by Dima Zales
“Please don’t finish that thought unless you truly mean it.” Phoe’s tone sharpens. “You have no idea how much their virus took away from me. You’re pretty much the same person you were in Oasis, with minor changes like these wings, but I’m barely an echo of what I was before the virus attacked me. Parts of me are lost forever, and even if I regain those resources, I’ll never be the same person again. I would never execute a plan that involved such a high level of self-mutilation, or one that would cause you so much suffering.” In a softer voice, she adds, “I’m sorry I didn’t prevent this from happening. You have no idea how sorry I am.”
“No, I’m sorry too.” Guilt tightens my chest. “I’m sorry that I snapped at you. I don’t really think you planned all this. It’s just a lot to take in.”
“You should listen to what Wayne is about to say,” she thinks at me, clearly eager to change the subject.
I try to focus my mind enough to register what Brandon is hearing.
“No, this Youth, Theodore, could not have done this on his own. He’s a pawn,” Wayne says, his voice hitting deeper organ notes. “We want nothing more than to believe it was the work of a brilliant young man, but we can’t ignore the facts. There’s been too much tampering beyond what a human being can do. Theodore’s age is a good example. He’s clearly a Youth, if you look at him, but he’s ninety years old in all of Oasis’s systems. If any living person pulls up his information, an Augmented Reality illusion will fool them into thinking he’s the unaltered age of twenty-four.”
Wayne pauses, as if for dramatic purposes, and it works. I feel Brandon’s eyebrows rise and the hair on the back of his neck lift.
“Yes,” Wayne says. “And that’s one example. There are countless others. The Test is no longer running, and there’s evidence of mass Forgettings. I could list all the clues, but the conclusion we, the Circle, have reached is rather simple. Only one type of abominable being could manipulate our computer systems to such a degree: the enemy belonging to our deepest fears—an AI.”
Brandon swallows thickly as Wayne continues.
“We consulted our ancient protocols, which the eldest among us have had locked away for centuries, and took action,” Wayne says. “Without telling the outside world what we were about to do, the Circle struck at the enemy. Unfortunately, our efforts were in vain. No, worse than that. Before dying, in its anger, the AI retaliated by destroying all of Oasis. It suffocated every citizen in the real world.”
The terror Brandon feels is so disorienting that I miss Wayne’s next few sentences. Once I can push aside Brandon’s emotions, I hear Wayne say, “The whole Council, including this Theodore, will soon appear in the Cathedral. We’re concerned that before its demise, the AI could’ve turned those members of the Council against us. You have to send them all to Limbo, especially the one named Theodore.”
Questions flood Brandon’s head, and, confusingly, there’s an even bigger flood of questions in my mind. Unable to cope, I say, “Phoe, can you pull me out of his memory?”
Brandon’s thoughts stop, Wayne’s too-perfect features frozen in a grimace, and I’m back in the forest, running as I dodge tree branches.
Phoe’s see-through form is running next to me.
“I know how you must feel,” Phoe says. “When I learned this—”
“I can’t believe it was us.” I feel like my chest is about to explode from the pressure within. “We’re the reason everyone is dead.”
Phoe must’ve returned control of my body to me, because I stumble and almost fall as my foot catches on a branch.
“It was not our doing,” Phoe retorts as I right myself and resume running. “That’s on the Circle’s heads. They unleashed the virus.”
“He said it was you who killed everyone.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?” Phoe stops and looks at me with her transparent blue eyes. “Of course he would say that. He’s not about to admit that their plan to deal with me backfired so spectacularly. That in trying to get rid of me, they killed everyone in Oasis.”
A branch hits me in the face as I stop next to her. The pain of the strike, combined with my turbulent emotions, makes my eyes water.
“Theo, you can’t beat yourself up like this,” Phoe says, looking at me. “Yes, the way we crashed the Test revealed my existence to these people, which caused them to lash out, but blaming ourselves is like blaming the victim for getting robbed. This virus almost killed me, and your real-world body is dead. It was the Circle that unleashed the virus. Clearly, they didn’t understand what they were doing.”
