Terminal Point by K.M. Ruiz Page B

was set at a higher temperature to accommodate her.
    Matron yawned through the preflight procedure. After the fifth yawn, she picked up a hypospray nearby and pressed it against her throat, dosing herself with a shot of adrenaline. A minute or so later, Lucas could feel the engines start up through the soles of his boots.
    â€œDidn’t think we’d make it this far,” Matron said as she settled her hands on the stick and activated the vertical takeoff and landing.
    â€œGet us in the air,” Lucas said.
    Matron did as she was told in silence, launching the shuttle and feeling the weight of the cargo in the jerk of the stick. They had a heavy load in the shuttle’s belly, one more precious than anything her scavengers had ever discovered in the broken, abandoned cities of America. For all the credit that the government issued, for all the elite perks that one could have by gaining entrance into the Registry, clean DNA wasn’t worth anything compared to what nine shuttles ferried out of Spitsbergen one late-August morning.
    Behind them, its doors shut but not locked, the Svalbard Global Seed and Gene Bank was just as silent, just as cold as it had been for centuries.
    They flew north, climbing over the Arctic Ocean, heading for the Pacific. The midnight sun guided their way, a constant bright circle beyond the clouds.

 
    PART TWO
    Cognizance
    Â 
    Â 
    SESSION DATE : 2128.03.18
    LOCATION : Institute of Psionics Research
    CLEARANCE ID : Dr. Amy Bennett
    SUBJECT : 2581
    FILE NUMBER : 251
    The doctor watches Aisling play with a deck of cards. The child’s small hands spread the plain, white rectangles across the table in a shapeless mess. She picks cards at random and lays them before her in a line.
    â€œYou never ask how I do it,” Aisling says as she pushes the cards together. “Why?”
    â€œWould you tell us if we did?” the doctor replies.
    The girl tucks a piece of dark hair behind one small ear, studying the cards. “No.”
    â€œThat’s why, Aisling.”
    â€œBut you’re a doctor. Doctors should ask questions.”
    â€œWe do.”
    â€œNot the right ones.” Aisling smiles as she flips over a card, revealing a crimson red square on its face and nothing else. “Pick a card, any card. I can tell you the future.”
    â€œWould it be the right one?” The doctor leans forward to catch the child’s gaze with her own. “Would you help us survive?”
    Aisling flips more cards over, one at a time, until a line of shapes and symbols lie before her. She picks a card seemingly at random, holding it up beside her bleached-out violet eyes, the color of the shape a deep, dark blue. “My brother has eyes like this.”
    â€œWhere is Matthew, Aisling?”
    Aisling scoots the card as far across the table as her small arm will stretch. “You can’t have him.”

 
    SIX
    AUGUST 2379
THE HAGUE, THE NETHERLANDS
    Beneath the Peace Palace lay a city of underground tunnels and bunkers. Its protective warrens once housed thousands of people during the Border Wars and still held their descendants today. The most well-guarded bunkers were reserved for those who served on the World Court. The business of ruling, however, was always conducted aboveground.
    Sharra Gervais was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and gorgeous, human down to her very registered DNA. She was Erik’s wife, his perfect piece of femininity; a woman who spent the majority of her time raising a daughter that he rarely saw or interacted with unless for a public event. The world press adored those family moments; Sharra hated the lie she was living. But she knew her role and played it well, portraying the good wife the world expected her to be. She sat in the area reserved for the families of those serving on the World Court, hands clasped in her lap, looking at her husband as he stood before the cameras of the world press.
    He still wore his robes of office,