The Genesis Code

by Lisa von Biela

  A knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” said Simon.

  Tyler strode in and took a seat, nearly twitching with excitement. “Simmons was one of the resources I personally examined. He checked out fine in the physical, and his lab results show no contraindications.”

  “Excellent. Can you tell us about the procedure, what downtime to expect, any side effects, that sort of thing? Also, what lead times and preparations are there on your end?” asked Simon.

  “Of course. First, we’ll need to discuss what information you want him to receive, and then I need to load it into a transmittable format. It’ll take me a day—if that—to prepare and activate the device, then I’ll be ready. The actual procedure is almost nothing.”

  “Can you describe the procedure, please?” asked Reyes.

  “All that’s necessary is a little local anesthetic, then I place the device under the skin right about here.” Tyler pointed to the area just behind his ear. “It’s the closest we can get to the hippocampus, the seat of memory in the brain, without employing a more invasive implantation. The device transmits the short distance from there using a tiny, on-board power source that is energized by the wavelengths it receives from my master transmitter.”

  “How big is it?” said Reyes in a dry, choked voice.

  “Oh, about a quarter-inch square, and about as thick as a sheet of paper. The recipient won’t notice it’s there, it’s so small.” Tyler grinned.

  “So, a quick outpatient procedure once you’ve prepared the device. Do I understand that correctly? Any recovery period?” asked Simon.

  “Not really. If I only need to use a local, then he’s done in a matter of minutes and can go right back to work. But if he’s not inclined to cooperate, then I’ll have to resort to a general. Then it would be more like a day surgery, where he’d have to be monitored for several hours after the procedure.”

  Simon turned to Cline. “Well then, we need to make sure we present it to Simmons so we don’t have resistance. And so we don’t have leaks about it to the outside.”

  “That makes Simmons an even more desirable candidate. He’s not married, and he has no special relationship that we know of. Pretty much a loner outside work. So he’s at lower risk than the average employee to leak word of the device,” said Cline.

  “But we’ll still have to be sure he doesn’t suddenly become gregarious with, say, the press—or a fellow employee, for that matter,” said Simon.

  Tyler sat forward in his chair. “I can take care of that.”

  All conversation ceased in the wake of his remark. After a few moments, Simon spoke. “How?”

  “I can include it in my programming—to erase memory of having received the implant.”

  Simon watched, annoyed, as Reyes and Cline blanched. He’d be sure to note their attitudes in their next performance reviews. “That simplifies matters. Yes, include it in your programming.”

  Cline nervously fingered the end of his tie. Reyes opened his mouth. Simon paused and leaned forward to hear what he had to say. Reyes closed his mouth and sat back, wordless.

  “All right. I think we’re clear on the next steps. The key unknown is how we’ll actually present this to Simmons and get him in for the procedure. I’d like you all to stay for the discussion with Legal; you each have a perspective to consider.” He pressed the call button. “Madeleine? Can you get Maria to come by? Thanks.”

  After a moment, Madeleine’s voice came over the speaker. “She’ll be there in about five minutes.”

  “Thank you.” He released the button. “Jeff, how long will it take to get the needed materials to Josh?”

  Reyes stuttered, “I—”

  Tyler broke in and addressed Reyes. “I can meet with you later today and show you the format I need. We have several options, depending on the type of information.”

  “So how long do you need to decide on the information? Can you manage it in a day?” Simon glared at Reyes, intent on a commitment.

  “Um, yes, I think so.” Reyes studied his hands in his lap.

  Tyler offered, “It’s OK if you think of something later. Genesis is designed to accept downloads after implantation—that’s what makes it so powerful. I simply load the information into the proper format, and securely transmit it from a special device on my PC.”

  After a quick knock on the door, Maria Jenkins entered the office, her limp evident. She wore a mauve pantsuit and flat, laced shoes to accommodate and conceal her prosthetic lower right leg. A trim, middle-aged woman, she wore her long, frizzy, auburn hair unapologetically loose around her shoulders.

