This Cruel Design

by Emily Suvada

  He shudders, then detonates into a curling plume of mist.

  The image changes to a woman’s face. Scarlet hair and a steely gaze. Novak. The leader of the Skies. I’ve seen her trademark smile flash up on the jeep’s dashboard each morning during the daily broadcast she and Dax have been sending out. They’ve been promising that everything is going well. That the vaccine is working, that the bunkers are getting ready to open again.

  But this broadcast is different. Dax isn’t in it—he’s bruised and feverish beside me, and there’s no sign of Novak’s smile.

  Dax cuts the feed off, switching to a map of the world with scarlet dots blinking across every continent, every island. “The new strain has spread practically everywhere,” he says. “We only detected it three days ago, and we’ve been able to keep it quiet so far, but our attempts to quarantine it have been useless. We’re only seeing a two percent infection rate, but that’s enough to keep the virus alive. Cartaxus will be sending this broadcast out in the next few days. They’re going to tell the truth—that we’re at risk of losing the vaccine.”

  The hologram of the map disappears, and Leoben rocks back on his heels, rubbing his eyes. I lean against the Comox’s side, swaying. I don’t even know what would be left of the world if we lost this vaccine. After what Lachlan has done, we can’t trust him to write another one. It could take us years. That’s more years of plague—of bunkers, blowers, of choking down doses for immunity. There’d be no future, no running away to the beach with Cole. I don’t even know if I could face it. The only way I made it through the outbreak was by distracting myself, protecting my heart.

  But now I’ve had a glimpse of hope.

  Every person on this planet has seen the vaccine’s release and caught sight of a world without the plague. Every survivor, every civilian in the bunkers is still celebrating. They’re riding high on a roller coaster that’s about to come crashing down. If we lose this vaccine, I don’t know how they’ll respond. There could be riots. There could be a war.

  This could be the end of us.

  Leoben stands and strides to the cockpit, leaning past Cole to flick something on the controls. The Comox shudders as we slow, dropping down to the forest.

  “What are you doing?” Dax calls out, frustrated, rolling his sleeve back down over his cuff. “Cartaxus is coming. We need to go.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Leoben says, staring back, his eyes blazing. “You’re infected. Jesus, Dax. We need to figure this out, and you need to get to a medical ward.”

  We drop back through the flock of pigeons, sending them scattering, and descend into a dark, grassy clearing. The Comox groans, metal screeching somewhere below us as we touch down. Towering, slender pines stand around us, the three-peaked mountains looming in the distance. Cole leans his rifle against the Comox’s side and sits heavily in one of the seats. There’s still a pallor to his skin that tells me his tech is working hard on his injuries, but if the wound in his side is hurting him, he’s not letting it show.

  “We shouldn’t be stopping. We’re wasting time,” Dax mutters, buttoning up his shirt.

  I look over the bruises on his face. My shock is fading, and my mind is clicking into gear, thinking of ways to fix this.

  “Tell me more,” I say. “How different is the strain?”

  “Very different,” Dax says. “It looks like a twelve-year mutation.”

  “What?” I stand from my seat. “Are you kidding me?”

  Dax gives me a sad smile. “I very much wish I was.”

  I blink, staring at him, then pace to the back of the cargo hold. Mutations in gentech are classified by how long we’d expect it would take them to appear through natural evolution. A few genes change randomly in each new generation of any species, with the changes slowly compounding over time until the species is noticeably altered. The speed depends on the organism—a mutation in human DNA might take centuries to spread through the population, but bacteria can change within days. The longer the time assigned to a mutation for a given species, the more significant the change.

  But the Hydra virus mutates fast—its infection period is just three weeks. A twelve-year mutation could be radically different. The plague has only been spreading for the last two years, and over that time the plumes grew taller, the detonations more powerful. If what Dax is saying is true, this new strain is what the virus could look like after another ten years of mutations.

  “How could it mutate so fast?” Leoben asks, walking back from the cockpit. The roar from the rotors has dropped into a dissipating thud. He pulls down one of the seats from the Comox’s side and sits opposite Dax, his body tight with tension.

