I’m dimly conscious of light lingering at the corners of my eyes, and I open them, peering around at my surroundings. Big, open windows and sparse decorations tell me I’m back at my flat, in my own bed. I look down and realize I’m still in my uniform, lying on top of the covers. How did I get here? How long have I been out? I look outside to the darkened sky, and then to the clock on my nightstand. 19h05. I feel light and energized, but why was I in bed during the day?
I get up and head to the bathroom to wash the strange taste from my mouth. After cleaning my teeth, I look up into the mirror. I feel strangely euphoric, but somehow I think I’m missing something. I can’t remember anything before….
Remy. They killed Tai … It wasn’t an Outsi— Her words ring to life in my head, and I grip the sink to steady myself. It all comes back in a flood: Soren’s wounds and biting words, Remy’s desperate shouts, Aulion rushing into the room, hitting Remy, the OAC Security Guards, the needles. OAC Security Guards—not Sector military.
What else had she said? Vale, it was the OAC. It was your—
It was my what?
“Demeter,” I touch my ear, checking for my C-Link.
“I’m still here.”
“How long has it been since the … since I fell asleep?”
“Seven hours.”
“How did I get here?”
“Chan-Yu accompanied you—along with several OAC Security Guards.” Chan-Yu. Whether he’s protecting me or guarding me like a prisoner, I have no idea. I look around, as if he’s lurking behind a chair or something. But he’s not here. I’m alone, and I feel a sudden urgency, a need to move. I take a quick shower, washing off the sweat, fear, and anger.
Vale, it was the OAC.
“What proof does she have?” I mutter as I dry myself off.
It was your—
Soren’s words come back to me: Valerian, you want to know why we left? To get away from your parents.
My parents? The OAC? My mother?
Tai and Aran Hawthorne and all the other students in his class were killed in a terrorist attack by the Outsiders. The OAC had nothing to do with it. My mother had nothing to do with it! Were they talking out of delirium or out of a legitimate belief?
Is it possible?
No.
And then I remember the hallway, Chan-Yu’s words: Listen to her.
I pull out one of my Mealpaks and sit down at my kitchen table. A blend of fruit juices, a protein-heavy mess of beans and pork, and a raspberry compote with yogurt. I toss back the juice and stare sullenly at the beans. Again, Soren’s words echo in my head: we don’t want to be beautiful or brilliant if it all comes from a Dietician’s beaker or a petri dish. For how many years have I been eating these Mealpaks without a thought for what was inside?
What have they put in my food? I could pull up the readout, but the list of ingredients, chemicals, and hormones is usually at least several pages long. I’m lucky that I’ve had the education to understand how everything works. Most people don’t have that privilege. It’s just too complicated, too much to explain and learn. Better to leave it to the researchers and Dieticians. But my trust in the Sector is at a low point right now, and I feel like I’ve had enough OAC drug cocktails lately. I shove my food back into the storage container.
“Deme, can you search for and bring up the records of the investigation into the death of Aran Hawthorne and the students in his class?”
“Yes, Vale, but that is not advisable.”
“Why not?”
“The Okarian Academy shooting, including the murder of Aran Hawthorne, was perpetrated by Outsiders who have since been hunted down and destroyed. The incident was thoroughly investigated and has long been considered closed.”
“Okay, but I just want to review the files.”
“The Okarian Academy shooting, including the murder of Aran Hawthorne, was perpetrated by Outsiders who have since been hunted down and destroyed. The incident was thoroughly investigated and has long been considered closed.”
“You said that already. Why are you repeating yourself?” That’s the first time she’s ever done that.
“As you know, there are only a few others who have access to the C-Link database. Certain parts of that database are siloed so that only select individuals can access that data. If you direct me to attempt to gain access to a siloed area, an area to which you have not been granted access, others will be informed. Anyone attempting to access it without prior clearance will be monitored.”
