Binary

by Stephanie Saulter

  DISCONNECTION

  The world reshapes itself around her.

  She is part and parcel of the transformation. Things that have never been bloom and breathe and bleat their way into existence, their cells stamped with the sigil of her father’s genius. Life is engineered, adapted, contorted; grafted, implanted, assessed. Aborted or gestated, delivered or declined. That this is acceptable, inevitable – even honourable – is beyond question. Standards must be maintained, output improved; there is no time to waste on products that have value neither in the market nor the laboratory. All must earn their place. She is as proudly and profoundly unsentimental as any of her colleagues, as pragmatic and clear-headed a rationalist as any crisis could require. It is a quality which even those who quail before her admire, a new conviction for a new age.

  Yet, though the bitter lash of her tongue belies it, she is never entirely easy inside her own skin, never completely sanguine about her own strange and unlooked-for state. It pins her just enough outside the ordinary that she sometimes seems to herself almost as odd and unnatural a creature as those other creatures, bred and built to serve their betters.

  With the one, the crucial difference; the factor that makes all the difference.

  Still, something is wrong, and the wrongness must be righted. She is a woman of long memory (and, she fancies, longer foresight), and in the company of her cell-cultured cousins she senses a danger she cannot name. Though nothing she and her compatriots do need give her pause, she feels a time might yet come when it would be best to sit just a stage or two distant from the blood and sweat and tears of their inventions’ flesh-cloaked reality.

  The time may indeed be now when the vexatious business of final genesis is best kept at a remove. She has endured enough of it, goodness knows, and it is the least pleasant, most fraught part of her responsibilities. After too many years watching swelling surrogates mill and murmur behind oneway windows, diligently stamping down any tendernesses they conjure, she has had enough. She declares that division dead and sells off, outsources; embraces the quieter clamour of molecular manipulations, the inch-square clarity of the microscope.

  She knows the retrenchment is seen as a retreat, and does not care. The dissociation she feels requires a resolution, and removal of the cause seems to do the trick. Besides there is a threat there, she can feel it, however amorphous and infantile it might yet be. It is as minute as the cells and sequences her technicians must now content themselves with, but it is growing. She understands that it may come to life without her, but she will not be the one to give it birth. She is too well acquainted with calamity to be the architect of another upheaval.

  She has already seen the world change once. She suspects it may not be beyond imagining for it to change again.

  13

  Sharon and Achebe sat across from Masoud. She had spent the last ten minutes succinctly relating the day’s discoveries at the EGA, and watching his face grow longer with every word.

  Now he grimaced at the report infographic on the desk screen before him, splashed with far too many grey unknowns amongst the red and orange high-hazard flags, and rubbed his temples wearily. ‘So you’re telling me we still have no idea who, how or why.’

  ‘Or when,’ Sharon said. ‘It could have happened at any time since the EGA was set up.’

  ‘Possibly over a period of time,’ Achebe added. ‘Since we don’t know how it was done, we can’t assume it was a single event.’

  The police commander glared at him balefully. Achebe twitched and shrank back in his chair. His department’s inability to determine how the EGA’s security systems had been breached was singularly failing to impress. Sharon cleared her throat, drawing Masoud’s attention back, and out of the corner of her eye saw the other detective relax a little.

  ‘My guess is that it wasn’t,’ she said. ‘In order to maintain viability the genestock would have had to be transferred into some kind of temperature-controlled bag or case. It wouldn’t need to be large. The vials are tiny.’ She held up a little finger to illustrate. ‘But enough is missing, and from enough different locations throughout the archive, that I can’t see it happening all in one go.’

  ‘So you think – what? Over months? Years?’

  ‘Maybe. Or maybe just every day for a week.’ She could hear the irritation creeping into her own voice and reined it in. ‘There aren’t many permanent staff, and there’s been very little turnover. If it’s one of them they could have done it gradually. But they also have a steady stream of researchers from various universities and so on, here and abroad, who come in for anywhere from a few days to a couple of months.’

