Double Helix

Tilly was waiting for me on Monday after breakfast. She was dressed in shirt and pants and sat on her bed with her white tennis shoes on the floor. We were into my fourth week since arriving at the safe house, and routine was starting to become habit for me. Though it was only Tilly's second trip to the greenhouse, she already knew the procedures as well as I did, if not better. Sasha met us upstairs with a bundle of sealed plastic bags containing work clothes for the greenhouse, about ten sets. "I replace them weekly," she explained. "It's your turn to stock them today. Give the bags of clothes a spray of herbicide while you are in the shower, dry them off and unpack them inside."

We went through the same routine of scrubbing clean that I had grown familiar with over the last few weeks, bringing the clothing along when I took my shower. I went through first this time and waited for Tilly just inside the greenhouse so that she could change in private.

"What are we doing today?" Tilly asked. She reached for a pair of work gloves.

"We," I said, drawing the word out as I gestured to several large plastic sacks near the entrance, "are spreading fertilizer today."

Tilly wrinkled her nose as she put on her gloves.

"Don't worry, it doesn't smell as bad as you'd think," I assured her. Inwardly, I was encouraged. It was the first time I had seen Tilly express something as common and natural as distaste.

We dragged one of the bags over into the walkway and opened it. As I had promised, the smell was more earthy than foul. We fetched shovels and Tilly followed my lead in spreading it over the soil. "I have a question I want to ask you," I said.

Tilly drew a deep breath. "Okay."

"What does your name mean? I mean, what does it stand for?"

She stopped and looked at me. I kept spreading fertilizer, as if the answer didn't concern me all that much.

"Utility." She finished the shovel she had started and went for another.

Now I stopped, propping myself on my empty shovel. "Utilities? Like electricity? Water? I don't get it."

I resumed the work when she didn't answer at first, and my mind went to my education. Economists used the term as a concept for how much something was valued. And it was a central concept in a certain school of normative ethics. "Like utilitarianism?" I asked. "The greatest good for the most people?"

She shrugged, appeared to consider for a few moments, then nodded.

I thought about it some more, but had to admit that I was at a loss. "I still don't get it. Which generation are you from?"

"My model..." Tilly hesitated. "My model is fourth generation."

I knew that each generation of genemod roughly coincided with each decade from the 1960s on. Some people identified a zero generation from the late 1950s, at the dawn of modern genetic engineering. It was in the first generation, however, that a standard set of genetic enhancements like telomer regeneration, and mental health and immune system enhancements emerged to compliment the more distinctive modifications that made up a designer gene model. First gens were generally limited to minor physical changes such as Wendy's developmental block, and only a few models existed. Second gen models greatly expanded the possibilities, but were generally focused on enhancing physical features like strength and beauty. A lot could be done to improve physical and mental development just by throwing out the bad genes that drag everyone down in one way or another, and this kind of cleanup was standard for second gen onwards.

In third generation models, more exotic enhancements and body changes became possible. Nissi's physiology, while nominally human, showed enough divergence to possibly classify her as a new subspecies. The fourth generation forged new territory in beginning to alter the mind in ways not conceived of before. There had only been a few fourth-generation models. The Human Genome Protection Act of 1993 had outlawed genemodding in humans.

"Sharon," I said softly in remembrance, swallowing down the lump that tried to form in my throat.

"What did you say?" Tilly asked.

"Oh, sorry, nothing. Be careful not to smother those seedlings."

In her distraction, Tilly had dropped a large clump of fertilizer on top of a tiny pea plant. I reached over to brush it back so that the plant's leaves were again exposed to the light. As I did, I refocused on the task at hand. Tilly was fourth generation and her model had something to do with utilitarian ethics. "Care to tell me any more about yourself?" I asked.

"Norm, I want to know what made you sad just now."

I looked up at her, feigning ignorance. "Sad? I don't know what you mean."

Tilly's jaw clenched in sudden anger. "Fine. I should have known better than to trust you." She dropped the shovel and walked back toward the entry doors.

"What the hell was that?" I asked, more to myself than to Tilly. I moved to follow her. She was already at the inner door when I caught hold of her arm.

