Perfection

by Larissa Emerald

  Just look at that handsome face! The masses would follow him.

  No, she wouldn’t give up on trying to persuade him. He might come around.

  She spotted Vi behind York. Perhaps Amanda could glean more information from his partner than from her son. She tossed the idea around as she snipped several sprigs of rosemary and basil. Vi was as close to her as a daughter. She’d almost been a daughter-in-law, but sadly, Cal had broken things off. She was miffed that neither of them had ever shared why. Secrets drove her nuts.

  Maybe if she were right in the thick of things, York would give her his attention. What’s more, with all the media coverage from the poor child’s death… Well, that could work in favor of the Coder cause. Couldn’t it?

  As she returned to the kitchen, the salad she was preparing seemed even more appetizing. It was something she’d grown with her own hands. It was proof that society could return to the natural way of things.

  * * *

  “Good afternoon, Kindra and Lieutenant Richmond,” Comp Nine said as Kindra slid into her chair behind the central workstation in her lab.

  “Greetings, Comp Nine.” Kindra was surprised Lieutenant Richmond still was tagging along. She longed for time alone to contemplate what she’d learned this morning.

  “What’s with the Sean Connery accent?” York asked.

  “Who?” This was exactly the kind of distraction she didn’t need.

  “My circuits are snapping,” Comp Nine said.

  “I told you, computers don’t blush, Nine,” she said.

  “Sean was a twentieth-century Scottish actor. Double-oh-seven. Suave, savvy, liked by the ladies,” Comp Nine supplied.

  “Oh, yes. I remember that from art history. How did you recognize it?” she asked York over her shoulder.

  “I collect old things. So why a Scottish accent?”

  “Comp Nine selected it. I suppose it may have something to do with my father. He was born in Scotland and works in London now.” Her voice trailed off as she concentrated on selecting the solutions she’d need, reticent to discuss her relationship with her dad.

  Methodically, she positioned the samples acquired from Isabelle on the table in front of her. York moved in closer to stand behind her. When his forearm grazed her shoulder, she squeezed her eyes shut—and waited for another whispery brush to make her skin tingle. He leaned forward with his opposite hand against the desk, but there wasn’t physical contact this time. Part of her was foolishly disappointed. She opened her eyes. Her gaze stumbled over his splayed fingers with their dark sprigs of hair—nice hands. Except for the body hair.

  She could feel his breath on her ear as he said, “Ah, that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Nine has a crush on you. Another case of machine-based intelligence claiming to be human. An AI indicator.”

  “Artificial Intelligence. Don’t be absurd.” She twisted. “Can you give me more room please?”

  He eased to the side. She could still feel him watching over her shoulder as she turned to insert samples into the analysis slots of the HERO computer.

  “Is that connected to Nine or separate?” he asked.

  “Separate. Nine handles the facility. HERO does all the complicated genetic work.”

  “That’s one sophisticated computer.”

  “One of only a handful that exists in the world, all located at creation facilities—here, London, Japan, Australia, and South America. The Human Engineered Rendering Operation Computer, or HERO Computer.”

  “Extraordinary.” He propped a hip on the edge of an adjacent table.

  Extraordinary? What galaxy was he from? She hadn’t heard that term in forever. She removed a heart tissue cell from a sample.

  “Can you tell me what you’re doing?” he said.

  She explained while she worked, glancing at him every so often. “Every genetic project ever done is stored in this computer, so there’s a massive amount of information available for comparison. I’m feeding cell samples into HERO, and it analyzes the chromosomes, DNA, and proteins for any abnormalities or disorders. The computer will look for mutations and DNA variations. Whole exome and whole genome sequences will be examined to determine if new genetic variations are associated with health conditions.”

  “Got it. Thanks.” He held up a hand. “I’m sure you’re giving me the simplistic version.”

  “Of course.” She continued to work analyzing the organ, blood, and tissue cells she’d taken from Isabelle’s body.

  York lifted a bottle from the counter, read its label, and returned it to its position. He seized the next bottle.

  “Leave it,” she said, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. His fiddling was driving her mad.

  Moments later, his footsteps sounded a clipped rhythm as he paced behind her. When she heard him halt, she looked up from the computer. He had picked up a picture of her and Brianna on a boat. As he set it down, the hologram popped up to reveal the memory. He watched with interest as mother and daughter laughed.

  “Must you touch everything?”

  “I wouldn’t have expected sailing.”

  She shrugged. Damn him for snooping. “My father and I used to sail the English Channel.”

  Once, when she was about twelve, her father had given her the wheel of his sixty-five-foot schooner. The weather had been warm, the breeze mild, and the smell of the salt air made everything sparkle in her mind.

  “Wake me when we’re in the inlet,” he said before he dropped to the bunk and shut his eyes, never once doubting she was capable of sailing the boat. Of course, it was decked out with state-of-the-art guidance equipment and autopilot if she needed it.

  She sighed and fed the analyzer a sample of Isabelle’s brain cells. What kind of relationship had this child had with her dad?

