Neurotopia

by Tony Mohorovich

  She knew she could not succeed alone no matter how much she wanted to, and this young street dweller was as good a place to start as any. Better the devil you barely know?

  ‘I’m looking for a couple of telepaths,’ she said, trying to be casual about it.

  ‘No kidding? I’m a ’path,’ Bolt-head tapped his chest with pride. ‘Linked to a clan a thousand strong.’

  The boy must have seen her reaction because he laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’m no hacker or nothin’. No brainbendin’ for me, Senorita. I’m just an ordinary ’path. Each mind to their own, I says. I just joined them for protection, you know—it’s safer with folks watching over you.’

  All of a sudden, his face emptied of expression. He stared at Sky, his little head shaking, as if he was trying to pierce her mind—

  He burst into laughter. ‘The look on your face, Senorita. You’re too easy.’

  Sky shook her head, trying but failing to withhold a smile. She wondered how many telepaths were laughing along with the boy, maybe even… ‘Do you know any telepaths that go by the name of Dante or Geppetto?’

  ‘Dante? That was my birth name. My bio-mom was a ’path, so they tell me. But I prefer Bolt-head, ’cuz only old-timers get called Dante. No Geppettos though, far as I know, but we’re just a small clan. You might want to try one of the bigger ones. But it depends some.’

  ‘Depends on what?’

  ‘Whether you’re lookin’ for someone who don’t want to be found.’ His eyes flitted across her face, analyzing her, ‘And I reckon you are.’

  Sky raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

  The boy grinned. ‘If the ’paths you’re lookin’ for cared to be found, you wouldn’t be askin’ me none. And if they don’t care to be found, you’ll get nowhere asking ’paths. We can’t tattle on our families, not without them knowing about it anyhow. Unless they’re from another colony, of course.’

  ‘Are you saying you know Geppetto, but won’t tell me?’

  His grin widened enough to reveal his missing teeth. ‘If I knew who you were lookin’ for, I wouldn’t tell ya, not without their consent. But seein’ as I ain’t never heard of a Geppetto, there’s no harm in telling you such. ’Course, I could be lyin’ and you’d never know. Only way to know for sure is to connect with us, brain-to-brain like.’

  ‘I’ll pass.’

  The boy froze, as if he had run out of power. Then he lit up again. ‘Some of my kin reckon you should try the Old Quarter—you can find most anything there. Just ask the rumormongers. And…’ he leaned in and said in a secretive tone, ‘… promise Bolt-head you’ll haggle a little, will ya? Don’t embarrass me.’

  Sky nodded with a smile. ‘Can your kin recommend any of these rumormongers?’

  ‘Nah, we tend to avoid ’em.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Can’t trust no-one you can’t read.’

  ‘Then how am I supposed to trust them?’

  He shrugged. ‘When you’re an iso, you got no other option.’

  Iso?

  < Isolated, > Uncle Jesse explained.

  Bolt-head opened his maya piggy-bank. ‘I’ll charge you only twenty lunas for that info and call it even,’ he said, a little sheepish.

  Despite trusting the boy as far as she could throw him—which, according to Uncle Jesse, was about twelve meters in this gravity with the right harness and hammer-throw technique—Sky obliged him with the funds.

  Bolt-head glanced across the street and his grin faded. ‘Excusez-moi, Senorita,’ he said in a dull tone, ‘we spots me a regular.’ He gave Sky a tight-lipped smile and a polite nod, then crossed the river of humans to meet the client on the other side. They exchanged funds and Bolt-head followed the woman uptown.

  Sky told herself there was nothing she could do for the urchin; she was not here to fix the VOL. She had come to save her mother. Yet she could not shake the feeling that she was turning her back on the boy.

  Sky materialized a map of the city which showed the Old Quarter was to her right, downtown, where the buildings were tighter and misshapen and the smog thicker. With her heart banging in her chest, Sky stepped into the crowd, following her map’s directions toward the Old Quarter.

  ​6:4

  ‘The EUNION Security Council requests your cooperation. Earth needs a cure and the terrorists responsible for this hack must be brought to justice.’

