Partials

by Dan Wells

  “They want peace,” said Kira.

  “Nobody blows up a building because they want peace,” said Hobb. “Try again.”

  “They want…” Kira watched Hobb’s face, wondering where he was going with this. What do the people want? “They want a cure.”

  “Too specific.”

  “They want a future.”

  “They want a purpose.” Hobb spread his hands, gesturing grandly as he spoke. “They want to wake up in the morning knowing what they’re supposed to do, and how they’re supposed to do it. A future will give them purpose, and a cure will give them a future, but down at the core, the purpose is all they really want. They want a destination—they want a goal they can reach for. When we established East Meadow, we thought that the goal of curing RM would be enough. But it’s not a goal we’ve been able to reach, and over eleven years of fruitless nothing the people have fallen apart. Their purpose has withered and died. We need to give them something attainable—do you see where I’m going with this? We need to give them Samm.”

  “No!” shouted Kira.

  “Nobody knows who caused that explosion,” said Senator Delarosa. “It was probably the Voice, yes, but what if it was a Partial?”

  Kira felt the room grow cold. “It wasn’t.”

  “But what would it mean for humanity if it was?” Hobb licked his lips, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “Humanity needs a purpose, and now this Partial has blown up our hospital.” He snapped his fingers. “There’s their purpose: an enemy! The people grow enraged—not against us, but with us. The island unites against a common foe. It might even sway the Voice—can you imagine what a coup that would be? All the rebels back on our team again, all this anger and violence directed out instead of in. The human race is tearing one another apart, Kira, but this will save it. Surely you can see that.”

  “But it’s a lie,” said Kira.

  “Because only a lie will save us in time,” said Delarosa. “I want a cure more than anyone, and yes, a real cure might unite us, but the clock has run out. The Voice have issued an ultimatum of civil war; the devil is at the gates. If we don’t do something now, tomorrow, we lose our chance to do anything at all.”

  There was something wrong with their story—even beyond the obvious deception, there was something deeper and darker lurking somewhere inside. It made Kira queasy. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “This plan will work without you,” said Hobb, “but think how much better it will be with you. You’re young and pretty, you’re capable and idealistic, and you’ve been at the heart of everything we’ve done—you went to Manhattan and brought back the secret, you searched for the cure, and you were injured in the line of duty by the first Partial attack in eleven years.” He gestured at her leg. “If we tell this story, people will believe it; if you tell this story, people will die for it. You can make it personal and meaningful—you can be the hero who unites the world again. You’ll be the face of peace.”

  “This is evil,” said Kira. “You’re asking me to lie to everyone I know.” She pointed at Samm. “You’re asking me to be a part of his murder.”

  “The wolves are hungry,” said Delarosa. “We can kill ourselves fighting them, or we can throw them a body. The death of one Partial is the cheapest price for peace we could ever hope to pay.”

  And then all at once, like a thunderbolt in her brain, Kira saw it—the deeper secret she couldn’t see before. The senators wanted to use this explosion to win back the Voice, but that would never work if the Voice had been the ones to set the bomb: They would know the Senate was lying. The only way to blame Samm was to use an event that no one knew the truth about, and that meant the Voice didn’t set that bomb.

  For the Senate’s plan to work, the bomb had to be set by … the Senate.

  She almost shouted it out right there, accusing them without thinking, but for once in her life she managed to hold her tongue, biting down on the truth that she knew would get her killed where she stood. The Senate had set the bomb—the Senate had masterminded this entire thing from the beginning. They wanted to solve the Voice problem by creating a common enemy, and she had given them one; she’d dropped Samm right in their laps with her idiotic trip to Manhattan. That was why they’d brought him back, and that was why they’d put her in charge of the project—so that one day they could blow it all up without losing anyone important, and they could pose with the rubble and bring everyone together against the big, bad enemy they could never let go of. It was the same general plan they’d just explained to her, but deeper and older and far more sinister. They wouldn’t back out of it now, no matter how much she talked.

  Kira looked at Samm—not just looked at him but stared at him, thought at him, willed him to understand her, wishing with all her being that she could link with him and breathe her thoughts straight into his brain. I’m sorry, she thought. I can’t stop them. Please… I’m sorry.

  “It’s time for you to choose,” said Delarosa. “Join us, bring peace to the island, put an end to the Voice threat … or stay a rebel, and live your days as an exile. You could live comfortably on one of the farms.” She leaned forward. “You are a firebrand, Ms. Walker—people follow you, and if you join our cause, they will follow you into the brightest future we’ve seen in decades. A new dawn for humanity. The choice is yours.”

  I’m sorry, she thought again. She gripped the IV stand, gritted her teeth, and dragged her charred leg one step back toward the senators. “There’s nothing I can do to stop you.”

  She could feel Samm’s shock like a wave of betrayal, slamming her in the back and washing up and over her head. Just trust me, she thought.

  Hobb narrowed his eyes. “You’ll do it?”

