Her eyes flicked to his. Not to mention security is the only place someone like me is allowed to excel. “I want to help our entire species, not just one or two of us.” She hesitated, astounded at the overdone display continuing across the aisle. “My God. His genetic code is so full of holes, I can smell the human spliced in from here.”
Quen ducked his head, hiding a smile. “I’m going to work for the Kalamack family,” he said, and shocked, Trisk felt her face go white.
“What? Why!”
“I have my reasons,” he said, not looking up. “It wasn’t the money, though I’ll admit it’s more than I thought I’d ever be able to make this soon.”
She couldn’t breathe, imagining the horror of working for the Kalamack family. “Quen, you can’t. Kal is a prejudiced prick who learned at the knee of his prejudiced dick father. You’ll never get the credit you deserve. They’ll treat their horses better than you.”
The sudden anger in his brow was surprising. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Quen,” she pleaded, taking his hand.
“I don’t need recognition like you do,” he said as he pulled away. “Besides, there are benefits to being forgotten and unseen among your betters.” Finally he smiled. “The chance to sneak around and learn things is unparalleled. I’ll be fine.”
But I won’t be, she thought, knowing her hope of finding a job near enough to him to stay in touch by any method other than letters was now utterly gone. The Kalamacks lived in Portland, and all the really good elven labs were in Florida or Texas.
She took a breath, hesitating when Quen rose, his attention fixed past her. She turned to see Kal, his smirk as he stood before them making it obvious he’d found out about Quen and wanted to rub her nose in it. “What do you want?” she said as she got to her feet, Quen’s hand on her shoulder.
“Hi, Felecia,” Kal mocked, and she bristled, hating her given name. It was why she went by her middle name, Eloytrisk, or Trisk for short.
“It’s Trisk,” she intoned, and Kal smirked.
“Felecia the flea. That’s what we called you, yes?” he said, lifting the lowest contract in her basket.
She shoved him back before he could see the letterhead, her face cold. “Keep out of my space. You stink like human.”
Kal’s cheeks reddened, stark against his fair, almost white hair as he gracefully caught his balance. He’d been in and out of the hospital most of his early life, his parents spending a fortune tweaking his code to make him the picture of the perfect elf in the hopes that he would attract a successful house. He had the slim physique of a long-distance runner, a respectable height that did not stand out, and of course, green eyes. But no children meant no status, and the Kalamack name was ready to fall. Trent was the very last one in a very long line, but he was the last.
“Let it go, Trisk,” Quen said in warning, and she shook off his restraining hand. She’d had enough of Kal, and after tonight, one way or the other, he’d be gone.
Kal drew himself up in the aisle, braver—or perhaps more foolish—with his parents gone, the two of them having escorted the NASA dignitary away for a drink. “I see Quen told you about his new job,” he said as he idly looked at his perfect nails. “If I get my way, he’ll be coming to NASA with me. I’ll need someone to make me breakfast, pick up my dry cleaning. I would’ve asked my father to hire you, but everyone knows women can’t drive.”
“Get out of my space,” she said again, hands fisted. Damn it, he’d gotten that NASA job. Everything was given to him. Everything. She stiffened when he moved closer, daring her to protest as he once more lifted the contracts to see who they were from.
“I got an offer from NASA. They want me to develop new strains of carrier bacteria that can repair a child’s DNA as early as three days old with a simple inhalation. And you,” he said, head tilted as he chuckled at the small-firm letterheads, “the closest you will ever get will be in some research facility’s library, shelving books for old farts who can’t work a Punnett square. Have fun, Flea.”
Smiling that confident, hated smile, he turned to go.
Her anger boiled up, and she shook off Quen’s restraining hand again. “You are a hack, Kalamack,” she said loudly, and the nearby conversations went silent. “Your theory to use bacteria to fix DNA strands into a new host is seriously flawed. Good for a doctorate, but not application. You can’t stop bacteria from evolving as you can viruses, and you will end up killing the people you are trying to save.”
Kal looked her up and down. “Huh. A second-rate security grunt thinks she knows my job better than I do.”
“Let it go, Trisk,” Quen warned as she took two long steps into the aisle.
“Kal?” she said sweetly, and when he turned, she punched him right in the nose.
Kal cried out as he fell, catching himself against his own booth. His hands covered his face, blood leaking out from between them, a stark, shocking color. “You hit me!” he cried as a handful of flustered girls flocked to him, digging in their little jeweled handbags for frilly handkerchiefs.