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  The airlock had sealed her inside the lab, and she’d been contaminated. After that she’d passed out and been revived in the Unitech medical bay. She shuddered, remembering the excruciating pain she’d felt when she had finally come to. The doctors had told her that her chances of survival were good as long as she underwent weekly light therapy treatments to keep the fungus infecting her body from entering its fatal bloom stage.

  Unfortunately, the embarrassment and pain caused by the parasitic fungus leeching off of her body’s nutrients wasn’t the worse thing to happen to her in the days following the accident.

  Before she had gone to be an intern, she’d met a young man two years her senior and had fallen hopelessly in love with him. She thought that after her research was completed the two of them would be married. That had not been the case.

  Though light therapy would keep her healthy and prevent the fungus from spreading airborne spores via a fungal bloom, the fungus inside her body would still continue to produce spores. And these spores could easily be passed from person to person through bodily fluids such as saliva and blood.

  She’d thought that he had loved her enough to see past her illness. She thought he would wait for her until she—or someone else—had developed a cure. She was wrong.

  Once he discovered the truth about her condition, he severed all ties with her, shattering her heart in the process. In the darkest hour of her life—when all she needed was a shoulder to cry on—he’d abandoned her. The spiraling depression at his betrayal had driven her to the point of wanting to take her own life.

  She survived, but the painful memories of her past had lost none of their potency, and she found herself fighting back sobs.

  “Are you certain you are all right, Miss Luna?” Ada asked, her translucent face taking on a look of simulated concern.

  AIs aren’t the best at comforting, Luna thought, fighting to get control of herself.

  She wiped her eyes on her shirt and nodded, managing to get control of her emotions. “Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Do you know what time it is?”

  “It is precisely 8:36 in the morning. Shall I give you a weather report today, Miss Luna?”

  “No, thanks. I’m pretty sure I know what it is,” she said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

  Luna promptly undressed and climbed into the shower. The hot water running over her and the steam filling her scarred lungs helped ease the last of her dream-induced anxiety, and she was able to think clearly again.

  Most of Luna’s best ideas had come to her while she was bathing. She had since decided to make the shower her unofficial thinking place. Even though she’d finished washing herself, Luna continued to stand under the stream of steaming water, watching it swirl around her feet while she mentally ran through theorems and equations from previous days in the lab. Dropping out of college after the accident had done little to dull her sharp intellect.

  She remained in the shower for nearly a half hour before deciding that she’d had enough. She turned off the water, dried herself, and got dressed in a clean work suit and button-up dress top.

  “There. One Unitech employee ready for service,” she said, snapping a quick salute to her reflection before heading into the kitchen. She opened the cupboards above the sink and quickly procured a box of cereal and a bowl and spoon. She then seated herself at the bar built into the kitchen’s center island.

  “Ada, could I have some milk, please? And a glass of grape juice?”

  “Of course, Miss Luna. Right away.”

  Luna placed a pair of cups onto a circular area near the center of the island directly beneath a cone shaped dispenser, which Ada lowered from the ceiling. The end of the dispenser split and opened, revealing a series of nozzles, which rotated to orient with the cups. A moment later a stream of dark purple liquid squirted into one cup followed by a stream of milk aimed at the adjacent glass.

  “Thanks, Ada,” Luna said, pouring the milk onto her cereal.

  “Would you like to read the news today, Miss Luna?”

  Luna swallowed a spoonful of cereal and nodded, “Sure.”

  An instant later a holographic display appeared on the countertop, and she ran her eyes over the headlines: “The Search for Two Missing Persons in New Denver Area Continues.”

  She shook her head in numb disbelief and scanned the descriptions of the two missing people. Raúl Sanchez and Frank Travis were both in their early twenties. They had both been seen exiting the Unitech plant where they worked, but neither of them had returned home. That had been almost four days ago.

  “It seems like headlines these days are always about someone either killing themselves or going missing,” Luna commented, spooning another mouthful of cereal. “The news is so depressing.”

  “Would you like me to shut it down?”

  “No, thanks. I’m just going to read the comics real quick. Then I’ll be done.”

  Luna moved her finger across the touch sensitive screen and turned the page to section C7. She quickly read through the comics and solved a Sudoku puzzle in her head before giving Ada permission to shut off the news feed. Luna cleaned up her breakfast, swallowed a handful of multivitamins, and gathered up her things for the day ahead of her.

  “Time to go, Ada. Shut down apartment systems and transfer to my headset.”

  Luna unplugged her fully-charged headset from the couch and placed it behind her ear before slipping into her raincoat and slinging her handbag over her shoulder.

  She joined the long line of cars stopped at the gate to the Unitech complex and, while waiting her turn to be let in. absently read the large billboard: United Technology Incorporated: Helping Mankind in the Fight for Survival.

  Luna pulled up to the gate and waited for her ID to be confirmed before she drove through the portal. She followed the meandering road around the complex and parked in front of Research Building 3, where a powerful network of sophisticated laboratories were utilizing some of the most advanced technologies known to man to further the fight against the encroaching swamp.

