Partials

She tapped on the screen, opening the particle’s profile information to give it a name. The blood-borne form was the Blob, because it was fat; the airborne was the Spore, because it was, presumably, how the virus spread. This new one she labeled the Lurker, because it didn’t have any obvious function at all. It simply sat and waited, presumably, for the right time to strike.

“You’re not going to find what you’re looking for.”

Kira started again; Samm had a funny sense of timing. But she was curious. “And how do you know what I’m looking for?”

“You’re looking for a solution.”

“I’m looking for a cure.”

“The cure is only part of it,” said Samm. “You’re looking for a solution to your problems: rebels, plagues, political unrest, civil war. You’re scared of everything, and to be fair, everything in your lives is pretty scary. You’re looking for a way to move past it, to bring your lives back together. But you’re not going to find the answers simply by curing RM. And you know it.”

He’s been listening to us, thought Kira. A lot of that he could have picked up from the hearing, but not all of it. Not the Voice, certainly. But he’s been paying attention, and he’s figured it out. Her first thought was to stop talking, to make sure the Partial couldn’t glean any more info. And yet, he was tied up and had four days to live. How could deducing an impending civil war possibly help him to escape?

She felt trapped in the room and marched past Samm to open the window for air. It wouldn’t budge. She strained against it as hard as she could, muttering curses at the Senate for locking her in, then remembered that this was ostensibly a sealed room, and felt stupid for even trying to open the window, which only made her curse more harshly.

“We don’t want you to die,” said Samm.

“Then why did you kill us?” Kira whirled to face him, feeling her face grow hot and red.

“I told you, we didn’t create RM.”

“What I found in your breath suggests otherwise.”

If that was news to Samm, he didn’t show it. “If we wanted you dead, you would be dead,” said Samm. “That’s not a threat, it’s a fact.”

“Then what do you want from us?” Kira demanded. “Why did you keep us alive? What are you planning? Is this why you were in Manhattan?”

He hesitated for a moment. “You seem like you’d do anything to ensure humanity’s survival. How far are you willing to go?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “What are you suggesting?”

He glanced at the corner, to a camera she knew was watching and listening to everything they said. He closed his mouth and looked at the ceiling.

“No,” said Kira, leaning over him, “you can’t just say something like that and then clam up again. Why did you even start talking if you’re not going to finish?”

He didn’t answer; he didn’t even look at her.

“Is this what you were talking about yesterday? That you can’t tell us because you don’t want to die? I’ve got news for you, Samm: You’re going to die anyway. If you’ve got something to say, say it. You were in Manhattan for a reason; are you saying it had something to do with RM?”

She waited there for a full minute, but he stayed silent, and she turned angrily back to the window, slamming the pane with her hand. The sound of the slam echoed back, but distantly. That was weird. She frowned, peering at the window, and hit it again, wondering what had caused the sound. Nothing happened. She leaned in closer, and suddenly a loud string of rapid pops drifted in from the city beyond. She looked out, trying to see what the noise could possibly be, and saw a plume of smoke rise up from somewhere beyond the trees. It couldn’t have been more than a few blocks away. The popping continued, short bursts of rapid, rhythmic noise, but it wasn’t until she saw people running that she realized what it was.

Automatic gunfire. The city was under attack.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“The Voice,” said Senator Weist. Kira was packed into a hospital conference room with Mkele and the same five senators she’d met at her hearing, and the atmosphere was more tense than she’d ever felt it. “They hit the Senate building. It was the biggest strike team yet—at least forty insurgents, maybe more—and we didn’t take a single one of them alive.”

“What if we’d been there?” demanded Hobb. His wavy hair was limp and sweaty, and his face was pale as he paced restlessly through the room. “We don’t have enough guards for this—”

“The Senate was not their target,” said Mkele. “With no meetings in session, and no senators on site, they attacked during the lightest possible guard rotation. Their purpose was obviously to get inside with as little resistance as possible.”

“So it was a robbery?” asked Delarosa. “It still doesn’t make sense. Everything we store in the Senate building they can get more easily just scavenging the outlands.”