by Sean Platt
Come out of it. Get something to eat.
But then she thought: Check the redundant streaming buffer.
Leah felt herself stop, mid-ascent.
When A/V immersion technology had been new, the sheer volume of data the systems required the fiber lines to shuttle had taxed the network’s capacity. The glass lines, under perfect circumstances, were able to handle the intense bandwidth…but only barely. If there was any sort of a slowdown — say, from others hopping onto the node and beginning their own downloads — immersions stalled. To counter this, early immersions employed buffer memory repositories known jokingly in the development community as “3-D TiVo.” Leah was too young to understand the reference, but understood just fine what the buffers were designed to do: to fill up with a few minutes’ worth of data from the immersion while the signal was good then knock completed packets out the other end to deliver the immersion live. As networks matured, the need for buffers mostly vanished, but developers had always believed in taking elements from the past and remixing them. Little in art was new, and software development was no exception.
Systems built on systems built on systems.
Meaning that more than likely, the buffers were still there.
Half-aware of her hands and half still in her haze, Leah began to pull the web apart looking not to access the secure protocols, but to fumble through the immersion’s delivery code itself. It had the feel of trying to break into a locked car by stripping through the nuts and bolts of the undercarriage in order to access the interior from below.
The buffer was still there. It was degraded, partially overwritten, and bare-bones as she’d supposed it would be. A few minutes of the audio track was still intact, encoded as an audio file but accessible only as a jumbled written transcript filled with garbage code. A partial text record of the conversation from three huddled members of the secret organization — people who orbited Rachel Ryan yet didn’t seem to want Rachel and their other peers to hear their whispers.
There was an identifier in the transcript’s header. One word seemed to have survived the corruption that infected the file like digital cancer.
The word was Panel.
Partial Scavenged Transcript
Header Designation: “Panel”
Beginning Timestamp: 03082063 07:12:04
Participants Unknown. Designations A, B, C added post-recovery
A: 000834j&fucking9999999coffee [truncated as worst of corruption ends]
B: Don’t you have a coffeemaker?
A: Of course. I meant in he89ikek9989
C: If you’re caffeinated in your real body in the real world, you’re caffeinated. Speaki&&#ng for myself, I’m caffeinated. And laid.
B: Nobody needs to hear that.
C: I’m just saying.
B. You’re just saying be34555se you want us all to know.
A: He’ll just say later how it was a hot young model. Just watch.
B. Because he’s so amazing.
C: That’s why I’m here. Because…
A: I’m serious. I just need something to h////////77s my hand. I’m not a morning person. Coffee reminds me that I should be up.
C: Early to bed, early to rise. Makes a person healthy, wealthy…
B: Okay, what else? Let’s get through this.
C: You don’t like our company?
B: We shouldn’t be off-Panel. Ever. Forgive me for wanting to move things along.
A: Bullshit. There’s no law against it.
B: There are no laws about any of this.
A: No rules either. Against going off-Panel included.
B: Inform^^33lly. All discussions involve everyone. That’s the whole point.
A: In theory, it makes sense, but when it comes to brass tacks, sometimes it’s too many goddamn cooks. Hell, Crossbrace wouldn’t have launched at all if we hadn’t handled that thing with Adair. We. Us. Only us. You know, off-Panel?
B: A move the others were against.
C: Th**8s83 n/t remotely true. It was never even brought to a vote.
B: Because the others were against it, and we know how the vote would have gone.
A: Not true. They didn’t even want to discuss it. If they’d been against it, we never would have had to meet.
B: Stop splitting hairs, Marshall. All discussion is supposed to happen there, and you know it. Going off-Panel is going against Panel. We tried to bring up Adair in one of the sessions, and they pushed it aside. That meant no. If any**e92one else // found it worthy of mention.
C: Then why are you here, if you think it’s so wrong?
C: Don’t give me that look.
A: Maybe the disapproving look is being created by the software. Like a glitch.
B: Fine. I’m a hypocrite. I’m here. I was here for Adair. And you’re right; it had to be done. Mindcomp wasn’t going to switch its fiber to the standards we needed, and Crossbrace had to be all or nothing. Fine. I still think the project wouldn’t have gone anywhere without it. But we weren’t the only ones who knew it for a fac//ei88#t.
C: Just the only ones with the guts to do anything about it.
A: Alexa was onboard. I’m telling you, that bitch would slit her mother’s throat on the off-chance that money would spill from the wound.
B: This is the last time we meet off-Panel. Okay?
[Laughter]
B: Fine. You do what you need to do. It’s the last time for me.
[Harder laughter]
A: Okay.
C: I’m writing that down in the meeting notes. So I can show you in a few more years.
B: Whatever. I’m not going to argue. We have business. Let’s finish it.
C: I got laid last night.
