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

by L. L. Fine

  Two minutes, and she was gasping. She missed Zomy, who had been gone for a few hours. He had gone to Jerusalem to try to sort something out with friends at the Defense Ministry. As usual, he was diligent and thorough in his mission. She could trust him not to leave a stone unturned in his search. She loved that in him. And she missed him. That was surprising, how could she miss him so soon, so much.

  It’s just pregnancy deceiving you, dear, she thought, this pregnancy. She started the car. She slowly slid off the paved parking lot, flowing onto the road, sailing along the winding road home.

  Her thoughts, freed from control, also streamed with the road. The wedding again. And pregnancy, and the tests that had been done, and tests still to come. AFP. Ultrasound (she wanted the three-dimensional, of course – she heard sometimes you can see the baby laughing), nuchal translucency, all kinds of tests and terms that never interested her beyond medical theory - and now they were fascinating.

  The traffic stops, you stop. A green light, you go.

  And Zomy, and his lung problem, and his claim that he was recovering - he must have more tests to check it out. She did not believe him one hundred percent, and Zomy had already showed that he was not being entirely honest about his medical state. And the ever-growing secret viruses in vitro really should be checked on, as several generations had already changed and she needed to see what had changed.

  And what did they intend to do with them? They were not really tested, they should do at least one computer simulation to see what happened, and maybe even try it on someone else or even a couple of people, not release it like that into the world. It was potentially too dangerous…

  Well, they had more time.

  Meanwhile they needed more time to decide where they would go, where they would live. She had never been to Zomy's place ever, unbelievably, but judging from his office at the Institute, she didn't really want to.

  And what about her apartment? Far too small. No nursery. And they would need a child's room! After all…

  09/03/01 Email

  They killed her.

  They say it was a traffic accident. I don't believe them.

  09/03/01 Email to Zomy

  What????

  Who? I need an answer fast. Are you okay? What did you mean exactly? Please, send me an answer fast. I'm worried.

  Liron

  *

  He did not sleep all night.

  He wandered the streets, crying, shouting, silent. Walked, dressed in shorts, T-shirt and sandals. Without another stitch on. He went towards the sea, street lights glaring in his eyes, his oxygen bottle on a trailer under a green sheet.

  People looked at him in passing, giving him strange looks. A small, thin, sickly-looking man, walking, crying, coughing. They saw him, but did nothing. What could they do? He did not ask for help. He did not fall, did not bother anyone. And even if he were to ask, what could they do?

  One girl, carrying a basket of red roses meant for lovers, dared to approach him. Is everything all right, she asked? Then she paused at the sight of his eyes, glistening and telling her that nothing was alright, everything was bad, everything was terrible, and it would never, ever be good again.

  And she came to him, ignoring his sweat and stench, and put her hand on his, and sat with him on a bench, and sat beside him in silence, while he cried and cried, without restraint, without stopping. And he held out his hand, and she put a rose in it, and he looked at the petals and pierced his finger with the only thorn sticking out of the stem, and cut into his fingers more and more, as if to remove a bit of the pain crushing his heart.

  And she waited for him to stop crying, but it did not happen. Finally she moved uncomfortably on the bench, not knowing how to distance herself from the puzzling, weeping little man. And he saw her movements, and released her with a wounded hand. Go, thanks. I appreciate your help.

  You'll be okay?

  No, but you can’t help me. Go, thanks. Thank you.

  And he continued his journey from the black asphalt field, reaching the warm sea waters, immersing his legs, trying to purify himself, to shed the pain, but with no success. And he sat on the dock and cried to the fish, and one cat, gray and friendly, came to him and rubbed against him, as if to comfort him.

  But to no avail. His tears and his coughing increased, and his oxygen tank was running low. And the cat went away at last, and the crying little man got up, and started walking away from the seaside, into the neon sea that swept humid Tel-Aviv, on the night the summer died.

