UnWholly

“And you told me he was your brother.”

“We’re taking him and leaving,” Risa says, with authority enough in her voice to make it stick if she had any leverage whatsoever. Unfortunately, she doesn’t.

“He’s in no condition to travel—and even if he was, I would never turn an AWOL Unwind over to anyone but the Juvenile Authority.”

“Is that what you did with the others? Gave them to the Juvey-cops?”

“That’s my business,” the nurse tells her, as cold as can be.

“At least give me the courtesy of knowing if the other two are still alive.”

The nurse looks at her hatefully, then says, “They’re alive. But probably in a divided state by now.”

Risa wishes she could get out of her wheelchair and slam this woman into the wall. Burning gazes fry the air between them like microwaves.

“You think I don’t know what goes on down there at the Graveyard? I know; my brother’s a Juvey-cop. It’s a wonder they don’t round you all up and send you off where you belong!” And she points off, as if knowing the exact direction of the nearest harvest camp. “People out there are dying for lack of parts, but you and your selfish friends in the resistance would rather let good people die.”

So here it is, thinks Risa. The rift between two completely different versions of right and wrong. This woman sees Risa as a filthy outlaw, and nothing will ever change that.

“Are you really doing this to help society,” Risa snaps, “or is it for the reward money?”

The woman breaks her gaze, and Risa knows the truth. The woman’s moral high ground has split beneath her, and she’s fallen into the chasm.

“You go back and tend to your dirty horde,” the nurse says. “Do that and I’ll pretend you were never here.”

But Risa can’t go. She can’t leave Dylan to be unwound.

Just then a Juvey-cop comes into the emergency room.

“Over here,” calls the nurse, and looks back to Risa. “Leave now, and I’ll let you and your friend in the waiting room go. Maybe you can’t be unwound, but you most certainly can be locked up.”

But Risa is not going anywhere.

The nurse greets the cop, who by his looks is very obviously her older brother. He spares a long, curious glance at Risa before looking at the boy in the bed.

“This him?” he asks.

“We’ve stabilized him, but he’s lost a lot of blood. He won’t be ready for transport for a while.”

“Keep him sedated,” says the cop. “Best that he doesn’t wake up until he’s at the harvest camp.”

Risa grips her chair, knowing what she’s going to do at least ten seconds before she does it. Ten seconds of silent personal terror, but no indecision whatsoever.

“Take me,” she says. “Take me instead.”

She knows Co

The cop studies her—clearly he knows exactly who she is and exactly what her offer means.

“From my understanding, you’re seventeen, Miss Ward, and seeing that you’re in a wheelchair, we couldn’t unwind you anyway. So what possible value do you have?”

She smiles, finally having the upper hand. “Are you kidding me? A notorious member of the Anti-Divisional Resistance who knows exactly what happened at Happy Jack that day?”

He takes a moment to consider her point. “I’m not an idiot,” he says. “You’ll never cooperate. You’d rather die than cooperate.”

“Perhaps,” admits Risa, “but why should that matter to you? No matter how uncooperative I am, you’ll still get credit for bringing me in, won’t you?”

She can practically hear his mind clicking and whirring. “What’s going to stop me from capturing both you and the kid in the bed?”

“If you try,” Risa says calmly, “then you lose the prize. I have a subcutaneous cyanide pill in my palm.” She holds out her hand for him to see. “It’s right under the skin. All I have to do is bring my hands together to crack it open.” Then she mimes a wide clap, stopping just short of her palms touching. “You see,” she says with a grin, “there’s more than one type of clapper.”

There is, of course, no such pill under her skin, but he doesn’t have to know that. Even if he suspects she’s bluffing, he’s not sure enough to risk it.

“If I die right here, right now,” Risa says, “you won’t be known as the cop who brought me in, but the cop who let me die while in your custody.” Then she smiles again. “That’s almost as bad as getting shot in the leg with one’s own tranq pistol, isn’t it?”

The man frowns at the thought of being associated in any way with that other unfortunate Juvey-cop.

The nurse is not happy with any of this. She crosses her arms. “What about my reward money?” she asks.

Then her brother turns to her like an older brother should and says, “Shut it, Eva, all right? Just shut it.”

And with that, the deal is done.

Dylan’s chart will remain marked with his bogus records, and when he’s fit to travel, he’ll be released to Kiana, no questions asked.

But as for Risa, her life now lies on a different path.

19 • Cam

A suitable partner for Camus Comprix—one with all the right qualities—is not easy to find. More than two hundred girls go through the interview process. All of them have strong credentials. There are actresses and models, scholars, and high-society debutantes. Roberta has left no stone unturned in drumming up the perfect planet for her star.

The final twenty are brought to Cam for his assessment in a cushy fireside interview in the grand living room. They are all well-dressed, pretty, and smart. Most of them talk about their résumés as if applying for an office job. Some look at him with no qualms, while others can’t look him in the eye at all. There’s one girl who fawns all over him, putting off more heat than the fireplace.

“I would love to be your first,” she says. “You can do that, can’t you? I mean you’re . . . complete, right?”

“More than complete,” he tells her. “In fact, I have three.”

She just stares at him dumbfounded, and he decides not to tell her he’s joking.

He finds himself attracted to some, left cold by others—but in none of them does he find the spark of co

“So what do you see when you look at me?” he asks.

“It’s not what’s on the outside—it’s the inside that matters,” she responds.

“And what do you think is inside?”

She hesitates, then asks, “Is this a trick question?”

Roberta is exasperated when he refuses to accept a single one of them. Di

“Maybe I’m not willing to settle for that.”

“Being practical is not the same as settling.”

Cam slams his fist down. “My decision! You will not force me.”

“Of course I won’t—but—”

“Conversation over.” Then the meal goes back to severe silverware. Deep down he knows she’s right, which just makes him furious. All they need to make Roberta’s scheme work is an attractive, personable girl holding his hand, convincing the public that there’s so much about Cam to love. But he finds no bit of actor in him. Perhaps he can feign it, but he dreads the moments alone when he has to face the emptiness of a false relationship.

Emptiness.

That’s what people believe is inside him. A great void. And if he can’t find a soul mate among the girls paraded before him, does that mean they’re right, and he has no soul?