  “No, I won’t.” She half turned, not daring to look Samm in the face again. “I can’t keep fighting you—look at me, I can barely stand up—but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sell him out to help you and lie to my friends.” A tear rolled down her cheek, but she kept her gaze firm, desperate for them to believe her. “Do whatever you have to do and be done with it. I won’t stop you.” She turned to the door, took a painful step, then paused, gasping for air. “And get one of your goons out there to carry me back downstairs. I can barely move anymore.”

  “Of course,” said Hobb. “Take your time. Recuperate. This will take us a few hours to set up anyway.”

  Kira nodded. That’s exactly what I’m counting on.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The guard laid her gently in her hospital bed, cringing as she groaned in pain. It wasn’t fake—her leg seemed to hurt more now than it had climbing the stairs. She tried to arrange the blanket over her legs, but even that much motion brought tears to her eyes. The guard moved her legs for her, then turned off the lights and left. Kira closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and forced herself to sit up.

  Never underestimate me.

  The regen box was still in the room, and Kira gave herself another treatment—a third in less than eight hours, accelerating her cell growth far past the point of safety. It would cause long-term damage, but in the short term it would let her walk. She peeked out the door and smiled grimly. Her wound was so bad, and her walking so debilitated, that the guard hadn’t even stayed to watch her.

  She found Marcus in the cafeteria, staring silently at a tray of untouched rice. Will he even help? He has to. She inched slowly toward him across the empty floor. “Hey.”

  He looked up, eyes wide with shock, and leaped to his feet. “Where have you been? I came in as soon as they reopened the building, and you weren’t in your room—I tore the building upside down until they finally made me come in here and wait.” He looked her up and down, frowning in renewed concern. “How on earth did you get in here? You can barely walk.”

  “Magic,” she said coolly. “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “I need an MRI.”

  He frowned again. “They won’t give you one?”

  “I want you t
o do it.”

  “Why?”

  “I want you to hold my hand while it runs.”

  “I … okay.” He grimaced, obviously confused. “Wouldn’t you rather have a DORD, they’re so much better—”

  “I need an MRI.”

  “Then let me find someone to run the scan while I—”

  “Just you,” she said firmly. “Just you and me.”

  Marcus nodded, his face worn and worried, but there was a look in his eye—he was starting to pick up on what she was doing. “Okay, sure.” He offered his arm and she took it gratefully, staggering alongside him back into the main hallway.

  “What’s really going on?” he whispered.

  “Call it a medical hunch. I want to see something.” She hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out what to say to him. They hadn’t spoken since his proposal.

  He walked in silence, and she did the same. After everything I’ve done to him, will he even trust me anymore?

  They made their way down the hall to the radiology center and found a private room. Marcus eased her onto the exam table, and she let out a gasp as the weight came off her leg. She felt like she’d been running a marathon through a sea of broken glass. The MRI machine was smaller than the DORD in her lab—just a doughnut instead of a full-body box, and not nearly as powerful—but its electromagnetic field was exactly what she needed.

  “I need to go turn it on,” said Marcus. He ran to the viewing room, fiddled with the controls, and Kira took a deep breath. This is it. This is either the beginning, or the end. The machine hummed to life, the powerful magnetic field washing over her, and she reached out her hand as Marcus came back.

  “We don’t have much time, so just listen,” said Kira, leaning back while the MRI ran its sequence. “Mkele has me under heavy surveillance, and I am almost certainly wearing some kind of listening device. The field from this machine will disrupt it, but I don’t know how much time we’ll have before his goons get suspicious.” She glanced over at him, and then faced forward again. “Do you trust me?”

  “What?”

  “Do you trust me?” She felt him staring at her, but she kept her eyes forward.

  “Yes. Of course I trust you. What’s going on?”

  “The Senate set the bomb that blew up my lab. They killed Shaylon and threatened me. This entire thing—Samm, the studies, the bomb—has all been a ploy to generate enough fear, aimed in a precise direction, to cement their power over the island. Now they’re using this scenario in order to—” She dropped her eyes, then found her courage and finally looked at him. “Marcus, they’re going to kill Samm.”

  She saw something play across his face. Whether it was horror or shock or jealousy, she couldn’t tell. His eyes flicked up toward the ceiling, then slowly turned back to her.

  “Kira,” he said, “they were always going to kill it. To kill… Samm. You know this.” His voice was even and controlled, enough that she knew he must have been repressing something powerful. “Besides, why would they blow up their own people? Their own hospital?”

  “Because it’s part of their plans,” said Kira. “I could never figure out why I got the assignment to study Samm, but this must have been it. I’m just a plague baby to them, the least experienced medic and the most expendable. If the bomb had killed me, they could have used me as a martyr, but since I lived, they offered me a role as their figurehead; the brave young scientist who survived the Partial attack.”

  “The Partials set the bomb?”

  “The Senate set the bomb, I told you that. But they’re going to blame Samm, they’re going to kill him, and they’re going to use his death to rally support.” She begged him with her eyes, willing him to believe. “They told Shaylon to go to the window, Marcus. They told him to stand right next to the wall before they blew it up.”

  “No,” said Marcus, shaking his head. “It was the Voice—they’ve been attacking East Meadow for weeks, there’s probably at least one cell of them here in the city.” But as he was speaking, she could hear the doubt creeping into his voice.