  And he shuffled along, crossing streets wide and narrow, moving and weeping, walking and sobbing. The streets became alleys, and through his tears he recognized the city of his childhood, and in the dark hours before dawn he followed the tracks of familiar loneliness, ignoring the passing looks of early risers. He was in a boiling soup of deep pain, eaten from the inside out, extinguishing the fire burning in his heart.

  And he followed turns only his feet remembered, and went up the narrow and winding passages, and came to the only place he could come at any hour, any day, the only place he was accepted as a son. He came to the hidden alley where Rabbi Eligad resided, and prepared his wounded hand for a little knock on the door.

  But the door was open.

  He went inside, suddenly without tears, trying to see in the dark. And he saw nothing. Sandals clattering on the bare floor, his fingers for felt a carpet that was always there, now disappeared. And all the furniture. And everything else that was in the apartment.

  And, more importantly, Rabbi Eligad himself.

  09/04/01 Email to Zomy

  Zomy,

  Days have passed and you haven't answered me yet. What’s happening? What's going on? Tell me. Can I help? I have a growing concern in my heart, please contact me, show me a sign of life. Reassure me.

  Let there only be good,

  Liron

  *

  "Turn on your computer."

  A cold, metallic sound surprised Keshny. He froze for a second. Who said that?

  "Turn on the computer, Keshny."

  It was Zomy's voice - but Zomy himself was not in the room. It came from the intercom. Keshny struggled not to look at his secretary's desk - just outside his room - and ultimately, with military stiffness, chose not to look.

  He had been right there just a second or two ago - and Zomy was not there, of course. Just as he did every day, Keshny arrived long before the secretary. Long before anyone else got there, actually. He loved those hours of the pre-work day. It would give him an advantage over everyone else, to plan the day when everyone else was just waking up. An advantage he spent well every day.

  This diligence was not new. He had developed it over the years, and it earned him a lot of points with the denizens of the higher floors. Amongst other things, it had brought him to this office, to the current room, despite the fierce competition for this post. And it was, he felt, the most important job in Israel. Perhaps in the world.

  And now here was the cold voice, Zomy’s strange voice - coming from a place where it should not come from.

  "Where are you, Zomy?" He spoke softly into the intercom as he rounded his desk.

  Zomy had not shown his face during the two days since the accident. He had not attended the funeral, he was not at home, nor in any place where he used to be, or had visited before. He simply disappeared off the face of the earth.

  Keshny knew all this from his hourly reports from the ISA. As many as twenty agents had tried to locate Zomy in the last two days. How hard could it be to find a man who must have a fresh supply of oxygen to live?

  Apparently, quite hard.

  But, now, the mountain had come to Mohammed.

  And Mohammed sat down in the chair, turned on the computer - and opened his eyes wide.

  The standard computer screen did not exist. In its place there was a timer, large, slowly ticking down the seconds. Less than ten minutes were left on the clock.

  "This is the time you have left to live, murderer."
>
  Zomy's voice was cold. Real.

  "What have you done, Zomy?"

  "What have you done, you murderer? Was it so important to separate us? Was it so important?"

  Keshny hesitated a second.

  "You’ve got it all wrong, Zomy. It was an accident."

  "Accident my ass!" the intercom screamed, metallic and hoarse.

  Keshny looked around frantically, quickly calculating the situation. Zomy's voice sounded close, though he could be anywhere in the building. Or even outside, on second thoughts. He must not forget that this was Computerman. And the intercom, like everything else at the Institute, was connected to a computer.

  And this countdown… Keshny could not avoid the conclusion that it was real. Computerman was not a great poker player. And his anger was so cold ...

  He shivered.

  "You killed her, you. I’ve seen the report detailing her movements. Tire marks, headlight debris... she was forced off the road, she wouldn’t swerve off just like that."

  Less than nine minutes left on the clock. Keshny thought frantically. What could it be? A detonator? A grenade? He hurriedly checked under the chair.

  "It's not there, Keshny."

