3 Kim Chen

 

Huang Biotechnologies Inc. May 31. 2033

22°17'37.5"N 114°10'34.5"E

 

“Kim, are you going to pull another all-nighter? …Hello?” Jiang stood next to her workstation and waited for a response from her colleague. Receiving none, she shrugged and slipped out of her lab coat, leaving it draped over the cubicle’s divider.

Kim scribbled furiously, his pen-marks meandered across the notepad, his forehead leveraged firmly atop his microscope. Jiang watched him for several seconds longer, then sighed and collected her briefcase. She reached over the stacks of papers and test-tube racks to switch off her desklamp. As she walked toward the exit, she called over her shoulder, “Don’t fall asleep on the eyepiece again, it leaves a funny mark on your face.”

“Yes, exactly,” Kim murmured.

Jiang swiped her plastic ID card through the detector and the metal door slid open, then closed with a metallic swish, leaving Kim alone in the dimly lit room. The erratic scritching from his pen and buzzing from the digital scanner echoed off the lab’s sterile walls.

The 72nd story of the Huang Biotechnologies Inc. building offered a breathtaking view of Hong Kong’s nocturnal skyline. The top floor was reserved exclusively for genome-editing research. Only an elite group of the Huang scientists had access to its elevator. From the lab’s glass-encased panorama, the city’s light display was a spectacle worth witnessing. Tonight however, Kim Chen was in no mood for a show.

Kim adjusted the scope’s magnification and fussed with its illumination controls. He set his down his pen and pressed his eyes harder into the lenses, muttering, “I just don’t understand this. Something’s wrong here… It’s been modified in some way. Jiang, you really need to see this.” He raised his head and stared around the vacant room, blinking as his eyes adjusted to long-range vision. Somewhat astonished that his colleagues had all departed, he glanced at his watch and then turned his attention back to the microscope.

After some time, Kim pushed his chair away from the desk, clutching at his hair. “Arrgh—what is this?” He rose and kicked the chair down the aisle, watching it careen into his lab partner’s swivel-chair. Several folders slid off the desk and scattered across the floor. Kim sighed, replaced his eyeglasses and, rubbing the back of his neck, went to tidy up the mess he’d created.

With annoyance, Kim leafed through the loose files that fanned across the floor. What’s the point in keeping so much paperwork around a lab? He paused to examine one of the documents more closely. It was a copy of an email cc’d to his research partner, Zhao Xu. Taking the paper back to his desk, he grabbed his chair on the way. Non-electronic documents were a rarity these days, especially in the secretive environment of biotech. He entered his encrypted password and the laptop’s screen flickered on. As he typed the commands, his frustration grew with each response. “Access Denied” or “File Not Found” appeared after each request. “What are you involved in, Zhao?” he muttered.

For several minutes, Kim stared at his computer, tapping his finger on the screen. He glanced over his shoulder at his partner’s computer and frowned. Is it possible? He wheeled over to Xu’s cubicle, dislodged the chair and regarded Zhao’s area. It lacked the sparsity and order of his own desk; postcards, ramen cups and bobble-heads competed for space with piles of unkempt paperwork and a microscope. Kim studied the items briefly and then leaned over Xu’s keyboard. He hastily tapped out sixteen characters, pressed enter and grinned as the screen came to life. “You are such a simpleton,” he whispered. The screen’s bluish glow reflected off his lenses as he scrolled through countless documents. Kim clicked on a file labeled “HSA Revelations” and froze as the contents opened, his hand involuntarily covering his mouth. “Tā mā de!” Kim pushed himself further away from the monitor. It dawned on him where he was and he looked around apprehensively. Still alone. He yanked off his glasses and paced back and forth, brushing his hair away from his face. No, no, no! How can they do this? He stopped, stared at his slides and then over at Zhao’s computer. This will not happen to my research—not if I can do anything about it. Kim grabbed a chip from his drawer and inserted it into Zhao’s computer. One by one, he downloaded all of the documents. Pulling the drive out of Xu’s port, he clicked delete. “Take that, partner,” he muttered, slumping back in his chair. With one foot, he pushed off from Zhao Xu’s desk toward his own. As Kim leaned back in his chair, he caught sight of the ceiling-mounted camera and froze in panic.

 

Security at Huang Biotech was ingrained in all its employees—so much so, that all new-hires spent their first two days in the company’s security indoctrination course. The competitive nature of biotech research, along with Huang’s secretive government clientele made corporate espionage precautions a necessity. The scientists in Kim’s classified lab had grown accustomed to the dogmatic protocols. Surveillance was a way of life; their every move was monitored and every conversation was recorded.

 

Kim grasped the edge of his desk in a cold panic. Now what you fool? There was nothing he could do—no going back. He looked toward the exit, half-expecting to see guards rushing toward the door with weapons drawn. The digital clock on the lab’s wall read 3:44 AM. There isn’t much time to act. Kim removed the slide from his microscope and briefly held it to the light. Seven years of his work were sandwiched between these rectangular slivers of glass; research that had consumed most of his adult life. He studied the vault in the corner of the lab. All samples were to be stored in the vault when not at workstations—Huang regulations required the vault to be locked at the end of each day. However, thanks to his latest all-nighter, the vault was still open. Kim placed the slide into a small case and walked to the vault. Pulling a long metal box from the top shelf, he withdrew a dozen more samples, sliding each one carefully into the case before snapping it shut. He located a garbage bag and dropped the briefcase, slides and laptop inside of it. Hurry man—the night guard will be making his final rounds soon. He carried Xu’s computer and its components over to the vault. Perspiration trickled down Kim’s spine as he lugged the stack of documents and folders into the safe, stacking them beside the electronics. He scanned the lab, searching for anything else that might contain portions of his work. This is it, I am as good as dead now. He grabbed several bottles of ethanolamine and a container of acetic anhydride from the supply shelf, and poured them into his wastebasket. With as much caution as time permitted, he dragged the receptacle into the vault, trickling a stream of the combustible liquid into the adjacent server room. He then crumpled a few of the pages from the stack and tossed them in the basket. Grabbing a striker from the counter, he squeezed it until the spark ignited the papers then slammed the door closed seconds before the chemicals exploded. Snatching the plastic bag and his badge from the desk, he made for the exit door. As he passed by Jiang’s cubicle, Kim hesitated. He lifted her lab coat to his cheek and inhaled, then let the jacket fall to the floor. With a swipe of his ID, he ducked through the doorway and ran. Fire alarms echoed through the halls of Huang Biotechnologies as black smoke engulfed the lab.