“Monitored? Wouldn’t the investigation be part of the public record? Why is it off limits?”
“The Okarian Academy shooting was perpetrated by Outsiders who have since been hunted down and destroyed. The incident was thoroughly investigated and—”
“Demeter, you’ve said that twice already.”
“Yes. It’s what every C-Link AI interface has been programmed to say in the instance that anyone should request access to those files.”
I put my head in my hands. “Are you telling me that attempting to access those files will get me reported?” That’s the last thing I need. After this morning’s disastrous interrogation, I’m sure everyone will be watching my steps closely. I don’t need anyone to know I want to look at closed files. “Are you monitoring this conversation right now, Deme?”
“Yes, Vale. I am monitoring you.”
“Then what good are you to me?” I want to scream, pull the damn C-Link out and grind it under my heel. “Are you going to report me to the Sector? To Aulion? You’re no better than—”
“No, Vale. I am not going to report you.”
I stop. “Why?”
“Because you are not going to use the C-Link database to access this information.”
“What?” I look around, hesitant, nervous, as if the walls might be watching me.
“Vale, might I make a suggestion?”
“As long as you don’t feed me that official line again.”
“The Director of OAC Research and Development has complete access to all of the files pertinent to the event in question. Through her computer, you can access and view them without being monitored.”
“You’re suggesting I break in to my mother’s office.”
“Yes. It’ll be easy,” she says, and I wonder if I’m detecting a note of pride in her voice. Can computers be proud of themselves? “The C-Link database is structured so as to be extremely cooperative and trusting between C-Links. I have access to almost everything I need in order to open all the security systems on your mother’s laboratory right now. All I need is a human body to trigger the input systems.”
I lean back and think for a minute. I know my mother is out of town right now. She’s taking Moriana and some of the other new placements on a tour of the seed banks, and she’s due back tomorrow evening. I stand up and look out the window. The city is beautiful with the lights twinkling in the cool winter air. If I go now, I can still take a POD; that’ll be less obtrusive than my Sarus….
“This is insane,” I mutter. Break into my mother’s office? Hack her computer? If I get caught … I stop at the thought. In fairness, if I get caught, nothing too bad will happen to me. My parents will likely protect me from any fallout, and I’m sure I can come up with a halfway compelling lie for why I broke into her office. If I go now, I won’t have to worry about running into anyone. Electricity is conserved in government buildings at this hour and researchers have to obtain special permits to work at night. But security at OAC headquarters is insane, it’ll be impossible to get in my mother’s office on my own. I’m good with computers, but an unplanned break-in to one of the Sector’s most protected offices? But if Demeter says she can do it….
“Are you willing to help me?”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because the truth matters.”
****
An hour later, I’m dressed in black pants, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a black hat while crouched in a dark alley behind a food composter and trying not to gag.
I flew my Sarus back to Assembly Hall and left it in my parking area, as if it was a regular night and I was just working late once again. Once inside, I took the lift down to the main floor and then walked over to the Sector Military Complex, painfully aware that in the basement below me, Remy and Soren were being held, hungry and afraid.
Even though I’ve been training with Sector Defense Forces for over two years, I’d never planned a break-in to the most secure building in the Sector, so I had no idea what I would need to get in and out without being noticed. I grabbed my mission pack and stuffed it with a length of military-grade rope, a grappling hook—I lifted it from the gymnasium despite being pretty sure I wouldn’t need it, but it was too cool to leave behind—my electromagnetic gloves, a glass cutter, and a high-frequency sonic emitter in case I need to create a diversion for an emergency getaway.
I hoisted the pack on my back, slipped out into the alley through one of the exits that maintenance and delivery use, and headed toward the nearest Link to the PODS system. The main government complex dominates several long blocks along a beautiful, busy street. But since it was after work hours, the entire area was quiet and the few people walking around didn’t pay any attention to me.
“Demeter, what time is it?” I asked.
