“Back up,” said Xochi. “You said the cure was built into the Partials—why were you trying to get it from these three?”

“You’ve answered your own question,” said Nandita.

“We’re Partials,” said Ariel, keeping her eyes fixed on Nandita. “Your little Partial orphanage.” Her mind reeled at the revelation, but her anger kept her focused—she’d hated Nandita for so long, concocted so many theories about her behavior, that this new shock was all too easy to believe. “How could you do this to us? We treated you like a mother!”

“I can’t be a Partial,” said Isolde, the hurt obvious in her voice. “I’m not, I’m . . . I’m pregnant. Partials are sterile.” She was shaking and laughing and crying all at once. “I’m a human, like everybody else.”

“I’ve watched them grow up,” said Kessler. “Partials don’t grow.”

“These are new models,” said Nandita. “The first generations were created for the war, but everyone knew the war couldn’t last forever. ParaGen was a business, and Partials were a product, and the board of directors was always looking ahead to the next season’s hot new thing. What do you do with BioSynth technology when you don’t need any more soldiers?”

Ariel felt nauseated, feeling suddenly alien in her own skin. “We were children.” She grimaced. “You were selling children?”

“We were creating Partials that people could love,” said Nandita. “Strong, healthy children who could be adopted and raised just as human children—filling a market need, which is how we could convince our bosses to pay for it, while at the same time assimilating Partials, and the thought of Partials, into the ranks of humanity. The children we created were the missing link that would take Partials from an alien horror to a simple part of everyday life. They were as human as we could make them—they could learn and grow, they could age, they could even procreate.” She gestured at Isolde. “On top of that, they had all the benefits of being a Partial: stronger bodies and bones, more efficient muscles and organs, better senses and sharper minds.”

“And a death sentence after twenty years,” said Xochi.

“No,” said Nandita, “no expiration date. Everything about the new models was designed to match or improve on human life; there were no limitations, no hedging our bets with a Failsafe.”

“You weren’t just building children,” said Ariel, “you were rebuilding the human race.”

Nandita said nothing.

“It’s not true,” said Isolde, her voice rising. “None of what you’ve said is true. You’re a crazy old woman and you’re a liar!”