by Kim Harrison
Smiling, Rick took a breath to say hello, catching it when the woman steamrolled forward.
“I understand it’s been quite a year at Global Genetics as the Angel tomato came out of the basement, so to speak, and was made available both internationally and here at home in an extensive live trial with Saladan Farms,” she said, smile widening. “I hear it’s already proved invaluable in helping to feed the third world. Quite an accomplishment for having been in general cultivation for only one season. I’m going to jump right in with the question that is probably on all our viewers’ minds. Dr. Cambri, why is your tomato fuzzy?”
Confident and smiling, Trisk leaned forward. “Good afternoon, Heather. I’m glad you asked. The hairs are actually a big part of what makes the Angel so drought tolerant and are why we had to go through a second entire growing season trial period before finalizing the sale to Saladan Farms. There was a real concern that the general fuzziness of the plant and fruit would prevent the T4 Angel from becoming anything more than a farm crop,” she said, glancing at Saladan’s stiff smile. “But this year has proven without a doubt that that hasn’t been the case. Orders are already coming in for larger shipments next spring.”
“My mother has one in her backyard,” Heather said. “She got it for free in a promotion. I don’t think she’d ever have bought one on her own, but after having tasted it, I know she’d shell out some serious cash for it. The plant is as big as her VW, and it won’t stop fruiting.”
Saladan stirred, uncrossing his leg and setting his foot on the floor. “That’s why I insisted on a widespread general-populace test to justify the large price tag they were asking.”
Trisk smiled, but Kal could see her long-held frustration. “I designed the tomato to be equally at home in a cultivated field or a backyard, as diversity is key to a successful organism, and people seem to love growing the novelty. The hairs wash off easily, and oddly enough, it’s those same hairs that help give the fruit the sweet tang in sauces and ketchup.”
From the shadows, Daniel beamed, giving her a thumbs-up.
Great, Kal thought, stifling his annoyance. The man hadn’t given up. “What Dr. Cambri did was amazing, Heather,” he said. “The hairs originate from DNA taken from the international GTB, or genetic tissue bank, modified and inserted into the tomato’s genome.”
Heather’s brow furrowed. “There’s human DNA in my ketchup? Isn’t that cannibalism?”
Rick gave Kal a look to shut his mouth. “Not at all, Heather,” he said smoothly, his dark voice mesmerizing. “The human genome is one of the best studied, and we’ve found there’s a lot of repeating blueprints for structures that appear throughout the biosphere, meaning we share a lot of DNA with other organisms from fruit flies to apples. To be honest, I’d get more human DNA in my body by nibbling on your ear than eating a bushel of Angel tomatoes.”
“I see. Thank you for clearing that up,” Heather said, then visibly shook herself of the obvious pull to him. “But I’m still questioning the prudence of having the last year of testing take place not only aboveground, but over entire continents.”
“The final testing year was to prove the tomato’s commercial viability,” Saladan said sourly. “Not for safety. I wouldn’t risk my workers with an untested product.”
Chuckling, Rick leaned forward. “You’re talking of the Cuban biocrisis, yes, Heather?”
She inclined her head, somehow looking both mischievous and no-nonsense. It was a fabulous expression, and Kal resolved to cultivate it. “You said it. Not me.” The woman gave him an impish smile. “But since you did, yes. We all remember the lines at the airports, the travel bans, and those awful yellow body bags that came back to our shores to be burned. All because of a badly developed genetic product.”
“That simply can’t happen anymore,” Rick soothed, and even Kal felt the force of his living-vampire persuasion telling Heather not to worry her pretty little head about it. “It’s more than the underground testing grounds and rigorous quarantine procedures that take place at every genetic facility. We’re actually working on a tactical virus at Global Genetics right now that has received military approval just this week. The Plank tactical virus, or PTV, has no host, no carrier, and will therefore die out after twenty-four hours to leave those afflicted to recover completely. So you can see why we’re not concerned about a tomato designed to survive a severe drought.”
