Genosimulation (A Teen & Young Adult Science Fiction): A Young Adult Science Fiction Thriller (19 page)

Congratulate me. I'm a married man.

We did it instantly, no messing about. We went to a rabbi I
know, not Eligad. Another rabbi, of weddings. A simple one. We did it in a few
minutes, Las Vegas style with streimels and gefilte fish made by his wife.

I don’t know how I’ll continue from here on.

The Institute is pushing me to go to the US already. Soon it
will be an order, but I'm not ready to travel without my wife. And she’ll not
stay without me. We’ve made it clear to everyone. Our immediate boss won’t
listen, so I went over him. I sent letters, showed some muscle.

I'm good at showing muscle and Lia’s calling in all her
contacts. We'll see what happens.

Re the second issue, it suddenly seems less important and
yet the most important in the world, then yes, there is success. The first test
tube was incubated with success and the apostles are ready to wash the world
with their New Testament. Heresy.

Well, I’m feeling low. I'm pretty well drained of energy.
These have been an exhausting few days. No one’s asked me to vacate my room,
but it's in the air. I'm already deleting materials from my computer that I
don't want anyone to know about, certainly not when I'm not here to control
events.

But I think that in the end everything will work out for the
best.

It always does, doesn’t it? 

*

The shadows lengthened.

Summer lay dying on the ground, covered by the heat of the
afternoon. Humid air, in stark contrast to the dry chill of the Institute,
threatened to almost physically push Lia back inside. Moisture has this
ability, sometimes. Daunting. It has a taste as well. Sometimes this metallic
taste, sometimes a salty taste, sometimes bitter. This time it tasted
particularly aggressive, like old sweat.

Or was it just the pregnancy playing with
her?   

She was amused to find out that all the tales about
pregnancy were completely true. Whatever they told her about, everything they
joked about, suddenly materialized into a strange reality. Confusion,
forgetfulness, strange sensations, heaviness, lack of fitness (that, in
general, was driving her crazy), bizarre food cravings, strange passions, all
came to her, lying on a canteen tray of silver plastic.

You're pregnant, babe, she thought to herself. And corrected
herself: you're a pregnant, married woman, babe.

The bizarre ceremony, still fresh in her mind, felt like a
dream that hadn't ended yet. As if it was still going on, even now.

Strange. She had never thought about what her wedding would
be like. She, herself, had been to dozens of weddings. Friends, work
colleagues, distant family members. All married, some with traditional
ceremonies, some in Cyprus, some with civil ceremonies. But everyone had a
wedding party; a party for love and marriage.

Whereas she…

An hour of stale, sweaty, drooling. Of long, incoherent
mumblings and an occasional vague glance at her. Heavy traffic. A second-hand
veil. Bang and we're done. A cheap broken glass and blessings of good fortune
from several bearded witnesses she had never met.

And Zomy. A cartoon of himself, really. Slowly turning blue
without his oxygen tank, standing upright with a black skullcap that changed
the shape of his head. She wanted him to sit down, but he would not, of course.
Me? I'm fine, no …

Until his eyes rolled up, and her hero dropped - didn’t
fall, just dropped - to the floor.

Then he took a little oxygen. He completed the ceremony
sitting down, of course. Oh, what a ceremony.

And a honeymoon? Not now, don’t think about it yet. Maybe
later, in the United States. When there’s time, when we’re organized, hopefully
before the birth. Or, God willing, we'll do it here. Depends which way the wind
blows.

And really, where had the wind gone? She knotted her
eyebrows angrily. The weather could be so oppressive, sometimes, dragging her
spirits down. Today was just a warm moist cloud, which affected her hair in
just two long minutes of walking to the car.

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…

They killed her.

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

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.

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."