The Genesis Code

by Lisa von Biela

  Molly sat down, stared down into her wineglass silently for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how bad it was. Are you sure you’re OK?”

  “Oh, I’m great. Just fucking great. I have all the time in the world…to myself.” Sheila trailed off, fighting back tears. “Hey, I’m just fine. Dig in. I worked hard on this ziti. Let me know if it’s too cold, and I’ll ’wave it.”

  Molly ate in silence, while Sheila stared into space and sipped her wine.

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  Sheila glanced at her untouched plate of food. “No, I guess not.”

  “You really need to talk to Mark about this. It’s obviously not working out if the job is doing this to him.”

  “Would you drop the subject, please? It’s kind of hard to talk with him about it when he can’t talk about it.” Sheila noticed Molly’s puzzled expression. “That’s right. He had to sign a non-disclosure agreement that said he can’t even talk about his work with me. So I’ve got only the most basic, public understanding of what he does. And that’s it. Everything else is off limits, he says, or he could be fired. How’s that?” She gulped some more wine, then flinched as she heard the back door slam shut.

  Mark walked in, looking haggard. His clothes were rumpled, his hair dirty. Sheila realized he probably ran out without showering that morning.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.” He didn’t even acknowledge Molly’s presence, just headed straight for his home office.

  “Um, maybe you guys need some time alone. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Molly slipped on her shoes and took her plate to the kitchen. Then she quickly and quietly left.

  Now the evening’s a total disaster, right on the heels of that horrendous drive home last night. Sheila got up and went to Mark’s office. Maybe it was time to force a discussion.

  She silently peered into the room to see what he was doing. He sat motionless, staring at his laptop screen.

  “What’s going on? Don’t you want dinner?” She tried to take a conciliatory tone.

  “Bring it in here for me, please. I need to watch some things,” he said, his eyes still locked onto the screen.

  “Can’t you have dinner at the table with me?”

  He turned to her with an accusing glare. “No. I already screwed up good last night. No one was watching the app, and it went down today—for five minutes!”

  “Five minutes? That’s not too bad, is it?”

  “Not too bad? That’s all it can be down for the entire fucking year! If it goes down again for even a heartbeat, it’s time for me to find another job. You can be sure of that. I got off easy this time, considering my own stupidity. There’ll be no second chances.” He turned back to his laptop, the light from the screen emphasizing the dark hollows beneath his eyes.

  Sheila retreated to get him a plate of food. Just how much less of a life was he supposed to have? She had to think of a way to let him know she’d be okay with him quitting—even though he’d never failed at or quit a job before. Somehow she’d have to overcome his pride.

  CHAPTER 10

  Mark sat in his cube and ran his new script. Again. Trying to fend off the painful tension in his muscles, he flexed his shoulders while he waited for it to finish. A few moments later, the debugger came up on his computer screen. Failed again! He smashed his fist down next to his mouse. The program was supposed to query one of the more esoteric system tables. If he could get it to work, it would give him an additional early warning trigger for OMTrade’s status—more insurance against downtime.

  An appointment reminder popped up on his screen and beeped, shattering his concentration. I don’t have time for this. He got up and stuck his head into Terry’s cube. “I’ll be back in a little while. It’s time for my doctor’s appointment.” He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance.

  Terry turned to him, his eyes widening as he looked at Mark. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Script’s still not working. And now I have to go to this goddamned appointment I don’t have time for. Other than that, things are great.”

  “You’ll get it figured out.”

  “I guess. I just want to get it finished and moved to production ASAP since they still haven’t tracked down the root cause of that outage.”

  “I’ll help you finish it up when you get back. Hey, let me know what they’re after, OK? My appointment’s later this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Mark turned and headed for the elevator. He’d stewed about the mandatory exams since Cline’s announcement. How dare they order him to submit to a physical on their whim! He wondered about their motivation, but had decided not to raise a flag by asking.

  Mark arrived at the second floor and strode quickly down the hall toward the on-site medical offices. This had better not take long.

  Alone in the waiting room, he checked his watch as he took his seat. Well, I’m on time. He glanced around. It looked like just about any other waiting room. Old, well-thumbed magazines on the tables, uncomfortable chairs to sit and fidget in, and the receptionist hidden behind a plate of frosted sliding glass. He picked up a copy of Time and flipped through two-month-old news.

  The glass slid open. “Mr. Weston? Doctor’s ready for you now.” He barely caught a glimpse of an older woman, gray hair pulled up in a bun like a schoolmarm, before the glass slid shut again.

  A tired-looking nurse wearing oversized purple scrubs opened the door and beckoned him in with a desultory gesture. She led him to Exam Room #2 and brusquely instructed him in the use of the flimsy cotton gown left waiting for him.

  Unimpressed with her bedside manner, Mark changed into the garment and sat on the paper-covered exam table. Slightly chilled, he looked around the room while he waited. Nothing special about it, either. The usual soaps, bottles of rubbing alcohol, needle disposal units, cotton balls and bandages.

