Genesis Code (Genesis Book 1)

by Eliza Green

  Because he has bigger plans than the whereabouts of a few lousy Indigenes.

  She knew it. She’d sensed a marked change in the CEO’s behaviour, ever since Taggart’s wife went missing on Exilon 5. Something had happened to the ex-soldier, the same woman Daphne had been warned to never mention.

  Her review of data had taken Daphne to a spare boardroom with a one-way view out across Level Four. She pulled up a new memo, sent within the last hour and marked for her attention. It was a list of names, people who had reached the highest grade in their jobs and were costing money.

  A note was attached from Deighton: Find a way to save me money. I need it for my transfer programme.

  She perused the list of people who were slightly younger than her and who had been earmarked for review. One name stood out from the list: Jenny Waterson. A skilled pilot with no prior infractions. Her crime? Having experience and costing too much.

  But what Deighton wanted Deighton got.

  A blonde-haired woman rushed into the lobby and pulled her focus away from the list of names. From personnel files, Gilchrist recognised her as Laura O’Halloran.

  Daphne turned her DPad around and looked up details on the worker. Father committed suicide. Mother is a recluse. O’Halloran lives alone and is the first to volunteer for extra shifts.

  She admired people who worked hard. She looked up. Although seeing the girl hopping around like a jittery cat, Daphne would reserve her judgement.

  O’Halloran jerked to a stop, her eyes wide as a second woman walked her way. A Level Five worker.

  Daphne stood with a smirk and smoothed down her grey pants suit. Nothing ever happened on Level Seven and Eight, the location of her office and that of her overseers.

  ‘Hello.’ The glass muffled O’Halloran’s greeting to the woman.

  The Level Five worker glanced at her, nodded, and walked on, leaving a dazed O’Halloran in her wake.

  Daphne checked her reflection in the glass wall. The feminine folds of the grey suit she wore hid her stocky frame. Her cobalt-blue eyes, framed by red hair that curled under at the nape of her neck, contained little emotion. Her eyes were her secret weapon; she could hide a lot from others in them. One side of her genetically altered face lifted into a half smile. Now in her late eighties, she looked no older than sixty-five.

  Grabbing her DPad first, she left the boardroom through a door not visible to the workers and walked towards O’Halloran.

  The blonde haired woman looked over, eyes wide. ‘Shit...’

  Daphne didn’t pause in her stride. ‘Laura O’Halloran?’ she boomed from across the foyer.

  ‘Y...Yes?’

  ‘Why were you addressing a Level Five worker?’

  ‘I... I was saying hello.’

  She stopped abruptly in front of her, catching the woman in her glare. Most days she wouldn’t bother, but she’d been after any distraction from reviewing the weekly updates.

  ‘You are not cleared to talk to the higher levels.’

  O’Halloran’s pony tail bobbed with her nod. Her eyes slid to Daphne’s stomach. ‘My mistake. I apologise.’

  ‘This is your only warning,’ said Gilchrist. ‘Get back to work.’

  She turned and walked back to the boardroom, affording a smile as soon as her back was turned to the woman. What she’d said was true enough. Level Five workers were off limits.

  Daphne slipped into the boardroom once more and checked the updates of the overseers for each level. She stopped on the data for Level Five, the one Suzanne Brett oversaw.

  The Abyss. It was a crude nickname given to the level by the workers. While information didn’t disappear from there as rumoured, it was kept on a separate server only accessible to those with clearance.

  The information in Brett’s report was light, but she expected that to change soon with Bill Taggart’s current investigation.

  7

  Laura released a breath as she watched Gilchrist disappear through a wall, like it wasn’t there. She searched for the hidden door that she assumed contained an observation room used only by the CEO.

  With shaky legs she carried on to the door at the end of Corridor Ten. There, she pressed her chip to the security plate at the end of the hall. Her full name, photo and title flashed up on the screen, along with the time she’d been absent.

