Perfection

by Larissa Emerald

  Why B-Gastion’s child and how did this happen?

  Vi grabbed a fistful of the back of his shirt and pulled him to her, saying under her breath, “Easy, York. Captain will be pissed if we’re on the twenty-four-hour news.”

  He glared at her. “Don’t give a shit.”

  “Well, you better.”

  She was right. He fought his anger as he sucked in a deep breath. With his steely gaze fixed on the reporters, he said, “You’ll know when we know.” To Vi, he muttered, “Happy?”

  She gave him a smart-ass smile. Her light-brown hair was cut in the latest style—short on one side and angled down and around to hang long on the other side. Her appearance was sharp, like a person who had it together, but she seemed tired. Her green eyes locked on his a second too long, and he glimpsed sadness. Like him, she’d lost a kid after trying some new genetic-enhancement crap. God, if Vi could keep it together working a case like this, he damn well had to.

  He turned his attention to the reporter in front of the pack. Setting his jaw and fisting his hands, he stared the guy down until he stepped back, creating an opening.

  “Let’s go.” He gestured for Vi to step through the line.

  They’d no sooner made it to the air-car when his QuL trilled again. This time the call was from B-Gastion, asking York if he would personally monitor events at the morgue.

  B-Gastion had come to York’s aide when he’d been desperate to find help for his son and no one else gave a damn. Now it was time to repay his debt.

  He closed his eyes. “Of course. It would be an honor.”

  * * *

  When Kindra arrived at Seville, she surged through the door of the large laboratory. Late, in a lousy mood, and worried about Brianna’s unusual outburst, she dropped her satchel on the long, curved table with alternating glass partitions that separated the workstations and comfort stations. Automatically, she took her lab coat off its customary hook and shrugged it on.

  An unfamiliar baritone penetrated her thoughts. “I’m looking for Dr. B-Zaika.”

  Glancing across the room, she froze as she spotted her lab assistant directing a deeply tanned, rock-solid-looking man her way. She had half a second to scrutinize the stranger: Coder race. Dark hair. Shadow of beard. Oozing an air of mystery.

  He turned toward her, and her knees nearly buckled under the onslaught of his gaze. Exotic and unfamiliar energy fired through her. Being GEI, she was used to perfection. And given she worked at the top genetic lab surrounded by some of the greatest GEI minds in the world, it took a lot to knock her off-kilter. But there was something compelling about this Coder.

  In a few great strides, he left B-Watson and crossed the distance between them to stand only inches away. His earthy male scent fascinated her—a paradox, considering the near-lethal accusation in his black-brown eyes.

  He looked…angry. She fell back a step, then realized her mistake. He eased closer, and she stared up at him.

  “Dr. B-Zaika?” He lifted a thick, raven-black eyebrow.

  “Yes. How can I help you?”

  Did she know this man? She didn’t think so. But the intensity of his gaze suggested he knew her. She looked past his large shoulders to where Harry was hurrying to catch up.

  “This is Lieutenant York Richmond, Chicago PD,” Harry B-Watson said as he reached them.

  An invisible capsule of tension crackled around them. Lieutenant Richmond offered her a tight nod. Police didn’t frequent genetics centers. What was going on?

  Her anxiety escalated with his silent, critical glare. Did she measure up? No, she didn’t think so. Different standards. He was of the Coder race—people who descended organically from one generation to the next as far back as the beginning of time. The foolish debate regarding gene manipulation that raged between his people and her own GEI race had been going on forever. Still, Kindra got the impression the cosmic heat shield of hostility he emanated arose from far more than basic ideological differences. Somehow this was…personal for him.

  “You’re the genetics specialist?”

  “Yes.” She put on a winning smile, then turned to B-Watson. “Is the Samuel Experiment complete yet?”

  He indicated it was not and trotted off. The clack of his shoes echoed in the cavernous lab. Good or bad, she didn’t want her assistant meddling in whatever the police were here for.

