UnWholly (Unwind Dystology #2)(47)

She pats his hand, her eyes moist. “You’re a good boy, Cam. A sensitive boy. I will make sure we don’t forget that. I’ll also make sure you get whatever you want—whatever you need. No one will force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I don’t want the public.”

“You will when it’s yours,” Roberta tells him. “When they’re trampling one another just to get a look at you. Not as some oddity, but as a star. A celebrated star. You need to show the world what I know you’re capable of.” She hesitates for a moment, preparing to tell him something. Perhaps something she’s afraid he’s not ready for. “I’ve been giving this a great deal of thought, and I believe what you need is someone to go out there with you. Someone who has completely accepted you and can draw the public’s curiosity in a more positive way. Dampen their judgment.”

He looks up at her, but she dismisses the idea before he can even propose it. “No, it can’t be me. I’m seen as your handler. That won’t do. What you need is a pretty little planet revolving around your star. . . .”

The idea intrigues him. It makes him realize that he hungers for more than mere sustenance. He hungers for connection. He’s seen no one his age since his creation. His age, he’s decided, is sixteen. No one can tell him any different. To have a companion—one who was born, not made—would bring him one step closer to being truly human. Roberta has calculated right this time. This gives him a fair measure of motivation. Once more he reaches for his IV line.

“Cam, don’t,” pleads Roberta. “Please, don’t.”

“Don’t worry.” He disconnects the IV and gets out of bed for the first time in weeks. His joints ache almost as badly as his seams. He walks to the window and peers out. He wasn’t even aware of the time of day until now. Dusk. The setting sun hides behind a cloud just above the horizon. The sea shimmers, and the sky is a brilliant canvas of color. Could Roberta be right? Could he have as much of a claim on this world as anyone else? Could he have more?

“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.