Neurotopia

by Tony Mohorovich

  ‘They know. They think it was a hallucination.’

  The children chased each other around the fort. One zipped down a slide to escape. The other growled like a beast in pursuit.

  ‘But you think it was real,’ Okiro said.

  Sky replayed her memory of the telepath, the cave, and of Dante. ‘Yes. I believe it was real.’

  There was movement in the corridor. Newcomers surrounded the tattooed man, family by the looks of them. They held him as his powerful frame heaved and shook to the sickening beat of loss.

  Sky doubled over and retched.

  A pale green fluid came out. She spat out what remained. Okiro returned with a cup of water. She cleared her mouth with it.

  Two pairs of little legs stood nearby, curious. As soon as she looked up, the kids ran off.

  ‘Good thing you skipped breakfast,’ Okiro said as a cleaner bot scuttled around their feet.

  Sky went back inside, back to her mother. The soft rise and fall of the woman’s abdomen was comforting. Sky caressed Winona’s hair. The skin between Sky’s fingers was red and calloused from her compulsive fidgeting. She fought the urge to make them worse.

  ‘After ’36, when all I could do was sit huddled in my wardrobe, in the dark, she was the one who took care of me. She delivered my meals. Clothed me. Coaxed me into the living room. She put aside her goals to care for me. She gave up everything, but she didn’t give up on me.’

  Sky kissed her mother’s forehead. It was warm against her lips. ‘She didn’t give up on me.’

  Outside, the faint outline of the half-moon peered through the clouds. Somewhere on that rock was a cave with Dante and Geppetto and the cure.

  If I hadn’t freescanned that brainbender, Ma would not have been infected.

  Sky’s body buzzed as if it were a machine that had just been switched on. The world took on a surreal quality, not unlike the moment the telepath had entered her mind. She felt a sense of purpose. She watched as her decision formed. It astounded her.

  Emotions are chains and engines.

  ‘Uncle Jesse,’ she whispered, ‘tell the department I’m taking carer’s leave for a week. When you’ve done that, book me on the next available elevator to the Moon.’

  Having said the words aloud, she almost laughed at how ridiculous they sounded.

  Uncle Jesse brought up a timetable of elevator launches.

  < Ma’am? You sure? Cheapest tickets are just over 20,000 terrans, that’s half your savings. It’s expensive ‘cos they include contractual insurance, which you apparently can’t do without on the Moon. >

  Sky could hardly believe she was having this conversation. A ticket to the Moon? Had the brainbender damaged her mind? What was she thinking?

  ‘Do it.’

  ​4:3

  Sky emptied her mother’s luggage on the sofa. Some of the clothes landed on Okiro.

  ‘I have to say,’ Okiro began as he brushed a pair of her mother’s underwear from his shoulder, ‘it’s rewarding, both professionally and personally, to see you embracing the world like this. But, as your colleague and regular programmer, might I suggest you begin with, say, a jog in the park before you head into a lawless offworld hellhole that might get you killed? My clients tend to work up to that sort of thing.’

  The cleaner bot was still picking up fallen household items with its spindly arms. It attempted to replace a mug on the coffee table but missed and dropped it on Okiro’s foot.

  ‘She’s not going to die,’ Sky said and she marched to the bathroom.

  ‘Look,’ he called out, ‘I believe you. If you say there’s something to your vision, or whatever it was, then I am sure there is, but you need to convince the NIA of that. That’s their job. Even if you somehow managed to track down these terrorists, then what? Ask them nicely for the cure?’

  Sky returned and stuffed a handful of clothes and toiletries into the case, then shut it. She used tape to cover the portion of lining she had accidentally torn when her mother had tried to leave. The black tape, the length of her forearm, clashed with the maroon luggage, but it would have to do for now.

  Okiro nagged Sky the whole way down the elevator and out into the street. ‘At least wait until you receive your anti-trauma programming. That way you’ll know you’re making a decision with a clear head.’

  He had a point, Sky thought. Nevertheless, she stepped into a waiting railpod.