  Gilchrist had rattled her. She entered the office space and scurried up the middle aisle, hoping to reach her chair before she collapsed. On either side, dozens of white workstations sat in neat rows, totalling one hundred. Each row was divided into sections of six. She dropped into her seat that was in the third section.

  Janine, a co-worker with a bitter edge, looked her over. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Just had a run-in with Gilchrist.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Over what?’

  The other workers stopped what they were doing and listened. Laura gripped the arm rests. She’d worked hard to keep her nose clean. And in one second Gilchrist caught her out.

  ‘I was caught talking to a Level Fiver.’

  ‘Crap. And she pulled you up on that?’ said Chris, another co-worker, less bitter than Janine.

  She nodded. ‘Came out of nowhere.’

  He pursed his lips in a pitying way. ‘Yeah, she tends to do that. This place is full of secret doors.’

  ‘And some guy was abusive to me in the terminal.’

  ‘You can’t seem to catch a break today, can ya?’ Janine’s icy tone chilled her.

  ‘Do you even have a sympathetic bone in your body?’ Chris said.

  Janine’s face reddened. ‘I’m just saying I’m glad it wasn’t me. Laura can take it. She’s Teflon. Nothing sticks to her. I’m a lot softer.’ Chris blew out a disbelieving breath. ‘What? I am!’

  ‘And I’m a virgin,’ said Chris.

  Laura ignored Janine, the drama queen. She activated her workstation and the screen whirred into life. Thousands of documents awaited her, all from the inhabitants of Earth. Before the end of the day, there would be another one hundred thousand added to the list. Encrypted information sent electronically to the Security Centre contained thousands of layers of code that had been stripped out before reaching Level Four. Her job, along with everyone else on Level Four, was to sort the information before re-encrypting it and sending it for long-term storage in the supercomputer on Level Nine. Their orders were to redirect any material that was still encrypted to Level Five.

  While the supercomputer could do her job, Chris had said the ESC considered document-sorting to be a lesson in character-building; it weeded out the workers who weren’t cut out for life there. A list of people on the outside waited for her job, waited for her to slip. Loyalty meant little in a world with more people than jobs. Laura had kept her job so far by not making waves. Except for her major slip up a few moments ago.

  Her thoughts went to the junkie in the food terminal. She wished she’d asked his name so she could look him up, see how much he owed and to whom. People who screamed publicly about family debts were usually careless with money, over-indulging in gambling, drug or tech addiction, unnecessary organ purchases or genetic manipulation treatments not covered by the World Government longevity programme. But genuine debt cases existed, too, but she couldn’t help but wonder if his mother’s debts had been caused by her son’s habit.

  ‘Are you still mad at me?’ Janine asked Laura.

  She closed her eyes and took a cleansing deep breath. Janine could be a handful. ‘No, I’m not mad at you.’

  ‘Look, it’s not my fault you got into trouble at the terminal. What did you say to them, anyway, to go off on you?’

  ‘I don’t have to say anything to them. The sight of me is enough to set them off.’

  Janine lifted her chin. ‘I always wear my overcoat. I sweat like hell when I’m inside, but at least they can’t see my uniform. You should have done that.’

  Laura gritted her teeth to stop her from telling Janine to mind her own business. That would upset the
semi-calm working environment she enjoyed.

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

  ‘Have you heard they’re running a lottery in Darlinghurst?’ said Chris.

  Laura’s stomach dropped. ‘Not Haymarket?’ She lived in an apartment block in that district.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Chris. ‘Don’t know what made them pick Darlinghurst. Point Piper and Rose Bay, too.’ The transfer programme was living up to its lottery rules. ‘My mate says they’re going to focus on Perth after this.’

  ‘What? That’s it? Just three areas?’ Laura stood up and pinned Chris with a stare. ‘Did they say when they were coming back to Sydney?’

  He held his hands up. ‘Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, all right? You know how these things go—how often they change their mind? Every six months now. They’ll focus on Australia again in no time.’

  Laura slumped into her chair, wishing she could believe that. With a heavy heart, she resumed her review of the documents on screen. Earth was no place—and no way—to live. In a society where government discouraged free thinking and technology ruled, it became harder to find the good in life.

