Chimera

By Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Gen wishes she could escape that horrible day, the day she lost her world. Medical advances can rebuild her body but not her devastated psyche. For that, she needs therapy. And her therapist insists that she care for another creature—a chimera. Soon, Gen discovers that humanity hides in the most unexpected places.
With “Chimera,” Kristine Kathryn Rusch delivers a haunting tale of love, loss and healing while expertly navigating the ethical debate about medical experimentation.
“Kristine Kathryn Rusch is one of the best writers in the field.”
—SFRevu

• Language: English
• Publisher: WMG Publishing
• Release date: Jan 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310429347

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

New York Times bestselling author Kristine Kathryn Rusch writes in almost every genre. Generally, she uses her real name (Rusch) for most of her writing. She publishes bestselling science fiction and fantasy, award-winning mysteries, acclaimed mainstream fiction, controversial nonfiction, and the occasional romance. Her novels have made bestseller lists around the world and her short fiction has appeared in eighteen best of the year collections. She has won more than twenty-five awards for her fiction, including the Hugo, Le Prix Imaginales, the Asimov's Readers Choice award, and the Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Readers Choice Award.   

Book preview

Chimera

Chimera

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

WMG Publishing, Inc.

Contents

Chimera

Newsletter sign-up

Also by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

About the Author

Chimera

THE CAR STOPPED on the rain-soaked side street. Ancient oaks covered the road like a poorly maintained roof, making a dark day seem even darker. Gen checked the guidance system on her new Toyota. Everything seemed to be working properly. She peered through the water-streaked windshield, and saw only 20 th-century farmhouses, lovingly restored and painted nice sedate colors—brown and tan and the occasional white. Not that the colors made much of a difference in this weather.

Sometimes it felt as if she were trapped in darkness, as if the gray netherworld of an Oregon winter would never end. Dr. Prichard wanted her to go to Hawaii or the southwest to soak up some light, but Gen felt as if she didn’t deserve light—at least, not yet.

In her right hand, Gen still held the piece of paper Dr. Prichard had given her. The paper was crumpled now and the doctor’s bold scrawl smeared. The paper hadn’t been necessary. Dr. Prichard, at Gen’s request, had her computer send the address to Gen’s car. But these days, Gen liked double- and triple-backups, especially those that could not be wiped out in an instant. Dr. Prichard said it was a reaction to the accident, a passing insecurity, brought on by Gen’s heightened knowledge of the fragility of life.

She was shivering. The car had shut off, and the February chill was beginning to permeate the plush interior. The car’s computer beeped. In another three minutes, it would beep again and then, in its polite androgynous voice, would ask if she wanted to leave the neighborhood. If she’d known when she bought the car that she had to inform it each time she just wanted to sit with all the systems off, she would have thought twice about buying it. But she hadn’t discovered that feature until a week after the papers were signed. By then, it was too much hassle to take it back.

She glanced at the paper again. Part of the reason she was delaying was that she had expected a commercial neighborhood, or at least one that was part of a research park. She hadn’t expected a residential street, not from Dr. Prichard’s descriptions.

The other reason was harder to admit: she didn’t want a companion, particularly not one that had been assigned to her. She had told Dr. Prichard that she would be perfectly fine living alone.

The car beeped a second time, but before the voice could make its request, Gen grabbed the door handle and let herself out.

The rain was cold. It came with a wind strong enough to make the drops slash her despite the canopy of trees. Her coat sealed at her wrists and waist, and a hood slipped over her head. She pushed the material back down. Not even her clothing allowed her