The Vanity of Hope

by G W Langdon

  He nudged Ba’illi in the arm. “They don’t look the sort you would say no to.” The driver vanished. “What happened to her?”

  “In the real world? Nothing much, depending on why she failed the inspection, but she won’t get back in here for a long time without serving an outside penalty.”

  They burst out of the tunnel and the buggy transformed into a terraBug.

  “Welcome to Wonderland.”

  They left the on-ramp with a short bump and joined the ten-lane in-bound freeway. The scale and complexity of the virtual city overwhelmed in every direction. The skyReachers he viewed from his castle residence with perspective stretched up through the cloud cover and out of sight. He craned his neck further. Gi LaMon was the ultimate daydream and superior to anything he could’ve imagined possible. It was a wonderland and the perfect way to pass the humdrum of existence.

  The one hundred billion neurons in his brain could create a hallucination of undreamt complexity and realism. The mind could be so much more than an uncontested, endless conveyor belt of thoughts. “How can this be an illusion inside my head?”

  Ba’illi thumped the steering wheel in delight. “I know. It gets me every time I take the long way in. You can close your mouth now.”

  “A megalopolis inside a machine—inside my head.”

  “Amie’s not a machine. She is the most sophisticated technology on Heyre—by several degrees of magnitude. The AI architects on Progeny built her to run the Base and monitor the Trillax star system for signs of Decay. But such was her power, the Federation created Gi LaMon as a way to harness her excess computational capacity. A cynic might say the Federation always intended Gi LaMon as a way to seduce the Heyreins to their way of thinking and engage the population so they didn’t have the time or the will to interfere with the secret operations.”

  “What ‘secret’ operations?”

  “It’s not a true secret that they constructed the Armada Defense Fleet on the other side of the planet.” Ba’illi turned from the road ahead. “No more questions about the Federation, at least not in here.”

  “The skyWays are empty,” he said, noticing the sun went the right way across the sky and the weather matched outside.

  Ba’illi shook his head. “SkyBots don’t exist in the Green Layer.” He cut a sharp diagonal course and stamped on the accelerator pedal then swerved late to shake the slipstream tailgater.

  Road signs flashed overhead. “How fast can we go?” Tom asked.

  “Not very fast in this.” Ba’illi touched the central display and brought up the speed readout. “We can change to a sleeker model if you want,” he said, pointing to a selection of terraBugs in the middle of the screen.

  “Two hundred and forty—about seven times a full gallop is fast enough.”

  Ba’illi stifled a laugh. “I didn’t think you were ready.”

  He steadied his hand on the dashboard as Ba’illi weaved the terraBug through the jostling traffic with borderline aggression he hadn’t seen before and grabbed the only spot available in the Ultra lane. It was all here in splendid copy with a level of detail beyond any telescope, except there was no dark tower. He turned back towards the bridge to check for the castle. “There’s no castle, either.”

  “Her majesty doesn’t trust the Federation enough to include her realm in Gi LaMon.”

  For mile after apparent mile, the cityscape yielded one discovery after another. Gentle streams flowed through the clustered buildings and spacious parks where Heyreins, as they preferred to be called, walked their cloned pets from Colaris. Verdant gardens separated the endless residential blocks and tall statues marked the vast shopping centers. Roadside markers espoused gems of wisdom. The longer messages, chiseled in Federation with Tilasian underneath, required enormous blocks of stone to hold the words. ‘Do not seek out that which is beyond your strength to endure.’

  “Heyre has half the tilt of Earth so the seasons are less obvious, but the crater magnifies the climate. Over there,” Ba’illi said, pointing away to the far-off southern wall, “is the hottest quadrant of the crater. Opposite that is the coolest because the crater wall shades more of the overhead sun. You probably can’t see that far, but those black dots in the crater wall above the monastery are the monks’ original meditation caves.”

  “Where Choen came from?”

  “Yes, I don’t know the full story, but he thought the monastery was becoming too big and losing sight of tradition.”

  “Nedje?”