  Her initial enthusiasm to work at the second most prestigious organisation on Earth, behind the World Government, had carried her for a while. Three years on and she’d seen many people come and go from the lower ranks. Promotional opportunities at the higher levels were rare and she was sick of being another of Gilchrist’s forgotten. During her darkest days, she contemplated quitting. But staying at the ESC gave her and her mother the best shot at transferring to Exilon 5.

  New documents pooled on her screen. One of them listed names for non-payment of taxes. The first was a Mrs Annette Billings of Toronto, Canada. Seventy-six years old; she had failed to pay her outstanding tax following receipt of a new heart. It was her first violation. She’d given the excuse she waited on eye replacements and had not seen the reminders. A note sat beside her name: Has received goods. First Warning Issued. She had paid her arrears within the extra time allotted.

  Seven hundred other entries on the list all had similar stories. The seventeenth name was highlighted in red: Mr Robert Fennell, originally from Wales but now residing in Tokyo. Fifty-eight years old. Failure to pay apartment taxes. Issued with second warning. No further failures will be tolerated. According to the file, he’d promptly paid the outstanding balances, including arrears.

  Laura sat back in her chair with a groan. She could do this job with her eyes closed. Gilchrist may have caught her just now, but she didn’t care about Level Four workers. Laura needed to find a better way to catch the CEO’s attention, because moving to Exilon 5 wasn’t about some silly dream.

  She needed it like she needed air. She needed it to relieve the clawing, incessant tick in her mind; a painful, desperate longing that living on Earth only made worse.

  Laura was sick and Exilon 5 was the cure.

  8

  Bill’s communication device shuddered on the coffee table, jolting him out of his thoughts. He grabbed it and shoved it in his ear. What did Gilchrist want now?

  His patience wore thinner as he activated the device. A thin microphone unfolded to the start of his mouth.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Mr Taggart?’

  Bill almost dropped his mug of coffee when he heard the voice. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Charles Deighton. Lovely to talk to you, old boy. It’s been a while.’

  Not long enough.

  ‘What, er, can I do for you, Mr Deighton?’

  ‘I just spoke to Ms Gilchrist about this mission and I wanted to add my support to you and your team.’

  First time for everything, he supposed.

  ‘Thank you.’ Bill had only spoken to the CEO of the World Government twice before; once was to challenge his orders to send Isla to Exilon 5.

  ‘I must admit I’m a little envious of you, stuck on a sunny planet, filled with fresh air and hope.’ His breathing rasped. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m sick of wearing my damn gel mask every time I leave a controlled environmental zone.’

  ‘It’s... different.’

  ‘Bill... I hope I can call you Bill.’ Deighton didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I must stress the importance of the events about to unfold tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m well aware, sir.’

  ‘But you’ve had trouble since your wife—Isla wasn’t it—disappeared? There’s still time for you to step down from the task.’

  Bill gritted his teeth at the mention of her name. ‘No thank you, sir. I’ll be fine.’

  Deighton cleared his aged throat. ‘That’s what I told Ms Gilchrist. She was worried about you, but I said, “Daphne, Bill is one of our best investigators. If anyone can do this, he can.” Are you clear on what’s not to happen tomorrow?’

  He nodded, even though Deighton couldn’t see him. ‘At the briefing. Observe only. Don’t apprehend.’

  ‘Good. This is an important moment for all of us. It’s the first time one of the Indigenes has been brave enough to surface during daytime. We don’t want to scare him or her off. Just let it happen.’

  Everything Deighton said had already been covered in Bill’s briefing with Gilchrist over two months ago, when increased activity had been first logged within city limits. He struggled to see the reason for this call.

  Deighton continued, ‘Bill, you’ve always been a loyal servant, and you proved that loyalty when you helped us take down Larry Hunt.’

  ‘Thank you sir.’

  ‘Your wife would have been proud to see how far you’ve come.’

  Okay, he was done talking.

