Perfection
Page 1
Perfection
Code Perfect Thriller Series
Larissa Emerald
Perfection
Chicago PD Lieutenant York Richmond is a 23rd Century man with 21st Century tastes. He has reason to despise the class system that gives all the privilege to Genetic Engineered Individuals while Coders like him get the dregs, but he’s a cop who gets the job done. When a GEI toddler is found dead for no apparent reason, he’ll do anything to find out what—or who—killed a friend’s little girl.
Dr. Kindra B-Zaika is a perfect specimen of her generation, designed for beauty as well as brains. Her very ordered life revolves around her child and her work as the lead geneticist developing future generations of GEI, despite her growing qualms about pushing evolution too far, too fast—until a big, brash, belligerent Coder police lieutenant crashes into her lab, demanding answers.
What could possibly kill a child genetically engineered to survive virtually any threat? And why do the powers that be seem so determined to ignore the danger?
As the case takes them on a deadly hunt for an invisible killer that tangles politics and social justice, York and Kindra discover that the line that separates Coder and GEI is a thin one.
If it should even exist at all.
Perfection
Code Perfect Thriller Series
Novel
by Larissa Emerald
Copyright © 2019
Castle Oak Publishing LLC
ISBN-13: 978-1-942139-17-1
ISBN-10: 1-942139-17-9
http://www.larissaemerald.com
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This novel is a work of fiction. References to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights to reproduction of this work are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission from the copyright owner. Thank you for respecting the copyright. For permissions or information on foreign, audio, or other rights, contact the author at larissaemerald@gmail.com.
Table of Contents
PERFECTION
About the Book
Copyright
Dedictaion
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Excerpt from FLAWED
Excerpt from AWAKENING FIRE
Other Books by Larissa Emerald
About the Author
Dedication
This book is for my son Bryan.
You have made my life challenging, richer, and taught me so many things I never would have learned and experienced without you.
I love you always!
Chapter One
May 1, 2226
In a proficient dance of gears and balance, the robotic waitress slid breakfast onto the table and rolled away from the booth. Eggs, spinach, buffalo sausage, coffee—his usual. Lieutenant York Richmond wrapped his fingers around the steaming cup of cloned Colombian, forgoing the undersized handle, and drew it to his lips. The steam, along with the familiar aroma, awakened his sinuses. Now if only it would nudge his brain and his muscles to life.
“Rough night, huh?” Across from him, Detective Vivian Lester lined up her silverware on the table in front of her, then picked up the spoon and stirred cream into her coffee.
He shrugged at his partner’s understatement. “Need to change families for a month or so, s’all.”
“Guess it’s kind of weird to arrest your mom.”
“Well, you know Mom. Queen of protests.” His mother fought for equality between Genetically Engineered Individuals and Coders, the descendants of the original human gene pool. She hated the direction of designer babies and the Committee’s regulations that governed GEI and everyone else.
“Hey, there’s an antiquities sale tomorrow. Want to go?”
He set aside the coffee, hit his eggs with equal shots of Tabasco and mustard, and dug in. If Vi felt compelled to divert his attention to his hobby, then he must be a seriously sorry sight. His mouth edged into a reluctant smile, despite how tired he felt. “I’m good.”
“Really?”
“Besides, technically, I didn’t arrest her. I just ensured she wasn’t newsworthy by calming her down.” The national media weren’t after the truth, they were after a story. He stabbed his fork into a hunk of sausage, slid the utensil between his teeth, leaving the meat behind, and peered at her across the table. He quirked a single brow.
With a contrite nod, she turned her attention to her French toast.
He was finished with her treating him like a keepsake Christmas ornament. Really, she wanted to go hunting for antiques with him. Ever since Danny—
No. He put the brakes on that thought and tapped his spot computer, resting it in his palm as he searched the Chicago headlines for any sign of Amanda Richmond. Nothing.
Good for you, Mom.
The headlines focused on the World Health Organizations US regional convention, where his mother had been protesting. The broadcast showed dignitaries exchanging greetings. GEI and Coders filled the large hall at the Rhodium Hotel. To the casual eye, they seemed similar with their homogenized honey-brown skin from the blending of mixed races over the years. But that was where the resemblance ended. Unlike throughout history, the issue today wasn’t about race but privilege. His mom was outspoken about equal genetic opportunities and restricting the push for more advancement.
He checked a few more news sites, then paused. On the screen, a newscaster announced the discovery of yet another victim of suicide by a genetic mutation. Instances of people shooting up with a genetic alteration serum had reached epidemic proportions. The serum caused their genes to go haywire and mutate until they died, horribly. A shiver raced through him. He was glad he hadn’t caught that case. It hit too close to home.
