He walked into Kwan’s to get his usual breakfast only to be greeted at the counter by his earlier benefactor.
“Hello, Mr. O’Neil.” He said with a polite bow.
“Here to buy me breakfast again?”
“If you’d like. Hot tea and a number twent please.” He said as he waved his hand across the scanner. They proceeded to a booth in the back of the restaurant.
“My clients were overjoyed to hear you had accessed the payment account.”
“I figured my time was worth something.”
“And we agree, but we figured you wouldn’t access the account unless you were…” He paused to sip his tea. “More willing to consider our offer.”
“I must admit the file you were after was more interesting than I had first assumed, but you knew I’d feel that way.”
“We had hoped you would see the importance of the file.”
“That I’m not exactly clear on.’
“I see. That is unfortunate; we thought to a man of your skills it would be clear.”
“Look, I’m just a simple detective, so sometimes I need things spelled out for me.” Their breakfast arrived and O’Neil dug greedily into his steak.
“Like for instance, why you didn’t find someone else if you were really looking for corporate espionage.” He shoved a piece of steak into his mouth. ”I know you did your homework before we met, so you knew I’d turn you down.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “That is correct.”
“So why the ruse?”
“My clients or more specifically one of them has a flair for the dramatic.”
“I’m aware, but that still doesn’t explain the deception.”
“We felt it would be better for all parties if you came to the knowledge on your own.”
“You wanted to make sure I didn’t spill it.”
“Something like that.”
“Fine enough, so now what?”
“If our secrecy would be assured, I would propose that you meet with my clients face to face.”
“You know it’s safe or you wouldn’t be here. Pay my retainer and I’ll add a privacy clause, if that would be agreeable. He slid the PDA across the table.
He read over the document. “Maybe a mere formality, but one can never be too careful.” He placed his chip print on the pad.
They both got up to leave as O’Neil asked. “By the way, why the break in?”
A look of confusion crossed his otherwise stoic face. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Why steal my coat? You knew I’d want to talk about the file. ”
“We had nothing to do with that unfortunate incident. I would suggest you ask Ms. Jordan.” He handed O’Neil another paper card. “Call this number later today, and we’ll meet shortly after that.”
That ruled out one suspect for the break in, but opened another door. He knew that Ms. Jordan had been less than honest with him from the beginning, but it didn’t figure that she would steal his coat. Unless there was something on the file that she wanted as well.
He stopped by Gorby’s house on his way from Kwan’s, sending him a secured tweet.
Extend your stay. Air conditioner broke. It’s hot. I’ve called the plant service. Don’t worry. –Mom-
“Ms. Jordan... Yes the beach house was lovely. From the evidence there I’d say your brother has left the country… Yes I think we could meet in person… Tomorrow I’ll call the Aero-car service.”
As his call ended the autoCab stopped in front of Jor-Tech. “the fare comes to $125.50, please use the scanner.” It beeped its acceptance, “thank you for choosing AutoCab, where the customer is our first concern.”
So far Jor-tech hadn’t given up any of its ghosts, but he hoped this trip would be the one. Murty had arranged for him to go straight to the genetics research center. He knew most of the people there wouldn’t give him anything other than the corporate line but he thought his knowledge of the b.e.r.d.a.c.h.e file might loosen a few tongues.
Geneticists were an odd lot, most people never really thought about them and if they did either penciled necks, visions of Frankenstein came to mind. I reality most of them were club kids who had taken just enough drugs to be amazingly creative, but not enough to have fried themselves. In this lab there were four kids all about twenty-five sitting around different computer screens. Playing video games and listening to sheep being mutilated with a synthesized drum beat, or so O’Neil thought.
“unh…” He cleared his throat to gain their attention; one of them flipped a button and the blaring Iraqi club music lightened to a dull roar. “Sorry if I’m interrupting. I had a few questions about human cloning.” He scanned the room looking for someone to show an interest. No one did.
“I was told you kids could help.” They all continued to look intently at the tasks they were working on when he had entered the room.
“So this is full cooperation,” he thought, “I’d hate to see them not.”
“I was told you would be able to explain a few things to me.”
A young woman with more metal in her face than a gangster on Valentine’s Day looked up. “Look we’ll answer your questions, but you won’t understand the answers.”
“I’ll do my best to keep up.” He reached in his pocket to get his PDA for recording notes. ”What are you working on?”
“Currently not much basically theoretical games, not stuff that would interest you,” said the girl.
“What kind a games?”
A quiet one towards the back answered. “We are creating new life forms, at least in the dish and Sims.”
“In the dish and Sims?”
“I’m not sure how we are supposed to help you if you don’t speak our language,” said the girl. “We can do whatever we want genetically as long as it doesn’t grow past the first hundred generations in a Petrie dish, after that we use computer simulations to see what happens next.”
“I thought there were laws against playing God?”
“Everyone plays God; the laws are just against being creative.” She huffed. “Where do you think your mock-meat comes from, we grow it in the lab. Or, what about all the pods? That was us too.”
“The laws give us just enough freedom to be useful, not enough to change anything. We could create a revolution right here in this room.” She paused to refocus her tirade.
“Have you ever wondered if pigs could fly?”
“I’ve never seen a real pig.” Answered O’Neil”
“I could grow one right here for you in the lab. In three weeks you could be holding Porky the Pegasus, but they won’t let us.”