  ‘Crap.’ Masoud glared at the infographic again. ‘Is there any chance this has got nothing to do with the EGA? That these lines were never sent to them to begin with?’

  ‘You mean that the gemtechs didn’t turn everything over? That’s what Chang is now claiming, although I can’t see that it reflects any better on them since they were supposed to have verified each and every vial as it was checked into storage. And in fact the EGA did find discrepancies at the time, do you remember? A couple of the gemtechs held back some of their most valuable stock, substituted dummy vials, but they got caught out by their own datastream records. So I don’t buy it. You’d have to ask yourself not only how they got around those checks, but why so many of them did exactly the same thing. Because the missing stock was originally the property of several different gemtechs.’

  ‘And then,’ said Achebe nervously, ‘there are the hacks.’

  ‘You managed to verify those, did you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The trace is very clear, it looks like the same individual broke into the datastreams of multiple gemtechs and searched for specific genetypes in each of them.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘The genetypes that were trawled by the hacker correspond to the genestock that is missing from the EGA.’

  ‘And these hacks happened when?’

  Sharon, who knew the answer and knew that Masoud knew it too, tightened her lips and stayed silent.

  ‘Before the Declaration, when the genestock was still with the gemtechs,’ said Achebe. ‘There was a lot of datastream breaking-and-entering in those days, traces of it are all over the place. Mostly hackbot stuff, very broad spectrum, but some of it was much more refined. Targeted. This hacker follows that pattern.’

  ‘With the added feature,’ said Masoud evenly, ‘that what our hacker was searching for in the records of multiple private companies four or five years ago has since been stolen from a single secure government facility. Sometime in the last three years.’

  Achebe squirmed. Sharon said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘It seems to me, Inspector Varsi, as though someone is playing a very long game here, and isn’t too troubled by minor matters like the confiscation of the genestock they had their eye on.’

  ‘That sounds about right, sir.’

  ‘Or the ban on its use.’

  ‘Well, that’s the question, isn’t it, sir? We know that they stole from each other, or tried to, back in the days when there was money to be made. But it’s tough to work out how anyone could make that stuff pay now. The only human gemtech that’s allowed any more is for health reasons, and for parents who can’t conceive or have reason to worry how their kids might come out.’ She kept her voice rigidly neutral. ‘There’s no legitimate market for anything else. Every now and then you hear about a back-alley gene surgeon who’ll fiddle you better pheromones or make sure you have a baby with blue eyes instead of brown. But this is highly engineered genestock. The EGA’s own scientists tell us that kind of shoestring operation couldn’t do anything with it. And the cost-benefits around creating a sufficiently sophisticated black lab don’t seem to add up.’

  ‘So what do you think is going on?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. I would very much like to find out.’

  ‘What do you propose?’

  ‘We’ve initiated background checks into everyone who could possibly have had access – the
current staff, plus all the people who’ve come and gone. It’s going to be a bit messy, almost everyone who has expertise in this area also has some link back to pre-Declaration gemtech activity. We’ll work through them, liaise with local police, see if we come up with any probables. Sergeant Achebe here has begun a detailed systems audit, trying to work out exactly how our thief could have got in and out without triggering any alarms, or leaving a trail.’ She glanced at Achebe, who was nodding vigorously. ‘I’ve already spoken to colleagues in bio-crime about the black lab angle, just to make sure we cover it off. They’re going to check their sources and get back to me.’

  Masoud was nodding, grim-faced. ‘The director, Chang. You think he could be involved?’

  ‘I’m leaning very hard on him, sir, and so far my impression is no. He’s one of the few who never worked in the industry, came out against it from his student days. I suspect that’s a big part of why he got the job. He was speechless when we showed him the counterfeit vials, and he’s been scrambling for explanations and excuses ever since. He doesn’t seem to have been prepared at all, unless he’s a hell of an actor.’

  ‘And the whistleblower?’

