Operating System (The System Series Book 3)

by Andrea Ring

“Thomas, did you have any inkling of this when you took Tyrion’s help? Even one little twinge?”

  “No,” I whisper.

  “Then forget it. You being there allowed you to discover this atrocity and hopefully stop it. You were there for a reason.”

  “You believe that?” I ask him.

  “With all my heart,” he says. “Now go. Do what’s needful.”

  I take a deep breath. “I’m gone.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Ready for another round?” Dad asks when I find him in the lounge at the Attic.

  I don’t reply. I make myself a cup of coffee and sit down opposite him on the couch.

  “I think I need to go home and spend some time with Tessa,” I say.

  Dad frowns. “Don’t give up hope. One of these things will work. You just have to be patient.”

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I tell him. “My abilities are back.”

  He shoots to his feet. “It worked? The last round worked?”

  “No,” I say. “It wasn’t a total failure—there was about a 4% attrition rate—but my immune system attacked the virus. That’s also my fault. I’ve been tweaking my immune system in my experiments for Tessa.”

  Dad cocks his head. “Then how? Did you piggyback on that 4%?”

  “No, I…Tyrion healed me.”

  “Tyrion?”

  I study my coffee mug. “With his experiments at Morula.”

  I can feel Dad’s eyes on me. He sits back down and I raise my eyes to his. “You don’t seem happy about it,” he says.

  “They have a baby farm, Dad,” I say, choking on the words. “Tyrion didn’t intend for me to see it, but I did. They’re growing babies in the lab and harvesting cells and tissue from them. It’s like…those scenes in Alien, you know, where the room is full of eggs. Except this room was full of babies.”

  Dad whips his phone out and hits a few buttons. He sets it on the table between us. “Every detail. Right now. Start with entering the building. Who did you see, what did you say, all of it. Go.”

  I spend an hour giving my story in detail for the record. I find it mildly interesting that my brain recorded the experience perfectly and I can now recall it. So my brain was working properly even when my abilities were absent.

  When I’m done, Dad stops the recorder on his phone and stands. “Go home. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  I stand and gulp. “What are you going to do?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tessa’s at school and Erica’s at work when I get home. Although I’m looking forward to seeing Tessa, I’m exhausted, and it’s nice to come home to an empty house.

  Except it’s not empty.

  Sam’s on the couch watching TV, Emmaleth tucked under his chin.

  “Thomas!” he says in an excited whisper when I enter. He starts to rise, but I wave him back down and come to him. We shake hands and continue to whisper so as not to wake the baby.

  “How are you?” I say, taking the recliner next to them.

  “Good,” he says. “A little bored, and a lot tired, but I hear you’ve been there. Mom said you helped out a lot with Em, especially at night.”

  I smile. “It’s been fun. The sleeping thing’s been rough, but it won’t last forever. She’s beautiful, Sam.”

  Sam smiles back and rubs his chin on the top of Em’s hair. “Yeah, she is. Thanks for letting us stay here. I know it’s a huge burden, and I’m grateful, man.”

  “Well, we won’t be here much longer,” I say. “Did Tessa tell you we bought a house?”

  He nods. “Our old house. It’s sorta cool, and sorta weird, to be honest.”

  “I get that. But we’re going to make it our own, so I hope Tessa will be happy there.”

  Sam laughs softly. “As long as you’re there, my sister will be happy.”

  My heart actually skips to hear this. “You think so?”

  “You doubt it? Dude, for Tessa the sun rises and sets out of your butt. I can only hope someone feels that way about me someday.”

  I grin at him. “I think you’re holding her right now.”

  “God, I hope so,” he says. “I’ve finally made a commitment to a girl.”

  “You made the right choice,” I say. I rise. “I’m off to bed. Long night at the lab. If you need a break, just knock.”

  He nods again. “Thanks, Thomas.”

  ***

  I snuggle under the covers and try to sleep. My mind won’t quiet down.

  Twenty babies, who’ve never felt a mother’s touch, never suckled a bottle or breast, never been comforted from the sting of a needle or the bite of a scalpel’s blade.

  I rummage under my pillow and pull out the two vials of blood I stole from a Morula fridge. I stare at them.

  The key to curing any genetic disease is in my hands.

  I could clone the cells in these vials tomorrow and transfuse Erica and Tessa the next day. Our worries would be over.

  Or I could reverse engineer whatever Tyrion has done to these samples, and start on my own from scratch. Okay, semi-scratch, since I’d be using his research as the basis for mine.

  Not to mention the tissue, the cells, the very lives of those babies.

  But I have the cure. I didn’t create it, didn’t perpetrate the evil to make it happen, yet it fell into my hands. Why should I not use it?

  I rise and put the vials in the back of our fridge.

  I fall asleep thinking of thousands of reasons, none of them compelling against the thought of losing Tessa.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Did you hear the news?” Kate asks when I come into work.

  I pour myself some coffee. “No. What news?”

  “Someone broke into the Morula Center last night. Stole top-secret research. They’re saying all genetic research labs should be on alert.”

  I sip my coffee thoughtfully. “Did they say what was stolen, exactly?”

