Gene Mapper Read online

  “Rice genome.” Yagodo’s avatar tapped his nails rhythmically on the table. He was probably using a keyboard. “Here’s something. The Oryza genome was decoded in 2004. It was a big MAFF project.”

  A caption popped up below the dog’s muzzle.

  MAFF: MINISTRY OF AGRICULTURE,

  FORESTRY AND FISHERIES

  PRECURSOR TO MINISTRY OF ENVIRONMENTAL PRODUCTION

  Another extinct period term used naturally. This was no run-of-the-mill salvager. I thought Yagodo might turn out to be a real “jackpot.”

  “But I don’t think this will help much,” he continued. “There are too many varieties. It would take a full day just to search for thirty or forty matches.”

  “Hold on. All I need is a match to Oryza sativa japonica.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? Well, I guess it’s no surprise. You’re young.”

  The dog gave me a sidelong look and batted his eyelashes. Yagodo was probably grinning at my lack of background, but for some reason it didn’t bother me at all.

  “You would have to search through rice cultivars on the books of agricultural research stations, farmer’s coops, organizations like that. We’re talking several thousand.”

  “Were there really that many? But maybe that’s good. There should be collateral data from the allergen and toxic isomer reports.”

  The dog shook his head. The beads on his bandanna tinkled.

  “We’re talking twenty years ago, Mamoru. Registered cultivars were tested carefully, but farmers all over Japan were doing their own cross-breeding, cultivating mutated versions, you name it. And the kind of really detailed testing you’re thinking about—testing that covers the whole genome—wasn’t required until distilled crops came along.”

  “So they weren’t monitoring for mutations?”

  “Probably they were. On a sample basis, sure. But the approach was totally different from the designed—whoops, I guess it’s still ‘distilled’ in Japanese—the distilled crops you’re used to dealing with. Check digits to kill off mutated seedlings? Full scratch design, to define nutritional yield to the microgram? Not with legacy crops.”

  So Yagodo not only had a handle on genetic engineering in the old GMO era, but he checked out with today’s tools. Up to the fourth generation of distilled crops, genetic engineers used natural plant DNA as a scaffold to hang new characteristics on. Full scratch design—synthetic biology—only kicked in with the fifth generation. Yagodo knew this, otherwise he couldn’t have corrected his own slip. I still didn’t know how he stacked up as a salvager, but in terms of genetic engineering and crop science, it didn’t look like I’d have to teach him much.

  “I just picked up something interesting from the Internet. Take a look.”

  The dog pushed a document across the table. It was something I hadn’t seen in a long time—an electronic document formatted for hard copy output, with page numbers at the bottom. A “PDF” file.

  “That’s a summary of agricultural testing standards, 2012, salvaged from MAFF’s old website.”

  “What, you mean now? Mr. Yagodo, you did what?”

  I was so astonished I lost control of my tongue. My avatar repaired my broken sentence, but it probably couldn’t hide my startled surprise.

  “Salvaged it. You can access the current version on TrueNet, of course.”

  I flicked through the numbered pages. They looked like scans of an internal ministry document.

  “Since 2022, all go.jp documents have been digitally watermarked to prevent tampering. You don’t see the watermark, do you?”

  “You’re right, it’s missing.” If Yagodo had somehow altered the document to conceal the signature, there would have been a security warning. This was no contemporary document. Maybe he counterfeited it somehow, while we were talking?

  “Very good, Mamoru. Never trust anyone.” My Behavior Correction setting wasn’t high enough to conceal my look of doubt. “But in this case, you can. I’ll even tell you where to get your own copy. Don’t worry, no charge for this one.”

  The dog pushed a new file across the table. Under the “WebArchiver Pro” banner was a screenshot from what looked like an old web page. Parts of the image were blank and the resolution was grainy. On the timeline indicator “2012” was flashing. It looked genuine.

  No one would have the skill to fabricate something this suited to the context while we were sitting there. It had only taken Yagodo seconds to pull it off the old World Wide Web.

  “What do you think? A simple example of salvaging. I don’t usually recommend trusting a dog, but this is just a taste of what I can do.”

  “I’m blown away. I looked into what salvaging involves before I posted that ad. I interviewed some salvagers too, and they told me what you just did would take days, maybe a week. But you did it while we were sitting here talking. I’m impressed, to say the least.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, but it wasn’t that difficult, you know. Public documents aren’t hard to salvage.” The dog raised a paw and laid it over his eyes, a pose like one of those cat toys in Chinatown. Yagodo was probably scratching the back of his head in embarrassment, but the dog’s forelimbs weren’t flexible enough for that.

  “If the genome for your intruder isn’t in some public corner of the Internet, finding it is going to take work. And I have a feeling you want me to do more than just find it.”

  “You’re right. Identification is the first step. I need to know how it got there, figure out a way to get rid of it, and keep it from coming back. I’d like you to get started as soon as you can.”

  I’d already made my decision. I could always keep looking, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t find anyone better. “If you went to work now, how much time do you think you’d need?”

