in a way no other person ever could.
“Vicereine.” He stood aside as she entered, shutting the door behind her.
“It took me a while to find you.” Her eyes darted all around the room, looking at anything and everything but him.
“Don’t lie.” Silas took several steps closer to her.
“I had some work to finish up,” she said.
“Don’t lie to me.” He neared her again. He could hear her pulse from six feet away.
“I wasn’t sure if I was going to come.” This time, she faced him. Her eyes held his gaze, though he knew she worked at it.
“Two years wasn’t long enough?” he asked as he reached her, pulling her closer with one hand on each of her hips. “Or is there someone else I should know about?”
Silas teased her with his lips on her neck. He knew there would never be anyone else. He’d barely gotten to her himself. Back in Annapolis, they’d met as Youths in a class, evolutionary biology if he remembered. She’d been a stone-cold Scholar, even at fifteen.
She was the last Scholar to ever be swayed, but Silas was up for the challenge. Even after they both Selected, they’d made space for each other, these late night trysts and stolen evenings. Maybe it was habit or nostalgia or something else entirely, but Silas knew there would never be another man who could know Maz as he did.
He wouldn’t pretend he didn’t like it.
“Aren’t we getting a little old for this?” Her words were practical while her hands clutched at his back.
“Oh? You’ve changed your mind then?” Silas pulled away, pulled his lips from her collarbone and his hands from her hips.
She frowned, so angry and cute he couldn’t help but laugh at her. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“Sy, be serious. We have careers to consider. At least, I still do. You’re determined to ruin yours.” She sounded like a mother disappointed in her child.
“If I recall, you risked your career for several years before you climbed the social ladder high enough to be above the class laws,” he reminded her. “And my career is fine. If you Scholars would just butt out and admit you have no idea how to handle people, this would all go a lot smoother.”
But she remained serious.
“Okay, fine. I’ll back off on the antics.” He could do it, too. Maggie was in line more than ever. If he played his cards right, he could make it happen.
“Really? Don’t lie to me.” She tried to emulate his tone and failed.
“I would never lie to you,” he said, more a whisper than anything. Silas reached behind her and pulled at the pair of pins that kept her long black hair held so tight. Released, her hair fell to her shoulders, sleek and beautiful, for which her parents had no doubt paid a good sum.
What a waste. Such a stunning woman with a heart of metal, a heart that would only warm to his touch. He had to hope it was enough this time.
When she closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, Silas knew he was safe. And, if nothing else, he’d earned a night with Maz. Who knew how long it would be before he got another one?
MICHAEL
LRF-AQ
SEPTEMBER 7, 2232
This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
Eight.
The number rolled around his mind like a wayward leaf, skipping off every thought only to be set back in motion.
Eight deaths.
Dr. Edwin Fobbs, Robotics.
It wasn’t all that long ago that Michael saw him last, sat in the same room with him and discussed the fleet of probes.
And now he was dead.
Only this time, Michael knew why. There wasn’t the lingering question, the wondering how he could lose so many Scholars in such a short span of time.
“How long has it been since Dr. Parr?” Michael asked no one in particular.
“Nine weeks,” Abigail answered.
“And how long since Dr. Grienke before that?”
“Fourteen weeks. They’re increasing in frequency. I already checked.” Abigail pushed her long blonde hair over her shoulder like she didn’t know what it did to him.
“You think I should be worried about a larger issue?” The word ‘plague’ came to mind. Contamination. Panic. Hysteria. Things could get ugly fast, even among the world’s top researchers.
“I think there’s already an entire facility devoted to identifying and resolving the issue. Besides sending them the bodies and giving them your cooperation, I don’t know what else you could do.”
Michael sat on the edge of his bed and considered his options, though none came to mind. He could institute some sort of exam procedure to identify any Scholars in the LRF that were infected. He could bring someone from the bug facility to the LRF to have more direct access to his researchers. Or he could resign and let more qualified individuals sort it out.
That felt like defeat. There had to be another option.
“Dr. Arrenstein mentioned operatives in the LRF.”
Abigail stood from her desk and sank beside him on the bed. “You think Dr. Fobbs was one of them?”
“I have no idea,” he admitted. How was he supposed to know an agent under cover as a Scholar from a real Scholar? Dr. Fobbs seemed a good Scholar. Robotic, apathetic, driven by the desire to succeed in his field. He seemed genuine enough.
Then, it hit him. “No, the agents are here to find bugs. Dr. Fobbs’s death just means they didn’t find that one.”
Michael crossed to room and slid into his suit jacket. It would cover enough of his appearance. He didn’t feel like getting completely dressed again only to run a small errand.