  “No,” she says. “But only one building was hit, the one doing genetic testing and engineering. None of their other research was touched. It’s kind of freaking me out. I mean, we have much more substantial research published than Morula does. I would think we’d be a better target, and easier, since we’re so small.”

  “No need to worry, Kate,” I tell her. “I know who hit Morula, and they won’t touch us.”

  “You do?” She squints her eyes at me. “You didn’t.”

  “You think I’d steal another lab’s secrets?” I say.

  She sighs. “No. But you’re desperate to save Tessa. Tell me you didn’t.”

  I’m slightly offended, but how would I know what’s going on if I weren’t involved? “I didn’t. Grab Kenneth, and I’ll tell you the story.”

  ***

  Both Kenneth and Kate sit mesmerized by my tale, mouths gaping.

  “So your dad,” Kenneth says. “He rescued the babies.”

  “I’m assuming,” I say. “I doubt he did it himself, but it was probably his old team, or a current SEAL team. Don’t know.”

  “How can they keep this under wraps?” Kate asks. “Those babies have to show up somewhere. I just can’t believe…it’s so disgusting, so against everything we believe in…I can’t comprehend it.”

  “It’s probably more common than we like to think,” Kenneth says. “This was on a grand scale, but what about just having one or two babies for experiments? If someone found them, you could say they’re sick and you’re healing them.”

  “It can’t be that common to know how to grow one, though,” I say. “Look at what it took us to grow a liver, and that was with my abilities.”

  “But you’re assuming everyone’s playing by the rules like we do,” Kenneth says. “Imagine how much faster things would go if we didn’t have to jump through all the hoops just to do a trial. Imagine having live human specimens with no other purpose than to be your test subjects. If you bury your ethics under delusions of ‘for the greater good,’ anything’s p
ossible.”

  “I always thought we were on the cutting edge,” I say. “You mean, others are light years ahead of us. Nothing we’re doing is ground-breaking.”

  “I didn’t say that,” he says. “They may be further along research-wise, but there’s no way for them to bring their findings to the masses. The fact is, you have to jump through those hoops or you’re never going to be able to mass-market your findings. And I can sleep soundly every night knowing I’m not crossing any boundaries. There’s a lot to be said for that.”

  I stand up and pace. “I agree with you, I do. There’s just a tiny voice in my head screaming, ‘But…,’ because millions of lives against twenty, that’s tough to argue with. Plus…” and I take a deep breath, “my abilities are back.”

  “Because of Tyrion,” Kenneth says, frowning.

  I nod.

  “Oh, Thomas,” Kate says. “You didn’t know. And we know you’d never actually be a party to something like this, but remember, and this is imperative: do no harm. You don’t kill someone so you can give his heart to someone else. If someone gets sick, or is in an accident, it’s tragic, but that’s part of life. Every life is sacred.”

  I flop back on my stool. “I get that. I just…I think I understand why Tyrion doesn’t get it.”

  “It goes back to the fact that human beings are not born with morals. Morality and ethics are things that need to be taught,” Kenneth says. “Tyrion hasn’t had much training in this area, evidently.”

  “But that doesn’t excuse him,” I say. “Even if I understand it, and even if there’s a reason for Tyrion’s behavior, there’s no excuse.”

  Kate and Kenneth exchange a glance. “We agree,” Kate says. “The babies have been rescued, but what’s to keep them from doing this again?”

  Kenneth sighs and shrugs. I cock my head, thinking. “I would guess the hit on Morula’s not over. The priority was the babies, and that had to be one hell of a nightmare coordinating the rescue. I’d bet my Dad has a plan.”

  “Any clue what it might be?” Kate asks.

  I sigh. “Not a one.”

  ***

  I spend the rest of the day perfecting my immune system suppression drug.

  Do no harm.

  Follow the plan.

  Carry on.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Dad comes home as I’m heating leftover pizza in the microwave.

  “You want some?” I ask.

  “Please,” he says, shedding his jacket and throwing it over a kitchen chair.

  I make another plate, and we sit down to eat.

  “Have you seen Tyrion?” I ask.

  Dad nods. “We’ve got him at the Attic. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “What’s the plan with him?”

  “I’m leaving it up to Dacey for now, since he’s Tyrion’s guardian. Dacey’s handling it.”

  “Guardian? Isn’t Tyrion an adult?”

  “Only in appearance,” Dad says. “We decided on a ten-year guardianship. Glad we planned for that.”

  I chew my pizza. Having someone oversee Tyrion never occurred to me. I just assumed he was a responsible adult. Another example of how little I know.

  “Have you heard from Jack?” Dad asks.

  I nod. “Yep. She called me last night. Sounds like she won’t be back for a few days.”

  “I don’t like her doing this kind of work,” Dad says. “She should just come to the Attic. All these odd jobs…how does she pay the rent?”

  “With the odd jobs. You know, job. Pay.”

  Dad rolls his eyes. “If you talk to her again, tell her to call me. I need to break the news about Tyrion.”

  I wince and sigh in relief at the same time, dreading what that conversation will entail and glad it’s not me that has to discuss it.

  And then…oh God.

  “Dad, call her right now. Right now!”