  He straightened up. Where ...?

  His eyes rested on the security camera. He got up to smash it.

  "If you touch the camera, you'll die immediately."

  Keshny stopped, again.

  "What's your story, Zomy? We didn't kill her, there was nothing like that going on. She died, and I know it hurts, but it shouldn’t…"

  "Sit down."

  And he sat. Slowly. Like someone was pushing him hard, on his shoulders. He sat against his will, against the wishes of his body, his muscles, his soul. He sat. And looked at the stopwatch.

  "I read all the GSS reports. Don’t try to hide anything from me."

  "Have you read anything about plans to assassinate Lia?!" His voice rose to heights that he never thought possible. "Have you seen anything about it?! Answer me!"

  "No ..." Zomy admitted. "But I read everything else. Surveillance, observations ..."

  "We followed you! So what, it's not murder! And stop this countdown!"

  (Eight minutes)

  "Why didn't you want us to be together, Keshny?"

  "I had no problem with you being together."

  "So why didn't you let us?"

  "It's not me, I told you. It's the -"

  The clock jumped to five minutes.

  "Just stop the clock - stop it ..."

  "Feel how your time is running out? Eh? Tick Tock? How I'm taking your life? Just like you took Lia's life. And… my son's."

  "But I didn’t do anything!"

  "I do not believe you."

  "I swear to you in the name of all that's dear to me. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t us. I would never do such a thing!"

  "You're pathetic, Keshny. And a liar as well."

  "I didn’t lie to you."

  "You lied to me all the time. I read your correspondence with the IDF headquarters."

  Keshny closed his eyes, and in his soul slapped himself far harder. He knew, he knew he should not have used the computer in any way. Not even in ordinary writing on a word processor. Somehow, this devil could extract the text in a word processor, even after it was deleted from all possible hiding places.

  "How are you going to do it?" he finally asked, faintly.

  "What?" wondered the metallic sound of Zomy.

  "Kill me."

  "Oh, that. I thought you meant something important."

  "What a sense of humor you have."

  "I have, believe me. But seeing you die, little by little, will do me some good."

  (Three minutes)

  "How it will happen?"

  Laughter metallic, cold, came over the intercom.

  "Maybe I'll tell you before the end. We'll see. Now tell me why you did it."

  "What? What? I didn’t kill her!"

  "Not you, the ISA. Why?"

  "It’s not the ISA either!!! Start believing me already! Since when would we do such things?"

  "Not from today, and I know it. Why was it important to you that I go to the States?"

  "Because ... because I didn’t want you here."

  "Why?"

  "You want the truth? Then here, have it. You're an ex-religious. You’re a security risk. And I was right, this is the proof."

  "Proof? You brought this on yourself."

  "The proof is the fact that you're here, holding me by the balls, sabotaging the facility. I shouldn’t have trusted you from the beginning. I was right, but I was right too late."

  "Why didn't you want Lia to come to America with me?"

  "Because we needed her here. She was… far too important."

  "So why did you kill her?"

  "I tell you, we did not kill her!"

  "So who did kill her?"

  "I don't know! I don't know!!!"

  And Keshny, for the first time in his adult life, broke into tears.

  (Sixty seconds)

  "Okay, calm down," the voice sounded tinny.

  "What do you want, Zomy?"

  "I want you to admit the truth. That's it."

  "I told you the truth. I swear to you."

  Silence.

  "How are you going to do it, Zomy?"

  "Anthrax."

  "You took Anthrax from the labs???" Keshny paled.

  "Only one test tube. I don't need more than that."

  "Where is it?"

  (Ten seconds)

  "What does it matter? You'll never find it."

  "But it's not just me! All the civilians here!"

  (Three seconds)

  "Yes. Upon your conscience."

  The clock stopped on one second.

  Keshny looked at the screen, scarcely believing his eyes.

  "It was a bluff?"