  “He wanted to modernize. Queen Lillia supported his case for a new political alliance.”

  The freeway curved around a low hill in the impact uplift and wound up another shallow valley. Tall hanging gardens draped from sculptured structures that rose hundreds of feet into the air. Small dots from the castle, the gardens were living, breathing works of art, surely even greater than the fabled hanging gardens of Babylon.

  “Food is grown inside the gardens—organic,” Ba’illi said. “The meat comes from the outer farms. There are smaller gardens for local tastes, but most of Nu’hieté’s food comes from the ‘verticals’.”

  At home it was oats, soups, meat, lots of it, and boiled veggies. On Gukre—the monks ate anything—so long as it was a plant. The choice was endless in the castle—salads, fruits, snacks, roasts—pan-fried and oven-fired, baked and boiled—anything he wanted was just a voice command away.

  “The Arts sextant over there includes the painting and artifacts museum.”

  “I wish I could see the Columni Pink—for real,” Tom added, suddenly reminded of where he really was.

  “The precious pieces that date back to Colaris are stored in the central uplift zone inside the compound of the Elites.”

  The freeway bent lower, to their right into the shaded suburbs and disappeared deeper into a total black.

  “What’s down there?”

  “It’s the western entry to subStrata, a place its best to stay well clear of unless you have some serious firepower back up. There’s the kind of lawlessness you encounter in Lyonia, and then there’s the subStrata sort that could cost you dearly—inside or out.”

  “Who would want to live down there?” he asked, peering into the chasm.

  “All kinds, but generally those who prefer to keep to themselves, or at least avoid direct Federation oversight.”

  “In here?”

  “Either way, subStrata is one of the few places that openly resist official Senate and Federation oversight.”

  The terraBug entered the hands-free Red Zone and the traffic closed together as the drivers desperately sought the preferred lanes and delayed switching over.

  “Ouch,” Ba’illi said, and hit the wheel. “That’s what happens when I’m too busy talking and not paying attention to the road. I forgot the little reminder that we’re now in a hands-free zone.”

  “If the Colors of Gi LaMon equate to the Colors on the outside, is ultraviolet impossible in here?”

  Ba’illi briefly grabbed the wheel in feigned horror and let out a silly squeal. “The Gods can never exist inside Gi LaMon.”

  “If they did?”

  Ba’illi grimly shook his head. “I don’t know, and I hope I never find out.”

  The terraBug zoomed along off-ramp and onto the causeway.

  “See that Lotus-shaped building floating on the water—at the edge of the Inner Ring? That’s the Macula plaza where we’re going.”

  The terraBug parked on the 265th floor of the main bugStack.

  “We’ll take the escalator down. The airScrew is easier on the stomach than the hyperLift drop.”

  Tom stepped onto the hot forecourt pavement and quickly took refuge in the shadow of a broad-leafed tree. Regimented beds of brightly colored flowers in perpetual full bloom shrank towards the horizon in perfect perspective. “How can code model something so complicated?” he asked, unwilling to trust his senses.

  Ba’illi pushed his finger into a flower bed and held up his dirt-covered finger. “In Green, the
mathematics of the very small and the very big converged but never joined. However, Blue mathematics connected the two and produced a theory of everything. How it was at the beginning of the universe, to how it is now, and how it will be in the far-off future. Chaos to symmetry and back again.”

  “Everything?”

  “There were a few discrepancies the new theory couldn’t explain, and the nonbelievers viewed the gaps as proof of intelligent design. They said only God understood everything. Indigo mathematics tidied up the loose ends and reason prevailed. Every question had an answer.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “The Federation are not fools,” Ba’illi cautioned. “Their history dates back thirty-five thousand years. If they do not believe in God, it is because they never found proof.”

  Tom walked on in silence, having never seriously considered a world without God. The barrage of scientific reasoning from the portal had failed to convince him there wasn’t some kind of God, but with Teripeli’s zealous unraveling of nature and the power of hyper-mathematics? There had to be a God. If there wasn’t then his life was a product of fantastic chance without purpose and with a definite end. Gi LaMon proved the degree to which the brain could manufacture an unreal world from multi-sensory input to create order and understanding. Was Life, as he experienced it, another kind of illusion?

