by Suzanne Weyn
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Part Two
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Part Three
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Part Four
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About the Author
Also by Suzanne Weyn
Copyright
Grace pulled her plastic junior e-card from the front pocket of her metallic silver shorts and handed it to Eric, who was working behind the desk at the rock climbing center. She had been in love with him from afar for years, and now she was up close. Very close.
“In two days I won’t have to carry that card anymore,” she told him, trying to keep her tone casual. “I turn seventeen on Sunday.”
“Happy Birthday,” he said, his dark eyes flashing merrily.
This was more than she’d ever gotten from him at school. It was a huge school — a factory for making students, really — and they didn’t have any of the same classes or friends. She noticed him in the halls, though. She always noticed him in the halls. Even as she felt herself blending into the crowd.
Eric never blended in. Everyone knew him. He was quite literally a rock star — a rock-climbing star, that was. Olympic team bound. Not like her at all.
Although maybe he had noticed her. Because when she’d come here to the indoor rock wall climbing center for the first time, he’d said, “I know you.” And each time after that, she’d wanted him to know more.
“Where are you getting your tattoo done?” he asked.
“Since I have a summer job as a receptionist at GlobalHelix, I can get it done on my lunch break,” she told him. “But I have to wait until Monday.”
She’d never mentioned her job to him before; in the weeks they’d been flirting (well, she at least had been flirting — his intentions were unclear), it hadn’t come up. Now, when she mentioned GlobalHelix, the genetics division of the multinational corporation Global-1, his smile flickered for a second. “After everything that’s happened, how is that company still operating?” he wondered out loud. It wasn’t antagonistic — he wasn’t attacking her. But clearly he wasn’t a Global-1 fan.
Grace shrugged. “Global-1 has divisions all over the world and one group went rogue with its own agenda. That division has been shut down.”
Eric shook his head. “I can’t believe they got away with saying that. They had to have known what was going on. Isn’t working there kind of banged out? The building is even evil-looking, like it’s some kind of a fortress.”
An uneasiness filled Grace. Global-1 had always been good to her family and, she honestly believed, good to the world. It took a hit with the bar code scandal, yes … but blaming the whole company for that was kind of like blaming a country for what one outlaw town did.
An image of the company’s huge, impersonal lobby, with its five-story glass-and-steel ceiling, flashed into Grace’s mind. She could see how it would seem like a fortress to an outsider. But she’d been going there her whole life.
“It’s only a summer job,” Grace explained, instinctively knowing she wasn’t going to convince Eric of what the company was about. It didn’t seem worth arguing over, not right now. “My dad works in maintenance there. He got the spot for me. A job is a job. You know how impossible they are to get.”
“Tell me about it,” Eric agreed with a sigh. “I was lucky to get this one.”
Grace laughed. “It helps that you’re a pre-Olympic rock climber,” she pointed out. Everyone at school knew about that. They gathered at the indoor wall in the gym just to see him free climb with amazing speed and agility. “They’re lucky to have you working here.”
Eric Chaca could have easily acted like a Jock God, but instead he transformed into Mr. Bashful. “Yeah, whatever,” he said, not meeting Grace’s eyes.
It made her like him even more.
He changed the subject. “So are you are you up for the tattoo or is it banging you out?” he asked.
Grace wasn’t really sure how to answer that. It’s not like there was a choice involved. You turned seventeen and got the bar code tattoo. Period.
“It makes life so much easier,” she said. Immediately, she saw the questions in his eyes. “I know what you’re going to say — but, look, they’re okay to get now, right? This second generation of bar codes is just what we thought they were at first: They contain basic info like address, driver’s license, bank account, and so forth. No genetic information. No nanobots. That’s what they say at Global-1.”
Eric sighed. “I wouldn’t trust them.”
Grace glanced at the tattoo he wore. “I guess you must believe them because you have a ’too.”
Eric rubbed his tattooed wrist and his expression became uneasy. “Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it sometimes. You had to have been scared by what happened. The nanobots … it was like you were being spied on from within your own body, and if they found something wrong, you were nullified.”
“But that’s not true anymore.”
Eric nodded. “Once the nanobots were deactivated, they were supposed to dissolve in six months. It’s been exactly six months since they switched them off so they should be gone. I hope so. It bangs me out to think I had molecule-sized robots running around my bloodstream. Your company could have killed me at any time.”
This was another reason Grace liked Eric so much: his honesty. She figured the only way to respond was to be honest in return.
“All that is rumor,” she told Eric. “It’s too easy to blame everything on Global-1. There were nanobots, yes. I’m not arguing that. But the idea that Global-1 was using them to kill people? That’s never been proven.”
