Double Helix Ch. 08

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "We were both really hyped up after the checkpoint. It kind of just happened."

"Yeah, I heard that part, too. You know how much Nissi cares about you."

"Yeah," I said, looking down at my feet. "Yeah, I do."

We were nearing the edge of the trees now. These were the orchard trees from Stansy's painting, though they were bare of fruit now. "You know, if I thought you were lying, I'd cold cock you right now. I'm not sure I won't do it anyway, just for good measure."

"I thought you and Nissi didn't really like each other," I said.

He mulled that over. "Yeah, I guess it might look that way to you. I was kind of a jerk to everyone back at the house. I was a wealthy man before the Ban, so maybe I felt like I had lost more than any of you. Maybe it put a chip on my shoulder. The thing is, it wasn't Nissi, it was you I didn't like. When you started sniffing around her, I took her aside and told her it was a bad idea to shack up with you."

"And why did you do that?" I said, feeling a prickle of indignation.

"I know what you're thinking, but it's not that. I have nothing against normals, and I don't give a shit about normals and genemods kissing, holding hands, or even fucking."

I had never known Nock to use profanity, and I realized that the soft-spoken words revealed how angry he was with me. He went on, "I told her to stay away from you because I didn't think you were an honest person. From that very first day, when you evaded Stansy's question about how you got there, I was suspicious of you. I saw what you were doing, making those improvements to the basement, and I saw how it affected the others, and you know what I thought? I thought it was a big con game to manipulate all of us. I thought that Tilly was just another part of the game for you, a way to play off all our sympathies or something. It wasn't until she almost killed herself, and you worked so hard to save her, that I realized that I had been wrong about you. Wrong about Tilly, too."

We had reached the edge of the orchard and turned to walk along it. "So now you're wondering if your first impression was the correct one?" I asked.

He frowned. "I wouldn't go that far. But are you ready to tell us what you did to land yourself in our safe house?"

"Sasha made me promise not to talk about it."

He smirked. "That's actually a pretty good excuse. I'll let you off the hook on that, then. For now." He pulled down a branch to inspect it. "Hmm, budding already," he said. "Long growing season here in the Willamette, I hear." The branch snapped upward when he let go. He turned and began to walk back towards the house.

I moved to follow. "So what's this really about, then?"

"So now I'm just concerned about where your intentions are with Nissi."

A realization hit me. "You really do care about her, don't you?"

"Answer the fucking question."

"I love her," I said. I dug deeper. "I had a girlfriend a few years ago. I thought maybe I could marry her, but we drifted apart. What I felt for her was nothing compared to Nissi."

He smirked. "Well, that's real sweet. It must feel pretty shitty that you let Tilly suck your cock."

My face burned with shame at the rebuke. I stopped, feeling suddenly angry. "You're a real dick, you know that?"

Nock had stopped in front of me. He turned and grinned. "Never denied it, buddy. And that's the honest reaction I was looking for."

I shook my head and stepped past him. "So you gonna answer my question? What's your deal with Nissi?"

"Maybe if things were different. . ." he shrugged. "But I already found the love of my life. So I guess I think of Nissi like a sister. And however much we've fought in the past, I care about what happens to her."

"Look, what happened in the truck was a mistake. It won't happen again, and I think it best if Nissi doesn't know about it."

"Or maybe you should just tell her, let her decide if you're worth her time."

I shook my head slowly. "No. I don't want to hurt her."

"You're scared, admit it."

"Yes, I am. I love her. I don't want to lose her."

"Alright, I'll stay out of your way, then. But I want you to know, I came this close-" he held a thumb and forefinger half an inch apart, "to telling her what happened last night. You think about what that would have meant." He jogged on ahead of me and back into the house. I followed at a slower pace and slipped back in through the back door.

"Oh, there you are," Stansy said, peering out from the kitchen. "Nissi was looking for you. You need to pick a place to sleep. There are three bedrooms upstairs. I think Stan and I are just going to stick with the guest room."

"Is she upstairs?"

"Yeah, think so."