  Federator Alexa Two-Eagle sat behind the Oval Office desk, staring past Jeong-soo Tester who sat opposite her.

  The federator’s eyes were focused on nothing in particular. Tester turned to the secure audio-visual feed of her experience; the federator—or rather, her maya—sat in a boardroom on the top floor of the Orissa commercial complex, Shackleton City, the Moon, surrounded by a dozen offworld representatives, most in maya-form themselves.

  The attendees were a mixed bag of influentials: CEOs of the Big Four banking, finance, and investment firms; representatives from trillionaires and powerful families; and the Chief Justice of the Court of Consent.

  Through the federator’s vision, Tester marvelled at Shackleton’s colors and textures, a kaleidoscope of spice. He found it difficult to focus on one thing. The domes, the pyramids, the luxury ships, everything moved and thrummed and changed from moment to moment. Did anything sit still in this city?

  ‘Madam Federator,’ it was the voice of Rem Singh, CEO of Feldman Okonkwo Finance. He had a measured, soothing tone that suited diplomacy, ‘I believe I speak for everyone present when I say that I am very sorry to learn that the Tellinii virus has reached Earth. We know of the damage it can cause. I offer my condolences to your infected.’ Others nodded in agreement. ‘As important trading partners, I and many of my fellow VOL prime investors will offer what assistance we can. Unfortunately, we have no effective treatment against the Tellinii virus, other than placing the infected in stasis, and even that can only delay the inevitable.’

  Images of stasis chambers with Tellinii-infected hovered before the federator. The chambers looked like a wall of drawers in a morgue, except that they were transparent so that you could see the patients within.

  ‘However,’ he continued, ‘We are as keen as you are to find the culprits, and I assure you we will invest resources into this important task.’

  As Singh finished his sentence, an assistant placed an old-style communication screen beside him, the sort that had become obsolete after the Holonet and its successor, the Neuronet.

  Tester realized this could mean only one thing.

  An image appeared on the old screen; it was a man whose remaining hair stuck out as if in rebellion. ‘We’re under no contractual obligation to help you.’ The man squinted. ‘No contract, no obligation.’ Tester recognized him as the CEO and family elder of Ahmadi, Lysander & Brine Investments.

  CEO Singh’s demeanor changed from that of an agreeable diplomat to a chastised student.

  ‘Thomas,’ the federator greeted the newcomer. ‘As trading partners it would be in your interest to assist us.’

  ‘A trading partner is an equal, or close enough,’ the man responded only seconds later, which confirmed to Tester that Lysander was on the Moon and not at his usual residence on Mars. Strange, Tester thought. It was unlike Lysander to be so far from his commercial fortress.

  Lysander huffed, ‘You are not a partner, you are a customer, and an indebted one at that. We would continue to thrive, with or without you. Personally, I’d prefer the latter. If it were up to me, I’d have Apollo dragged to Mars where it belongs and leave you to your utopia.’

  What irked Tester was not that Lysander was rude, but that he was correct. Apollo did not need Earth.

  ‘We have a million infected,’ the federator said. ‘The terrorists, who we believe operate from VOL territory—your territories—’

  ‘We are not a State, Madam Federator, we…’ Lysander gestured to the others around the room, ‘… do not collectively own land. I have no territory, madam, I own property, and to the best of my knowledge t
he hackers do not operate from it. And if they did, I would sue them back to the Stone Age.’

  Two-Eagle pursed her lips. ‘The terrorists attacked from one of your properties and as a neighboring civilization you have a duty to—’

  Lysander threw up his spindly arms in frustration, ‘Duty? This is ridiculous. I have no duty but to myself. I have lost profits as a result of Tellinii infections. Our insurers have lost billions in claims, and despite their best efforts they have not been able to track the hackers. However, that being said, what we do have is superior network security—not foolproof, but superior to yours nevertheless. It takes more effort, time, and therefore money to puncture our premium networks. Earth would benefit from our systems.’

  He’s diverted into a sales pitch, Tester thought, how very Lysander.

  Two Eagle responded, ‘You know the EUNION is not comfortable having offworld companies manage global neural security.’