  Simon greeted her warmly. “Hello, Maria. We’ve identified our first recipient for Genesis, and we’re starting to strategize on how to present it to him.”

  “Certainly. I’ve considered the matter since we spoke.” Maria looked at him directly, not a trace of reluctance or ambivalence evident.

  Simon admired her courage and attitude. She’d lost her lower leg in a motorcycle accident in her early twenties, and, rather than let it defeat her, she used it as a personal goad to achievement. After rehab, she’d graduated law school at the top of her class. Simon never regretted hiring her—she was a perfect match for OneMarket’s quest for growth and success. Smart and aggressive, but shrewd.

  “Let me bring you up to date, Maria. We’ve selected Terry Simmons—he now has an assignment that may be too much for him without…assistance. The procedure is minor, involving a local anesthetic, if he’ll cooperate. Else, general anesthetic, which we’d like to avoid. And the device can be programmed to make him forget he received it, so we can avoid leaks.”

  Maria Jenkins listened carefully, nodding slightly every so often. She thought for a moment after Simon finished speaking, then said, “We have one problem—in addition to the obvious one about voluntarily accepting the procedure—and that is the gap in time between telling him and actually implanting the device and altering his memory. He could tell a co-worker in that span.”

  “Good point. We need to figure a way around that,” said Simon.

  “I see two possibilities. Either we present it to him, and make sure we perform the procedure then and there, if we can swing that. Or, we tell him it’s some sort of biofeedback device to allay his stress level, or something more benign that wouldn’t be problematic if he revealed it to a co-worker,” said Maria.

  Tyler gestured excitedly with his hands as he spoke. “I have an idea. How about a combination? I call and tell him I found some problem with his physical exam, and set a follow-up appointment with him to discuss my findings. Then, in that appointment, I make the case for a stress-allaying device and implant it right then and there. And program it so he won’t recall. So then I can perform the procedure without a confrontation, and we eliminate any possibility of him talking about it with anyone.”

  Maria turned to Tyler, a look of admiration on her face. “Excellent idea. Solves the problem on all fronts.” She nodded to Simon. “Well?”

  “Perfect. Any questions?” Reyes and Cline sat silent. “Let’s move on it,” Simon said. “I’m anxious to see this thing work.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Mark tossed the cellophane-wrapped vending machine sandwich onto his desk and flopped into his chair. He groaned as his belt cut into his waist; he loosened it a notch. He’d had no time to get out on his bike since he started at OneMarket, and the evidence was starting to accumulate around his midsection.

  He unwrapped the sandwich and grimaced at the sight. White bread, a limp leaf of lettuce, and a couple of slices of salty, watery turkey. No wonder he’d been dragging lately. He took an unenthusiastic bite as his eyes wandered back to his computer display.

  “Oh, shit!” He dropped the sandwich, his attention riveted to the screen. An alert box flashed insistently. His new script had detected that OMTrade had just crossed the threshold of acceptable transaction latency. He shouted over the cube wall, “Terry!”

  “What?” Terry sounded irritated at the interruption
.

  “The alert went off—the app is queuing up!”

  Terry rushed into Mark’s cube and peered over his shoulder at the monitor. “Can you see what’s blocking it?”

  “No, not yet. I’m trying to find the head of the queue.”

  “Quick—set all the monitor traces! We’ve gotta capture more metrics this time.”

  “But that’ll clog it up more—and may skew what’s going on.”

  “Just do it! We need the measurements.” Terry stood up and started pacing.

  “Something’s chewing up memory. Terry—if I don’t kill some processes, OMTrade’ll crash!”

  “Set the traces!”

  “But we’ll go down—Reyes’ll have our asses!”

  “I’ll set the fucking traces.” Terry stomped back to his cube.