  “Genetic leaps like this have been known to happen,” Dax says. “After the first vaccine failed, we started running simulations for all our code over a ten-year mutation range. The vaccine just wasn’t built for a strain like this.”

  “Could it be patched?” I ask.

  “It can, quite easily,” Dax says. He meets my eyes, and I feel a flicker of the bond we used to have when we coded together. Two minds working in harmony, focused on nothing but the puzzle in front of us. “My team drafted a patch the first day we got samples of the strain, but integrating it with the vaccine isn’t easy, because it’s not just the vaccine we’re dealing with.”

  “Shit,” I say. “The extra code.”

  Dax nods grimly. I tilt my head back, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. After the decryption, Dax said the vaccine was supposed to be five million lines long, but we sent out a version that had nine million. The implant in my head added the other four million lines—the daemon code that Lachlan used to launch the attack in Sunnyvale.

  But the daemon code wasn’t added as a block of text that could be easily deleted. I haven’t been able to read much over the last week, but what I’ve seen showed that the decryption blended the daemon code with the vaccine. It’s like cutting up two books and stitching their sentences into something new. It could take months of work to analyze each line and split them apart.

  But without a copy of the pure vaccine, it’s impossible to patch it. It would be like trying to design a replacement part for a machine you’ve never seen.

  “Lachlan has done this on purpose,” I say, pacing back across the cargo hold. “If the code were easy to alter, we might be able to block his attacks.”

  “Yes,” Dax says, “but it also means we can’t fix the vaccine. My team has been trying to reverse engineer the original code, but it could take us weeks to finish.”

  “What about Lachlan?” Leoben asks. “He could patch the vaccine for you. We could make a deal with him—he could even leave the extra crap in, as long as he makes it work.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, spinning around. “We couldn’t trust anything he’d send us.”

  “I’ll take whatever Lachlan is offering,” Dax says, stifling a cough. “I’ve already tried to contact him. I sent the patch to every account I could think of, hoping he’d update the code and send another version back, but he hasn’t replied. He spent half his life working on this vaccine—I can’t imagine him wanting to put it at risk. Cartaxus is desperate, and most of my team is infected too. We’re running out of time. If Lachlan really has some grand plan to change the world, then this is the perfect opportunity to force Cartaxus to help him.”

  Leoben’s face darkens. “How did your team get infected?”

  Dax’s eyes drop to the Comox’s corrugated metal floor. “It was an accident with a sample and a defective container, or at least that’s how it seemed. But I’d checked every container multiple times. I think central command wanted to motivate us to work faster.”

  I draw in a sharp breath. “They did this to you?”

  Dax gives me a tilted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s actually been quite effective.”

  “No,” Leoben says, standing. “They can’t do this. You’re their top researcher. It’s madness to risk your life like this. I thou
ght you’d be safe—”

  “None of us are safe,” Dax says. “That’s why I’m here. Central command decided we’re taking too long to reverse engineer the code, and they’re starting plans of their own. Orders are going out right now, and Brink is looking for you. I’m fairly sure he’s planning a mission to go after Lachlan. But this isn’t your fight. If Lachlan wants to fix the vaccine, he can. None of you need to risk your lives for this anymore.”

  Something raw and fierce sparks in Leoben’s gaze. “Did you really think I’d run from this? Is that why you didn’t want us to know you were infected? Jesus, we’ve been planning to go after Lachlan all week. We were going to kill him, but I’d be happy to see him in a cell instead. If Cartaxus wants to send us after him, then I’m on board.”

  “They won’t send you,” Dax says, “and they won’t send Catarina. You’re the basis for the vaccine, and Catarina is Lachlan’s daughter. They don’t know she’s alive right now, but if they find her, she’ll be a hostage. They’ll probably infect her too.”