  Lysander proffered a glib smile. ‘The families of your infected might think otherwise.’

  The federator did not respond.

  Lysander pressed on, ‘Perhaps we can provide you with an added incentive; say, for example, reducing Earth’s debt?’

  Back in the Oval Office, Tester saw the federator’s jaw clench.

  The debt? Tester thought. The federator had arranged the meeting to seek cooperation in tracking down terrorists, but all Lysander was interested in was the interplanetary debt.

  The federator said, ‘I don’t have authority to discuss trade or the reconstruction loans and nor is it relevant.’

  ‘But it is relevant,’ Lysander croaked. ‘You still owe us a substantial amount, in arrears I might add. Negotiating with zero may work on Earth, but not here. What do you come to the barter-table with? A debt? That is not an incentive. If you want something from the VOL, if you want us to help track down the hackers who infected Earth, you must pay for it. I have made a fair offer; open your markets so that our companies can secure your systems, and—as a sweetener—we will reduce a portion of your debt. Unless you can provide us with a better trade? Or are you seeking charity?’

  The tensions had risen to a point where Tester thought it was time for the more diplomatic Rem Singh to douse the flames. True to form, Singh said, ‘Earth may yet repay the loans, Mr. Lysander. We are still negotiating the terms—’

  Lysander scoffed, ‘They’ve defaulted three times in the last decade. I’m surprised we’ve let them off the hook for so long. Putting up with dead money is not quite our usual standard of rational business, is it? I’m beginning to think some of us are a little soft on poor old mother Earth.’ He scanned the room. ‘I don’t run a socialized pension scheme, do any of you?’

  How had Earth got itself into such a mess? Tester wondered. Borrowing from the colonies; an old mistake made in desperation after a costly war. Never play poker with a card shark.

  ‘This is an opportunity for Earth to fulfill its moral obligation and repay the debt,’ Lysander told the federator. ‘If I were you, I would see this Tellinii infection as a blessing in disguise.’

  A blessing? Tester shifted in his seat. The smirk on Lysander’s jowl did nothing to reduce Tester’s suspicions, nor did the silence and disinterest of the other VOL representatives. Was this the game? Had the VOL orchestrated the hack as a bargaining tool? Lives for money?

  ‘How much of the debt would you be willing to cancel?’ the federator asked in a tone familiar to Tester, one she had used in other challenging negotiations; subservient yet disarming.

  Lysander leaned back in his chair, apparently satisfied. ‘How much? Isn’t it amazing how such a simple concept can dominate existence?’

  The old bastard was so cocky that he had digressed into philosophizing.

  ‘It depends on how much of your economy you open to the VOL. If you were to open all your markets, just as our markets are open to you, then I’m sure we could forget your planet’s debt entirely. You would be free to build pyramids of wealth. Once you see the value of our system, you might even decide to join the VOL. We would, of course, welcome you.’

  The hairs on the back of Tester’s neck stood up. Federator Two-Eagle appeared calm in comparison. ‘Cost benefit, Mr. Lysander; you would free us of debt in the short term but eventually your companies would dominate us, and lead to the social inequalities that are a hallmark of your “market”. The equitable stability we have achieved through our democracy would be over. We don’t want your pharaohs.’

  ‘Inequalities?’ Lysander cackled. ‘You see difference and think oppression. We see difference and see freedom. We are all equal here; every individual in the VOL has the right of consent. Every day eager minds pull themselves out of the slums and generate enormous wealth with one simple strategy: they create a good or service which others value enough to pay for. That’s it. Nothing more. It is freely consenting people who decide who among us is to be rich and who is to remain poor. Only by creating things that others value will you thrive. This is true community—a community of mutual givers. We are prosperous because of this. And the VOL would be even more prosperous if we didn’t have the expense of a standing military. If you joined us, neither of our two societies would need arms. Cost benefit, Madam Federator,’ he waggled his finger, ‘make business, not war.’

