The Arrogant Genius (The Lost Planet 8)

“Yes, sir.” I give a mock salute.

At my words, his shoulders stiffen, then he stalks off to his make-shift desk. Was it the salute, or did he like hearing me call him sir? If I can’t kill him, maybe I can tease him to death until he comes up with a cure. If I don’t, I may go a little mad from having to put up with him.

It’s going to be a long race to the cure.

2

Avrell

Six Solars Until Kevins Arrive…

I’ve wasted too much time. Testing and retesting. Nothing makes sense. Hadrian’s and Theron’s blood seems no different than my own. They appear to be immune, though I can’t know if that applies to me too. And while many of the females contracted The Rades and have been terribly ill, and in some cases perished, some like Zoe also seem immune.

There is nothing under the magnascope that shows any correlation.

Exposure seems important, though. As though some beings—both mort and human—have immunities that quickly defend The Rades. I’m missing something and it’s driving me rekking mad.

It’s been at least eight solars since I traveled to Exilium with the purpose of discovering a cure. I’ve been nothing but a failure. More questions than answers.

My mask is suffocating me. I wear it at all times, protecting myself from the unknown. With each solar that passes, I grow more agitated at having to wear it. What would happen if I just ripped it off and shared the air with the ill? Would I fall victim to the disease or would my body fight like so many others have?

Time is moving by all too quickly.

The Kevins will be here before we know it. Oz has been working diligently on the weapon that I am certain he’ll perfect soon. It’s my hope that he’ll kill them, and it’ll no longer be of our concern.

Our concern is life.

The continuation of our species and the hybrids so many are giving birth to. Molly just had not one, but two, mortlings yesterday. Lyric and Willow are pregnant now too. Our future is precious and delicate, barely balanced on a mountain of what-ifs and a whole rekking lot of hope.

We need certainty.

We need a cure.

We need our population to grow and thrive and once again overtake this planet that rightfully belongs to us.

Think, Avrell. Think.

Perspiration rolls down my temple, tickling my flesh. I need to breathe and think. My stomach grumbles. And eat.

“Here,” Zoe snaps, dropping a plate of seared meat on my desk, though I don’t know from which beast it comes from. “Compliments of Hadrian’s recent hunt. Take a break in your room so you can unmask and eat.”

Normally, I have words for her. Lots of them. This solar, I am weary.

“Many thanks, stormy one.”

She flinches like I’ve struck her. Immediately, concern washes over me.

“What is it?” I ask, cocking my nog to the side to assess her for signs of illness. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Her gray eyes are blazing with intensity as she narrows them at me. “I was thinking you were the unwell one.”

I rise from my seat and take a step toward her, making a mental list of all that seems to be wrong with her.

Hunching shoulders.

Almost sad frown.

Dark rings around her eyes.

Defeat in her gray eyes that have lost their fire from moments before.

“I’m on the cusp,” I murmur as I step closer, wishing I could scent her without the mask between us. “I can feel it. I just…I need to think. Time is slipping away and it’s rekking distracting.”

Her features soften, making her seem so delicate. I have the urge to peel away my glove and touch her skin to see how it feels. Would she feel softer than the other females I’ve come in contact with?

“I…” she trails off. “I need to go check on Julie.”

As soon as she scurries off, I frown in confusion. Did we…Did we just converse without arguing? We must both truly be losing ourselves to the madness of this disease we can’t seem to figure out.

I sit back down, staring at the meat on my plate that is blackened much like how we cook our sabrevipe meat. I didn’t know sabrevipes migrated out this way. For eight solars I’ve taken each meal alone, in the safety of my room here at Exilium. The thought of having to do it again seems…tiring.

I could eat here.

Take my mask off.

Breathe in her lingering scent.

My mind recoils at the thought because I’ve spent my entire lifetime protecting myself from harmful diseases and pathogens and radiation. Taking off my mask in an office just a few steps away from the Medical Bay full of extremely ill patients is the absolute definition of madness.

I might as well inject the disease right into my vein.

Time pauses.

Zoe did it. In some misguided effort to learn how The Rades attacks, and to cure it. She was lucky because it didn’t affect her in the least. But it makes me wonder. When I’d taken a look at her blood samples, nothing looked amiss aside from the fact her blood cells were redder and more plentiful. There isn’t a way to add more blood cells into a human or mort, giving them cells like hers. She just is.