Neurotopia

by Tony Mohorovich

  Inside the chamber, data poured across the many holo screens. Mym swiveled on her chair to face Sky. ‘Have you ever gotten so lost in someone that you forgot who you were?’

  Sky smiled. ‘Sure.’

  ‘And found yourself reliving memories that weren’t yours?’

  Sky laughed and Mym joined her. Words were unnecessary.

  ‘How old are you, girlie?’

  ‘Forty-six. Earth years.’

  ‘Is that young?’

  ‘Considered so, on Earth.’

  ‘Not here, not on Ground at least. Maybe at mid-level.’ Mym smiled and her face gathered like an accordion, a hint of melancholy in her eyes.

  ‘Why stay here?’ Sky asked. ‘I mean, it’s dangerous on Ground. Have you thought about moving to Earth?’

  Mym shrugged and returned her attention to the screens. ‘I’ve known some to do that. A few of them had their hearts explode even after they completed acclimatization. Then there’s all the programming they put you through. Most folks with coin here aim to level-up, not leave. I mean, at least here we’re free. Besides, most of us have family on Apollo. Folks tend to stay with family no matter how bad things get.’

  ‘Does your family live nearby?’

  Mym did not answer.

  ‘Here we are,’ she said, and flung a pitch-black maya at Sky. ‘This is the first I heard of Geppetto.’

  From the maya came the sounds of Shackleton’s underground corridors: buying, selling, fighting. The first visual was of a man’s boots, from the man’s own perspective. He was lying on the ground. He looked around and saw that he was in an alley. His thoughts came through the audio: How did I get here?

  The man turned to find a pair of legs in military fatigues, gray and grayer. He looked up to see the body of a tall muscular man with the head of a woman, long icy hair flowing around her shoulders, like the indigenous peoples who had once inhabited northern Europe. On closer inspection, Sky realized the face and hair were in fact a maya, superimposed over a physical head.

  Sky’s confusion must have been evident because Mym said, ‘It’s an Olon.’

  The actual term Mym used had a pronunciation Sky could not grasp, but Uncle Jesse gave Sky the closest transliteration.

  < Oh-lon is Mongolian for “many”, > he explained.

  Mym continued, ‘They’re more common among telepaths. Some get so confused in the hive they stop identifying with just one personality, so they melt their face into a screen and project whoever they want onto it.’

  Sky had never heard of such a human.

  < That makes two of us, ma’am. >

  On the footage, the Oloncrouched and looked directly into the man’s eyes. Her face faded into another, then another, as it flipped identities. It finally paused on the face of a man whose hair and beard had an orange tinge.

  Sky felt a rush of adrenalin.

  It’s him.Dante.

  She had to fight the urge to share her thoughts aloud. Sky watched as the Dante-face moved closer to the screen, closer to the man. ‘Here’s a message from the colony,’ the Dante-face said, ‘no one disconnects from us, especially not self-serving traitors like you.’

  ‘Please,’ begged the man.

  ‘Geppetto warned you,’ Dante growled. The muzzle of a gun appeared. It fired and the maya-memory cut out.

  A part of Sky—the part that had thought this whole mission was delusional—was dumbstruck that she had actually managed to get a lead on the terrorists. Not only was she elated in her victory, but now Sky had reason to trust her own instincts.

  Mym’s demeanor had sobered. ‘Common mistake,’ she said, rewinding the memory until the gun was visible again. ‘A shot to the head will do a world of damage, but it depends on the angle. I managed to scavenge this memory from alternate areas of the brain. They were careless, which is unusual for telepaths.’

  ‘Do you know which colony he was from?’ Sky asked, still buzzing.

  Mym shook her head. ‘He was a right mess, I was lucky to get even that from him. But…’ she flicked a second maya at Sky, ‘… I managed to track where the Olon came from. I’ll let you have that data as a complimentary extra to my services, seeing as we’re kindred spirits and all.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, girlie, it ain’t free; it’s just good business. I value my customers.’

  The new maya played footage from a stationary security camera; people stepped out of a train onto the platform. The Olon was among them.