  I stare out the window at the trees, chewing my thumbnail. Cartaxus still thinks Lachlan is my father, and I have no doubt they’d hurt me to get him to surrender, but Lachlan doesn’t care about my safety. He turned the Wrath loose on thousands of people in Sunnyvale while I was there, unarmed and defenseless. He wouldn’t give himself up if I was a hostage, but he did say that he needs me to finish his plan.

  There’s a chance I could help bring him in if I use myself as bait.

  “What did you have planned, Crick?” Cole asks. “Where can we run?”

  “Cole—” I start, but he cuts me off.

  “I’m not watching you get infected, Cat.”

  “It’s not as easy as just running,” Dax says. His eyes flick to the duffel bags and clear plastic boxes of gentech equipment stashed in the back of the cargo hold. The boxes are packed with vials of healing tech, bandages, and empty IV bags. Cannulas are coiled in sterile pouches, stacked atop plastic jars of pale, jellylike cell scaffolding—the kind of thing they pack into severe wounds to speed up tissue regeneration.

  “What’s that for?” I ask. “Surgery?”

  But Dax isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at Leoben. “You’re recognizable,” he says. “Both of you. There are ways to fake your DNA when it’s scanned, but not your features. I know someone who can get you both into a bunker under false IDs, but there are still cameras.”

  His tone makes me shiver. Most gentech apps aren’t designed to seriously alter a person’s appearance, but it’s possible to do it. From what I can tell, that’s how Lachlan made the puppet in the lab look like him. Most code takes months to change something like bone structure or the shape of the cartilage in your ears, but there are ways to speed it up. An app to change your skin works faster if your body is frantically trying to regrow your skin. An app to change your nose could take weeks to do it smoothly and safely, but it might only take a few days if it’s broken.

  I stare at the boxes of medical equipment. The bandages. The IVs. “You want to change our faces,” I breathe.

  Leoben’s face pales. “No, Dax.”

  “It’s the only way,” Dax says. “You’ll never get into a bunker otherwise.”

  “I’m not going into a bunker to wait this out,” Leoben says.

  “You might not have a choice,” Dax says. “Brink refuses to lose this vaccine. He’s preparing for flood protocol.”

  A tense, cold silence fills the air. I look between the others, confused. “What’s flood protocol?”

  Nobody answers, but the look on Cole’s face sends a chill through me. I don’t know what Brink could be planning that would save the vaccine—there’s no way to protect it without patching it.

  Unless . . .

  I turn to Leoben, remembering the first conversation we had, back at the bunker we visited. Homestake. I told him I could never join a bunker and let myself be locked away, but Leoben said the people on the surface were the real jailers for keeping the virus alive. Without them, Hydra would run out of hosts and disappear.

  There are two ways to kill a virus—you can beat it with a vaccine, or you can remove every possible host for it to infect, and it will die out on its own.

  But Dax said this strain is all over the world. That makes everyone on the surface a potential host.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper. “They’re going to kill us all.”

  CHAPTER 7

  I PACE TO THE BACK of the Comox, numb with shock. There’s cold air drifting through the metal shutter and into the cargo hold. There’s grit in the creases of my palms, an ache in my calf where the dart hit me.

  There are children and families still living on the surface. How can Cartaxus even think about killing them?

  “They can’t do this,” I say.

  “They might not have a choice,” Dax says. He swipes the back of his sleeve over the sweat on his forehead, but the movement makes him sway. He’s looking worse every minute. “Cartaxus has three billion people in its bunkers to protect, and a vaccine that should be working. My team will be able to reverse engineer the code eventually and patch it, but if they let this virus keep spreading and evolving, the vaccine could be useless by the time we’re done.”

  “But there are millions of people on the surface—”

  “I know,” Dax says, his voice low. “Believe me, I want to stop this as much as you. My life is literally on the line here, but it’s out of my hands. This is between Brink and Lachlan now.”

  “We have to go in.” Leoben spins around, storming to the cockpit. “If Cartaxus is planning flood protocol, we can’t screw around anymore. We need backup—drones, intel, soldiers. We have to find Lachlan. I’m not running away from this, and I’m not changing my goddamn face.”