  “Why?”

  I stand up and fumble in my pocket for my phone. “She told me she made one friend up there, a guy who was a suspect, but she cleared him ‘cause his aura is similar to yours.”

  Dad stares at me while I dial. “And you’re worried about my aura?”

  “It’s not exactly like yours. It’s opposite. Almost entirely practical with a streak of righteousness.”

  Dad takes two seconds to absorb this, then he leaps to his feet. “I’ll text her. You keep calling.”

  The phone rings and rings and goes to voicemail. I hang up and dial again.

  “What did his aura look like?”

  “Purple, with ribbons of gold.”

  Dad snarls as he types. “Jack knows that practicality trumps ethics. If this guy’s all purple…how could she be so stupid?”

  I don’t comment as I listen to the phone ring. I find it interesting that Dad knows his practicality is something to resist rather than embrace.

  Dad finishes texting. “What precinct is she at?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I hang up and dial again. “Leave a fucking message!” Dad growls at me.

  Jack’s voicemail beeps. “Jack, your friend might be the killer. Get away from him. Go to the police. Call us now!”

  I look at Dad. “What now?”

  “I’m looking up the murders to find her location. Get on your laptop and help me look.”

  We look, me on the laptop, Dad on his phone. Of course he finds something first. “I’ve got the tip line for the case,” he says, already dialing.

  He explains the situation the best he can without mentioning auras or how we know (or think we know) who the killer is. He asks to be connected to the police department up there in San Francisco, but the lady won’t do it. She won’t give the precinct, either. Dad hangs up, frustrated.

  “Screw it. We’ll call every single station in the area.”

  It doesn’t take us that long to find where Jack’s working, but no one up there has seen her since she left around five. A detective promises Dad that they will go to her hotel and check on her.

  That’s all we can do. We sit and wait.

  Erica and Tessa come home around eight with Sam and Em in tow.

  “We had our first dinner out, didn’t we?” Erica coos, looking down at a gurgling Em in her arms.

  Dad stands as they enter. “Sam, take the baby. I need to talk to your mother.”

  Erica looks up in alarm and hands the baby to Sam. “What’s wrong?”

  Dad pulls her down the hallway to their bedroom, and Tessa moves to hug me. “I’ve missed you,” she whispers.

  “Shh,” I say, waving her off. “I need to hear this.”

  Tessa automatically moves a step away and clings to my arm. She looks up at me questioningly, and I hold up a finger for her to wait.

  “Do I go?” Dad is asking Erica.

  “Of course you go. She’s your daughter.”

  “But we’ve got Tyrion, and Morula to deal with, and—”

  “Who gives a fuck?” Erica says. “Go. Go now. I’ll help you pack.”

  I run down the hall and throw their bedroom door open. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  Dad measures me with his eyes. “Under any other circumstance, yes. But I need you here. You’re the only one I trust to deal with Tyrion.”

  I gulp as they both start throwing things into Dad’s duffel bag. “What do you want me to do?”

  Erica throws Dad’s toiletry bag in the duffel and Dad zips it up. He hoists it to his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I explain everything to Tessa, and we snuggle up under the covers wrapped around each other.

  “So what are you going to do with Tyrion?” she asks.

  “I have no idea,” I say. “Dacey’s in charge of him, so I’m not sure there’s anything I can do.”

  “But your dad said he wants you to handle him.”

  “The only thing I can think of is something Kenneth said yesterday. He pointed out that morality needs to be taught—it’s not innate,
and it’s not instinctual. So maybe Dad wants me to teach him about morality.”

  Tessa shifts to lay her head on my chest. “You’re assuming morality can just be taught like a history lesson,” she says. “I don’t think it can. You need to build on the lessons with experience.”

  “Hmm,” I say. “I think you’re right. You have to reinforce the lessons, practice them, have consequences. But if Tyrion is truly lacking a conscience, if he has some mental or emotional defect, I don’t think any of that will help.”

  Tessa lifts her head. “If he has a defect, you can fix it.”

  I sigh and hold her to me. “I hope it’s that easy.”

  “I can’t believe Tyrion would do something like this. I don’t think I can even stand being in the same room with him after this. What’s gonna happen to the babies?” she whispers.

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know where they are. I guess we’ll find out when I go to the Attic tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I call Dacey on my drive down to give him a heads-up that I’m coming.

  “God, Thomas, I’m so sorry this happened. I feel like it’s all my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault, Dacey,” I tell him. “We’ve all been close to Tyrion. None of us had any idea he was doing this stuff.”

  Dacey is quiet.

  “Dace?”

  He sighs. “I didn’t know the specifics, but I had a clue. I just wasn’t in the proper frame of mind to process it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s mentioned some things…he asked me once about growing him, what it was like, the difficulties, if I thought I could do it in a dish or even piecemeal, growing parts one at a time and assembling them separate from my own body.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “To piss off, if memory serves,” he says. “And that I was a fucking hero in the lab and could do anything I wanted to do. Or something similar.”

  “Well,” I say, “it’s still not your fault.”

  “There’s more.”

  I gulp. “More?”

  “Tyrion is a Dweller.”