  She closed the car door and walked to the building’s main entrance, clipping her ID badge to her left breast pocket.

  Every molecule of air circulating through the labs had to be sterile, so inside the building it was cool and dry. The ventilation system had been designed to take in air from the outside and run it through a series of de-humidifiers before finally pumping it through a central heating and air conditioning unit out into the laboratories and their adjoining hallways.

  Luna walked through the tall double doors, paying little heed to the giant statue of Jack Anderson that loomed in the research building’s main foyer. She waved in greeting to a pair of colleagues as they passed her, and then she made her way to one of four elevators at the far side of the large room.

  The elevator gently descended down into the lower foundations of the building before gliding to a stop on sub-level four.

  She exited the lift and walked down the well-lit hallway toward the secure lab at its far end, glancing at the reinforced blast doors built into the corridor as she did so.

  Each bulkhead she passed brought back the horrible memories of her accident, and she had to force herself to keep her mind focused on the present, lest she slip into an uncontrollable panic.

  No matter how often she walked through the sensor-lined corridor to her laboratory, ever since the accident in lab twenty-nine, she had to struggle just to keep from hyperventilating on her way to work.

  She reached into her pocket and wrapped her hand around her inhaler, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum. Here she was, four stories underground with a half dozen blast doors between her and the way out. Blast doors that could slam shut in a matter of seconds, leaving her to suffocate in a cloud of spores. She could feel her blood pressure rising and her lungs began to strain painfully, trying to supply her trembling body with oxygen.

  Easy … easy, Luna. Don’t freak out now. You’re almost there.

  She wi
thdrew her shaking hand, slipped the mouthpiece of the small inhaler between her lips, and pressed down on the activator. There was a soft hiss, and she took a deep breath, drawing the pressurized medication down into her aching lungs. The relief it brought was both instantaneous and welcome.

  Luna stopped before entering the lab’s airlock and bent over to allow Alex to scan her eyes and key-card. A few seconds later the door hissed open and she walked in. She’d made it.

  “Good morning, Doctor McKelly,” Alex addressed her, powering up the lights and other lab equipment before she had cleared the airlock.

  “Good morning,” Luna replied, entering the sterile laboratory that had become her second home—despite the daily anxiety attacks. She walked over to a small desk and switched on its built-in holographic monitor, then seated herself behind it.

  “What do you require today, Doctor?”

  “Nothing yet, Alex,” Luna replied, running her eyes over the results from the previous day’s experiments. Nothing unusual or out of the ordinary. Once again, every one of the serums in her control groups had turned up positive. Final Score: Blister Wart disease, 607. Luna, 0. She’d been keeping track.

  She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Okay, Alex. Time to get to work. I want to run diagnostics on all samples in rows G through K. Maybe something will turn up this time.”

  “Running requested diagnostics,” Alex replied, and a list of chemical compounds began scrolling across her monitor.

  She rested her elbows on the desk and ran both hands through her hair, staring intently at the monitor flashing before her eyes. “Something has to come up … it just has to. I’m so close—I can feel it. The cure is out there; I just have to figure out where.”

  Chapter 5

  Agent Keith Tagawa skillfully pulled his sleek black Mercedes into the parking space directly in front of Bridget’s apartment building.

  All right, this is it, Keith thought, stepping out of the car into the misty night.

  He smoothed the wrinkles from his slacks and straightened his tie, and then he walked up the cement stairs and through a pair of sliding glass doors, smelling Bridget long before he actually saw her.

  “Keith!” she squealed, catching him off guard.

  He instinctively reached for his sidearm but stopped himself at the last second—just in time to catch Bridget as she threw herself into his arms. It was all he could to keep from dropping her. She’d decided to dress herself in an incredibly slippery red silk dress.

  Before he could recover she snapped her head forward and delivered a bull’s eye of a kiss to his cheek. As she clung to him, his lungs began to struggle for oxygen amid the toxic combination of perfumes circling Bridget’s red hair. It took all of the willpower he could muster just to keep himself from coughing directly in her face.

  Finally she let him up for air, and he forced a smile, which he hoped made him look genuinely pleased to see her.

  “Hello, Bridget. You look beautiful tonight.”

  She blushed, “Thank you. You look great yourself, Mr. Agent Man.”

  Did she just call me Mr. Agent Man? he thought to himself, doing his best to maintain a captivated façade.

  “Well, shall we go then, Miss Chavé?”

  She slid her arm through his, giggled, and nodded. “Lead on, Mr. Tagawa. Your wish is my command.”

  Why is she feeling my arm? he thought, keenly aware of her small fingers massaging his bicep as he walked her to his car. It only took a second for Bridget to answer his mental query.

  “Wow! You’re so strong, Keith. How often do you work out?”

  His mission depended on her being open with him—however uncomfortable it might make him feel—and he knew that he had to act the part to insure she would continue to supply him with the information he needed. He needed to think of a response to her curiosity that would allow him to maintain her trust.

  “Um … no more than the other men and women in the Agency. We all have to follow a strict training regiment. Otherwise we lose our edge … if you know what I mean.”

