Wednesday, April 27

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?

Thursday, April 28

“You’re Noah, right?” the girl behind the counter asks.

I look up at her. She’s beautiful, like they all are. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not. Even with her black hair pulled away from the bronze skin of her face with that ugly hairnet, she’s still gorgeous. I wonder for a second why she’s asking, usually the cafeteria ladies keep their conversations with us students limited to asking what they can dish out for us.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I tell her.

“Happy birthday,” she says, stepping back to grab a small cake with white icing from one of the shelves behind her. Is it my birthday already? I guess it is. I’ve been so distracted thinking about Father that I didn’t even think of it all morning. She pops the cake on my tray along with my chicken fingers and fruit cup. The words Happy Birthday Noah are written out across the top in blue icing.

I thank her and she gives me a smile and a nod before serving one of my little sisters who’s next in line. I head over to my regular table with Evan and Louise. They take a look at the cake on my tray. Evan gets a big grin across his face.

“So you’re eighteen now?” he asks.

I nod. Louise shakes her head and turns to him. “Fine, you win. Three hours of help on your project. But you have let me watch when you tell Chad.”

“Was there some bet on this? And why would Chad care?” I ask,

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“We weren’t sure how old you were. Father never said and it seemed rude to ask. You’re the oldest,” Evan says. “Chad’s been holding that position like it gives him the keys to the kingdom since we were born.”

“Huh,” I say, not sure what to make of that. I guess anything that gets under Chad’s skin is OK. “Want some cake? I’m not really in the mood.”

“Sure,” Evan says, stabbing his fork into it and pulling out a bite. Under the icing, the cake is chocolate with a layer of cherries in the middle. My favorite. Mom used to make a cake like that for me. Somewhere in those emails to him, she must have told Father about it. Damn him, using what she told him after he killed her.

“I’ll see you guys later,” I say, and get up from the table.

“But you didn’t eat anything,” Louise protests. “And you didn’t eat this morning either. Come on, what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” I say as I walk away.

Evan calls out after me, but I ignore him and keep going. I make my way across the commons, ignoring the toddlers playing tag on the grass and their nannies chatting with each other on the steps of the Residence. I blow through the doors to the dorms and almost crash into Marc on my way through the common room.

“Hey, Noah! I wanted to talk to you. I have a question about…”

His voice trails off behind me as I dodge past him and keep on going down the hall to my room. As soon as I’ve shut the world out, I collapse to the floor. My back presses against the door as if it could keep out the rage that keeps silently building inside me.

I still have no idea what to do about Father. From what I’ve been able to find out, that suited gorilla and his goons that came to my grandparent’s house were just the tip of the iceberg. Father keeps a small army of lawyers on his payroll, and everyone who’s ever tried to take him on in the legal arena has ended up ruined. I can’t imagine I’d do any better with my scraps of ill-gotten evidence putting him in the same city as a woman who died in a car crash.

I’ve even thought of trying to kill him, but from what I’ve read, other people have tried and his tech makes him damn hard to kill. He’s been shot at on multiple occasions when he was in warzones brokering peace deals, one time by machine-gun fire. Every time, not a single bullet touched him. Not that I even have a gun. But if others with actual combat training have tried and failed that way, I don’t expect that any weapon that I could get my hands on would do any good either.

Breathe. Calm. Breathe.

I force my clenched fists to uncurl. I’ll wait. I’ll stay here, gain his trust, and find the evidence. There has to be more tying him to it. He’s a meticulous planner. There must be more that would prove his motives, his plans.

Wait, watch, learn. I feel my rage growing cold. Not any less intense, but more calculating. I’m going to need that. I can’t let anyone know what I’m planning. I need to put on a better face. I need to be the perfect son until I can find what I need.

A tentative knock comes from behind me. “What?” I say, way more harshly than I intended. No. Dammit. I need to play it cool.

“Sorry,” I apologize to whoever is knocking. In a more controlled tone, I ask who it is.

“It’s OK, brother,” Evan’s voice says. “I’ll come back later.”

I get to my feet as his footsteps start down the hall.

“Wait,” I say, opening the door. “Come on in.” He turns. “Sorry.” I let him come past me into the room. “I’m just having a tough time lately.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” his deep voice rumbles. “You want to talk about it yet?”

“Yeah. I think I do.” I sit down on my bed and he takes the chair at my desk. “I didn’t tell you this, but I didn’t exactly come here voluntarily. Father sent his guys, his lawyers, and they just took me. I came here thinking I’d just stay for a month. Leave today, now that I’m an adult.”

He nods. “You still thinking that?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure there’s even a point. It’s like everything I ever knew is gone. My old friends probably all think I’m a jerk for not answering or returning their calls, but the lawyers took my phone away on day one. They could have emailed, or I could have, but they didn’t, and I didn’t. Doesn’t even matter, we were all heading off to different colleges anyway. Finishing high school doesn’t matter anymore. Mrs. Hastings says she’ll print me a diploma any time I want, and that I’ve already been accepted to Stanford in the fall if I want to leave.”

“I’ve heard of that college,” he says. “That’s a good one, right?”

I look at him for a second to see if he’s serious. I think he is. This place is so weird. I nod and go on.

“And my grandparents just sound so sad every week when I call them. They want me to go back, but I don’t have any reason to go back to Denver other than seeing them. Besides, I feel like I have reasons to stay now.” I don’t mention the real reasons. Let him think that it’s about him and Louise and Andrea and friendship or saving the world or whatever. “I just feel, I don’t know, homeless, I guess.”