Immediately, she felt she’d gone too far. But if Eric wasn’t going to respect her opinions, why bother?
“Grace,” Eric said. There was no criticism, no judgment. Just her name. Him saying her name, as if it was something that mattered to him.
“Eric,” she said back.
He looked at her a moment, making a decision. Then he reached under the desk and pulled out a small travel drive.
“A Postman handed me this today,” he said.
Grace’s first reaction was to ask, “Postmen are still around?” She thought they’d been disbanded after the bar code tattoo scandal had come to light. There was no more need for them.
“You might not see them, but they’re still here,” Eric replied. He extended the black plastic box to her. “It’s a message from Decode. Want to check it out?”
Now it was Eric who was making a bold move but burying it in a casual tone. Even though Decode had helped break the bar code scandal, the group was still a nonentity as far as Global-1 and the government were concerned. Grace knew plenty of kids — mostly outcasts — who treated Decode’s leader, Kayla Reed, like their own personal hero, keeping pictures of her hanging on their bedroom walls. Grace had never really understood the appeal. Maybe because her parents would have torn the posters down as soon as they went up, considering it disloyal. But also because, while Grace understood what Decode said it was against, she never really understood what they were for. She had no desire for society
to fall into chaos, and that’s what she feared a rebellion would bring.
Still, Eric was taking a risk handing this Decode message to her, especially after he knew she worked at Global-1. It meant that he trusted her. And that was something.
Grace opened the container and eyed the tiny gold chip inside. “Thanks. Can I get it back to you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Sure. Take your time.”
There were no more words to say, so their eyes continued the conversation for a moment longer.
I want you to believe in this, his said.
I want you to believe in me, hers said back.
As soon as Grace was seated on the Bullit-Bus whirring softly toward Global-1 headquarters, she pulled her phone from her titanium mesh tote and took out the small case Eric had given her. Opening it, she wet her finger and lifted the chip, sliding it onto the phone’s screen. Immediately an image opened.
A handsome young man of about eighteen with wild black curls, cocoa-colored skin, and dancing amber eyes smiled softly at Grace. She recognized him immediately. His face and those of his fellow bar code tattoo resisters had been all over the news for the last six months. He was Kayla Reed’s boyfriend and fellow activist, Mfumbe Taylor.
“Mfumbe Taylor here with the latest video update from Decode,” the young man on the small screen spoke in a confident, friendly tone. “Global-1 will not let us post our message in public, since they control all means of discourse, but we will still get the word out. We’ve accomplished so much this past year that it’s hard to know where to begin. Since last May, when a bill was passed making it mandatory for all U.S. citizens aged seventeen and above to be tattooed in a visible spot with their own individual bar code, our organization, Decode, has protested and run interference against this unjust law. From the start, we viewed the bar code tattoo as an unconstitutional assault on human dignity and privacy. The reality has proven to be much, much worse.”
Grace paused the video to look out the window. The Bullit-Bus was entering the freeway toward Los Angeles. It wasn’t long before she’d arrive at GlobalHelix.
Moving her fingers quickly over the screen, Grace fast-forwarded the video. She was pretty sure she knew what Mfumbe Taylor would be saying about the history of the bar code tattoo. The “much, much worse” things they’d found out were now common knowledge. First, they’d discovered that an individual’s genetic code was stored inside the bars of the tattoo. People were hired or fired based on what genetics revealed of a person’s family health history. Insurance companies didn’t want to insure people who had high risks of certain diseases based on their genes. People who were poor health risks couldn’t even get loans or be admitted into colleges. Society was being turned upside down based on DNA. Your genes were your fate — and the last word on whether you would succeed or fail in life was tattooed right on your skin.
And then came the nanobots.
The screen offered a link, and Grace tapped on it. She was curious to see what the Decode angle on it would be.
What Have Nanobots Got to Do with It?
Article by Allyson Minor
Reporting from the California Institute of Technology
Nanobots: molecular-sized robots — invisible machinery that respond to mathematical programming. Self-replicating, they can mimic viruses, manipulate nerves, and apply pressure on various organs — including the brain.
Physicists have known nanomachinery was possible since the 1950s. Nobel Prize–winning physicist Richard Feynman was talking about nanotechnology — the extreme miniaturization of machinery — as far back as 1959. He believed that the friction caused by moving parts would be the biggest obstacle. By the 2010s, nanobots were being used in the human bloodstream to take apart cancer cells within the body.
By the 2020s, nanobots acquired sophistication no one would have dreamed of. Everyone who received the bar code tattoo would soon learn how effective and how deadly nanomachinery could be. But they wouldn’t even know that the molecule-sized robots were swimming through their bloodstream. That knowledge would come much later, and for many of them, the information would arrive too late.