  ‘How about that sea moss smoothie before you go?’ he asked half-hearted.

  She looked at him. ‘Something happened to me yesterday,’ she said. ‘Maybe it was the programming, maybe it was the brainbender, I don’t know. I’m still afraid, I probably always will be. But for once, it’s not enough to stop me doing what I have to do.’

  He stood there, silent for a moment, then cocked his head in resignation. ‘Call me if you get bored of dodging brainbenders.’

  Sky smiled as the pod doors began to close. ‘Ma would already be dead without your help. I won’t forget it,’ she told him. The doors shut and her railpod slid away.

  Chapter 5

  Loan

  ​5:1

  The Pacific Ocean sprayed across Sky’s face as she stood on the deck of the catamaran, gripping the edge of the rail. It was her first time out of Detroit Capital since childhood. It had also been her first time on a hypersonic passenger plane, and her first time to the southern continent of the Americas Federation.

  She had remained underneath her hood the entire time, doped up with Uncle Jesse’s concoction of neurosedative, sleeping when she could. Thankfully, the flight had only taken an hour. Now she stood alone on the deck of a catamaran speeding across Ecuadorian waters, her hair soaked from the spray of the sea.

  She had never dreamed she would see so much open space, blue sky and matching waters. She was mesmerized by the horizon. It was liberating to be able to focus at such distance without interruption.

  The half-moon was still rising in the morning light. If she could make it this far, Sky thought, she could make it to the Moon itself. And if she could make it to the Moon…

  She caught sight of a floating city ahead: Galapagos Elevator Port. An emerald rail rose from its center and pierced the wisps of cirrus cloud high above. At its base, an orbital elevator clung to the rail like a dewdrop on a blade of grass. It was one of two elevators on Earth; the other being the industrial beanstalk a few hundred kilometers to the east.

  When the catamaran docked with the elevator port, Sky headed to the retail district to purchase a suit for space travel. They were pricey, but necessary (as in, you-might-die-without-one necessary). Some doubled as lunar suits—these ones were heavy, and came with extra weights to aid stability. The lunesuits were generally bright in color, making them easier to spot against the dull lunar landscape if you were unlucky enough to get lost. Sky selected one of the least conspicuous, a peach one, that was on sale. She took it to the change room, stripped to her underwear as the AI assistant instructed, and tried on the suit. It was comfortable enough, despite its bulk (which was mainly due to the flexible oxygen cylinders along the back). The helmet was lighter than she had expected, and she found she could tint the visor for privacy.

  Having donned the lunesuit, Sky stowed her clothes in her luggage then headed to the medical clinic for her inoculations. There she was pumped full of vaccinations no longer necessary on Earth.

  Then she joined the short queue for boarding the elevator. She heard someone comment that there had been lots of cancellations after the hack on Detroit.

  A teenaged boy with bloodshot eyes walked past, focused on his translucent maya which displayed protesters in Detroit, outside the White House: ‘Stop the hackers. Take back the colonies,’ they shouted. They set fire to the lunar crescent flag. It was, as always, a fitting backdrop for a reporter’s piece-to-camera: ‘But stakeholders of the offworld Voluntary Organization League and peak telepath lobby groups have denied any involvement in yesterday’s hack on Earth.’

  The boy would have wal
ked into the wall of soldiers if his maya had not redirected him.

  It was the first time Sky had seen so many soldiers in one place, studying everyone and everything. A swarm slithered alongside them and weaved its way through the queue like a sniffer dog. It stopped at Sky long enough to concern her, then it moved on.

  There was a disagreement at the front of the queue; a passenger had been rejected. The boarding steward explained it was for security reasons, out of his hands, talk to the NIA about it. The passenger’s reply bordered on impolite. The soldiers appeared again and escorted the now docile man somewhere else.

  The butterflies in Sky’s stomach multiplied as she approached the front of the queue. The steward inspected her maya ticket, paused a moment and turned to his colleague, whispered something to her, then looked back at Sky. ‘Thank you. Go ahead, Ms. Marion,’ he said with only a hint of an accent.

