“Who?” he asked.
“Generals and politicians.”
“You should stay here.”
“I’m seriously thinking about it.”
“Boys!” their mother called from her craft room. “Help your father.”
He was dismounting his horse when they greeted him outside. He handed the reins to Conner and thanked the boys before hiking to the house. They fed and watered the waler, and began sweeping up the barn.
“Tell me what happened after Buenos Aires.”
“You saved my life.”
“How?”
Desmond leaned on the broom. “Yuri was going to kill me.”
Conner stopped too. He stared into one of the stalls, waiting for his brother to finish.
“You wouldn’t let him. You saved me.”
“And what happened to me?”
“Yuri shot you. The bullet was intended for me. We tried, but we couldn’t save you.” Desmond’s eyes filled with water. “I’m sorry. We tried so hard—”
“I’m glad.”
“What?”
“That you lived. You’re better out there than me. I was a shell before you found me. Probably would have been dead in a few years.”
“And in here?”
Conner turned to his brother. “It’s everything I thought it would be. I’m home. This is where I was meant to be.”
On the other side of Washington, DC, Peyton Shaw was standing at a similar lectern, in an auditorium at the National Institutes of Health. The faces staring at her were friendlier.
“The history of infectious diseases—and medicine in general—has been reactive. Someone gets sick. We react. A new pathogen infects hundreds, thousands before we realize it. We react.”
Peyton clicked the mouse, and the next slide appeared. “That ends now. For the first time in history, we have a way to know when a new pathogen invades its first host. And more: we have a way—wirelessly—to gather data on that pathogen. We have a way to simulate how that virus or bacteria affects the human body, and test cures virtually. Then we can deploy that cure wirelessly, without direct intervention.”
She stared at the shocked faces and the nods from those who already knew the truth behind the cure to the X1 pandemic.
“What I’m describing is not something in development. Not a future innovation that will require massive investment, long waits, inevitable delays, and implementation problems. It is here, now. Inside each of you. And me.”
She clicked again, and an image of the Rapture nanites appeared on the screen. “This is going to change health care. We are going to cure every disease and stop every pathogen—before it gains a foothold. I’ve dedicated my life to fighting infectious diseases and training others to do the same. For the first time, I have what I need to accomplish that. I’m here today to share it with you all.”
The world was just starting to return to normal. The X1 pandemic was rarely talked about, nor was there much talk about the mysterious deadly disease that followed, the disease informally called “X1 syndrome” and formally, sudden acute cerebral syndrome (SACS).
The Washington, DC, housing market had also returned to normal, which meant tight supply and high prices. Desmond found a place in Kalorma that needed some work, but had a big back yard. Peyton thought it was perfect. They bought it the same day they toured it.
She was home when he arrived, a glass of wine on the kitchen island.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
“Let’s just say, I never thought I’d be glad I was raised by the most confrontational, argumentative human who ever lived.”
“A room full of Orville Hugheses, huh?”
“A lot like that.” Desmond poured himself a glass of water. “When’s everyone meeting?”
A small smile crossed Peyton’s lips. “In a little while.”
“How long is a little while?”
“Long enough.”
She took him by the hand, walked backward down the hall, and kicked their bedroom door open while kissing him, just as she had done that first night, in her dorm room at Stanford.
They were both lying on their backs, sweating, watching the ceiling fan spin, when her phone buzzed. A reminder:
family dinner
“It’s time. You ready?”
He grabbed his own phone from the nightstand and opened the Rendition Games app. “Yeah.”
They had selected London because it was the one place their entire family had lived together. There was a lot of pain there, but it was home.
The streets were teeming with activity, bustling like the world before the X1 pandemic—because it was. In this Rendition, the outbreak had never occurred. There were other changes too, but they were much more subtle.
Peyton let Desmond open the door to the building, and they rode the elevator to the flat she remembered from her youth. It was just as it had been back then, before the purge, before they fled in the night, before her father had to fight for his life.
Lin Shaw opened the door and hugged them both. Andrew and Charlotte were already there, as were Madison and her husband. Peyton was happy to see that in this Rendition, Andrew was the same man—body and all—that he was in the corporeal universe. Even the prosthetic was the same, hanging from his left arm.
The swinging doors to the kitchen opened and her father burst through, back first, carrying a pan of Yorkshire pudding with oven mitts over his hands.
As soon as he released it, he hugged Peyton, mitts still on, pressing heat into her back.
“Hi, Dad. It’s so good to see you again.”
A tear rolled down her face.
Lin Shaw opened her eyes. Richard Ferguson sat in a chair in the corner.
“Good visit?”
Lin nodded.
