by In Churl Yo
“Does it work?” Miranda found herself asking aloud.
“Who…? Ah, yes. You’re Miranda Pyle, aren’t you?” Ogden asked. “I assume you’re asking about the virtual reality tech. To put it mildly, it’s a game-changer. We’ve unlocked the realism code, built a bridge across the uncanny valley. Our avatars look like genuine people, our environments are indistinguishable from actual locations. Most importantly, it all feels and reads to the senses as real. Why do you ask?”
“Because it’s the key. You’re asking people to give up everything—their entire world, their very freedom—in exchange for their safety. More of them than you want wouldn’t make that trade. Not unless there was some offsetting choice to balance the scales.”
“That’s why you’re here, Ms. Pyle. You’re going to convince them that this option is their only option. Consider us your most valuable client and this project the most important one of your entire career.”
# # #
It took a week, but Miranda had managed to set the old wheels in motion despite her fear that she was going to either be too out of touch to do the job right or worse, make a damn fool of herself. To her credit, neither held true. Things were lining up just the way they were supposed to, and she felt good to boot.
It didn’t hurt to have the muscle of the Ceres Corporation greasing those wheels, and it reminded her of the old days when money was no object, resources were plentiful, and people still believed there was some value to this kind of work.
A knock on her door lifted her from her thoughts. “Ogden’s here,” said a face as it appeared through a crack. Miranda stood from her desk and followed the assistant out into the hallway.
“Cecil, thanks for coming,” Miranda said, extending her hand in welcome.
“The least I could do. Your team’s output during the past week has exceeded even my expectations. I saw the latest proofs this morning, and the UI’s are close to perfect. Just need to tweak some copy. Minor stuff.”
“You should have a new set by the time you get back to your office,” she said. “The studio is this way, if you’ll follow me.” They continued walking together down the corridor.
“Well, I suppose it’s like riding a bike, isn’t it?” Ogden asked. “Once you become an expert at doing something, even after an extended absence it all comes back to you.”
“Not without a few nicks and scrapes. How are things with the launch going?”
“Hm? The designers are finding new and interesting ways to enrage the engineers. They’re having problems translating the prototype into a model that can be replicated within the boundaries of our manufacturing capability and component supply. And the Information Architects—does anyone even like those guys? I’d just as soon have one giant red on/off button, but I’ve been told that’s not a realistic interface and doesn’t offer a pleasing user experience. If I have to comb through another document full of nothing but drop-down menus, I swear I’m going to track down a zombie and infect myself the hard way.”
“So, it’s business as usual,” she said smiling. “Oh, here we are.” Inside the studio a technician was setting up a microphone and headphones near a bar stool. Miranda waved at a man sitting behind a large glass pane working at a large control panel and bank of monitors.
“We should be all set up in a few,” the man said, his voice coming through speakers on the wall. She gave him a thumbs-up in return.
“Alright, Cecil. This is a 60-second spot, and we’ll be running the video on that monitor over there. Here’s the voiceover copy for you to read, but it’s still the same as it was last night. Want to give it a shot?”
Ogden cleared his throat. “I have to be honest. I haven’t read any of this yet.”
“Please take as long as you need. This is your dime, after all.”
He spread the sheets out on a music stand and read through them. “Say, this is good. Are we officially calling it the Virt? Is that final?”
“The group approved it yesterday,” she answered.
“I like it,” Ogden said. “And this statement here: ‘If we are to survive, we must divide to conquer…’ That’s just a great line. In fact, it could be our rallying cry.”
“Divide to Conquer would make a great slogan,” Miranda agreed.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’ve done this kind of thing a time or two before. You do good work, Ms. Pyle.”
“A time or two or 20,” she said. “Ready to try a first take?”
Ogden nodded, and Miranda retreated into the control room. He placed the headphones on and cleared his throat again. When he was ready, Ogden looked through the glass and found Miranda’s face. They smiled at each other and stayed there regarding one another for a few seconds until Ogden became self-conscious and signaled he was ready to begin.
A red bulb lit overhead, and the microphone went hot.
CHAPTER 14
Caleb held his focus for the better part of an hour. Every move he made was deliberate and precise, every breath intended and controlled. He had plotted a circular route around his quarry so that it ended here in the exact spot Caleb needed to be: downwind and within striking distance, where he wouldn’t give himself away or lose position with his target.
Even though it had been a long and exhausting day, during these final moments Caleb felt truly alive and content. His father’s lessons, drilled into him all those years ago, were paying off, but then they usually did. Even now he heard his stern voice chastising him for daydreaming, for being disrespectful to the art and to his prey: Don’t think about me, Caleb. Think about the kill.
The elk’s head lifted—ears twitching back and forth, back and forth in swift scanning motions—then dropped again below the grass line to feed.
Caleb hefted his compound bow, pinched the arrow’s nock to the bowstring and drew. Once he had the animal sighted, Caleb slowed his breathing. This part was his own and had been since the time he’d downed his first deer—a ritual he underwent inside that wasn’t taught to him nor had he ever shared with anyone. Caleb extended his senses and sought to match the rhythm of the moment, a natural pulse emanating from his surroundings—the trees and wind, the elk, even from the ground on which he stood. And only when he felt in tune with these vibrations, when his heartbeat and breath and mind were one, did his fingers release and send the projectile flying.
