Fragments (59 page)

“We can go back. At night. We need to figure out a way to rescue Heron anyway; she’s
been gone too long to not be in there somewhere. We can find her, and free the people
that he’s captured, and get everyone out of there.”

“I know,” said Kira, “but it’s not that simple. The captured Partials are practically
skeletons. I don’t know if they could survive outside the lab, let alone a daring
nighttime rescue attempt.”

“Would you say the same thing if they were human prisoners?”

Kira felt like she’d been slapped. “I’m not saying you’re not right, I’m just saying
it’s not that simple. Why are you so mad at me?”

“This is the same thing Dr. Morgan tried to do to you,” he said. “To turn a living
being into a petri dish for a science experiment. I risked my life and destroyed my
friendships to free you.”

“You helped capture me.”

“And then I freed you,” said Samm. “There’s a very real possibility that whatever
Morgan wanted to do to you would work—that she could learn something from your biology
to help stop the expiration date—but I freed you. Tell me right now that the reason
you won’t go back there with me doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that those
Partials are being used to save human lives.”

Kira opened her mouth to deny it, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t lie to Samm. “So
you’re saying we should just let all the human children here die.” She didn’t phrase
it as a question.

“You don’t know that’s what would happen—”

“I know damn well that’s exactly what would happen,” she shot back, stopping him before
he could even finish. “In East Meadow that’s happened every day for twelve years,
and for one of those years I was right in the maternity ward watching it. If we take
those Partials out of that lab, the human children being born will die. I’m not going
to let that happen.”

“But you’ll let those Partials be used like machines?” he said. She had never heard
him this angry before. He sounded almost . . . human. “You’re a Partial, Kira. It’s
about damn time you start to come to terms with that.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“The hell it isn’t. What is it, shame? Are you ashamed of what you are? Of what I
am? I thought you were in this to save both races, but when push came to shove you
went right back to the humans. Heron has been explaining from the beginning how we
might be able to save the Partials, but you wouldn’t do it; you had to come out and
here look for a way to save the humans first.”

“It’s not that simple!” Kira shouted. “Take away those Partials and these children
will die. This community will disintegrate. I don’t want this to be about numbers,
but in this case it is: ten people for two thousand, for ten thousand or twenty thousand
as the community grows. If they were humans in that lab who were keeping alive a hospital
filled with Partial children, I’d be saying the same thing.”

“Then why not treat them like humans?” Samm said. “For all you know, the Partials
would stay willingly. Did he even ask them? Did he even explain the situation? We’re
not heartless monsters, Kira, and we don’t deserve to be treated like it.”

“Would you stay?” she asked, turning it back on him. “Give up everything you have,
every hope and ambition, to become a . . . milk cow? You’d stay here and do nothing
and let them harvest your pheromones? At least you’d have Calix to keep you company.”

“Kira, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How about this?” she asked, too angry to stop the tirade. “The Partial who produces
the sedative; his name is Williams. He’s a living weapon who cannot, by definition,
coexist with any other Partials. Vale altered his DNA, and he can’t alter him back
because the equipment broke. The only way to really free them is to—” She stopped
suddenly, realizing that she wasn’t just talking about Williams anymore. She was talking
about herself. The living weapon that threatened every other Partial merely by existing.
“The only way they can be free,” she said softly, “is for him to die.” Her voice choked
up, and she forced herself to ask the final question. “What do you do with him?”
Please don’t say you’d kill him,
she thought.
Please don’t say you’d kill me.

“I think . . .” He stopped, and Kira could tell he was thinking deeply. “I hadn’t
thought of that yet,” he said. “It’s not simple, but it’s . . .”

Please let him say no,
she thought.

“I guess that sometimes one person has to suffer so everyone else can be free,” he
said, and Kira’s face went pale.

“So you would kill him?”

“I’m not happy about it,” said Samm, “but what’s the alternative? Sacrificing a whole
community for one person? You have to do what’s best for the group, or all you have
are tyrants.”

“So you’d sacrifice one guy for the other nine,” said Kira, “but you won’t sacrifice
ten guys to save a few thousand. That’s a weird inconsistency, don’t you think? This
town full of humans isn’t one of those groups you have to do what’s best for?”