  If he placed his faith in science, as Ba’illi had done, he could attain a robust understanding of his place in the universe. Science was a rational path that used logic and verifiable methods to arrive at sensible answers. Did the Federation, the masters of the sciences, offer the best chance of a true and lasting peace? Did a rational world appear mysterious only because of his ignorance of the underlying Laws, or were the world of science and the search for definite answers a substratum of what was true and eternal? Faith made the world a simpler, friendlier, more predictable place, but was this just another make-believe? Was Faith in God the ultimate illusion for creating order in a chaotic, meaningless void? He halted and stared at his reflection in the large shop window. A troubled face stared back.

  “So, this is what I look like wearing a suit.”

  “I hope you approve,” Ba’illi said. “I thought you should look your best.”

  A cloud shadow crossed the courtyard in the center of the plaza.

  “Might rain later on,” Ba’illi said, gazing into the sky. “The forecast is for fine, but the weather’s unpredictable during the second Lunar Cycle.” He studied the rolling clouds a moment longer. “We should get inside before the rain.”

  Busy shoppers zigzagged from one store front to the next, trying on clothes, listening to music, eating and engaging in any one of the hundreds of sensory possibilities delivered at their beck and call.

  “I thought there would be more in here than this and why do they look so miserable if they have so many amusements?”

  “Blue is the preferred simulation Color. Green is for novices and those restricted here for misdemeanors.”

  Nearby, amongst the blazing, rapidly changing advertising holograms, a male and a female embraced passionately in a poster for adult entertainment. A lonely, grim-faced Heyrein looked on.

  “Travel anywhere in the universe,” a pretty, female assistant announced. “Sign up, and in the blink of an eye you can visit the world of your dreams,” she added, fluttering her long eyelashes.

  “The more you look at the sign, the more it changes to entice you in. The poster interprets your facial expressions, body language, and biometric responses and adjusts in real-time to maximize the chance of a sale,” Ba’illi explained.

  “A neural feedback loop. I get it.” The Heyrein female in the poster was attractive. How odd he should feel that way about another species. Her shoulder strap slipped, and she winked to him over the shoulder of her friend. She peeled from the poster and stepped onto the floor.

  “I can see you’re interested in our range of products and services,” she said.

  “Come,” Ba’illi urged, guiding him away. “We can’t be late for the fight.”

  The female blew a kiss. “Come back when you have some free time.”

  “I don’t see Sarra anywhere,” he said, scanning ahead down the escalator and across Telion Avenue. Bright lights flashed outside the storefront bars and dark stairways led to the clubs for private pastimes. “Is this subStrata?”

  “No. It’s much further down, beyond the exits. This is a food court from Kilep.”

  “Smells delicious, but I can’t eat here?”

  “You must go to the real Kilep… one day”

  “When do we leave?” he said, with a cheeky smile. “Why is it so crowded down here?”

  “Green is a cheap way to see the heavyweight rematch starting soon between Great Fury and Full Rage, our two best Kali exponents. The arena sold out before the tickets went public, but I have connections. However, connections or not, if we’re late to the fight the Distributor will overlay our ringside seats.”

  He froze in his tracks. It was Sarra—those green eyes, it had to be her. She wore a jacket over her shirt and trousers because she said they were more practical than a long dress when riding Ellie on errands. “Sarra,” he called out, walking then running towards her.

  Her face lit up, wide-eyed with surprise. “Is it you? It can’t be. In here?”

  “It’s me. I’ll prove it.” What did only they know? “We both hate cabbage.”

  “Where did we first kiss?”

  “Under the old oak tree,” they said together.

  “And you liked your dog, Dougal, better than me.”

  They burst out laughing.