  ‘I really should get back—’

  Deighton chuckled. ‘Of course! Apologies, I’m keeping you from your work. Back to it, soldier.’

  Deighton clicked off. The microphone folded back into the top of the earpiece. Bill yanked the unit out and tossed on the table.

  ‘Fuck!’ Anger bloomed in his chest. He paced the room to try and ease it. The last thing he needed was a pep talk from the man who’d put Isla on the very mission she’d disappeared from.

  His breaths turned short and sharp. He punched the spot next to the Light Box, causing its 3D image to ripple. A sudden flash turned his anger into fear. Who was watching him: Deighton or Gilchrist?

  Struggling to breathe, he snatched up his DPad and relocated to his bedroom, where he perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Calm down, Bill.’

  He couldn’t help it. Deighton brought out the worst in him.

  Larry Hunt. A prize scalp in the one-hundred and nineteen-year-old’s eyes.

  He activated his DPad and pulled up Larry Hunt’s photo. Staring back at him was the criminal he’d helped to put behind bars. Hunt was an ordinary-looking man; most criminals usually were. Bill had expected retaliation from Hunt for his involvement in bringing him to justice, but more than that, he’d expected to feel relieved. The empty feeling after the catch had surprised him.

  The chase had felt too easy, almost like he’d been set up to succeed. When Hunt Technologies had released their latest food replication model, the Replica 2500, the ESC had ordered Bill to intervene. Hundreds of businesses that had bought the model were touting it as a fake.

  Daphne Gilchrist had ordered him to a meeting. On his arrival, she’d handed him a list of numbers.

  ‘What do you see?’

  Bill scanned the information, recognising the format of prices against amounts. ‘Shares.’

  ‘Exactly. Mr Hunt has been pulling a stroke, overvaluing his stocks to gain a better share of the replication market. Naturally, the World Government board members are upset at this revelation. If the Replica 2500 is a fake, the company’s value will drop into negative equity. That’s a loss nobody wants.’

  Bill looked up at her. ‘You want me to profile him?’

  Gilchrist leaned across the table, her expression cold. ‘I want you to take the son of a bitch down.’

  Bill had spent months trying to get inside the head of the man who had dominated the food repl
ication world for three decades. He eventually found his way in, through a disgruntled employee with bills to pay.

  Bill recalled his only encounter with two of Hunt’s henchmen shortly after his indictment. He’d attempted to shake his pursuers as they chased him through London’s dark streets. After cornering him, one man grabbed his arms so roughly he’d almost dislocated Bill’s shoulder. The other produced an antique knife. He’d plunged the blade into the soft area of his left shoulder.

  A goddamn antique knife. There were easier ways to kill him.

  The attack had come with a verbal warning attached. ‘Hunt wants you to remember this.’

  Bill touched the area where the knife had penetrated his skin. Although it was repaired with no sign of a scar, he still remembered the blinding hot pain from the blade tearing through his skin.

  His hands shook as he flicked Hunt’s photo away and returned to his files on the Indigenes. The caffeine tremors made it hard to hold the DPad, but the Actigen worked to balance out his addiction and give him focus.

  He needed answers soon. Only then would he kick both bad habits.

  Bill combed through the dozens of files the World Government held on the Indigenes. With so many to choose from, one drew his attention every time. It was a year ago, when the government had captured a young Indigene. The alien had not lived long due to its inability to breathe the same air as humans. The file also mentioned details about an atmosphere-controlled containment unit in a medical facility, on the outskirts of New London. Maybe Bill would take a closer look at that facility once his mission ended.

  ‘Watch the subject, don’t approach it.’ Gilchrist’s warning to him at the briefing. ‘And make sure those idiots we assigned you don’t do anything stupid.’

  Bill had requested a Special Forces team. What he got was Armoured Division, minus the heavy artillery. ‘Divide and Conquer’ was their motto.

  What he really wanted was a chance to question the alien about Isla’s whereabouts. After, the World Government, the ESC—or whoever wanted it—could do what they liked.