Luca Read Free Page B

far, he’s shown more interest in her brains than anything else. It’s given her an opportunity to escape the constant gaze of others and find temporary relief in the semi-seclusion of her office. And that’s the way she likes it. For now, she can stay inside and bury herself in her work.
    Unfortunately, it’s not a long-term solution.
    Her gaze wanders to the brown smudge on the far horizon, beyond the thin edge of civilization that clings to the coast, in the direction of the lawless interior of the continent, long abandoned by the old United States of America.
    A place known simply as the Zone.
    No longer united, the amber waves of grain and lush fields of corn have given way to deserts, desolation and death.
    The Zone is home to bandits, outlaws, scavengers.
    On every continent, it’s essentially the same story. Civilization ends within a few dozen miles of the ocean.
    Yet, in spite of the scary stories, in spite of the universal revulsion in the City for the Zone, it carries a certain appeal for Qaara. She’s dreamed of it more than once. A place where she could leave all her prisons behind and become a new person.
    To finally be an individual and not an object.
    Someday, she tells herself, she will find the courage to get away, maybe even go off-grid for a while. Find herself.
    Qaara shakes her head to clear the images. Daydreaming has become too much of a habit lately.
    Time for a quick diversion to clear her mind.
    Slipping out of her lab coat, Qaara walks along the window to the far end of the office in a black leather bodysuit, the only outer symbol of her inner desire for rebellion. Never mind that it’s the current fashion for young professional women in the City, almost a requirement. It had taken courage to make the purchase, to allow herself the luxury of dressing in fashion. To feel a connection.
    If her father knew, he would scold her. He would tell her to live above others. To be better than they are.
    Her palm presses a white square, and the ceiling pulls away to reveal a three-story climbing wall. Organic finger holds push through the soft surface of the wall. A harness drops down on the end of a blue cord, and she steps into it, legs first, and pulls it around her waist, securing the clasp with a click.
    She had it installed a month ago. Now she climbs at least twice a day for exercise and to release stress.
    Concentrating on the image of a spider as her inspiration, Qaara makes it to the top and pushes away, dangling on the blue cord and dropping slowly to the floor.
    Too easy.
    “Difficulty grade five,” she says.
    Two-thirds of the holds on the wall melt away.
    That’s more like it.
    This time, it takes three minutes to reach the top. When she does, she pushes off and drops back to the floor, out of breath and refreshed.
    Wiping away the sweat beads on her forehead, she walks back to the center of the office, threads her arms through the lab coat and grabs a slate off the desk.
    “Another all-nighter, Ms. Kapoor?”
    The male voice through the open door startles her, but she’s had a lot of practice hiding her emotions and does a good job of masking any surprise. Lab coat hanging askew, the bodysuit beneath is in full view. Horrified by this breach of protocol, she twists and pulls in an attempt to cover up. The slate slips from her fingers and clatters to the floor.
    She bends to retrieve it, taps its surface and the holo of the molecule disappears.
    She turns, and her gaze falls on a man leaning against the doorway, mid-twenties, arms folded, blue overalls slightly open at the chest and stretched thin over a muscular frame. Dark hair down to his shoulders. It’s the kind of body one might expect on a WFL footballer whose parents could afford the price of pre-embryonic genetic tweaking, but it looks strangely out of place on a man from the cleaning staff.
    A mere sweeper from the Fringe.
    “I’m sorry. Did someone send for you?” Qaara avoids eye contact and slips the slate into a large