  “I’ll be honest—I don’t know. A standard search for public sources of matching Oryza DNA might take two, three days. If I don’t come up with it that way, it means going to a deeper level.”

  “What deeper level?”

  “Let’s just say a deeper level. Listen, I hate to sound like I’m dictating terms, but I have a request.”

  The dog put his paws side by side and peered closely at me. I wanted to hear more about Yagodo’s “deeper level,” but I was more anxious about his request. We’d be operating on L&B’s dime, but I didn’t have a blank check. If he was expecting some outrageous fee, I’d have to pass.

  “Could we do this project in person?”

  “In person? You mean physically in person?”

  This was a surprise. I’d worked with Kurokawa for several years and never actually met the man. Sure, I got together with friends, but AR had made physical presence almost completely unnecessary for work.

  “Yes, in person. I’d like you to come to my office. I have a slight problem with using TrueNet to interface with the same address too often. I know this sounds odd. It’s not the usual approach.”

  “Well, I have two hundred gigabytes of data to deal with. It would be easier if we were in one place.”

  “Two hundred?”

  “Yep, and I’m not sure why, but that’s what they sent me. It looks like the sample is a mix of DNA from several organisms.” The dog’s brown eyes opened wide in surprise. “I’m waiting for a redo on the sampling, but I don’t want to sit around waiting. Bringing you what I have and dealing with it on your end would be faster and more efficient. The thing is, I’d need my agent to sign off. Can you wait?”

  “Of course. No problem. If you come, I can be your consultant. My knowledge should be useful overall,” he said. “I promise not to charge much, especially if you take the trouble to travel.”

  It was an attractive proposal. With Yagodo’s skills, I felt sure we’d identify the intruder that much faster. On the other hand, I still didn’t know much about him. If he was a member of Anonymous—they mostly hated TrueNet—I could still
work with him. If he was a No ID fundamentalist, I wouldn’t be able to cut a contract with him. It was L&B policy: no dealings with “antisocial” people or groups.

  “Thanks for offering to consult. It’s just that my client doesn’t let me do business with people who follow a certain philosophy.”

  “Rest easy, Mamoru. I’m not Anonymous, certainly not No ID. You’ll see when you get to Ho Chi Minh.”

  “Ho Chi Minh?”

  “Vietnam. Oh, forgot my location data.” The dog dipped his head and raised a paw in the universal gesture for “sorry.” The avatar concealed Yagodo’s expression, but I was starting to like the man on the other side of the stage.

  By now I was really looking forward to meeting him. I knew I was dealing with a talented salvager, maybe astonishingly talented. I didn’t even care whether he gave us advice. If all I had to do was fly to Vietnam, get what I was looking for, and be back within a week, I’d be satisfied.

  I also liked the idea of seeing Ho Chi Minh City. Meeting in augmented reality is enough for just about any type of work-related communication. Opportunities to get out of Japan and get paid for it are almost nonexistent.

  vietnam/ho chi minh appeared in the commstat bar. I couldn’t understand how this was possible.

  “Doesn’t TrueNet display location data automatically?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know it was required for your stage. I’ll input it next time.”

  Input it. If Yagodo had access to system-level resources, he could input anything he wanted. If so, he was off the charts in terms of network expertise, on top of his professional-level genetic engineering background and virtuoso salvaging skills. The cliché “hacker” was crossing my mind when his avatar suddenly started breaking up.

  I was looking at compression artifacts. His right leg jumped from one point to another and back again, as if the image were running backward. The next instant, I heard my avatar speaking, though I hadn’t said anything.

  “My contact will probably come along.”

  “Will you be bringing anyone with you?”

  Yagodo’s voice arrived after my avatar’s response. I almost responded, then I remembered: my avatar had already spoken … ?

  “Thank you.” My avatar again. Yagodo’s video feed kept blurring and jerking. The hair on the dog’s head rose, then lay abruptly flat again. He looked at me, then the image jumped and he was looking off into space. What was going on?

  “I’ll send you an estimate for my services right away.”

  I opened my mouth to say “Thank you,” but my avatar was already answering. It was as if time were running backward.

  Yagodo says he’ll send an estimate, and I thank him. He asks about the number of hotel guests, and I answer. That was the only correct sequence for the exchange.

  “I’m not in a hurry, but you must be. I’ll start getting things ready. That way you can be here anytime starting tomorrow.”

  The dog began to lower his right paw, then looked left and right as if noticing something. “Damn, I think we’re out of sync.”

  “My avatar is responding on its own. What’s going on?”

  The dog popped back into focus. Now my avatar spoke when I did.

  “Too many censor spiders on that circuit, so I switched us through Taiwan. This circuit has a lot less latency. I think it confused your delay sensor.”

  He switched the circuit? How did he do that?

  “Are you all right, Mamoru? No dizziness or headache?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Then there’s no need to worry. There was around a second of latency before I made the switch. Your avatar was timing your responses. The new circuit has almost zero latency, which put your avatar out of sync for a few seconds. You were coming through normally on this end.”