“A tactical virus that doesn’t kill people?” Heather asked, her eyebrows high. “How is that helpful from a military standpoint?”
Kal stifled a wince, sure that neither the government nor the enclave would thank them for talking about Daniel’s virus, but Rick nodded even as Saladan stared at him in disbelief.
“Imagine three-quarters of Sacramento suddenly calling in sick,” Rick said, leaning forward to give his words more impact. “Everything stops. The chaos will allow our troops to safely enter and take control of any situation, whether it be as small as a building or large as a city.” He leaned back, smiling again. “And in twenty-four hours, everyone recovers.”
Heather frowned, and in the shadowed area off the stage, Kal heard a whispered argument. “You have an antidote for our own men, yes?” she asked, ignoring the spinning teleprompter.
Rick’s smile widened. “No, but U.S. troops won’t enter the area until the PTV hits the top of its infection curve and is in decline. They’ll never be fully exposed, and if they are, the worst that will happen is fever and perhaps a rash.”
Kal thought it interesting that he didn’t mention the racking cough that could tear lung tissue, the possible dehydration from vomiting, or that the rash sometimes left scars, but that only occurred with overdoses. Unlikely in controlled situations.
Suddenly Kal realized the current conversation could provide an opportunity to drive a wedge between Trisk and Daniel. “Heather,” Kal interrupted, “you might be interested to know that Dr. Cambri actually worked on the Plank tactical virus as well.”
“Is that so?” Heather looked down the long row of men to her, and Saladan sighed heavily, clearly not appreciating the topic shift away from his product.
Trisk’s smile became stilted; she clearly didn’t want to steal Daniel’s thunder. “Yes, but only in a small capacity. It’s Dr. Plank’s work. He’s here today, actually. Can we bring him up?”
“You worked on them both at the same time?” Heather asked, ignoring Trisk’s obvious desire to get Daniel onstage.
“Uh, yes,” Trisk admitted, and Kal jerked when she knocked his ankle a little too hard to have been an accident. “They share some of the same developmental techniques. The Plank tactical virus is one of Global Genetics’ larger projects. Almost everyone had a hand in it.”
“I see.” Turning to the camera, Heather resettled herself. “When we come back, we’ll head into the kitchen with Mr. Saladan to see how tasty these fuzzy tomatoes are.”
Heather held her breath for three seconds, then stood when the tech with the clipboard pointed at them. “Four minutes!” he shouted. Immediately the three men rose as well, but Heather was already moving, unclipping her mic and striding toward the ring of darkness.
“Excuse me. I’ll be right back,” she said, and then the black took her. “Makeup! Where’s my makeup?” she shouted, heels clicking. “I feel like a cow out there,” she said distantly, and Kal stifled a smile. “I thought geneticists were dorks in black plastic glasses, but even the woman scientist has a better tan than me. Gwen! I need a touchup.”
Rick unplugged his mic and handed it to the nervous technician who’d come forward. “Excuse me,” he said faintly. “Heather?” Rick almost floated off the raised platform, following her. “You look fa-a-a-abulous, darling. Don’t change anything.”
Trisk stood, and the three of them edged off the stage as the lights dimmed and the camera and Saladan were chaperoned to the kitchen set. “Why did Rick bring up Daniel’s virus?” she said, fingers touching a strand of hair that had escaped her bun. “Daniel should be the o
ne to talk about it, not me.”
Kal took her hand to stop her fussing. “Trisk, stop fiddling with your hair. You’re one of the beautiful people.”
She looked at Daniel watching the monitor playing eight seconds into the past. Her expression went blank as she saw her group next to the host. It wasn’t so noticeable when they were in ones and twos, but with four Inderlanders under the spotlight with one human, it was obvious who was who. “It is Daniel’s project,” she said, her cheeks a soft red.
Daniel turned, his attention going from Kal to his fingers still twined with Trisk’s. “I, uh, left my coat in the greenroom,” Daniel said, then strode away.
“He should have been up there, not me,” Trisk whispered, pulling her hand from Kal’s.
“It was your day in the sun, Trisk.”
