The Master Key

by T. K. Toppin

  I didn’t even bother to ask how it was that a DNA bank existed for all the citizens of the world. The world had changed so much, some changes for the better, some for the worse, that a simple process of giving up one’s basic core identity, like DNA, hardly mattered. There were strict privacy issues, yet I knew the world now spied on everything in microscopic detail. In fact, the Citadel alone was living and working proof that such things as privacy only occurred in one’s own imagination. Deep in the bowels of the Citadel, where Simon and his Elites ruled, was a networked hive of surveillance technology and God knew what else.

  “Why is the medical DNA bank so different?” Annoyance brushed John’s tone with gruffness.

  “Please, John,” Aline groaned. “Because it is for medical purposes.”

  John compressed his lips. “Explain.”

  “Your DNA banks would only mark topical similarities—the main points—for identification purposes only. That’s perfectly fine and works well, and is very foolproof. And, like I said, would only give you a hundred-year space to work within before things start to degrade, so to speak. But the medical banks show more detailed markers. We need them to identify diseases and irregularities in a person’s genetic makeup and history. Sometimes we can even pinpoint the exact time and point where these irregularities occurred, and fix them in the newer DNA strands, thus eliminating future sickness, deformities or irregularities…what have you.”

  “Like stem-celling?” I piped up. Now here was something I knew a little bit about.

  In my time, stem-celling had already gone mainstream. I’d been told that, at birth, my mother had had my umbilical cord held in storage, to be used later in case of serious sickness or disease as a core sample to work from. I’d never paid much attention to it, though much of my father’s work and research was originally based on genetics. Now, I listened to Aline with rapt attention.

  “Uh?” Aline glanced at me with distraction. “Something like that. Anyway, our banks only go back about two hundred years, and those original samples were sketchy to begin with since the whole process was quite new. Now we’ve got millions upon millions of samples. The majority are already tagged back to the originals—so you’ve got a sort of family tree going on here.”

  “You mean you have a complete family tree of the entire world? A DNA tree?” I gaped.

  “Something like that.”

  “Is mine in there?”

  “It is now. Or I should say, if Ho has been using it, it will automatically update and tag your sample as the original, making it the base sample—Sample Zero—with the most and strongest amounts of unique marker tags and spikes that all the others have, only not as strong. Ho would have used your original sample to access the others’ samples. You see, those markers—your unique markers—would’ve been the key to unlocking all subsequent samples he has supposedly connected you to. Like a magnet, the other samples would have come to yours, guided by those specific markers. Got that?” Aline beamed with a smile as I shook my head at the convoluted process. “So, what we do now is check the database and see if you’ve been tagged.”

  “Do it, then.” John looked grim.

  Aline nodded while Simon shook his head. “Why?” he muttered. “Why, if this bank was there, did we not use it when we needed to find Josie’s family? This would’ve nipped a lot of things in the bud. Had we known.”

  “I know how it looks, Simon.” Aline pinched the bridge of her nose. “And yes, a lot could’ve been averted had we tried that route. But usually, if nothing has been turned up, however vague, in the normal avenues, there’s no point going to the DNA bank. There’s also a whole slew of procedures and proper channels we need to go through in order to even gain access into the bank. In other words, too many questions about Josie would spring up. And I don’t think we’re ready yet to address them.”

  John snorted. “What really gets me is why I’ve not been made aware of this databank? Is this another Lancaster secret, where some know—and others don’t? This is too much like how Grandfather ran things. It needs to stop. People need to know they have control over their lives. That…parts of them are not stored for later use. It’s too close to how the stasis pods were used and abused. And far too close to how cloning breached its ugly head before being outlawed. I mean, what’s next?”

  Aline laid a hand on John’s shoulder. “John. I know how it looks. But there’s practicality for it, and many benefits of having a DNA bank—medically speaking. I know it’s rather invasive. In the past, some samples were not taken voluntarily, as in, when it’s mandatory during post adolescence. Don’t ask me how they were taken. I don’t know.”

  “But what’s next? Body parts preserved for salvaging later? The re-emergence of cloning? Doppelgangers growing in vats in case we die?” He shook in agitation. “I know people tinker and experiment, even though such practices are banned. Well, I’ll say this now: when I do die, the only parts left of me will be my progeny. Not a piece of tissue or dot of blood in a freezer or a detailed electronic data file.”

  “Bit late for that. You’re already there. We all are.”

  John ground his mouth into a line. I remembered him saying he had his own blood stored. It was mandatory for government officials in case of emergency transfusions, so physician could manufacture replications of it. Even that rubbed him the wrong way for reasons he’d never explained. Or maybe he also had a small genetic flaw, like Adam did with his obsessive-compulsive behavior.

  “John,” Aline said, but her brother seemed lost in his thoughts. “I said, as soon as I get the information, I’ll let you know. Now, leave, so I can get some work done. I do have other patients to see.”

  “Fine,” he replied. “Just where are these DNA banks?”

  “Iceland,” Aline said with a broad smile. “Pardon the pun. But that’s just for original samples. The mainframe for the electronic data is in Russia.”

