A Small Degree of Hope. Lyndi Alexander

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      “Exactly, and if we’re lucky, where it affects the genetic strand.”

      “If we can find the intersect spot, perhaps we can develop some kind of—I don’t know. An antidote? Or perhaps even a vaccine.”

      But what about the ones already missing? “He said none of the transformations succeeded yet. It makes me wonder if these victims failed so miserably that they died. If others remain alive out there, we could save them. If we could find them.”

      Troubled, the doctor frowned. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?”

      Kylie stained the wet tissue slides with different reagents, trying to find anything that the bioscanner could differentiate. “No trouble finding changed cells,” she muttered. “Just not what changes them.”

      The doctor’s soft laugh came from across the lab table. “Patience, my dear. The answers lie here before us. We must simply wait and work until our eyes begin to see.”

      She stepped off her stool and stretched up onto her toes. Perhaps a run later would shake out all this lab time, what the other students used to call flab time. “Really? We’re going all wise man on the top of the mountain now?”

      “Sounded better than, ‘Damned if I can explain.’”

      It sure did. She hated running into walls. But frustration tended to inspire her. The doctor was right. The solution would come to them. Back to the slides.

      * * * *

      Eyes aching from the strain of hours staring at small dots and blotches of stain, Kylie spent her last few minutes downtown studying her comm logs from the team, but found no new material from Jaco or the other agents, so no need to stop by. Helping Dr. Astrid was as useful as beating the street for their suspect, anyway. As mild-mannered as he seemed, he’d slip up. Sooner or later.

      She drove home as dusk set in. Hands full with her keys and a case containing analytical printouts, she ran up two flights of stairs to her tempartment. She juggled everything until she got inside then dumped it onto her tiny dinette table. She leaned down, unzipped her boots, kicked them off in the direction of the refrigeration unit, and went back to close and lock the door.

      Delighted not to hunch over the scope, she rolled her shoulders and stretched from side to side. A click of the remote activated her music player. Ethnic drums played, joined by a flute and strings. There. Add fragrant candles and a nice drink, she’d transport herself to a dull but relaxing evening of reading bioresults. Ah, my thrilling life.

      She poured herself a stemmed glass of a semi-sweet red vintage, not her favorite but Nissa’s. Her sister’d bought everyone a full case the year-end before. Rummaging through leftover cartons of takeout food, she smelled more bacterial cultures than she’d discovered today at work, and she pitched them. Settling for something with noodles and a mystery meat substitute, she jabbed a fork into the open serving-size box. Carrying her wine in her left hand and the box in her right, she headed for her living room.

      Griff stood two meters from her, dressed in a black pullover shirt and slacks. Inside her locked apartment door.

      She didn’t need him to tell her that her heart nearly stopped, then began to race. Her purse containing her firearm lay on the table where she’d dumped it. Much closer to him than to her. Her boots lay behind her on the floor. She could use the stiletto if her hands weren’t full. But shock froze her.

      His face in shadow, he watched her. “I don’t mean you harm. I came to warn you—”

      “Warn me? That you’re a psycho killer? I think I’ve got that much, thanks.” Her words loosed the terrible paralysis. She tossed the box into the single steel sink, keeping the fork, holding it tight in her hand. She expected he’d come for her, try to stop her, but instead he looked bewildered.

      “Killer? No. No, Kylie Sanderson, I am no killer.” He showed her his empty hands. “I come only to help stop the killings.”

      The edge of sincerity in his voice nearly stopped her. Boy, he was good. She took a swig of wine for courage and stepped back. “You want to give yourself up? That might be constructive.”

      He moved toward her, his hands still out. “I don’t understand. I am not the one. X is the one. He wants to perpetuate our race. The majority of our females have become infertile due to a change in our star’s radiation output. X developed this plan to make breeding possible again.”

      He kept coming closer. As big as he was, a fork was nothing. She dropped the glass on the floor, its shattering catching Griff’s startled gaze. While he was distracted, she lunged for the table. She hunkered down behind it, grabbing her bag. She ended with gun in hand, set for paralyze, not kill. “Get your hands up.”

      He hadn’t moved, just stared at her. “I do not—I will not hurt you,” he insisted. “But women wait, in danger, now. I need your help.”

      “I know you understand me! Put. Your. Hands. Up. Now. Or I’ll tag your ass.” She came to her feet, fingers closed tight on her gun’s stock, its aim fixed right at his heart.

      His hands raised slightly.

      “Where are the women?”

      “In a warehouse,” he said, taking one step toward her. His face held no emotion. His voice sounded even, almost pleasant. “I can take you there.”

      “I don’t think so, friend.” She pulled the trigger. The first blast staggered him, but he remained on his feet. It took two more shots of hot blue electric current, fired in close proximity, to subdue him. He slumped to the floor, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. His skin mottled up, almost red, or rust colored, with spots of gray. Just a flicker before it returned to normal.

      Mystified, she kept her gun on him as she called the station, dialing with her left hand. “Jaco, it’s Sanderson. I’ve got the perp. He’s here in my apartment. Come haul him out, huh?”

      “Sanderson!” Jaco yelled in her ear. “Don’t you be a hero.”

      “Come get him, will you?” She hung up.

      As the adrenaline faded, she realized how badly this could have gone, the two of them alone here. A shiver ran through her. She moved out of reach, those twenty minutes some of the longest she’d ever encountered, until the grab and bag unit arrived. How had he gotten into her apartment? As she headed back to the Cendiary to question the perp, she felt a lot less safe than she had the day before.

       Chapter 5

      Almost every light on their floor was on when Kylie reached their headquarters. A fleet of police cars formed a barricade outside, which had drawn a straggly group of curious bystanders.

      Fools. Probably no one would have even noticed when the prisoner was brought in if SIRT hadn’t created a fuss. Word would spread in no time.

      Bearing out her prediction, as she reached the lobby, the media trucks pulled up outside the barrier.

      Idiots.

      When she stepped off the elevator, the buzz of conversation faded as the squad spotted her. Someone started applauding. She thought it was Pax. Others followed, and СКАЧАТЬ