by Liam Clay
“No offense Anex, but you are a complete idiot. Sharing my life with someone might have cramped my style when I was 25, but not anymore. We’re having this conversation because I thought you might only be looking for a fuck buddy. Which, to be clear, is totally fine. It's just not what I want.”
“Okay... and what do you want, Tikal?”
“You’re looking at a 42-year-old career soldier. The truth is, I've already overshot my life expectancy by a wide margin. I’m out here because I agree with Lucy about this being important. But I don't want to die on a foreign battlefield like that rooftop today, knowing that all I ever aspired to was cash and adrenaline.” She takes a ragged breath, revealing a vulnerability I've never seen in her before. “What I'm saying is that I need someone who’s thinking long term. Someone who might want... I don’t know, the white picket fence next to the good elementary school and all that shit.”
Tikal is right: I am a complete and utter idiot. How could I have read our relationship so badly? Interpreting my silence as something other than what it is, she goes on.
“It’s not that I want to settle down anytime soon, though! We've only known each other for a few months, and people have been shooting at us for most of that time. But I thought it was only fair to tell you where my head is at, so that you can bail if you feel differently. And if we aren’t -”
I lean in and kiss her words away. Not passionately, but with a promise. When we break apart, both of us are flushed.
“Tikal, I can absolutely guarantee you that we want the same thing. Kalana was my only real relationship. I'm grateful that it gave us Sophie, but as a couple we were doomed from the start. You know I've been looking for a second chance. Well this is a big part of that - the biggest, actually. I just didn't think you would be into it.”
She laughs. “Look at us, both pretending to be hardnose but really scared shitless of rejection.”
“But you just laid it all on the table without a second thought!”
“Please. It took weeks to work myself up to this. Waiting for your feed to go down was just an excuse. But don't expect me to fall all over you like this again, because I'm still not that kind of girl.”
“Understood.” I say, giving her a miniature bow. “Next time it will be me baring my soul.”
Then I push forward onto my knees and slip my tongue between her thighs. She purrs deep in her throat, and that quickly we're off to the races.
CHAPTER 11
Later, I head forward to check on our progress. We’ve left the burnt plains behind. In their place, a low mountain range is spread out before us. Brittle evergreens march up the slopes before giving way to bare rock. There are a number of passes that might provide a way through, but from our position it's impossible to be sure. Peace is sitting with her legs drawn up under her, reading something on her retcom. A frown shadows her elfin features. Noticing me, she blinks out of digital space and mimes throwing a book across the room.
“I’ve checked every piece of documentation Shion gave us, and none of it mentions this Worldpool place Jinx is talking about.”
“What about the Southern Software Arcology Union?”
“It’s referenced a big fat once, and then only in the vaguest of terms. Can you give that piece of shit a call or something?”
“It’s probably not a good idea to slander the mayor like that.”
“You shut your feed down, remember? He can’t hear anything we say right now.”
“Oh yeah! Maybe I will give that steaming turd a call. This way if I get yelled at, no one will see me crying.”
Heading to a free alcove, I settle into the gunchair and send a ping from its targeting screen. Shion appears moments later, with not a strand of hair out of place. If I hadn’t met the man in person, I would suspect him of being a construct like Carlel Korezon.
“Anex, it’s good to hear from you. I trust you are enjoying your time out of the spotlight?”
“More than you can possibly imagine. Could you please send through some info on Worldpool, though? Peace is hassling me about it.”
“That may be difficult.”
“Let me guess. You already asked your people to look the place up, and they couldn’t find a damn thing.”
His lip curls into a minimalist smile. “You can be quite perceptive when the mood strikes you. You are correct: my researchers failed to uncover so much as a whisper. Either the salesman is lying, or Opacity has never had dealings with Worldpool. Which would be quite unusual.”
“Unless they view us as competitors. The line between video games and movies blurred a long time ago.”
He looks thoughtful. “Yes, I suppose that could explain it.”
“Okay, let's assume I'm right for now. What about this Southern Software Arcology Union that Worldpool is supposed to be a part of?”
“We have more information on them, although still far less than I would like. The Korezons and the studio executives that supplanted them were obsessed with data security, particularly when it came to Opacity's income sources. We've been able to decrypt some of the smaller studios' account files, but the Helix and Kore Pictures financials are still closed to us. In short, we don't even know who our clients were - only that they stopped buying media from us within the past few years.”
“Damn it. Just tell me what you can, then.”
“We know that the Union is made up of eight closed software arcologies spread across what was formerly the North Western United States. There are allusions to a 9th, much older arcology from which the others were spawned, but it seems to have been destroyed long ago. The eight current members each have an area of specialization. They share their tech with one another, and sell it to outsiders at top dollar.”
“Is there any migration between them?”
“Little to none. And foreigners are rarely granted admittance.”
“Naturally. Do we have any way of contacting them?”
“My comms team has been trying for days, with no results.”
“So we are completely dependent on Jinx to bring us to Worldpool.”
“If it exists at all.”
