The Memory Coder

Chapter Two

I bristled as the cold air of the server room smacked against my face. It was a harsh contrast from the sweltering desert climate outside. The three cups of coffee I’d guzzled after I woke up were doing nothing to keep me alert, but the artificially chilled air was definitely helping.

I hadn’t gone to bed until four in the morning. As predicted, the restoration took all night. And the only reason I wasn’t there four hours longer was because I was able to use precoded memory templates for the majority of the restore. It’s a common practice among coders to save time. Taking frequently occurring memories from the subject’s mind, copying them, and tweaking small details to make them feel fresh. Routine events like eating breakfast, showering, getting dressed, going to work, watching movies can seem believably new just by updating a few details.

But despite how exhausted I’d been been when I returned to my apartment, sleep simply wouldn’t come. Every time I closed my eyes I saw her face. Those sparkling purple eyes danced in the darkness. That hair draped across my neck. Those lips called out to me. I’d tossed and turned until daylight came streaming through the window and the effects of the sleepless night started to gnaw away at my sanity.

It was like I wanted her. No . . .

Like I needed her.

And the need was so desperate, so unfounded and relentless, it had started to consume me.

I had to at least see her with my own eyes.

Not through the grainy filter of the delivery boy’s faulty, unreliable memory.

What are you doing? I asked myself as I made my way down one of the long aisles of the server room. Glowing machines were stacked from floor to ceiling, each of them holding millions of byte-sized secrets. Like tiny fortresses.

But I only cared about one.

The one that held her.

I understood the risks. Perhaps the lack of sleep helped soften the direness of those risks, but I knew what would happen if I were caught. My security clearance would plummet to zero. I’d be stripped of every rank I’d ever earned. Countless hours of training and coding flushed down the toilet.

But I had no choice.

I had to find her.

I had to know her.

The technician at the back of the room rose from his seat and gave me a subtle, friendly nod.

“What brings you in here?” he asked.

I glanced over both shoulders before responding. “I need a favor.”

“After you helped me land that girl from accounting? Anything.”

I cringed at the mention of that. I hadn’t wanted to do it, but the technician had been persistent. Using memory restorations as a way to manipulate women was something a few of the other coders did. But I personally liked to keep my nose clean, stay out of trouble. Which made my presence here weigh that much stronger on my mind.

“There was a delivery here two weeks ago,” I said. “I need to know who the recipient was. Can you check the logs?”

The technician guffawed. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific than that. We get hundreds of deliveries a day.”

“A fruit basket,” I replied anxiously. “He was delivering a fruit basket.”

The technician turned toward his system and initiated the search. I held my breath as the computer spit out one result. A security log documenting the entrance of a delivery from Sunset Valley Flowers and Gifts. Exactly two weeks ago. At 2:34 p.m.

“That one.” I pointed at the screen.

The technician selected the file, but nothing happened. He tried again before finally noticing the small icon adjacent to it, in the shape of a red letter X.

“It’s locked,” he informed me.

“Locked? What does that mean?”

“Classified.”

My heart hammered at the thought of losing my one and only lead. My one and only path to her. “Can’t you get around it?”

The technician released a low whistle. “A C9? No way. There’d be guards swarming the place in seconds if I even attempted to crack the encryption.”

I sighed and scuffed the floor with the toe of my shoe. “Well, can you at least tell me what gate he was admitted into?”

The technician glanced at the screen. “Southeast entrance.”

“Southeast entrance?” I repeated in disbelief. “But they shut that down years ago. There’s nothing even back there.”

The technician shrugged. “Evidently something’s back there.”

##

This story continues in chapter three.