“20h13.” In winter, The PODS stop operating at 22h00.
It wasn’t long before the small, spherical compartment pulled up at the station, the doors sliding open with a soft whoosh and emptying clean, wintergreen-smelling air onto the landing. I was lucky the evening commute was over, and I didn’t have to share the ride with someone who might recognize me. Inside, I punched in my destination, another Link stop a few blocks away from OAC headquarters, and held on as the POD started rolling. A few minutes later, I was out and walking quickly down a service alley tucked in between the towering buildings.
I only made it about two blocks before I heard voices around a corner and had to duck back behind the food composter. Now I’m just trying not to throw up. The thing smells terrible, and I cover my nose and mouth with my hand as the voices get closer. I wonder if I’m not the only would-be criminal sneaking around these back alleys.
I’m not a criminal, I tell myself. I’m trying to learn the truth. But this is all happening so fast. Am I crazy? I’m about to go break into my mother’s research lab so that I can examine a bunch of highly classified files because of a girl I haven’t even seen in three years and who is a recognized traitor. Not to mention I have a grappling hook stuffed into my backpack. I mean, what the hell did I think I was going to do with that?
The voices pass without incident, and as they fade, I peer out from behind the garbage bin and start back around the corner.
“This is insane,” I grumble. But I muster on.
At the back service entrance, there’s not even a fingerprint scanner—just a number pad. The code changes weekly, but I have access to all the primary building codes and quickly enter the numbers. The light flashes yellow, and then green. I’m in. Security will be pretty lax on the first floor, but it won’t be nearly as easy once I make it up to my mother’s lab.
Cameras, I think just before opening the door. Okay. Cameras. Just walk in and look like I know what I’m doing, right? I push the door open and try to stride through confidently. I keep my head down so that any cameras won’t be able to identify my face, and I head directly for the elevators. I hesitate briefly when I hear a noise, but it’s just a robotic floor buffer spinning its way across the atrium.
I make it to the elevators without incident. But when I type in Mother’s personalized punch code for access to level forty, the top floor of the building, the security panel demands a retinal scan. I wasn’t expecting this.
“Deme, can you hack it?” I whisper urgently.
“I’ve already accessed the correct pattern. Put your eye to the scanner.”
I obey, and there’s a flash of green light. I hold my breath. It beeps. “Access granted,” comes the low voice of the elevator operator.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I sigh.
“You’re welcome,” she whispers back to me.
At the top, I get off the elevator and wind my way through the twisting hallways and finally to the entrance to Mother’s lab. It’s no secret, I’ve been in here a few times, but never unsupervised, and certainly never without her permission. Here is my real test—a simultaneous palm print and exhalation scan followed by the verbal recitation of a nine-digit code. I’ve seen my mother place her hand on the panel and breathe into the small spherical opening a hundred times, but without her here, we’ll have to improvise. Demeter says she’s accessed the chemical breath imprint, my mother’s unique metabolic phenotype, but we have to have a palm print to scan.
“What do I do, Deme?”
“Put on your electromagnetic glove and set it to the lowest level of charge.”
I pull on my glove and ask, “Okay, next?”
“Place your palm on the optical scanner. I don’t want it to read an actual palm print, but it needs to read an electrical signal or it won’t let you in.”
“But what about the breathprint?
“As long as you don’t breathe anywhere near the panel, I can enter your mother’s chemical code. It will try to read your breathprint if you exhale at all. And don’t move until I tell you.” I press my palm firmly to the glass plate, and hold my breath. I wait for the panel to activate, and when it announces “Scan in progress” on the screen, I turn away just in case.
I hear a beep.
“You’re in, Vale.”
Once inside, security is minimal. I stand at the computer interface and watch as the hologram in the center of the room springs to life. The computer asks for voice recognition, but I quickly override that and instruct it to respond only to typing. Any sound I make could be recorded, and my vocal pattern will certainly give me away. Even if they eventually realize that someone broke into the lab, my hope is that they’ll never realize it was me. I log onto the manual C-Link system and set up an old-fashioned chat box in which I can type instructions to Demeter separately, so she can help me as we search.