  ‘I thought you didn’t have any government surveillance here,’ Sky said.

  ‘Ha. We’ve got no government, girlie. But surveillance comes at a price, if you know who to pay, and I do.’ Mym pointed at the train, ‘It’s unmarked, probably from a telepath colony somewhere outside the city.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘It’s not on public record, which means they’re particular about who they allow in. And given the condition of the train, it doesn’t look like they use it all that much. It’s scheduled to depart in a milli.’

  < That’s about forty minutes, ma’am. > Uncle Jesse explained.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Sky said, already on her way out of the chamber.

  ‘Wait, girlie,’ Mym called. ‘I know it ain’t my business, but if they’re not just ordinary telepaths, if they’re the hacking variety, brainbenders…’ the woman shook her head, her thin hair waving across her shoulders. ‘You don’t wanna mess with brainbenders.’

  ‘What choice do I have?’

  ‘You could wait. I might hear more rumors. You never know, you might be able to get what you want without risking your neck.’

  ‘I don’t have the luxury of time.’

  Mym took a breath, her eyes locked on Sky’s. ‘I’ve lived many lives, girlie, and I’ve seen your look; you’re earnest. Earnest folk have a nasty habit of becoming obsessed, and obsession gets you dead.’

  There was wisdom in Mym’s words, no doubt, but Sky had sacrificed too much already. She had allowed herself to fall to the level of Ground dwellers by killing for profit. For all she knew, the original owners of Som Razer’s backup bodies were guilty of nothing more than defaulting on a debt.

  ‘You’ve got a good heart, Mym Mento.’ It was more than Sky could say for herself.

  Mym swatted the air in an attempt to dismiss the comment. ‘I just want my best-paying clients to stay alive.’ She swiveled her chair back around to her holo screens. ‘We sacrifice much for our loved ones. Just don’t let it destroy you.’

  The spider-android led Sky out of the lab and back to the store. Mym continued to speak through the machine, ‘When you get there, don’t look for allies; there ain’t nowhere for allies to hide inside a telepath colony. And they’ll want you to connect with them—don’t. No matter what they throw at you, don’t network that brain of yours. Telepaths in colonies aren’t like ordinary ones, the ones that mix with the rest of us; the colonies are cults, with inbred minds and purposes, luring people into their hives, destroying families.’ The voice cracked with emotion. ‘I’d hate for your mother to lose her daughter. No mother deserves to lose a child.’

  ​7:9

  Mym watched Sky through the android’s eyes as the Earth woman left the cul-de-sac and melted into the human throng of Old Quarter. That was when the Olon approached.

  ‘I could sue you for breach,’ they said, faces flickering.

  Mym scoffed. ‘I was merely tellin’ her what anyone would have. I didn’t want to seem like I was encouraging her. She might have smelled something was wrong. She’s on her way, as promised, so you’re obligated to pay the full amount of the contract.’

  The corner of the Olon’s mouth rose, as if they were biting their tongue.

  Mym was grateful to be behind an android and multiple layers of security. She would hate to give this telepath (or brainbender?) a chance to get into her head.

  The Olon persisted, ‘The way you were carrying on back there, warning her, some might call
it a breach of confidentiality. That sort of thing can damage a business reputation.’

  Mym could not place the accent, but thought it had an offworld lilt.

  ‘A woman like me can’t afford to breach contracts and fight insurance claims,’ she said. ‘My personal security costs are through the dome, and I’ve got no kids to care for me anymore.’

  ‘Is that why you’re doing business with us? Desperation?’

  ‘Got a better reason?’

  The Olon exhaled through the small breach in its canvas face. Perhaps a laugh.

  The brains of these folk worked differently to normal people, Mym thought. It frightened her. ‘I honor every contract, every clause, and I know when to keep my mouth shut. Everyone who is anyone on Ground knows as much.’

  The Olon grinned. ‘I don’t think your most recent client would agree, if she knew the truth.’