  "Bluffs are your department. Everything is real with me, but I need to break the tube alone. I'll do it in three days, using a computer, remotely. Every attempt you make to find me, will cause this tube to shatter. Every attempt you make to search the building, will make the test tube shatter. If you disconnect the communications cables, the tube will shatter. I'm not kidding, Keshny. "

  "You'd kill innocent civilians? All Rehovot, Ness Ziona ..."

  "You killed everything that was important and dear to me in life. Fuck the rest. And I'll do what I need to do."

  Keshny was staring at the computer screen. It remained on one single second.

  "Three days. Then I'll activate the mechanism. Burn in hell, Keshny. Amen."

  09/10/01 Email

  Hi Liron

  I've just reached NYC, and I’m writing from an internet café. There are many like these here. I am very tired, I really must sleep and get some oxygen. I don't really know what I’m going to do in the future, but I guess I’ll get by. Perhaps I’ll need your help with some things, maybe send me stuff from home. We’ll see.

  I try not to go deep into my emotions, I know it will kill me. I have bottles of the mutant corona virus here with me, so I guess I know at least one thing I want to do. It will not help my baby, my bloodline. But I guess it can help yours, and the whole of fucking humanity. Some fucking Superman I turned to be.

  Well, he didn't have children either, but he still saved all the other’s kids. So I guess we are a bit alike, Superman and me. We both came from ruined places, we both grew in a world not ours. You can call Lia LOIS if you want, in the book. I won't mind.

  So anyway, I'll get up tomorrow morning and save the world. I’ll go up to the highest building around here, and find a way to spread the content of the bottles into the air. From there it will fly and infect the entire city, and because New York attracts people from all over the world, I hope the virus will spread globally. With luck, it’ll reach Israel quickly. Prepare to have a major flu, buddy. You’ll be the only one who knows what it really is.

  Well, this is all for tomorrow. Now I’ll get some sleep.

  Bye,


  I’ll write soon

  Z

  Epilogue

  And that's it.

  I never heard from him. No letter, no chat, no email, no pee-mail, nothing. As if the earth had swallowed him, or something else happened. Of course, I could not ignore the events that shook the world the day after I got the last mail. It could be a coincidence. Happy is the believer.

  For myself, I have some clear ideas, some of them most disturbing. I'd love to share them with you. Just go to the web address http://bit.ly/genosimulation, and I'll get back to you with those thoughts I just could not put here.

  You can also go to Amazon.com and comment there. I'd like that, really. It would help me spread the word. Perhaps it would even help Zomy, in a way. But I'm not promising. In any case, it won't hurt to try.

  Thank you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Liron Fine lives in a small town in Israel, being taught humility and manners by his three charming children, loving wife, demanding cats, noisy neighbors and unsatisfied readers.

  For more information, and books, visit Fine's author page on Amazon.com.

  Table of Contents

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  03/ 22/ 01 MSN Chat

  03/ 23/ 01 Pee-mail

  03/ 23/ 01 Email

  03/ 23/ 01 Email

  03/ 25/ 01 Email

  03/ 27/ 01 Pee-mail

  03/ 27/ 01 NANA Chat

  03/ 27/ 01 Email

  4/ 1/ 01 MSN Chat

  4/ 3/ 01 Email

  4/ 4/ 01. MSN chat

  04/ 10/ 01 Email

  20/ 04/ 01 Email

  5/ 2/ 01 IRC

  05/ 13/ 01 Email

  05/ 13/ 01 Email 2

  05/ 22/ 01 Email

  05/ 24/ 01 MSN chat

  05/ 29/ 01 Email

  6/ 5/ 01. NANA chat

  06/ 10/ 01 Pee - Mail

  06/ 20/ 01 Email

  06/ 22/ 01 Email

  06/ 28/ 01 Email

  7/ 6/ 01 MSN chat

  Sometime in July 2001

  07/ 24/ 01 Email

  8/ 1/ 01 MSN chat

  8/ 5/ 01 NANA Chat