Page 16 of Perfection

Chapter Four

York led the way to the computerized compartments built into one of the walls, taking a moment as he walked to grieve the child who should not be dead. Was it his imagination or did the room temperature seem to drop? Kindra stood off to the side, hanging behind him at the entrance. She seemed somehow removed from what they were doing. “The girl’s over here,” he said.

He went to the computer and waved the key card over the code sensor. The door of one compartment slid open and a large bed, too large for the body of the young child on it, soundlessly slid free to float between them, transforming York and Kindra into sentinels flanking the girl’s platform.

Isabelle’s caramel brown skin was translucent in death. She looked small and delicate, yet still peaceful, which made her unexplained death even harder to understand. His heartbeat echoed in his head. His fingers trembled as he gently stroked the silky flaxen hair on her crown. Somehow Isabelle’s life had been snuffed out.

York raised his eyes. Kindra stood across from him, worrying her lower lip.

“Maybe I could have saved her if I’d had a chance,” she said. “A genetic sync might have fixed her, or maybe put her in cryogenic suspension until I figured the problem….” She looked pensive, troubled. Abruptly, her expression went blank, and her gaze shifted to York. “Let’s get to work.”

That was it. A few seconds. Kindra’s abbreviated show of remorse at the fragile child’s death infuriated him. Perhaps faulty engineering given to D Generation from geneticists playing God, like her, had caused the girl’s death. Couldn’t she own up to her mistake with a tear in her eye, some feeling apparent on her face?

Was she simply compartmentalizing her feelings, or was her standoffish behavior a clinical disregard for life? It was a GEI trait in general and not a particularly favorable one. It seemed with every generation of GEIs, they grew more and more enamored of their own ability to live longer, look better, think smarter. Hell, at this rate, future GEIs would barely act human at all. He eased his hand from Isabelle’s hair and folded his arms over his chest.

Wouldn’t you know, a Gen-Fair with an icy heart?

Hadn’t he expected as much? He’d promised B-Gastion he’d find out what happened to Isabelle. And he would.

He watched her actions in silence as she methodically took blood samples and collected data, using every kind of scan he’d ever seen and some he hadn’t. Thorough, he decided. But he suspected her professionalism wouldn’t allow for anything less; it didn’t mean she cared.

Twenty minutes later, she was done.

“So will we be able to stop the next death?”

Her head snapped up. “What makes you think it will happen again?”

He shrugged. “A gut feeling.”

“Psh. I don’t rely on intuition. Just facts. No. There’s not going to be a next one. Not if I can help it.” She shoved the last piece of test equipment she’d used toward him. “Help me repack so I can get back to the lab.”

“Everything you have is evidence. We’ll take it to the police lab.”

She shook her head. “You’ll need the HERO computer at Seville to analyze this. No other local computer is advanced enough.”

“The captain will have to approve that. He may assign an officer to you.”

“Either way, I need to pack my things in your vehicle.”

“Sorry, that’s your job,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I need to grab the surveillance evidence.”

“Isn’t that illeg—” Her jaw clenched as her gaze caught his, then darted to search out hidden cameras. “Umm, I’ll manage.”

“Fine.” He moved close enough to whisper in her ear. “The override password for the air-car is…doll-baby.”

She rolled her eyes. “How quaint.”

“At least I don’t have a letter attached to my name,” he said, walking away.

* * *

After trying several doors, York finally located the unmanned security room off a side corridor and went in. A grid of small monitors showed the entire complex. He paused, observing Kindra in the parking lot. She loaded her things into his vehicle and slapped a hand on her hip in frustration when the trunk didn’t close. She was one gorgeous woman. Glacial, at times, but gorgeous.

“How may I help you, Mr. Richmond?” the computer in charge of security and operations asked.

“I’m here on police business.”

“Is it serious?” the computer asked.