  Mark frantically scrolled through the list of running processes, killing all the non-essential ones he recognized as fast as he could. Reyes had made it clear that keeping OMTrade up was paramount, and he didn’t want to be the one to let it crash. His index finger quivered on the mouse button as he raced to reclaim enough memory to allow Terry’s traces to run.

  The memory pegged at the max—too late. OMTrade was down.

  Mark quickly backed up the pending trades so they could begin the recovery process. “Save your trace logs, Terry—it’s down and we need to recycle,” he shouted over the cube wall.

  “Damn it! I hardly got a thing!” Mark heard Terry slam his fist onto his desk.

  Mark checked the trade file: two thousand pending trades. Shit. Naturally it was peak usage time. He called the service area and arranged for manual handling like last time. Then he restarted OMTrade. He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. There was nothing he could do for the minutes it would take the system to recycle and bring up all the processes again.

  As the adrenaline surge eased a little, Mark assessed the situation. They’d probably log about five minutes of downtime on this one, more than enough for Reyes to blow a gasket. And it didn’t sound like Terry captured anything helpful. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants. The inevitable recap session with Reyes would be merciless.

  It had only been a couple of days since Reyes had saddled Terry with diagnosing the problem. No way could he have turned it around that fast. Given its nature, no one could have. But that wouldn’t matter to Reyes. Mark wondered how many more times this would happen before they were able to identify the root cause—if they ever did.

  Terry stood outside of Mark’s cube. His shoulders slumped; his face was pale. “Reyes just called. Wants us both in his office—now.”

  Mark stood and followed Terry to Reyes’ office. He wondered if it wouldn’t be better all around if Reyes just fired him—better than getting chewed up and spit out whenever OMTrade hiccupped.

  “Yes, I’m meeting with them momentarily. I’ll let you know what I find out,” said Jeff Reyes.

  “Meet with Tyler today, and don’t leave tonight until you’ve supplied him the materials for Simmons’ Genesis device. I’ll call him and make sure he’s ready to move quickly on the plan.”

  “I’ll do that.” Jeff hung up the phone. Harris was furious, and who could blame him? The penalty on this downtime would draw some blood.

  Simmons and Weston appeared, looking duly contrite, and silently took their seats in front of his desk. Jeff’s first impulse was to verbally rip them to shreds, to pass on Harris’ anger in its full force. He remained silent a moment while he wrestled back the urge and tried to inject some degree of fairness into his response.

  “How long was it down this time?”

  Weston spoke up. “Only the reboot time. It crashed fairly quickly after we spotted the problem, so any degradation was so transient as to not be noticeable by the end users.”

  “Only the reboot time. About five minutes, then?”

  “Yes,” Weston said softly.

  Jeff turned to Simmons. “What signature data were you able to get out of this incident?”

  Simmons shifted in his seat. “Um, none.”

  “None?”

  “I switched on the traces, but it crashed right after. Before they could record anything useful.”

  Jeff blew out a breath, tried to keep his composure. Knowing what was in store for Simmons, he felt guilty for wanting to scream at him now. “Do you have any hunches, then?”

  Simmons looked at the floor. “No. I hadn’t gotten that far into the internals yet.”

  “Full written report by end of today. I have to explain this to Harris.” Weston and Simmons looked at him expectantly. “Go on. Get to it.”

  They exchanged confused glances and left without a word. Probably expected to be fired. If I were in Simmons’ shoes, I’d prefer that over having something pumping things into my brain without my knowledge—or consent. Jeff checked his watch, then started to make a list of the materials that would help Simmons trace the problem with OMTrade.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Terry Simmons.”

  “Yes, Terry, this is Dr. Tyler. Do you have a moment?” Josh Tyler sat forward at his desk, compulsively twisting the phone cord as he spoke.

  “Well, um, yes. Is there a problem?” Tension crept into Simmons’ voice.

  “Yes, there is a bit of a problem. I’m calling to let you know we did find an anomaly in your exam results—nothing too serious. But I would like to see you again to discuss it in person.”

