The Lethal Agent (The Extraction Files Book 2) (30 page)

LRF CORRIDOR

SEPTEMBER 13, 2232

After a full afternoon of department meetings and updates, Michael was burnt out. He couldn’t hear about one more minute discovery, see one more data chart, one more spreadsheet of useless numbers.

“What do we have left?” he asked Abigail, hoping her answer was a short one.

“You’re due at Planetary Colonies in ten minutes, then Nuclear Research after that. Then, you have a few dozen research requests to process.” Abigail held out her tablet so show him the schedule, full as always.

Michael sighed. He was tired, he was ready to relax. He didn’t want another meeting to discuss killing people.

“Do you think it would be pertinent to discuss the colony options for 196 with PC?” Abigail asked as they walked. Her high heels clacked against the tile.

“I don’t think that’s a bad idea.” In truth, he’d pushed it to the back of his mind. He didn’t want to think about the complexities of the proposed colony.

Michael had never been in the situation before. Colonies were usually easy choices. The entire department agreed on the location, whichever planet or cosmic body it happened to be, and Michael simply approved it. He couldn’t think of a time when a department had been split. Dr. Niemeyer had been quite adamant.

The two entered the conference room in the PC wing and took their seats. Dr. Earhorn nodded and returned to the files on his tablet. Dr. Perkins smiled and welcomed them. “Good evening, Director. Ms. Perch. I’m sorry for the delay. Dr. Holtz should be here momentarily.”

As he spoke, a slip of a woman walked in and sat beside him. She had black hair with streaks of silver despite her young appearance. Her features were consistent with the South Asian profile—narrow eyes, long bridge of the nose, small mouth—standard genetic package.

“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Holtz,” Michael offered.

Dr. Holtz only nodded.

“We have some colony updates. Of the ninety-six lunar surface colonies, only eleven reported any casualties, all due to social disputes.”

“Only eleven?” Michael asked, less than surprised they considered the number small.

“Yes, Director. We have two we recommend for cleansing and redistribution.” Dr. Perkins showed two colonies on the holograph above the table. “I-4694 was an experimental option with a fully female population with the exception of one genetically superior man—”

“A colony of only women? What could possibly be the point of that?”

“A single male with a large harem of females has the best opportunity of success. The male was able to impregnate all twenty-four females, but after the third generation, there is too small a margin of genetic variation to provide for long-term evolutionary success. We recommend the population be redistributed amongst the other colonies to increase diversity in the population.”

“Approved,” he said in a stroke. “The other?”

“I-9112 had an introductory population of sixteen male-female couples. They have the highest rate of genetic variation, but at least forty percent of the F1 generation has indicated same-sex preferences in reproduction. The population could tolerate up to twenty percent, but at this rate, there won’t be enough viable candidates to properly shuffle the gene pool. We also recommend this population for redistribution with the contingency that the same-sex couples retire from the colony program.”

“Approved, contingency denied.”

“Director, same-sex couples are unable to contribute to the genetic variation of the population,” said Dr. Holtz, her voice as tiny as she was. “They offer no practical advantage.”

Michael had little to no patience explaining himself to the junior researcher. “That doesn’t mean that they will be retired from the program. Rearrange them in the quantities you deem necessary for colonial success, but I won’t have you terminate forty percent of the population because it doesn’t suit your goals.”

“Yes, Director,” she said as a bow of defeat.

“Any further updates?” Michael asked Dr. Perkins.

He nodded. “As expected, the Ares Colony has experienced catastrophic viral infection due to the interfering party.”

Michael heard Abigail gasp but didn’t look at her. Instead, he said, “What do you mean by catastrophic?”

“Nine juveniles have contracted the virus, three are terminal. The adult female is also infected. At this time, we maintain our recommendation that the colony be terminated.”

Michael sighed. He hated to pull the plug, but in such circumstances, there wasn’t much more he could do. Of the fourteen original colonists, ten were critically ill. He didn’t have much of a choice.

“Approved. If there’s—”

“Director, are you sure—” Abigail asked, as if he had made the decision lightly.

“Yes, thank you Ms. Perch. Would you please show Dr. Perkins the files on 196?”

Abigail failed to move for one long moment. Michael thought he was going to have to reprimand her in public, though he knew such a move would never be forgiven. At last, she shoved her tablet to the tabletop and displayed the red planet.

“Planetary Systems recommends this exoplanet for a colony.”

“What are the concerns?” Dr. Perkins asked, his eyes on the rotating sphere and scrolling data.

“Dr. Niemeyer mentioned large air pockets in the core and a fleet of missing probes.”

Dr. Perkins read over the data. “This planet has massive native biodiversity. It could be a considerable issue to a colony. I wouldn’t recommend a colony until the indigenous populations can be properly studied.”

Michael couldn’t believe what he was hearing. All he needed was Dr. Perkins to give his support of the colony, and the decision would be made. Now, it was more split than ever.

“I should have mentioned that this planet was recommended by your wife, Dr. Aida Perkins.” Maybe that would influence his analysis.

“I am aware of that, Director. My wife studied for years under Dr. Parr, but she will never be Dr. Parr. She doesn’t have the experience to recognize the colonial potential of exoplanets.”

