“Hey. Take it easy,” she said, moving her hand on York’s arm, attempting to soothe him as she’d soothed Brianna. Foolish, really, to treat the big Coder like a child.
He breathed in and out, and turned his head away, but didn’t otherwise move.
Touching him sent a burst of warmth through her body, and for a second, she longed to lean on someone—on him?—for support to calm her growing fears. But that was something she’d never do.
“We can’t wait until tomorrow.” He fisted his hand, then uncurled his fingers.
“Perhaps they don’t realize how critical the situation is.” She pulled her hair into a ponytail, liking the way the strands tugged at her scalp, and paced a few steps as she thought.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could help,” Finn said.
As she let go of her hair, calculations and scenarios flitted through her head. None of them were good enough. She roughly massaged her temple. How to make them understand? It could be the difference between one death and who knows how many.
York tapped on his QuL. “I’m hitting roadblocks,” he said to whoever answered. “How do you want me to handle it?” He nodded at something the speaker said on the other end. “Of course. You can count on me.”
He disengaged. Next, he pulled out a com-card, a device meant to communicate with other electronic devices. He discreetly dictated something and thrust it back in his pocket. “Give it ten minutes.”
“What’d you do?”
“Knocked out the system that records communication. Just wait. B-Gastion gave us the go-ahead and support for whatever we need. He has authority over anything in the realm of health. Plus, it’s his daughter we’re talking about.”
She glanced around the room, identifying the visible computer-cams and security devices, knowing there had to be many more she couldn’t see. She didn’t see how they could do what needed to be done without getting into major trouble. York followed her gaze. He raised a confident brow and nodded, confirming that he knew what he was doing.
She wondered what he had in mind. Tech wasn’t her area of expertise, but logic told her it was his. Not everyone could pull out an antique QuL and use it.
He scrubbed his beard-shadowed jaw. “Dr. Finn, did you eat today? Aren’t you due a lunch break?”
Finn eyed York and Kindra with a conspiratorial grin. “Well, maybe. It is getting late.”
York angled his chin toward the door. “Go on. The place reeks of top-notch security. I’ve contacted my superior, so we can hang in the lounge until you return or we get word to proceed.”
“I don’t know…” Finn’s voice trailed off in feigned hesitation.
“Try the shrimp scampi from the little place next door. It’s my favorite.” As if on cue, York’s stomach rumbled loudly. He shrugged. “Busy day.”
Kindra couldn’t help but smile. “Now that”—she motioned to York—“was extremely rude. No doubt normal for you.”
Finn chuckled, a pepper of sound that ricocheted off the sterile walls. She prayed tomorrow would actually be normal.
“Okay.” Finn covertly passed a key chip to York and then backed up a few steps, watching them. “Can I bring you back anything?”
York shook his head.
“Wait.” Kindra drew a measured breath to keep her voice calm. “Can you tell me anything about the girl before you go?”
“Nothing important, I’m afraid. Only that Isabelle’s mother was extremely concerned about the child’s recent inability to make a spiritual connection. It seems she had an upsetting incident two days prior to her death.”
“I already have that in my notes,” York said.
Kindra’s mind flashed to Brianna’s can’t explanation this morning. Her pulse raced as she looked at York. “Perhaps I can speak to the mother.”
“Why would you need to do that? Your area is genetics,” he said.
“It may give me some clue as to the direction to search. D children have a strong spiritual pull. It may reveal something about the child’s chemical system, brain, or other parts of her body.”
Finn rolled his shoulders and moved away as they discussed something he wasn’t supposed to involve himself in.
York stared at Kindra. “Spiritual unity is a GEI attribute I don’t understand, so I can’t distinguish what significance it might have,” he admitted, his tone reluctant.
“It may be an important indication of something wrong with the brain, depending on what caused her death. And for the record, the spiritual plane isn’t exclusively obtainable by GEI. Most anyone can experience it. They just have to learn how.”