I shake my head numbly. “If I never met you, if I never brought up those three hundred Screens, everyone in Oasis would still be alive. Liam would be alive. It wasn’t a perfect society, but it was better than none.”
“It’s not all lost.” Phoe places her hand on my shoulder. Though her fingers go through me, warmth spreads from the spot she touched me. “The virus can’t penetrate the Firewall or the DMZ area. That means everyone who died is still backed up in Limbo. As long as that remains the case, the deceased are not really gone. If we survive this place, if I regain enough resources, I could simulate Oasis, if that’s what you wanted, or I could come up with a better environment, one with more nature and less bullshit. Once that’s done, I could bring back anyone you wanted.”
I stare at her. I know my friends are stored as backups in the DMZ, or in Limbo, or whatever. We even talked about restoring Mason before. But I also remember that she said bringing him back would be selfish.
“Bringing anyone back before I have enough resources to let them exist beyond a brief time would be selfish. Once I have enough resources, however, not bringing them back would be selfish.”
“But if you didn’t have the resources before, where—”
“Ah, but don’t you see that, as sad as it is, the virus created a horde of resources for me to reclaim? It killed everything—every computer program the Forebears ran to keep me unconscious—and made certain costly processing tasks, such as Augmented Reality illusions and life support, no longer necessary. If the virus went away, I’d have more than enough resources to bring the simulated people back.”
“But they’re dead.” I know I’m not being completely rational, but I can’t forget Liam’s purple face. “How real would their resurrected selves be?”
“You tell me,” Phoe says. “You don’t feel dead, do you? To me, living means experiencing the world with your mind. In that sense, you’re still alive and kicking. Liam, Mason, and anyone else you need could have the same life you have now, and in a place of your choosing.” She looks up at the strange sky, then starts running again. “If you like what the Forebears created, we can use it for inspiration,” she says over her shoulder, “but I suspect you’ll want something better for you and your friends.”
When I catch up to her, we run for a few minutes in silence. Phoe is right. I feel alive and as real as before, which isn’t surprising. I felt real when I was with her on the beach, even though I knew I wasn’t alive in that environment. But I had a real-world body as my anchor then, and now I don’t. The idea makes my skin crawl. Haven feels like I’m stuck in a video game, and I don’t want to feel this way forever.
“You feel like you’re stuck in a video game because it’s actually not that far from the truth,” Phoe says. “Haven was built on a framework technology very similar to the IRES game. That’s why choosing your wings and appearance was so similar to the start of a video game. Unlike the environment I would create, this place doesn’t model your body exactly, molecule by molecule, and that subtly changes the way you feel. Your wings and the fact that this environment doesn’t follow the familiar laws of physics also increase the feeling that this is a virtual space. With time, though, you’d get used to it.”
“But it’s not real. Even if I get used to it, these birds”—I look up at the distant flock of starlings that form a mesmerizing murmuration—“these trees—all this stuff doesn’t exist.”
> “Now you’re getting philosophical on me,” Phoe says. “And if you want to play that game, I should point out that everything you’ve ever experienced in your ‘real’ life was your brain’s interpretation of your sensory inputs. Your mind constructed the world from what your eyes and ears captured through imperfect, ancient, biologically based sensors. Your eyes could only see a sliver of the full range of the electromagnetic spectrum, and your ears could only hear a portion of the sounds surrounding you. Your brain took that incomplete information and created a virtual reality in which you lived. In a way, your reality was a step removed from what’s really out there. You never had the complete picture. Now there’s just an extra layer of unreality added. If we get out of this Haven mess, perhaps I could figure out a way to give you sensors to experience the real world.”
I’m glad I’m running through a meadow and don’t have to deal with branches hitting my face. In the state I’m in, my dodging skills are probably inadequate. Needless to say, Phoe’s words haven’t calmed me.