The staircase was near the kitchen and led up to a hallway that ran the width of the house, with rooms on either side. I peeked in the first bedroom, where Nonna was at work changing the bedding. A bathroom was across from it, so I went down to the end where two more doors stood open. One was empty, but in the other, Nissi stood with her back to the door and her arms folded.

"Hi," I said.

She turned. "Hey, Norm. Stansy told me to look at the master bedroom. Seems like Nonna's going to share a bed with Wendy, Tilly's got the room across the hall to herself, and Nock says he'll just use the sofa downstairs when he needs a nap. So, what do you think?"

The queen-sized bed felt like an extravagance after months of sleeping on a tiny twin bed. A window trimmed with lacy curtains looked out on the gravel driveway. I moved towards the other window, which at one point had given a view of the largest of the farm's fields to the north. I could just make out the post and rail fence that marked the edge of the property. Trees and houses dotted the flat and otherwise empty landscape. A couple of low mountains rose up in the distance.

I opened the antique wardrobe in one corner and was surprised to find a few men's suits and overalls hanging in the top. The drawers below contained shirts, socks and jeans. "Are we sure no one is living here?" I asked.

Nissi came over to have a look. "Well, Stansy said that her grandpa died suddenly some years ago. I guess no one bothered to clean out his things."

I closed everything back up. I could use the clothing if any of it fit, but I was not yet ready to plunder personal belongings from this place.

Nissi took my hand. "Come check out our bathroom." I half-expected an old claw foot tub. Instead, there was a fairly modern shower and a conventional bath tub. And there were two sinks. I had to stop and stare at that for a moment. For the last few months, I had shared a single sink with six other people.

"Nice, huh?" Nissi said.

"It's nice," I said, running my hand along the tile. "You say Stansy wanted us to have this room?"

Nissi stepped up close to me, and when I turned, she slipped her arms around my neck and drew me close. "You did it, Norm. You got us to safety. I think this is Stansy's way of thanking you."

"I didn't do so much," I protested.

"Always with the modesty. It makes you uncomfortable when people praise you, doesn't it?"

Her tone had turned abruptly serious and concerned. I knew what she meant. My sister had surpassed me at every turn. One of the ways I coped with that was to downplay the significance of my own accomplishments.

"I'd rather not talk about it," I said.

She nodded. "Bad memories, huh?"

"Yeah, something like that."

She got a devilish smile. "Want to make some good memories?"

I was beyond tired by this point after a night without sleep, and it had been just a few hours since my episode with Tilly. Taken together, I didn't think that my performance would hold up. "Maybe later, after I get some sleep."

"Yeah, that sounds like a plan," Nissi agreed. "I'll hold you to that."

We made the bed and I collapsed into it with half my clothing still on. Nissi spooned up against me and we cuddled until I fell asleep.

I came awake with a start and a shout of fear, flailing at the covers. My hand went to my chest. I took in deep gulps of air and realized that my heart hadn't really stopped, just skipped a beat. The pain I was feeling was not a gunshot, just my own fear. Thunder rolled and rumbled in the distance. It took several more seconds to clear my head enough to realize that the terrible things in my memory were real. I had killed another person.

I sat there, staring at the wall, feeling that same sense of unreality that I had experienced at the time. I hadn't actually meant to do it, I realized now. I had simply reacted through reflexes honed by weeks of training at the gun range. I wished desperately now that I could take that action back. I felt cheated, as if the decision had been made without my own consent. But when I had faced down the other officer, Robert, I had been in full control, and I hadn't been able to do it. That bothered me almost as much.

I took a breath and got out of bed, shaking off those thoughts. I was hungry, but first things first. I stood over the toilet to empty my bladder. It had been scrubbed clean while I slept, along with the rest of the bathroom. I couldn't shake the feeling like I was an intruder in this strange house.

When I was done I went back into the bedroom and dug through my suitcase for a pair of pants. Outside the window, the sun was still shining, but I could see clouds closing in from the west. As I watched, lightning flashed in an arc between clouds. Thunder came several seconds later as a dim roar.

I went downstairs and noticed an immediate difference from when we had first arrived. The others must have been cleaning the whole house while I slept. The washing machine was running, and most of the curtains on the windows had been taken down. The cobwebs that had nestled in seemingly every corner were gone.

