Genosimulation (A Teen & Young Adult Science Fiction): A Young Adult Science Fiction Thriller

by L. L. Fine

  And suddenly, a surprise.

  A single castle, beautiful, grew just beyond the mound.

  An unprotected castle. Newly built and uninhabited.

  Could it be?

  He circled it from all sides, suddenly suspicious. Examined the height of the walls in front of him, checked the doors, automatically marking where the standard-looking guard wasps set up ambushes. Yes, it was definitely a task for a spider like him, and he could chalk up several dozen imprisoned ants to the task force, to his credit.

  Yes, there was some use for him after all, and that tiny intelligence rejoiced in it.

  With measured steps, cautiously, he approached the walls. Stalk after stalk, grain after grain. He had time. The secret about a successful sneak-in was doing it very slowly - or very, very fast. And each pace was fit for a different situation.

  He progressed. Slowly, then rushed. With eight eyes, and built-in caution, he stepped from shadow to shadow, hiding among the angles that existed in the structure which he was to penetrate. A few steps up - and a hop - the window he hoped would be there was open. Barred, true, but what bars are for a spider?

  With a light jump he entered the new complex. Looked around. Nothing surprising, just a few ants in a circle, carrying packets up and down the various steps. Also the source, the well from which they drank occasionally, was visible in the center of the courtyard. He identified such structures very well. They were old as he was - in fact, he was designed to penetrate exactly this kind of fortification.

  Again he wondered. The structure, gleaming so modern and shiny from outside, did not match the interior domain. Funny. The vast steps were full of strange different buildings, combinations of old and new, genius and childish. Often (although not recently) he had met ant colonies, hundreds of thousands of ants, without even a proper protective virus. And sometimes impenetrable bunkers did not yield any valuable treasure.

  All right. Modern spiders will face up to modern buildings, and he, in turn, would deal with the old buildings. Sure-footed but still cautious, he made his way to the central courtyard, planning to implant a capsule of irresistible beery nectar, disguising well-wrapped silk, to clasp each ant as it came to drink from the well. Within a short time, he knew it would catch them all with its flexible webs.

  No one bothered him. In fact, his registered what he identified as either a temporary, small failure in the maintenance, or a large systematic failure in the design. The building was just wide open. Even the ants who inhabited the yard weren’t much in evidence.

  To the spider that did not matter. He carefully crawled forward, preparing to plant the capsule fast and retreat quickly. Just a little further, and he was there. Last look around, alertness at its peak, the preparation of the self-destruction - everything by the book - and the capsule sank in the central water reservoir structure.

  The spider retreated quickly, satisfied by the successful execution of the task. He could not feel, no matter how alert he was, the tiny spore, from somewhere near the pool, now clinging to the edge of his foot.

  06/10/01 Pee - Mail

  Gilad also collapsed. Shit.

  *

  Same laboratory. The same building. The same team.

  But the atmosphere, oh, the atmosphere.

  This has been a completely different one, Zomy noticed, hiding a smile behind the oxygen mask. Familiar smiling faces, full of motivation, were replaced by red eyes and lack of expression. The scent of success that had characterized the place had given way to an embarrassing smell of failure.

  How many parents does a failure have?

  Too many looks sought them in the hallways.

  A large number of those looks lingered, again and again, on Zomy. He felt it from all sides. Sometimes he managed to capture them, to enjoy how they were trying to penetrate the darkness of his mask. Eyes darting, elusive, blaming.

  So he didn't take the mask off. Ever.

  Although he could. Since the incident in New York Zomy's condition improved slowly, thanks to strenuous breathing exercises, performed daily. But Zomy preferred to hide this progress. The mask protected him from the world, and it was good these days.

  Because the atmosphere had changed.

  Glory days of pure scientific research, the togetherness of pioneering, had disappeared. Something dreary had penetrated the complex. He did not know what exactly, but it was something divisive, cold.

  Twice he had found listening devices in his room. Twice he had poured coffee on them 'accidentally'. Twice he forgot to report it, and twice the remains were removed within a day, in thin silence.

  As a preventive measure, he hacked Keshny's computer. Just as he was about to enter into conversation with Keshny, Zomy remotely started up his vocalmeter. He then checked the results.

  It was the right move, it seemed. Keshny's intonation, the software reported, was full of distrust. Keshny was sure he was lying. It did not surprise Zomy - but it was another warning signal.

  Another signal came from the direction of Lia. Lack of signal, actually.

  And this was something he did not really understand. Overnight, concrete walls had been erected between their hearts. As if piped between them, suddenly a deep ocean of loneliness lay in the way. She simply did not communicate with him more. Did not speak, did not return his calls. Just went in and shut herself inside her.

  He sent flowers – but that did not help. Nor did the flow of his other gifts distract her from her melancholy. She began to mutter to herself, avoided his gaze, disappeared for periods of time, excusing her behavior when she had to, as illness. She was not feeling well. Stayed at home. Without him.