  Telepaths always found a way into your head, Mym thought. The best defense was to avoid them. ‘Dirties don’t count to reputation, not down here.’

  ‘Personally, we find filing insurance claims an inefficient method of settling disputes.’ The Olon’s faces flipped. They all stared at her with blank expressions.

  Mym stared back. ‘Veiled threats notwithstanding, are you goin’ to fulfil the contract or not?’

  A few faces later—one of which appeared decidedly unimpressed—a maya-payment appeared in the Olon’s hand and flicked across to Mym’s android. It was the full payment of the contract. Mym doubled-checked it.

  Though she had the money in hand and was eager to retreat from the Olon, Mym could not resist the urge to ask one final question, ‘Does this Geppetto have anything to do with the Tellinii virus?’

  The Olon’s faces revealed nothing. They turned and walked down the cul-de-sac, headed in the same direction as the Earth woman.

  Run home, girlie, Mym thought, run home if you know what’s good for you.

  Chapter 8

  Dante

  ​8:1

  Sky left the Old Quarter and headed for the train station. She had become more accustomed to the gravity, enough to hop without bumping into locals. She wrapped her shawl around her head, giving her some comfort in the crowd. Uncle Jesse attempted to book a ticket for the unmarked telepath train.

  < The train don’t appear on the station booking system, ma’am. You might have to buy a ticket the old-fashioned way; on board. >

  Screen billboards, holos, and mayas lit up with reports of Som Razer’s assassination, along with other victims in the cartel’s leadership. A swarm wielder was suspected to have murdered some of Razer’s backup bodies. The suspect had evaded heavy gunfire from the Catacomb defenses. Sky froze, half expecting to see her face up there on the screens, but the reports claimed the Catacomb’s security system had been hacked and potential witnesses had been mem-wiped. Commentators agreed on one thing; whoever had arranged the hit had done their homework.

  One of the Som’s factions had announced its split from the organization. Another faction refused to let the first faction split. Other factions sided one way or another and now they were all fighting for dominance, turning the Som’s home district into an urban battleground.

  Sky could make out what sounded like fireworks in the distance, and flashes of light which reflected off the dome ceilings.

  Responding to her concern, Uncle Jesse explained the domes were projectile-proofed so that instead of perforating the dome, projectiles would bounce off it. The downside was that someone on the other side of town might find themselves on the wrong end of a stray bullet.

  The people around Sky just went about their business, either ignoring the possibility of becoming a casualty or oblivious to it. Apathy may have been a necessary psychological defense mechanism in such an environment. Sky was grateful for her own mem-wipe.

  < A mem-wipe doesn’t wipe trauma, ma’am. If you don’t mind my sayin’ so, you’ve been through hell these last few days; first the Tellinii hack, then Gregos’ gang, and now Som Razer. You need some anti-trauma work, otherwise the neural damage could affect your decision-making. >

  ‘I’ve got a lead on Geppetto, Uncle Jesse. I’d say my decision-making is just fine.’

  < If you say so, ma’am. >

  When Sky arrived at Ground Central Station, she put on her lunesuit then followed her map to the platform where the telepath train awaited.

  The train was not like the tube-train that had transported her from Port Mare Vaporum to Shackleton City; this was more of a wagon train, with three interlinked carriages supported by monstrous wheels. They called it a caterpillar.

  When she approached the caterpillar, a maya sign flashed: “Telepath colonists only”.

  Sky boarded the vehicle.

  She counted fifteen passengers, all of whom sat huddled in the first carriage, silent. Now and then one of them would break the quiet with a snigger or a laugh. Sky hoped they were not of the brainbending variety. Uncle Jesse could not detect any intrusions, and she could not feel anyone interfere with her thoughts, but then again, how would I know? How could she distinguish her own thoughts from another’s? Maybe they had already hacked her. Maybe these very thoughts had been implanted by brainbenders?

  Calm down, she told herself, or you’ll fry your brain before they do.

  Such was the insidious nature of telepathy; it made you question yourself. The telepaths need only sit back and watch as ordinary people paralysed themselves with uncertainty.