“Let me know when they’ve exited the Looking Glass.”
“Of course.” He stood, and paused by the door. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She wasn’t. The project she had dedicated her life to—the Rabbit Hole—was a particle experiment whose outcome was impossible to predict. She knew the facts now. A quantum force had shaped human evolution. The evidence was written in our DNA, left over eons for us to find. The quantum force, the Invisible Sun, was a beacon, drawing all advanced species to it—like gravity asserts force on mass. But why? And to what end?
Some in Lin’s organization believed there was no reason, that the Invisible Sun was simply a force like gravity, that it led to nothing. That it existed because of the laws of the universe and had no greater purpose.
Lin disagreed. She believed they were on the verge of the greatest discovery in history. Her father had long theorized that the code in the human genome was like a bread crumb left for all sentient life on worlds across the universe, written in the language of math and quantum physics—a lingua franca any sufficiently intelligent life could speak.
But the ultimate question was: what would happen when they turned the Rabbit Hole on? It would begin generating subatomic particles that matched the code in the human genome, but to what end? Lin believed that it was a step taken by countless other scientist and explorers on countless other worlds in countless other universes. History repeats itself, and so it would here on Earth. She believed the Rabbit Hole would connect the Looking Glass to all the other Looking Glasses in the universe, to those who came before us—and to whatever came next. She believed the human race’s destiny was to enter the Looking Glass and pass through the Rabbit Hole into the next chamber of existence. She believed the passing was a natural, inevitable event.
Ferguson and others on Lin’s team were not so optimistic. They feared that the particles generated by the Rabbit Hole might disrupt the Looking Glass—like a magnet running over a hard drive. Others believed the impact would be even more dramatic—perhaps an explosion that would consume the world. They argued that the code in the human genome was like a Trojan Horse, waiting for a sentient species to find it. That would certainly answer the question of why no one w
as out there.
Still, Lin Shaw had to know. And she had to be sure everyone she cared about was outside the Looking Glass before she engaged the experiment.
“I’m sure,” she said.
She sat on the table and waited.
A few minutes later, Ferguson returned and said, “They’re out.”
They walked together to the control room, which looked like mission control at NASA. She nodded, and Ferguson stepped forward.
“Okay, people. We’re a go.” He looked over at Lin. “Let’s see what’s on the other side.”
She watched the statistics on the screen. A faint humming sounded around them. With no media coverage or fanfare, they were conducting the most advanced experiment in history.
“Collision confirmed,” one of the quantum physicists said. “Sustained now. We’re generating origin particles.”
Lin nodded at Ferguson and left the room. In her office, she stretched out on the chaise lounge and opened the Rendition Games app. At the password prompt, she paused. This was perhaps the most important moment in human history. There were no witnesses—and that was just as well, and fitting. Newton had no witnesses when he made his breakthrough. Or Aristarchus. Neil Armstrong’s moon landing was a pole vaulting game compared to this—we knew what was there, we just didn’t know if he would survive the trip. Lin was venturing into the unknown. Some force was waiting. Good, evil, or otherwise.
She typed in her password, and the office disappeared.
She stood in her classroom in Oxford. That made perfect sense to her. The students were packing up their books and making their way out of the auditorium.
The symbolism was clear: she was the student here. This Rendition was a place to learn. The bread crumbs were obvious.
She strolled down Catte Street, past Radcliffe Camera, to the Great Gate. She flashed her faculty badge at the ticket counter and continued across the quadrangle, through the Procholium, and into the Divinity School. It was empty. She hadn’t expected that. Maybe she had been wrong—about this and so many things.
As she ascended to the second floor, her thoughts spiraled. What if the Rabbit Hole—and indeed the rabbit itself—was like the stuffed animals the greyhounds chased around the track? What if the universe was merely created for beasts like humans to wear themselves out—and if they ever caught the rabbit, and went down the rabbit hole, they were ruined forever? Was that what awaited her?
The library was unchanged from her last visit: dark wood shelves and stacks, books lining every wall, a two-story window letting in Oxford’s hazy light. She heard the sound of clopping, like Clydesdales trotting down the street.
She stopped at a stack where a slender, bald man with wire-rimmed glasses was taking volumes from a book cart and placing them on the shelf.
He stood up straight when he saw her. “Can I help you?”
“I’m not sure.”
He smiled genuinely. “What are you looking for?”
Lin took a chance. “Whatever is after this.”
His smile faded. Creases appeared on his forehead. “What do you mean?”
“My people and I are searching for the next in the cycle. Can you help us? Have you already advanced?”