“For my project, sure, but not his.” Trisk took two steps after Daniel. “Excuse me,” she said over her shoulder, her pace never faltering. “Daniel?”
Kal unclipped his mic and handed it to the waiting tech. Tension made his steps light and silent as he wove through the thick cords on the floor, finding he liked the silence and dark of the back rooms as he followed her. The door to the greenroom was open, and he hesitated, listening.
“Jeez, Trisk. I don’t care that I didn’t get a chance to talk up my virus. It will be forgotten in six months and Rick knows that. He’s just grabbing publicity before the government slaps a gag order on him.”
“Then why are you upset? Don’t lie to me, Daniel. I know you better than that.”
There was a silence, and Kal held his breath.
“Kal tells me he’s pushing you to put in your application at NASA.”
“And?” Trisk said, her tone holding a wary lightness.
“And I don’t think you should. NASA is a fabulous opportunity, but I don’t trust him. I’ve worked with men like him before. He’s had everything handed to him, and he uses people like tissues.”
“Did you know he was the one who convinced the government to put your name on your virus?” Trisk said hotly, and Kal felt a smile curve up the edges of his lips.
“It was my work!” Daniel exclaimed. “Thanking him for that is like thanking the man who pulled me from the rapids after he shoved me in! If he’s pushing you to go, it’s because he’s working an angle to help himself, not you.”
“So you’re saying I’m not good enough to work at NASA? That the only way he’d recommend me is because he’s ‘working an angle’?” Trisk said, and Kal stifled a quiver.
“Trisk,” Daniel said softly, persuasively, but Kal knew it was too late, and his palms tingled with anticipation. “I don’t like him. Every time he makes you laugh, his eyes crinkle like he’s moved a chess piece.”
“You don’t like him because he makes me laugh?”
“Can’t you see he’s using you? I thought you were smarter than that. Trisk, wait,” Daniel pleaded, his tone suddenly changing, and Kal backed up several steps. Even so, Trisk almost ran into him as she strode out of the greenroom.
“Whoa! Hey. Did you find Daniel?” Kal asked, thinking she looked marvelous with her eyes snapping in anger—especially when that anger wasn’t aimed at him. “Where are you going for lunch?”
“I lost my appetite,” she said shortly, purse in hand and her color high as she began walking to the lobby, her steps quick and short. With a last look at the greenroom door, Kal followed, catching up to her easily. Trisk glanced at him, her brow furrowed as she pulled two clips from her hair and the bun fell completely apart. “I don’t laugh too much, do I?”
Kal’s eyes widened. “God no. I love your laugh.” He put an arm around her, her hair pinched between them as he dared to tug her to him—a hint, nothing more. He quickly let go when she stiffened. “I’m sure he’s fine. It probably didn’t sit well that you got to talk about his virus and he didn’t. Let me take you to lunch. You want to go to Sander’s?”
He held the door to the lobby for her. Head down and hair hiding her eyes, she went through, stopping in the hushed quiet of glass and fake wood. It was a space of silence with the world of pretend on one side, the hard cement and blue sky on the other. Her breath shook as she exhaled. “I want to go to NASA,” she said as she looked up at him, her eyes soft in hope. “I want to go to NASA, with you. We can work together on my universal donor.”
Success slammed into him, making him breathless. His knees threatened to give way, and he locked them. Not having to fake his excitement, he took her hands in his. “Really?” he said, beaming as he gave her a huge hug, right there in the lobby. “Trisk, thank you!”
“Kal!” she exclaimed, giggling as he picked her up and swung her in a quick circle.
“Felecia Eloytrisk Cambri, you’ve made me so happy!” he said, giving her another hug as he settled her feet back on the carpet. “This is going to be wonderful. I have to find a phone.”
“But I can’t leave until the enclave gets someone here to take my place,” she said, her expression becoming serious. “Can you wait for me?”
He bobbed his head. “Of course.” Daring, he gave her a kiss on her cheek, darting in and pulling away before she could react. “Lunch? We need to celebrate. Take the rest of the day off,” he said as he turned her to the exit and the parking lot before she could see Daniel standing in the hallway, his expression riven with anger and grief.