I reach over and pick up the picture of Mom. I look at her, smiling there. I show her to Evan. “Mostly, I miss her. She was my whole world. My mom, my best friend, sometimes even my dad. That’s what she told everyone when she took me to the father-and-son campout when I was ten. She was the only woman there. She was always there. And now she’s not.”

Evan sits and nods and understands while I tell him everything. Not everything, obviously, but everything about me and Mom and growing up in my little house in Denver’s suburbia. Everything about how much I miss her. He grabs a box of tissues when I can’t stop the waterworks. He even holds the trash can up so I can throw the wads in after every time I blow my nose. We talk for hours. Once I’m all out of words and tears, he gives me one of his huge hugs.

Best brother ever.

“Thanks, man. You were right. I feel better now.” Not any less filled with hate for my father—if anything, my focus on that feels sharpened—but better. Time to practice putting on that fake face. I force a smile. “Come on. Enough of this misery. Let’s go do something fun.”

“Sure. You want a game or something?” Evan asks. “We still have a few minutes left before dinner.”

I’m about to agree when I hear Marc’s voice as he barges in. I’ve got to start locking that door.

“Hey, Noah!” he says. “Hey, I just heard. You’re getting an implant! That’s so great!”

“You’re getting one?” Evan asks. “Congratulations! That’s awesome. And now Jeff owes me a dessert.”

“You made a bet on that too?” I ask, giving him an accusatory look.

“Yeah, first day you were here. See, I believed in you right from the start.”

I laugh. “Uh, thanks. I guess.”

“How did you find out?” Evan asks Marc.

“Lisa and Becky overheard Mrs. Hastings telling the gardeners that there might be another student accidentally walking through the flower beds soon.”

I don’t know what that has to do with anything, but Evan nods as if that explains things. Marc picks up the picture of Mom from where I left it next to me on the bed.

“Ooh, who’s this?”

“My mom,” I answer, “and please don’t touch that, it’s the only picture I have of her.”

“I just want to look. You’re so lucky. She’s really pretty. I always wondered what my mother looks like. Probably not like yours. Was your mother tall? I think mine must have been short, cause I’m the shortest guy in our class.”

I reach for the picture, but Marc holds on, still studying it.

“Let go, Marc. I mean it.”

“I just want to look,” he repeats. “I’ll be careful with it.”

“Give it back,” I demand, pulling on the frame. Don’t touch her. Don’t you ever touch her, you old bastard! And suddenly Marc is Father and the picture is Mom and I can’t let go and he won’t let go and the next thing I know the frame is broken on the tile floor and there’s broken glass shattered all over.

“Dammit Marc!” I shout.

“Not cool, brother,” Evan says, giving Marc a disapproving glare. “Not cool at all.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Here, I’ll clean it up.”

He starts doing gestures with his hands like he did that first day I met him. A fine dust coalesces out of the air and starts pushing the glass shards around the floor. I think he’s trying to sweep them into a pile, but it’s not working very well. Half of them start moving in random directions.

“Wait, Marc,” Evan says.

“No, it’s OK. He’s getting an implant. It’s OK to show him more now,” he insists.

“I’m not worried about that,” my giant brother says. “Please, let me get it.”

“No, I got this,” Marc says, and his face screws up in a look of intense concentration. His fingers start making more controlled motions and his eyes slowly scan across the floor. The pieces of glass start following where he looks instead of sliding all over. I watch with curiosity as he sweeps the floor with his nanobots, my anger with him forgotten for the moment. In a minute, the pieces of broken frame and all the shards of glass are gathered in the center of my room.

“Thanks for cleaning it up,” I say. “Now just let me—” He makes a squeezing gesture with his hands and the jagged bits of glass and frame squish into a ball, crushing the photograph. With another wave, the whole glob hops itself into the trashcan full of my snot tissues.

“—grab the picture,” I finish.

“Oh. No!” he says, a mortified look coming over his face as he realizes what he just did. “No. No! Nononono! I am so sorry!”

“That’s what I was worried about,” Evan says, leaning his forehead into his massive palm.

I’m too emotionally exhausted at this point to even curse him out. Marc starts reaching into the trash. “Stop,” I tell him. “You’re just going to cut yourself.”

“No, let me fix it,” he protests.

“You’ve done enough,” I whisper. “Just go. Please.”

He hangs his head and leaves. Evan fixes the trash can with a look and the ball of glass, metal, and crumpled photo paper rises up out of it to float in the air. He starts making pinching and pulling motions with his hands. The glass and bent metal start peeling themselves off, dropping back down into the can.

“Any hope for salvaging it?” I ask.

Evan’s eyes alternate between darting from side to side and fixating on the ruined photo. He makes more subtle motions and the picture straightens itself out. It smooths back to flat, but Mom’s face is pierced in a dozen places and criss-crossed with crease lines.

“Best I can do, brother,” he says sadly, looking at it. “Sorry. Maybe Andrea can recreate it or something.”

“It’s fine,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Thanks for trying. There’s just not a lot of pictures of her. Mom was always camera shy. I think my grandparents have a copy of that one though. I’ll just ask them to send it.”

“You sure you’re OK?”

“No. But I’ll survive. As far as bad things that happened this year go, this one’s not even top ten.”

“You’re strong, brother.” He stands up and pulls me to my feet. “Now, let’s go eat. And you actually have to eat this time.”

I nod in agreement, even though I still don’t feel any desire to put anything in my mouth. I should eat. I need to keep up appearances. I need to keep my strength up. I need to act completely normal if I’m ever going to pay the old man back for what he did to Mom.

Happy birthday to me.