A: You’re so full of shit. You were the one who first took us off-Panel. You said that Clive and Iggy were being obtuse and steering the group. Using their influence to push the others. You know as well as I do that there isn’t equity in Panel. An organization of “equals”? Riiiight. More like a fan club. Ooh, we get to hang out with Clive Fucking Spooner! Maybe I can get him to sign my spiral notebook!
B: This is too risky. How can we make the decisions we make when we’re splintered? We’re in a good s^^33eff8pot. Should we really risk it all to get our way? We formed Panel so we could…
C: Lick Clive’s sack?
A: There’s that look again. Hey, Col, do you want to form our own off-off-Panel group? You and me. We can discuss things there that can’t be discussed in our usual off-Panel meetings.
C: Fuck that. If I join your stupid off-off-Panel group, I’ll probably have to go off-off-off-Panel to get around your stupid decisions.
B: Okay, that’s it. I’m logging out.
C: Oh noes!
A: Don’t you dare. You started this. Sit back down. If you think you can
[Heavily corrupted segment; estimated real-time duration 00:00:31]
B: ////00///stock, and that wi292dkll make him rich forever.
A: But there’s more to it. He doesn’t just want to be rich. He’s got an overly developed moral streak. And if you ask me, if I cocreated the biggest thing in history, I’d definitely want credit for it, NDA or no NDA.
C: He won’t break the NDA unless he’s allowed to.
B: I agree. He’s far too obedient. Not like Noah was. He won’t break the NDA on his own. But given what Alexa and Clive want…
A: What Noah wanted.
C: What Noah wants.
A: Shut the fuck up with that. The man was a genius. Don’t turn his legacy into ghost stories.
C: You heard what York said. His consciousness is on The Beam. And we’ve all seen…
A: First of all, computers aren’t brains. And second, there was a mass data propagation at that same time he was uploading. Like putting food color into the water, but doing it at the top of a waterfall. What idiots like you don’t seem to understand is that ev34555n if Noah’s brain is on The Beam, it’s scattered into a billion pieces.
C: Like I was saying before I wa
s so rudely interrupted, we’ve seen…
B: Are we really here to talk religion? Look, I don’t care what York says. Maybe Noah is still out there, and maybe he isn’t, but you do understand that’s Alexa’s major objection to sidelining York? She doesn’t want to do it because she thinks it’s N00;8oah’s will that he stick around? Alexa’s been into anthroposophy for years. It’s like giving drugs to an addict, this thing with York feeding her shit about Noah. The thing with Chloe Shaw, I’ve heard, started as quasi-religious. But if there was ever any chance of talking Alexa out of it, it’s gone forever if York keeps talking about Noah being “out there.”
C: I’m just saying, if Noah left succession plans that…
B: This isn’t about Noah West. This is about Stephen York.
A: It’s absolutely about Noah. It’s in his will.
B: That was before what happened happened. I guess Noah thought he’d be able to be a god in the machine. But now he’s gone. Scattered by the data flow or never made it that far, no matter what Alexa’s hocus-pocus might say.
C: I thought you were the one who didn’t want to be here? The one who was so allegiant to Panel and thought going off-Panel was a bad idea?
B: I also said, “One last time.”
C: Convenient.
A: No, it makes se!!!nse. I have to admit, Noah’s succession plans no longer apply. I can’t believe Carol even presented them. They didn’t assume a takeover; they assumed an ongoing partnership. The idea was supposed to be that York would be under his NDA to allow Noah to do what he nee///ded, establish himself as a god on Earth before becoming one on The Beam. Noah was smart enough to know that an aver;;age person uploading their mind meant little, but th88at an icon doing the same would make him something worth worshipping. First, Noah’s a hero on the mortal plane, then he becomes one who can be everywhere at once and live forever. That meant keeping York off t@he books. But he’s always re2lied on him to help push the ball forward.
B: To help him push the ball forward. Help.
A: Exactly. Help. But with Noah gone, York isn’t helping anyone. He’d be taking over.
B: And that’s not what Quark needs right now. York doesn’t push boundaries. An//^@%#d York isn’t photogenic. He dresses like a slob. He doesn’t have Noah’s magnetic personality. I hate to bring it down to something so shallow, but he’ll make Quark uncool. If Quark’s uncool, so is The Beam.
C: People won’t stop using The Beam.
B: No, but they could start buying non-Quark peripherals. The first patents will be expiring soon, then it’ll be knock-off city. You of all people should understand the power of a strong brand. Quark doesn’t need customers. It needs fans.
A: So what are you proposing?
[Long pause]
A: Hell. Look at you. You can’t even say it.
B: York can’t take over, but he will if nothing is done. Carol will push for it because she’s executor of Noah’s will. Legally, Quark would have to listen.
C: That would be bad.
B: Very. So he’s got to go. He alre33ady knows about the succession plan — the secret one, replacing the one he rather dutifully obeyed even though he resented it, which cashed him out and tossed him aside. Alexa thinks that wa28374s a test. She says Noah is still out there watching us, but tha//t York, at least, passed.