  ‘Our democracy would not survive the—’

  ‘You talk of democracy as if it were a virtue. The least contributing member with the least to lose has the same vote and influence as the greatest contributor with the most to lose? Puh,’ he spat, ‘that’s nothing less than the redistribution of influence without regard to contribution, achievement, or intellect. Democracy is communism by any other name, as oppressive as your gravity. No, the VOL’s meritocracy has proven itself superior by virtue of the fact that you are indebted to us.’

  They were getting nowhere with this ideologue at the table, Tester realized.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Rem Singh’s soothing voice slid into the conversation, ‘We will do our very best to track down the terrorists who attacked you.’

  The federator thanked Rem Singh. Lysander’s screen was already blank.

  *

  With the meeting concluded, Tester waited as Federator Two-Eagle adjusted herself to her body and surroundings. She caressed the bonsai plant on the edge of her desk, checking its progress, then walked to the nearest window. There she stared out at the see-through capital of Detroit.

  Tester grew uncomfortable with the silence. ‘Lysander arrived as you predicted.’

  ‘He was never one to miss a good business opportunity.’

  ‘Do you think he’s involved with the hack?’

  ‘Maybe. Or maybe he is just taking advantage of favorable circumstances. Either way, he wants us on our knees so the VOL can cannibalize our people as it does its own. It didn’t take him long to bring up the debt this time.’

  The debt, Tester thought. Most of the offworld investors had withdrawn their money from Earth at the start of the war. By war’s end, Earth was practically bankrupt.

  ‘The council should never have accepted the loans,’ Tester said. ‘It was a political leash and you—’

  ‘Being proven correct is no consolation.’

  Tester paused, turning over the recent meeting in his mind. ‘Nothing has changed. We still have to track down the terrorists.’

  ‘Everything has changed, Jeong-soo. We are vulnerable, bleeding, and Lysander and his ilk can smell it. If we don’t find those hackers, we may have to make greater sacrifices.’

  Tester had no idea what these “greater sacrifices” might be. He did know, however, that he was tired of sacrifices.

  Would it ever end?

  So many lives in the balance. His wife was slipping away. He had left it too late. He had left it all too late. His daughter, up there, alone, with the horde. He had not heard from her, not that he expected a call. Hoped, perhaps. He could still hope.

  Tester tried to contact Sky several times over the course of that day, but Sky w
ould not—or could not—answer.

  ​6:5

  Sky’s maya-vision was awash with costs: the price of walking along this privately owned sidewalk during peak hour; the price of breathing the purified air in that Russo-Mongolian restaurant, free for the first deci-milli (3.9 Earth minutes); the price of traveling through a new security sector (you received a discount if you paid within the first twenty meters of entering the territory).

  Apollo was an algorithm of exchange, and Sky’s bank balance was ticking too fast for her liking. Judging from others around her, she was not alone; many walked the cheap paths and breathed the standard air. Many slept on the streets, too. At least the environment was warm enough for it.

  < Ma’am, Mr. Tester is trying to contact you again. >

  ‘Ignore him.’

  She was not ready to speak to her father, not until she had made progress. She did not want him to see her so afraid.

  Stalls packed the streets like an old-world bazaar. Many sold lotteries. One sold the flesh of small animals. By coincidence, the stall next door sold stringy pet rats.

  Sky heard the cries of a clothing hawker and decided to purchase a shawl. She wrapped it around her head like a hood and around again to cover her mouth, leaving only enough space for her eyes. It made her look less polished, like one of the locals.

  One of the strangest sights were all the temples, churches, mosques, altars, and shrines. Many stalls sold talismans and religious trinkets. Street corner astrologers, monks, and ascetics were a common sight. Butt-hopping yogic “fliers” got more airtime in the local gravity than they ever had back on Earth. Religion was alive and well here. Sky wondered whether these people knew what had happened back home. The Vatican was Europe’s Wall Street, Jerusalem’s Temple Mount was a falafel joint, India’s river Ganges was healthier than when it had been revered, and no one was officially a pop star until they’d strutted the stage of The Kaaba in Mecca.

  Her map led her to a foot of the Apollo statue; its big toe, to be precise, tall as a five-story building. The area surrounding the toe, and the rest of the foot, was cordoned off with high transparent walls, no doubt to protect the statue’s foundations from the locals.