  “Could Ho have cloned my DNA?” I asked.

  Aline directed her smile at me. “I love your mind, Josie. So active and alive, running amok with curious bits of information and thoughts. And so suspicious. You’ll survive in this world nicely. Yes. That’s possible as well. Trickery? Perhaps. If that’s the case, we’re back to the first question. Why? But whatever the case, he means to hurt you. Watch yourself, Josie.”

  * * *

  “You really didn’t know about this, did you?” I asked as we walked down a courtyard passageway that connected to John’s offices. “The medical DNA banks?”

  After leaving Aline, we’d gone back to his offices and discussed in detail how we would approach this new development. Whatever the situation, good or bad, the so-called niece would be treated just like any threat to me—primarily—and to the Citadel.

  Aline later confirmed someone had been messing about in the DNA databanks in Russia, and, sure enough, I was there, like an immaculate conception.

  John shook his head. “Not a clue.”

  “Sort of scary, isn’t it? Having parts of you floating about in the computer networks? But I suppose that’s how the world advances, right? It’s kind of good to have it, don’t you think? A world history of its people—detailed and concise.”

  “Mmm,” he murmured.

  “You’re just pissed off that you didn’t know about it,” I said in a taunting voice.

  A slow smile twisted his face. He looked abashed. Tiredness slumped his posture as well. I remembered then that we hadn’t slept in close to twenty-four hours. It was now late evening, and as I worked it out, we hadn’t even had any food since leaving Canada, which had been just before dawn.

  I changed the subject to a more pressing topic, one we’d forgotten about completely. The code. And food. That perked John up, and we changed course and headed straight to our house. He was hungry as well.

  Crocker greeted us with that replicated smile, sending the usual shudders down my spine. John ordered up some steaks and good old-fashioned French fries smothered with gravy and ketchup. To add a bit
of civility to the meal, he opened a bottle of red wine. We wolfed down the meal, barely speaking save a few satisfied grunts. Then, we sipped our wine. We were on a terrace by the kitchen; like the breakfast alcove, only outdoors.

  “I don’t know anything about it. I’ve searched my brain and still don’t know,” I said as we discussed the code again. “It’s obviously something quite important for Ho to be so hard-pressed about it.”

  “And Adam isn’t saying—or won’t.” John compressed his mouth into a line, pushing away from the table to lean back. He smothered a burp behind his fisted hand.

  “I think he’s telling the truth. I know he’s good at tricks like the rest of you Lancasters, but he’s not that good.”

  John chuckled at my reference to his family traits, and then regarded me with a crease to his brow. “Whatever it is, if we don’t come up with it by noon tomorrow…”

  I nodded. “The world gets to know a lot more about me. And I lose the only living family member I have. Sucks all kinds of ass, doesn’t it.”

  John laughed. “That’s a new one. Did you just make it up?”

  “Nah, I heard that ages ago. Way, way, before your time.”

  We grew silent for a moment. I opened my mouth to say something more, then closed it, not knowing how to say it.

  “What is it?”

  “I dunno.” Shaking my head, I blew out a breath. “Just…if I am exposed, how bad would it look or be? Would people believe it?”

  “There would be doubters, you can be sure of that. They would insist on a thorough background check as proof. All the while, the media would have a field day. As to how it would look—bad. It would come across that the government has, once again, tried to cover up things. And once its proven you are the real deal, you can be assured your life will never be the same again. You’ll have people coming from all corners, and from all walks of life, wanting to be your best friend. That aside, you’ll also attract the attention of every known extremist group that opposes the use of stasis pods. And they will try to kill you—again. And if you go into hiding, it will look as if we’re cowards and cannot bear to face the issue.” John sighed. “Whichever way we go, it will look bad. Whatever we do, it will not be easy.”

  “We could make it look like a big hoax,” I suggested. “Or bite the bullet and confess before he does.”

  “Would you really put yourself through that?” John gave me a hard look. “It’s bad enough what they’re saying about you now, but to add to it…”

  “What other alternative is there? We have to diffuse Ho’s threat.”

  “I won’t let you go through that. And what about this niece? He’ll still kill her.”

  “No, he won’t. If he does, then he doesn’t have any more cards to hold.”

  “True.” John seemed to think on this and worked his mouth into a line again. “But…what if we were to create a hoax of our own? Fabricate our own wild and ridiculous story about you. I mean, what’s one more story going to do? Then publicly denounce it like we usually do. Simon has already had to create some fictitious footage of you in our Prince Edward training facilities—for official records. We could elaborate on those and use them as proof you’re not a three-hundred-year-old relic.”

  “Relic? Gee, thanks for that,” I snorted. “Didn’t you already have that fed to the media after we got married? Minus the three-hundred bit, of course.”

  He nodded. “I did. And there were doubters and skeptics. Simon has been very careful and selective with the information we’ve leaked about you. As it is, your ‘history’ is solid. But I can’t predict what the revelation of those discs will do to it.”