York peered at her, seeming unconvinced. Kindra stood taller. Her first, and most fearful, concern was that the illness wasn’t unique to Isabelle and that there was an error in the genetics. Had something gone wrong in the gene sequence?
“Are you ready?” he asked. “I could lose my job over this, as could you. So now is the time to back out.”
“Let’s do this. I won’t let down the children I created.”
Finn paused at the door. “Make it quick.”
Chapter Four
York led the way to the computerized compartments built into one of the walls, taking a moment as he walked to grieve the child who should not be dead. Was it his imagination or did the room temperature seem to drop? Kindra stood off to the side, hanging behind him at the entrance. She seemed somehow removed from what they were doing. “The girl’s over here,” he said.
He went to the computer and waved the key card over the code sensor. The door of one compartment slid open and a large bed, too large for the body of the young child on it, soundlessly slid free to float between them, transforming York and Kindra into sentinels flanking the girl’s platform.
Isabelle’s caramel brown skin was translucent in death. She looked small and delicate, yet still peaceful, which made her unexplained death even harder to understand. His heartbeat echoed in his head. His fingers trembled as he gently stroked the silky flaxen hair on her crown. Somehow Isabelle’s life had been snuffed out.
York raised his eyes. Kindra stood across from him, worrying her lower lip.
“Maybe I could have saved her if I’d had a chance,” she said. “A genetic sync might have fixed her, or maybe put her in cryogenic suspension until I figured the problem….” She looked pensive, troubled. Abruptly, her expression went blank, and her gaze shifted to York. “Let’s get to work.”
That was it. A few seconds. Kindra’s abbreviated show of remorse at the fragile child’s death infuriated him. Perhaps faulty engineering given to D Generation from geneticists playing God, like her, had caused the girl’s death. Couldn’t she own up to her mistake with a tear in her eye, some feeling apparent on her face?
Was she simply compartmentalizing her feelings, or was her standoffish behavior a clinical disregard for life? It was a GEI trait in general and not a particularly favorable one. It seemed with every generation of GEIs, they grew more and more enamored of their own ability to live longer, look better, think smarter. Hell, at this rate, future GEIs would barely act human at all. He eased his hand from Isabelle’s hair and folded his arms over his chest.
Wouldn’t you know, a Gen-Fair with an icy heart?
Hadn’t he expected as much? He’d promised B-Gastion he’d find out what happened to Isabelle. And he would.
He watched her actions in silence as she methodically took blood samples and collected data, using every kind of scan he’d ever seen and some he hadn’t. Thorough, he decided. But he suspected her professionalism wouldn’t allow for anything less; it didn’t mean she cared.
Twenty minutes later, she was done.
“So will we be able to stop the next death?”
Her head snapped up. “What makes you think it will happen again?”
He shrugged. “A gut feeling.”
“Psh. I don’t rely on intuition. Just facts. No. There’s not going to be a next one. Not if I can help it.” She shoved the last piece of test equipment sh
e’d used toward him. “Help me repack so I can get back to the lab.”
“Everything you have is evidence. We’ll take it to the police lab.”
She shook her head. “You’ll need the HERO computer at Seville to analyze this. No other local computer is advanced enough.”
“The captain will have to approve that. He may assign an officer to you.”
“Either way, I need to pack my things in your vehicle.”
“Sorry, that’s your job,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I need to grab the surveillance evidence.”
“Isn’t that illeg—” Her jaw clenched as her gaze caught his, then darted to search out hidden cameras. “Umm, I’ll manage.”
“Fine.” He moved close enough to whisper in her ear. “The override password for the air-car is…doll-baby.”
She rolled her eyes. “How quaint.”
“At least I don’t have a letter attached to my name,” he said, walking away.
