Genome

As Conner slipped out of view, Yuri said, “He’s like us, Desmond. A victim of circumstances. But it’s not too late for him. The Looking Glass is his only hope.” He paused, let the words sink in. “We have that power.”

  “What happens now?” Desmond asked.

  “I need something else from you.”

  Desmond waited.

  “I need to know you’ll finish what we start. We’ll have to cross bridges that will make you uncomfortable.”

  Desmond stared at the older man, this visionary who was literally holding out the promise of saving his brother’s life. “I walked through fire to try to save him once. I’ll do it again—even if it burns me alive this time.”

  Chapter 31

  To Desmond’s surprise, they didn’t contact Conner. He paid the private detectives, including Arlo, and told them the search was over. He stayed in Adelaide, and so did Yuri. They rented condos in the city center and began planning.

  They sat in the living room, Yuri drinking tea, Desmond fidgeting, anxious to get on with it.

  “Where do we start?” Desmond asked.

  “Delphi.”

  “What?”

  “The Temple at Delphi,” Yuri said. “The words printed above the entrance: Know Thyself. That’s the key to understanding Conner’s path. He has spent his life reacting to his environment, fleeing pain, minimizing his suffering, never truly discovering who he is.”

  “Okay,” Desmond said slowly. “How do we help him discover who he is?”

  “We take him out of his environment.” Yuri laid a folder on the coffee table.

  Desmond rifled through it. To his surprise, it was the financial statements for an Australian web hosting company named Yellow Brick Road. “I don’t follow.”

  “We need a crucible in which to burn away the things this world has poisoned Conner with. A way to discover his strengths and weaknesses.”

  “Right. But a web hosting company?”

  “In the coming years, internet infrastructure will become increasingly important—like the railroads during the industrial revolution. They’re also essential to the Looking Glass.” Yuri placed another folder on the coffee table. Another company profile—one Desmond recognized. Rook Web Hosting.

  “You’ll invest in Rook via Icarus Capital,” Yuri said.

  Desmond looked up.

  “Icarus will become a Citium subsidiary. We’ll divest irrelevant companies and focus on companies relevant to the Looking Glass.”

  Yuri had just asked Desmond for his entire fortune as casually as if he were asking Desmond for a cup of coffee. And Desmond was willing to give it. Anything for Conner.

  “You’ll join Rook’s board,” Yuri continued. “And Rook will purchase this Australian company, Yellow Brick Road. You’ll oversee Yellow Brick’s integration with Rook, under the guise of a concerned board member. I believe you’re familiar with IT infrastructure.”

  “Very.”

  “You’ll make suggestions. One will be to have the network engineers focus on what they do best—programming routers, rebuilding servers, and software patches.”

  Desmond could see where this was going. “And we’ll hire a small group of manual laborers to move the servers, unpack new equipment, maintain the cages, even pull wire. A job Conner could do.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we heal him. We’ll introduce voluntary drug rehab as an employee benefit. If he doesn’t go, we’ll begin drug testing and make rehab mandatory.”

  “What if he doesn’t go to rehab?”

  “He will. By then he won’t want to lose his job and everything that comes with it.”

  Yuri handed a brochure to Desmond. It was for a treatment center called Red Dunes. “This is where we’ll do the real work. Get him healthy again. Classes on how to keep his addiction in check. And we’ll have skill-building courses. We’ll see what’s inside him, and we’ll nurture that.”

  Desmond flipped through the brochure. The facility was in an old English-style country home with a stone exterior, limestone lintels over the windows, and green vines growing up the sides to a gray slate roof. It was a bit run-down on the outside, but the interior was updated—not lavish, but clean and cozy. They grew their own fruits and vegetables—the home was set on two hundred acres—and bought meat from local farmers. Cooking was one of the courses, as were gardening, sewing, even computer programming.

  “Do we own it?”

  “Red Dunes? It’s a non-profit. But I made a sizable contribution last week when I met with the executive director. They’ll form a partnership with Rook and take very good care of the people we send.” Yuri paused. “When he returns to work, Conner will be a new person. He’ll be the person he was supposed to be. And you’ll guide his career.”

  Emotion overwhelmed Desmond. Hope. Gratitude. He swallowed and said the only thing he could manage. “Thank you.”

  Desmond watched Yuri’s plan unfolded exactly as predicted. He knew that Yuri was doing this not only to help Conner—and Desmond—but to prove that he could be trusted. And that his plans became reality.

  Conner took the job at Rook Hosting—for the money, Desmond assumed. At first, he injected most of that money into his arm, and tucked the rest into the bikini bottoms and bra straps of strippers. After a while, he began saving a bit of it and slowly made a few changes. He moved out of North Adelaide, closer to his job in the city center. He bought some clothes. With each passing week, he became a little more attached to the job that provided for his new lifestyle. Attached enough to go to rehab when asked.

  During that time, Desmond was receiving an education of his own—on the Citium and its many branches. Companies. Subsidiaries. Non-profits. Research projects. It was a web seemingly without end, a labyrinth of which he had glimpsed only pieces during his time at SciNet.