  And of course, Omri 19. And now Gilad 19. Two mysteries that almost drove sleep from his life, and also made the professional atmosphere more and more tense. The experiment did not work, the theory was falling apart. Despair and frustration were slowly building.

  Maybe that's what made it hard for Lia.

  His room was not that close to hers. But more than once he heard her arguing loudly with other scientists, shouting atypically, the sort of shouting that passes through walls. He heard a door slammed twice.

  And once she also confronted him, swearing. Accusing his computer system of malfunctioning.

  This was nonsense, of course. Long before the biologists began to think about the possibility of glitches in the computer system, Zomy broke it down into modules himself. With fury and frenzy.

  There was no routine or link that went untested. He started the system in all its force, fully up to the precautionary limit to avoid external exposure. He again started to run the genosimulation.

  *

  "Goddamit, the Internet isn't moving. What's the number of Support?"

  "I already called, and they said there are attack viruses running riot in the world. Half the servers have fallen."

  "When will they fix it?"

  "They don’t know."

  "All these bastards with viruses."

  "Come on, it’s just a game of Maccabi."

  *

  Alone again. His room. Looking at the results, decoder numbers, formulae, circuits. Again and again and again. Omri, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 – all’s well.

  Only 19 Omri stuck. Crashing.

  And in turn, even Gilad 19.

  18 live simulations...

  And the next one - dead. Always.

  DEAD END.

  And now, here they were gathered together at this meeting – a jamboree. An emergency.

  The emergency meeting concerned with the project included the Institute’s higher echelons. Like that meeting, with the monkey. However, unlike then, the lab was not wearing holiday clothes. Not at all. It was not tidied, nor cleaned, did not become an underground banquet hall. And Keshny, again in a formal suit, subdued in proximity to his superiors and blunt with his inferiors, did not speak this time.

  Instead, someone else spoke.

  Zomy lazily recognized him, knew his face from the press, television. One of the top brass
, although not the most senior. And now his words – Zionism – how bad it all was - how resources were invested in it - and you ( “in you", he dared to say. "You!") - and how essential it was for the future state, etc. etc. and blah blah blah…

  Everyone listened, all were silent. What could they say? Even when the director stopped babbling, asking for comments, questions, anything - no one piped up. Sometimes silence is the best policy – and this was such an occasion. When they’re announcing the hunting season, you’d better escape from the spotlight.

  And it was declared, leaving no doubt, at least from the management. Those who lived in the past, those who couldn’t move forward, those who remained bogged in old ideology - all of these were the subjects of the hunt, and whoever got into the viewfinder was doomed.

  And the Institute itself? These were difficult days, and this special meeting was merely courtesy. But no one dared to speak up. It would not help. So everyone kept quiet, especially while they were talking. Silent as fish, long faces, and eyes roving the floor.

  Zomy just stared into the eyes of the hunters, protected by his mask. And all in all, only Zomy allowed himself a bitter smile, slim, sarcastic. A smile that widened, without a trace of shame, as the director almost directly addressed him, praising him for his achievements (as if he needed it) and urging him to devote even more hours to resolve the problem.

  As if he needed to.

  There was only one good thing in this meeting. For the first time in days, he and Lia were in the same room. She in obvious discomfort, he reveling in the opportunity, sipping up every move and shift of her, well hidden under the mask, suppressing the desire to take her in his arms, to ask, to find out.

  Twice their eyes met, and he saw in her some new, hidden sadness. He resisted hard the urge to cross the room to her. To hug her.

  Their eyes touched lightly twice, and twice she focused her eyes on far-flung ethereal space somewhere in the world.

  "... And I want to conclude on an optimistic note. The nation owes you much, and I'm certain you won't disappoint. Thank you," the director’s concluding words made their way to his mind. Keshny applauded shortly, thanked the top brass for their attention, and scattered them all to work.

  But Zomy skipped his room, trotting after Lia.

  "Wait," he touched her shoulder.

  She turned, looking at him in a green, opaque steadiness.

  Like a blow in the face. Zomy, who had become accustomed to her evasions, did not expect this indifferent gaze. Closed eyes of solid, glassy green. For a moment he lost his balance, but stabilized again. She did not move away, at least. That was good.

  "What's going on?" he asked, genuinely.

  "Working, you know. The 19th running of the subjects." She did not call the children by name, of course. No one dared to call the children by name.

  "And beyond that?"

  "No more than that."

  "Lia!"

  "What, Zomy? What?" She sounded more tired, more exhausted, than he had never heard before. The green in her eyes got a little watery. Just a little.

  "Why are you doing this?"

  "Because I have to. Don’t ask why, please..."

  He considered her words a split second and decided to obey. For now.

  "Want to exchange a few words on the runs?" he asked instead. "Network. Promise?"

  Was there a blink of agreement in her eyes?

  "Come on."

  *

  "You're not going to convince me that this is not a computer problem."

  In the cafeteria their talk was able to flow more. Freed from personal matters by their public exposure, they were able, finally, to have a real conversation. With an exchange of words rather than silences, with arguments and counter-arguments. It was not a romantic conversation, but Zomy grabbed her every word as if it were embroidered in flaming love fibers.

