Nanobots, Murder, and Other Family Problems

I jam in the magic words for my SQL injection attack, tricking the database on Father’s personal computer into opening the way past his security. After a week of staying up late reading and researching, I’m in.

I look at the clock. It’s almost curfew, but I don’t care. This is more important, and I’m so close. People think about hacking as just connecting right up to the server you want to access, but it’s almost never like that. Getting access to one server is the first step in a journey, with the privileges you get in that first step making it possible to take the next. The compromised server I’m working through right now is the fifth link in the chain, each one a project in itself. If I stop now, I have to reforge all those links.

Roxanne’s music is still playing. I’ll take my chances. I’m so close.

I start digging into Father’s files. There are some plain text notes, programming scripts, and all sorts of files that I don’t recognize. I’m not sure where to start looking, so I do a text search for my name. Not a lot there. A few files have my name up near the top, but they look like medical files filled with sciencey gobbledegook that is way past what I understand. They must be the results from those scans and blood work we did last week.

The thumping beat from the office down the hall stops suddenly. I quickly switch off the screen and duck down under the table with the chair between me and the door. As long as Roxanne doesn’t turn on the lights or look too closely, she might close up the lab without seeing me. I hold my breath as she pokes her blue-haired head into the room. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me.

She reaches in with one tattooed arm and pulls the door closed. I wait as the sounds of her steel-toed boots fade off down the hallway. As quietly as I can, I get back up and open Mom’s laptop again, turning down its brightness as low as I can make it and still see.

I dig back into the files, searching for Mom’s name this time. A file shows up in a folder simply labeled notes. The files in there are just named by their dates. The ones that mention Mom are dated March 14th and 18th. I pop open the first one and scan through it frantically. The terse and jargon-filled text looks like the kind of thing I might leave for myself as I was working out a hard problem. I skip down to where Mom is mentioned and find some lines that seem pretty clear.

Bot-based version of implant finally ready.

Improved integration time and safety.

Should address all issues of second generation implants.

Feedback overloads that damaged Andrea all fixed.

438 simulations run clean.

I can’t have anything like that happen to them again.

Next class should be starting installation already, plan delayed.

Need a test subject that can verify new hardware ASAP.

Genetic compatibility required.

Only choice is Mary’s boy, the other lost ones are all too young.

Hopefully she’ll see reason.

We must have him.

The file ends there. I jump into the next file, dated March 18th. It’s short, only a few lines.

Negotiation failed, offer refused.

What a disaster.

Mary, WHY?

Arrangements made with Sgt. Thompson - have Smith make sure daughter wins scholarship.

That name. The cop who came and told me about Mom’s “accident.” Father did kill her! He paid off the cop to make the official story say whatever he wanted. He needed me as a guinea pig for his experiments, and he killed her to get me here.

But what can I do about it? This evidence isn’t anything that would convict him in court. Even if I had found this out legally, there isn’t enough here to prove anything. I doubt I could get anyone else to believe me outside of Grammy and Gramps. But he must have killed her. Nothing else fits. The image of Mom’s coffin on the day I buried her sticks in my mind, slowly lowering down into the ground. She should be alive.

I look at the clock. Shit. It’s well past midnight. I wipe down all my exploits and tunnels, leaving my work undetectable, then log out. I sneak down the darkened hallways to the door nearest the dorms. Outside, I look around but don’t see anyone. There aren’t any security cameras on this side of campus, not that I’ve been able to find anyway, but the night security guys could make their rounds any time.

I make a dash for the dorm doors only to find that they’re locked. Not good. If someone finds me out here, they’ll get suspicious of what I’ve been up to. They’ll check everything, probably even the records of what computers got used when. From there, it’s only a matter of time before Father finds out what I know. There’s no way things end well for me at that point. Would he kill me like he killed Mom? I feel fear pushing in on me, my heart slamming against my chest.

There’s got to be some way in. I sneak around to the other side of the building and see a light shining from one of the windows on the first floor. Please be someone who can help me, and not someone like Chad.

I slip silently over and peek inside. The blinds are open. Louise is at her desk beneath posters of Marie Curie and Rosalind Franklin, reading something on her tablet. I put my face up to the window and tap quietly on the glass. She looks around, but doesn’t see me. I tap again, louder this time. She finally looks my way.

“Noah?” she asks, getting up from her desk. “What are you doing out there?”

“Long story,” I whisper, hopefully loud enough for her to hear me through the glass. “Want to let me in?”

She thinks about it for a very long couple of seconds.

“Yeah,” she says. “Meet me at the front doors.”

I hurry around and get to the big doors to the common room just before she does. She pops one of them open from the inside and gives me a long look as I come through the door.

“I’m not going to ask,” she finally says. “But you owe me one. A big one.”

“Deal,” I agree gratefully. “Thank you.”

Back in my room, I collapse onto my bed and breathe until my heart stops hammering. I need to be careful. I’m dealing with a cold-blooded killer. Maybe the most powerful murderer ever. What can I do against that?