by JT Lawrence
Keke shakes her head. Maybe she’s wrong about this one. She seems unhinged. Maybe she did do it.
“Moral luck,” she says. “Some people are in here because they were unlucky. Simple as that. Here’s an example. My father was a terrible drunk. Terrible! I mean – ” She puts her bound wrists on the table in front of her. “We won’t get into it. But he was a bad man. And he never spent a day in jail.”
“And you,” says Keke. “You were a ‘good’ drunk?”
“So you did read my file.”
“A friend of mine got hold of it for me. He’s good at that kind of thing.”
“I never hurt anyone.”
“If that’s true – ”
“It’s true. I never hurt anyone and I’ve got five years in here.”
“Then I’ll do what I can to get you an appeal.”
“I don’t have any money left. It all went to legal fees. I don’t make much bank in here, and they only give us twenty per cent to spend.”
“Don’t worry about the money,” says Zack.
She looks at him as if for the first time. Her gaze rests on his bespoke tie.
“You just need to tell us what you know.”
“That’s the problem,” says Helena. “That’s why I had no defence. Not really. I can’t really remember much about that night.”
“You drank too much?”
“No more than usual. I had a bottle of wine. And only after I tucked Erin in for the night.”
“What happened?”
“I fell asleep – I passed out – on the couch. Usually I can drink a bottle, no problem, but it was as if I had been drugged.”
“You think there was something in the wine?”
“No one believes me. I understand that. Why believe an alcoholic? Especially one that you think killed her baby daughter.”
Keke checks her SnapTile to make sure it’s still recording.
“When did you find her? Erin?”
“I woke up in the middle of the night. Disorientated. The house was completely dark. I felt woozy. I thought: I mustn’t go upstairs. It would be dangerous, in my condition. My co-ordination was off. Mouth was dry.” She licks her lips, as if the memory has made her thirsty. “I turned on the lounge light and there she was, on the floor. There was hardly any blood. Just a red stamp on the tiles. Her body was already cold.”
“I’m so sorry.” Zack takes her hand, but the CrimCol guard notices and gestures that he should let go.
“She had a big – ” Helena gestures at the back of her head. “ – a big … Her skull was smashed in, at the back here. When I lifted her up, and touched it … It was … soft.”
“That’s terrible,” says Keke.
“I thought it was a dream, you know? A nightmare. Because my head was still all mixed up. It can’t be true, I kept telling myself. It can’t be true. But then, I still think that. I thought that during the trial and I think it now. How could I have lost my little girl? There should be a name for people like us, who have lost their children. Kids who lose their parents are called orphans. There should be a name like that for us, because that’s how I felt. That’s how I feel.”
Her eyes turn red, but they are dry, as if no more tears are left.
“She was probably looking for me, you know? If she woke up at night she’d come across to my bedroom, but I wasn’t there, so she tried to come down the stairs to look for me. She was probably calling for me.”
“And the stair gate wasn’t latched?”
“I latched that gate. I know I did. I did it every night for three years. She must have, I don’t know, unlatched it. Or climbed over it.”
Keke’s wrong about the tears. They stream down Nash’s face. She ignores them.
“You didn’t hear her fall down the stairs.”
Keke and Zack, late for the second part of the day’s proceedings in court, jump on the bike and race off. They chat via the helmet connection.
“That was so creepy,” says Zack.
“Nash?”
“Nash was creepy, but I meant the factory. It was like, I don’t know. The convicts seemed like automatons.”
Keke dodges a slow cab and gives him the finger.
“I don’t understand the connection,” says Zack. “Apart from the obvious – that Lundy and Nash both lost a young child – but how does Nash’s story have any bearing on Lundy’s trial?”
“I asked Marko to look into any similar cases. I just have a feeling that there’s something…”
“Who’s Marko?”
It’s always difficult to describe her relationship to Marko. He’s her boyfriend, her partner, her non-exclusive lover. He’s the one she wants to climb into bed with at night, and wake up with the next morning.
“He’s the best hacker I know.”