"Sleep well?" Wendy asked from a seat in the living room. Ingrid was curled up in her lap and she was reading a book.

I shrugged. "More or less. Is there any food?"

"Nock made some rice earlier, but you'll have to heat it up."

I did a double-take. "Nock cooks?"

"Well, we know he can make rice, at least."

The refrigerator was empty except for the big bowl of rice. I dished some out and heated it in the microwave, then went to sit in the dining room. The table and chairs had been cleaned, giving the room a faint lemon smell. I sat at the head of the table to eat. Though the food was bland, I was glad for it. If Sasha hadn't been hoarding it, our predicament would have been that much worse.

A pair of arms went around me from behind and a veil of reddish hair brushed the side of my face. "Did the storm wake you?" Nissi asked, and gave me a peck on the cheek.

"Yeah, and then I got hungry. You guys have been busy."

"The place needed a little help," she agreed, "but it goes quick with this many people working on it." She nuzzled my neck and then took the seat to my right. "When you get done, Stan's been asking for you. Actually, everyone wants to talk to you. I think the question on most of their minds is, 'what next?'"

I smiled wryly. "And what if I don't know the answer to that question? I asked Mike about contacting the agency, but he told me that they won't touch us right now, not with the police looking for us. He seemed to think they might help, if we lay low for a while first. He didn't sound too sure of that."

"And assuming they do help, then what? They'll farm us out to other safe houses, probably all over the country."

"You're right," I said, setting down my fork and leaning back in the chair. "That's exactly what they would do, to try to mitigate the risk to the rest of us if one of us should be found."

One of Nissi's eyebrows took on an even more pronounced arch. "I hope that bothers you as much as it does me."

I nodded. "It does, Nissi, it does. But it might be the only way to survive. I would rather be apart and know that you're safe, than for all of us to go to prison or be killed. Wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would. That doesn't mean I like it."

I finished the few remaining bites of food and stood up. "I'd better go check on Stan."

I found him sitting cross-legged in bed. Sasha's microcomputer sat in front of him, its innards exposed. "Oh, good," he said. "Please tell me I can get out of bed. The girls all made me promise I wouldn't move until you said it was okay."

I checked the wound dressing, which had been changed, and found very little bleeding. "Looks good." I would have liked to give him some antibiotics, but Standard Upgrade was one of the first truly disease resistant genemods, so there was probably little to worry about. I changed the dressing again for good measure, and Stan went to work putting the computer back together.

"How's the pain?" I asked, going through the boxes of medical supplies that the others had stacked at the foot of the bed.

Stan held up a bottle and rattled it. "Wendy gave me these."

"Ibuprofen," I said, nodding. "Looks like that's the best we've got. Do they help?"

Stan shrugged. "Not enough. What I really need is something to take my mind off of it. So, can I get out of bed? I want to find out what's on this thing."

I sighed. "Alright, Stan, but you have to be careful. No heavy lifting. If you rip those sutures out, we're a long way from anyone who could fix it."

He grinned at me. "Fine. Could you carry the MC for me, then? I need to find a terminal for this thing to drive."

I realized that "MC" was short for microcomputer and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked, and once I had it in hand, I stepped back to give Stan room. He grunted with each movement as he pivoted, scooted to the edge of the bed, and stood. "This sucks," he said.

"Having second thoughts?"

"Not a chance."

We checked the living room just by virtue of it being the closest. The next room appeared to be a sewing room, mostly bare at the moment except for the large, smooth-surfaced table. Adjacent to that room was what appeared to be a den, with a fireplace and bookshelf that went floor to ceiling and covered an entire wall. On a tiny desk in one corner was a terminal that was at least a decade out-of-date.

Stan directed me to place the microcomputer on the floor and hook up the wires. I powered it on and Stan started up the terminal. The screen came up with a list of available wireless network nodes, just three, only two of which had respectable signal strength. Instead of picking one, he pressed a function key to bypass it. The screen winked out and a few moments later the login screen we had seen before came up. Stan typed in the password and we waited while the terminal connected to the MC and loaded its interface. This time, though, a blank window popped up immediately with the words "Connecting to proxy service" in the title. It paused for a few moments before displaying "No connection available, press 'Confirm' to exit.'".

