UnWholly

“Self-determination,” he decrees. “I will make decisions for myself now.”

“Of course, of course,” Roberta says. “And I’ll be here to advise you.”

“Advise, not order. Not control. I will choose what I do, and when I do it. And I will choose my own companion.”

Roberta nods. “Agreed.”

“Good. I’m hungry,” he tells her. “Have them bring me a steak.” Then he reconsiders. “No . . . have them bring me lobster.”

“Whatever makes you happy, Cam.” And Roberta hurries off to do his bidding.

18 • Risa

Risa is woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of feet pounding up AcMac’s ramp. She’s hoping this late-night visitor isn’t for her, but it always is. No one comes here in the middle of the night unless there’s some kind of medical emergency requiring her attention.

Kiana pulls back the curtain and barges in. “Risa, a couple of kids just got brought in. It’s bad, real bad.”

Kiana’s a sixteen-year-old who works the infirmary’s night shift, lives for drama, and always blows everything out of proportion. Having been purged from a family of doctors, she has a chip on her shoulder when it comes to proving what a good junior medic she is, so her exaggerations are usually just to make herself look better when she solves the emergency. The fact that Kiana has come to get Risa and isn’t trying to take all the glory herself means the situation must truly be serious.

“A couple of kids were messing with an engine turbine,” Kiana tells her, “and the whole engine came down. . . .”

Risa pulls herself out of bed and into her chair. “What were they doing messing with an engine turbine in the middle of the night?”

“I think it was some sort of dare.”

“Incredible.” Half the injuries Risa sees are either self-destructive or just plain stupid. She often wonders whether it’s just the nature of Whollies, or if it’s the same in the outside world.

When she arrives at the infirmary jet, every medic, both on and off duty, is already there. While a couple are older teens who stayed behind when they reached seventeen, the rest are just kids who have been trained to treat minor injuries, nothing more. The sight of blood doesn’t scare Risa anymore. What scares her are her own limitations—and from the moment she rolls in, she knows she’s way out of her depth.

In the corner one kid grimaces and groans with an obviously dislocated shoulder—but he’s getting only minimal attention, because the kid on the table is much worse off. His side has a huge, jagged wound through which Risa can see at least one protruding rib. He quivers and moans. Several kids frantically try to stem the bleeding, applying pressure to key arteries, and one kid with shaking hands tries to fill a syringe.

“Lidocaine or epinephrine?” Risa asks.

“Lidocaine?” he says, like it’s a question.

“I’ll administer. There are epinephrine injectors already prepared.”

He looks at her like he got caught in the school hallway without a pass.

“Adrenaline!” she says. “It’s the same as adrenaline.”

“Right! I know where those are!”

Risa tries to focus in, not allowing herself to be overwhelmed by the larger picture, and gives the injured boy the first shot, which will ease the pain.

“Did anyone call the doctor?” Risa asks.

“Like three times,” says Kiana.

There’s a doctor who comes out to the Graveyard when they have something on their hands they can’t handle. He does it free of charge, no questions asked, since he’s sympathetic to the resistance; however, he takes their calls only when he wants to. Even if they’re able to reach him, however, Risa knows what he’ll say.

“We have to get him to a hospital.”

Once she says it, all the kids there are visibly relieved, because now this boy’s life will not be in their hands. With all the injuries at the Graveyard, only twice before have they had to send a kid to a hospital. Both times the injured kid died. Risa is determined that it will not happen again.

“Hurts bad,” the kid says, between gasps and grimaces.

“Shh,” says Risa, and she sees his eyeballs begin to roll. “Stay focused on me.” She gives him the epinephrine shot, which should slow his bleeding and hopefully keep him from going into shock. “Tell me your name.”

“Dylan,” he says. “Dylan Ward.”

“Really? I was a ward too. Ohio State Home Twenty-Three.”

“Florida Magnolia. Florida state homes don’t got numbers. They’re named after flowers.”

“Figures.”

Dylan Ward is thirteen, maybe fourteen. He has a bad cleft lip, and looking at it makes her angry, because like her, he was a ward of the state—and while parents won’t unwind a kid on his looks alone, the state homes have no problem unwinding kids they don’t want to look at. For Risa, saving him now is a matter of honor. She tells Kiana to get the ambulance.

“It has a flat,” Kiana tells her.

Risa growls in frustration. “Fix it!”

“Don’t leave,” Dylan says, putting all his trust in her.

“I won’t,” she reassures him.

The ADR keeps promising to permanently station a doctor at the Graveyard, but that has yet to happen. She knows the resistance has other priorities, but when a kid is bleeding out, it’s a pretty lame excuse.

“Am I go

“Of course not,” she tells him. In truth, Risa has no idea whether he’ll live or die, but that’s not very comforting to hear, and no one wants the truth when they ask that question.

Risa rolls her way over whatever debris is on the floor and down the plane’s rear ramp, where a bunch of kids have gathered to fret.

One kid comes forward. It’s Starkey. Ever since Co

“Not unless you have powers of teleportation and can get us to a hospital.”

“Sorry,” he says, “my tricks are just tricks.”

That’s when Co

“I heard about the accident. Is everyone okay?”

Risa shakes her head. “One kid we can take care of, but the other”—again a shiver of memory—“has to go to a hospital.”

Co

“Not really,” says Risa. Then, just to get rid of him, she says, “He can help fix the flat on the ambulance.”

Starkey looks insulted for a moment, then smiles. “Right, no problem.” And he trots off.

The ambulance is a seatless minivan, jury-rigged with medical equipment. Dylan is rushed down the stairs and loaded inside. One of the other medics will drive, and Kiana will tend to Dylan in the back. The boy calls for Risa, but she can’t get in with him. Once more she silently curses her wheels.

Starkey still lingers. He turns to Co

“The Admiral never left the Graveyard until he was carried out,” Co

Starkey shrugs. “It makes you look like a coward.”

Co

“Hey, I’m just saying.”

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Co

“Sorry, I mean no disrespect, I guess I just have a lot to learn about being in charge.”

Starkey nods respectfully to Risa and leaves, but what he said sticks in her mind like gum on her shoe—or at least how it used to get on her shoe when her feet actually touched the ground. Co