CHAPTER SIX

THIS TIME PETROSIAN GREETED us in street clothes, or at least his closest approximation. The polyester britches, wifebeater, and leather suspenders reminded me of the old men patrolling the stoops and storefronts of the streets where I grew up. I hadn’t seen such a determined throwback since I left my aunt and uncle’s to join the military.

On noticing our critical eyes, he straightened his posture, sucked in his gut, and snorted. “Getting old isn’t all rainbows and unicorn farts.”

Evie and I stumbled over each other to break the awkward silence. “Nice to meet you.”

“You look good, Grish.” I stuck out my hand in a humble attempt to leap past the threats and attempted murder.

Still standing in the doorway, he studied our outstretched hands. His pained expression seemed to indicate an internal struggle over whether the decontamination shower could be put back on the table. “Brownnoser.” Lightning quick, he gave my hand a single shake and let go. He took Evie’s hand and held it, staring at her. “She doesn’t look anything like you.”

Finally he nodded to himself and let go. “Strong Jewish nose, Middle Eastern features. I like her.” He turned, indicating we should follow. “Too bad she’s got de novo.”

“Pardon me?” I quickened my pace to keep up with the old man as he scuttled down a metal corridor. Evie looped her arm through mine.

“De novo. Dominant autosomal disorder—”

“I know what it is.”

“Obviously. So why are you asking me?”

“I’m not asking—”

“You can’t deny she has it.” He stopped in front of the third door we had passed on our right.

Knowing I had the twitch gave him a fifty-fifty chance of guessing right. The fact he did meant nothing. But it was his confidence. The way he referenced de novo told me he knew something about it, something not in the textbooks. “How did you—?”

He swung open the door and rushed inside. “This is the closest thing I’ve got to a kitchen. Nothing in this wing was designed for guests.” He let the statement hang in the air before stooping to dig in a disheveled metal locker. His head still in the locker, he continued, “Supposed to have a cafeteria in the other wing, but I haven’t finished it yet. Gotta build a day care for annoying . . .”

He jerked his head out, a pair of chipped mugs in one hand. “Either one of you good with construction?” He handed a mug to Evie. “You can run a welder. Might have to cut your hair. On second thought . . .” He took the mug back and placed it on the counter.

Evie and I looked at each other. More and more, my thoughts migrated toward disentangling ourselves from the old man rather than recruiting him. Without a clue how to do either, I shrugged and gave Evie the nod.

“Uncle Grisha,” she started. “Can I call you that?”

He filled a mug from a spigot built into a sink. “You just did. Of all the asinine questions . . .”

“May I call you that?”

“I suppose you might as well.” He placed the mug on the small table built into the opposite wall. “Here’s your coffee.” He looked up at me with a knowing grin. “Your father never did want you to have this stuff. Had to go back last year to stock up.” He filled the second mug while we watched. “Damn if I’m still not gonna have enough, now that we’re splitting it three ways.”

“Grish,” I spoke firmly, “we’re not staying.”

He spun on me, sloshing coffee onto his hand and swearing. “The only reason you’re alive is I couldn’t bring myself to cook old Doc’s only son and granddaughter. The least you can do is help me preserve the future of humanity.”

I ran my hands through my hair, the conversation going in circles. “That’s why we’re not staying, you daft old—”

“Dammit, Buck, I’m not asking.”

I tried to level my voice and my temper. “Dr. Petros—”

“You’re the hound who buried his head in the fox den.” He raised his voice, eyes wild beneath bushy, gray brows. “You did this! A twitcher and his de novo girl—of all the useless genetic driftwood to wash up on my shore. I took you in out of respect for Doc.”

“You crazy son of a—”

“Daddy.” Evie grabbed my wrist, shaking her head.

Petrosian grilled both of us, eyes bugging out of his head. “I’m not the crazy one here. I’ve got enough sperm and eggs in the freezer to cook up a human omelet big enough to repopulate Utah. It’s not much, but it’s a start. It’s a feasible plan, which is more than I can say for yours.”

He pranced around the room, returning to his singsong voice. “No. You show up on my porch yammering about traveling to the AOZ to stop the desert god himself. And you have the nerve to call me crazy.”

I took the arabica coffee from his hand and sipped it. “I’m sorry. We were wrong to bother you.”

“Oh, for Jiminy Christmas, aren’t you the saint of false apologies? Let me show you something.” He filled his own mug while mumbling angrily. “Bring the damn coffee.”

After he stormed out the door, Evie and I sighed simultaneously. “We’ve come this far.”