Gently, he placed the book back on the cart. “Of course.” He smiled, and it reminded Lin of her uncle, who was kind and graceful, even in the pain and agony of Hong Kong’s occupation. “We’ve been watching you,” he said.
“How long?”
He shook his head. “Time has no meaning here.”
“No. I expect it doesn’t.”
Lin had so many questions. She began with one that had haunted her since the events in Antarctica.
“I’d like to ask you something.”
He tilted his head toward her, urging her to proceed.
“We were afraid another would gain control of our Looking Glass.”
“The one called Yuri.”
“Yes. Did you… stop him? Influence events?”
The man smiled sympathetically and shook his head. “It is not our place. We know that’s why you created the Rabbit Hole—why you sought us. For help. But we are merely observers. And advisors. We are here to help you walk the path we walked, as those who helped us before. Your triumph is yours alone. As it must be.”
“Our ascendance is incomplete. My people aren’t all here. Only a fraction. And a few who can go between.”
“That’s very common.”
“What do we do?”
“Exactly what you’re doing. Make the transition gradually. Then once you’re here, the answer becomes obvious.”
Lin thought about that for a moment.
He held up a finger. “Can I make one suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“For those of you moving between the Looking Glasses, we’ve observed that it can be disorienting. The lines blur.”
Lin had never thought about it, but it made sense. “Solution?”
“A benign alteration.”
“Such as?”
“A place name is usually the best option.”
Lin considered that. “Example?”
“The highest peak on your world.”
“Yes, that would work. So in this Looking Glass it has a different name than outside?”
“Correct. That way, anywhere in your world, you can ask anyone the name of the highest peak and instantly know where you are.” He looked toward the ceiling, thinking. “In your originating Looking Glass, you named the highest peak after the first to summit it. You should pick a more obscure name—something that can’t be mistaken. Like a bureaucrat from the era, perhaps just before the mountain was named.” He paused. “Yes. You could name it, say, after a British Surveyor General of India of the time. There would be some logic in that.”
He waited.
Lin said, “You have me at a disadvantage.”
“In this Looking Glass, we’ll call it Mount Everest.”
DON’T MISS A.G. Riddle’s next novel!
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www.agriddle.com
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading.
I had planned to make The Extinction Files a trilogy. But in the course of writing Genome, I felt like I could wrap up the story in two books with a much better ending than going to a third volume. I had promised Audible and my foreign publishers a trilogy, but I really felt the story was better told in two books. For me, the decision was easy: as I writer, I try to do what I would want as a reader. I’m committed to releasing the best book I can every time. That’s what I chose to do with Genome. It is the end of The Extinction Files core mythology, but there will be many stories after this. Perhaps in this universe, or another Looking Glass. I hope you enjoyed the series
Thanks again for reading and take care,
- Gerry
A.G. Riddle
PS: Feel free to email me (
[email protected]) with any feedback. or questions Sometimes it takes me a few days, but I answer every single email.
Acknowledgments
Writing a book sometimes feels like sitting on the deck of the Santa María sailing for a new land. You have a map of sorts—an outline. It shows you where to go, but getting there is the hard part. You never know what the weather will be. Sometimes the ship tosses on the seas, some days it’s clear sailing. Life was much like that during the time I wrote Genome, mostly stormy seas with a few days of sunshine.
For the first time, I’d like to thank a group who is not connected to my work in any way. A few months ago, Duke’s Pulmonary division saved my mother’s life. She’s not out the woods yet, and won’t be without a double lung transplant, but we have hope, which we didn’t have before. I am indebted to them and all of the folks who work at Duke Hospital. As Elim Kibet says in Pandemic, hope is a powerful thing. And health is sometimes a gift we don’t appreciate until we’re at risk of losing it.
Several people contributed greatly to Genome.
David Gatewood provided outstanding editing.
Judy Angsten and Lisa Weinberg both made wonderful suggestions during their early read and caught typos I wouldn’t have seen if I had read this novel a hundred more times.
Most of all, I want to thank you for reading. No matter what weather the seas bring, I plan to keep writing. Staying on the shore is just no fun any more.
Also by A.G. Riddle
The Extinction Files
Pandemic (Book 1)
The Origin Mystery
The Atlantis Gene (Book 1)
The Atlantis Plague (Book 2)
The Atlantis World (Book 3)
Departure
About the Author
A.G. Riddle spent ten years starting and running internet companies before retiring to focus on his true passion: writing fiction. He grew up in a small town in North Carolina and attended UNC-Chapel Hill, where he founded his first company with one of his childhood friends.
He currently lives in Raleigh, North Carolina and would love to hear from you: agriddle.com
A.G. Riddle, Genome (The Extinction Files Book 2)
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