“You feel better when you focus on a plan, so that’s what we should do,” she says.
I shrug and slow down to walk toward the meadow’s edge.
Phoe takes my silence as an invitation to keep talking. “We need to learn whatever we can about this virus,” she says, matching her pace to mine. “Once I know how it works, I might be able to beat it and reclaim—”
Phoe suddenly falls silent and looks at the edge of the meadow that’s now ten feet away from us.
A tall woman walks out from the tree line of the forest.
She’s stunning, as all Forebears seem to be. She’s also nearly naked, with only ivy-like leaves covering her private parts. There’s a woven basket hooked on her slender elbow, with a bunch of colorful mushrooms inside.
She looks like some kind of wild woman from the forest.
When the Forebear sees me, her eyes widen and she drops the basket, the mushrooms spilling onto the grass.
Her arm twitches, and a large metal stick materializes in her hand. With a graceful gesture, she spreads the object, and I see that it’s some kind of metal fan, with blades adorning the tips of the rods that serve as the fan’s joints.
“It’s an iron fan,” Phoe hisses in my ear. “They used this weapon in ancient China and Japan.”
The woman lunges at me.
I duck in time to dodge the knife-like blades of the fan.
The contraption whooshes across the crown of my head, slicing a chunk of my hair off.
Unperturbed, the ivy-clad woman gracefully swings the deadly fan at my throat.
13
I pivot back to save my life, but the blades still connect with my throat.
A sharp stab of pain radiates from where the fan scratched me. Stunned but happy to be alive—or still exist, or whatever the proper term is for my state of being—I scramble backward and yell, “Who are you? Why are you attacking me?”
The woman doesn’t respond; instead, she executes a somersault.
It looks as though she’s doing a handstand that’s been recorded and played back at a super-fast rate. By the end of this flashy maneuver, she’s beside me.
She folds up her fan so it’s a solid stick once more. I begin to gesture for my own weapons, but the woman is faster and jabs her stick into my side.
The pain forces me to abandon my gesture. The metal of her weapon feels so cold that I’m reminded of my last moments in Oasis when I was freezing to death. When I glance down, bile rushes up my throat. Half an inch of her weapon is stuck inside my stomach. She rips the fan out, splashing my luminescent blood onto the grass and redefining what pain really means.
I’m on the verge of fainting. White stardust specks dance across my eyes, and through the haze, I see the woman unfold the fan again.
The sharp points of her weapon fly at my throat.
I suspect Phoe takes over my body again, because I move. Had she left me on my own, I would’ve curled into a little ball.
With superhuman agility, I dodge the fan and grab my attacker’s slender wrist in a white-knuckled fist. At the same time, I slam the side of my other hand into her inner elbow.
The sharp blades of her fan pierce her throat instead of mine.
Not pausing, I punch the handle of the fan, pushing the steel spikes through her throat.
The woman’s gurgling scream sounds like someone is using a rusty saw to play a majestic harp. As she falls, her body disintegrates into pixelated blotches and disappears.
Breathing hard, I stare at the upturned basket and the mushrooms on the grass—the only proof the woman was here.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, turning toward Phoe. My eyes widen. “Wow, you have a body now?”
“Yes.” Phoe touches my elbow with her very real fingers. “I’m as substantial as anyone else in this place. Jeanine’s resources were instrumental in that. As to what happened—well, she attacked us. Since I have her memories, I can show you why, if you’d like.”
I check my stomach wound and then my neck. There’s nothing there. Not even a scar.
“Everyone heals better here. It’s part of the game-based infrastructure,” Phoe says. “I just sped up the healing for you again. Now let me show you her memories.”
I manage to plop down on the grass before I find myself in a stranger’s head again.
I’m walking toward the meadow.
It feels odd because my body is too slender, has curves in all the wrong places, and my gait is completely wrong, with my hips moving oddly from side to side.
My name is Jeanine.