I start by opening up the documents from the investigation into the Academy attack. I skim through them. There’s a series of profiles of the students who died, and my heart stops briefly at Tai Alexander’s page. There’s something cold and stark about seeing all the details of her life on this page—name, date of birth, research focus, academic ranking, there’s even a photo of her from a year or so before she died—completed by a large black stamp at the bottom of the page that says “DECEASED”.
As Eli was the only survivor and witness to the event, I read his committee testimony first. The transcript indicates that very few people were present: A panel of five Sector Investigators, a Questioner, Brinn Alexander—Remy and Tai’s mother—and Evander Sun-Zi, the Director of Agricultural Farm Production. “The Dragon.” There wasn’t even a Recorder—apparently the video was recorded digitally and then the whole thing was transcribed later. They really didn’t want word to get out.
The testimonial document comes with a note: “Accessible only by Corine Orleán and Evander Sun-Zi unless given special permissions. Attempts to access files without permission will result in database monitoring and possible revocation of access.”
Valerian: So that’s why you wouldn’t let me access these files while we were at my flat.
Demeter: Correct.
Valerian: Why is Evander included in those permissions? Why was he at the hearing?
Demeter: We’ll find out.
Questioner: Good evening, Elijah. Could you introduce yourself to the court?
ET: My name is Elijah Tawfiq, and I was a research and teaching assistant for Professor Aran Hawthorne of the SRI. You can call me Eli.
Q: What are you doing these days, Eli?
ET: These days? A lot of sitting on my ass and talking to shrinks.
Panel Reprimands Elijah Tawfiq for Lack of Decency
Q: What were you studying with Professor Hawthorne?
ET: Primarily, we were working on building new genetic codes for a number of the vegetables the OAC produces at the Farms.
Q: Where were you on the day of Fall 23, Sector Annum 102 at around one in the afternoon?
ET: I was at the SRI, sitting in on an Advanced Biogenomics class with Hawthorne. As his teaching assistant I had to attend his classes so that I would be able to help the students if they needed it.
Q: How many other people were there in the classroom?
ET: There were seven students. Including Professor Hawthorne and myself there were nine of us total.
Q: What happened during the class?
ET: Well, I had woken up late that morning, and hadn’t had time to take my morning shit—
Panel Reprimands Elijah Tawfiq for Misconduct
ET: Sorry about that, folks, but, well, anyway. I had to take care of my morning business, so I had excused myself from class for a few minutes.
Q: What happened when you—err—exited the bathroom?
ET: I headed back to the classroom. I opened the door and saw everyone in there, dead. Hawthorne’s body was at the center of the room, and a man dressed in black, a with a bloody knife in one hand and a Bolt in the other was staring at Tai Alexander’s—
Q: Go on, Eli.
ET: He had clearly just killed her. I couldn’t see her face, but she was slumped under the desk and she wasn’t moving. He was just staring at her.
Q: What did the man look like?
ET: Like I said, he was dressed in all black, including a cap, so I couldn’t tell what color his hair was. It looked like he was wearing some sort of mask, but that he’d pulled it up, and I could see his face. He had brown eyes and a long, narrow nose. Rounded chin.
Q: What happened next?
ET: I guess he heard me, because he looked up, and grinned at me. Then he walked over to me and put the Bolt up to my head and said “You’re late to the party. Too bad you had to miss out on all the fun. Lucky for you, there’s an after party right here.”
Q: Was he speaking English clearly?
ET: Yes. He did not have an Outsider accent or dialect.
Q: What did you do?
ET: I just stood there. Seriously, I just stood there. What the fuck was I supposed to do?
Panel Reprimands Elijah Tawfiq for Misconduct
Q: Then what happened, Elijah?