  Sharon avoided looking at Achebe, wishing she felt less annoyed that this, too, had so far come up a dead end. They were not supposed to go looking for anonymous informants, but in this case finding out who had set them on the hunt would have been a breakthrough worth making.

  ‘Hasn’t come forward. And there’s no trail in the datastream …’

  ‘That’s one of the strangest things about this whole business, sir.’ To her surprise, Achebe had interrupted. ‘Normally we’d be able to track back, find the files those screenshots were taken from, or if they were deleted there should be a record in the edit log. But there’s nothing. There’s no evidence of the theft in the datastream at all.’

  ‘So where did the—? Hang on.’ Masoud was massaging his temples again. ‘So we were sent pictures of files that don’t exist, but should.’

  ‘Yes, sir …’

  ‘Which provided fake evidence of a crime …’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘… that really was committed.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Sharon and Achebe together.

  ‘So how—?’ He took in the look on Sharon’s face. ‘No, let me guess. We don’t know.’ He flicked at the tablet in exasperation and the infographic finally winked out.

  ‘No, we don’t,’ Sharon said levelly. ‘I’m wondering if it could be one of the visiting scientists, if they were somehow able to mirror the EGA idents and send us something that looked genuine enough to make us go in and find what we’ve found. I’m told there’s all sorts of things wrong with that theory, but so far it’s the only one I’ve got.’

  This was not entirely true, but she had no intention of saying any more; not unless it proved unavoidable. She did not look at Achebe, and he stayed quiet. Masoud rested his chin on his steepled fingers and stared across the table at them for a long minute. Sharon met his gaze steadily. She could sense Achebe beginning to fidget beside her.

  ‘Right.’ Masoud finally sat back in his chair, shaking his head tiredly. ‘Well, this is a deep and stinking pile of shit, Sharon, and we had all better grab shovels and start digging.’

  *

  It had been some considerable time since she had last lost her temper quite this badly.

  Khan had retreated, gradually at first but with increasing speed, until he stood with his back pressed against the door, face ashen as he fumbled for the release button. Unable as yet to contain herself, she nevertheless knew the torrent of her own abuse to be excessive and unwarranted, and foresaw with a kind of dull weariness the inevitable hunt for a new assistant if she let him get away.

  ‘It isn’t your fucking fault, Khan!’ she shouted at him, recognising the admission to be both incongruous and pitifully inadequate, as the door finally hissed open. She was surprised to see him stop at the midpoint of his escape, looking possibly even more stunned than before. She had a viciously gratuitous vision of the door hissing closed again and neatly bisecting the tablet he was desperately clutching to his chest, his elegant suit, and him.

  ‘It’s not?’ he ventured, still poised to flee.

  ‘Did you send this?’ She ripped her own tablet off its stand and waved it at him. She knew it would take very little for her to throw it at him. She was still going at top volume, and the door was standing open now, with him standing in it. She could feel the pulse pounding in her temples and throat. She needed to calm down.

  ‘Well, did you?’ Shouting still, fighting for control, not winning. ‘Are you that witch? Is this your idea, to send that bastard in here to see how much more fucking damage he can do? Well, is it? No.’

  He was still standing there. Remarkable. Something about it pulled the plug on her fury. She threw the tablet onto the desk, hard, and collapsed into her chair. ‘It is not. So what the fuck are you running away for?’

  Khan glanced out into the corridor, then stepped back inside. The door closed and he leaned against it, fingers a hair’s breadth away from the button. Really remarkable. His face was still pale, but he was puzzled now, frowning at her, actually waiting to see if there would be an explanation. She looked away, kneading her own hands together, cracking the knuckles, eyes hooded as she stared at the blank tablet on her desk. Deep. Calming. Breaths. Yeah, right.

  A small sound, Khan clearing his throat.

