First Contact by Kim Harrison

Author:Kim Harrison [Harrison, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2024-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

Ten

“They’re not a biological threat,” Renee said, her fork dangling from her hand as Jackson focused on his lasagna with a disturbing intensity. A chuckle rose from the far end of the table, and her face warmed: Monroe and Hancock. It didn’t feel like a coincidence that Lieutenant General Monroe showed up this morning. Jackson had outright blackmailed her into leaving the raspy-voiced, supercilious man alone. Yasmin had taken one look at her, muttered some excuse, and then left, sending an aide to collect a tray instead. Snake snot. They were all snake snot. No one wanted to admit they had known, and no one wanted to talk about why the two groups were really being kept apart. She’d worked with local populations with more disease.

The folder with her latest toxicology report sat on the table beside her. Hancock and Monroe were using theirs as place mats. It was the only contact that Jackson would allow. “Have you even looked at my toxicology reports?” she asked Jackson loudly, really talking to Monroe, and Jackson’s gaze flicked to the report at his elbow.

“Yes, and it’s not up to me,” he said. “Let the wheels turn, Renee.”

Annoyed, Renee watched him cut his lasagna into identical, fork-size bites and eat them with a methodical precision. The cupcake on his tray was an unusual addition. She’d already eaten hers—first, as was her tradition. “I can’t in good faith keep working with one group while I know the other is being treated like lab rats,” she added, and he looked up. But not all the frustrated anger his eyes held was aimed at her.

“You don’t know that, and stop talking to Monroe. I’m the one in front of you.”

“Then why won’t they let them even see each other?” she said, voice low. “Jackson, I can’t go down to quarantine and tell August that they can’t speak to each other over a vid link because Hancock is worried about an invented contamination that can pass through four inches of glass.”

“Don’t make me confine you to quarters,” he said, a blush creeping up his neck.

“For speaking the truth?” Ticked, she leaned across the table until she could smell Jackson’s aftershave mixing with the sweet scent of the red velvet cake and sour cream frosting. “I am not the one lying here.”

But Renee’s bluster faltered when Hancock set his fork down with a sharp tap. “They invaded us, Doctor,” he said, clearly having been listening to every word. “Not the other way around. We will not introduce the two populations to each other until Bordoe regains consciousness and a mental attack can be ruled out.”

“Thirty-four people are not an invasion,” she protested.

“There are thirty-one,” Hancock said, a knuckle grazing his mustache as he glanced at Monroe. “And neither were three small ships from England, or two boats from France carrying Christianity. Or any other time population pressure in a closed system became so great that the marginalized and profiteers fled to new territory.”

Frustrated—and heeding Jackson’s warning glare—Renee took the lid off her bowl of blueberries and stabbed one with her fork.

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