  “That is so cool!” she replied, clinging more tightly to his arm. “You Agents are so totally awesome. Did you know that?”

  “Please, Miss Chavé. We’re just like everyone else—ordinary people doing our job. Not some sort of superhero club,” he laughed, and she giggled. Why was she so giggly?

  He opened the door for her and then walked around to take his place behind the wheel.

  “So, where are we going?” Bridget asked, folding her hands in her lap.

  “To the Empress. Unless you would rather go someplace else?”

  He watched in astonishment as Bridget’s already wide eyes grew even wider.

  “The Empress!” she squealed. “Like, the five-star restaurant the Empress?”

  Keith nodded and watched a wide grin spread across her face. “You are so amazing, Keith! How did you get reservations at the Empress? Wait, don’t tell me! It’s because you’re an agent, right?”

  He shrugged, pulling the car out onto the road. “I suppose. Working for Mr. Edgard’s security branch does have its benefits.”

  “Hey! I just landed a position as Mr. Edgard’s secretary! Does that mean I’ll get these ‘benefits’, too? I sure hope it does! I’d love to be able to live it up once in a while.”

  I’m sure you would, he thought.

  “Wow, that’s amazing, Bridget!” Keith replied, falsely bright. “I don’t know if you’ll be getting any of the higher benefits right when you start, though. But I’m sure if you stick with it, you’ll be able to work your way up. Even though he’s the CEO of Unitech, Saul Edgard can be a very generous person.”

  “I doubt he’d notice me. He always seems so busy,” Bridget pouted. “But I guess if I am going to be his secretary, I’ll be spending a lot of time around him. Who knows? Maybe he’ll decide to be a ‘generous person’ to little ol’ me.”

  She giggled, and Keith found it hard to keep his opinions to himself.

  They pulled up in front of the Empress fifteen minutes later, and Keith quickly exited the car to open the door for Bridget. He offered her his arm, and mentally cringed as she squeezed his bicep again.

  The two of them entered the restaurant and were quickly escorted to a candlelit table. Their waiter produced a pair of old-fashioned menus and waited while they browsed the wine list.

  Keith selected a bottle of the most expensive vintage and then asked Bridget if she was ready to order. She nodded, and the waiter quickly reached for his touch-sensitive data pad.

  “Will that be everything for you tonight?”

  Keith nodded, “Yes. That will be all, thank you.”

  The waiter bowed slightly and returned to the kitchen.

  “So, Bridget,” Keith said, reaching for his wineglass, “seeing as how we’ve just met, I’d like to hear a bit more about you.”

  “Hmm? Like, what sorts of things are you interested in hearing?” she replied, flashing him a lopsided smile.

  “What are your hobbies? Do you have any particular likes or dislikes? Any friends you’d like to talk about? You know, just little things like that. I find it really helpful in getting to know a woman, if I can find out as much about her as possible on the first date.”

  “Well, aren’t you forward?” She giggled.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, smiling back at her. “I was a bit forward there. I’ll understand completely if you don’t want to talk—”

  “No, that’s okay,” she hastily replied. “I actually think it’s kinda cute. It’s hard to find a man these days who actually wants to hear all about a girl’s life.”

  What resulted was nearly an hour of nonstop narrative describing in depth every miniscule detail of Bridget’s past—most of which Keith had no desire to hear. After the first half hour, he found himself concentrating on the band playing in the background while maintaining a forced expression of interest. There was no real need for him to keep listening. She’d already blabbed every bit of r
emotely useful information at least a dozen times over.

  He was rescued by the timely arrival of their dinner, and he silently thanked God for the divine intervention as the two of them quietly ate their meals.

  “So, now that you’ve heard all about me, I’d like to hear a little about you,” Bridget said, taking a sip from her lipstick-stained glass. “Were you ever married?”

  “Um … no. I’ve never gotten that far. You know how it is. I’ve always been too busy with the Agency to settle down. But I’m still young. I’ve got time.”

  She reached across the table and placed her small hand on his. “Don’t worry—I’m sure one of these days you’ll find the perfect woman.”

  Her cheeks were flushed to match the hue of her hair, and she withdrew her hand just as the band began playing the evening waltz.

  Keith took advantage of the opportunity and stood. “Would you like to dance?”

  She smiled up at him and quickly scrambled out of her chair, nearly losing her balance in the process. “Duh! Of course I would!”

  Three dances and one dessert tray later, Keith and Bridget returned to her building and he—being the gentleman that he was—walked her all the way to her apartment.

  “Won’t you come in for a little while?” she asked, leaning against her door and casting him a flirtatious smile. “We could … sit and talk some more. You know, put our feet up and relax… ”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Chavé,” Keith replied, fighting a sudden urge to swallow. “But I have to be going. I’ve got some reports to go over before tomorrow morning. But thanks for the offer.”

  She pouted for a moment but quickly recovered. Apparently his soul-crushing blow hadn’t been quite as soul crushing as he’d intended.

  “Oh well. Thanks for the date, Keith,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “It was the best night of my life.”