Keke smoothly dodges a pedestrian walking a pack of small yapping dogs.
“So you think they’re connected, somehow?”
“We’ll never know if we don’t look.”
Keke and Zack’s Patches buzz at the same time. It’s court. They’re twenty minutes late.
“Marko also checked Lundy out. Top to bottom. No secrets.”
“Everyone has secrets.”
Zack holds Keke a little tighter as they take the offramp, exiting the highway and heading into town.
Part 2
Chapter 25
Copper Squared
Johannesburg, 2024
“Damn it, Mally!” shouts Kate. “I asked you to put your shoes on!”
Mally throws his head back and wails. Silver sees her brother crying and joins in. Snot flows down her face. Kate wipes it away, causing the girl to cry harder and launch into a coughing fit. Why is she always sick? Damn it. How is it that they’ve found a way to cure cancer but not the common cold?
“We have to leave now or we’ll miss the show!”
The twins’ crying sends bright green spirals drilling into her skull (Forest Fright) and she can’t see past the noise. Her head is going to explode. She steps on something cold and slimy that makes her whole body shimmer-cringe. It’s half a peeled banana. She scrapes the sticky slug off her bare foot and as she looks up she catches her reflection in their funhouse mirror. She hasn’t had time to shower or get dressed yet and she looks a hundred years old.
“Stop crying,” she says, wanting to cry, herself. “Please stop crying, both of you!” But they carry on as if they’ve both lost an arm. She jams Mally’s foot into a boot. The zip jams and it tears off the front part of Kate’s nail. She swears under her breath.
“It’s too tight!” he cries. “Too t-i-i-i-i-i-i-ight!”
She wrenches it off again, throws it across the room. Goes to the kids’ cupboard to hunt for another option. Her face is hot. What is she thinking, trying to get the kids ready on her own? She searches for another pair, but can only find single shoes. Bloody hell, it’s infuriating. Why do toddler shoes always separate from their mates? They are the opposite of swans. Thankfully, the kids have stopped bawling. She hears their clumsy footfalls on the other side of the wall.
She finds a pair. They’re slightly too big, but they’ll do. Why hasn’t someone invented children’s shoes that grow with the kids’ feet? And that stay together when they’re not in use? How difficult can it be? Grasping the sandals to her dressing gown, she returns to the lounge, and sees why the twins are quiet. They’ve stripped off all the clothes Kate has just dressed them in, and are dancing, naked, on top of them. Grinning at her like mad gremlins.
She smiles at them, but she’s crying inside. She can’t do this. She gives up. Is it too early to drink? She looks at her Helix: 2PM. Pity.
“Mom?” says Silver. “Mom?” Her face is a glazed doughnut.
Kate sighs with her whole body.
“Yes?”
“Are we going to the show now?”
Mally stops dancing. Hops over. “Are we? Are we going now?” Tiny perfect white teeth like pearls in his mouth.
“No,” says Kate.
“But you promised!” says Silver. “You promised we’d go to the show!”
“I know. But look at you two.”
They look each other up and down, then back at her. They don’t see the problem.
“I like being in the naked,” says Mally.
“I know, my boy, but I can’t take you out in your birthday suits, and I’m too tired to dress you again. It’s already two o’clock and the show starts at half past. We won’t make it.”
“I’ll dress myself!” says Silver. Mally repeats after her. Silver pulls her socks onto her hands like gloves and wears her pants on her head. Mally laughs and helps her put her T-shirt on around her legs like a skirt. They both look up at Kate and giggle.
Doctor Voges had recommended she take the twins on an outing. She hoped that a successful excursion would work towards quelling her paranoia of the kids getting snatched. Mally had been nagging for weeks to see the RoboPup holo show, so when the street pole ad offered her tickets on the way home, she bought them. They’re sitting in her Helix now, ticking away to the show’s start time. Tick, tick, tick.
“You are SUCH skelms,” says Kate.
Who is she kidding? They’re never going to get out of the house, never mind get to the show on time. How can she break it to them, without unleashing that godawful racket? She’s barely recovered from the last outpouring of grief. She dreads an afternoon cooped up at home with them.
