Acknowledging him, she punched in the four-digit code to his door lock and entered his office. Only one window now separated them, and smiling, she went to the communication panel, as familiar with his office as her own. “Hi, Daniel,” she said, making sure her cleavage wasn’t showing as she leaned over the mic. “How long until you’re done?”
Daniel turned from his setup, fingers clumsy in the one-size-fits-all glove. “Trisk? What can I do for you this morning?”
Stifling another yawn, she raised her wrist and tapped her watch. “It’s noon. We have a plate of mac and cheese upstairs waiting for us. You promised.”
“Noon?” Daniel turned to his assistant. “Larry, why didn’t you tell me it was that late?”
“Sorry, Doctor.” Larry’s sour voice came faintly over the open channel. “I thought you were going to skip lunch. Again.”
Trisk hid a smile at the faint accusation in the man’s voice, but Daniel was known to forget to eat lunch. Go home at the end of the day. Have a life. She made a mental note to set aside a piece of cake for Larry as well.
“Oh, jeez . . .” Daniel turned back to Larry, clearly not wanting to leave him to work alone. “Trisk, can you give us another five minutes?”
“Just go,” the assistant said in resignation. “I can finish this myself. Probably faster than with your help, even.”
“Thanks, Larry. I appreciate that.”
Trisk rocked back as Daniel gave Larry some last instructions, moving slowly and awkwardly to the decontamination room. Knowing it would take him some time to work through the SOP, Trisk settled herself at Daniel’s terminal and punched in his password.
Fingers moving adroitly over the keyboard, she brought up the latest coding for the protein coat around the tactical virus he was working with. Again, she glanced at Daniel, his helmet off now as he closed his eyes against the glare of the decontamination light and scrubbed at his scalp as if he were in the shower. Returning to the screen, she compared the code to the one hand-printed on a scrap of paper she took from her pocket.
Perfect. Her last tweak to his work had taken. Now, even if his tactical virus should be deployed, it would have no effect whatsoever on her people. They were invisible to it. Ghosts.
Reaching out a sliver of her awareness, she touched her mind to the nearest ley line, squirming when the broken feel of it eased into her. The lines were fractured on the West Coast due to the constant mini-quakes. Both the movement and the slippery feel to the lines were big reasons why all the elven labs were east of the Mississippi, and though their vagrant feel still gave her the willies, she’d gotten better at using them the last couple of years.
Tightening her grip on the one running through Sacramento, she channeled the slip of energy through her, supplementing her body’s natural energy. “Flagro,” she whispered to direct the influx of tingly power going into her hands.
The paper with its incriminating message of A’s, G’s, T’s, and C’s burst into flame, consumed so quickly it didn’t even singe her fingers.
Sighing in relief, she waved the smoke to nothing. It was done. Sa’han Ulbrine had been correct in that human genetic studies needed to be watched, and she’d first brought Daniel’s research to the enclave’s attention almost eighteen months ago. Sa’han Ulbrine had advised her to completely sabotage the tactical virus, even after she’d explained that its intent was to sicken, not kill. She’d argued that in a world focused on biological weapons instead of space exploration, this was the first time anyone had tried to develop a tactical virus instead of a lethal one. Success here, she argued, might turn other human labs in a similar nonlethal direction.
To her surprise, the political body of elves had listened to her petition, accepting her plan to adapt the outer protein coat of Daniel’s virus to make not just elves, but all paranormal species immune to it. That her research was being shared with every enclave-run lab in the states was heady. That the enclave had trusted her to complete the modifications before the virus went to live trials had worried her. Now that it was done, she was more than a little relieved.
Even to humans, the virus would do little harm, causing twenty-four hours of frightening skin eruptions, fatigue, and fever. Its effect was toxin-based, and with no host or natural carriers, it was short-lived and unable to reproduce outside of the lab. If the upcoming live tests went well, it would become the first of a proposed line of tactical biological weapons designed to down anything from a plane to an entire city held by a foreign force.
And now, she and all her people were utterly immune.
She knew her face still held the pleasure of that when the door to the decontamination booth hissed open. “Sorry about that,” Daniel said, still arranging his short blond hair as he padded on sock feet to where his shoes waited. “You should have knocked on my door earlier.” He looked at his thick watch, brow rising. “I didn’t realize it was that late.”
Trisk pushed back from the desk, quashing a flash of guilt for her tweaks, some made with his knowledge, some without. “I know you get busy. Besides, they won’t put anything away for another half hour.”
“True, but I hate pulling the skin off the pudding.” Sighing, he bent low over his knees, his sweater in warm shades of autumn matching his brown trousers. “I’m going to request a live trial next month,” he said as his long fingers manipulated the thin shoelaces into behaving. “Maybe Cuba? It’d be nice not to have to worry about that anymore.” He grinned as he looked up at her. “You shouldn’t have the only project making money.”