  Twice Desmond asked Yuri if he should begin on his portion of the Looking Glass, and both times, he got the same response: “Focus on your brother for now.”

  Yuri gave Desmond a dossier on Conner that was much more detailed than what Desmond had been able to assemble. It traced the young man’s journey through the South Australian foster system. Most of the records were unofficial, simply recollections of people who had worked there and cared for the young boy. They described a child who was curious and happy as an infant and toddler. That was followed by a troubled childhood. He was laughed at. Picked on. He was constantly getting in fights, listed as a troublemaker, always one of the first to be transferred when a new spot became available at another home.

  He bounced around for years. He was the child no one wanted—including the adoptive parents who visited the homes. Desmond imagined Conner lining up or sitting in the playroom, his badly scarred face twisting into a smile for the first few families who came to call. Then learning to remain stoic, to expect rejection. Desmond’s heart broke all over again as he read the notes. His memories of his brother were of a happy-go-lucky, kind-hearted child. An innocent boy with his whole life ahead of him. And it had been snatched away by a twist of fate. It wasn’t fair. Conner had done nothing to deserve the life he was given.

  Desmond replayed the fire in his mind. If only he had kept going, crossed the wall of fire, gotten to the home, he could have gotten Conner out. If only he had been stronger. Had more will. If only he had stayed home that day. Or come home earlier. He had been so wrapped up in building that stupid fort.

  In foster care, Conner found escape in video games, much like Desmond had retreated into books as a child. Most of the homes had some sort of game system—mostly used, donated by some family who had upgraded. Conner started on the Atari, moved to the Nintendo, and then the Super Nintendo. He was only at peace when he was sitting in front of the TV, lost in a role-playing game or strategy game. Despite his real-world record of fighting and disorder, he disliked any games with excessive violence. He never cared for Mortal Kombat, Contra, Ninja Gaiden, or even racing games like R.C. Pro-Am. His favorites were epic role-playi
ng games where a young hero sets out from a broken land to save his people. In games like Dragon Warrior, he spent hours gaining experience points, leveling his players up, and saving money to buy better armor and weapons. He made allies, and beat the game over and over. The game console was his only companion, and the foster home administrators were happy to leave him to it.

  Yuri’s notes solved another mystery Desmond hadn’t thought about for a long time: the fate of his beloved dog, Rudolph. He assumed the fire had claimed him as well, but it hadn’t. In fact, Rudolph was partially responsible for saving Conner. The aid workers had found the kelpie barking at the burned remains of the home. One of the aid workers who found Conner went on to adopt the dog. The records ended there, but the news brought a rare smile to Desmond’s face.

  He was surprised to learn that Conner had been adopted at the age of fourteen. But there was no information on Anderson and Beatrix McClain. In its place was a handwritten note:

  Desmond, see me for details —Yuri

  As soon as Desmond saw that, he walked to Yuri’s condo. “The McClains. The file is empty.”

  “It won’t tell you anything you don’t already know about Conner,” Yuri said.

  “What will it tell me about them?”

  Yuri broke eye contact. “That they were bad people.”

  Desmond had assumed as much. There were two types of people who adopted troubled children: devils and saints. Desmond had hoped that the McClains were the better of the two.

  “Where are they now?”

  “Six feet under,” Yuri said quietly.

  “How?”

  “Car accident.”

  Desmond already knew the older man so well. He was holding back. Desmond was glad.

  “What did Conner do after?”

  “He left. He was seventeen anyway, knew what the foster system had to offer him.” Yuri walked into the living room and sat. “He left to find his own way in life, just like you.” He sighed. “He just wasn’t as lucky.”

  “He had a harder lot,” Desmond said. “And I bet life on the docks in Adelaide wasn’t half as easy as writing code in San Francisco.”

  “Perhaps. But we both know the years before you left Oklahoma weren’t easy for you either. Orville Hughes wasn’t a model parent.”

  “You can say that again,” Desmond muttered.

  “What you can’t do,” Yuri said, “is blame yourself. There’s a big difference between a reason and an excuse. There’s a reason why Conner’s life was hard. And yours, too. But you never let it be an excuse. Responsibility is the difference. You took responsibility for your own actions. You made your choices. So did he. So have I. You can’t blame yourself for what happened to him.”

  A silent moment passed.

  “He’s still young, Desmond. And he has you.”

  “And apparently you.”

  “The three of us have each other now.”

  “I’m thankful for that.”

  Desmond was also thankful that Yuri had redacted the history of Conner’s life with the McClains. There was enough pain written in the rest of the file. Desmond was ready for his younger brother to put it all behind him.

  That began in rehab. Desmond watched the video feeds, of Conner in the group sessions, his evasive answers, his tortured sleep that grew more restless with each night. His determination when withdrawal symptoms overwhelmed him. It was agonizing to watch. And impossible not to.

  With the help of methadone, Conner finally broke free of his heroin addiction. The change in him was radical: he was like a person waking up from a deep sleep and a long nightmare. His demeanor changed. His mind was sharper. He was alive again. But the pain remained, as did his feelings of isolation, of not fitting in with the world. He had no friends. No family. His only solace had been the drug that had made him forget it all. And now he no longer had that. Desmond wanted desperately to drive to the treatment center, embrace his brother, and tell him the truth. Tell him that everything would soon be all right, that he wasn’t alone.