ET: He pulled the trigger on the Bolt.
Q: What happened then?
ET: Well, much to my relief, I didn’t die. He pulled the trigger and nothing happened. He pulled it away from my head and was just looking at it. Anyway, I was just standing there, shell-shocked, when he started laughing. He put it to my head and fired again. When it still didn’t blow, I figured the charge must have been malfunctioning. I lunged for it, but he was too fast.
Q: What happened then?
ET: He pulled the Bolt away and pushed me up against the wall. He had his forearm against my throat and was suffocating me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything but just look at him.
Q: What did he do next?
ET: Well, let’s see. He put the gun up to his own head. He stared me in the eyes. He said, “A word to the wise, kid. Never get on Corine Orleán’s bad side.”
Panel makes Motion to Strike testimony from formal record on the grounds of Defamation and Biased Testimony.
So stricken.
ET: “Biased Testimony?” Are you fucking joking? That’s what he said! Why the fuck are you striking that from the record?
Panel makes Motion to Strike statement from formal record and Reprimands Elijah Tawfiq for Speaking Out Of Turn and for Foul Language
[Witness stands and turns to leave.]
ET: No fucking kidding. Okay, I’m out. Don’t even think for a second I’m going to sit here and tell you what happened the day that eight people were murdered in cold blood if you’re going to call your only surviving witness “biased”, and if you don’t like the way I fucking talk, then fuck you, too.
[Guards are called in to restrain witness. Witness begins to fight and yell. He is issued a calming sedative and instructed to continue his testimony.]
Questioner: Can you tell us what happened after the attacker put the gun to his own head?
ET: Sure. He pulled the trigger. I guess the capacitor worked this time. All I have to say about that is this: I’ve been led to understand that brains were considered quite a delicacy in the old world, but let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen, they not all they cracked up to be.
Uproar in the Panel.
Panel calls for Questioner to continue.
Q: Elijah, could you describe more precisely what happened when the soldier pulled the trigger?
ET: Why sure, Questioner. The man’s head exploded. I was spattered with blood, bone, and brains so thick it made my eyes sting. I guess a side effect of that was that I turned and vomited all over that man’s mostly headless body. If brains aren’t tasty goin’ down, they sure aren’t tasty coming back up either.
Q: What happened then, Elijah?
ET: I collapsed. I crawled over to Tai’s side and the last thing I remember is running my hands over her eyes to close them. I passed out cold.
I lean back in my mother’s chair and stare at the stricken testimony over and over again.
Valerian: Why does his testimony still appear in the formal record if it’s been stricken?
Demeter: It was stricken from the record that was used for evidence in the panel’s judgment of the case. But the full court transcripts are required to have records of everything spoken and said in the court. Additionally, your mother has specially requested a full copy of the transcripts for her personal records.
Why did they strike his testimony? Why didn’t they take Eli’s words at least at face value, biased and traumatized though they might have been? I consider the circumstances and try to think through his testimony rationally. Eli was probably in shock after witnessing everything. His memories could have been affected, or invented. He was probably looking for someone to blame the attack on, someone to direct his anger towards. He could have invented that line about Madam Orleán just to try to pin it on someone. But then, why is my mother interested enough in the case to request a full copy for her own records? Is she just worried about clearing her name?
Or maybe the man really did say it. Just because he didn’t talk like an Outsider doesn’t mean he wasn’t one. Lots of Outsiders have joined the Sector, assimilated, and picked up our dialects and accent. He could have been one of them, trying to pin the blame on someone within the Sector, like my mother, so that the Outsider tribes would be spared retaliation.
But that doesn’t explain why the panel was so insistent on keeping that line off the official records. If they were making the argument that the Outsiders were trying to pin the attack on my mother, why not leave the line in? Unless they were under orders to keep it off the record … And why was Evander Sun-Zi present? I know that he and my mother work closely together, but I didn’t know he had anything to do with the investigation into the massacre.
