LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      “You’re useless,” said Dr. Morgan. She was staring at the wall screens, filled to overflowing with data on Kira’s biology, Kira’s immune system, Kira’s DNA, Kira’s everything. They had spent weeks studying her from every possible angle, Morgan and Vale and Kira together, and they had found nothing. There was nothing in her genes that could stop or reverse or even slow expiration, no way to save the Partials from dying. For Kira it was a devastating loss, and she lay on the operating table with no energy left—not physically, not mentally, and certainly not emotionally. She felt like a raw nerve, exposed and despairing, every bit as useless as Morgan said she was. She looked across at her face on the wall screen, sideways to her perspective, gaunt and gray and checkered with scars and bandages from a dozen different invasive surgeries. Her face was a doppelgänger that had betrayed her—her own body an unsolvable riddle, and an implacable enemy.

      For Morgan, the realization hit like a tidal wave. She screamed in frustration, finally giving up, and in a sudden fit of rage pulled out her sidearm and shot the screen, fracturing it into a jagged web of bright, vicious fangs. The image remained, split in serrated shards, and Kira saw her face abruptly cracked and refracted—an eye on this piece, a strand of hair on that one, the corner of a mouth made large and separate and meaningless.

      “Useless!” Morgan screamed again. She stood up, spinning around with the gun extended, and Vale jumped in front of Kira, desperately trying to calm the raging scientist. Kira, for her part, was too despondent to move.

      “Be reasonable, McKenna.”

      “How much time did I waste on her?” Morgan demanded. “How many Partials have expired while I was in here wasting my time on a dead end!”

      “That’s not her fault,” said Vale. “Put down the gun.”

      “Then whose fault is it?” Morgan seethed, thrusting the gun in Vale’s face, then turning back to the damaged screen and firing three more rounds into it: bam bam bam, a therapy of destruction shattering the remnants of Kira’s projected face. “It’s our fault, if it’s anyone’s,” she said, more softly this time, though every bit as furious. “Even mine, though I only knew half the plan at the time. Armin’s fault, maybe, because he seems like the only one who knew the whole thing, but he’s gone.” She snarled and threw the gun on the floor. “I can’t shoot him.” She gripped the edge of a small rolling table, and Kira braced herself, waiting for the woman to throw it aside, scattering scalpels and syringes across the white tile floor, but Morgan’s rage seemed to be subsiding. Instead of throwing it, she was gripping it for support. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” said Morgan. “All we can do now is look for another lead.” She stared at her computers, or through them to something else beyond, but there was no hope in her eyes.

      Kira clutched the thin operating blanket tighter around her shoulders, rolling sideways on the table and curling into a ball. She watched Vale, his mouth open, preparing to speak but holding back, looking at Morgan as if trying to build up the nerve. His hesitance made Kira angry—far more than the action merited, she knew, but her nerves were worn raw. She sneered and croaked at him.

      “Just say it.”

      He looked at her. “What?”

      “Whatever you keep trying to say. You’ve been on the verge of it all morning, just get it out.”

      He took a deep breath. “It’s just that …” He grimaced, still staring at the back of Morgan’s head. “Look, I don’t want this to sound wrong; I’m not trying to say ‘I told you so’—”

      “Don’t even start,” said Morgan.

      “But I do think we need to consider the possibility that we’ve backed the wrong horse, so to speak,” said Vale, pushing forward despite her warning. “Both species are dying, and we know the cure for one of them—let’s just focus on that one, and save as many humans as we can—”

      “And let the Partials die?” Morgan demanded. “Two hundred thousand people that we helped create—practically our children—and we should do nothing? Or worse yet, enslave them? Like your master plan? Lock them up in some basement dungeon as … what, feed stock? A temporary cure for the lucky species we deigned to save?”

      “We’re past the point of options we can all agree on,” said Vale. “Everyone is dying. We’re running out of time, and this is a dead end, and I don’t think I’m being a monster to suggest that we need to use what little time we have left pursuing the only solution that any of us have managed to uncover.”

      “The cure for RM is just as much of a dead end,” said Kira. “In another ten months every Partial will be gone, and the cure will be gone with them, and none of this will matter.” She thought again of Samm, and longed to see him again before he expired. But he was on the other side of the continent, with a toxic wasteland and a pair of solemn promises keeping them apart.

      “That’s why we have to act now,” said Vale. “Extract as much of the cure as we can and store it for the future, to give us a buffer while we try to find another solution.”

      “We have ten months left—” said Morgan.

      Vale sighed, as if his argument was self-evident. “Ten months is nothing.”

      “But we could still do it,” hissed Morgan, “and the humans will still be there when we’re done.”

      “Both of you shut up,” said Kira, forcing herself to sit. She wanted nothing more than to lie down, to heal from her weeks of surgeries, to close her eyes and let this whole problem go away, but she couldn’t. She’d never been able to let go of anything, and no matter how much she cursed herself now, she pushed herself up, gritted her teeth, and stepped down to the floor. “Shut up,” she repeated. “You fight like my sisters, and I’m not in the mood.” She gathered the blanket around her, shivering

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