A Grey Sort of Karma

[Tachyon 0]

“A Grey Sort of Karma”

August 28, 2156

Lieutenant (sg) Dave Grey

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The brother and sister stared at each across subspace. At twenty-eight Henry was three years older than his revolutionary sister, but they had both inherited genes from the stubborn side of the family. Now each stared at the other, one on Earth and one on Mars, their faces implacable twin masks.

 

“Look, we need the money, Henry,” Robin said. “You are the only one we know who could afford it. Dave certainly can't—have you seen his savings account lately?”

 

In fact, Henry had—the PIN had been surprisingly easy to guess, although being a computer programmer might have lent itself to that. His cousin's savings account was in poor repair, with a lot of funds tied into bad investments. With some quick and judicious interference Henry had managed to remove most of those misplaced funds and sink them into more lucrative opportunities. But gene-splicing equipment was not cheap these days.

 

The programmer reclined in his chair and looked over at another console, where his latest program was spinning idly on the screen. He shrugged and then said, “How much do you need?”

 

Robin looked at someone out of range of the camera for a moment. Henry thought that he heard someone mutter something about a cheeseburger before she replied, “Three thousand credits.”

 

That was not a sum to be snubbed. “Three thousand,” repeated Henry.

 

“Plus tax. Henry, the procedure has a 5% success rate without the equipment, and a 63% rate with it. You do the math.”

 

And that was what it came down to after all. Harriet would, in all likelihood, die if the necessary equipment were not purchased. Henry realised it had been over two years since he had last seen her conscious and well. He did not want his last visions of Harriet laughing and smiling to be three- and four-year-old memories; he wanted her around to make new memories for years to come.

 

“Henry, just use your Visa card,” Robin suggested.

 

“My wha? Oh, right, my Visa . . .” Henry trailed off, looking through the pockets of his tattered lab coat. “I know I have it somewhere. . . .”

 

Robin snorted. “Sometimes you're just as bad as Dave.”

 

The name in conjunction with his Visa card awoke a distant memory in Henry's mind, but he pushed it aside and said, “Whatever, I can just do it remotely.” Henry opened up his financial management application and started a transaction, designating Visa as his mode of payment. Several red lights went on, and he frowned.

 

“What is it?”

 

“It appears that the card is over its limit.” Henry double-checked the bill. “Hmm. That's odd—there's a 650 credit purchase on here, quite recent. And now I'm 300 credits over my limit.” He looked up at his sister. “I'm sorry, Robin, but . . . I can't pay for the equipment.”

 

The silence in Tratos' office could have retained sentience and wandered off to strangle a puppy, then return to still find that Robin and Tratos just sat there. The equipment in question was a critical element that would allow them to isolate individual gene sequences in milliseconds; without it, even Tratos acknowledged that the procedure was a long shot at best.

 

Henry said, “Maybe Irene and Mark—”

 

“No!” Robin interrupted. She did not want to have to let Dave's parents know that the procedure they were going to try on Harriet was experimental, illegal, and most likely unethical. “I don't want to get them involved.”

 

“If it comes down to that or Harriet. . . .”

 

“Fine,” Robin said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Irene's on Denobula for some sort of marine biology conference, and she's going on an expedition to explore several underwater caves that'll put her out of contact for at least a week. Mark's almost as bad as Dave when it comes to money. I'll try to contact them anyway.”

 

“You do that. I'll try to track down whoever spent those credits,” Henry told her.

 

The connection cut, and he was left alone in his Martian abode to dwell upon this unwelcome turn of events. Credit card fraud was a crime, but in this case the perpetrator was responsible for far more injury. For they might just have murdered Harriet Grey.