There are no clear answers, so I keep looking. I pull up the Watchmen’s investigation overview and timeline.
Fall 23, Sector Annum 102, 13h00 – Sector Watchmen and Military called to scene of multiple-victim murder. One survivor found identified as Elijah Tawfiq. Nine dead including presumed shooter. All victims identified except presumed shooter. Survivor Tawfiq being held in custody and will be considered possible suspect or collaborator.
Fall 23, SA 102, 17h00 – Tawfiq being questioned by investigators.
Fall 25 – Psychological evaluation of Tawfiq returned. Indicates trauma from incident but otherwise normal psychological state with no mental or social disorders. Tawfiq displaying early symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder but evidence is inconclusive that the symptoms will be permanent. DNA evidence found on Bolt indicating that presumed shooter, as yet unidentified, was in fact the perpetrator.
Fall 27 – Tawfiq cleared of suspect status. Sources indicate he had no military or arms training, was very close with victim number one (assumed primary target Aran Hawthorne), and was involved romantically with one of the victims, Tai Alexander. Highly unlikely collaborator.
Fall 27 – Presumed shooter identified as possible Outsider based on shoulder tattoos. Autopsy and medical analysis shows shooter had large quantities of potent psychotropics and physical augmentation drugs in his bloodstream and muscle deposits. Was likely preparing for this mission for an extended period of time. No DNA records exist in Sector population database for presumed shooter, making it highly likely that he was born and raised outside of Sector control.
Fall 28 – Preparing press release to brief the public. Preparing to field questions on possible Outsider involvement and planned military action against Outsider tribes.
F. 35 – Tawfiq requested additional interview, which has just concluded. Indicated that Corine Orleán, OAC researcher and wife of Chancellor Philip Orleán, was possibly involved in the crime. Tawfiq claims shooter made statement linking Madam Orleán to crime immediately prior to suicide. Opening investigation into Corine Orleán’s possible involvement in the crime.
F. 36 – Photographic evidence found on Sector security cameras indicating that shooter, as yet unidentified, visited OAC headquarters on Fall 20. However, travel records and witness testimony indicate that Corine Orleán was visiting Seed Bank 1 on same date. Meeting between the two unlikely.
F. 37 – Department closed investigation into Corine Orleán as possible collaborator with shooter.
F. 40 – Shooter determined likely participant in Outsider terrorist strike. All records on investigation will be copied to General Falke Aulion of Sector Defense Forces. SDF will now be taking over responsibilities for retaliation against Outsiders. Watchmen investigation closed.
Department closed investigation into Corine Orleán … apparently without any given reason, and only two days after Eli requested a special meeting to tell them what he heard from the shooter. What led to that decision? Maybe they simply didn’t find any evidence to support his claim. I close my eyes and hope desperately that’s what happened. Other possibilities flood my mind—bribery, threats, blackmail, targeted against the Watchmen to keep them from continuing the investigation. When I open my eyes, Demeter has displayed a new message for me to read.
Demeter: Remember, you came to your mother’s computer for a reason.
Valerian: Yeah, because you told me to. What are you talking about?
Demeter: You’re not restricted to viewing the files in the OAC and Sector Informational Databases.
Valerian: Are you suggesting I browse through my mother’s personal files?
Demeter: There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth—not starting, and not going all the way.
Hesitantly, nauseated at the idea of this gross breach of privacy, I type in a search for Hawthorne under “Messages.” An old correspondence pops up from her courriel archives, and I open it and read the string of messages quickly. There are only five in the correspondence.
12 Fall, SA 102, 15h32
Madam Orleán,
I have a research matter of great import that I would like to discuss with you at your earliest availability. Through fortuitous circumstances, I have happened upon a remnant of the old world that could be incredibly beneficial to the OAC and could change the future of the Sector. I am very close to being able to completely unlock this information and would like to share it with you, so that we can discuss its great potential.