“What I’m saying is that we can’t use people,” said Samm, “because people aren’t things.
Though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, since that’s exactly the way we treated Afa.”

“Excuse me?” asked Kira. “I’m the one who defended him—I’m the one who stood up for
him the entire time, who did everything I could to keep him healthy, to be nice to
him—”

“We dragged him into a situation he had no business in,” said Samm, “because we needed
him. We used him for our own ends, and I’m not saying you did it—we all did it, we
all brought him along. But we were wrong to do it, and now he’s dead, and we have
to learn our lesson from that.”

“And our lesson is to let more people die?” she asked. “I know that Afa’s death was
our fault, and mine more than anybody’s, and I don’t want that on my conscience, but
no matter how much I couldn’t save him, I can save the next generation of human children.
I’m not happy about it, and Vale’s not happy about it, but these are impossible choices.
Everything we pick is going to be horribly, tragically wrong for somebody, somewhere,
but what’s our alternative? Don’t pick? Sit back and let everyone die? That’s the
worst choice of all.”

Samm’s voice was softer now, no longer aggressive but simple and sad. “I don’t believe
in impossible choices.”

“Then what’s the answer?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said, “but I know it’s out there. And we have to find it.”

Kira realized she was crying, and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.
She was still holding a ripped strip of the suit jacket, and waved it feebly. “Give
me your arm,” she said. “I still need to wrap it.”

“Do it nice and slow,” said Calix, and Kira and Samm jerked up, whirling around to
find the blond girl standing behind them with a drawn pistol. Her rifle was slung
over her back. “Thanks for having such a heated discussion,” she said. “It made it
much easier to find you.”

“I’m out of bullets,” said Kira, shooting a glance at her discarded gun and backpack
on the far side of the office room.

“I have one,” said Samm, “but I’m pretty sure she could shoot us both before I can
get to it.”

“That’s the truest thing you’ve ever said,” said Calix. “How about you pull that gun
out nice and slow and kick it over to me.” Samm grabbed his pistol with two loose
fingers, nowhere near the trigger, and dropped it on the floor. “That’s right,” said
Calix, “over to me.” He kicked it, awkwardly from his slumped position, and she bent
down to retrieve it, keeping her semiautomatic trained on them the entire time with
her other hand. She made sure Samm’s safety was on, and dropped the gun in a satchel
by her waist. “Now, let’s answer a few questions before I take you back to the Preserve.
First”—and here her voice wavered slightly—“are you really Partials?”

“We are,” said Kira, “but that doesn’t make us enemies.”

“Dr. Vale said you were trying to take away our RM cure.”

“That’s . . .” Kira looked at Samm, then back at Calix. “We don’t want anyone to die.”

“But you’re talking about shutting down his lab.”

“Do you know what the cure is?” asked Samm.

“It’s an injection,” said Calix.

“But do you know how he makes it?”

Calix’s confusion faded, and her face grew grim and determined again. “Why does this
matter?”

“The cure comes from Partials,” said Kira. “He has ten of them in a basement lab,
where they’ve been living in induced comas for twelve years.”

“That’s not true,” said Calix.

“I’ve seen them,” said Kira.

“You’re lying.”

“Dr. Vale created the Partials,” said Samm. “There’s a lot about him you don’t know.”

“Stand up,” said Calix. “I’ll take you back, and we’ll talk to Dr. Vale, and he can
show everyone exactly how wrong you are.”

“That’s going to be a lot more eye-opening than you think,” said Kira, rising to her
feet, when suddenly a gunshot blasted through the building and she dropped to the
floor, covering her head.
Did she shoot me? Samm?
She heard another shot, and a cry of pain, and Calix slumped to the floor. Kira looked
up in surprise, then glanced at Samm; he seemed just as confused as she did. Calix
was rolling on the floor, clutching her chest in a growing pool of blood. Kira cried
out and ran to her. “Calix!”

Calix groaned through clenched teeth, a snarl of pain and anger. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. Who shot you?” She peeled the girl’s hands away from her bloody
chest, looking for a bullet hole, and found that the wound was in her hand itself.
The excess blood came from a second hole in the girl’s thigh. “You keep pressure on
this,” she said, folding the girl’s hands back into her chest. “Samm, I need your
help with this leg.”

