January.
Dark. Dreary. Winter.
Christmas and New Years were over; spring was months away.
No, spring is an eternity from now.
Ugh.
I’d told Gamble to go ahead and announce my “death.”
The Monday following Christmas, three weeks back, he’d released a statement saying that the remains of two bodies had been found in the explosion’s aftermath. “DNA evidence supports our belief that the deceased are sisters Genie and Gemma Keyes.”
Two bodies? Two? Talk about confused.
In fact, Gamble’s statement hadn’t mentioned Cushing at all.
I’d chewed on that for a while. Perhaps . . . perhaps it would have proven difficult to explain Cushing’s presence in my house without also providing inquiring minds with a loose thread to pull—and Trujillo had warned me about loose threads.
“Nano. Please continuously scan all available news sources for reports of General Cushing. If you find mention of her, let me know?”
We will, Gemma Keyes.
I went back to Gamble’s statement. He had gone into some vague details regarding the cause of the explosion, ending with, “It may be weeks or months before ATF determines the exact circumstances of the explosion that took the lives of these two young women.”
Meaning, I’d surmised, that ATF would put off the report as long as possible and deliver whatever their higher-ups told them to deliver using whatever oblique and imprecise language they were directed to use.
It was disturbing to reread Gamble’s statement in the online papers and see it reported in the news. It was creepy and disconcerting to know that my old classmates and people I’d worked with believed me dead and would never know why the government had been hunting me. Would likely believe the worst of me.
And it bothered me that Zander’s sister might remember me as a criminal. It bothered me a lot.
I admitted, too, that I was grieving for Genie. I’d never dreamed that I would face the loss of my sister, or that her last act would be a selfless one.
Did Genie give the nanomites the precious seconds they needed to propel us out of the explosion’s kill zone?
In spite of the facts that we’d never been close, that we’d been more enemies than sisters, I grieved for her. I now had no family. Well, I had Emilio. And Abe.
I was still . . . processing.
On the day of the deadline, I’d told Gamble to announce my death, but I had refused the government’s WITSEC proposal. I’d weighed my commitment to Emilio and my obligation to help Abe raise Emilio, and I couldn’t let them down. I would not break Emilio’s heart or be yet another adult who had made promises to him and then broken them.
No, I hadn’t taken the government’s deal, because I couldn’t leave Albuquerque. My heart was here.
In more ways than one.
So, I’d told Gamble to announce my death, but I’d declined the government’s offer of a new life. I didn’t need them to put me in WITSEC when the nanomites could do a much better job—when their work was far superior to the WITSEC program’s. It was more secure, too.
I’d called Dr. Bickel the same day and let him know my decision, and I’d called Abe and asked if he would prepare Emilio for the news reports and assure him that I was fine, but that I needed a few weeks to “birth” a new identity.
“You and Emilio won’t see me for a while, Abe. I need to put space between Gemma and whomever will emerge in her stead. That means staying away from you and Emilio until I come up with a natural way for her replacement to ‘meet’ you guys.”
I hadn’t called Zander with my decision; instead, I’d asked Abe to pass on my message.
The next morning, I’d checked out of the hotel and into one of those by-the-month furnished suites using Kathy Sawyer’s I.D. and credit card. With Cushing gone, no one was looking for Kathy. However, I would lean on Kathy Sawyer’s persona only as a short-term fix, one I would discard shortly. Trujillo knew about Kathy, and I didn’t want Trujillo (or anyone, for that matter) breathing down my neck.
Not ever.
Within hours of giving Gamble my decision, the nanomites and I had begun to scope out my new identity. We’d started with my appearance. How I presently looked was already quite different from “Gemma BN” (Before Nanomites). My increased metabolism and lengthy workouts had slimmed and honed my body to a wiry machine, and the sharp planes of my face were striking in their contrast to the old Gemma—but they weren’t dissimilar enough. To anyone who’d known Gemma before, I was a fitter and leaner Gemma, but I was Gemma, and they would know it.
That had to change. I had to change.
Based on the parameters used in facial recognition software (such as the nine regions corresponding to the functional parts of the face and the attribute classifications assigned to each of them), the nanomites and I isolated my specific facial characteristics: My chin and jawline, the exact space between my eyes, the width of my nose where it intersects my eyes, my brow shape and height, and so on.
I had the nanomites draft a full-length 3D digital replica of my body (same height, shape, weight, and coloring), and superimpose my face onto the model. We targeted the top five facial aspects that best identified me, then we altered the image’s characteristics in ways only genetics or the most drastic of cosmetic surgeries could produce.
When we finished, the replica’s face was unrecognizable as Gemma Keyes.
“Add some highlights to brighten her hair, Nano, and choose a shorter hairstyle.”
Gemma Keyes.
“Hmm?”