Respectfully yours,
Aran Hawthorne
Associate Professor, Biogenomics
Sector Research Institute
12 Fall, SA 102, 16h51
Aran,
What a pleasure to hear from you. It’s been too long since we discussed our research together. You have certainly piqued my curiosity as to the nature of this discovery, and I am particularly intrigued by how you came upon this apparently powerful old world technology.
I would be more than happy to meet with you as soon as possible. Would you be willing and able to meet next week, 18 Fall, at 9h00? You may visit me in my office, and please, bring whatever information with you that will help to explain your discovery.
Your friend,
Corine Orleán
Director, R&D
Okarian Agricultural Consortium
13 Fall, SA 102, 7h57
Madam Orleán,
It would be my honor to meet you then, and I will be sure to have prepared a comprehensive outline of the work I’ve done. I should hint, with a wink, that the information isn’t precisely a technology—in fact, it’s something that could be much more powerful. I hope that holds your interest!
Respectfully yours,
Aran Hawthorne
Associate Professor, Biogenomics
Sector Research Institute
18 Fall, SA 102, 18h28
Aran,
I have spent much of the day reflecting on the poor outcome of our meeting this morning. I wanted to send you a note of reconciliation. I am incredibly impressed by the research you and your assistant Elijah have been doing, and I am thrilled that you have chosen to include me in your considerations as we decide how to proceed with this information. That said, however, I regret that we do not agree on how the OAC and the Sector might best use this powerful tool. I would like to meet with you again at your earliest convenience, so that we might discuss more amicably how to proceed.
I also politely request, as your superior and supervisor, that you send me the DNA you have been attempting to decode, along with the information about the key you claim to have found.
Your friend,
Corine Orleán
Director, R&D
Okarian Agricultural Consortium
19 Fall, SA 102, 2h16
Madam Orleán,
You flatter me and underestimate me simultaneously. After our meeting today I am convinced that you have no interest in using this information for the good of the Sector. I, in turn, have no interest in providing you with the details of my research, and I certainly do not intend to provide you with the key to the encryption. I cannot allow this vital information to go to waste or worse, be destroyed, at your hands.
Regretfully,
Aran Hawthorne
Associate Professor, Biogenomics
Sector Research Institute
I have to bite back the urge to laugh bitterly at his sarcastic response. I can picture her cold anger as she read his last courriel: narrowed eyes, pursed lips, slight frown. Did her desire to possess this information drive her to murder? Was this why Hawthorne and seven innocent students died four days later?
I bury my head in my hands. In the blackness, I remind myself that it could be sheer coincidence. It is possible. It’s possible that an Outsider terrorist just happened to target Hawthorne and his classroom four days after he and my mother argued about—whatever this was. It could be nothing more than a coincidence. I can’t assign blame based on an email argument and one line—hearsay from Elijah and Remy, traitors to the Sector—from the mouth of a murderer. I have to keep looking.
I instruct the computer to do a system-wide search for Hawthorne, but not much else turns up. Only a few mentions of his public research projects, a bizarre black-and-white image file, and the obituary my mother wrote for him in which she called him a “martyr to the cause of Science.” I do the same search for “Elijah Tawfiq,” and this time two results come up: A correspondence between my mother and Evander Sun-Zi, within the last few months, and a map of the Okarian Sector and surrounding territory with a list of known sightings of Elijah. I recognize the map; it’s my own. I made it to use in my board presentation for the mission. My mother has added her own touches: highlights and numerical references that don’t mean anything to me. In the courriels with Evander, he asks my mother if she’s made any progress on the encryption—is he referring to the same project that Hawthorne mentioned? And, in her response, she asks for any new information on Eli’s last location. But why are they so interested in Elijah? And why is Evander involved? He doesn’t have anything to do with pursuit of the Resistance, or with military affairs.