"No, get off me!" she screamed, and pushed me back with enough force to throw me against the door. The air whooshed out of my lungs and I struggled to take a breath. I sank to my knees. My heart was racing as my mind knew for just that moment that I was going to die. Tilly, halfway through the door, turned and looked back. Anger and betrayal were written plainly on her face, as clear as the face of a child. I collapsed the rest of the way and felt cold concrete against my forehead. My stunned diaphragm finally stopped spasming and I gulped greedily at the air.

"Are you okay?" I looked up to see Tilly standing over me. Tears shimmered in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Norm."

"I'm fine," I said, suddenly wary of the power in that petite body. "You just knocked the wind out of me."

Relief washed over her face. She held her hand out and I hesitated before finally taking it. Once I felt steady on my feet, I began to brush the dust off.

Tilly touched her cheek and looked surprised at the wetness there. "When you grabbed me, I got scared," she said. Now it was horror that she exuded. She put her hands to her head and shook it from side to side. "Oh, no, no, no. I can't think that."

She began to sob and I found myself gathering her into my arms. My shoulder twinged where I had hit the wall but I ignored it. She let me hold her for a minute or so, but her crying quickly faded to a few weak sobs. It was she who disengaged from me, stepping back and turning away as though ashamed.

"Come on," I said. "It's okay now. Let's put the tools away and come back tomorrow."

As we tidied the greenhouse, my nerves began to calm. It was easy to forget the strength that some genemods possessed. I was beginning to feel certain that Tilly hadn't thrown me back on purpose. She had been angry when she started to leave, but it had changed instantly to terror when I grabbed her arm.

Once we were back in the house, I took Wendy aside. I brought her halfway up the stairwell, along with my copy of the DSM. "Listen, I'm not a real psychologist, but I'd like to keep some semblance of confidentiality. On the other hand, I don't feel qualified to diagnose and treat Tilly on my own. Can I trust you to keep what I tell you just between us?"

"Absolutely," she said. "You know I have her best interest at heart."

"Alright," I said, and opened the diagnostic manual. "At first I thought Tilly was simply depressed. She has all the symptoms." I pointed to the list, which described Tilly almost perfectly. "The weight loss, the listlessness, the way she sleeps all the time. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something."

I told Wendy about what had happened in the greenhouse, glossing over the part about Tilly's questioning me just before she went to leave. "And then this occurred to me." I flipped through the manual to another entry. "Post-traumatic stress disorder. It explains her withdrawal every time one of us tries to ask about her past. She might be depressed because something awful or frightening happened to her. Her withdrawal is an avoidance strategy to keep from facing that trauma. I saw her become terrified today when she started to remember it."

"So you think that something happened to her to make her this way. What is the treatment?"

I shrugged. "In our case, psychotherapy. Helping the victim to face the fear rather than avoid it. There are some related techniques, but I don't have much to go on. It's odd though, just getting her out there alone seems to make a world of difference. She talks to me more and I start to see a real personality coming out."

I stopped, seeing that Wendy's eyes had gone round. "Wait. You're saying that something in this basement is making her symptoms worse?"

I considered for a moment. That hadn't been where my thoughts had led me, but there was a certain logic there. I nodded. "It seems that way. Could there be some kind of chemical or biological agent affecting her?"

Wendy sighed. "Hmm, not likely. Maybe you should try asking her."

"Maybe. I'm taking her back out tomorrow. Oh, and another thing. She told me her model name. Utility." Wendy looked at me quizzically and I went on. "Like utilitarian. And she's fourth generation."

"I've never heard of that model. Any idea what it means?"

"No, I don't." I sighed. "I thought I would run a few Markov searches, see what turns up."

"Okay, keep me updated, please. And let me know if I can help."

We were seated around the table for dinner when Sasha came down the stairs. Nock saw her first, and his expression of concern made me turn in my chair to look. She was so pale that at first I thought she was sick.