  With a sense of relief, Sky crossed the aerobridge and entered the pale elevator. The interior was arranged like a dollhouse, with three levels of seating, a cafeteria and a lounge. Barely a quarter of the seats were occupied. There were no windows, but that did not matter because once she found her seat by the wall she switched on the exterior view; the wall phased into a maya with live footage of the outside world.

  Sky watched as the ground disappeared.

  I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, she thought.

  It was all moving so fast. A few hours ago, she was packing her luggage in her apartment, and now she was on an elevator bound for the Moon. On more than one occasion she had asked Uncle Jesse whether she was in a sim.

  Soon the ground became more of a planet. About two hours into the ascent, Sky felt lighter. Earth’s blues and whites gave way to the black of space. She wanted to see it with her own eyes instead of through a maya, so she grabbed the handle of the zip-line above her, and it steered her out of her seat and along the aisle to the observation deck where the only thing between her and the view was a window. Seeing Earth from space, in the real, was a hundred times grander than in the sims. She had never imagined she would one day witness it with her own eyes.

  The elevator approached a tetherport, which was both a space station and the rail’s counterweight in geostationary orbit, keeping the beanstalk taut. The port looked like a syringe in space. It was a humble version of its floating compatriot in the Pacific. A plane-shuttle had already docked with it.

  On the other side of the tetherport, a second rail emerged, this one lit up with multicolored lights, reaching out and disappearing into space.

  Uncle Jesse obliged with a maya schematic of the technology; the second rail stretched midway to the Moon. There it would meet its counterpart lunar rail, the graystalk. The stalks would link Earth and Moon at the equators, like two mating worms. They would stay coupled for six hours, allowing elevators to pass in one direction between the two bodies, before the Moon moved on.

  Flight attendants floated past and the captain’s voice came over the intercom, ‘Passengers, we will shortly be docking at the Americas’ tetherport. Passengers bound for other planets please disembark at the port. The federations of Earth and the Security Council wish to remind you of the dangers of brain-to-brain communication. Anyone infected with an incurable neurovirus will be refused re-entry to Earth. Stay safe—brain safe.’

  A couple of passengers glided past Sky, their arms and legs flailing like unfamiliar limbs, but their zip-lines kept them from floating away.

  In the distance, far along the curvature of the Earth, Sky spotted another tetherport. She zoomed in; it was an aged metal mishmash of a thing with girders and platforms at strange angles. Shipping containers slid down its stalk toward Earth. Uncle Jesse explained that the containers were either packed with rare minerals from the Moon and harvested asteroids, or cheap lunar-made goods, toys and such.

  ‘Ms. Marion.’

  The voice made her jump. She turned to find two men in white uniforms in the aisle. Emblazoned on their suits were the words: “Tetherport Security”. A zip-line dropped from above her. ‘We have arranged for your luggage,’ one of them said.

  The hair on the back of Sky’s neck stood up. She ventured a response, ‘I’ve paid for the ticket—’

  ‘Your passage has been revoked pursuant to NeuroCode section 345(a). You are required to accompany us for analysis.’

  Sky did not move.

  ‘We are authorized to use restraints, Ms. Marion,’ the other guard said.

  Seeing little option, Sky grabbed hold of the zip handle. It lifted her out of the seat and slid her to the exit.

  A part of her was relieved that she was returning to Earth, that she would not have to face the unknown of the Moon. Cowardice was comfortable for Sky, an easy fit, and she hated herself for it.

  The guards led her into an empty lounge inside the tetherport. Empty, save for one person hanging on his own zip-line; Jeong-soo Tester.

  Sky’s relief turned to outrage.

  There was no emotion in his greeting. ‘The neuroscanners report your intention to make contact with hackers.’ Gone was the patient Tester of the night before.

  We share DNA, that’s all, she thought. DNA means nothing.

  He stared down at her. She felt the urge to explain herself, ‘I don’t plan on joining the telepaths. I’m just going to—’

  ‘Find the cure? From a lawless Moon, crawling with hackers, telepaths and mind-rapers, all by yourself, with no training and a disabling condition?’

