put together something concrete for Skousen, I bet I can transfer to research full-time—it’ll take another month or two, but I can do it.”
“That’s a good move for you,” said Marcus. “It’ll be good for them, too—coming from maternity like that, you’ll have a different perspective from the others. And I know there’s an opening, because we got a transfer from research into surgery last month.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” said Kira, “a new perspective. The maternity team, the research team, everybody’s been studying the infants exclusively. But we don’t need to look for a cure, we need to look for immunity. We’re resistant to the symptoms, so there has to be something in us that fends off the virus. The only ones who aren’t immune are the babies, and yet that’s where we keep looking.”
“That’s why you need my blood,” said Marcus.
Kira nodded, rubbing her fingers over the back of his hand. That was why she loved Marcus: He was funny when she needed to laugh, and serious when she needed to talk. He understood her, plain and simple.
She plucked a blade of grass and slowly peeled it until nothing remained but the soft yellow core. She studied it a moment, then threw it at Marcus; it traveled only a few inches before it caught the air, stopped, and fluttered in erratic circles straight back into her lap.
“Nice shot,” grinned Marcus. He looked up over her shoulder. “Isolde’s coming.”
Kira turned and smiled, waving at her “sister.” Isolde was tall and pale and golden-haired—the lone light-skinned outlier in Nandita’s makeshift foster home. Isolde waved back, grinning, though Kira could see that the smile was forced and tired. Marcus scooted over as she approached, making room beside them on the grass, but Isolde shook her head politely.
“Thanks, but this is my best suit.” She dropped her briefcase and stood next to them wearily, arms folded, staring straight ahead.
“Rough day in the Senate?” Kira asked.
“Is there ever a smooth one?” Isolde glanced around, looking for something to sit on, then sighed and sat down on her briefcase, cross-legged to keep her pale gray pants out of the grass. Kira studied her in concern—Isolde could barely even mention her job without swooning over Senator Hobb. If she wasn’t doing that, she must really be exhausted. Isolde stared blankly, then roused herself to look at Kira and Marcus. “Hey, neither of you do much traveling outside of the city, right?”
“Not really,” said Kira. She looked at Marcus, who shook his head. “When they call us on salvage runs, I guess, but never really on our own. Why?”
“Because they just voted to institute border checks,” said Isolde. “The Voice hit a watchtower last week—knocked the whole thing down and took off with the soldiers who were manning it. Combine that with the raid on the old school depot and you’ve got at least one cell of the Voice working right here in East Meadow, maybe more.” She shrugged. “That’s a little too close to home. The Senate figures the best way to root them out are searches and examinations every time somebody enters or leaves the city.”
“The perimeter of the city is huge,” said Kira. “There’s no way they can patrol the entire thing.”
“That doesn’t mean they shouldn’t try, though,” said Marcus. “It’s better than nothing—”
“Please don’t,” said Isolde, rubbing her temples. “I’ve heard these same arguments a hundred different times today, and I don’t need to hear them again. The vote is done, the checks are official, let’s stop arguing about it.”
“How did Senator Hobb vote?” asked Kira. Isolde was his personal assistant. She opened one eye, peered wearily at Kira, then opened the other and crossed her arms.
“If you must know, he voted for,” said Isolde. “He wasn’t in favor of sacrificing personal rights to privacy, but he didn’t want to stand in the way of stopping another attack.” She shrugged. “I don’t think he’s right, but I don’t have any better suggestions. If the Voice have started kidnapping people now, who knows what they’ll do next?”
“What are the Voice trying to accomplish?” asked Kira. “That’s what I can’t figure out. They don’t need supplies—food and clothes are free for the taking all over the island—and yet they keep raiding East Meadow and the farms. They’re not winning support for their cause, they’re just making everyone angry and jumpy and . . . I don’t get it. The watchtower attack by itself probably took weeks to plan and pull off, and for what? They didn’t get any supplies, they didn’t make any statements, they got maybe two or three clips of ammunition each from the soldiers they kidnapped—they didn’t get anything.”
“They got two soldiers,” said Marcus. “Maybe it was a staged battle to hide a defection.”
Isolde shook her head. “As near as we can tell—or at least the current best guess in the Senate—is that they’re trying to destabilize the government. If they hit enough targets, rouse enough rabble, and shake enough beehives, pretty soon the people in East Meadow are going to get pissed off. That’ll make them harder to control, which will make things harder for the Senate, which will give the Voice a prime chance to swoop in and attempt a coup.”
“Ouch,” said Marcus.
“Back up,” said Kira. “Did you say it’s harder for the Senate to ‘control’ us?”
Isolde grimaced. “That’s not what I meant, that’s just the first word that came out—”
“But that’s the sentiment, right?”
Isolde closed her eyes, trying to think, and Kira felt guilty for pushing her. She didn’t deserve this, and yet Kira’s ire was up. She wanted to know. “Well?”
“Well, come on, Kira, you know what the Senate does.” Isolde shrugged weakly. “The Senate ‘governs,’ and there’s a lot of control inherent in that. It’s not like they’re controlling our minds or anything, they’re just . . . keeping the peace. Making sure people do their jobs. That sort of thing.”
Kira heard hoofbeats and looked behind her; two mounted soldiers were clomping toward them down the street. Their house was near the edge of the settled city, so patrols weren’t exactly rare, but this was an odd time of day for one. Kira felt nervous and comforted at the same time.
Until they started angling toward her.
“Marcus,” said Kira softly. He seemed to sense the worry in her voice and sat up immediately.
“What is it?” He saw the horses and frowned. “Why are they coming here?”
“I don’t know. You recognize them?”
“The uniforms aren’t standard,” said Isolde. “They’re not regular Defense Grid.”
Marcus stared at them, brow furrowed in concern. “Who else wears uniforms? They actually look kinda like Mkele’s guys.” He shook his head, looking back and forth at the two soldiers: one about their age, one in what looked like his forties. “I don’t recognize them; I don’t think they’ve been stationed in East Meadow.”
“Anything we can do for you?” Kira called out, but the soldiers rode past her toward Nandita. The old woman sat up from her digging, watching as they stopped in the yard.
“Nandita Merchant?” asked the younger soldier.
“Yes,” she said calmly. “No relation.”
“What?”
“Ms. Merchant,” said the older soldier, shaking his head and urging his horse forward, “we’ve been informed that you make frequent trips outside the boundaries of East Meadow. Is that correct?”
“Is that a problem?” she asked.
“I didn’t say it was a problem,” said the soldier. “Is it true?”
“She