"I am sorry to disturb your meal," she said. Her voice cracked slightly at the end. Suddenly the room had gone silent and all eyes were on her. She held a tablet screen and glanced at it from time to time. "I just got word that five cargo vessels out of ports on both the Atlantic and Pacific were seized by the US Coast Guard this morning in a joint operation with the FBI. It appears that all five ships were carrying genemods that were being smuggled out of the country by agency arrangements. At least forty people were captured in the operation. Safe houses in Charleston, Boston, Jersey City, San Diego, and San Fransisco have been compromised and additional captures made." She looked up. "Thank God we weren't due to ship any of you out of Seattle for a few more weeks at least. In light of this news, genemod smuggling operations by the agency have been ceased, effective immediately and indefinitely."

Silence greeted Sasha's announcement. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. Fear and denial warred for my attention as I tried to wrap my brain around it. The spell was broken when Stansy excused herself and marched quickly away. By the muffled sounds coming from that direction a few moments later, she had collapsed into bed to cry into her pillow.

"What do you mean, indefinitely?" Wendy asked.

It was obvious that Sasha was fighting off tears herself. "It means that no one knows when, or even if, the agency will start moving people out of the country again. This operation was obviously meant to both catch us off guard and scare the hell out of us. Even if the agency were willing to accept the risk, they won't find any shippers who will."

"What's going to happen to us?" Nock asked.

Sasha took a deep breath and some of the color returned to her face. This was a question that she could handle with grace and poise. "You will remain here, of course. The agency has offered to relocate our genemods to other safe houses if any of us wish to bow out, but I'm not going to give in to the scare tactics. You all have a home here as long as you need it."

Wendy got up and put her arms around Sasha. "Thank you, Miss Gray," she said. "You've always been so good to us."

Sasha did start to cry then, and Stan came over to pat her on the back and give his reassurances. I had a lot of questions that I wanted to ask, but I held them back with an effort. Instead, I gave Sasha a hug. "Thank you for everything you've done for us," I told her.

Once all of us had given her our thanks, Sasha retreated back upstairs, still dabbing at her eyes. The meal lay unfinished and forgotten by everyone. Wendy slipped away, no doubt to tell Tilly the news, though I found it unlikely that she wouldn't have overheard, if she had heard me in the greenhouse.

I was in a daze as I took a seat on the rug next to the sofa. All the regular seats were already taken and CNN was on, awaiting the breaking of the story. Stan seemed to think that the agency would restructure, perhaps start sending people across the border into Mexico or north into Canada.

Nock was less optimistic. "It's done, over. The only thing that will save us now is a regime change. They're going to hunt us down one by one. They'll strip our mods and good people like Miss Gray are going to get put in prison."

"Oh, aren't you just a ray of sunshine?" Nissi said, crossing her arms.

"Hey, I'd like to be wrong, but I just don't see a silver lining in all this, princess."

"Oh, you did not just call me that," Nissi shot back.

I listened passively to the conversation as it grew more heated. I was still too much in shock to try to calm them down. It was Wendy who swooped in to put a stop to the argument. "Alright, both of you cool it right now. What the hell's wrong with you? Do you really want to be doing this shit right now?" Both of them were instantly chastened. Nock stared at the floor six feet in front of him and Nissi flashed me a wince. Wendy's expression softened then. "Alright, you both just think about the people around you before you start lashing out next time."

"I'm sorry," Nissi said.

"Sorry, Wen," Nock said sheepishly.

The story never ran, not even on the evening news. Hours must have passed and I suddenly realized that I was alone in front of the TV. If Nissi had said goodnight to me, I hadn't noticed. On the television, two economists were debating the current worldwide grain shortage. I found the remote on the end table and turned it off.

"Off to bed?" Nock said from his almost perpetual spot at the computer.

"I doubt I'll sleep," I said, wandering over. "What are you up to?"

"Me? I'm watching porn."

I laughed but Nock only smiled faintly. I moved over to his side of the desk to see a woman naked and spread-eagle on a bed with another woman's face between her legs. "Huh. I thought you were kidding. Nissi said you, uh, she said you've sort of turned off your sex drive."

Nock grinned. "Let's just say I have fine control over it. You know, no offense to your girlfriend, but she's just not my type. I wish you the best, anyway. At least someone is getting some around here."

I cleared my throat to try to cover my embarrassment and tried changing the subject. "Well, I think it's cool that you're staying faithful to your girlfriend."