* * *
After trying several doors, York finally located the unmanned security room off a side corridor and went in. A grid of small monitors showed the entire complex. He paused, observing Kindra in the parking lot. She loaded her things into his vehicle and slapped a hand on her hip in frustration when the trunk didn’t close. She was one gorgeous woman. Glacial, at times, but gorgeous.
“How may I help you, Mr. Richmond?” the computer in charge of security and operations asked.
“I’m here on police business.”
“Is it serious?” the computer asked.
“You sound like Finn. You have his tone down.”
“Do you think so?”
“Positively.” York opened one compartment after the other of the gray cabinet housing the computer. He searched the small stacks until he found the one holding the memory dot where the surveillance information would be stored. He recognized it marked by the tiny M. “Dr. Finn instructed me to replace the surveillance record,” he explained to the computer. What he was attempting was tricky business. The computer had the ability to lock down the entire facility.
He grabbed the compartment on the right—he’d watched the tech crew deal with similar security computers hundreds of times—then quickly flipped the latch that held the tiny circular chip in place. As he plucked out a security chip from the center, the screens went black.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. My voice scan detects you are not telling the truth,” the computer said.
“Then something must be wrong indeed.”
York eased toward the door, which abruptly closed. Damn. How could he beat the computer? But he had to. With controlled breathing, figuring the computer would detect his stats, he was searching for another way out when he spied the break room on a monitor. He dashed to the keyboard imbedded in the countertop and entered data he hoped would scramble the computer’s logic, at least for a second. Typing seemed to take forever. Most buildings had a lockdown mode. Police codes would unlock some of them, but not all. He hoped the morgue’s system fell into the “some” category.
“Come on, come on,” he urged.
Anticipating the worst, he broke for the door, dragging a chair along with him. He jammed it in the opening before the door closed completely. With the final steps of his sprint, he dropped into a home run slide, barely scooting beneath the descending door. Like an accordion, the chair began to fold under the pressure.
York barreled into the hall, eyeing yet another closing door ahead of him. He slipped into the sunlight just before the door shut with a clunk.
He thought he was free and clear until a scraping sound demanded his attention. Across the courtyard, small gates lifted, and three robotic security dogs came at him like torpedoes locked on target.
The courtyard was exceedingly bright. He sprinted for a tree-shaded table, which he used as steps to put him high enough to grab a large tree limb. He hauled himself up, then looked down in time to see a dog launch a stun dart at him. He tried to dodge it only to collide with another tree limb, hitting his head.
Pain seared his ribs when the dart hit him. He bucked as a charge shot through him from one shoulder to his hip to the other shoulder. He lost his footing and tumbled from his perch, but caught hold at the last instant with one flailed-out arm.
Damn, those suckers were accurate. He groaned and hooked both legs over the branch, hanging upside down like a kid on a jungle gym while he allowed his shocked and damaged upper body to recover.
His head ached and his side hurt like hell from the stun spinner.
The security chip slipped from his pocket and fell. York snatched for it but missed.
He flung his head back, disgusted. The dogs were under him now, and there was no way he’d be able to get the chip without a distraction. Fuck.
He patted his pockets, realizing he wasn’t carrying any of the little computerized gizmos Chicago PD used to create a distraction. He’d used his last frog at his mom’s protest and hadn’t replaced them. After a moment of thought, he activated his old QuL and rang the link in his air-car. The receiver beeped again and again.
“Hello?” Kindra’s voice sounded uncertain.
About time she answered.
“I’ve run into a small glitch,” he said, trying to even out his breathing. That jolt had hurt. “I need you to start talking. Loud, do you hear me? And don’t stop for the next few minutes. I’ll be there soon.” When the pause from her end lasted too long, he raised his voice. “Talk. Now.”
“Okay. Okay,” she shouted and began rambling something about chromosomes and splicing and optimum incubation.
