Isabelle translated. “No,” Marianne said. “Tell her it’s not a question of personnel but of time to grow the cultures.”
“I understand. Then you must work. As soon as Noah-mak arrives, send him to me. Now we will talk about who gets the new vaccines you will create.”
“One thing more,” Marianne said, in English. “Does she understand that the synthesized vaccine proved effective in leelees, but that it has not been tested in humans? That we don’t actually know how or even if it will work? There are strains of flu that mutate so fast we can’t—”
Isabelle put her hand on Marianne’s arm. “She knows, Marianne. Believe me, she knows. She—”
Branch burst in without knocking. Salah’s heart began a slow, painful thud in his chest. The young assistant trembled and his eyes practically rolled in his head. “I only left for a minute! When Claire—Dr. Patel”—he blushed a deep, mottled crimson—“wanted to go outside to see what happened, I didn’t want her to go, after the bomb I mean because it seemed too dangerous even though a lot of people ran out and then Rangers came through the compound to check it out, so I thought it was all safe, and everything was so confused—I ran after Dr. Patel and I must have left the door unlocked—”
Marianne seized Branch’s arm. “What happened? Are the cages with infected leelees—”
“No, no,” Branch said. “The cages are intact. But the safe was open. No live spores were taken, but all the original vaccines are gone. Stolen.”
It took a moment for Salah to process this: stolen. By someone inside the compound. The Kindred scientists, who were the only ones who needed it; all the Terrans were—probably—already immune. Who could possibly—
Isabelle’s face had gone rigid as stone. She said, “Find Austin. Branch, Salah, Claire—”
“We’ll all look,” Claire said.
But a thorough search of Little Lab, of Big Lab, of every bunk room and closet, and Austin could not be found.
CHAPTER 11
Traveling at night was thrilling. It would have been better, of course, if he had night-vision goggles like the Rangers and if he didn’t have his mother with him, but it was still thrilling. Clouds obscured the moons but Austin carried a flashlight. Bringing his mother now was necessary because there might not be another chance to get away like this. Austin had actually slipped right out the unguarded north door, the one in the clinic kitchen, when everybody rushed outside to see the bomb and the Rangers had been too busy to keep people penned up. Austin was proud of his ability to elude them.
He was proud, too, of all the rest of his plans. He’d hidden in a dark orchard until everyone was asleep. Then he’d gone into his lahk, collected all the things for the journey, and left a note before waking his mother. “I’m going to take you to a safe place,” he’d whispered to her, pleased with how mature that sounded. Kayla had been confused at first, but she was in one of her quiet periods, and didn’t that piece of luck prove that he was doing the right thing? He was going to protect her. That’s what men did on Terra. Ranger Kandiss had said so, where lahks were different than here. This appealed to Austin, who wanted things different because he was.
“You all right, Mom?” he said in English.
She nodded, eyes on the ground. They were trudging through a field of sleeping skaleth¡, shadows against a line of trees. Kayla had said little. Austin knew the signs; soon his mother would start crying for no reason. He would be patient with her this time. Mature. He wasn’t a child anymore.
“Here, drink some water,” he said, offering her the canteen. “We still have a long way to go to safety.”
“Their next assault,” Owen said, “will be better planned. Only we’re not going to let them make another assault.”
Dawn stained the sky. Leo had had two hours sleep in the last twenty-eight. All through the night, the squad had maintained stepped-up surveillance. The refugee camp seethed with activity but no one stepped into the perimeter, and as far as Leo could tell, the activity was more about mourning than fighting.
Still, Owen was right. The camp held enough angry males of fighting age to mount another assault, and added to the desperation and boredom of every refugee camp that had ever existed would now be anger over the bomber that Leo had shot.
Not that the fucker hadn’t deserved it. If he’d been better at making bombs, Isabelle would be dead.
Still… these were people not used to fighting, pretty terrible at it, and told not to fight by their leader, the really old lady. Something didn’t quite add up here, but now wasn’t the time to figure it out.
Owen said, “We’re going into the camp for a search and seizure. All weapons, anything that looks like an IED or the makings for an IED. Standard search-and-seizure procedures.”
Leo blinked. There were four of them and at least five hundred people in the camp, whole lahks, with more arriving every day. He risked a sideways glance at Zoe. She shifted forward onto the balls of her feet, eager. This was what Rangers trained for; the Seventy-Fifth was basically a direct-action raid force.
He said, “Sir, permission to ask questions.”
“Go ahead, Brodie.”
“Are we also looking for the missing kid, Austin Rhinehart, or the vaccines he stole?”
“No. Rhinehart isn’t part of our protectee group. If you find him, you can report his whereabouts to Dr. Bourgiba. But if Rhinehart is armed and he attacks, treat him like any other insurgent.”
The kid was thirteen. But again, Owen was right. In Brazil, rebels had used thirteen-year-olds as suicide bombers.
They received the rest of Owen’s OPORD, did the precombat inspection, and moved into the camp as the sun rose orange over the horizon.
Leo worked with Kandiss. They entered each tent, herded the males outside under Kandiss’s guard and the women, kids, and old men into a corner. Leo tore apart the tents’ interiors, which took about two minutes because there wasn’t much in any of them: sleeping mats too thin to hide weapons, cooking pots and dishes, food supplies in tightly woven baskets, clothing. A few books, toys, musical instruments. A radio, always. These people traveled light.
The women glared at him or cowered, and some of the youngest kids cried. Leo knew how he must look to them in his armor and helmet and weapons. In Brazil, he’d sometimes given candy to kids in the villages. Not here.
One little girl, bolder than the adults in her tent, stepped forward and shyly touched his boot.
No weapons or IED makings in the first eight tents. The camp was in chaos but it was a pretty controlled chaos—no resistance, no attacks. People stood where they were told and returned inside tents when the ends of rifles were waved in that direction. But Leo knew it wouldn’t last, and it didn’t.
When he emerged from the ninth tent, having found nothing, a group of Kindred rushed toward him. Kandiss turned from the men he had herded together. One of the rushers raised a pipe gun. At this range one of those could kill him, depending on what the fuck they’d devised for ammo. Leo shot him. The others dropped their weapons and raised their hands. From the corner of his eye, Leo caught movement. From another direction, an insurgent raised a pipe gun aimed at Kandiss. Before Leo could drop him, the man flew backward in a spray of…. piss?
No. Water. A group of three Kindred wielded a hose that shot out yellow water. The hoses were used to bring drinking, cooking, and bathing water to the camp from a pond, but Leo hadn’t realized they could deliver such force. The man on the ground writhed and screamed…. too much screaming. He clawed at his eyes. The water had some yellowish chemical in it.