DOD issued a bulletin this morning: An Air Force transport went down over the Atlantic late yesterday.
Baffled, I asked, “Why are you bringing this to my attention?”
General Imogene Cushing was listed on the flight’s manifest.
“They’ve already released the names of those presumed dead?” The turnaround seemed too quick to me.
No, Gemma Keyes. As is customary, the military will notify all relatives of the victims before releasing their names to the media. However, since you instructed us to watch for use of General Cushing’s name, we have been scanning all available files for any new references to her. Two hours ago, General Cushing’s name was added to the manifest of the lost flight.
So, that’s how it would be handled. Wait for a plausible tragedy, then include her death in it. No body to I.D.; no questions.
I shuddered and nodded. “Thank you, Nano.”
I returned to the unfinished rendering of my new identity and tweaked it a bit more. When I was satisfied with the woman whose face stared back at me, I told the nanomites, “Nano, this is the new me. It’s how I want you to make me look when we’re ready to make the change. At all times, unless I say otherwise, I should look like her.”
And the voice. People who knew me would recognize Gemma Keyes’ voice, wouldn’t they? The voice had to go, too.
“Nano, how would you propose altering my voice in an ongoing manner?”
We could alter your voice in one of two ways, Gemma Keyes: through continual manipulation of the soundwaves your vocal cords emit or through actual microsurgery to your vocal cords.
Microsurgery? A chill shivered through me. I’d had it with microsurgery! “Um, let’s stick with manipulating my vocal soundwaves for now, Nano.”
What name will you choose, Gemma Keyes?
Headache. I massaged a spot squarely in the middle of my forehead. All of the me-modifying decisions were getting to me. Stressing me out.
“And that’s another thing, Nano. Once I choose a name, we will stick with it. In fact, starting now, no more addressing me as Gemma Keyes. We’re creating my next identity, not ‘borrowing’ someone else’s. I will become this woman; it will be a permanent adaptation. So, please stop calling me Gemma Keyes.”
I was being brutal for my own sake, tearing off every vestige of Gemma Keyes, but the nanomites didn’t like it. I could tell by the frosty silence that followed.
“Nano? Did you hear what I said?”
We heard you.
“Okay, then.”
I pondered long and hard over the name I would bear the rest of my life. I penciled and penned various combinations, scratching out the rejects, compiling a list of “maybes” and “possibles.” I finally figured out that I was, subconsciously, looking for a first and last name with the same rhythmic quality and number of syllables as Gemma Keyes.
Emma Stone.
Rachel Weisz.
Maggie Smith.
Ashley Greene.
Taylor Swift.
Blah-blah Blah.
Choosing the “right” name was a harder exercise than I’d thought it would be. In those moments when I was being honest with myself, I admitted that I just wasn’t ready to let go or ready to move on.
Absent all threats, I felt . . . let down. Rudderless. Aimless.
I sat in my suite’s dark kitchen drinking my first cup of coffee, wondering where I’d find the “juice” to start over. In my up-and-coming guise, I could go anywhere, do what I liked. Make friends. Get a job. Have a real life.
Dr. Bickel had healed enough to dismiss his nursing aide, and the FBI had cleared him of all charges and allegations. DOE even restored his security clearance and asked Dr. Bickel to return to Sandia and rebuild his lab. I had to assume that my friends in D.C. cleared the way for his quick reinstatement.
“Don’t worry; I won’t be building another ion printhead,” he’d confided to me, “at least nothing like the one I used to print the nanomites. In fact, I plan to take my research in a different direction. A safer direction.”
Speaking of different directions: I wouldn’t be applying for any jobs at Sandia. Just the thought made me anxious. Perhaps I’d return to school and take up another degree program, but I’d need to look for work before too long.
I yanked myself back to the task at hand. Back to my new name.
I sighed and slid the page of proposed names toward me. Had an idea.
“Nano, what does the name ‘Gemma’ mean in other languages?”
They laid out a long list, and I scanned through them, hoping something would catch my eye. I had always liked Gemma because, in English, it is derived from the word gem or jewel. Even in my child’s mind, my name had made me feel special and precious—when I often felt forgotten and stupid.
I read on and saw, The name Jemma in Hebrew is a diminutive of Jemima which means “little dove.” Jemima was one of the three beautiful daughters of Job.
“Little dove.” I snickered. “Right. So me. Not.”
I went back to names and their meanings. Had a second idea. “Nano, what is the name ‘Jewel’ in other languages?”
The list began with Amber and variations on Amber. I started down the list. Some of the names were derived from specific gemstones such as amethyst, crystal, diamond, emerald, garnet, jasper, ruby, pearl, and sapphire.
I didn’t care for any of them.
Then I went back to the “J”s. Looked closer.
Jayda: Elaborated feminine form of the English for Jade.
Jayda.
“Huh.”