“So you want to go chumming around with me tomorrow, eh?” he asked.
Vi rolled her eyes.
He half chuckled. “I thought so. We could even make it a family affair and hook up with Mom, cousin Stacey, and the kids, maybe even Cal.”
“Let’s leave your brother out of this. It’s not Christmas or anyone’s birthday, so I’m good.” She stared down at her breakfast as if engrossed. That was the problem with friends dating family. When the relationship didn’t work out, things got awkward. Cal wanted Vi to quit the force. Vi didn’t want to. End of relationship.
An announcement from the International Security Intelligence Generator of Human Tracking overrode his info search and shocked the amused grin right off his face. The forkful of Tabasco-laced eggs he’d been eager to consume a millisecond earlier didn’t make it into his mouth. He lowered his arm, the fork clanking against plastic. The sausage in his mouth turned bland and grainy, like eating sand. The food scraped his throat as he swallowed. “What the hell?”
>
“What? Not your mom?”
“No. A message from InSIGHT.” He read the accompanying post aloud in disbelief, his appetite shriveling with every syllable. “Isabelle D-Gastion is dead.”
Vi gasped. “That’s impossible. She’s GEI.”
“Right, and genetically engineered individuals don’t die without help, what with their perfect genes and all.” York thumbed the valet button synced to his air-car’s auto-pilot. “I’ve signaled for the car. Ready?” He slipped from the booth and stood.
“Guess so. Where are we going?”
“Fredrick B-Gastion’s.” His tone grim, he said, “If I’ve learned anything in the last few years, it’s that there’s a first time for everything. And given she’s the daughter of the World Health Organization’s Regional Director, well, this can’t be an accident.”
Poor, innocent Isabelle. She was only two. He drew a deep breath. It felt like a heavy hand pressed over his heart.
As they exited the diner, a vocal emergency statement came through his comm, instructing them to report to the scene. Good thing, considering he was heading there anyway. Fredrick was a friend.
Daylight had broken, but from where they stood, skyscrapers hid the sun. This early in the morning, the city still slept. In an hour or so, the streets and walkways would be bustling with people. For an instant, he was aware of the changing of the guard, so to speak. The hum of huge air purification filters on the nearby corner ceased. Chicago sat silent, expectant. He breathed in a whiff of smog-free air. This quiet moment rang false. Every part of him knew it.
His air-car pulled up to the curb, and they got in. He adjusted the thrusters for vertical ascent and launched. Memos flashed over a nucleus screen set in the console, and his onboard computer kept up a running monologue of information and updates as he drove. The female voice sounded cool and collected. Three notices indicated other units had arrived at the Gastion residence by the time he’d piloted from midtown to the swanky Chicago suburb on the lake.
He gripped the steering wheel. Had the child died of natural causes—which seemed impossible unless there’d been some sort of accident—or was someone targeting the father and the kid got in the way? The WHO’s regional director held jurisdiction over the Committee and its genetic selections, oversaw universal health emergencies, monitored the impact of climate and environmental change, and advocated for the Coder population. Dealing with those issues placed Fredrick B-Gastion in direct conflict with a lot of people. Was someone upset about a decision coming down? Were they angry enough to retaliate?
* * *
“Hand it over, ladybug,” Kindra B-Zaika said with a gentle tone meant to coax her child.
“No.” Brianna stomped her foot and threw her head back defiantly.
Stunned by her daughter’s uncharacteristic explosive outburst, she inhaled a calming breath.
“I want it to open noooow,” Brianna wailed, drawing the final word into a quivering, nerve-scraping bleat.
Kindra touched cool fingers to her brow and glanced out the panel of windows in the living room to discover dawn tiptoeing over the city. A streak of air traffic blazed in the distance, weaving between skyscrapers. People were on the move. But here she was, stonewalled by a two-year-old. She couldn’t leave for work with Brianna so upset.
Her daughter held out the potted sunflower in her small hands. Her eyes glistened as blue irises disappeared into rich-brown outer rims—a telltale sign of how upset she was.
“The flower has a growth cycle. It’s not time for it to bloom,” Kindra explained.
Brianna thrust out her lower lip, then pitched the uncooperative plant to the floor. Kindra sighed, struggling for calm as she watched the melodrama of flailing arms and legs that followed. She’d never encountered such an outburst, so she wasn’t sure how to deal with it. What was happening to her sweet little girl? Such out-of-control behavior was a first. In fact, D Generation was bred for an even temperament.
