Unlike his species’ decline, the pixies’ was a direct result of human activity. There were simply not enough wild places left for a small Inderland species forced into hiding and unable to mimic humans. It was a shaky balance, but the more humans there were, the happier the vampires were and the easier it was for the population of witches and Weres to integrate seamlessly. They’d had enough practice, having walked hand in hand with humanity through the ages since before Jesus, and yes, rumor had it he’d been an Inderlander. Never before, though, had any species had the ability to end not just its own people, but all of them.
Kal reached under his bed for his largest suitcase. It was dusty, and he brushed it clean before filling it to find he had room to spare. Pleased, he put in two more pairs of shoes and zipped it shut. No one would thank him for letting the humans die out from a virus of their own making. He’d go to Sacramento and make sure Trisk’s virus was everything she said it was. Fixing what she missed would put his name on her research. He’d make sure of it. Ulbrine had given him a chance to earn a career that would increase his opportunity to find a productive wife, or at the very least, the higher salary that would pay for fertility treatments or the gene therapies just now being developed.
What could go wrong?
5
Trisk rose from the fertilizer-stained cement walk, wiping the growth substrate from her fingers onto a rag tucked into her lab coat. A stiff, artificial wind blew dry air over the sturdy tomato plants as she stretched her back in satisfaction. The leafy, tart-smelling greenery spread nearly a quarter acre under artificial light, healthy and strong. It would be cheaper to have her largest testing field aboveground, but after the Cuban bioweapon crisis, legislation forced all true-breeding GMO research into facilities that could withstand a 747 hitting them.
This would be the last year her Angel tomato would reside in Global Genetics’ largest quarantine field, and in actuality, what was here was the seed holding the final tweaks that Saladan had demanded. Her project was making money, and it felt more than good.
It did, though, beg the question of what would fill the perfect rows between the dirt and the raised irrigation system next year. Perhaps after she had proved herself with Daniel’s virus, an elven lab would offer her a job.
Trisk bent over one of the ripening fruits, examining it for any hint of cracking to find only a perfect red skin. The tiny little hairs that helped retain moisture were a soft fuzz on her fingers. Her feelings were decidedly mixed. It would be wonderful to leave the clunky, labor-intensive techniques that a human-run facility was saddled with to work directly on developing her donor virus, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave the comfort of where she was, fighting only the expectation that she should be cooking in a kitchen, not at a Bunsen burner. Her reputation was here, and to leave it, even to help her people, would be hard.
“Dr. Cambri?” Angie’s voice came across the intercom, shouting to be heard over the massive fans. “Mr. Rales wants to talk to you.”
Trisk turned to the observation window with a grimace. She’d skipped the man’s first staff meeting this morning, and he probably wanted to nip that in the bud. “Sure!” she exclaimed, hoping the mic could pick her up from here. “Can you take a message? I’m busy.”
“Uh, he’s in your office?” Angie said apologetically, and Trisk winced.
“I guess I’d better get my ass in there, then, eh?” she said softly, and then louder, “Got it! Thanks!” Making her way back, Trisk plucked a tomato to take home for supper. It wouldn’t hurt to remind Rick that her work paid some of the bills when he made whatever lame-ass request he had buzzing around in his vampire-infested brain.
Wanting to make him wait, she carefully knocked the growth substrate off her field boots before slipping into her office shoes. She took the time to wash the tomato in the decontamination sink. The minimal procedures were nothing compared to Daniel’s elaborate precautions, but seeing as the Angel tomato was on the market, they were all she needed.
Rick’s shadow loomed close to the observation window. He was smiling, but Trisk didn’t like the way he was looking at Angie, and she hustled to the door.
“Dr. Cambri,” the man said as the air lock hissed open. His disapproving glance at her slacks rankled, and she held up a hand to shut him up for a moment and maintain control of the situation.
“Angie, I want the field to go another three days without water. Could you adjust the irrigator for me?”
“Certainly, Dr. Cambri.” The young woman gave Rick a lovelorn look. “Have a great weekend, Mr. Rales.”
“You too,” the living vampire said with a closed-lipped smile. “See you Monday.”
Never taking her eyes off him, Angie stumbled out the door Trisk had come in through and into the field. Eyebrows high, Trisk shifted to stand between the closing door and Rick. She didn’t like him watching her lab assistant. “What brings you down to the basement, Rick?”