  “Nice images,” York said, but he was eyeing her, not the hologram.

  “Look. There’s a lounge right around the corner with coffee, drinks, and food. Why don’t you take a break? I’ll come get you when I have the results.”

  His dark gaze searched her face. “I should make some calls. You want anything?”

  She glanced away. “No, thanks.”

  When he left the room, it was as though she could breathe for the first time in hours. The air was lighter, and after a few minutes, she even turned on music to listen to while she worked. She sent a message to Nanny Sally, letting the robotic caregiver know she would be home late and to put Brianna to bed at her usual time. Kindra sighed. There would be no sunflower this evening as she had promised.

  A couple of hours later, she peered at the computer screen and felt as if her brother Kyle’s icky bugs had scattered and were crawling up her neck.

  Virus scrolled repeatedly across the screen.

  She drummed keys in an effort to isolate the strain.

  Unknown.

  Kindra’s palms grew moist. “What do you mean, unknown?”

  She reentered the salient details, hoping she’d been so distracted by York that she’d overlooked something.

  Unknown.

  With a groan, she laced her fingers together and touched a knuckle to her upper lip. Her heart thumped against her breastbone.

  “May I assist you?” Comp Nine said.

  “Yeah. Talk to this damned thing. See if you can figure out more about this virus.”

  “Give me a zeta hertz.”

  Comp Nine and the diagnostic computer were separate units but shared data symbiosis. Kindra collapsed against the back of her seat, exhausted and terrified, and waited while the two computers interfaced. The muscles in her neck tightened with each quiet moment. She flicked through multiple screens, trying to quell her panic. Was Isabelle’s vulnerability to a virus somehow Kindra’s fault? And what did that mean for the other D Generation children?

  “Kindra, there is little to advise,” Comp Nine noted. “Genome analysis points to a foreign virus that attacks the brain. There is no cure at this time.”

  �
��Thank you, Nine. Continue probing. We need characteristics, transmission info, a point of origin. We need…something.”

  Dread swelled inside her. How had Isabelle D-Gastion come to be infected with a deadly virus? Was this something that all the D Generation children could be susceptible to? Her thoughts spun to Brianna, and her stomach tightened around a sick ball of terror.

  Stop. Stop.

  She leaned her hands on the desk and breathed deeply. She forced herself to mentally take a step back and stay objective, because the idea of a runaway virus, something that had never existed in her lifetime, was far too scary to consider.

  * * *

  With his back to the room and facing a stark gray wall, the man set about the task of preserving his deception. There were moments of true brilliance when events changed history. The world was about to experience one of those times. And, someday, humankind would thank him.

  He plucked the infusion syringe from the counter, measured the precise amount of fluid from a vial, then proceeded to inject the serum into the fleshy crease under his arm.

  He’d known the right combination would come to him eventually, for he was as brilliant and talented as his most distinguished colleagues. Plus, he’d been practicing for a very long time. The improvements he’d made to the genetic serum had enabled him to move undetected among the GEI elite.

  No one had ever challenged him. And no one ever would.

  Chapter Five

  She found York asleep in the lounge in a chrome chair precariously tilted against the wall with its forelegs off the ground. She waited several long seconds, noting the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his brows pinched together even while he slept, and the shadowy stubble that ran rampant across his sculpted cheeks and firm jaw. She skimmed her fingers over her own cheek, again curious. What did a beard feel like? GEI men had smooth skin; they were not rugged and organically unkempt.

  Kindra thought about the few men she’d dated. There had never been anyone serious. It was simply nice to have the company. But she’d always thought that one day she’d find a man who would make her feel that everything in the world was right. Perfect, even.

  Holding her breath, she reached out her hand to touch his face. She hesitated and, at the last moment, aimed lower to jab a finger in his shoulder to wake him.

  Was she losing her mind?

  York sprang upright. The feet of the chair clanked to the floor. He almost barked, “What time is it?”

  “Past midnight.” She sat in the chair across the table from him and stifled a yawn. Worn out because she wasn’t used to sleep deprivation and depressed because the news was terrifying, she pushed aside an empty drink container and rested her upper body on the cold metal tabletop.

  “Do you have any answers?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

  Kindra stretched, stalling. “Comp Nine, coffee,” she commanded.

  “Well?”

  She lifted her head and met his gaze. “Yes. Some.”

  “And?”

  “It’s not good. Not good at all.” She had trouble getting out even that much. Somehow voicing her findings, telling another human being about them, would make them real.

  She went to the InstaCafé where a cup of coffee had appeared on the delivery disk, rotating inside the robotic prep station.

  “I need some of that. Make it two, Nine,” he said.

  “Did you eat?” she asked.

  “Yes. You?”

  “No.”

  “Sit,” he said, standing. “You’re exhausted. I’ll get you something.”

  Although her instinct was to resist, she collapsed into the chair without picking up her cup. After retrieving their order from the café station, he set a cup of coffee at his spot and passed the second cup to her. As she took it, his fingers brushed against hers. She stared at the point of contact, confused by the recurring tingling sensation that passed over her skin whenever they touched.