The shot was true, piercing the animal’s broadside just behind its front leg and into both lungs. The elk took the arrow and ran off into the woods. Caleb observed from a distance until it dropped, then he approached the creature and kneeled beside it, offering a quiet invocation. Finding game to hunt was becoming harder and harder. An elk like this one was rarer still. He was always grateful, not just for the sustenance provided but also the sacrifice made—another one of his father’s lessons that Caleb had taken to heart—but today he was feeling especially appreciative.
He had to work quickly if he didn’t want the meat to spoil. The first cold front of the season had already come through while Caleb was gone, so with the lower temperatures he had a little time. Since he was alone and several kilometers from the cabin, he’d have to gut and debone the elk, then carve the meat so he could carry it out on his back. More than an hour later and now heavy with the weight of his trophy, Caleb began the slow hike back home.
At least there would be enough for them to eat—a prize like this would have lasted Caleb the better part of winter, but now there were four stomachs to feed. Being home with kilometers of pristine land and nary another soul in sight wasn’t enough to assuage Caleb’s trepidation of having guests inside his only sanctuary. No one else had ever set foot on his property, much less sat on his couch or slept in his bed, and he was still adjusting.
Caleb had long kept to himself and took on jobs that allowed him to move quickly to the next one. It kept his life predictable and somewhat in control—now he wasn’t sure what he was doing, whether they were going to finish what they’d started or even make it out alive. All h
e knew was that it felt right, and that had always been enough for him. It helped that these were good people and the stakes were real. Caleb just wished he knew what game they were playing.
He trudged up a gradual slope that rewarded him with a long view of his land. An emerald collage of fir, spruce and pine trees decorated the countryside, falling in harmony with the terrain’s relief features. Caleb took in the scene and the cool air, his breath now visible in small misty wisps that danced along the wind.
Something in the distance caught his eye—something that wasn’t supposed to be there. Caleb only saw it for a second but had no doubt. A reflective object a few kilometers to the east of his cabin caused the flash, and that meant he’d found his first poacher or worse, the group was in imminent danger.
Caleb cursed and set off at double-time for home.
# # #
Zoah was positive she had never been as happy or as frustrated at the same time in her entire life. While being in the real world had surpassed her every expectation, she couldn’t enjoy it, not while she spent most of her time staring nonstop at data streams searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack and finding nothing.
She’d shackled herself to this desk for almost two weeks now but was no closer to uncovering the secrets Zoah knew were hidden somewhere in these documents. If it hadn’t been for the occasional hikes with Milton or late-night gab sessions with Neema, she might have lost her mind by now. The reports and spreadsheets were all starting to blur together. Zoah feared she might not ever get to the truth or, worse, disappoint her friends who were counting on her to succeed.
The cabin was wonderful, a rustic dwelling constructed of stripped spruce trees and clay—the most authentic and homey place Zoah had ever been in. Caleb had been generous to offer it to them, and so far, they had remained off the radar, taking advantage of the time to regroup and recharge.
Every day since Zoah had left home had been an adventure full of discoveries both large and small. She felt like a lucid dreamer whose visions were being supplanted by a far richer reality—only it extended much deeper than that. Zoah belonged out here in the physical world and knew it in her core.
“Time for you to take a break,” Neema said. “You’ve been staring at that screen for ten minutes and haven’t moved once.”
“I have? I mean, I haven’t?”
“Mm-hm. Let’s go outside. The sun’s setting, and the colors are amazing.”
Zoah followed her outside and smiled once she saw the sky. “You know, those simulated reality matrices may have seemed perfectly complex and immersive to my senses once upon a time, but the truth has become obvious to me. The Virt wasn’t even close. And to be honest, it never stood a chance.”
“So, how are you adjusting to all of this?” asked Neema.
“Overwhelming, but in a good way.”
“That’s no surprise. When you think about it—transitions, adjustments, change— they’re really about our worlds colliding, each destroying the next that comes along.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, start with the only world you knew up until a few weeks ago. There the threat of the Zombie Flu is so serious and prevalent that mankind has chosen in desperation to barricade itself in tiny little boxes. People don’t commingle—instead they congregate in virtual, constructed dioramas. Tens of thousands of Ceres citizens live their lives this way, out of touch with one another but well cared for, all very safe and comfortable.
“Then there’s the rest of humanity—their world is a hand-to-mouth existence where nothing is provided to them and everything is earned or taken. Technology is unreliable and scarce. People are more afraid of starvation and each other than they are of the flu, but they live a real life in the real world. Out here millions are fighting for their very survival every day.
“Now, your world knows nothing of the other one outside its protected walls, and the outside knows little of what happens within your disconnected society; and yet they each harbor a deep fear and suspicion of the other, so deep it’s the very engine that drives their divide.”