  John had viewed those discs already, in their compressed form, from the memory stick. Over the months, we had watched it again, while I did a running commentary of who was who, what was what. Like going through a modernized photo album, we’d cuddled close while I pointed, laughed, and reminisced. I mean, who didn’t like seeing pictures of your batty old great aunt with the lime green curlers in her hair?

  The story of my life, and a record of my entire family, was in these data files. My father had been thorough. He’d even sneaked through my phone’s camera roll and personal computer to gain access to some images. He’d then copied and burned them onto disks and secreted them away in a compartment of my stasis pod.

  By attempting to expose me to the world, it was pretty obvious Ho was desperate, or just ruthless and cruel. Which he was. Whatever this code was, it held the key to something massively important. Money alone couldn’t be the motivation. We knew his financials—what we could uncover—and they were vast. He had fingers in many pies, some known and others unknown. During his time affiliated with Max Wellesley, while Max was just a young boy, Ho had acted as his representative for business transactions. There was just no telling how much money Ho had accumulated for Max and himself. After all, Max had had the resources to buy entire armies for his use.

  This code Ho spoke of, it could be anything from a motherlode of weapons or the key to taking over the world, the latter being everyone’s favorite first choice since before the reign of the Lancasters.

  “Well, let’s do it, then. Expose me, but on our terms. Let’s create something on our own. Say that I’m an impostor, play it up like how your mother was. Make it sound cruel and ridiculous. Then, when and if Ho decides to add his two-cents worth, it’ll look like everyone’s on the bandwagon again, coming up with any old thing about me. It’ll look stupid and people will start to doubt. Then play out the fabricated past Simon’s created and act as if we’re insulted.”

  John regarded me with a stern expression. He chewed a corner of his lip. “You’re sure? It would be absolute mayhem, especially for you. You won’t be able to leave this place, let alone the Citadel, for a while. The in-house media will harass you to no end, and Loeb would want to murder me because of it. And you’ll have to speak to the press at some stage. You won’t be able to get out of that one, since otherwise it will look as if we’re cowering.”

  “I’m sure,” I replied with a firm nod. “Let’s put Ho in his place. So get Simon and have him do his magic and make something up about me. The more ridiculous the better, but also add truths to it, so it’s believable.”

  “You’ve been spending too much time with Adam.” John narrowed his eyes. “Fine. It’ll be done.”

  “How is your mother these days? Still spelunking in Mexico?”

  “She’s in Australia now,” John cocked his brow with smile. “Catching crocs for an eco-farm and communing with the Aborigines.”

  “Cool.”

  Griet Lancaster had been a First Level body-assistant before she married John’s father, Baird. Her entire married life had been dogged with speculation and suspicion that she was trying to assassinate her husband. Baird had had no choice but to exile her from the Citadel—yet they had remained married, and had continued their love affair in secret. For Baird, there was no other woman but Griet.

  She was innocent; Baird knew this, as did almost everyone else. But the smear campaign on Griet was continued by those who opposed the Lancasters. To maintain her innocence and to protect herself, she agreed to the exile and then disappeared from the public eye. That didn’t stop her from being mother to her children. She’d been in their lives at almost every point. How she managed this, she never said, but John remembered her presence throughout his childhood. But the public never saw or heard from her ever again.

  To John, his mother was like a mythical warrior. Always there when he needed her, and even when he didn’t. Her presence was strong, mysterious, and everywhere. He couldn’t imagine a different life. It was just so, and I think he loved her more because of that.

  When John became president, he lifted the exile on his mother and dared anyone who opposed it to show themselves and pretty much give him a reason not to hurt them. No one did. But Griet had refused to come back, claiming the Citadel held too many painful memories. Instead, she amused herself with wild and fantastic adven
tures. I was yet to meet her, but already coveted her lifestyle, and hoped one day I could be like her. In her late sixties, she was still active and dare-devilishly wicked. She could still vanish like the wind and fight like a demon—so I was told.

  On the day of our marriage, I had received a coded message from her. Her words were simple and straight to the point. “Better you than me,” it had said. I’d liked her immediately.

  “Josie? Are you all right? You look…tired.” John reached out and touched my hand.

  I did feel tired. Shattered. His touch alone seemed to break my resistance. A weak sigh escaped me. “Yeah.” And with that, I burst into tears. The weight of the entire day came crashing down upon me. From the disappointment of not being able to visit my hometown to the revelation—however sketchy—of having a family member still alive, and the threat of being exposed; it had all mounted up.

  So I cried, long and loud, and barely noticed as John gently tugged me to him. I sat straddled across his lap like a young child, my face buried into his neck, crying my eyes out. Living in the future was anything but easy. Compared to my idyllic past, everything now was one extreme emotion and situation after another.

  And none of it would’ve been remotely bearable if not for John. He was the immovable rock that held my sanity in check. Slumped now as I was over his shoulder, I spilled my anguish out until the hitching sobs became soft snuffles. We sat in silence for a spell, not needing to speak. It felt good just to connect. Whatever this future held, I knew without a doubt, here was where I was always meant to be.

  With a ragged sigh that touched my heart, he cupped my face as we made ready to create a lie and call it my past.