  Sky glared at him. He was right.

  ‘We have experienced agents and resources at our disposal. What makes you think you have any chance?’

  ‘I have to do something,’ she said.

  ‘Something useful, I hope; getting yourself killed isn’t. Your mother wouldn’t want you doing this. She’d want you to get on with your life.’

  That brought Sky to boiling point. ‘And what would you know about what she wants?’

  He flinched.

  Good, she thought.

  Tester recovered. ‘What you are planning is dangerous.’

  ‘I know my rights; what’s my infraction?’

  Tester glanced at the guards. ‘You do not presently have any thought patterns that might warrant automatic intervention. However, as director of the NIA, I do have a wide-ranging discretion in exceptional circumstances, including the discretion to prevent offworld travel.’

  She could not bear to look at him. She turned to the view of the elevator and the Moon.

  ‘Sky, the culprits could be on Mars or Saturn for all you know.’

  ‘They’re on the Moon.’

  He laughed. ‘You were stubborn the moment you took your first breath,’ he said. ‘The nurse said it was a quality that would serve you well. Your mother called you “strong-willed”. I always took that to mean “pain in the rear”.’

  She wondered if the scanners were working out here, and if they would pick up her urge to punch him.

  His tone eased. ‘Do you seriously believe what you saw was real? That it could lead you to a cure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  His zip-line brought him near her. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you know?’ he asked.

  She frowned, confused. ‘How do I know if I want something? I just want it. That’s how I know.’

  He stared at her. What was he doing? Scanning her? Testing for honesty? Whatever it was, she could not shake the feeling that he was disappointed.

  When he was done, he turned to the elevator and its beanstalk. There was a tap-hiss-clank and the floor shuddered; the elevator had detached.

  Sky watched the elevator glide toward the Moon without her.

  Tester addressed the two port guards, ‘Escort Ms. Marion to my ship.’

  ​5:2

  Sky’s zip-line dragged her through a cylindrical corridor. The two guards were close behind on their own lines, but there was no sign of Tester.

  The corridor ended in a circula
r door. As soon as it opened, a guard pushed her inside and the door closed.

  Without a zip-line to hold onto, Sky twisted and turned in a fruitless attempt to redirect her body, searching for a handrail that was not forthcoming. For all her effort, she continued to glide until she hit the far wall, which—as it turned out—was actually the ceiling.

  Unable to grasp anything to anchor her, she bounced off the ceiling, albeit with less momentum than she had hit it.

  As she floated, she assessed her surroundings. She had expected a cell, but this room was more like a cargo bay. The area was twice as long as it was wide and the white floor curved and disappeared at each end. It was like being inside a giant water slide, minus the water. Tinted windows provided a view of the outside world. She spotted the distant elevator on its way to the Moon.

  The room shuddered. The tetherport moved away. No—her room, the ship, was the one moving.

  A metallic groan came from within the walls. The Moon appeared to move at an unnatural speed around the ship. She realized the vessel itself must be spinning, a hypothesis that was verified when she floated to the floor and could stand again, though not as steady as she would have on Earth; the artificial gravity here was weaker. Uncle Jesse estimated it was seventeen per cent—about one sixth—of Earth’s gravity. It was the gravity of the Moon.

  She found she could hop with two feet to get around. She had played the occasional lunar sim, but the real thing (or almost the real thing), required more concentration to stay upright. Her suit’s balance compensators helped a little. It was like walking on a trampoline, except the falls were more painful.

  She looked out toward Earth, but it was not growing in size as would be expected if the ship were planning re-entry. She could make out the tetherport in the distance and watched it for a time, but its size also remained constant. It appeared her ship was in stationary orbit, for now.

  A door on the opposite side slid open and Jeong-soo Tester entered.

  ‘I am sorry I had to do this. Hate me all you want, but I am not going to let my own daughter kill herself.’ He tiptoed across the room with surprising agility and threw something at her. The thing soared in the low gravity, bounced twice, skidded and then landed near her feet. It was a suitcase; rectangular, rigid, and black.