  Except that it was on site at work. Convenience was one thing, but the idea of his personal medical information mingling with his work records disturbed him. He wondered how private his medical records would really be. Could Reyes see that information if he wanted to?

  He flinched as a knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Weston?”

  “Yes.”

  The doctor stepped in. “Hello, I’m Dr. Cleary.”

  Mark felt somewhat comforted by the doctor’s almost grandfatherly appearance: silver hair, black-framed cheater glasses propped midway down his nose, baggy white coat. He carried a clipboard that presumably held the information requested when he was notified about the appointment.

  Dr. Cleary’s bushy eyebrows rose as he peered over the tops of his glasses. “Well, Mr. Weston. Do you have any specific concerns, or is this purely an annual check-up?”

  “Just an annual check-up. They mandated them—as I’m sure you know.” Mark couldn’t quite eliminate the sarcasm from his voice.

  “All right then.” Dr. Cleary seemed to ignore his tone, continuing on in a friendly manner.

  As the exam continued in a perfunctory—almost assembly line—fashion, Mark dared to hope it was a stupid formality, not as invasive as he’d feared.

  Dr. Cleary stepped back and made some notes on his clipboard. “Everything looks fine, Mr. Weston. Now we need to get samples for a few lab tests, and you’ll be done.”

  “What kind of samples?” So much for minimizing the intrusion.

  “We need to do a few blood tests, routine panels. I’ll send the technician in shortly. You can get dressed while you wait for her. It was a pleasure meeting you.” He left the room and shut the door behind him.

  Mark quickly changed back into his slacks and polo shirt. The flimsy gown made him feel exposed and vulnerable—being at work while wearing it magnified the effect. He wondered if he’d ever be comfortable using an on-site doctor. Not that he had a choice if he wanted to take advantage of his coverage. He sat on the table to wait.

  Someone tapped on the door. “Mr. Weston, you ready for your tests?”

  “Y
eah, sure.”

  The nurse with the purple scrubs came in with a plastic carrier loaded with tubes and sterile-wrapped disposable needles. “This’ll only take a second.” She smiled wearily and said nothing more.

  Mark extended his arm and gritted his teeth.

  Sighing with exhaustion, Dr. Evan Cleary slumped into his chair in his small, utilitarian office. Medical journals littered his desk and crowded his bookshelves. He cleared just enough space to set down the paperwork from his last patient, so he could make notes before his next appointment.

  His workdays were usually quite relaxed—a few visits a day with stressed executives and technical types, nothing challenging. The schedule usually allowed him plenty of time to keep up with his journals. But now, every day was a marathon of cookie-cutter care. Greet, check, test, next. He shook his head. This was no way to practice medicine. But he couldn’t do anything about it. Word had come down from Harris himself that exams for all employees would be completed as soon as possible.

  Because of the sudden workload, he actually felt grateful for the presence of that sonofabitch Tyler for the first time. At least he could split the load with him and see the light at the end of the tunnel in a few weeks. He shuddered to think of how he would have gotten through all the exams unassisted.

  But he still resented how Tyler had been foisted upon him. Harris had called him in for a terse meeting and informed him that there would be some new employee medical program, and Tyler had been hired to guide the effort. He did not entertain questions; he merely ordered him to assist Tyler in the new program as needed.

  He scribbled a few notes in Weston’s file while he could still remember his face. Not much to say. He looked perfectly healthy, just stressed and worn. Like most of the employees here.

  Tyler poked his head in the door. “So, how did that last one check out?” His eyes sparked with the puerile enthusiasm of a teenaged boy in his first lab class; he stepped into the office without so much as asking if it was a convenient time.

  Evan suppressed his disgust with effort. The patients might as well be meat to that asshole. “Of course, we need to see his lab results, but he seems fine to me.”

  “Good, good. Wonder when they’ll give us a name?” Tyler spoke with such enthusiasm that Evan could almost picture him rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain.

  “A name for what?”

  Tyler looked confused. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what? All Harris told me was that he wanted all employees to have exams. He gave no reason.”

  Tyler put his hands on his hips and paused before speaking. “Harris wants a baseline of any health issues in the employee base, so we can make appropriate decisions about who should participate in the program.”

  “What program?”

  “This is confidential, of course. Harris hired me to implement special enabling technology I designed, one that will safely but effectively help his employees perform better. He was going to provide one or two names for the pilot program.” Tyler began to pace, overtaken with enthusiasm. “It’s a tiny chip which receives information and translates it so the brain can absorb it. Employees will receive training materials and learn effortlessly.”

  Evan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d heard of chip implants used for tracking or identification purposes, but he’d never heard of transmissions into the brain. He wondered what sort of bill of goods this guy had sold Harris. “And how does this work?”

  “It’s complicated, of course. Basically, the device is implanted right here—” He pointed to the spot right behind his ear. “—and it receives specially prepared transmissions, then forwards them on to the hippocampus, where they form memories, just as if the recipient had studied and learned the materials himself.”

  “When’s all this supposed to happen?”