I didn’t hate it. It also sparked the glimmer of yet another idea.
“Nano, look up the surname ‘Keyes’ in various languages.”
I found the Keyes surname and its motto: In Domino confide. I trust in the Lord.
“Wow.” Goosebumps washed over my skin. Lord? Are you leading me?
“Nano, look for the word ‘Trust’ in other languages.”
That didn’t pan out.
“Okay, so not a variation on Keyes.”
I concentrated. “Keyes” and “key” aren’t actually related, but they sound the same, right?
“Nano. Look for the word “key” in other languages.”
Nope. That didn’t turn up anything that resonated with me.
I puzzled around further with no results. “Keyes. Trust. Confide: confidence.”
Nothing.
“A key opens a door. A key fits into a lock that opens a door. And a lock is—”
Lock? No, “Lock” with an added “e” at the end like “Keyes.”
Locke?
Jayda Locke?
Could I live with that? Abe would accept it. Could Emilio? I wasn’t considering Zander. He and I would remain friends, but nothing more.
“Nano, I’ve decided on my new name: Jayda Locke.”
I needed a middle name, so I added “Lucia” as an homage to Aunt Lucy: Jayda Lucia Locke.
“Nano, what do you think?”
I didn’t exactly hear a “harrumph.” I didn’t hear any enthusiasm from the nanomites, either.
They replied, If that is your decision, and left off the Gemma Keyes tag I was so accustomed to.
Fine! Be that way! Stupid, stubborn nanomites.
But I felt my chest tighten. I would never hear them say my name again.
***
Over the next week, the nanomites fabricated and brought the pieces of Jayda Locke’s persona together: birth certificate, social security number, immunization and medical records, high school diploma, college transcript and degree, and New Mexico driver’s license. Even a passport.
And seven years of tax returns? That trick had to have taken some serious manipulation of data—behind some seriously well-protected firewalls.
Firewalls? Meh! No firewall could keep the nanomites out.
Wherever paperwork should properly reside, the nanomites produced a digital copy and filed it there. They backstopped my identity in one-hundred-twenty-seven separate places, including the files of grade schools and middle schools, social media, online shopping accounts, and “former employers” (the last being Lockheed Martin in Littleton, Colorado). They even provided Jayda with a heritage.
Seems Jayda had parents and grandparents (deceased, of course) and a family tree that went back seven generations. I figured out how they did it, and it was quite clever, really. The nanomites went back five generations and altered two separate genealogy records to add another sibling to each record, a male to one and a female to the other. They “married” the man and woman and created a whole new line of Locke family members—of whom Jayda was the present sole descendant.
Like I said: clever.
In a move that forever removed Kathy Sawyer from my life, I went to my bank and closed out her checking account. The nanomites had already closed her online shopping accounts, paid off her credit card, and canceled it.
Kathy’s month-by-month lease on the apartment ran out at the end of the week. I hadn’t renewed it. In fact, I’d given my notice and wouldn’t be returning to the apartment after today. Everything I owned fit into one suitcase, and I placed that suitcase in the back of the Escape—also soon to be discarded.
I left the apartment for a beauty salon. I asked for highlights and a shorter cut. When I left the salon, I looked exactly like Jayda Locke’s license photo.
With driver’s license in hand (and the nanomites altering my appearance as we’d designed Jayda), I rented a new apartment and moved in. The nanomites provided a written reference from Jayda’s “previous” rental; however, since I didn’t want my new landlord calling Jayda’s “previous” landlord, I plunked down three months’ rent and an exorbitant damage deposit.
In cash.
I guess money really does talk.
I took my new lease agreement and opened a checking and a savings account, depositing a modest amount in both and planning to deposit smallish amounts into my accounts over the next weeks. Walked away with a debit card in my hand and a credit card in the works.
Ready money wouldn’t be an issue for a while: I still had half of the cash I’d dug up in Mateo’s back yard, and I’d returned to Dr. Bickel’s safe house to retrieve the cash embedded in the cinderblock wall next to the alley. The explosion had demolished the top half of the wall; I was grateful when the nanomites found the wrapped bundle buried beneath the rubble of broken cinderblock.
Afterward, I wandered my way through the remains of the house. There wasn’t much to see. I nudged and toed chunks, pieces, splinters, bits, and shards of building materials and furnishings, most fragmented or burned beyond recognition.
Then I saw it.
You know how tornados and wild fires are notorious for leveling entire neighborhoods or forests but leaving a lone home or a single tree untouched? The debris of the safe house proved such caprice.
Face up, rinsed clean by a recent shower, I spied one intact bathroom tile. The faded turquoise gleamed up at me from the rubble. I picked up the tile, ran my fingers over its glossy surface, and tucked it into my purse.
“Thank you, Lord. I will keep this as a reminder of the many ways you sheltered me through those dark times.”
~~**~~