  "I don’t need to convince you of anything. I know what I'm doing."

  "And I know that something is wrong with the computer."

  "Prove it!"

  She had some quality that could make him lose his temper, he noticed. After all, there was no other person in the world who could make him question his professionalism. No computer genius, no analyzer, no one. He was king of the class, the best in his field, and no one, just no one, could undermine his confidence.

  Apart from her, of course.

  "I'm not in court. I don’t need to prove anything. It's just a matter of common sense."

  "What common sense? What are you talking about?"

  "You have to be blind not to see it. I work in the lab. I know what biological material comes out of there. And nothing biologically has really changed! That same DNA, the same data, which only ran it and ran it and got stuck. So, it’s the computers! Obviously this computer is messed up. "

  "No. No. It’s clean and right. I checked the software, the hardware. Everything’s fine. Correct, it can seem like a problem, but it isn’t! Everything is normal there. The genosimulation program is something properly biological.”

  "But there is no geno in the genosimulation, baby!” Her voice was heavy with irony. “It's all only a simulation! Nothing to do with biology, it’s all data on your computer - baby!" Heavier than irony now: full-on sarcasm.

  "This is not a computer problem, B – A – B – Y. Believe me, everything’s normal there. The computer runs the rest without problems."

  "Do me a favor - they both get stuck operating the 19th run. It’s not biological, it’s mathematical, this segment. Something in your software’s screwed. Millennium Bug 19!"

  "What nonsense!"

  "Not nonsense!"

  "Yes, nonsense! You know what? Something in the software, in your band of happy brothers, is fucked!"

  06/20/01 Email

  Lironzik,

  I’ve had a lot on lately. No personal things, only work matters. Of course, it's personal, eventually. And it turned out I was right. But Lia was also right.

  That talk we had, she and I, came just at the right time. Sometimes you need such conflicts to arise, to see things from another angle. I noticed that some of my best thoughts come when I'm angry, when I don’t think. It’s as if, in those moments, the truth flows out of me, clear as spring water.

  Who was the prophecy given to, do you know? I guess you know. I'm not a woman (I checked the gardens ...) and I'm not small, to my fear (or delight). A fool, maybe? You could say, pretty surely, I'm a fool. Look where I find myself now, instead of having a wife and kids, in some beautiful home in Bnei Brak. Maybe that’s the route to happiness?

  On the other hand, I was once a street kid and had an aggressive cancer which would have finished me off in a few bad months. Nothing could be done about it. This is my software.

  And that's exactly what I understood in that angry conversation with Lia. Yes, something’s wrong with the software, but it's not the computer's software - but of the man's.

  This is man’s software that’s screwed. His DNA.

  This idea suddenly came to me. You ask how we tested it? Well, after Lia and I argued, we decided on a new line of experiments. Basically, it went like this: we did not run Omri 19 times, but we ran it once - 19 times.

  I guess it's not the clearest way to explain it to you. I’ll explain again: basically, each run of a simulation takes information from the end of the previous simulation. It’s not for the tests, it's just my laziness, it’s a lot easier to use the information in this form. It also shouldn’t interfere at all - should be all the same genetically, and as it is in reality, every child comes from his parents’ lineage.

  Only it's not working.

  It turned out that if you run from scratch, original samples, you can run 19 at once! We reached thirty.

  So it's not my computer problem. The computer knows how to run. But if we ran it 19 times for the same sample, it stuck. Something in the DNA changes, and makes meiosis occur.

  In fact, we found that only a few minutes ago. You haven’t heard from me for a l
ong time, so I thought you might like to know we have progress.

  Zumzum.

  06/22/01 Email

  Hi Liron,

  I'm sorry, I won’t go into a chat now, I'm just too busy with these two crazies, Omri and Gilad. I'm not sleeping at all, living on caffeine pills, there’s something bothering me I can’t explain.

  Wow, I'm totally busted, can't see what's right in front of me.

  Yesterday I ran all the algorithms of the continuous exec tests to see what’s different between now and then. The fact that it’s a computer assistant makes it easier to see such changes, taking DNA samples from mice or from people, even though we received a sample from Arick (the happy father) and got some DNA samples of their mother – you don't want to know how.

  What I want to say to you is - there is a difference. I found the missing sequence, but it makes no sense at all. This is related to aging, but does not make sense! Now I'm trying to find out whether this sequence is only a part of the simulation, or actually exists in the original DNA.

  Well, no matter, I’ll come back to you later.

  Zumzum

  *

  They found him on the floor, unconscious after working something like sixty hours straight. For almost three days he had not left his room, typing at an increasing rate, looking at computer screens from a decreasing distance, almost pinning them up to see the text.

  A worker found him, the third time she brought him coffee to him. He had not asked for the coffee, not even on the previous two occasions – but the worker knew instinctively what he needed, and brought it to him.

  But this time she was wrong, and the coffee was unnecessary. Zomy was lying on his desk, breathing labored, thin mucus dripped from the edge of his mouth onto the cold floor, his hands twitching occasionally.