“Certainly a shame, but in three weeks, that seems fast,” Said O’Neil.
“Nah with growth stimulants we can grow anything in about a week, the wings would take longer,” said the one with the radio.
“It is a shame, it’s a freaking crime. We could solve most of the world’s problems right here in this lab…”
“I’m sure flying pigs would make the world a better place,” said O’Neil.
“Porky the Pegasus is a running joke. We could tackle any problem, like…” She paused to find a good example.
“Like total human cloning?”
“That was six months ago,” said a young man whose full body tattoo showed through his shirt.
“I’m aware this is probably old news to you but…”
“No we completed the process six months ago.” He said.
“Well theoretically at least,” said the quiet one.
“Theoretically?” Asked O’Neil.
“Yeah, you know there’s a ban on actually doing it,” said another, feigning cool disinterest.
“Of course, but by theoretically you mean?”
“I’ll try to keep this simple,” said the metal-faced girl. “We’ve grown all of the allowable tissue in the lab and used Sims for the rest.”
“So it hasn’t actually been done?”
“Of course not that’d be illegal.” The girl smiled her tongue rings dancing in the florescent light.
“I think I understand.” He could see the quiet one in at the back table sigh slightly at this. He looked down at his PDA as if he was looking for something. “Ah, here it is any of you know what a bird ache might be?” He hoped the term would get a response.
They all looked puzzled, accept the quiet one: he looked worried.
The tattooed one spoke up. “Do you mean ‘Berdache’?”
“So that’s how you say it. Some sort of genetic term, is it?”
“No French,” said the girl-immediately looking back down at her monitor. The rest giggled.
“French.”
“Yeah, it’s an anthro term,” said the tattooed one. O’Neil looked confused.
“I got a anthropology degree when I was fourteen, it’s an Indian custom. Sioux if I remember correct. If a man can’t hack it he gives up and lives like a woman.”
“A transvestite?”
“Not exactly, everyone else treats him like a woman.”
The quiet one decided to join the discussion. “Why’d you think it was a genetic term?”
“Someone told me it might be important.” He couldn’t tell but the kid may be buying it.
“I think they were playing you.”
“I guess I should have known, they told me to ask for it at Fred’s.” Everyone laughed. “What did the Sims show as far as human cloning?”
“We can do it…” She said.
“It’s not very useful,” said the quiet one.
“Not like flying pigs,” quipped O’Neil.
“About the same, who needs a clone?” He asked.
“I’m not sure, maybe someone who wants to be in two places at once.”
“A total clone would be genetically identical to the donor, but they wouldn’t be the same,” said the girl. “It’s a novice mistake, who you are isn’t just DNA it’s how you were raised.”
“It’s a nature versus nurture argument,” the tattooed one said.
“You see you’d look the same, but more than likely you’d be completely different people, wouldn’t fool anyone. Besides, the chips would give you away,” said the quiet one.
“Theoretically what if the chips weren’t a problem?”
“Theoretically, of course…”
“Of course,” said O’Neil.
“You could fool the computers, and the scanners. But you’d still be a completely different person, psychologically.” The quiet one was beginning to look extremely nervous.
“Because you wouldn’t have the same experience or learning?”
“No you could imprint most of that, at least the major stuff. It would be the links your brain made to the information that would be different.” She twisted her nose ring knowing O’Neil didn’t understand.”
He looked confused again. “What do you mean?”
“We could make a copy of the donor’s memories, at least most, it’s not as accurate as the cloning itself is.”
“Wouldn’t these memories be the same?”
“Yeah but a lot would be missing.” She said.
“Like you might remember who was at your 8th birthday, but not what kinda of cake you had,” Tattoo continued.
“And this makes a huge difference?”
“All the difference in the world. It might determine, whether your sane or not.”
“What about sexual orientation?”
“Maybe, although we think it’s mostly genetic.”
O’Neil wrinkled his brow.
“Like we said its nature verses nurture, not a clear answer,” said the girl.
“I think I’m beginning to understand,” said O’Neil watching the quiet one intently try to not make eye contact.
“So theoretically if I wanted to clone myself, say to be seen here while I was elsewhere cheating on my lover that could be done?”
“Yeah if you just wanted to be seen,” said the girl.
“But you couldn’t be anywhere public without the chip.” The quiet one wasn’t so quiet now he was getting panicked.
“Assuming the chip wasn’t an issue…” O’Neil said waving the kid down. “How many people would it take to do it?”
“Any one of us could do it if you were a willing donor.” She sat back in her chair twirling a pencil across her tongue ring. “But rabbit’s right.” She pointing towards the quiet one, “it’s a moot point, because you can’t duplicate the chip.”
“I guess we have more in common than you thought.” He said
“How do you figure?” She asked.
“You guys get paid to design creature that can’t be made, and I make my living solving crimes that can’t happen.” He placed his PDA back in his pocket. “I guess I have everything I need.” He started to walk towards the door.
“Oh yeah I almost forgot, can you actually grow a human clone here, or would you need different equipment?”
“Lab six is all set up if they ever change the laws.” Tattoo said.
“Seems like a lot of trouble, for something that can’t be done.” It was clear he had out thought the wiz kids. “They went to a lot of trouble to build a whole lab for something you can’t even do legally.”
“Mr. Jordan wanted it built.”
“Chandler?”
“No his father, had it build several years ago, when he was dying: trying to cheat death I guess.” The girl said.
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