  Yuri urged him not to.

  “Follow the plan, Desmond.”

  On the videos, he watched as Conner opened up in the group sessions. He connected with the others going through treatment, people as wounded as him. And in them, he found companions. He finally made human connections. It was a floodgate opening, parts of his mind that had lain dormant his entire life. He was a different person, and he was discovering who that person was. As Yuri had predicted, he was living the words written at Delphi—coming to know himself. Inside him was a strong resolve. A will to never touch drugs again, to never fall in the hole that had trapped him his entire adult life.

  Yuri and Desmond encouraged the Red Dunes administrators to introduce Conner to a variety of classes and trades, to test his affinities. Unlike Desmond, Conner didn’t excel at computer programming, or math, or any science field. He did, however, have a knack for strategy—no doubt honed by those countless hours playing video games.

  “That’s the key,” Yuri said over dinner at a sushi restaurant.

  “I don’t follow,” Desmond said.

  “Rook Web Hosting will power the world’s internet and data infrastructure one day.”

  Desmond ate a bite of sushi. It was good, almost as good as his favorite spot in San Francisco.

  “Do you know what the key to Rook’s success is?” Yuri didn’t wait for Desmond to respond. “Resource allocation.”

  Desmond raised his eyebrows.

  “The company needs a leader who’s obsessive about the capabilities of every server, router, switch, and tape backup. Who can look at network demand around the world and allocate resources to regions likely to grow. Who can make the right choices about hardware in the data center and do accurate capacity forecasting.”

  Desmond understood. “Like a strategy game.”

  Yuri nodded.

  “So it all comes back to hit points, magic points, leveling up those data centers, and upgrading the weapons and armor.”

  “In a sense.”

  Desmond put his chopsticks down. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  “I suspected what role Conner would play.”

  And he played that role well. In the following months, Conner joined Rook’s South Australia purchasing team. He ended up saving the company half a million dollars by purchasing cheaper hardware that performed just as well for the same requirements. He did an audit of their existing hardware, sold off pieces they didn’t need, and repurposed what was left. He spent every waking minute obsessing over four key stats: revenue, power consumed, network utilization, and hardware cost. His goal in life was to optimize those numbers, driving the company to the next level. He was made head of operations in Australia, and the following week, he and Desmond met for the first time.

  Desmond was nervous as he entered the board room at Rook’s Australian headquarters in Sydney. He had considered several approaches to meeting Conner, including doing it in private and coming clean. He’d decided against that one.

  Desmond strode into a room with with an impressive view of the city’s downtown. He shook hands with each of the executives. When he came to Conner, their eyes met briefly, and Desmond knew he held Conner’s hand a little too long. But his brother didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he was used to people lingering on his face longer than was comfortable, holding the handshake while they stared.

  Desmond barely listened to the presentation—except when Conner spoke. They were building a new data center in Melbourne. A possible acquisition in Christ Church, New Zealand. When the meeting ended, Desmond stood and promised to preview their requests to the board. As he walked out, he heard Conner call to him. “Mr. Hughes.”

  Desmond’s mouth ran dry. He turned.

  Conner approached in a slow jog and held something out. “You forgot your pen.”

  Desmond was speechless for a moment. He reached out and took the pen. Conner turned and began walking away.

  “Thank you, Conner,” Desmond called, a little
too loudly.

  Yuri was waiting at Desmond’s condo when he arrived home.

  “And?” the man said simply.

  Desmond shrugged. “We were strangers. But only he knew that. It was super, super awkward.”

  “For you, Desmond. Only for you.”

  “I have to tell him.”

  “Not yet.”

  Desmond shook his head. “Why?”

  “Because he needs time to find himself. He’s rebuilding his life. You know what that’s like. He needs to do this for himself. He needs time and space to discover who he is and become the man he was always supposed to be. If you tell him now, it will distract him from his own life and career. It will confuse him. Wait, Desmond. I urge you.”

  Desmond relented.

  And Yuri was right. From a distance, he watched Conner’s successes and failures at Rook Web Hosting. His mind was incredibly well tuned for analytics, planning, and strategy. And in his own way, he was a charismatic leader. He was dogged when he set a goal. He didn’t accept excuses—or care what people thought of him. He had thick skin, developed from years of rejection and ridicule.

  Two years after he’d joined Rook, the board voted to make him CEO after the company’s leader retired. Desmond made sure he was the last to vote. It was unanimous. Conner deserved the job.

  Desmond was glad he had waited to contact him. But he couldn’t resist anymore. He invited Conner to his home in San Francisco—under the guise of discussing Rook’s future plans.

  And so, on a warm summer day in June of 2005, Desmond sat in his living room, waiting to introduce himself to his only living relative—the brother he had lost and found and brought back from the dead. He was nervous and overjoyed and counting down every second.

  Five minutes early, the doorbell rang.

  Chapter 32

  Yuri’s plane was in a holding pattern off the coast of Spain when his phone rang.

  “We’ve got something,” Whitmeyer said.

  “Go ahead.”