“Where are you going?” Abigail’s eyebrows were knit with worry.
“Just out for some air. I’ll be back shortly.” Michael knew she’d want to come along, so he darted out the door before she could protest. He needed some time to think.
He started at the view port. At this time of morning, only stars and satellites were visible against the eternal dark of space. Michael sighed and kept moving.
The catastrophe of his career wou
ld go down as one of the great ironies. The Filmores of Chattanooga were renowned for their exceptionally high-quality genes, extreme prejudice in spousal selection, and exquisite taste in offspring feature selection. These family traits had resulted in Michael. On the exterior, he had a rare combination of features: skin dark as coal, sunny yellow hair, pale-blue eyes. Internally, his organs would continue to function at optimum performance for another century.
None of that mattered anymore. Michael’s short career as the director of the LRF would be marred by a series of misunderstood deaths. A single casualty lessened his chances of moving on to Viceroy of the Scholar class at some point in his future. Now there were eight. It was an obscene number.
Masry had known all along.
No one else ever would. In the histories, the deaths would be documented as a facility failure. If Dr. Arrenstein was correct about the level of security, the true source of the deaths would never be released. Michael would continue to be blamed for deaths outside his control.
There were few choices left.
He pressed his hand to the scanner and waited. The PS doors spun open to reveal Dr. Perkins. She wore her hair in a bun and the indigo body suit that marked her class, but over it, a crisp white shirt. “Good morning, director. We weren’t expecting you. What can I help you with?”
Her warmth surprised him. If she weren’t already married, Aida might have made a suitable candidate for his wife. The Lancaster Kaufmans were elite enough.
But that wasn’t why he was there.
“I came across some data in another department, and I was hoping you could help me understand it.” Michael smiled to hide the lie.
Dr. Perkins nodded and walked him back to her office. “I’ll do what I can, but I’m not sure I’ll be much use. It might be better to ask the Lead in that department.”
“You’re probably right. Still, I’d like to see what you think.”
Dr. Perkins sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. “All right, director. What would you like to know?”
Michael ran his hand across his jaw. “What kind of precedence is there for humans as a host for a parasitic organism?”
Dr. Perkins blinked with surprise before she regained her poise. “Well, there is significant precedence. Before the war, there were hundreds of species. Mostly insects. Mosquitoes, ticks, several species of worms. A few of them, the lice, are endemic to humans.”
“In what way?”
“There are three species of lice. All three are completely dependent on a diet of human blood. We are their only food source.”
Michael fought back the cringe. “Anything larger?”
Dr. Perkins chewed on her lip as she thought. “I think the largest would be some of the cestodes, or tape worms. They can grow upwards of twenty feet in the intestines.”
She smiled as his eyes bulged in horror. “What do you really want to know?”
“What about parasites with cerebral effects?”
Dr. Perkins bristled. “Well, the African Sleeping Sickness was caused by a protozoan in the water. It made the hosts fall into a deep sleep. There was a parasitic flatworm that would infect snails and cause them to sacrifice themselves to birds. They would use a chemical to influence the snail’s behavior.”
Michael stood and extended his hand. Dr. Perkins shook it as he said, “Thank you for your time, Dr. Perkins. You’ve been very informative.”
“Can I ask the reason for your inquiry? You’re an astrobiologist by trade, aren’t you?” She held his hand tight and raised her eyebrow with expectation.
“Nothing to worry yourself over. Just an old Scholar forgetting his studies.” He didn’t mention that creating new ecosystems on a thriving planet was entirely different than studying the long-dead biomes of Earth. No one had bothered to learn about the biology of Earth in the last two centuries. Too much radiation, not enough food. There were other priorities.
But now, after all this time, a parasite had emerged.
Maybe they should have been studying Earth all along.
SILAS
CPI CORRIDOR
SEPTEMBER 8, 2232
There was an undeniable skip in his step when Silas returned to CPI. He started in the galley where Knox was already at work on what would no doubt be some culinary masterpiece.
“Heyo bossman,” Knox said with a huge, consuming smile.
“Hey, Knox. Everything okay?”
“Nuts in the hen house. Bossman run the water?”
“Yeah. I’m back.” Silas didn’t want to think what Nick would do with Knox without Silas here. Maybe his skills with food would be enough to keep his position here, but Silas doubted it. Nick wanted little to do with those outside his narrow field of understanding.
“Nix the Ares?”
“For now.” Silas headed back to the door.
“Sausage slip the egg in five,” Knox called after him.