  She faced the handsome lieutenant. “It’s most unusual to have a detective visit Seville. What brings you here?”

  “I’ve been instructed to escort you to the Lakeshore District morgue.”

  Her stomach flipped and made a hard landing. Not in a million years would she have expected that. “The morgue? Why would I need—”

  “Tell me about D Generation,” he cut in.

  A prickle of fear skated along her spine. “D Generation?”

  Brianna. She resisted the urge to scream, Is my baby okay? Tension darted through her, out of control. When she finally looked him in the eye, he stared at her as if anticipating more information.

  “Yes, D,” he said.

  She drew a calming breath and forced composure to overrule her shaken nerves. Be reasonable. In an instant, she could display the top-secret details on the overhead instructional computer.

  “Perhaps I should check with—”

  “I have the required authority,” he said.

  “Secure ID level?”

  “Yes.” He sighed impatiently. “Crescent M.”

  She should ask him for his credentials. She eyed him, hesitant, then shrugged, deciding he’d earned at least the lightning version. “The main difference between C and D generations is that the Committee narrowed the physical choices—”

  “Incredibly, you scientists keep doing that.” He uttered scientists as though it were a filthy occupation.

  She ignored his tone. “And they increased the intellectual potential by three standard deviations.”

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  “These children are beyond genius level.” She smiled, thinking of her own daughter, then reminded herself she’d better find out what this was all about. She could think of only one reason to visit a morgue. “Why are genetics of interest to you, Lieutenant?”

  “There’s been a D Generation death.”

  “An accident?” She struggled to conceal her distress.

  “No. Not that we can tell.” His gaze homed in on her. “We don’t have answers yet. But we need to start with natural causes.”

  “That’s impossible. Why, a D Generation child would be no more than—”

  “Two. The girl would have been three in a few weeks.” His jaw tensed, creating a chain reaction of muscles that rippled to his dark brow. “A prominent and very distraught family is insisting on an investigation. It’s a requirement, regardless. These things aren’t supposed to happen.”

  “No. No, they’re not.” A rush of relief filled her lungs. Thank God it wasn’t her little girl. At once, a rain of guilt drowned the thought. Somewhere in the city, another mother had to be inconsolable.

  In the past, she may not have reacted so powerfully. Somehow, motherhood had opened up a depth of emotion inside her. She’d seen the shift happen with other GEIs when children entered their lives, but she never expected to feel it herself.

  Kindra felt the blood drain from her face, and her pulse raced. Stay professional. “Computer, the D Generation design, please.” Raising her hand, she directed the officer’s attention to the holographic screen at the end of the room. “Take a look, Lieutenant. Ds are expected to have an average life span of one hundred and sixty years.”

  “Holy sh—”

  A ribbon of pride danced through her at his amazement. Genetic engineering had changed the course of history. GEIs were the product of the twenty-first century’s California quest for cosmetic perfectionism—the ideal body, complexion, hair, and eyes. Then intellect became a hot commodity. Now, it could all be purchased—and even changed—for the right price, including perfect children comprised of features
chosen from an enhancement catalog. Designer babies, some called them. York was correct: her people simply didn’t die. Not until the brain gave out. That was the one thing they couldn’t clone. A sister facility of the Seville worked on cloning body parts, and her fellow scientists constantly developed and refined techniques to increase the speed at which body parts could be grown.

  On some gut level, Kindra detested the idea she had been created as part of a fad for perfection and beauty, though she couldn’t blast the benefits of an increased life span with immunity to all known illnesses. It seemed most other people appreciated the advantage of that sort of manipulation, too—even Coders. The days of cancer and disease were behind them, and that was a far more important outcome than simply looking pretty.

  She lifted a holograph pad from the desk, plopped it back. Information about germ lines and stem and somatic cells scrolled across the enormous display. She hugged herself, trying to still a sudden sense of unease.