  “How about chicken parmesan?”

  “Sure.”

  “Ok. Good.” He ordered the chicken parm from the InstaCafé. It processed the order and delivered the food as speedily as it had their coffee. He returned to the table with the plate of food. “I had it earlier. It’s not the best,” he commented with an apologetic grin, placing the chicken parmesan in front of her.

  In silence, she sipped coffee and ate the meal without paying attention to how it tasted. How were they going to deal with this?

  Part of her didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe the computer was wrong. But she knew that was just denial taunting her. Finally, she took a deep breath to fortify herself. He watched her expectantly.

  “So what are the results?” he asked again.

  “I ran the tests twice and found an extremely invasive virus that attacks the brain. One that, according to HERO, only affects D Generation children. We haven’t had anything like this happen in hundreds of years. All viral cures are a gene fix. GEIs are born with all known immunities, and Coders are inoculated at birth. But this virus seems to have been altered to target D Generation. It will take more time to narrow it down to be certain. And it may take a while to develop a gene correction. Perhaps a vaccine may be a quicker alternative until a more permanent modification can be found.”

  “And?”

  “And…” She thought of little Isabelle, of a life gone, of her parents’ senseless heartbreak, of Brianna. “There could be other children out there who have been exposed. Until we know what the contagion is, we need to treat it like the killer it is.”

  * * *

  York considered the implications. “Can you develop a cure?”

  She nodded slowly. “I think so. With luck and time.”

  “Good.” He raised his coffee and drank. “The notion of a virus is sad, but at least it wasn’t murder. I mean, murder is horrible, but if it’s a widespread virus, it has the potential to be a lot worse.” And so far there had not been any demands or anyone claiming to be responsible for the girl’s death. Could it have simply been a freak accident?

  Kindra thrummed her fingers on her cup. “It would help considerably if we could find the source.”

  “The source?”

  She stretched. “The virus had to come from somewhere. We need to find it so we can get more information.”

  “Like what?”

  “Is it spread person-to-person, airborne, transmitted by a contaminated object, food or contaminated water, animal to person, insect bites, and environmental reservoirs such as soil, water, and vegetation. We need to look at everything out of the ordinary.”

  “What about the difficulty with a spiritual connection that Isabelle’s mother reported? You said it could be a clue.”

  “It could be an early symptom because it’s rare for GEI children not to engage in this high level of interaction.” She gathered her hair at her nape, twisted it into a bun, then let it fall again.

  “At least that’s something.”

  He stood and tossed his cup into the trash, where it vanished in a tiny puff of white smoke, incinerated. “I’m glad you have more to go on now. But since the culprit is a virus, it seems my involvement in the case is over.”

  She pushed a leftover piece of chicken around on her plate with her fork, as if she didn’t hear him.

  “What is it?”

  “You don’t understand. My daughter was behaving oddly this morning, too. She wasn’t interested in her communion at all. It isn’t like her.”

  He retook his seat. He felt for her. He knew what it was like to fear for a child. Six years ago, his life had become a nightmare. He’d only wanted to improve his son’s situation. Instead, the genetic alterations had gone haywire.

  Tension squeezed his chest. He was a sucker whenever it came to children. He leaned forward. “Is your daughter D Generation?”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes, waited for a beat, then opened them to stare across the room.

  Immediately, he grasped the threat to her child. Had he misjudged her? Had she been
hiding concern and worry for her child all along? Had her aloof attitude been born of desperation? That kind of terror could drive a person to the breaking point. He knew. He’d lived it.

  “The problem could be unique to Isabelle, right?” He hesitated, not sure if he should confide in her, but wanting to ease her apprehension with regard to her daughter.

  “Yes. I guess it’s possible that her immune system failed.”

  “But you don’t think so?”

  “That would mean I didn’t do my job well. And that an innocent child suffered because of it.”

  He considered that. Grudgingly, he admitted she didn’t seem to be the kind of person who wouldn’t do everything to the best of her ability. “What if someone did this to get back at her father?”

  Horror swept across her face. “Who would be so cruel? I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.”

  “Then that would mean it wasn’t an accident,” she said slowly, processing the information out loud.

  “Correct.” And with that, he was right back on the case—a case with a dead Isabelle D-Gastion, a mysterious virus, and no suspects. “What sick bastard holds a grudge against the regional director of the World Health Organization, enough of one to kill an innocent child to get to him?”

  Fredrick B-Gastion was a powerful man who wielded serious influence and determined the wide-ranging policy that affected billions of lives. He shook his head. It sickened him that someone would sacrifice the daughter to make the father suffer. But such things had been done throughout history, he supposed.

  “Perhaps a Coder was targeting the D Generation in order to force the regional director to consider the Coder agenda.”

  “But why would they need to target a single generation? Why D?” she asked.

  “We may have to find a suspect to answer that. And what Coder would have the knowledge to create such a sophisticated weapon? At least, I assume it’s sophisticated.”