  ‘I’m not sure what’s happened, ma’am,’ he said quietly, ‘but I’m certain it can be resolved. I’m going to go and fetch you a cup of tea …’

  ‘I don’t like tea,’ she muttered truculently. She could feel the rawness in her throat, and coughed. Her hands were starting to tremble and she kept them in her lap, wondering if the shaking was going to spread throughout her body, bleakly aware that she should get him out of the office before he noticed. She felt cold and exhausted.

  ‘I’m going to fetch you a cup of tea,’ he repeated, with a firmness of tone that made her look up in surprise. ‘It’ll help you calm down. And then, ma’am, if you’ll tell me what’s made you so upset, maybe we can find a way to fix it.’

  *

  The tea was herbal and surprisingly good. Her estimation of Khan continued to rise. He sat quietly across from her, just out of sight over her shoulder. She had swivelled to gaze out of the panoramic window as she sipped. It probably gave the impression that she was too embarrassed to look at him, which at the moment was just as well. The trembling had receded, helped by the meds she’d swallowed while he was out of the room, but she could still feel the last of the tics and tremors ghosting across her face. She kept her eyes on the sky, watching its colour deepen as the long summer day slipped into evening, while she spoke.

  ‘So,’ she concluded, ‘he led us to believe he was taking our concerns seriously and would reflect them in his report to the Federation, and then he did the opposite. Quite spectacularly.’

  ‘I see.’ That diffident throat-clearing again. ‘Umm … do you still think his conclusions were wrong?’

  ‘It’s not that.’ Her mental acuity was returning, and she was aware she had to be careful. Part of the revised brief for Bel’Natur had been ensuring that new staff all had impeccably correct views on civil rights. ‘I’m not convinced he was right on that specific point, but the consequences haven’t turned out to be as bad as we feared. Not yet, anyway. And I don’t object to the way the world has changed, not any more. It was difficult at the time, but I’m over it. I accept that things had to evolve.’ She sighed and stretched out her legs, feeling the twinges in knees and hips. ‘It’s the way he went about it, the duplicity. I don’t think there was any doubt in his mind about what recommendations he was going to make, but he pretended otherwise.’

  ‘So you don’t think he can be trusted.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Does he need to be?’

  She glanced around at him, looked quizzical.

  ‘You asked me
to familiarise myself with all aspects of the project,’ he said diplomatically. ‘And I can’t see anything about the working practices or the people that he could find objectionable. Mr Herran’s involvement will obviously bring a new dimension to it, but if you leave it up to Dr Walker and Ms Morningstar to set the ground rules the question doesn’t really arise.’

  She looked back at the window, feeling the corner of her mouth twitch into the hint of a rueful smile. He was right, of course, and she’d known it was what she’d have to do even as she read Aryel Morningstar’s brusque message. It was the similarity to a previous, disastrous stratagem that had made her so furious.

  Explaining that to Khan was out of the question.

  Something else he had said struck her. ‘Are you familiar with Dr Walker’s work?’

  ‘A bit. He’s required reading at college now.’ She raised an eyebrow at him, and he winced. ‘Um. Sorry, I didn’t mean …’

  She swivelled back to face him across the desk, sighed and waved a magnanimous hand. ‘It’s fine, Khan. My undergraduate days are long past, no use pretending otherwise. I just hadn’t realised Eli Walker had become so ubiquitous.’

  ‘He’s considered the authority on … well, pretty much everything. Everything to do with gems anyway.’

  ‘My understanding was that going to live in the Squats had tarnished his reputation.’

  ‘It depends who you talk to. I’d say it’s divided opinion. I know some people think it proves he’s gone native and can no longer be considered an objective observer.’

  He was nodding gravely as he spoke, as if to emphasise how well this must correspond with her own view. He’d go far, this one. ‘But most – including the professor I had – saw it as giving him even more credibility. Reporting from the front line, so to speak.’

  ‘And what do you think, Khan?’

  ‘I think Dr Walker remains hugely influential. Maybe less so among academics these days, but very much so on the streams. People see him as a moral person, even if they don’t always agree with his take on things.’