Duplicate Minds

Twenty-Five

Dev led him to the elevator and down to the fifty-second floor. They walked to the end of the hall and came to a heavy steel door. Dev flashed a keycard against a pad attached to the wall and the door opened.

They walked through and Rajeev found himself surrounded by large flat-screen monitors mounted to the walls. Dev closed the door behind him and pointed to a rolling office chair, gesturing for his father to take a seat. Dev turned to the array of electronics surrounding them and raised his hands.

"This," he said with a circus ringmaster's flair, "is what I like to call The Hub."

"It looks impressive . . . but what is it?"

"The Hub is the storage center for all Next Level Technologies' trade secrets," he said. "All the company's vital information is stored here. Our processes for duplicating minds, our robotics technologies, plans for future tech . . . it's all right here. But I can't access any of it."

"Why not?"

"Maltek's mole." He let out a deep sigh and shook his head slowly, as if he had become completely devoid of all hope. "I don't really trust anyone but myself. I placed safeguards on all this information so it could only be accessed by me or with my permission. There are a variety of different kinds of safeguards built in . . . biometric markers—fingerprints, retina scans—as well as passwords, two-factor authentication and security questions. The mole knew they'd never be able to break through all these safeguards, so they stooped to sabotage instead."

"But it all looks operational to me."

Dev shook his head. "It's not The Hub that the mole sabotaged. It's me."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been having memory problems. It started small at first . . . forgetting where I placed my keys, forgetting people's names, that kind of thing. But it got more severe. I couldn't remember discussions I'd had with people just a week prior. I spoke with Mira on the phone once and could only remember her name with significant effort. One day, about two years ago, I needed to access The Hub and couldn't remember the answers to the security questions. I was completely locked out."

"There isn't a way to bypass the questions?"

"No. Every requirement must be met to access The Hub."

"But what if you were to die? Anyone other than you would be locked out of the system."

Dev nodded. "There are definite downsides to my paranoia. I didn't think everything through."

"What do your memory problems have to do with the mole in your company?"

"I have reason to believe the mole has been poisoning me with the express purpose of impairing my memory and preventing me from accessing The Hub."

"Now you really sound paranoid."

Dev grinned. "A wise man once said, 'It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you.'"

"But what evidence do you have?"

"Medical evidence. When I began suspecting something was wrong, I saw a doctor. He did some tests and discovered trace amounts of a unique, patented compound in my blood—a compound known to cause memory recall issues. And the patent-holder for that compound happens to be Cyrus Pharmaceuticals . . . a subsidiary of Fresh Meat. Perhaps you think it's a coincidence, but I say it's evidence. There's no doubt in my mind that the mole poisoned me."

"You said you could use my help. What do you expect me to do?"

"Like I said, the only safeguards I'm having difficulty with are the security questions and the passwords. I'm not having any trouble with the biometrics or the two-factor authentication, obviously. But for the life of me I can't remember everything else. I didn't want to bring anyone else into this mess, but now that you're in, you can serve as the memory I've lost."

"You want me to figure out the answers to your secret questions."

He nodded. "And the passwords. There are hints that should be enough to get us in."

"Okay. Let's hear one and I'll see what I can do."

Dev grinned. "Let me see here . . ." He found a keyboard and began typing, bringing up a question on the screen directly in front of them.

"Here's one," he said, pointing at the screen. The security question read, "What is the name of your favorite book?"

"Your grandfather would have hoped the answer would be the Baghavad Gita," Rajeev said. "But I don't know the answer to that one, Dev."

"It won't hurt to try . . ." He typed in "Baghavad Gita," but when he hit enter, he was informed that the response was incorrect. "Throw out some other ideas."

"You should at least have an idea, shouldn't you?"

"I've tried everything I could think of, but nothing worked."

Rajeev fell silent as he racked his brain for the titles of any books that might have had significance in Dev's life. Only one title came to mind, but it couldn't possibly be correct. Still, in Dev's words, it wouldn't hurt to try.

"When you were a child," Rajeev said, "you always wanted me to read you 'Goodnight Moon' at bedtime. I think I must have read you that book for a year straight."

Dev nodded and smiled. "Of course," he said. He typed in "Goodnight Moon," and the screen moved on to another question. "Amazing, dad. Thank you."

"What's the next question?"

"This one doesn't make much sense to me," Dev said. "I'm not married."

The question read, "Where did you meet your spouse?"

Rajeev placed a hand on his chin. "No, you're not. But I don't think that's the point of the question."

"Then what is?"

"Arranged marriage. When you were young, your grandparents held out hope that Sarah and I would arrange a marriage for you kids, even though she and I hadn't even taken that path to our own relationship. Your grandfather always joked that you should marry a little Indian girl, the granddaughter of one of the residents in their housing community. Her name was Amara, I believe."

"That's good, dad! But the answer can't be Chicago—I've already tried it." He put his hand on his chin, contemplating. "Do you remember the name of the housing community?"

"Can't you remember it? You used to visit often enough."

"Everything's foggy. I'm counting on you, dad."

Rajeev racked his brain but no clear answer came to him. "How do you know the memory is even in here?" he asked, pointing to his head. "You said you had to fill in a lot of gaps. Surely some of those gaps went unfilled."

"That's a possibility, but it could just be a matter of digging deeper for the information. Think, dad. You might surprise yourself."

He thought a moment more, then came across a name that, for whatever reason, stuck with him. He couldn't be sure it was correct—but what harm was there in trying it out?

"Clairemont," he said. "Try it."

Dev didn't waste a second typing the name into the computer. He hesitated a brief moment, however, before pressing the enter key. They both gazed up at the screen as a green check mark appeared next to the answer.

Dev pumped his fist. "Yes! You're awesome, dad!" The screen briefly changed to an overview of all the security questions with a check mark next to each one, but Dev quickly navigated away.

"It's all here," he said, his voice giddy. He turned around to face his father. "I have full access! I couldn't have done this without your help. What do you say we head up to my office and celebrate—I have something for you that should approximate champagne."

"I appreciate the offer, but no thanks. I'm glad I could help, but I should go. It looks like you have a lot of catching up to do."

"True. We'll celebrate another time."

Rajeev stood and made to leave. Dev turned his attention back to the computer. As Rajeev walked out the door, he heard Dev utter to himself, "Screw Gregory Maltek."