Partials series 1-3. Dan Wells

It was nervous too. The man looked at Nandita firmly. “You collect herbs?”

      “I collect them out there and I grow them in here,” said Nandita, “and in a hothouse in the backyard. I sell them in the market, they’re the best around.”

      The soldier nodded. “Where do you typically travel on these excursions?”

      “That’s none of your business,” said Kira. The news from Isolde had made her angry, and she was in the mood to yell at someone. “You think you can just barge into someone’s front yard and ask anything you want? What if she went somewhere you don’t like—are you going to arrest her?”

      “Nobody is talking about arrest,” said the soldier. “We’re just asking questions. Calm down.”

      “Just asking questions,” said Kira. “Well, what if she refuses to answer?”

      “Kira . . . ,” said Nandita.

      “In case you didn’t notice,” said the older soldier, angling his horse toward Kira, “we’re in a lot of trouble right now. We’re fighting for our lives against a hidden enemy that wants to destroy our city, and the only weapon we have against that enemy is information. We think your grandmother might have some information we can use to help us stay alive. Now if that offends whatever weirdball ideals you’ve cooked up for yourself, I’m sorry. Consider for a moment that soldiers acquiring the information they need to protect you is more important than five extra minutes of digging a hole in the ground.”

      “You arrogant jackass—”

      “I travel all over,” said Nandita, stepping in front of Kira. “Out by the farms when I have a ride, nearby when I don’t. I can’t walk as far as I used to, but there are plenty of untended gardens even here in East Meadow, just waiting for someone who knows her botany.”

      “We need specific locations,” said the younger soldier. “Is there a reason you’re not providing that information?”

      The older soldier sighed. “She’s a scavenger,” he said. “They don’t go to specific locations, they just wander.” He looked back at Nandita. “Could you tell me who you tend to get a ride with, on the occasions you’re able to do so?”

      “Traders,” said Nandita, “sometimes farmers going home from market day.” She gave the man a look as hard as steel. “Even drifters now and then, if they look trustworthy.”

      The soldier returned her glare. “And what does a trustworthy drifter look like?”

      “I saw one last week who looked more or less like you,” she said. “Different shirt, of course, but the same eyes, the same gun, the same self-importance. There’s a lot of you around these days.” She glanced at the younger soldier. “He had a kid with him, too.”

      “You need to check your attitude,” said the younger soldier.

      “And you need to check yours,” said the older man sharply, and gestured at Kira. “You’re as bad as she is.” Kira bit her tongue, eager to yell at the soldier some more, but acknowledging that it would only make things worse. He turned back to Nandita. “That’s pretty much all the questions we have for you, ma’am. Just doing our jobs, following up on some information. Sorry to be a burden.”

      “No harm done,” said Nandita, her demeanor still hard as a rock.

      “I’m glad to hear it,” said the soldier. “Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” He pulled the reins and turned the horse, then stopped suddenly and turned back again. “I’m sorry, this isn’t official, just my own curiosity: How did you happen to come to live out here, so close to the edge?”

      “I’m not sure I follow you,” said Nandita.

      “It’s just that most folks try to live as close to the city center as they can. This neighborhood is mostly just kids, new married couples who chose their house recently enough that none of the center homes were left. You must have chosen ten years ago, like most of the rest of us, but you’re way out here. Just curious.”

      Nandita studied him. “If you’re asking as a curious neighbor instead of a soldier, I think I ought to know your name.”

      “Sergeant Jamison, ma’am. Alex.”

      “My house in the center had water damage, Alex,” said Nandita. “Something got into my foundation and froze a few winters ago, and when it thawed out in the spring, my back wall practically fell in on itself. My girls and I needed a new place, and this one had a plastic hothouse in the backyard. It was the best choice available.”

      “I suppose it was,” said the soldier. “Thanks for your help.” He turned again, and the young soldier turned with him, and they rode away back down the street.

      Kira watched them go, her stomach tied in knots. “What was that about?”

      “The Secret Service,” said Nandita. “They have them at the market now, watching the traders.”

      “They’re just trying to do their jobs,” said Isolde. “You didn’t have to jump down their throats.”

      “They didn’t have to jump down Nandita’s,” said Kira, and looked back at Isolde. “This is exactly what I was talking about—just because someone’s in charge of something doesn’t mean they’re in charge of everything. They can’t just order us around.”

      “They’re the government,” said Marcus. “Ordering people around is their job, and frankly, I think talking to people who travel a lot is a good way to get information. They weren’t trying to antagonize anybody—though I admit that the younger one was kind of being a blowhole about it.”

      “Everyone on this island is too paranoid,” said Nandita. “They assumed the worst about me, but Kira assumed the worst about them.” She looked at Kira sharply. “Your attitude was completely uncalled for, and if you don’t change it, it’s going to get you in a lot more trouble than you know how to deal with.”

      “I’m sorry,” said Kira, but then she shook her head and blurted out, “If they want me to be calm, they should let me sit on my own front lawn without being interrogated. How about that?”

      Nandita looked at her, then turned to watch the horses disappear around the far corner of the street. “It’s only going to get worse,” she said. “Every new border patrol, every new amendment to the Hope Act, it’s all only going to make the people angry.” She glanced at Isolde. “If the Voice are trying to foment a rebellion, they’re doing a brilliant job.”

      Kira felt a sudden flush of embarrassment; Nandita had been listening to their entire conversation.

      “So what happens now?” asked Marcus. “You run off and join the Voice?”

      “I run off and cure RM,” said Kira. “No more RM, no more Hope Act. And I’m starting with an experiment. We’ve got a decade’s worth of data on how the virus works in the infants it infects, but I haven’t seen one study on how it works within those of us who are immune. It’s time to change that.”

      Isolde turned to her quizzically. “How?”

      “I’m going to take a blood sample from my loving, helpful, noncomplaining boyfriend,” said Kira, “and I’m going to inject the RM into it.”

      Marcus whistled. “Your boyfriend sounds dreamy.”

      Nandita gave Marcus an appraising look, then stooped to pick up her gardening tools. “She could do better.”

      

      “Ow!”

      “Hold still, you big baby.” Kira pulled the pin away from Marcus’s fingertip and placed a narrow glass tube against the wound. It filled quickly, and she pulled