Nock reached into his pocket to pull out a wallet. "They tell us not to do this, but here you go." He handed me a couple of pictures, one showing Nock with a dusky-skinned woman holding his hand and smiling. The other was a simple portrait of the same woman in period costume, early twentieth century by the look of it.

"Wow," I said, "she's incredible. Really beautiful."

"She's an Esther. You familiar with the type?"

"Aesthetic?" I asked. I'd never actually met one. The genemod was female only. They were supposed to possess every possible genetic advantage when it came to beauty and sex appeal.

"Yep. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I can almost smell her. She has the most incredible smell, almost like jasmine. She has an amazing voice, but I can barely remember it now. Her scent, though. I don't think I'll ever forget that." Nock was staring off into space as he finished.

I couldn't think of anything appropriate to say, so I just kept silent. After taking , Nock went back to watching the screen.

"So, lesbian porn, eh?" I said.

"I like to look at women," Nock said. "Why would I want to see some guy's naked butt when I can watch two ladies going at it?"

I nodded. I could have argued the point, but I wasn't in the mood. "Do you always watch it with no sound?"

He raised an eyebrow at me. "I can hear it just fine. You want me to turn it up for you?"

"No, I'm fine," I said, but Nock turned the sound up anyway. Moaning and dirty talk began to stream from the speakers. "No, really, I don't want to disturb anyone."

Nock pointed. "Nissi there is asleep. So are Stansy and Wendy. Stan's awake, but he's down at the end and won't hear much, if anything."

"What about Tilly?"

Nock shrugged. "Why would I care what she thinks?"

The question floored me. That, and the girl on her back was suddenly writhing in apparent orgasm. "She's a human being," I said at last.

Nock's smile was a wry one. "'Course she is. She's just a few cards short of a full deck."

"No, listen to me. I've been working with her. Whatever is wrong with her, I don't think it's her fault."

Nock turned to me. His eyes glowed a pale green. "Look, mental illness is tragic. I get it. But I'd rather not be around her just the same. You got me?"

His words made me angry, but I bit back my retort. Nock went back to his video and I stood up. "I think I'm going to try bed now," I said.

"Suit yourself."

I slept fitfully and ended up waking later than usual. I could hear the others already having breakfast. I stopped at the edge of the curtained area and saw that Stansy wasn't among them. I walked back to her room and stood just outside. "Hey, do you want to talk?"

I waited several seconds for a reply. Just about the time I decided to move on, she answered. "Come in, Norm."

Stansy was seated cross-legged on her bed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair tussled and eyes faintly bloodshot. "Sorry, I had a hell of a night," she said.

"Yeah, me too."

She looked away and chewed absently at her lip, as if considering whether or not to confide in me. "You know, I had a lot riding on this, a lot invested in the idea of starting over. This damned basement is all we have now. At least until they catch us and strip us of everything we're fighting to keep." She paused to frown. "Sorry, I know your situation is different."

"Different but similar. I have a lot to lose too. They'll send me to prison, probably a life sentence."

"What do they want you for, anyway?"

She was looking at me intently now. I realized that I had said more than I intended. "It's complicated," I hedged. "I'd rather not go into it right now. What about your husband and your son? You would be able to see them again."

"Ex-husband," she corrected me. "I've thought about that a lot, but what I realized was that I actually have a good chance of reconnecting with my son if I make it out of the country. I can find him over the web. Maybe he would even come visit me someday, wherever I end up. "

"Yeah, he might," I said. "But did you ever think about trying to contact him now?"

She started to shake her head and stopped. "That's...that's pretty risky. If my ex saw it, he'd take it to the feds. They could trace it back here. I couldn't do that."

"Have you asked Stan if there is anything he could do? Maybe he could make it look like your email came from overseas."

"Well, no. I guess I never thought of something like that. I should probably ask him. That would, uh, that would really help me right now if I could just let my son know I'm still okay." She looked genuinely hopeful.

"Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Sure, anything."

"It's about Tilly. What do you think of her?"

Stansy sighed. "Okay, yeah. I ran out of patience for Tilly a long time ago.. Wendy treats her like she's fragile and could break at any moment. But she's a genemod, for Christ's sake. She's got no excuse to be the way she is. Ordinary humans can go nuts, not us, not since second gen. If you ask me, I think she does it for attention."