“You’ve made me so happy, Trisk,” he said softly. “You’re going to leave your mark on the world, and I’m going to be right beside you.”
Together they found the walk, his jaunty step luring her into a better mood.
Two more weeks. Easy.
11
Daniel clenched the steering wheel of his black Ford Thunderbird, the big engine almost silent as it idled up the long drive to Trisk’s house. A bouquet of white lilies sat beside him, gray in the dusky evening light. The lady at the flower shop said white lilies were a symbol of apology, even more so with the long streaks of brown pollen staining the white petals. “Tears,” the shopgirl insisted, but Daniel had a feeling he’d been tricked into buying damaged goods.
Chocolate had seemed rife with tones of romance, jewelry was wrong for the same reason, and asking her out so he could apologize over a beer as he would anyone else felt worse. Waiting until tomorrow to meet her in the hall by chance smacked of insincerity, and so here he was, a bouquet of lilies that he hoped would stop her justifiable anger long enough so that he could say he was sorry.
For two weeks he had watched Kal slowly insinuate himself back into her life, moving with a sly confidence Daniel had seen all through graduate school, men working their way through the female student body as if women were perks the school had allowed in solely for their enjoyment. Trisk wasn’t a fool, but of all the entitled, rich boy-men that he’d seen, Kal had to be the worst.
Somehow his words at the TV station had gotten mixed up and he’d insulted her when all he wanted was to keep her from being taken advantage of. If she wanted to leave, fine, but not with Kal, who would ruin her career by way of breaking her heart.
His gaze slid to the lilies. He didn’t want her to think he was a kiss-up, or worse, trying to seduce her. Only now, when she was under attack, had he realized how important her steady, unassuming presence was to him. He didn’t want to see her hurt, especially not by Kal.
Daniel squinted into the new shadows as he parked before the barn, sitting for a moment to gather his courage. The lights were on in the house and her car was parked at the front steps beside her worn farm truck. Music drifted out of the windows, opened wide to take advantage of the pleasant October night, the steady pop beat and vocals rising over the air heavy with sunset. The Zombies, he thought, and with a resolute sigh, he took the stained lilies and got out. They were all the rage, one of the many British rock bands storming the nation and pulling the hemlines higher.
Steps slow and methodical, he rose up the wide slate stairs to the expansive wraparound porch. “Well no one told me about her, the way she l
ied,” drifted out in time with his steps. Big wooden doors facing him, he halted to tug his shirt straight, hesitating as the bright lights of an approaching car passed over him.
“Kal,” he whispered, and eyes narrowed, he dropped back, ducking behind a corner of the house and out of sight. What am I doing? he thought as he gripped his flowers tighter, wishing he’d never brought them. But he cared, maybe more than if she had shown even a hint of interest. A lover he could find, but someone who understood him and his work, someone bright and engaging . . . that was worth risking embarrassment to protect.
His pulse quickened as a black Camaro came to a halt beside Trisk’s car, the engine revving aggressively before it was turned off. But it wasn’t Kal who got out. The man didn’t see him in the shadow of the building as he strode up the walk with an eager confidence. His slacks were tight in the latest style, and his white shirt almost glowed in the dim light. Though he wasn’t especially tall, his tightly muscular build made him stand out. A suit coat was draped over his arm, and he had a hat in his hand. His steps were eerily silent.
“Quen!” Trisk shouted as the music clicked off, and even before the man had a chance to knock, she’d flung open the door, clearly expecting him. “Right on time. How do you do it?”
“I skulk in alleys a lot,” the man said, his voice markedly low and resonant for such a small frame. Clearly delighted to see her, Quen gave her a long hug, Trisk’s long hair mingling with Quen’s much shorter, softly curling version. Brother, Daniel thought, seeing the same dark hair and athletic build, though admittedly Quen’s shoulders were wider and he stood a good six inches over Trisk. It was the hug that said sibling, though; there had been no kiss.