“Silver, Mally, I need to tell you something.” They look up at her with expectant faces. She can just see them thinking: are we going now? Are we going now?
Net help her.
Just then, there’s a sound at the front door. Her heart lifts. Seth? He hadn’t told her he’d left the Cape Republic. Maybe he wanted to surprise her. She goes to the door and looks at the monitor. Sebongile stands there in a starched uniform and a shining face.
“I thought it was your day off?” says Kate, after opening up.
“It is, but I heard you,” she says, gesturing at the wall they share, “and I thought that you’d need help today.”
She must give Sebongile a raise. A large one. Immediately.
“Thank you,” says Kate, and hugs her. A sharp jab in her chest. A bright orange star, a fizz of firework. “Ouch,” she says, pulling away, rubbing the pricked skin.
“Oh, sorry,” says Sebongile, looking down. She adjusts her SurroSis pin.
“Don’t worry,” says Kate. “It’s nothing.”
A bead of blood forms on her chest. She wipes it off with the pad of her middle finger and puts it in her mouth. Copper squared. The kids come running and throw their naked bodies at the nanny’s legs.
“Bongi! Bongi!” they shout while they scrum.
“Jump in the shower, Ma,” says Sebongile. “I’ll get the twins ready.” She tickles their bare skin and they shriek.
“Bless you, Bongi.”
Sebongile points at Kate’s Helix, gesturing for her to hand it over. Kate looks down at it and sees the low battery light flashing and swears inwardly at the self-charge function that hadn’t been working lately.
“I’ll plug it in for you,” says the nanny, shooing her into the shower.
Chapter 26
Flicker of Whisker
The Cape Republic, 2024
Now that Seth is so very close to the end of the job, his resistance rears up like a mean cobra. This is by far the easiest part, but his brain blanks. He’s tired of the vacant walls, white noise and bland food. He needs something with a bit of colour or grit or stink to get going again. A sanity break. Seth steps away from his desk, rubs his face, and is reminded by doing so that he needs a shave. Maybe he’ll just go outside for a few minutes; breathe some salty air. He takes his Tile with him.
The lab door senses his objective and slides open, and the camera’s eye swivels after him. Where is Carson? He makes his way towards the glass elevator but a movement at the end of the passage catches his eye.
“Hello?” he says, hoping it’s Arronax. The Nautilus building is spooky in the way that although he knows there are over a hundred people working here, he never sees anyone. There’s another flicker in the corner of his eye. Is he imagining it?
“Hello?” he says. Now there’s a sound: a scampering. Seth follows, turning the corner, and jumps when he sees the synth salamander at his feet.
“Jesus, Meadon.”
He laughs, but his humour is cut short when he looks up from the lizard to see that a lab door is open. This is not the kind of facility that leaves lab doors open.
He steps inside, knowing he shouldn’t, but not being able to resist. It would go against his nature to walk away. In his experience – and he’s had a lot of experience hacking laboratories – an open door like this is a highly unlikely bit of luck. As he enters, he expects some kind of alarm to sound, and gets his excuse clear in his head: I took the wrong turn; I was looking for the bathroom; I was following Meadon and he led me in here.
It’s a huge barn of a room, and mostly dark, and seemingly empty, apart from a large machine at the back. There’re no cameras in here, or at least, none that he can see. Something about the behemoth appliance spikes his blood with adrenaline as he approaches it with measured steps. His pulse accelerates as an idea forms. An idea, or a memory? A thought that inks his outlook with dread. What is this thing? Its exterior is twin doors of polished metal, like a giant-sized fridge/freezer. Like a futuristic time-journey chamber, or a travel pod. When he touches the panel on the right the machine beeps and makes a whirring sound. Then a mechanism unlocks and there’s hissing as the doors glide open and fold around the sides to reveal a complicated dashboard of buttons, LEDs, dials and toggles. Beyond the dashboard is an empty glass shell. Seth looks over his shoulder, expecting a security guard to run in and tackle him, but when that doesn’t happen, he pushes a button and the whole thing lights up like a December tree, including an overhead fluorescent that makes the shell radiate white light. The machine casts a glow on the whole room.
