they wanted to understand that virus, why not go to the source? If they wanted to see what true immunity looked like, why not look at the subjects who were truly immune?
If they really wanted to cure RM, what better way than by studying a Partial?
“Come in,” said Dr. Skousen. Kira opened his door slowly, her heart in her throat. She’d spent a week going through the current research with Marcus, convincing herself of the need to come to Skousen, and several days more planning exactly what she’d say and how she’d say it. Would it work? Would he agree, or would he laugh her out of his office? Would he get mad and throw her out of the hospital completely? Skousen’s office was bright, lit by both the wide glass windows and a brilliant white lamp on his desk. Electric light always surprised her, no matter how many times she saw it. It was an extravagance few people could afford. Did those people realize how casually they used it in the hospital?
“Thank you for seeing me, Doctor,” said Kira, closing the door behind her and walking crisply to the desk. She’d put on her most professional-looking outfit: a red blouse, a coffee-colored skirt with matching jacket, and even a pair of heels. She usually hated heels—they were ridiculously impractical, both for her job and for post-Break life in general—but Skousen had grown up in the old world, and she knew he would appreciate them. She needed him to see her as an adult, as an intelligent, mature person, and she’d use every advantage she could get. She held out her hand, and Skousen shook it firmly; his hands were old, the skin wrinkled and papery, but his grip was still strong.
“Please,” he said, gesturing to a chair, “have a seat. It’s Walker, right?”
Kira nodded, sitting straight-backed on the edge of the chair. “Yes, sir.”
“I was impressed with your paper.”
Kira’s eyes widened in surprise. “You read it?”
Skousen nodded. “Very few interns attempt to publish research papers; it caught my attention.” He smiled. “Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be not only well researched but wholly original. Your conclusions on the structure of RM were flawed, but innovative. You show a lot of promise as a researcher.”
“Thank you,” said Kira, feeling a surge of warmth flow through her body. This might actually work. “That’s what I came to talk to you about: more research.”
Skousen leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused on her; he wasn’t enthusiastic, but he was listening. Kira plunged ahead.
“Consider this: The Hope Act is really just a streamlined version of the same thing we’ve been doing for eleven years—have as many newborns as possible—and in eleven years it hasn’t yielded a single viable success. We’re throwing mud at a wall to see what sticks, and eleven years is long past time to say that more mud is not the answer. We need to start throwing something else.”
Skousen stared back, stone-faced. “What do you suggest?”
“I want to transfer from maternity to research.”
“Done,” he said. “I was going to suggest that anyway. What else?”
Kira took a deep breath. “I think we need to seriously consider the benefits of opening a program for the study of Partial physiology.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“For lack of a better way to put it, sir, I think we should organize a team to cross onto the mainland and obtain a Partial for study.”
Dr. Skousen was silent. Kira waited, watching him, not even daring to breathe. She heard the hum of the electric bulb, a stringent buzz just at the threshold of her awareness.
Skousen’s voice was low and hard. “I thought you were taking this seriously.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
“Your life is not a very large sample size.”
“This is about extinction,” said Kira. “You said so yourself. Our one and only plan at this point is to put on gas masks and isolate the mothers and keep good notes on how the babies die. And yes, against all odds we’ve managed to glean some useful information from those notes, but I’m not willing to hang my species’ future on a long-shot version of what was already a long shot to begin with. The Partials are immune: They engineered a virus perfectly designed to kill human beings, but they’re immune to it.”
“That’s because they’re not human,” said Skousen.
“But they have human DNA,” said Kira, “at least in part. The virus should affect them just as much as it does us. But it doesn’t, and that means their immunity was engineered, and that means we can decipher it and use it.”
Skousen shook his head. “You’re insane.”
“We’re trying to solve the puzzle of RM immunity by looking at infants who are not immune—the answer is simply not there, no matter how many more subjects we test. If we want to learn about immunity, we have to look at Partials. We have no records left of how they were built, what went into constructing their genetic code, nothing. There must be answers there. It’s worth a shot, at the very least.”
“They’re not going to just hand themselves over for study.”
“So we take one,” said Kira.
“Crossing the line could start another Partial War.”
“If it does, we might die tomorrow,” Kira shot back, “but if we don’t cure RM, we die every day for the next fifty years—or sooner, if the Voice starts a civil war. And if we don’t find an answer for RM soon, it’s going to happen.”
“I’m not having this conversation with a plague baby,” snarled Skousen. “You weren’t old enough to know what was happening when the Partials turned on us. You didn’t watch a small group of these things take out an entire military brigade. You weren’t watching when everyone you knew wasted away and vomited blood and boiled alive in their own fevers.”
“I lost my father—”
“We all lost our fathers!” yelled Skousen. Kira paled at the sound of it, leaned away from the mad look in his eyes. “I lost my father, my mother, my wife, my children, my friends, neighbors, patients, colleagues, students. I was in a hospital at the time; I watched it fill up and spill over until there weren’t even enough survivors to carry away the corpses. I watched my entire world eat itself alive, Walker, while you were playing with your dolls. So don’t tell me I’m not doing enough to save the human race, and don’t you dare tell me we can risk another Partial War.” His face was livid, his hands shaking with anger.
Kira swallowed her response, not daring to speak; anything she said now would only make it worse. She dropped her head, averting her eyes again, fighting the urge to simply get up and walk out. She wouldn’t do it—he was angry and she was probably fired, but she knew she was right. If he wanted her out, he’d damn well have to do it himself. She raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes, ready for her sentence. She was done here, but she wasn’t giving up. She hoped he couldn’t see her tremble.
“You will report to the research department tomorrow morning,” he said. “I’ll let Nurse Hardy know you’ve been transferred.”
Kira watched her friends as they laughed and joked in Nandita’s living room. It was late, and the room was dimly lit with candles; the juice stored up in Xochi’s solar panels was dedicated, as always, to the music player. Tonight’s selection was CONGRATULATIONS KEVAN, one