  What had caused the child’s death? Had she been murdered? Or was there an undetected mistake in the genetics? Would such a mistake be present in all D Generation children, or could the error be restricted to the one deceased child? She forced herself not to jump to conclusions while tempering her urge to analyze. Minor tweaks in the genome could produce major changes. This turn of events gave her even more reason to urge for a delay in the E Generation release. In her estimation, they were moving too far, too fast. She knew what was at stake. And she knew who they would blame if something went awry—her.

  An almost overwhelming feeling of powerlessness and guilt came over her. Kindra couldn’t help but wonder if she had done something to contribute to the unknown little girl’s death. She could only imagine how she’d feel if something happened to her child. She glanced sideways at the lieutenant, pushing the thought aside.

  Evidence. That’s what she needed. No sense getting worked up without the facts.

  Lieutenant Richmond studied the screen, and she studied him. His unruly eyebrows furrowed above dark, intense eyes. Short wisps of hair curled past the clean neckline of his blue shirt. She blinked and laced her fingers together. He, no doubt, had too much hair—an unpleasant trait of Coders, with their unkempt shadow beards and all. GEIs were not engineered to have such facial hair. Only smooth perfection for them. Even so, she wondered how his hair would feel. Soft? Springy? Coarse? A curious knot tightened in her chest.

  Unfolding her arms, she drew her attention back to the screen and the data she knew by rote. It was information she’d learned at her father’s knee. Robert A-Zaika had always found time to answer her questions, always encouraged her, always had confidence in her. On a heavy sigh, she resolved to keep her emotions in check. This wasn’t about her parents.

  When the data ceased flickering over the display, Lieutenant Richmond turned to her with an unexpected look of…admiration?

  “You understand all that?”

  Kindra gave an abrupt nod. Few people saw what she did as anything special. “I’ll need to examine the girl, run tests and meet with the medical examiner. But I have a petition I’m scheduled to present to the Committee in…” She checked the clock on the table. “Oh my. Ten minutes. I can’t leave until I’m finished with that.”

  York crossed his arms over his chest. “What could be so important? Doesn’t it bother you that a child has died?”

  “Of course it does.”

  “Then reschedule the meeting.”

  Kindra hesitated. “It’s not that easy.”

  “It would be if it were your child.”

  She inhaled sharply and pressed her lips together. “There’s nothing I can do for that child now. But my report could influence the quality of life for millions in the next generation, so you’re welcome to wait here until I’m done or I can meet you at the morgue.”

  His jaw set firm, he bit out, “I’ll wait.”

  She snatched the computer key for her presentation from the desk. “Suit yourself.”

  To her irritation, he followed a few steps behind her. At first, she thought he was going to hang out in the outer office, but he stayed with her as she moved into the hall. What was with this guy? She clenched her teeth in annoyance and immediately imagined the way her father used to tap her jawline to break her of the habit.

  On a long, slow exhale, she tried to focus on the major points of her presentation and ignore Lieutenant Richmond, hoping he’d give up and go away. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he considered her a flight risk.

  Navigating the halls to the conference room, a door suddenly opened as a technician darted out, forcing Kindra and York to stop short. She shifted her gaze to the slowly closing door where the tech had exited, looking inside. Lights glowed in a dim blueish hue. She could see the Artificial Wombs lined up in rows. It had been a long while since she’d ventured there. Not since before Brianna was born.

  In a flash of memory, she considered the way GEI children were conceived and born. Usually, the mature egg and sperm were retrieved from the prospective parents, combined in the lab, then genetically altered according to the parent’s choices selected from a list of attributes dictated by the Committee. Viable unions were implanted into an Artificial Womb to grow and mature until gestation was complete.

  Kindra caught the Lieutenant’s gaze also locked on the room. His face darkened, perhaps because he didn’t approve of the birth method. Most Coders didn’t. For GEI, it was simply the way it was done. As opposed to the Coder’s who propagated through intercourse.