  “Did anyone actually see them?” asked Kira. “Did anyone actually attack the hospital, or did the military just say they did to cover their own tracks?”

  Marcus stared at her, saying nothing.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” said Kira, but Marcus cut her off.

  “No, it’s not crazy. Coming from Xochi it would sound crazy, but from you…” He took her hand. “I trust you, Kira. If you say that they’re trying to kill you, then I believe that they’re trying to kill you.”

  Kira closed her eyes, praying to anyone who would listen. Thank you, thank you, thank you. She looked at Marcus and spoke quickly. “I don’t know how much longer we have before someone comes to see why the listening bug isn’t working.” She took a deep breath. “We need to break him out—I’ll explain everything later, but that’s our goal: We get him out, we take him north, and we follow him home. They’re dying, just like we are, and they’ve offered a truce. We’re going to take them up on it.”

  Marcus stuttered, searching for words. “Are you nuts?”

  “He saved me, Marcus. Samm had the chance to run when the bomb hit: He was free from his bonds, and no one was watching, and there was a giant hole in the wall. He could have run and been free, but he picked up the DORD that was electrocuting me and saved my life.”

  Marcus froze, looking her straight in the eyes—in her eyes and past them, to something she could only imagine. The pain in his face nearly broke her heart.

  “I should have…,” he said. his gaze still lost. “I tried to…”

  “You tried to save me and I wouldn’t listen.” Kira choked back a sob. “I’ve been reckless and stupid and I know it, and now I’m in too deep, and I know you want to pull me out and make me safe but we can’t do it—not yet. I need you to come with me. I know it’s dangerous, and I know you don’t want to do it, but I need you, Marcus. I need you to believe me; I need you to trust me. I need to hear you say you’ll come with me.”

  Marcus stayed silent. He rubbed his eyes, pulled on his face, gritted his teeth. Kira covered her mouth with her hands, blowing out a long breath, never taking her eyes off him. Please, Marcus. Please say yes.

  Marcus stood, turning to the side. Kira closed her eyes, crying silently.

  “I’ll do it,” he said. Kira’s eyes flew open.

  “You will?”

  He stepped back to the table. “I’ll help you break him out, I’ll help you take him home, I’ll do anything for you. For you.”

  “Oh, Marcus…”

  “Last time you left, it killed me. I’m not going to let you do this on your own.” He stared at her, loving and longing, then turned and threw his hands helplessly in the air. “Now, how the hell are we going to do it?”

  Her mouth opened and closed. She had no idea. “Whatever it is, we have to do it tonight.”

  “We’ll need Xochi’s help,” said Marcus. “Xochi and Isolde at the very least. Jayden and Haru if we can convince them to help.”

  Kira shook her head. “They’re never going to trust a Partial. We have to do this without them.”

  Marcus whistled low. “This is crazy.” He shrugged. “Get Xochi and Isolde together, and give me some time to gather a few things. We’ll meet at your place in two hours.”

  “Perfect,” said Kira. “Now get back over there and run some kind of analysis on the images this thing just took—anything at all, it doesn’t matter, we just need this to look like a real MRI.”

  Marcus nodded and ran to the computer, sitting down and typing something out. Barely a minute later a soldier poked his head in the door: Kira was lying quietly on the table, and Marcus was in the viewing room, watching the screen. The soldier looked around, nodded, and went back outside.

  Marcus waited until the door was shut, then met her gaze and stared. Kira stared back.

  They had two hours.

  Kira flexed her leg. She’d been tempted to use the regen box again, b
ut it seemed to be healing just fine, it was the pain that was the problem; she’d split the difference and given herself a prodigious shot of painkillers. She checked the wrapping on her burn a final time, making sure it was tight, and pulled on her pants. She walked with a limp, and she was more than a little dizzy, but at least she could walk.

  She peeked out of her room; she was still unguarded. Either the senators believed her willingness to go along with their plan, or they thought Mkele’s surveillance was enough to keep tabs on her. Which wasn’t to say that the hall was clear of guards: There were at least ten, maybe more, armed to the teeth and clustered around a door at the far end. At least we know where they’re keeping Samm, Kira thought. She slipped into the hall and limped briskly in the other direction. Sandy wasn’t at her desk. Kira still had a little luck left.

  It was nearly dusk now, a familiar half-light she recognized from so many long days at work, but tonight the familiarity made her heart catch in her throat. She couldn’t help but wonder if this would be her last time in East Meadow—her last time crossing the turnpike, her last time passing the big blue house on the corner, her last time watching the sushi vendors amble slowly down the sidewalks. She turned on her street, let herself into her house, and quietly packed her backpack with everything it would hold: extra lights and batteries, several pairs of dry socks, a knife and a set of tools. She broke down her rifle and stowed that as well, concealing it in the backpack as best she could—it wouldn’t be a military operation this time, so all they’d have were the weapons they brought with them. She still had Isolde’s pistol strapped to her hip—hardly an uncommon accessory these days—and made sure to pack plenty of ammunition for both weapons. Last of all she grabbed her medkit, sealed her bags tightly, and set them by the front door, waiting for the others to arrive. She sat down, frowned, and realized that Nandita still hadn’t come back from her trip.