Seth looks more closely at the dash and that thought is knocking at his brain again. Has he seen this thing before? Then he spies a button with one word on it that causes the memory to come smashing in on him.
‘PRINT’ it says, and all of a sudden, Seth knows. He’d seen a more sophisticated version of this thing four years ago in the Genesis building. It was the machine that had printed Mally as a newborn, and a hundred other babies. Flesh and bone and blood babies.
He taps the screen: an origami-style picture of a rodent. Four crane-like arms descend on the platform of the shell and begin printing.
It starts with the skeleton: a shiny white paste that dries on contact. Once the spinal column is formed, the tiny organs appear, then the printing arms sweep out in elegant arcs to form the ribs, as if it’s stitching the air with liquid ivory. Seth is mesmerised. The muscles are next, and the ribbons of tendons, and on top of that, creamy membranes and spongey pink meat. The skin prints the fastest, the fur, the longest. The final touches are the eyes, tiny liquid-filled beads, and long, impossibly thin whiskers.
Within a minute there is a white rat centre-stage. It’s perfectly formed down to its tender-looking feet, but its eyes are closed, and there’s no movement. When Seth presses another button a zap of electricity, like a lightning bolt, knocks the rat onto its back. If it wasn’t alive before, it certainly looks dead now. The violence of the electrocution disturbs Seth. Of course he’s seen his fair share of lab animal cruelty – the prevention of it was one of the reasons he’d joined Alba in the first place – but he’s never been the one with his finger on the trigger.
He steps up onto the platform and the glass doors lift and open, like a transparent flower blooming. His sneakers appear dirty against the backdrop of glowing white. Gently, Seth picks up the rat with one hand and and lays it in the palm of the other. He shouldn’t feel anything for it, but there’s a gleam of something in his conscience, some small spark of regret. What will he do with this tiny corpse? Is
it even a corpse, if it never lived? But then a whisker moves, and then a pink toe. Then nothing. Has he imagined it? Seth looks harder, and the rodent is still. Then there’s another flicker of whisker and the rat is bicycling in the air, trying to get on his feet. It startles Seth and he drops the thing, which squeaks like a bouncy ball as it hits the floor then scuttles away into the shadows.
He should try to catch it. Better yet, he should leave this room, but the screen on the machine has so many options he finds he can’t just walk away. Along with the icons of insects and rodents and marsupials there is an emblem of a human which he absolutely must not press.
His job here is important; he can’t fuck it up.
So many lives at stake. Seth stands in front of the machine and tells himself to go back to his work station, but then his hand is out and he’s tapping the human button, and the machine starts calibrating. It beeps, asking him for a dynap code.
“No way,” he says under his breath. His fingers are tingling. Does he give his own DNA Profile? He takes out his SnapTile. Alongside his profile he has Kate’s, and the kids’. Surely it wouldn’t work, would it? Without stopping to think, he sends the machine Mally’s code.
Chapter 27
HackMagg0t Pentester
Johannesburg, 2024
Marko’s sweating. He’s spent the past eighteen hours designing the hack to end all hacks. A biblical hack in magnitude and theme. He took inspiration from the ten plagues of Egypt. He’s about to hit the Resurrectors’ vital system files with wave after wave of afflictions. First: Blood. An injection attack that will flow into their SQL database. Next, Frogs, Lice, Flies. He’s especially proud of the HackMagg0t pentester he’s ready to sprinkle all over their firewall. His network-sniffing locusts will eat everything in their path. His boils are symlink attacks that will climb and corrupt. The grand finale: Death of the Firstborn: a shell-scripting masterpiece that will divert all their traffic to his deep server while poisoning their cache, spreading and replicating from one DNS server to the next, blighting everything in its path. It’s fitting, elegant and masterful, if he doesn’t say so himself. He feels like a demigod, finger poised, ready to unleash his fury and damnation.