Chapter 14 #2
It takes everything in him not to pull her into his lap and promise to fight every battle that comes her way.
He clenches his jaw so hard, his molars feel like they might crack.
What was the exercise she showed him? Something about touching his forearm.
Zorgdamnit, why can’t he remember? Because you were too busy enjoying her touch to be paying attention to what she was showing you, you idiot!
Now she’s panicking again, and your mind is blank.
The twisted knot in his chest is deeply concerning.
It has to be the romance novels—besides her, they’re the only other variable he can think of.
He needs to steel himself like he did in the years after Jerme died and figure out how deal with this very real woman—wait!
That’s it. He places her hand on his forearm. “R—”
Before he can finish, Chryl is there, wrapping her arms around Electra’s middle from behind and squeezing—behaving more human than he is.
Electra’s eyes go wide, her hand falling away.
For a moment, they’re both frozen. Does she see the irony that a manupartner is the one attempting to comfort her too?
Chryl says, “Genetic engineering and gene therapy, in combination with advanced diagnostics, nanotechnology, and regenerative medicine, have effectively eliminated disease. I don’t know how I know that, but I do.
That means Daddy can fix you!” Chryl exuberantly bounces, which in turn rattles Electra.
“Thank you, Chryl.” Electra extricates herself from Chryl’s embrace and looks to him. “I must not be to that video yet. Is she right?”
He evaluates the manupartner for a moment, shaking his head. He doesn’t recall that bit of data being encoded into the manupartner’s base mRNA sequence. It’s possible she learned it during her lease with her previous owner. He should check her file—
“Res6, am I going to die again?”
His gaze snaps to Electra. Her skin has lightened a shade, and her expression is stricken.
“She’s right. There is a solution. You’ll be in the DNA modifier for no more than an hour.
We have one here downstairs. We don’t use it much anymore since our product is .
. .” He can hear the company message he’s about to repeat, along with her words concerning his company, so he starts again.
“Occasionally, when we are working on advancements, we have to use it, so we keep it updated with the latest software package.”
Her eyes are glistening now. He shoots up from his chair, determined to be the one to comfort her this time, but Chryl beats him to it.
Chryl ushers Electra back to her chair, pressing her shoulders until she plops into it. Chryl steps behind the chair, digging her fingers into Electra’s hair, massaging. “There, there, honey cakes. It will all be better once you’re recycled.”
A sob bursts out of Electra. She jumps up, batting Chryl’s hands away. “I hate the future,” she cries, and darts out the door.
“Damn it, Chryl.” Res6 glares at the manupartner. “Sit there and stay put.” Then he runs to catch up with Electra, pulling her into the nearest vacant room.
“Hey, it’s okay. Remember, you’re safe now. I can take care of this.” She blinks up at him, her lashes wet with tears. “In an hour, it will be as if you were born with perfectly scrubbed DNA.”
“It won’t change me, will it?” She reaches up, brushing her fingers over her cheek.
It strikes him that Electra wishes to preserve her appearance, despite being born in a time without the medical advancements to simply fix or even experiment with every nuance of one’s aesthetic.
He tracks the movement of her fingers, and the urge to kiss every single freckle barrels into him.
“Only the things that may shorten your lifespan.”
After a moment of deliberating, she nods.
It’s a quick ride down to the corrections department.
He takes her hand and is guiding her down the hall, passing the refrigeration chambers where they store the DNA samples and other biological material, when a commotion from inside one room draws his attention.
“One second,” he tells her before wrenching the door open.
An overturned table sits in the center of the room, and a material storage technician is cowering behind it.
Two men hover over the frightened tech, their faces partially obscured by ID Scramble-Tech visors and black neckcloths pulled up over their noses.
Their attention lands on him. The few inches in front of their faces flicker.
Shit. The visor’s scramble field will interfere with his building’s surveillance.
They hold silver cases similar to the ones he and Lextr are using for the Jerme experiments, but a little bulkier because they’re equipped for temperature regulation.
Is this a robbery?
The electrical system hisses, and the overhead lights blink off. The building has been hacked. Only a slight glow from the residual phantom voltage illuminates the room.
“Res6?” Electra calls from the hallway.
“Its fine. Stay there,” he shouts.