“Thanks for that piece of positivity. Do you have any last wisdom for me before we sign off?”
“Yes. If you do find the arcologists, and they display any signs of hostility, I want you to disengage and return home immediately.”
“What about the Afflicted? If we can't find a way to uninstall the link, they're fucked.”
“That is unfortunate, but it cannot be helped.”
“Why not? What is this about?”
“Survival. The Union may already have launched one biotech attack against Opacity, and I don't want to risk open conflict until we know more about them.”
“What biotech attack?”
“The salesman. He may believe that he stole the pooled link tech from Worldpool, but I have my doubts. They could have let him take it, knowing that he would sell it to other societies.”
“But they couldn't have known where Jinx would go. Which would make them -”
“- serial killers on a genocidal scale, yes.”
“I was going to say really stupid. What if we retaliated and wiped them out? They wouldn't risk their own future just to play some sick game of poisoned dice.”
“Unless they are so advanced that no other society poses a threat to them.”
“You're paranoid.”
“20 million lives have been given into my care. Being paranoid is my job. So I repeat: if Worldpool will not open its doors to you, do not push them. Even if it means sacrificing the Afflicted.”
“And what about us? We're infected too, remember.”
“We will deal with that when you return home.” He signs off.
.
Is Shion a power-hungry tyrant, or the tough, pragmatic leader Opacity needs in these troubled times? During my short walk back to the cockpit, my opinion on the subject changes about a dozen times. He certainly isn't stupid, no matter what else he may be. No one
but us heard our conversation just now. So if I accuse him of abandoning the Afflicted, it will come down to my word against his. A politician and a reality TV star: I wonder who the public would be less likely to believe. Or maybe they would rather listen to a used software salesman? None of our professions run deep on credibility.
Taking a seat beside Peace, I stare blankly at the exterior screens, my thoughts roving in circles. But the landscape eventually demands my attention. Jinx and Delez have found an old mountain highway, which has brought us into a forested pass nestled between two serrated peaks. Lichen clings to a sheer cliff on our immediate left, and scrub pines slope away to the right. Then we clear one of the range's lower summits, and a panoramic view of Eraser Valley replaces the trees.
Delez is like a kid in a candy store. “My first mountains!” He keeps saying. Jinx is smiling at his excitement, but seems subdued himself.
“How far to Worldpool?” I ask him.
“About 500 clicks from the far side of this pass.”
“Through what kind of terrain?”
“Deep desert.”
The way he says the words makes my skin prickle.
“And when we get there, do you think the arcologists will speak with us?”
“Depends. Do you have any tech they might want?”
“How about our neuro-holographic combat software?” (I've never actually heard it called this, but the term sounds impressive so what the hell.)
He scratches absently at the shunts embedded in his neck.
“That might work. The real trick will be getting their attention in the first place, though. Most of the Bridgers - that's what they call themselves - hate their physical bodies. Aside from migrant laborers like me, only low-level administrators are forced to live in the real world. And they are too busy fighting over promotions to care about the dying planet outside their walls.”
“You hated living there, didn't you?”
He hesitates. “Yes and no. The work itself was awful, and the Bridgers made a sport out of ignoring us. But I never went hungry, and for probably the only time in my life, I felt safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“From anyone hungry enough to attack my father's farm. But really, the only thing that made Worldpool bearable was the cash I sent home. And even that wasn't enough in the end.”
“What about the money you made off the pooled link software?”
“I took it to my father before I returned to the Thresh. It should keep him alive, for a little while at least.”
He breaks off to direct Delez through a fork, and we travel in silence for the rest of the afternoon. When it grows too dark to continue, the Fractal parks in a depression under the branches of a bone-white tree. In bed that night, limbs intertwined with Tikal's, I wonder what really brought me out here. I could be living comfortably in the Hive right now: spending quiet afternoons with Sophie, basking in the controversial fame that comes with my name. Was Kalana right about me wanting to act the hero? Or am I serving a noble cause as Tikal and Lucy seem to believe? It could honestly be either, both, none, or something else entirely. Because at the end of the day, we are all slaves to urges beyond our ability to understand.
.
The deep desert. There is something romantic about that phrase, and the genuine article lives up to its descriptor. Ridged dunes stretch into the distance like the frozen waves of an endless sea. The rising sun melts over their faces, eating the morning's last shadows as it gains altitude. The mere sight of it sends Francis scurrying back to check our water supply.
It's my turn to drive. I bring us down through a belt of foothills, and then into the desert itself. The world turns a searing yellow, and we have to tint the windshield to keep our eyes from burning out. Each dune looks exactly like the last. Without our compass and Jinx's memory, it would be impossible to stay on track. Monotony sets in, and I find myself nodding at the wheel. Not that there's anything to run into.
The day is waning when Ryo points to the east. “What's that?”
My foot falls off the gas, and the GTV stops in its tracks. Rearing up from the distant sands is a massive red triangle. It looks impossible, and I rub my eyes before deciding that the thing is definitely real. Jinx is sleeping on one of the couches next to the armory. I spin my chair around and nudge him with a foot. He yawns hugely.