  So it was the delay sensor. I was unconsciously used to communicating with the delay; my awareness of what I was hearing was fouled up by the change in latency. At least I guessed that was what happened. I knew the stage corrected for delays to make the conversation sound as if it were unfolding in real time, but that also meant you might remember something out of order from the way it happened. It was hard to believe, but what remained in memory was a conversation that took place in reverse order.

  I was starting to wonder about my dependence on an avatar. Was this why Kurokawa insisted on using RealVu? Maybe I needed to dial back my behavior settings and work on my communication skills a bit.

  “Yes, I think I’ll be coming with my agent.”

  “Sorry to keep asking favors, but would you mind if I text you the details and my budget? I’m enjoying our talk, but I’ve been on too long.”

  “No problem. I’m pretty sure we’ll be asking you to handle the job. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can about the trip schedule.”

  The dog put four legs on the chair and jumped to the floor. “That’s right, I forgot.” He wagged his tail.

  “Listen, Mamoru. The DNA, the data they sent you for the intruder. That two hundred gigabytes—was it a single data set?”

  “Yes. It looks like the samples were contaminated with insect DNA and DNA from the distilled crop plants.”

  “Insects? How long did it take them to extract the DNA after gathering the samples?”

  “Less than half a day.”

  “Then the samples weren’t contaminated. That’s a single continuous genome from a single organism.”

  “But it’s two hundred gigabytes. An organism with a hundred times more DNA than humans—”

  “Is impossible? We’ll think about that when you get to Ho Chi Minh City.”

  The dog winked and bounded off.

  * * *

  I closed the stage and opened my workspace. The message from Yagodo was already in my inbox. His fee was eight thousand “Common World Dollars”—eight grand was the target I listed in my recruiting ad—and another two thousand for consulting. It was just like a salvager to send me a quote in an imaginary currency, even though my target was US dollars. Anyway, I guessed L&B would agree to the fee.

  What surprised me was Yagodo’s resume. It was complete, straightforward, and digitally signed. Isamu Yagodo, resident of Vietnam. The contact number and account he used for the meeting matched the numbers in the status bar. He might be a member of Anonymous, but he was no fundamentalist. Still, his knowledge of network architecture and ability to manipulate the digital domain meant that I couldn’t trust him to be exactly what he seemed.

  I played back the part of our meeting where the conversation had seemed to flow backward, but there were no compression artifacts and nothing odd about the sequence. I was already having trouble remembering what I’d experienced.

  “Add comment to archive: avatar delay sensor malfunction.”

  I decided not to just make a note of it. Part of my problem was that I was relying too much on my avatar.

  “Disable avatar Behavior Manager and set Behavior Correction to Weak.”

  Mamoru, if you lower Behavior Correction to Weak, your mumbling and incessant eye blinking will not be filtered. You want to look your best in meetings, don’t you?

  “I don’t care; lower it.”

  Yagodo’s avatar made it hard to judge, but I suspected he wasn’t using Behavior Correction. I didn’t feel like going to the same lengths as Kurokawa, but I thought I’d better learn to show a little more of myself to the world.

  “Message to Kurokawa. Attach Yagodo’s text file and an edited summary of the video.”

  If I could get Yagodo on our team, it would be only a matter of time before we identified the intruder. Running across someone so capable so early in the investigation felt like a good omen.

  Then there was the chance to actually travel—what did they used to say, “take a business trip”? To physically go to a foreign country to complete a task, in an era when there was hardly
anything that couldn’t be handled over TrueNet. I was looking forward to it.

  Kurokawa got back to me in record time.

  OKAY TO USE YAGODO AND TRAVEL TO VIETNAM. TAKASHI

  There was an attachment. It was an air ticket to Ho Chi Minh City. The challenge ahead was going to be tough, but maybe Kurokawa was as eager as I was to get out for a change.

  I checked the departure date. My eyes widened.

  The flight left the next morning.

  4 Miss Nguyen

  I noticed the runway as I descended from the Boeing at Tan Son Nhat International. The apron was marked with green and white lines that looked like fresh paint. To my still-sleepy eyes—I was out from the takeoff roll until just before landing—they looked almost too fresh.

  These pristine markings on the flight apron were another achievement of genetic engineering: sustainable cement excreted by designed coral. They were unmarked even after being scuffed all day by shoes and vehicle tires. Mother Mekong used the same technology to get their Active Ground Cover certification. The terrestrial coral digested air pollutants and waste stuck to the concrete, keeping the apron and its markings spotless.

  I looked more closely at the unnaturally vivid markings and remembered the propaganda images I’d seen of small animals being “eaten” by “carnivorous” pavement. Nature addicts hated this kind of engineering.

  The sharply defined lettering and details expressed by the coral looked classier than the huge logos I mapped onto grass species. I’d heard that the coral could do a complete redraw overnight. The color-expression technology was probably not all that different from the techniques I used for logos, but it was a different specialty, and I couldn’t quite picture how the mapping was done. Watching the coral as it redrew might give me ideas, but I didn’t have many chances to visit an airport in the middle of the night.