Michael tried to keep his jaw from hitting the table. He had never heard a man have such little confidence in his own wife.

“Thank you for your honesty, Dr. Perkins. Is there anything else?”

Before Dr. Perkins could answer, a notification appeared at the bottom of the screen. “I’m sorry, Director. I need to head to an appointment.”

“Thank you for your time.” Michael stood, shook both their hands, and promptly left. He’d killed enough people for one day.

“Can you believe that guy? I’m going to send a colony just to spite him.” Michael’s mind was made up, though Abigail clearly had other ideas.

In the corridor, Abigail was on him in a heartbeat. “How dare you speak to me that way? You have no reason to dismiss my counsel without hearing it!”

Michael inhaled and let it out before he said something he regretted. “What do you want to say?”

“You can’t terminate the Ares Colony.”

“I can, and I just did. I dislike it as much as you, but there’s nothing I can do about it. They were doomed the moment they let that miner in. They sealed their own fate.”

“They were just trying to help him. He would have died if they didn’t let him in.”

“I understand, Abigail. I really do. But I didn’t have any compelling reason to maintain a colony of sick and dying people.”

She stood in the corridor with tears in her eyes, her mouth tight, like she was afraid of the words that might tumble out.

Michael had personally terminated nineteen failed colonies. He redistributed as many as possible, but there were so many, some were bound to fail. Some had been set up to fail. Each one hit him hard, but it was part of his job. An unpleasant part, but no less his duty as LRF Director.

In the year since Abigail joined him, she’d never reacted this way. He thought she, too, understood.

He wanted to hold her, to pull her against him and comfort her from whatever it was that made this one hurt more than the others.

But not here. Not in the corridor.

There was still Nuclear Research to get to. “Come on. This way.” He started toward the NR wing and only stopped when he realized she didn’t accompany him.

Abigail stood, locked in place. “Are you going to recall termination for the Ares Colony?” she asked again, as if they hadn’t discussed it mere seconds before.

“No, I told you—”

She took three long, angry steps, her shoes loud on the hard floor. Abigail slammed her tablet against his chest and seethed. Her lips curled in disgust as she spoke the impossible words. “Then I quit.”

LRF-FIC

SEPTEMBER 13, 2232

The Fertility and Implantation Clinic aboard the LRF was a sad, pathetic version of the ones found in every major city across the world. It was a single room with a handful of employees, mostly Craftsmen women, who had been trained by Scholars. It was a prestigious position, like those of all Craftsmen at the LRF. Only the very best could hope to spend their time amongst Scholars.

Aida scanned her palm at the door and walked in.

A single woman stood in seafoam-green pants and shirt.

“Good afternoon, I have an appointment,” Aida began.

“Dr. Aida Perkins,” the woman said, as if she didn’t know her own name.

“Yes, I have an appointment, but—”

“Your husband has been notified of your arrival.”

Aida wondered if the woman was actually some sort of android. She looked real enough, but she was so cold she had to be a machine. “There was no reason to notify him. I’m rescheduling my appointment. I won’t be undergoing implantation today.”

“Please wait until your husband arrives. Scholar Law mandates both donors present at implantation.”

“Yes, I know. I understand the law, but—”

Aida didn’t get to finish as the woman disappeared behind a floor-length curtain the same color as her outfit. She had no choice but to wait. A few days ago, she would have hated it. She would have loathed the few quiet moments to reconsider her decision, to question what she wanted.

But now, there was only certainty. She could have no meaningful future with Sal, even with a child. Her only regret was letting this process get so far along. What was she thinking?

Two minutes later, Sal arrived.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I got held up with the director.”

“It’s fine. I told them there was no need to disturb you.”

There was no other choice. She had to tell him. Aida would have preferred not to have this conversation with an FIC audience, but there was no way around it now. She pulled in a deep breath and said, “I’m not doing it today.”

“Yes, you are. You have an appointment.” He seemed confused by the concept entirely.

“Yes, I know, but I have work to do. The director may not grant a colony on 196. I’ll have to start over with another sequence of exoplanets. It’s not a good time to have an embryo implanted. Maybe in a year,” she lied.

“I just spoke with him about your planet.”

“You did? What did he say?”

Aida’s tablet buzzed under her arm.

“He asked my opinion. I recommended he deny the colony.”

“On what grounds?” Aida reeled at the thought of it. She crossed her arms and waited.

“On your lack of experience identifying suitable exoplanets, of course. But that shouldn’t keep you from upholding your duties as a Scholar.”

The woman pushed past the curtain and joined them. On the small table, she set a transparent cube the size of her palm. At its center was a cerulean sphere, like a planet in a galaxy.

They all knew what it was.

“Dr. Perkins?” the woman asked with impatience.

“I’m not doing it. And you had no right to say that to the director.” Aida was more than angry. She fumed with the unfairness of it. How could he doubt her? Of all people, he knew she was capable. He should have confidence in her more than anyone.

He should be the first person to support her.

“The director won’t grant your colony. You will have another decade of searching. A perfect time to have children.” Sal even had the audacity to smile.

Aida grabbed the cube off the table and left the clinic. No one followed her. She didn’t know it would be the last time she ever saw her husband.