But Silas had other things to do. He took the elevator up to his office. As he passed Nick’s open door, he offered a pleasant, “Good morning.” With joy, he noted the shock and horror on Nick’s face.
While Silas had every right and reason to give Nick a piece of his mind—or kick his ass—Silas knew he didn’t need all that. His presence was enough. He’d won this round.
Sure, it was a close call, but Nick didn’t need to know that.
When Silas sat in his office chair and started pulling up some files, Nick crossed the hall and asked, “She’s really going to let you come back?”
“Well, as it happens, this is my facility. And if you ever try to be insubordinate again, I’ll have you terminated. Any questions?” Silas smiled his best plastic smile.
Nick shook his head with defeat.
Silas loved it.
“And can you send in Recon 4? We need to have a meeting with them.” Silas continued his arrogant airs, but this was the part he dreaded.
Nick nodded and walked to his office to send out the notification. Maggie and Kaufman appeared ten minutes later.
“You’re back,” Maggie offered with no hint of surprise, as if she’d known it all along.
Kaufman looked less sure. Then, Silas remembered the sensitive ecomm he’d sent. He wondered if Kaufman had seen it yet. In hindsight, that had been a bad move, a whiskey-fueled mistake, but it was too late now. He would deal with the damage as delicately as possible.
Maggie and Kaufman sat on the black-leather sofa, closer than he would have thought possible weeks before. Nick stood by the door like a vulture.
Silas sighed and began the speech he’d been avoiding for weeks. “The vicereine has informed me that an additional team is required on the LRF. You two have the most experience and are the only team available, so unless you have a major issue to consider, we’ll get you on a shuttle in the next few days.”
And that was it. It was done. Masry had insisted on a team. In light of the images of Silas and Maggie—innocent but problematic—Maz selected Maggie and Kaufman as the team that would go. Even all Silas’s smooth talking couldn’t get him out of this one. He could send her to the moon, or he could resign his position to Nick. This was the lesser of two evils.
“LRF? As in the moon?” Kaufman asked, his mouth hung open.
“That’s right. They’ve had another death from a bug. The body is in transit now. It’s a high-stakes facility. Masry wants it under control as soon as possible,” Silas explained.
“Additional team?” Maggie asked. He should have known she’d catch it.
“We’ve had a long-term recon team on the moon for over a year. They’ve made some headway, but ultimately, it simply hasn’t been enough. You’ll be joining them and continuing your recon duties up there. Because it is a long-term assignment, you’ll be given Scholar roles to justify your placement there. I warn you, it can be mentally and psychologically draining to maintain an alias that long, so if you have any reservations, you need to let me know now.” Silas clasped his hands together and waited, knowing neither of them had e
ven a whisper of a reason not to go. They were the obvious choice.
“I have a concern,” Kaufman began. “The Scholar class is highly organized and structured with considerable regiments and rules. Without proper training, Mable won’t be able to convincingly impersonate a Scholar over a long period of time.”
Silas almost laughed at the look on Maggie’s face. Her eyes were like needles she used to stab him.
“Why wouldn’t she be able to impersonate a Scholar?” Silas asked him. It was wrong to prompt him this way, he knew, but it was far too much fun.
“Well, because she’s not one.”
“Neither are you.”
“But I was once. I was raised by Scholars. I selected Scholar. I don’t mean any offense, but there are a lot of rules, as I’m sure you know.”
Silas couldn’t help but chuckle aloud. “I know you mean well, Kaufman, but you’re mistaken. In fact, I’m the only person in this room who wasn’t raised by Scholars.” Silas pointed at his chest. “Maggie is fully qualified for a long-term position in the Scholar class. If you have no other objections, I’ll begin making the arrangements.”
Kaufman looked back and forth between Silas and Maggie, trying to fit the pieces together in his mind.
“We have no other objections.” With that, Maggie bolted past Nick and shoulder-checked him on her way out.
“She’s always so pleasant,” Nick said to no one in particular before he walked back to his office.
Kaufman sat on the couch frozen as a block of ice. “You mean, you were sponsored?”
Silas smiled despite the dire circumstance. Seeing Scholars so unnerved was simply too enjoyable. “I’m a Craftsman. Ramona sponsored me. She designed this facility and left it to me when she couldn’t run it anymore. It’s really not that hard, Kaufman.” Silas crossed the room and clapped him on the shoulder. He had work to do. “I’ll let you know when we have all the details worked out.”
MABLE
CPI-PQ1-RL, NEW YORK
SEPTEMBER 8, 2232
Mable knocked on the wooden door and waited for the usual greeting. “Come in, child,” Ramona offered, her voice little more than a whisper.