  He spread his arms and hugged her tight. “I thought I was all alone.” He lifted her from the floor and swung her around, the way he used to when they were alone. “You look just how I remember you,” he said, staring into Sarra’s eyes. He peered down the jacket collar for the mole by her hairline at the base of the neck. It was there!

  They closed their eyes and kissed like awkward teenagers. First, a peck then longer touches and finally hard-pressed lips. The smell of her favorite rosemary perfume swam in his head. This was real and everything else was a horrible nightmare. He ran his hand through her long hair the way he’d always done.

  “I never thought I’d see you in a suit and tie,” she said as they untangled. “You know I’m a sucker for a uniform.”

  “And you’re in your favorites.” Embroidered stags on the collar. “It’s exactly how I… remember you.”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  He pulled away. “Nothing, I guess I’m overloaded with emotions… I can’t think straight.”

  “What do we do now? Reuzk keeps a close eye on me and I’m sure Queen Lillia does the same with you.”

  “We meet again and again—everyday until I find a way.”

  “Oh, Thomas. I’m thrilled we found each other. I didn’t know how long I could’ve gone on not knowing if you were alive or not. For real, not only in here. You are, aren’t you?”

  He forced a smile. “I’m real.”

  Two gunshots rang out and a wave of hysteria rolled down Telion Avenue, engulfing them.

  He reached through the crushing tide of bodies as the panic swept her away. “I love you,” he yelled.

  “Come for me,” she called back.

  A cold metal barrel pressed into his temple and a vice-like choke seized him around the throat from behind. He curled his hand and back-jabbed the assailant in the throat. He winced and clutched his fingers as if he’d hit a steel pole.

  Word of the shooting at Macula plaza spread at the speed of light and the crowd expanded like popcorn as professional onlookers rushed in to beat the OverLoad kick. For every shopper that blinked out in fright, three blinked in to witness the commotion: the voyeurs, the sadistic, the famous, and the fussing media. Default security settings routed uniformed enforcement agents to the scene.

  An agent stepped over the fallen guard. “Let him go,” he yelled. “We ha
ve you surrounded.”

  The tall figure, dressed head to foot in a hooded grey overcoat, widened his stance. “I am Edg. Back away or I’ll blow his head off.”

  The agents opened fire on Edg, but their bullets and hypodermic darts left only black impact marks on the overcoat. Edg fired off a magazine of short-range cluster darts, knocking down two agents and three unlucky visitors. He jammed the gun muzzle harder into Tom’s temple and dragged his cap lower to shade the spotlights. “One more step and I’ll—”

  An indiscreet blur to the distracted eye zeroed between the agents and reporters and touched Edg with its index finger on the side of the head. A chilling blue-cold glow radiated from its hands. Edg stood motionless, his mouth frozen half-open between words and the ‘K’ emblem on his cap faded away. The Stealth lorded over Edg like a top predator, ready and able to defend its claim against all comers.

  The correspondents, who covered only the biggest stories arrived an eye-blink later with OverLoad exemption passes swinging around their necks. Edg was one of the foulest inter-clan killers to have ever haunted the underworld. Such an infamous Rogue hadn’t come here to play. Why the plaza? Why now? Edg hadn’t been seen or heard of since the turf war amongst the Clans a hundred years ago.

  In normal times, an Edg interview would be the definitive scoop for a correspondent. However, the greatness and rarity of a Stealth changed the hostage drama from a good story that would get front page headlines into a lifetime highlight. The Stealth was the biggest news story to hit Gi LaMon in a very long time. Not since the suspicious death of Senator Telion had there been a verifiable sighting of a Stealth, and never in Green.

  The correspondents carried loaded lightScreens of questions for the Stealth but were either too awestruck to ask, or too cowardly to be the first to risk making eye contact inside Gi LaMon with the Federation’s most potent cyber weapon. A daring few positioned themselves whereabouts, within frame shot.

  Ba’illi flashed his badge to show he represented Queen Lillia. “Are you all right, Tom?” he yelled, bustling his way through the scrum of correspondents and security agents.