In the wrong hands — meaning specifically the power-hungry hands of Global-1 — nanobots could be coded to turn deadly against anyone who had them in their bloodstream.
The California Institute of Technology remains one of the nation’s centers for robotic research and development. As a student here, working with the renowned doctor Alfred Gold, I was able to assist Decode members in accessing information that led them to uncover the fact that certain algorithms could be used by Global-1 to cause illness and even death in the people who were injected with these nanobots. And since Global-1 had spent billions to successfully get their agent Loudon Waters into the White House, this amounted to complete government control of U.S. citizens. It was as simple as the entry of a computer algorithm into a specific bar code designation.
In November of 2025, all this was revealed to the public through the hard work and bravery of groups like Decode and its offshoot, the Drakians. With information passed to retired Senator Ambrose Young, Global-1 was forced to shut down their bid for complete government control. Decode and the Drakians are still watching it closely.
You should be watching it closely, too.
Be careful who controls your future.
The Bullit-Bus glided to a stop right in front of the eight-foot wall surrounding the sprawling GlobalHelix facility. Grace dug for her Global-1 ID badge while exiting the bus. Because she didn’t yet have a bar code tattoo, she rested her chin on a metal plate built into the wall while a red laser scanned her eye for an identity check. When it had verified that she was, in fact, Grace Morrow, receptionist, a gap in the wall appeared as a security door slid open to admit her.
Glancing up at the huge metal sculpture on the roof — a twisting ladder representing the shape of human DNA, the double helix — she smiled. Birds were perched on its rungs. It amused her that this imposing structure had become an avian perch.
The building housing GlobalHelix might be as creepy as people claimed, but Grace didn’t see that — instead she saw how impressively final-level their technology was. They were always on the cutting edge of innovation. And now they were on their game more strongly than ever. Especially since Decode members had attacked the headquarters — hacking the computers and ramming right through the front wall with a tractor trailer — last October. Within days the wall had been rebuilt and was now fortified to withstand anything. Even bombs.
Grace had a hard time reconciling Decode’s idea of attackers, vigilantes, and terrorists with the calm, measured face on the message Eric had given her. But the reality was that Decode wanted to bring this whole place down. And they’d bring her and her father down with it, if they had an opportunity. She had to remember that.
Once the whisper-quiet front doors closed behind her, it was a short walk to Grace’s station behind the long, curved, marble front desk. She greeted Terri Lin, the elegant woman she was replacing. “Your father was looking for you,” Terri told Grace as she lifted her purse from beneath the desk. “He’s working on the tenth subfloor now. At least, he was an hour ago.”
“Thanks. I’ll buzz him in a minute,” Grace said, sliding into the springy titanium desk chair Terri had just evacuated. “Did he say what he wanted?”
Terri shrugged. “Nope.”
“Okay.”
The sun slanted across the marble floor, filtering in through the large windows at the top of the ceiling. The dimensions of the GlobalHelix building always made Grace feel so tiny. She imagined it was how a mouse or even an ant might feel running along the baseboards of a room. Glancing around the huge lobby of steel and glass, Grace wondered if that was Global-1’s goal — to make everyone who entered feel small and unimportant. If it was what they intended, they were excellent at accomplishing it. But it was okay by her. Grace didn’t mind being part of something substantial and powerful. In a way, it was even comforting to belong to som
ething larger than herself.
Shivering, Grace pulled her lightweight black cardigan from her tote. The central air was on especially high today.
A tall, silver-haired man with vigorous stride and dignified bearing came through the front door and approached Grace. His blue summer suit was crisp. Dr. Jonathan Harriman was like a celebrity at Global-1. Everyone knew that the distinguished Australian gentleman had invented the first bar code tattoos.
“Hello, Dr. Harriman,” Grace greeted as she checked the built-in computer monitor. “There are no messages for you yet today.”
Dr. Harriman studied her with his intense ice blue eyes. Grace felt as though he was inspecting her for some sign that she might be deceiving him about something. What it might be, she couldn’t imagine. “Thank you, Grace,” Dr. Harriman said, walking toward the special executive elevators reserved for the top Global-1 employees.
He knew her name, anyway. That was more than any of the other execs here at Global-1 did.
Once Dr. Harriman had disappeared into the elevator, she glanced at the flexible droid cell phone wrapped around her wrist. Quickly unpeeling it, she flattened it on her desk. Since the bar code tattoo scandal broke, some people acted as though all nanotechnology was sinister, but they didn’t stop to realize that nanotech made final-level stuff like these flexifones possible. She tapped in the GlobalHelix number plus the extension for her father’s phone.