Stan pushed the window to the background without closing it. "Guess we need to connect to a CSP," he said. He pursed his lips for a moment and then cycled through several settings screens. "Ah, there we go," he said and smirked. "You'd think people would know by now to secure their network. Signal's a bit low, but it'll do."

He brought the previous window back up to see lines of black text steadily filling up the white space. "Some kind of scripted application," he said. I looked at the text, which had begun to shift up and out of sight as more text came in, at a rate of about two lines per second. I couldn't make sense of any of it. "Looks like authentication protocols," Stan said, "exchanging certificates and establishing encrypted connections."

The lines of text stopped, the cursor blinking for several seconds, and then a new window came up, this one with a grid. A header in the first column read "account". Next that was "balance", "credit limit", "APR" and other headers. The rows began to fill in until they nearly covered the screen.

"Are these credit card numbers?" I asked, realizing that they all began with a numeral "4" or "5".

"Accounts, I think," Stan answered. "Oh!"

"What?"

Stan pointed to the screen. "The balances just changed."

The balances and limits all ran up into the tens of thousands of dollars, and the balances were increasing by a few tens of dollars at a time. "What's going on here?"

The balances stopped changing and another window popped up with the words "generating report". Now, there was a list of bank accounts with various balances. Several of them noted an increase of several hundred dollars each. The credit card numbers on the other window disappeared, replaced by the message "transfers complete".

I stared at the balances on the bank accounts. Added together, the amount was well over a hundred thousand dollars. "Stan," I said in a warning tone, "whatever this is, it looks illegal. Didn't I hear once that Sasha worked for a bank?"

"Well, that's what we all thought. She did some kind of consulting work, but it seemed to involve financial transactions. Maybe this is a project she was working on?" He sounded doubtful even as he said it.

"I'm telling you, this looks like fraud, or at least some form of money laundering. Can you find that script and have a look at it?"

Stan checked a few logs and then brought up a window with text that looked like a programming language. "I found the source code and brought it into a debugger," he said. He scrolled through a few pages and stopped. "Oh, wow."

"What?"

"This looks like some kind of backdoor exploit. This is definitely not legitimate access." He read through for a few minutes more, changing windows a few times. "Okay, I think I see what's going on here. That first set of accounts must be credit cards, just like you thought. There's a routine that generates multiple transactions for each account in semi-random amounts. Looks like they are all buying up crypto-currencies. Those are eventually used to buy up commodities which are immediately sold off for US dollars and deposited at banks in the Caribbean and Southeast Asia."

"So, credit card fraud."

"And money laundering to boot. You could probably trace at least some of the activity if you knew where to look, but there's some shifting around from one place to another that happens once it goes crypto. I don't know if you could reliably sort that out at all. It explains what the MC was for, but why would Sasha do this?"

"Is there a log where we can find out how long this has been going on?"

"Good thinking." He immediately pulled up a document. "Looks like it first ran about ten weeks ago."

I thought back over the last few months. It didn't seem like an especially important time, except that it had been within about a month of the raids on agency smuggling operations, and about a week after the Himura syndicate arrests. An idea occurred to me. "How much money do you think it would take to smuggle genemods out of the country, after what happened to the agency?"

"Norm, that's. . . that's brilliant. That could be it. You think she was trying to get enough money to buy our way out of the States?"

I thought back to those conversations with Sasha. She had been well aware that things were only going to get worse. "I think that's exactly what she was doing." And it may have been why she was so insistent that we try to take her MC with us. "We need to tell the others about this. This could change everything."

"Whoa, hold up a second," Stan said. "Bank accounts are all well and good, but if you're talking about paying someone to smuggle us, how are we going to get the money out? We could transfer the money to a domestic bank, but it's not like we can walk into a branch and withdraw it."

My enthusiasm dropped considerably. I knew that Sasha had hoped that we could use what we found here, but I wasn't sure we had the resources to do so. Then I had another thought. "All the more reason to bring the others in on this."