“Who shot her?” asked Samm, holding Calix’s shoulders to keep her still.

“Who do you think?” asked Heron. Kira wheeled around to see her running in from the
ruined street. “It was long range and this handgun isn’t as accurate as it could be.
Get out of the way so I can finish her off.”

“We don’t want you to finish her off,” said Kira, throwing herself in front of Heron’s
gun. “Where have you been?”

“I’ve been doing my job,” said Heron. “You’ve seen the spire?”

“Of course,” said Kira, “and the lab in the basement.”

“I couldn’t get close enough,” said Heron. “There’s some sort of sedative that works
on the link. But I’ve been tracking a man named Vale for the last two days, and I’m
reasonably certain he’s part of the Trust. There are also some Partials here, somewhere.
Is that building what I think it is?”

“Do you think it’s a pheromone farm of ten brain-dead Partial coma patients?”

“Actually no,” said Heron, looking surprised, “that’s . . . I knew it was bad, but
that’s . . . surprisingly bad. Either way, I hate being right.” She looked at Calix,
still groaning in pain and thrashing on the floor. “Seriously, let me put her out
of her misery.”

“No more killing!” said Samm forcefully, and Kira and Heron both looked at him. He’d
muscled past the pain from his wound and stood up. Kira nodded. “Absolutely, no more
killing. Help me hold Calix down so I can look at that wound.”

“Why do you want to save—this human?” asked Heron. She looked at Samm. “I suppose
I don’t even have to ask you anymore, though, do I?”

“She’s a hunter,” said Samm. “She’s not an enemy combatant. They don’t have soldiers—until
we showed up, they didn’t even know war still existed. And no one but their leader
knew about the Partials in the basement; I won’t punish Calix for something Vale did.”

Kira felt a surge of emotion in her chest. “Exactly.”

“Then we won’t kill any of them,” said Heron. “We can slip in at night, when their
guard is down, and Samm and I will cover you while you get the prisoners. You’re the
only one of us that’s immune to the sedative.”

Samm spoke before Kira could. “We’ll free them,” he said firmly, “but we’re not leaving—or
at least I’m not.”

“What?” asked Kira and Heron at the same time.

He looked at Kira. “That’s the answer to the impossible choice. I’m doing what you
said: I’m staying with them.”

“That’s stupid,” said Heron.

“I can’t sacrifice anyone’s life,” said Samm, “anyone’s freedom, if I’m not willing
to sacrifice my own. We’ll free the Partials who have been imprisoned, and the humans
can get the pheromone from me.”

“You . . .” Kira was stunned. She cast about for some way, any way, to argue with
him. “You only have a year,” she said. “You can only help them for a year before you
expire.”

“Then you have one year to solve it,” said Samm. “Better get to work.”

“This is all very heartwarming,” said Heron, “but it’s meaningless. You’re not staying
here, Samm.”

Kira opened her mouth to argue, but stopped when she saw the look on Samm’s face.
He must have sensed something over the link. Heron wasn’t disagreeing with him. She
was stating a fact.

“Heron,” Samm said slowly. “What did you do?”

“What I should have done a month ago,” said Heron, her expression dark and penetrating.
“I reported back in.”

Utter silence fell over the room. Even Calix was quiet, gritting her teeth as she
clutched her wounds.

Kira looked at Samm, but she already knew exactly what he was thinking. His confusion,
heavily mixed with anger, burned so brightly on the link Kira could feel it clearly.

Calix hissed through her teeth, “What report is she talking about?”

“You called Morgan?” asked Kira. “You betrayed us?”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” said Heron. “I’ve put up with your emotional
self-discovery long enough, and it’s time to stop shut up and get things done. If
Dr. Morgan can use your biology to solve expiration, then I’m giving it to her.”

“When are you going to understand this?” asked Kira. “This is what Samm just said—we
can’t pick sides anymore!”

“And he was very impassioned,” said Heron.

“What did you do?” Samm demanded. “Specifically.”