Dan Wells - Partials

DAN WELLS is the author of the John Cleaver series: I AM NOT A SERIAL KILLER, MR. MONSTER, and I DONT WANT TO KILL YOU. He has been nominated for both the Hugo and the Campbell Award and has won two Parsec Awards for his podcast Writing Excuses. He plays a lot of games, reads a lot of books, and eats a lot of food, which is pretty much the ideal life he imagined for himself as a child. You can find out more online at www.fearfulsymmetry.net.

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T he book you hold in your hands represents the collaborative effort of a great many people, in whose company I count myself lucky to be. First and foremost is my editor, Jordan Brown, who did so much, and with so much passion, that we should really be listing him as a full collaborating creator. Similar credit goes to Ruta Rimas, who contributed so much to the creation of the book and our early, formative ideas for it. She switched publishers halfway through, moving on to new projects, but her psychic fingerprints can still be seen on every page of the book.

Many friends and readers provided their own insight to the manuscript, including such personal luminaries as Steve Diamond, Ben Olsen, Danielle Olsen, Peter Ahlstrom, Karen Ahlstrom, Ethan Skarstedt, Alan Layton, Kaylynn Zobell, Brandon Sanderson, Emily Sanderson, and my brother Rob Wells. Id further like to thank some of the artists whose work had an influence on this particular book, with special gratitude to Ursula K. Le Guin, Ronald Moore, Kevin Siembieda, and Muse.

This novel was greatly helped by the readers of my website, www.fearfulsymmetry.net, who helped name some of the key groups and concepts in the Partials world. The Hope Act was named by my wife, the Break came from Eric James Stone, and the Voice came from Michele Chiapetta. Thanks to them and to everyone else who gave us such amazing input; it was a fun crowdsource project and well definitely be doing it again.

As always, and perhaps most importantly, I couldnt have written this book, and certainly couldnt have done a very good job on it, without the invaluable assistance of the three women who make my life navigable: my agent Sara Crowe, my assistant Janella Willis, and my wonderful wife and the love of my life, Dawn.

As a final note, many thanks to Nick Dianatkhah, who is always on hand to die in whatever surprising and horrifying way a story may require.

N ewborn #485GA18M died on June 30, 2076, at 6:07 in the morning. She was three days old. The average lifespan of a human child, in the time since the Break, was fifty-six hours.

They didnt even name them anymore.

Kira Walker looked on helplessly while Dr. Skousen examined the tiny body. The nurseshalf of them pregnant as wellrecorded the details of its life and death, faceless in bodysuits and gas masks. The mother wailed despondently from the hallway, muffled by the glass. Ariel McAdams, barely eighteen years old. The mother of a corpse.

Core temperature ninety-nine degrees at birth, said a nurse, scrolling through the thermometer readout. Her voice was tinny through the mask; Kira didnt know her name. Another nurse carefully transcribed the numbers on a sheet of yellow paper. Ninety-eight degrees at two days, the nurse continued. Ninety-nine at four oclock this morning. One-oh-nine point five at time of death. They moved softly through the room, pale green shadows in a land of the dead.

Just let me hold her, cried Ariel. Her voice cracked and broke. Just let me hold her.

The nurses ignored her. This was the third birth this week, and the third death; it was more important to record the death, to learn from itto prevent, if not the next one, then the one after that, or the hundredth, or the thousandth. To find a way, somehow, to help a human child survive.

Heart rate? asked another nurse.

I cant do this anymore, thought Kira. Im here to be a nurse, not an undertaker

Heart rate? asked the nurse again, her voice insistent. It was Nurse Hardy, the head of maternity.

Kira snapped back to attention; monitoring the heart was her job. Heart rate steady until four this morning, spiking from 107 to 133 beats per minute. Heart rate at five oclock was 149. Heart rate at six was 154. Heart rate at six-oh-six was 72.

Ariel wailed again.

My figures confirm, said another nurse. Nurse Hardy wrote the numbers down but scowled at Kira.

You need to stay focused, she said gruffly. There are a lot of medical interns who would give their right eye for your spot here.

Kira nodded. Yes, maam.

In the center of the room Dr. Skousen stood, handed the dead infant to a nurse, and pulled off his gas mask. His eyes looked as dead as the child. I think thats all we can learn for now. Get this cleaned up, and prepare full blood work. He walked out, and all around Kira the nurses continued their flurry of action, wrapping the baby for burial, scrubbing down the equipment, sopping up the blood. The mother cried, forgotten and aloneAriel had been inseminated artificially, and there was no husband or boyfriend to comfort her. Kira obediently gathered the records for storage and analysis, but she couldnt stop looking at the sobbing girl beyond the glass.

Keep your head in the game, intern, said Nurse Hardy. She pulled off her mask as well, her hair plastered with sweat to her forehead. Kira looked at her mutely. Nurse Hardy stared back, then raised her eyebrow. What does the spike in temperature tell us?

That the virus tipped over the saturation point, said Kira, reciting from memory. It replicated itself enough to overwhelm her respiratory system, and the heart started overreaching to try to compensate.

Nurse Hardy nodded, and Kira noticed for the first time that her eyes were raw and bloodshot. One of these days the researchers will find a pattern in this data and use it to synthesize a cure. The only way theyre going to do that is if we? She paused, waiting, and Kira filled in the rest.

Track the course of the disease through every child the best we can, and learn from our mistakes.

Finding a cure is going to depend on the data in your hands. Nurse Hardy pointed at Kiras papers. Fail to record it, and this child died for nothing.

Kira nodded again, numbly straightening the papers in her manila folder.

The head nurse turned away, but Kira tapped her on the shoulder; when she turned back, Kira didnt dare to look her in the eye. Excuse me, maam, but if the doctors done with the body, could Ariel hold it? Just for a minute?

Nurse Hardy sighed, weariness cracking through her grim, professional facade. Look, Kira, she said. I know how quickly you breezed through the training program. You clearly have an aptitude for virology and RM analysis, but technical skills are only half the job. You need to be ready, emotionally, or the maternity ward will eat you alive. Youve been with us for three weeksthis is your tenth dead child. Its my nine hundred eighty-second. She paused, her silence dragging on longer than Kira expected. Youve just got to learn to move on.