  “I have two devices already prepared. I just have to customize them for the specific recipients. That should take me maybe forty-eight hours each.” Tyler glanced at his watch. “I’ll explain more later. My next appointment is waiting.”

  Evan sat in disbelief. Could such a device actually work? The idea of planting memories in the brain—even of something as benign as training materials—appalled him. But the idea of Harris buying into something like that…well, that was less surprising when he thought about it. He worked his employees to the bone as if they were his personal property. What would stop him from using them as guinea pigs?

  Evan hoped Tyler was full of crap.

  CHAPTER 11

  Mark started the script and held his breath. He’d hurried back to his cube after his visit with Dr. Cleary, then spent the next hour re-examining the code in excruciating detail. Once he spotted it, the bug stood out like a beacon. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t found it sooner; the looming physical must have distracted him more than he realized.

  The script finished without invoking the debugger. This time, the results were exactly as he’d intended. He leaned back in his chair and sighed with relief. Now all that remained was to route it through QA and set it up to run automatically in production. The alerts it provided would buy him just a bit more advance warning in the event of another system malfunction.

  Looking pale, Terry tapped on the edge of Mark’s cube. “Hey, you got a minute?”

  “Yeah, sure. I just got the script working.”

  “Good deal.” Terry sounded like the news didn’t register with him.

  “What’s the matter? Sit down, you don’t look so good.”

  Terry came in and sat in Mark’s guest chair. “I’m OK, I guess. Well, physically. I just came back from my exam. It was…strange.”

  “What do you mean? Mine was pretty run-of-the-mill, though I could have lived without the blood tests. The doctor seemed a little rushed, is all.”

  “Well, the exam itself was pretty routine. It was the doctor. He seemed to be…looking for something. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

  “Oh? We couldn’t have had the same doctor. Mine was an older guy. He didn’t seem interested in finding anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Sounds like you had Cleary. He’s all right. I’ve seen him a few times. Mine was a younger guy, in his forties. He seemed wound a little tight. I just got a really weird feeling—that it was more of an evaluation than an exam.”

  “Well, the whole thing about the exams being forced on us is weird. I still wonder why they did that.”

  Terry frowned, then looked at Mark as if a new idea had struck him. “I’ll bet they’re trying to see who’s closest to burnout, so they can make sure they get rid of them before they make a major blunder. That would be right in character for this place. And I’ve been here long enough that I’m probably on their list to watch.” Terry stared off into space; he appeared to be weighing himself against that scenario.

  Mark spoke cautiously. “So you think they’re developing a ‘hit list’? That might violate some labor law.”

  “I don’t know. It’s probably worth checking into, even though it’s just a hunch. At least I’d know if I should hang onto any documentation in the event it plays out like that.” Terry stood. “I’d better get back to what I was doing. Don’t need to give them an excuse.” He left Mark’s cube.

  Only about four and a half years to go. Mark wondered if he’d last anywhere near that long in this place.

  Sheila lay stretched out on the couch, reading an article on possible new treatments in the Alzheimer’s Association Newsletter. It all sounded so promising, but she wondered when they’d really figure the damned thing out. When she heard Mark come in, she tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and looked at her watch. Nine o’clock. Another early dinner.

  She stood and went to the kitchen. Mark was just hanging his jacket up by the back door when she walked in.

  “Another long day?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  Their conversations had been reduced to short, simple sentences over the months. He was usual
ly so tired by the time he came home that she didn’t have the heart to probe and wear him down further. As if he’d tell her all that much if she did. He still took that non-disclosure agreement very seriously. Between that and his constant weariness, little was left to discuss.

  Sheila turned to the stove to finish cooking their meal. She’d learned to prepare dinner to a certain point, then wait until Mark came home. Then it only took a few minutes to finish cooking. And it tasted almost as good—when she bothered to notice how it tasted at all.

  He slumped down at the kitchen table and rubbed his face with his hands. She opened a bottle of cold beer and set it on the table before him. “Thanks,” he said.

  As he took a sip of the beer, she noticed a small bandage in the crook of his elbow. “What’s that?”

  He looked down, as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh, just a blood test.” He sipped more beer.

  “Just what blood test? Is something wrong? Did you go to the doctor?”

  “No, nothing’s wrong. Just a checkup.”

  “I didn’t know you were getting a checkup.”

  He looked at her. She winced at the sight of the dark circles and puffiness he was developing around his eyes. He looked ten years older than he was. “It was at work. We’re all having them.”

  “You’re all having them? Why?”

  “Orders from Harris.” He turned back to his beer, seemingly done with his explanation.

  “He must have a reason. It’s expensive to just march all your employees through exams, especially with lab work, just for the fun of it.” Sheila put her hands on her hips and cocked her head as she weighed the possibilities. “Why would he request that? Is there some carcinogen or contamination in the building they’re worried about?”

  “I don’t know,” he snapped. “They don’t explain everything to me. I’m going to go check the monitors for a bit. Let me know when dinner’s ready.” He took his beer and headed for his home office.