Page 21 of Perfection

Chapter Five

She found York asleep in the lounge in a chrome chair precariously tilted against the wall with its forelegs off the ground. She waited several long seconds, noting the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his brows pinched together even while he slept, and the shadowy stubble that ran rampant across his sculpted cheeks and firm jaw. She skimmed her fingers over her own cheek, again curious. What did a beard feel like? GEI men had smooth skin; they were not rugged and organically unkempt.

Kindra thought about the few men she’d dated. There had never been anyone serious. It was simply nice to have the company. But she’d always thought that one day she’d find a man who would make her feel that everything in the world was right. Perfect, even.

Holding her breath, she reached out her hand to touch his face. She hesitated and, at the last moment, aimed lower to jab a finger in his shoulder to wake him.

Was she losing her mind?

York sprang upright. The feet of the chair clanked to the floor. He almost barked, “What time is it?”

“Past midnight.” She sat in the chair across the table from him and stifled a yawn. Worn out because she wasn’t used to sleep deprivation and depressed because the news was terrifying, she pushed aside an empty drink container and rested her upper body on the cold metal tabletop.

“Do you have any answers?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

Kindra stretched, stalling. “Comp Nine, coffee,” she commanded.

“Well?”

She lifted her head and met his gaze. “Yes. Some.”

“And?”

“It’s not good. Not good at all.” She had trouble getting out even that much. Somehow voicing her findings, telling another human being about them, would make them real.

She went to the InstaCafé where a cup of coffee had appeared on the delivery disk, rotating inside the robotic prep station.

“I need some of that. Make it two, Nine,” he said.

“Did you eat?” she asked.

“Yes. You?”

“No.”

“Sit,” he said, standing. “You’re exhausted. I’ll get you something.”

Although her instinct was to resist, she collapsed into the chair without picking up her cup. After retrieving their order from the café station, he set a cup of coffee at his spot and passed the second cup to her. As she took it, his fingers brushed against hers. She stared at the point of contact, confused by the recurring tingling sensation that passed over her skin whenever they touched.

“How about chicken parmesan?”

“Sure.”

“Ok. Good.” He ordered the chicken parm from the InstaCafé. It processed the order and delivered the food as speedily as it had their coffee. He returned to the table with the plate of food. “I had it earlier. It’s not the best,” he commented with an apologetic grin, placing the chicken parmesan in front of her.

In silence, she sipped coffee and ate the meal without paying attention to how it tasted. How were they going to deal with this?

Part of her didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe the computer was wrong. But she knew that was just denial taunting her. Finally, she took a deep breath to fortify herself. He watched her expectantly.

“So what are the results?” he asked again.

“I ran the tests twice and found an extremely invasive virus that attacks the brain. One that, according to HERO, only affects D Generation children. We haven’t had anything like this happen in hundreds of years. All viral cures are a gene fix. GEIs are born with all known immunities, and Coders are inoculated at birth. But this virus seems to have been altered to target D Generation. It will take more time to narrow it down to be certain. And it may take a while to develop a gene correction. Perhaps a vaccine may be a quicker alternative until a more permanent modification can be found.”

“And?”

“And…” She thought of little Isabelle, of a life gone, of her parents’ senseless heartbreak, of Brianna. “There could be other children out there who have been exposed. Until we know what the contagion is, we need to treat it like the killer it is.”

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