  Simmons cleared his throat. “How…urgent…is this?”

  “It’s not life-threatening, but it is important. Can I see you again in the next day or two?”

  “I’m kind of…well, yes. OK.”

  “Very good. How about tomorrow, say, 10 AM?”

  “Yes, I’ll be there.”

  Josh smiled after he hung up. Perfect. Rattled him just enough. He hoped it would pave the way for Simmons to accept the recommended “treatment” without an argument.

  Everything was coming together nicely so far. Reyes had stopped by late yesterday to discuss the information load for Simmons. All he wanted to start with was the tech specs for OMTrade. Granted, it amounted to a thousand or so pages of dense text and intricate diagrams, but it was static information. A pure data dump. It lacked any sort of creativity in using Genesis to its fullest capabilities.

  Well, it’s a start. Getting his device implanted in human subjects would allow him to pursue his ultimate objective—with Harris’ unwitting support. Uploading training materials, even specific job tasks, was the Trojan horse, the foot in the door. Josh looked forward to perfecting bidirectional dynamic transmissions, which would enable him to monitor mental activity, reshape it, and transmit the altered version back into the subject’s brain.

  The doctor went to the locked cabinet on the far side of his office. He took a key from his pocket, opened the top compartment, and retrieved the biodevice destined for Simmons.

  He sat down at his desk and reverently examined the tiny square chip for a few moments. Looking deceptively innocuous, it lay in the palm of his hand, sealed in the clear polymer jacket that kept it sterile. Josh smiled as he considered the sweeping possibilities if his theories held, and he could make his advanced transmissions work as he intended.

  The small lab where he’d actually assembled the device now belonged to OneMarket, but would probably remain in its separate location for the foreseeable future. He preferred it that way, free from casual observation. He regretted that his small staff hadn’t been retained by Harris in the deal, but it was probably just as well. None of them knew of his true vision for the device, and would probably be too squeamish to support it, anyway.

  Josh seated the device in a miniature docking unit attached to his PC and began the initialization process. First, he’d burn a key code into the chip so he could transmit to it securely. He launched the security program he’d written and entered an alphanumeric code. He started the process, then waited as the program configured his PC and the device to communicate using the code he’d entered.


  Moments later, a message appeared, indicating that the linkage had been successfully established. Josh removed the chip from the dock and set it on the desk in front of him. He wrung his hands for a moment, savoring the anticipation. Time to test the transmission. He started the translator module, entered his password, then specified the location of Reyes’ technical documentation on his hard drive. He selected the option to prepare the material for transmission. A horizontal bar appeared in the center of his screen, tracking the progress of the translation. After several minutes, the process completed and a dialogue box appeared, asking if he would like to transmit now.

  He clicked Yes, then supplied the key code. A small green hourglass appeared in the center of his screen and blinked as the information downloaded to the device through the transmitter attached to his PC. The icon stopped blinking and displayed Upload Complete.

  Josh placed his hands flat on his desk for a moment, letting his tension build before allowing himself to check if the download had worked as planned. At 50 megabytes, this was by far the largest he’d ever attempted, and he was anxious to make sure the program—and the biodevice—had handled it without error. All the more reason to heighten the pleasure by holding himself back, exerting strict control over his excitement.

  After several minutes of nearly sexual suspense, he put the chip back in the dock, then mouse-clicked to display the contents. The screen displayed Accessing for what seemed like an eternity. Josh leaned forward, waiting. It had never taken this long before. He breathed heavily, open-mouthed, as he started to fret that it was stuck. Then the screen filled with a view of the biodevice’s current contents. He scrolled through the first parts of it and smiled. Everything was there. He wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip.

  He picked up the phone and punched in Cleary’s extension.

  “Dr. Cleary.”

  “Tyler here. Our first recipient is set to come in tomorrow. Stop by—I’d like to brief you.”