Fragments. Dan Wells

first. “We’ve given you a chance,” she said coldly. “I don’t care if we synthesize it, steal it, form a treaty, or whatever you want, but I’m not going to lose my baby. People are not going to go back to how it used to be, not now that they know there’s a cure. And it doesn’t sound like the Partials are going to wait forever. We’re lucky we’re not looking down the business end of a Partial invasion already.”

      “You’re in a race,” said Haru. “Make more of the cure, or war is inevitable.”

      “Yeah,” said Marcus, standing up. “You said that. I need some air—the entire future of the human race resting on my shoulders is a little much all of a sudden.” He walked outside, glad that nobody stood up to follow him. He wasn’t mad, at least not at them; the truth was, the future of the human race was resting on his shoulders, on all their shoulders. With barely 35, 000 people left, it wasn’t like there was anybody else to rest it on.

      He pushed open the back door and walked into the cool evening air. Twelve years ago, before the Break, there would have been electric lights all over the city, so bright they blotted out the stars, but tonight the sky was filled with twinkling constellations. Marcus looked up at them, breathing deeply, pointing out the few he remembered from school: Orion was the easiest, with his belt and his sword, and there was the Big Dipper. He closed one eye and traced the handle with his finger, looking for the North Star.

      “You’re going the wrong way,” said a girl’s voice, and Marcus jerked in surprise.

      “I didn’t realize anyone was out here,” said Marcus, hoping he hadn’t looked too stupid when he jumped. He turned to see who it was, wondering suddenly who would be hiding in Xochi’s backyard, and yelped in terror when a woman stepped out of the shadows with an assault rifle. He stumbled backward, trying to find his voice—trying just to process the unexpected appearance—and the woman held her finger to her lips. Marcus backed into the side of the house, steadying himself against the wall. The gesture, and the gleaming gun barrel, caused him to close his mouth.

      The girl stepped forward, smiling like a cat. Marcus could see now that she was younger than he’d surmised at first—she was tall and slender, her movements full of power and confidence, but she was probably no more than nineteen or twenty years old. Her features were Asian, and her jet-black hair was pulled back in a tight braid. Marcus smiled back at her nervously, eyeing not only the rifle but the pair of knives he now saw clipped to her belt. Not one knife—a pair of knives. Who needs two knives? How many things does she have to cut at once? He was in no hurry to find out.

      “You can talk,” said the girl, “just don’t scream or call for help or anything. I’d prefer to get through the evening without running—or, you know, killing anybody.”

      “That’s great news,” said Marcus, swallowing nervously. “If there’s anything I can do to keep you from killing anybody, you just let me know.”

      “I’m looking for someone, Marcus.”

      “How do you know my name?”

      She ignored the question and held out a photo. “Look familiar?”

      Marcus peered at the photo—three people standing in front of a building—then held out his hand to take it, looking at the girl for permission. She nodded and held it closer, and he took it from her hand, holding it up to the starlight. “It’s kind of—”

      She flicked on a small flashlight, training it on the image. Marcus nodded.

      “—dark, thank you.” He looked closer at the photo, uncomfortably aware of the girl’s gun so close beside him. The picture showed three people, a man and a woman with a little girl between them, no more than three or four years old. Behind them was a great glass building, and Marcus realized with a start that the sign on the side of it said PARAGEN. He opened his mouth to comment on this, but realized with another shock that the woman in the picture was someone he’d known for years.

      “That’s Nandita.”

      “Nandita Merchant,” said the girl. She flicked off the light. “I don’t suppose you know where she is?”

      Marcus turned back to face her, still trying to figure out what was going on. “Nobody’s seen Nandita in months,” he said. “This is her house, but . . . she used to go out on salvage runs and stuff all the time, looking for herbs for her garden, and the last time she went out, she never came back.” He looked at the picture again, then back at the girl. “Are you with Mkele? Or forget who you’re with, who are you? How do you know who I am?”

      “We’ve met,” she said, “but you don’t remember. I’m very hard to see if I don’t want to be.”

      “I’m getting that impression,” said Marcus. “I’m also getting the impression that you’re not exactly the East Meadow police. Why are you looking for her?”

      The girl smiled, sly and mischievous. “Because she’s missing.”

      “I suppose I walked into that one,” said Marcus, suddenly aware of how attractive this girl was. “Let me rephrase: Why do you need to find her?”

      The girl flicked on the flashlight again, first blinding Marcus and then angling it away toward the photo in his hand. He looked at it again.

      “Look closely,” said the girl. “Do you recognize her?”

      “It’s Nandita Merchant,” said Marcus. “I already—”

      “Not her,” said the girl. “The child standing next to her.”

      Marcus looked again, holding the image close, peering intently at the little girl in the center. Her skin was light brown, her pigtails dark as coal, her eyes bright and curious. She wore a brightly colored dress, the kind a little girl would wear to a park on a summer day. The kind he hadn’t seen in twelve years. She looked happy, and innocent, and her face was slightly scrunched as she squinted one eye against the sun.

      There was something familiar about that squint. . . .

      Marcus’s mouth fell open, and he nearly dropped the photo in shock. “That’s Kira.” He looked up at the mystery girl, more confused now than ever. “That’s a picture of Kira from before the Break.” He looked at it again, studying her face; she was young, her round face soft with baby fat, but the features were still there. That was Kira’s nose, Kira’s eyes, and the same way Kira squinted in the sun. He shook his head. “Why is she with Nandita? They didn’t even meet until after the Break.”

      “Exactly,” said the girl. “Nandita knew about this, and never told anyone.”

      That was a weird way to phrase it, thought Marcus. Not “Nandita knew Kira,” but “Nandita knew about this.” “Knew about what?”

      The girl flicked off her flashlight, slipped it into a pocket, and plucked the photo from Marcus’s hand. “Do you know where she is?”

      “Kira or Nandita?” asked Marcus. He shrugged helplessly. “The answer’s no to both, so it doesn’t matter. Kira went looking for . . .” Kira was looking for the Partials, and he’d been careful never to tell anybody, but he supposed it didn’t matter in this case. “You’re a Partial, aren’t you?”

      “If you talk to Kira, tell her that Heron says hello.”

      Marcus nodded. “You’re the one who caught her; the one who took her to Dr. Morgan.”

      Heron didn’t respond, tucking the photo away and glancing into the shadows behind her. “Things are going to get very interesting on this island, very soon,” she said. “You’re familiar with the expiration date Samm talked about?”

      “You know Samm, too?”

      “Kira Walker and Nandita Merchant are vital to the solution of the expiration date, and Dr. Morgan is determined to find them.”

      Marcus frowned, confused. “What do they have to do with it?”

      “Don’t