A: Jesus.
C: Kind of like Jesus, yes.
A: The second fucking coming of Noah West. Okay. Fine. So we’re talking about killing him? [Pause] Oh, get over yourself. You knew what you were coming here for.
C: And I’m supposed to be the asshole.
B: He won’t keep his mouth shut if he knows he was supposed to take over the company but was mysteriously shoved out. He might think it was a mist8ake, seeing as our hand has to stay hidden. He’ll bang on C//arol’s door all day. And if he can’t get anywhere, he’ll go public.
C: York wouldn’t go public.
B: If he thinks it’s the only way — maybe even if he thinks it’s the only way to fulfill Noah’s final wishes — well, then sure he will.
A: I’m not killing anyone.
C: I’m thinking that’s the kind of thing we’d outsource.
A: You don’t think it’d look suspicious if he simply shows up dead?
B: Nobody knows who Step?hen York is right now. Yes, he can simply show up dead.
A: [Sigh.] Okay. Have any of you ever done any of the hiring?
C: Of an assassin?
A: No. Of kitchen help. Like maids and cooks.
B: No, but it’s a mistake to go through normal Panel channels anyway. We should use a sleeper, as I’ve been urging forever. It’s far safer, and gives us more distance.
A: A sleeper?
B: A mnemonic agent. Deep program, highly secret. The assassin is conditioned to respond to a key “wake” sequence. They don’t even know they’re programmed. An agency conditions the assassin to follow York’s ID, and then once he’s close enough, the sequence triggers, and the assassin wakes up and does the job.
C: That’s safer and gives us more distance? It doesn’t even sound pro.
B: I didn’t mention the final sequence, which kills the assassin and ties up that particular loose end. And even before that, they’re safer specifically because they’re not pros. It’s totally black box. There’s enough shuffling that nobo//.fdy even knows who the assassin is, including the assassin himself. Or herself. It could never be traced back to us.
C: And if the others find out and stop it?
B: They can’t. Once the agent is conditioned and shuffled, even we couldn’t call it off.
A: Fine. A sleeper it is, then.
C: Um…should I ask the obvious?
B: What?
[Pause]
B: Jesus, just say whatever st533upidity you’re going to say already.
C: What if. Just what if.
A: What if what?
C: What if Noah really is out there watching…and he doesn’t approve?
[End decipherable section]
EPISODE 12
April 29, 2034 — Calais, France
The car finally died outside Paris. Nicolai wasn’t sure exactly what had stopped working — whether the hybrid engine had finally given up on the bad gas, whether the petrol had simply run dry (the gauge was broken), or whether something else had gone wrong. Whatever it was seemed to be mechanical, as all of the car’s electronics still seemed to work. But Nicolai wasn’t mechanically inclined and didn’t know where he could possibly scavenge more fuel that had been missed by the crews (or that hadn’t soured, like fermented wine), so he simply abandoned the car and started walking. The vehicle had only been a bonus anyway. It had helped him flee murderous crews. But the default, in this day and age (and, honestly, the quietest and hence safest mode of transit) was still the one that had been given to most of them by God.
Nicolai secured his crossbow over the top of the backpack full of supplies he’d found in the city then strapped it down to keep it from bouncing. Paris had proved to be surprisingly light. He’d thought it might be like Amsterdam — a brass ring being fought for by warring factions and hence ripe with hoarded supplies — but he’d found a ghost town instead. It almost made the detour worthless. Almost.
Paris wasn’t anywhere between Amsterdam and the English Channel Tunnel, but when he’d left the Netherlands, Nicolai hadn’t had the gear he’d need to cross the fifty-kilometer underground passage. You couldn’t find air converters and infrared goggles in just any small town. Before the collapse, he could have found a supplier nearby with an Internet search, but nowadays it was hunt and seek. Paris seemed much, much more amenable to a technology-free search, so off to Paris he’d gone.
By the time Nicolai had entered the city, he’d been low on food and fresh water, eager to find a band of deserving ruffians to rob blind. But there had been no ruffians or stragglers — or at least none who came out to greet the sole running vehicle the city had probably seen in months. There had been nothing but e
mpty buildings and silence.
No caches of food.
No fresh water.
Nothing but stalled traffic and desolation.
Nicolai had cast his dice by trying Paris, and once in the city he’d found himself somewhat stuck. Hunting amid homes and businesses was tricky, and although Paris was packed with apartments, he’d have to search at random to find leftover supplies. As tricky as that seemed, though, he’d had no choice. His stomach was rumbling; his mouth was growing parched. At one point, he drank water from a gutter, figuring that if he caught a disease, it didn’t really matter. He’d done enough. Dying would be a relief. But he didn’t die, or even get sick. He kept on, and continued his search.