Worried, Kindra folded her hands and touched a knuckle to her lips. She was reluctant to play the waiting game, but what else could she do? She tried to think of solutions, from sending Brianna to her room to making her clean up the mess to scolding her. But she was only two. Would any of that really work?
It’ll pass.
Kindra had a gazillion things on her overloaded agenda. Just the thought of presenting her controversial report to the Genetics Committee first thing when she got to the office made her shudder. Nausea roiled in her stomach. The Committee had gotten carried away with power lately, and didn’t like to be challenged. She needed quiet. She needed solitude. She needed to rehearse her pitch.
“Fifteen minutes,” Nanny Sally advised as she entered the room.
“Yes, I know,” Kindra said as the popular model of android began to tick off five-minute increments in an effort to get Kindra to work on time. Fooltar. She could do without the nanny’s annoying programming this morning.
Near the electric-blue sofa, Kindra knelt beside her daughter. A thrashing foot clipped her shin, snagging her leggings. She winced, then stroked Brianna’s forehead. Be calm, please.
Brianna stilled at her mother’s touch and turned big, watery eyes up to look at Kindra. “Ladybug, you can’t make the flower bloom just because you want it to.”
With several hiccups, Brianna made an effort to control her crying.
Kindra collected the pot, replaced a handful of spilled soil, and set it upright on the floor. She settled cross-legged next to the plant and spied the gel book on the end table. Perhaps a pretend flower would do in the interim. She extended her hand, concentrated, and summoned Brianna’s holographic computer to her hand with a flare of psychokinesis.
Brianna stilled and peered at her mother. She sniffed back tears with sudden interest.
Kindra smothered a thankful sigh. Distraction. Perfect. She skipped her fingers over the gel book, bringing to life the electronic images until she accessed the file she wanted. “What color would you like your flower to be?”
“Yellow. Intense yellow.”
Intense, of course—Brianna’s word of the week. Last week it was activate. A rush of pride swelled inside Kindra at her daughter’s advanced intelligence. All children of D Generation were geniuses, as mandated by the Committee. They would be attending university at age nine.
She sighed. Such potential.
These kids were far beyond what she had been as a child, more intelligent, more intuitive, more talented. Even though Kindra graduated high school at thirteen, university at seventeen and worked alongside her father learning the ins and outs of genetics, she wondered if she even had a hope of keeping up when the Ds grew into adults.
With another swirl of a finger, a vibrant sunflower popped up from the page. Kindra carefully detached the 3D creation, separating it from the book. “This will have to do until I get home this evening.”
“But it’s May Day. I wanted to give you a real flower.”
Downy, soul-deep warmth caressed Kindra. “I appreciate that. But some things can’t be rushed.” She smiled. The urge to stay home from work tempted her. “Come here.” She patted her leg, inviting Brianna to sit on her lap.
Her little girl scooted over, sniffled again, then snuggled closer, surveying the wounded plant. Kindra caressed her sweet oval face and smoothed silky strands of blond hair away from eyes that were gradually returning to their lively crystal blue. Like mother, like daughter. Brianna was sensitive, intuitive, demanding. Kindra smiled, amazed at how a genetically engineered generation, one far superior to her own B Generation, could be created with such scientific precision, yet remain so defined by age emotionally.
“I’ll bring a fresh, blooming flower home with me when I return from work, okay? This one”—she firmly tamped down the soil around the base of the stem—“will take a few days to open.”
Brianna brightened and tilted her head with an impish nod. “Not a cloned one.”
Where do kids learn these things?
“I
’ll do my best.” She wrapped her arms around Brianna and breathed deeply of her little girl scent. When had this child she’d rescued from the embryo discard bin come to mean so much to her? It had been an impulsive, weak moment. The Committee had discarded so many embryos, she felt that if she could save at least one, it would fill the void inside her. But as time passed, and the more she learned about being a mother, the more her discontent with the Committee grew.
Brianna filled Kindra’s heart with love, aching in its intensity. Had her own mother ever cared for her this way?
Doesn’t matter.
She shook her head as Brianna wiggled out of her arms. Clearly ready to play, her child swept up a doll from a nearby chair.
Kindra stood. “How about if you and Chloe go do a unity session? The quiet time will help you center yourself.”
Brianna ignored her and headed down the hall without looking at her. “Can’t,” she said before disappearing through her bedroom door, Chloe hugged to her chest.
Kindra’s breath snagged in her throat, and she frowned. Brianna had never refused the spiritual exercise. Another warning signal tripped—another odd occurrence. First the tantrum. Now, this.
With her usual rigid posture and head tilt that didn’t displace a single dark hair, Sally held out a square box that housed Kindra’s computer key, the coded chip she needed to access files at work. “Time to go.”