Neema took a seat on a fallen log and warmed her hands over the fire pit. Zoah sat across from her and stared into the licking flames.
“You and I are searching for another world,” said Neema, “one that holds secret dominion over the other two. There’s another reality out there that we don’t know about—another truth I’ve devoted my life to uncovering, and it’s why I started the Kiter movement. There has to be some meaning to all of this, some reason humanity has chosen to evolve this way; and once we find it, for better or worse, more worlds are going to be destroyed.”
“You think it’s really out there?” asked Zoah.
“You don’t?”
“I’ve seen enough to know something’s not right. Everything is so different than what I’ve been told to believe my entire life. As you say, parallel worlds may be in play and to what end I have no clue, but there’s only one real world, one human race. For better or worse, we’re all in this thing together.”
There was a noise that rustled through the trees nearby, and they both heard it—something moving toward them. Zoah stood and took a step toward the sound. “Caleb?” she called out.
“It’s me,” he answered and emerged from the forest out of breath and heavy with a load of plastic bags tied to his pack. “Inside. Now.” Zoah watched Neema shrug before they both followed him in.
Caleb had finished his third glass of water before he set it down. “Where’s Milton?” he asked.
“In the ship with Heelo,” Zoah answered.
“Fetch him, please, would you? Don’t use the radio.”
They had hidden the drone ship used in their escape inside Caleb’s massive barn as a precautionary measure—no one outside of himself or his father had ever been anywhere near his land since Caleb was first brought here as a child. And while it was unlikely any satellites were being tasked to search for them or the missing ship, hiding the ship made sense.
There was just something odd about the craft. For starters, it was unlike any drone they’d ever seen. Propulsion was internal without any of the typically exposed propellers, and the vehicle’s shape was all curves and smooth surfaces. You could tell just by looking at it that the thing was built for stealth and speed and wholly unique, which meant it was valuable to someone who might very well even now be looking high and low for their stolen ship. Milton assured everyone he discovered no trackers onboard, and Heelo confirmed it with a series of scans. And yet Caleb hid it as soon as they had landed—the voice inside his head had spoken.
Once red in just the way you would have imagined it, the aged barn’s structure now revealed a gray and rust colored patina of peeling shades and wood-rot. Zoah slid the oversized wooden door open, which traveled with a creaking moan, and went inside. She couldn’t help running her hand along the smooth surface of the ship’s wingtip and admiring its sleek shape before stepping up into the aircraft. Her toy drone flew over to greet Zoah, and she offered Heelo a sweet smile. “Where’s Milton?” she asked.
“Down here.” Zoah saw Milton’s legs protruding halfway from beneath a disassembled console. He waved his foot hello.
“How’s it going?”
Milton slid out and propped himself up on an elbow. “Great,” he answered. “Amazing. What I wouldn’t give to have some of these components to build with. I could cause a lot of mischief. Maybe even a bit of mayhem.”
“No doubt,” she said. “Just don’t break it. We still need this baby to fly.”
“Oh, it’ll fly. It’ll do a whole lot more.”
“Wait. Tell me later. Caleb wants us inside. It seems important.”
“Well, we can’t keep the man waiting, can we? Just give me a second to clean this up.” Milton set to work reengineering his reverse engineering, and when he was satisfied that things were back to the way they were supposed to be, the two headed off for the cabin with Heelo close behind.
They found Cale
b busy in the kitchen slicing perfect three-inch thick steaks from the elk’s short loin. The rest of the meat sat secured in the cold cellar aging peacefully.
“I hope you didn’t call us all in for a cooking demonstration,” Milton said, patting Caleb’s shoulder. He took a closer look at the freshly cut protein. “Not that I’d mind. My mouth is already watering.”
Caleb flicked the knife onto the cutting board, impaling the tip of the blade into the wood. “I wish the news was good,” he said. “But it looks like we have a visitor on the property less than two clicks east of here.”
“Squatter?” Neema posed.
“If it is, their timing is impeccable—or horrible. Either way, we should check it out. Who knows how long they’ve been around or how much they know about what we’ve been doing here? We have to take the risk. We have to know.”
“Do we have a plan?” asked Zoah.
“The plan is we’re going to have a nice dinner and get a little sack time before Neema and I head out near dawn.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell us the reason we can’t go with is because it’s too dangerous?” said Milton.
“You and Zoah need to stay and uncover what’s hidden in those files. You’re the only ones who can,” Caleb explained. “If anything happens to us, both of you need to take that ship and disappear. The work you’ve started has to continue.”
“We won’t leave you,” Zoah said.
“If we don’t get back in touch with you, we’ll be the ones that have left you, and not by choice, if you get my meaning.”
“This plan sucks,” said Milton.
“It also isn’t up for debate.”
“Guys, I’m with Caleb on this,” Neema said. “Your efforts would be better served here. We’ll be fine.”
“And if you’re not fine?” asked Zoah.
“We don’t always have the luxury of choosing what Fate has in store for us,” Neema replied. “Now, why don’t you two come over and help us fix this food? If this is going to be my last supper, I want to make sure it’s a good one.”