Partials series 1-3

“You arrogant jackass—”

“I travel all over,” said Nandita, stepping in front of Kira. “Out by the farms when I have a ride, nearby when I don’t. I can’t walk as far as I used to, but there are plenty of untended gardens even here in East Meadow, just waiting for someone who knows her botany.”

“We need specific locations,” said the younger soldier. “Is there a reason you’re not providing that information?”

The older soldier sighed. “She’s a scavenger,” he said. “They don’t go to specific locations, they just wander.” He looked back at Nandita. “Could you tell me who you tend to get a ride with, on the occasions you’re able to do so?”

“Traders,” said Nandita, “sometimes farmers going home from market day.” She gave the man a look as hard as steel. “Even drifters now and then, if they look trustworthy.”

The soldier returned her glare. “And what does a trustworthy drifter look like?”

“I saw one last week who looked more or less like you,” she said. “Different shirt, of course, but the same eyes, the same gun, the same self-importance. There’s a lot of you around these days.” She glanced at the younger soldier. “He had a kid with him, too.”

“You need to check your attitude,” said the younger soldier.

“And you need to check yours,” said the older man sharply, and gestured at Kira. “You’re as bad as she is.” Kira bit her tongue, eager to yell at the soldier some more, but acknowledging that it would only make things worse. He turned back to Nandita. “That’s pretty much all the questions we have for you, ma’am. Just doing our jobs, following up on some information. Sorry to be a burden.”

“No harm done,” said Nandita, her demeanor still hard as a rock.

“I’m glad to hear it,” said the soldier. “Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” He pulled the reins and turned the horse, then stopped suddenly and turned back again. “I’m sorry, this isn’t official, just my own curiosity: How did you happen to come to live out here, so close to the edge?”

“I’m not sure I follow you,” said Nandita.

“It’s just that most folks try to live as close to the city center as they can. This neighborhood is mostly just kids, new married couples who chose their house recently enough that none of the center homes were left. You must have chosen ten years ago, like most of the rest of us, but you’re way out here. Just curious.”

Nandita studied him. “If you’re asking as a curious neighbor instead of a soldier, I think I ought to know your name.”

“Sergeant Jamison, ma’am. Alex.”

“My house in the center had water damage, Alex,” said Nandita. “Something got into my foundation and froze a few winters ago, and when it thawed out in the spring, my back wall practically fell in on itself. My girls and I needed a new place, and this one had a plastic hothouse in the backyard. It was the best choice available.”

“I suppose it was,” said the soldier. “Thanks for your help.” He turned again, and the young soldier turned with him, and they rode away back down the street.

Kira watched them go, her stomach tied in knots. “What was that about?”

“The Secret Service,” said Nandita. “They have them at the market now, watching the traders.”

“They’re just trying to do their jobs,” said Isolde. “You didn’t have to jump down their throats.”

“They didn’t have to jump down Nandita’s,” said Kira, and looked back at Isolde. “This is exactly what I was talking about—just because someone’s in charge of something doesn’t mean they’re in charge of everything. They can’t just order us around.”

“They’re the government,” said Marcus. “Ordering people around is their job, and frankly, I think talking to people who travel a lot is a good way to get information. They weren’t trying to antagonize anybody—though I admit that the younger one was kind of being a blowhole about it.”

“Everyone on this island is too paranoid,” said Nandita. “They assumed the worst about me, but Kira assumed the worst about them.” She looked at Kira sharply. “Your attitude was completely uncalled for, and if you don’t change it, it’s going to get you in a lot more trouble than you know how to deal with.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kira, but then she shook her head and blurted out, “If they want me to be calm, they should let me sit on my own front lawn without being interrogated. How about that?”

Nandita looked at her, then turned to watch the horses disappear around the far corner of the street. “It’s only going to get worse,” she said. “Every new border patrol, every new amendment to the Hope Act, it’s all only going to make the people angry.” She glanced at Isolde. “If the Voice are trying to foment a rebellion, they’re doing a brilliant job.”

Kira felt a sudden flush of embarrassment; Nandita had been listening to their entire conversation.

“So what happens now?” asked Marcus. “You run off and join the Voice?”

“I run off and cure RM,” said Kira. “No more RM, no more Hope Act. And I’m starting with an experiment. We’ve got a decade’s worth of data on how the virus works in the infants it infects, but I haven’t seen one study on how it works within those of us who are immune. It’s time to change that.”

Isolde turned to her quizzically. “How?”

“I’m going to take a blood sample from my loving, helpful, noncomplaining boyfriend,” said Kira, “and I’m going to inject the RM into it.”

Marcus whistled. “Your boyfriend sounds dreamy.”

Nandita gave Marcus an appraising look, then stooped to pick up her gardening tools. “She could do better.”

(#ulink_fee267d4-55df-5452-b8de-d46e374c4ac2)

“Ow!”

“Hold still, you big baby.” Kira pulled the pin away from Marcus’s fingertip and placed a narrow glass tube against the wound. It filled quickly, and she pulled it away and filled another one. She capped them both, set them in a tray, and pressed a small ball of cotton against his finger. “All done.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” said Marcus, “but my fingertip feels almost as good as if you’d pricked it correctly on the first try. I bow to your skills.”

“I’m a natural,” said Kira. “Move the cotton.” He lifted the cotton ball, and Kira clamped down with a bandage, wrapping it tightly around his finger. “You are now officially the oldest person I have ever drawn blood from in the maternity clinic. Now, just take two of these and you’ll feel better in no time.” She leaned in and gave him two quick kisses.

“Mmmm,” said Marcus, grabbing her by the waist, “how many of those did you say to take?”

“Just two,” said Kira, “but I suppose it couldn’t hurt to take more.” She leaned in again, licking her lips, but he stopped her with his hand.

“No,” he said firmly, “as a medic I just don’t feel comfortable with it. Medication is nothing to play around with—what if I overdose?” He pushed her gently away. “What if I become addicted?”

Kira pushed back toward him. “You are such a geek.”

“What if I build up a tolerance?” he asked, his face a rictus of mock horror. “Two now and two later and suddenly two won’t be enough—I’ll need four or eight or twenty just to take the edge off! Do you think I can handle that many kisses?”

Kira moved in again, turning on her most sultry voice. “I think you could find a way.”

He froze, watching her come closer, their faces almost touching, then stopped her at the last moment with a finger on her lips. “You know, the best way to prevent an overdose is to vary the active ingredient. That blond nurse at the south clinic is great at drawing blood; I could get two from you, two from her.”

Kira snarled playfully, grabbing his collar. “Oh no, you don’t.”

“Medically speaking, it would be perfectly safe,” said Marcus. “I could even get two from you and two from her at the same time. I might get a little dizzy, but—ow!”

“I still have the finger poker,” said Kira, pressing the sharp pin against his side just hard enough to let him know it was there. “You are a one-phlebotomist man, Marcus Valencio. You got that?”

“I got it,” said Marcus. “Speaking of which, I think my meds are wearing off.”

“No more today,” she said, pushing him back to his chair and picking up the tubes of blood. “It’s time to find out what kind of man you really are.” She took his blood to a medicomp in the corner, switched it on, and started preparing a sample while it booted up. Marcus followed, handing her glass slides and plastic pipettes and other little tools exactly when she needed them. She liked working with Marcus; it reminded her of the easy, unspoken rhythm they had sorting medicine on salvage runs.

She finished the slide, popped it into the medicomp bay, and slid her fingers across the screen; the computer detected the blood and offered the basic information.