  The driver’s cockpit door opened, and a man in a blue lunesuit entered the first carriage. He passed by the group of telepaths. He stopped at Sky.

  He stood there, staring at her. Then he cleared his throat and swallowed. ‘You are… not… connected… to our network.’ He spoke as if he were pushing out a gallstone.

  Sky remained under her shawl-hood, responding with as measured a tone as she could muster. ‘I’m a reporter, just started freelancing. My first piece will be on life in a telepath colony.’ She displayed her professional site (which Uncle Jesse had whipped up only minutes earlier).

  The driver gave it a cursory review. ‘This is an express caterpillar to the colony. Telepaths and guests only. Come with me. Please.’

  This man, Sky thought, stood between her and her mother. No, not just this man; all of them, every telepath he was connected to. She was on stage before who knows how many, all staring, burning her with judgment, confirming she was unworthy.

  ‘Please,’ Sky said, getting up, ‘can you make an exception?’

  The driver sucked his upper lip, giving him the appearance of a chimpanzee in thought. ‘I am… sorry,’ he said. ‘You must come—’

  ‘Excuse me,’ a voice from behind interrupted. Sky looked over and realized she was staring into the flipping faces of an Olon. They had a male body and wore lunar fatigues, much like the Olon in the scavenged memory at Mym Mento’s store.

  ‘Would you mind?’ the Olon said, a maya-eyebrow raised. Sky thought the accent was unusual, almost familiar. The Olon gestured to Sky’s feet, and she realized she was blocking the aisle. Sky stepped aside. The Olon passed and continued into the next carriage where they took a seat, alone.

  The driver seemed to be in a trance, staring along an empty row of seats. He blinked and then turned to Sky. ‘We will… make an exception. This time.’ He walked back to his cabin and shut the door.

  Sky was relieved, but couldn’t help but wonder what had changed his mind. Perhaps her freelance reporter site had made a difference?

  The other passengers returned to their silent discussions. The caterpillar rolled out.

  ​8:2

  The caterpillar train left the dome airlock and entered the lunar environment, or lack thereof. Up close, the lunar dust—the regolith—appeared darker. Sky breathed a sigh of relief when she caught sight of the horizon, a promise of distance. In comparison, Shackleton City had been a claustrophobic beehive.

  The Olon in the next carriage did not look back.

  Sky replayed the scaveng
ed memory she had watched in Mento’s lab… the male victim on the floor with the Olon standing over him, faces changing. ‘Geppetto warned you,’ the Dante-face had said before firing the weapon and all but destroying the victim’s brain.

  I’m so close, Sky thought. Just a few seats from the cure, from seeing her mother’s eyes free of despair. A part of Sky wanted to beg the Olon for her mother’s life; maybe they would see reason and hand over the cure?

  Sky knew it was wishful thinking. She was under no illusion as to the nature of her enemy. She would bide her time.

  Something seared her retinas. Sunlight, she realized. It was bright white in this wasteland without an atmosphere, and harsh despite the caterpillar’s radiation-proof windows. Though the Sun was low, it still packed a punch. On the other end of the horizon was Earth, larger but just as low.

  The Moon was a gray land with a starless night sky, decorated with one white and one blue orb, like a child’s imagining of space.

  Construction sites littered the city outskirts like scabs. Part-built domes suckled on established ones. The dust clung to them in sheets. Robot and human cleaners worked side by side to scrape the regolith away.

  The caterpillar followed a worn road, accompanied by construction vehicles. Empty lorries drove out, while full lorries returned with structural beams and fresh dome segments which had been printed out of lunar dust.

  Once the caterpillar had left the suburban tendrils of Shackleton City behind, it approached a quarry. But quarry was an inadequate description, for it was deep enough to house an Earth mountain on its head. Regolith harvesters rumbled, sifting the dust and extracting rare minerals. Giant mining trucks carried boulders away for processing. Sky wondered if one day the Moon would turn into Swiss cheese like the asteroids that ringed it. At least Earth had stopped feeding off its own blood and bone years ago.