  His tone as he says the word sends a jolt through me—he’s horrified, and not just at the thought of surgery. It’s the thought of changing part of his identity. I know that’s how he feels, because the same horror is rolling through me at the thought of changing myself. Lachlan’s features stare back at me when I turn to my reflection in the Comox’s triple-glazed window—his nose, his jaw—but they’re mine, too. I’ve already been changed once.

  I don’t think I can handle the thought of doing it again.

  “Lee, please.” Dax unbuckles his harness and half stands to follow Leoben, but he doubles over, coughing.

  “You’re infected,” Leoben says, wheeling on him. “How could you think I’d hide in a bunker?”

  “You have to,” Dax says, gasping for air. “The vaccine is failing. They’ll start the tests on you again.”

  “I can deal with the tests,” Leoben snaps. “I’ve been dealing with them since I was a child.”

  “I know you can,” Dax says, falling back into his seat, “but I’m their lead scientist now. If I survive this, they’ll make me run those tests this time. They’ll make me hurt you, every day, and I can’t deal with that.”

  I look between Dax and Leoben, confused. They’re glaring at each other, but it’s not just anger in their eyes. There’s something more—a shift in the air. The same low power that rolled from Cole in the cabin’s basement when I told him Jun Bei was alive. Leoben was Dax’s bodyguard when they came to meet us outside Homestake. They traveled together, stayed together.

  But they seem closer than that.

  “This isn’t just about you, Lee,” Cole says. “Catarina will be in danger if we go back. We can land. I’ll call the jeep. I can get her into hiding.”

  “What?” I ask. “No, Cole. Leoben’s right—we can’t do this on our own anymore. This is bigger than us, and it’s bigger than Lachlan. We need to go to Cartaxus.”

  “Damn straight,” Leoben says, pushing through to the cockpit. “If Brink is sending a team to the lab, we should go and meet them.” He sits heavily in the pilot’s seat and flicks the controls. The Comox’s rotors spin up, the cargo hold creaking.

  Cole tilts his head back, his fists tight with frustration. We’re
going into danger—I know that. There’s a good chance Cartaxus will hurt me to bring Lachlan in. They might find out the truth about who I am—that I used to be Jun Bei. They might lock me up in a lab. They might kill me.

  But I can’t run from this. I won’t change my face, hide in a bunker, and watch as Cartaxus kills everyone on the surface. If there’s a chance I can help stop this, I have to try.

  The Comox lifts from the clearing, tilting as we pass through the flock. Leoben turns us in a shuddering arc back toward the three-peaked mountains. The Zarathustra lab is in the middle of a valley, jutting from a wash of rain-streaked grass. Its windows are boarded, the ventilation turbines on the rooftop glinting in the morning’s pale light. We’ve been camped an hour’s hike from it all week, but I haven’t seen it since the night we left. It’s hovered on the edge of my senses every day, though, bringing back memories of locked doors and gloved hands. They grow stronger as we race closer, tugging at my senses. I see scalpels, restraints, and barred windows.

  I feel like I keep trying to leave this lab, but I still can’t escape it.

  Cole stands. “They’re here.” The lab’s parking lot comes into view, a gleaming Comox standing on the grass, a row of soldiers lined behind it.

  “I’ve hailed them,” Leoben says. “They know we’re coming.” He tilts the controls, bringing us into a descent.

  “Are they going to punish you for coming out to find us?” I ask Dax, looking over my shoulder. He’s slumped in the seat, his head tilted back, his forehead still glistening with sweat.

  “I don’t care,” he says. “I’m already infected. I don’t know what else they could do.”

  Leoben’s hands tighten on the controls. I don’t know what’s going on between him and Dax, but there’s clearly something, though he hasn’t mentioned it to me. It’s hard to imagine the two of them together. Dax takes himself so seriously, while Leoben tries to turn everything into a joke. Still, the air between them feels charged, and I don’t know how I didn’t notice it when we were traveling together.