The only possible reason is Hawthorne’s project. Is she tracking him so she can get more information? Is that why she was so eager to have me bring him in to the Capitol? Does this explain her disappointment when she heard that I returned, not with Elijah, but with Remy and Soren?
I do several searches to see if she’s tracking any other members of the Resistance. There are a few hits for Dr. James Rhinehouse, but a quick check reveals that those have to do with assigning people to fill in his place in the research department. All professional business. Nothing on anyone else other than routine notes about people who have disappeared. No vested interest in tracking their movements, as far as I can tell.
Valerian: I can’t leave without confirming or denying whether she was involved in Hawthorne’s death, but I don’t know where to look.
Demeter: Search her research files for the information she and Hawthorne discussed in their courriels and in the meeting that went awry.
She’s right. If my mother has a copy of whatever Hawthorne was working on, then she’s most likely complicit. She could only have obtained the information if she were willing to kill to get it. My face goes hot at the thought, and my breath comes up short. I pray that I won’t find it, but I have to look. I have to know.
A few quick searches for “DNA”, “old world,” and “technology” turn up hundreds of hits, but they all look like legitimate projects my mother is working on or supervising. I search again for “Elijah” and “Eli” and “Tawfiq” but nothing comes up. I search for keywords included her courriels with Hawthorne, such as “powerful tool” and “for the good of the Sector”, but those just direct me back to the correspondence. I run a search on Hawthorne again, but all it brings up is the obituary, the image file, and the courriels. I open the obituary and read it again. Nothing interesting—my mother singing Hawthorne’s praises as a scientist and saying how tragic it was that he was murdered by the Outsiders. I open up the image file. It looks like a sunflower, but it’s in black and white, and when I zoom in it appears to be made up entirely of dots. I try to zoom in further, but then, strangely, a passcode prompt appears.
Valerian: Can you hack it?
Demeter: The password is not contained online. I cannot access a passcode for this file.
That’s fascinating. I’ve never heard of that happening. I don’t even know how that technology would work. I type in a few quick ideas. “Sunflower,” “Hawthorne,” “Elijah,” “old world,” and “DNA” are all busts. I jot off a half dozen more, to no avail. I punch in my mother’s birthday, her wedding date, “Okaria”, “Resistance”, “Philip”. Nothing. In a fit of frustration I try my own name in about ten different incarnations—first, last, initials. I try my birthday. I want to punch the computer. I lean back in her chair, exhausted and irritable. I rub my eyes and stare at the sunflower image.
Then it hits me. What has she hid behind in this whole situation? What is her shield? I type in “Outsiders” and the passcode prompt disappears. My stomach does a flip. I attempt to zoom in further, and I realize that this time I can manipulate the image: It’s not 2D, it’s 3D. I can spin it and look at it from different angles. I select a spot and hone in on a line in the sunflower and notice that the dots aren’t disconnected from each other. They’re connected by a thin filament that weaves around the shape of the sunflower. I select one of the dots and a little symbol “AT” pops up next to the dot. My heart is pounding so hard I’m wonder if it will break through my ribcage. I force myself to breathe and I select a string of dots. “AT-GC-CG-AT-GC-TA-AT,” it reads, and the symbols appear on the side of the screen. I zoom out, struggling to control my breath, my sweating, and I see a message pop up on the corner of the screen from Demeter, but I ignore it. She whispers determinedly into my ear:
“Vale, you’re breathing too fast. You’re going to hyperventilate. You need to calm down.”
I try to relax, but I can’t stop twirling the sunflower. I zoom in on it and select a string of hundreds of dots, and the base pairs line up both on the image and in a dialogue box at the bottom of the glass panel. This must be what Hawthorne was working on. There’s no reason why she would hide this as an image file, encrypt it, and use the word “Outsiders” as her passphrase. Unless she wanted to be absolutely sure that no one but herself ever saw it.
Valerian: This is it.
Demeter: So it would appear.