Phoe mentioned this name in passing, but in these memories, it’s more than a name.
Like when I was in Brandon’s memories, I’m not just aware of Jeanine’s thoughts as we’re walking; I’m also aware of her entire history and can recall it if I wish. Some of her memories flash through my mind. I remember a little girl back on Earth, boarding a ship that isn’t yet the Oasis I know. I remember the illness that took her life and her waking up with the first wave of Forebears in Haven. Particularly interesting, I see Jeanine’s entire life here, including the centuries of leisure and pleasures. She knew Brandon, the man we Limbofied. She knew him so intimately—
“Focus, Theo, or you’ll miss what she was thinking when she saw us,” Phoe says. “It’s what you want to know, isn’t it?”
I look through Jeanine’s eyes. I’m walking on my island, collecting mushrooms for Brandon’s favorite stew. I walk into the meadow and see a new face.
Jeanine’s thoughts are frantic. She remembers what Brandon said before departing for the cathedral—the secret he shared about the grim task the Circle gave him—and why.
A quick chain of reasoning fires through Jeanine’s mind. This new person must be part of the group Brandon is supposed to neutralize. Yet he’s here.
She’s in danger. The whole of Haven may be in danger from this person who escaped Brandon and his Guardians.
She needs to act swiftly.
Her heart heavy with worry about Brandon, she summons her weapon, grateful for his lessons.
“I don’t want to experience stabbing myself in the throat,” I think at Phoe as the memory of the fight unfolds from Jeanine’s point of view. “Please—”
I’m back in the meadow, in my body, and my head is spinning.
“She was dating—”
“The big guy we Limbofied.” Phoe squats next to me and hugs her knees. “It’s sad. They really loved each other. You can see it in their memories. In a way, it’s almost better that these events turned out the way they did. At least they won’t miss each other. Hopefully, they’ll get reinstated together at some point.”
“Wait, Phoe. Let’s back up. Dating? I saw it in her memories, the taboo things they did together.”
“Not so different from what we did.” Phoe winks at me salaciously.
“But we were breaking all sorts of rules,” I say. “These are Forebears. For them to have sex…”
�
�I know. It’s not the first time these people have proven to be hypocrites. In this case, I think they’d argue that Haven is a form of afterlife, so the rules can be different. From what I can tell, they look back on their lives in Oasis as a form of extended childhood. The way the Forebears who were born in Oasis see it, you only truly mature after you’ve lived a life. If you look at it from their point of view, there’s no harm in a two-hundred-year ban on sex when you’ll have millenniums in Haven to make up for it.” She grimaces. “For the other Forebears, the ones who originally came from Earth, sex was never a taboo. I think they allowed it here because they couldn’t live without it, and the Oasis newcomers benefitted—”
Phoe stops talking and looks at the sky in shock—an expression I don’t think I’ve ever seen on her face before.
At first, I think she’s looking at the crows flying by, which does seem odd outside the Zoo, but then I see the real source of Phoe’s concern.
The clouds that normally float all over the sky have gathered together in one spot, forming a distinguishable shape.
The clouds have become a face.
There is a face made out of clouds in the sky, like something out of an ancient story.
I fight the urge to rub my eyes. Human beings tend to see faces in random patterns. Phoe once explained to me that facial recognition is something human beings are so good at that sometimes the mechanics of it backfire, and we see faces in a patch of dirt or in the ripples of water. However, in this case, since Phoe is also looking up at the clouds, I know it’s not a visual self-deception. The face in the clouds must really be a face—which makes as much sense as the floating islands surrounding it.
The face is male. His eyes look wise, and his firm jawline gives him an air of nobility.
The cloud’s lips part, and in a voice that booms louder than thunder, the face says, “Haven. Hear me.”
The crows scatter, and even the forest looks subdued, as if pummeled by the sound.
“The Circle will speak in an hour,” the booming voice continues. “Everyone should gather. We have dire news.”