  One thing both groups shared though, there were no unwanted children in this day and age. Birth control had moved far beyond accidental pregnancies. All children were wanted.

  Kindra stopped outside the conference room door. Anxiety squeezed her stomach, and the leaden ball that had been her breakfast moved higher into her chest. Her heart raced. “You can’t go in. Wait here.”

  Chapter Three

  Ignoring the instruction to wait in the hall, York blocked the door with his hand before it closed. Inside, it looked more like a council room than a conference hall. It was large and spacious, with the lighting falling on the committee members seated below. He slipped inside. Keeping to the back of the room, he moved into a shadowed corner, knowing full well that if someone caught him here, he’d be evicted.

  Anticipation surged through him. This was the chance of a lifetime. He’d always been curious about how the elite scientists of the Committee accomplished the selection process, what their better-than-human attitudes produced.

  Four men and four women, each illuminated by a spotlight, sat in a semi-circle around a table. Holographic nameplates on the table identified them. They were an intimidating group—arrogant, exclusive, untouchable. No wonder Dr. B-Zaika seemed nervous. He recognized the privileged assembly from media broadcasts. Detested them, too. Not one had bothered to return his calls years ago when he’d sought expert advice about his son’s condition.

  Dr. B-Zaika strode to the light-encircled podium, visibly pulling her shoulders back and standing taller. She fumbled as she inserted the computer key into the console housing the hologram electronics.

  He held his breath, neck tensing sympathetically at her effort.

  Lifting her chin, she faced the renowned committee of repro-geneticists, biologists, and sociologists. The presentation hologram started to glow.

  “You may begin, Dr. B-Zaika,” Chairman B-Cobb said.

  “Thank you, sir. I’m here today to respond to the recommendations the Committee has proposed for E Generation. Although I don’t doubt these changes are possible, I fear that we haven’t explored the ramifications fully.” She paused, and he could see her throat work as she swallowed. “Each generation has made quantum leaps in its advancement over its predecessor. However, what began as a health cure has strayed far afield, and I question if it’s in humanity’s best interest to initiate the projected enhancements outlined for E Generation.”

  Also, who can even afford the process, York thought
. Then again, what she was speaking of was out of reach for Coders anyway, wasn’t it?

  “Once illness was eradicated, our improvements grew bolder. A Generation that came with symmetrical appearance and select eye and hair color. B Generation eliminated excess body hair and turned to intellectual enrichment.”

  One of the repro-geneticists leaned forward, directing her comments to the chairman. “Do we really have to sit through this? We’re well aware of genetic evolution.”

  Chairman B-Cobb waved the doctor into silence, then nodded for Kindra to continue.

  She referred the Committee members to their screens and the itemized list of advancements where she felt their recommendations had crossed the line. “For instance, why is blond hair the only choice?”

  “Because seventy-eight percent of parents chose blond in D Generation,” one of the women answered.

  “Are you saying we respond to fads?” Kindra replied.

  “Statistics prove—”

  “Whose statistics?” Kindra interrupted, her English accent more prominent. “Perhaps you should select a different source of data.” Her voice cracked. She swallowed and pressed on. “What you’re proposing is nothing short of government intrusion into a free market. The choices need to be broader, more than pandering to the wants of professionals, athletes, and entertainers. The gap between GEIs and Coders is ever widening.”

  York narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t help his admiration of the doctor’s boldness in challenging the Committee, but it irked him. He suspected his deep-seated negative opinions about GEIs made him dig in his heels, resist her, maybe question her more than was logical. He locked his arms over his chest. There were damn few of her kind he trusted.

  “And something needs to be done before it’s too late,” she went on. “Scientists once predicted humanity would someday be divided into two separate species. That time is clearly approaching.”

  “Really, this is all overly dramatic,” another woman on the panel retorted, her fair hair sweeping over high cheekbones as she looked quickly from Kindra to the chairman.