“Is it my turn to drive again already?”
“No.” I nod toward the object. “We were wondering if you know what that is.”
He sits up quickly. “Shit. We've gone off course. That is Hardway, another of the eight arcologies. They specialize in cryobunkers and network infrastructure - all the gear that makes the digital realms run.”
“Okay. And what are we looking at, exactly?”
“The top of a pyramid. All of the arcologies are shaped like that, and each is a different color.”
Taking the wheel, he heads away from the massive structure, explaining himself as he drives.
“Hardway consumes metals like Worldpool eats energy: fast. The GTV would have them salivating. Their welders guild would cannibalize it for parts and leave our bodies for the condors.”
“Ah. Steady as she goes, then.”
.
We travel west for an hour, and then the salesman turns south again. Hardway falls back until it’s no longer visible. The sun fails and the moon rises, so bright that we decide to drive on into the night. The temperature outside drops precipitously, and the cold starts to seep in through the walls. Only the GTV's belly stays warm, heated by the sun-baked sands below. We spend the dark hours huddled together on the cockpit floor, like mice in the hold of a ship. I think all of us enjoy the companionship more than we would ever let on.
Clouds have swept in by dawn, painting the sky a flat, washed out gray that kills my depth perception. And so I've been looking directly at Worldpool for some time before I realize it's there. The white pyramid blends with its background, a pale arrow pointed straight at the heavens. The dunes flatten out into a smooth basin that may once have been a salt lake. A crust of hardened sand shatters under our treads, and we wallow forward at a fraction of our former pace. And at the center of the basin, the pyramid waits.
Jinx becomes increasingly nervous as we draw closer, to the point where I have to ask if he's alright. I’ve begun to think of him as one of us, and it hurts to contemplate what we're about to put him through.
“I'm fine.” He says. But his knuckles are white around the edge of his seat, and it's obvious to both of us that he's lying. “It's just that - are you guys sure you want to go through with this? Worldpool’s leader is known as the Colonizer. I wouldn’t call him evil, exactly, but he doesn’t tolerate anything that interferes with the digital universe he's creating. And they can do things to your brain, man. Torture sims, unsolvable mind puzzles, repeating time spirals with no escape...” He touches the shunts on his neck. “And once they've grafted these things onto you, it will all feel realer than real.”
“Opacity does virtual too.” I say to cover my fear. Jinx's eyes are telling me it won't be the same; but Den and Ryo have just entered the cockpit, and he stops talking to avoid scaring them.
The Thresh kids have been dancing around the idea of becoming friends for the past few days. I hope they do. The novelty of our mission is overshadowing their banishment for now, but at some point the loss of their home will have to be dealt with. And when that happens, they will need each other to lean on.
But none of that will matter if the Bridgers blow us out of the sand in the next few minutes. The pyramid owns the sky now. Its faces possess a base symmetry that intimidates the eye. The ground is firmer here. Our tires spin through a final layer of sand, and then we're driving up onto a flat expanse of smooth concrete. From this new elevation, we can see that an enormous grid of glass buildings has been erected around the pyramid. The sun shines off their roofs, making it hard to look directly at them.
“That is Worldpool's automated greenhouse system.” Jin
x says. “When it first came online, the livelihoods of over a dozen local farming communities were taken away overnight. My father's was just one of them.”
“What's that white line between us and the greenhouses?” Den asks.
Jinx squints through the windshield. “I'm not sure. It's new, whatever it is.”
It doesn't take long to solve the mystery. The Bridgers have dug a giant moat around their compound, and filled it with a viscous white substance that ripples sluggishly in the breeze. I park beside it, and we pile out to have a look.
“The GTV wouldn't happen to be submersible, would it?” Ryo asks after an interval.
“No.” Francis says.
“And you guys definitely can't fly?”
“Again, no.”
“Then it looks like we're screwed.”
“Your input is appreciated. Now kindly shut up while we figure out what to do.”
Francis is usually friendly to a fault; our situation must be stressing him out. Or has he absorbed some of Tikal’s short temper through the link? Not a pleasant thought. The squad gathers in a circle to discuss our options, but there isn't much to talk about. Either we swim, or we don’t. My feed has been back up for over a day, and Shion is probably losing his shit right now, wanting us to turn back. But I haven't told the others about our little chat, and there is no way I'm giving up this easily.
Breaking away from the group, I approach the moat. Then I pick up a stone and toss it into the white liquid. Nothing out of the ordinary occurs, so I strip off one of my skinsuit gloves and dip my hand in. The substance has a strange texture: thick and gelatinous but also gritty, like motor oil with gravel mixed in. But the skin fails to slew from my bones, and no creeping disease eats its way up my arm.
“How do you feel?” Amy asks.
“Alive.”
Sliding my glove back on, I bend at the knees and dive in. The substance closes around me, and now I'm swimming forward using a slow breast stroke. There is no pain, but within seconds the liquid has compromised my suit, leaving no patch of skin unexplored. Behind me, I hear the others jumping in as well.