“That’s our cue,” one of the men shouts. “Time to go.” They switch illumiboxes on, bathing the room in a soft violet light.
Res6 isn’t sure what’s in the cases, but he can’t let them leave. What if they have Electra’s DNA? Or Jerme’s? Not to mention the woman in the hallway whose safety he just assured. Panic claws at his throat. He has to stop them!
He slams the door behind him, barricading them from her. The normally flashing lights on the retina scanner are dead, so he fumbles for the locking mechanism. It doesn’t respond to his fingerprints. “Shit.”
Two against one. No weapons. He can do it.
With his m-volt, he thinks the command: Message Security. There’s been a break-in. Two unarmed men, floor 78. He glances at the dead panel where the room number is displayed. Chamber 14.
He gets an immediate reply. Hold tight. We’re on the way, sir.
Just as he’s about to go on the defensive, another man appears, walking backward out of one of the refrigeration chambers. He’s pointing a sparkler, the automatic stun handpiece only the police are authorized to carry, at Bexly, his organic assets custodian, who is whimpering.
He thinks, There’s a third man with a sparkler. They’ve got Bexly.
He hears, Noted. We’ve called the police.
With a quick glance, Res6 notes the sparkler’s setting is midway between yellow and orange.
Red, he guesses, is killing strength. Orange, the upper-level ion stun, temporarily blinds and disorients the target.
Yellow—well, he isn’t sure. Less than orange, logically.
Still, with any of the settings, a direct hit would likely cause momentary physical impairment and possible residual effects requiring specialized healing.
Electra’s in the hall. The man with the weapon isn’t leaving the room. He’ll just distract them until the police come. It’s not like it’s on kill mode.
Res6 darts forward. The other two techs shout a warning.
In his periphery, several cases thud to the floor.
Res6 grabs the man’s weapon-holding arm.
The sparkler fires, peppering three quick shots across the room.
Bexly cries out as the final two shots hit the door and the operating panel of the refrigeration chamber.
He thinks, Bexly’s been hit, as sparks spray across the room.
Someone crashes into him and he loses his footing, slamming into the man with the sparkler.
Bexly scrambles backward through the open door of the chamber, clutching his shoulder, and Res6 and the two men go down in a pile.
The first man knocks his head against the wall, disorienting him.
Res6 lunges forward, wrenching the weapon out of his hand.
With his full weight, he throws himself back, elbowing the other man in the face.
Bone snaps, and the man jerks back in pain. Res6 rolls off him and jumps to his feet. He trains the weapon on the two lying on the floor, sweeping his gaze across the space in search of the third man. His stomach drops as the exterior door clicks closed.
Electra. It’s possible they only have one black-market weapon, but—
Seizing the man with the broken, dripping nose by his collar, he drags him along, sparkler pointed at his head. He shouts over his shoulder to the man on the floor, who is rapidly recovering, “Red is kill, right?”
The man grunts something unintelligible. A second later, the backup power source activates, and the refrigeration units kick back on, whirring. More blinking lights illuminate the dark space. Res6 presses forward, flinging the door open.
“Electra!” To his right, she whimpers.
He shoves the man out in the hall only to be met with the third man, who has dropped the cases at his feet. He’s pressing a second sparkler to her temple.
“Easy,” he urges.
“She’s quite nice,” the man says, brushing the tip of the weapon over her tear-streaked cheek. “Unusual. So LifeLike it almost makes me think she’s real.” He tilts the weapon so Res6 can see the settings. “You’re right, red is kill.”
He should have held her when he had the chance. No, he can’t think like that. The police are on their way. Then when they’re safe, he’ll wrap his arms around her so tight he may never let go. “Please don’t hurt her,” he begs.
“Collect the cases,” the robber holding Electra directs. The man from the refrigeration chamber complies, but the one with the blood seeping through his mask, who Res6 still holds at gunpoint, doesn’t budge.
“Go on,” the leader says. “He won’t kill you. Not when we have his pretty little manupartner here.”
The sarcasm in the man’s voice sends a chill through Res6. Does he know Electra’s real? How?
His lackey obeys, reluctantly moving one cautious step at a time until he’s a few feet away from Res6. Free, he quickly gathers the remaining cases and sets them in the hallway.
“Sparkler on the floor,” the leader demands. “If you take too long, my finger might slip.”