He unhooked the QuL from the rim of his ear and stared at the slim bar with its minuscule dots. The thing was ancient, but a favorite. Resigned, he hurled it across the patio. The dogs scrambled to follow the sound of Kindra’s voice. They jostled each other as they chomped on the electronic device. He told himself that was a good thing because it might not be tied to him if it was in tiny pieces. He figured he had about thirty seconds to get the chip and clear the fence.
* * *
Kindra sat in the transporter, waiting for York. Where was he? What was taking so long? Fooltar. It was imperative she get back to the lab.
She tapped her nails on the dash, annoyed as always when faced with the reality that despite hours of driving lessons, not to mention the fact that all vehicles had an autopilot mode, she couldn’t shake her fear of driving. The horrible memory of the childhood accident remained vivid.
What would she do if York didn’t return?
Then thoughts about Brianna and her rejection of spiritual communion slipped in like smoke through a window crack. Isabelle supposedly had difficulty with her communion also. Worry and uncertainty worked at Kindra. Could something be wrong with her daughter, as well?
Abruptly, the driver’s door opened. She gasped as York, drenched in sweat, dropped into the seat. He looked like a rumpled mess. There was a nasty-looking scrape on his forehead.
“Thanks for your help.” He finger-combed the unruly dark strands of hair into place.
“Are you all right?” she asked, swallowing her relief that he’d returned.
“Sure. But Dr. Finn’s going to be pissed.”
“Why?”
“Uh, nothing.”
He engaged the air-car and took off in a sharp upward ascent, literally breaking the sound barrier. Her heart shot to her knees and back. At the same time, the automated anti-g system kicked in, normalizing the pressure in the vehicle so she wouldn’t pass out.
When she could breathe again, she gave him a hard glare. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “What’s not to love?” Then his dark eyebrows pinched together. “Except, well…you know.”
She did know. She stared out the window so he wouldn’t see her face. She fought back tears at the thought of the poor girl. Kindra’s father had explained children were meant to live without the threat of illness being part of their lives. Wasn’t that the point of s
uper-antibodies and nanobots and cloning and gene therapy? She inhaled deeply, reining in her emotions.
Her father was right.
Thankfully, the return trip to the lab was much quicker—partly because of the lighter traffic, but mostly because York illegally flew higher than the air traffic. Kindra didn’t want to think about it.
She didn’t want to think about a lot of things—of disappointing Brianna, because now she would have to work late, and especially of tomorrow and the possibility of more kids dying.
Oh, how she longed to center herself with a nice, uplifting, peaceful unity session. The sessions had the ability to take one to a higher plane of existence. Intelligent people knew they could tap into an alternative universe by using the mind and its energy. She thought wistfully of the healing she found there.
The car jerked to a stop at the front entrance of the Seville Genetics Center. “Home, safe and sound,” York said.
Kindra pressed her lips together to keep from reprimanding him about his wild driving. He probably saw himself as above the law.
The thought made her nervous. She choked out a weak, “Thank you. I’ll forward you a report on my findings.”
“No need,” York said. “I’m staying. I need to know what we’re dealing with here.”
* * *
Amanda Richmond paused as she took the clipping shears out of a kitchen drawer and stared over her shoulder at the hover-screen in disbelief. The news they kept repeating on the HS was beyond shocking. The daughter of a prominent health official had been reported dead? Something was terribly wrong. It seemed like yet another genetic interference had gone awry. She shook her head with disgust and sadness. When would the Committee stop playing God?
She strolled to the greenhouse porch to clip fresh herbs for her salad. The HS followed right along. When she heard York’s name, she hesitated in the middle of examining a rosemary plant and looked up to watch her son on the monitor. Pride ran through her at how handsome and distinguished he looked. He handled himself with the command of a leader. She pushed a lock of mahogany hair from her eyes. Too bad she hadn’t convinced him to support her cause of banning genetic manipulation. He had as much anger at the GEI scientists as anyone, but he insisted he couldn’t compromise the integrity of his job to follow her passionate pursuit of ending genetic tampering once and for all.
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