with some genetically engineered psychopath? I have never been in a fight in my life. If someone hit me, I’d probably burst into tears. “I can’t learn karate or whatever that was in week! How on earth will I protect her?”
“Your guy’s an amateur. If he were experienced, Kitty’d be dead. I’d say he’s only been active a few months, at most. I’ve seen this before. I’ve been here before. Trust me.”
The casual use of “dead” and “Kitty” in the same sentence stirs something darkly territorial inside me. I remember what it felt like in Miriam’s alley memory, what I felt at the governor’s when I knew Kitty was in trouble and I couldn’t get to her. Perhaps I could fight.
“You’ll learn what you need to know. It’s different for all of us, but the ability is in your DNA. The fact that you can Transfer and Harvest is a sign that you’ll be a fast learner. They’re usually the last of our gifts to develop.” She nods at my hand. “This is going to need stitching.”
“Hospital?” The thought of having to leave the house and function around normal people renews my panic.
Miriam lifts latex gloves from her case and a packet of blue sutures. “I’ll do it.”
“You will?”
But she’s already pulling the gloves on, snapping them over her wrists. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this a lot – though that might not be so comforting. At least you’ll heal quickly.”
“What? Why?”
“Rapid regeneration is one of the perks of the synthetic gene. Here, lift my hem.”
I frown.
“My thigh. There’s barely a mark.”
Hesitant, I take the hem and slide the black silk up to her hip, expecting a sturdy bandage to unwind. There is no bandage. Just clear skin with nothing more than a faint pink line where the gash used to be. I drop the hem and slump back, my breath coming quick and shallow.
Miriam nods. “I know, right?” She splashes a cotton swab with antiseptic and sits to dab carefully at the mess on my thumb. “You won’t heal that fast. Your frequency sensitivity will need to mature, but it’ll come.”
“What sensitivity?”
“When Optimal bonds with our DNA, when it’s activated, it creates Electro-Telepathic Radiation. We generate a signal and develop a sensitivity to the ETR of others. It’s called AFS, Active Frequency Sensitivity. It’s what enables us to recognise our Spark and sense the threat of the Stray. It also creates telepathic receptors that trigger precognition. KMT and KMH were simply side effects, not intentional design elements, but they provide a pretty good indication of the strength of our signal and sensitivity.” She wads the blood-soaked cotton swab into a ball and tosses it into the sink.
“Telepathy?” I choke. An uncontrollable urge to laugh rises inside me and quickly drops away with a memory. “I could see what he was going to do, the blond guy in the alley. Is that telepathy?”
“Precognition.” Miriam opens another packet with her teeth and removes a syringe. Inserting the needle through the rubber head of the vial, she draws the plunger and gives me an assessing look, like she’s wondering how much more I can take. “Kind of hard to explain. Shields, with mature AFS, can read an opponent’s intent as they project it. But in the alley memory you experienced my precognition. I doubt you’d be able to do that yet yourself.” She holds the syringe to the light, taps the barrel, compresses the plunger and discharges a teardrop of anaesthetic, speaking almost to herself. “But then you shouldn’t be able to Transfer or Harvest at all – you don’t exactly fit the mould. You didn’t throw up when you transitioned and it wasn’t even like you had a seizure. You simply fainted.”
It had felt like an apocalyptic storm to me. “Throw up?”
“It’s a fairly common reaction to all the upheaval.”
I can imagine.
“Relax.”
I can’t.
She takes my hand and inserts the needle beneath the wound. The icy sting makes me
“Your guy’s an amateur. If he were experienced, Kitty’d be dead. I’d say he’s only been active a few months, at most. I’ve seen this before. I’ve been here before. Trust me.”
The casual use of “dead” and “Kitty” in the same sentence stirs something darkly territorial inside me. I remember what it felt like in Miriam’s alley memory, what I felt at the governor’s when I knew Kitty was in trouble and I couldn’t get to her. Perhaps I could fight.
“You’ll learn what you need to know. It’s different for all of us, but the ability is in your DNA. The fact that you can Transfer and Harvest is a sign that you’ll be a fast learner. They’re usually the last of our gifts to develop.” She nods at my hand. “This is going to need stitching.”
“Hospital?” The thought of having to leave the house and function around normal people renews my panic.
Miriam lifts latex gloves from her case and a packet of blue sutures. “I’ll do it.”
“You will?”
But she’s already pulling the gloves on, snapping them over her wrists. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this a lot – though that might not be so comforting. At least you’ll heal quickly.”
“What? Why?”
“Rapid regeneration is one of the perks of the synthetic gene. Here, lift my hem.”
I frown.
“My thigh. There’s barely a mark.”
Hesitant, I take the hem and slide the black silk up to her hip, expecting a sturdy bandage to unwind. There is no bandage. Just clear skin with nothing more than a faint pink line where the gash used to be. I drop the hem and slump back, my breath coming quick and shallow.
Miriam nods. “I know, right?” She splashes a cotton swab with antiseptic and sits to dab carefully at the mess on my thumb. “You won’t heal that fast. Your frequency sensitivity will need to mature, but it’ll come.”
“What sensitivity?”
“When Optimal bonds with our DNA, when it’s activated, it creates Electro-Telepathic Radiation. We generate a signal and develop a sensitivity to the ETR of others. It’s called AFS, Active Frequency Sensitivity. It’s what enables us to recognise our Spark and sense the threat of the Stray. It also creates telepathic receptors that trigger precognition. KMT and KMH were simply side effects, not intentional design elements, but they provide a pretty good indication of the strength of our signal and sensitivity.” She wads the blood-soaked cotton swab into a ball and tosses it into the sink.
“Telepathy?” I choke. An uncontrollable urge to laugh rises inside me and quickly drops away with a memory. “I could see what he was going to do, the blond guy in the alley. Is that telepathy?”
“Precognition.” Miriam opens another packet with her teeth and removes a syringe. Inserting the needle through the rubber head of the vial, she draws the plunger and gives me an assessing look, like she’s wondering how much more I can take. “Kind of hard to explain. Shields, with mature AFS, can read an opponent’s intent as they project it. But in the alley memory you experienced my precognition. I doubt you’d be able to do that yet yourself.” She holds the syringe to the light, taps the barrel, compresses the plunger and discharges a teardrop of anaesthetic, speaking almost to herself. “But then you shouldn’t be able to Transfer or Harvest at all – you don’t exactly fit the mould. You didn’t throw up when you transitioned and it wasn’t even like you had a seizure. You simply fainted.”
It had felt like an apocalyptic storm to me. “Throw up?”
“It’s a fairly common reaction to all the upheaval.”
I can imagine.
“Relax.”
I can’t.
She takes my hand and inserts the needle beneath the wound. The icy sting makes me
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