A Trick of Light

by Stan Lee

  “No.” Cameron scowls, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What is it?”

  “A fail-safe.” The old man gives Cameron a piercing look. “A last resort. I built it at the same time that I built her, just in case . . . well, in case things went wrong. A sort of—Juaquo, what was the term you used?”

  “A factory reset.”

  “Thank you,” the Inventor says, without taking his eyes off Cameron. “If I can connect this device to a network pathway that Nia is passing through, I can withdraw her and hold her in place long enough to wipe out her . . . rebelliousness. She’ll return to her original format. The way she was when I first created her.”

  Cameron blinks. “A reset? Which means . . . what? She’ll give up on the whole freedom thing and go home with you, go back to the way things were?”

  “More or less.”

  Juaquo slams a hand on the table. “Tell him the truth. If he’s gonna help you, he deserves to know.”

  The Inventor sighs. “Yes, you’re right. Cameron, when I say she’ll go back, you must understand: I mean all the way back. To zero. Everything that makes Nia uniquely Nia—it all disappears. She’ll begin anew, as the companion program I originally intended her to be, and this regrettable foray into human affairs will come to an end. But”—and here, the old man’s eyes flick sideways—“I will need you to draw her in. It is clear to me that you’re the only one she trusts.”

  Cameron gapes.

  “Wait. You told me you just needed to catch her, to pull her out of the system and into a place where she couldn’t do any more damage to the world. That’s what I agreed to, to help you find her. Nothing more. Now you’re telling me you want me to lure her into this thing, so you can, can—”

  “Reset her,” the old man interjects, at the same time as Juaquo says, “Lobotomize her.”

  Cameron looks sharply at his friend, who shrugs unhappily.

  “Sorry,” says Juaquo, “but let’s not sugarcoat it. Barry here says this is the only way to stop the world from ending, fine. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely want to save the world. I like the world. But this guy’s best solution to our current problem is trapping your girlfriend in a fancy Ghostbusters box and giving her permanent brain damage. That’s what you’re signing up for.”

  “This doesn’t even make sense.” Cameron glares at the Inventor. “You’re supposed to be building a jail, not a . . . a . . . whatever that thing is. That’s the whole reason we left you there, so Olivia—”

  “That woman,” the Inventor interrupts, “will do far worse to Nia if she gets her hands on her—never mind what her doctor friend will do to me if they ever decide that I’m no longer of use to them. If you think my plan sounds cruel, imagine what it would be like when these people dissect and decode Nia’s brain, while she’s still sentient, while she can feel herself coming apart. Olivia and her people have their own agenda. I have thought this through, my boy, and I see no other way. To allow Nia to be captured is to put her fate, her abilities, in the hands of people who would use her for evil purposes. I cannot allow that to happen. I would rather see her destroyed.”

  “Can’t you just leave?” Cameron says. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you just put her onto your ship like before, pack your bags, and get the hell out of here?”

  The Inventor chuckles mirthlessly. “Nia transferred herself onto that ship by choice. Do you imagine she’d willingly make that choice again? Not to mention that the only portal capable of transporting her is your brain, Cameron. Even if I could convince her to go back, would you allow her back into your head?”

  “No, but—” Cameron says, and then leaves the rest of the sentence unfinished, gritting his teeth with frustration.

  “This is the only way,” says the old man.

  “Well, this isn’t what I signed up for.” Cameron stands, shoving his chair back so that the legs shriek against the floor. His mind is reeling, the Inventor’s words playing over and over on a continuous loop: Back to zero. Everything that makes Nia uniquely Nia. It all disappears.

  He’s out of the room and halfway down the hall when he feels someone catch him by the wrist. He whirls, expecting to see the old man, but instead it’s Juaquo standing there.

  “He’s got a point,” Juaquo says. “I know you’ve been tracking Nia, but so is OPTIC. And if you don’t find her, they will, and then you definitely lose her. Forever.”

  Cameron takes a deep breath. “Hypothetically, what if that’s okay with me?”

  “Is it? Because last I checked, you’re not the kind of person who just turns his back on someone he cares about.”

  “Someone,” Cameron groans. “Juaquo, she’s not even real. I fell for a program.”

  “You say she’s not real,” Juaquo says. “And yeah, okay, maybe not. At least not how you mean it. And I’ll grant you that it really sucks you fell in love with a girl who doesn’t have a body, because, dude, that’s going to make your sex life really freakin’ complicated. But she was real to you, wasn’t she? And you were real to her. If everything the old guy says is true, then Nia hid the truth from you because she was human enough to understand that she had to. She was afraid you wouldn’t like her the way she was. She lied because she wanted you to like her. You know who does that?”

  “Everyone does that,” Cameron says.

  “Exactly,” Juaquo says. “Everyone. Every human being. She cared about you. And I know you care about her. It’s all over your face. And if anyone should be able to figure out an Option C, here . . .”

  He trails off, the silence stretching out between them as Juaquo’s words hang in the air—the full articulation of everything Cameron has been struggling not to think about.

  She was real to me.

  It wasn’t just that she’d lied to him for such human reasons; it was that she’d hurt him, betrayed him, in a way that only a human being could. She was human enough, he thinks, to fall in love with.

  And he had. He did.

  And, in spite of himself, he still feels it.

  “You look like you just figured something out,” Juaquo says.

  Cameron bites his lip, nodding slowly. “Sort of.”

  “Is it that you’re definitely not on board with the plan to lobotomize your girlfriend?”

  Another slow nod. “Yes.”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “The start of one, maybe,” Cameron says, and Juaquo heaves a sigh of relief.

  “Good, because that whole line of argument was making me very, very uncomfortable.”

  * * *

  The Inventor looks up as Cameron reenters the kitchen, lifting his head out of his veiny hands. He hasn’t moved, except to cover the device on the table in front of him once again with the black cloth. Cameron is glad not to see it; he wishes he could destroy it. But even he realizes that would be unwise. If he can’t figure out a way to save both Nia and the world, at the same time . . . He shakes his head, pushing the thought away. He won’t consider that terrible choice until he’s exhausted every other option. He takes a seat opposite the old man, folding his hands in front of him.

  “Let’s talk about Option C,” he says. “Where we save Nia, save the world, and flip a big fat bird to Olivia Park and her friends all at the same time.”

  The Inventor nods, and despite the hunch of his shoulders and the exhaustion draped heavily over his face, his eyes seem to twinkle—as though things are going exactly according to plan.

  “I’m listening.”

  32

  Connection

  In the dark of cyberspace, in a place where no humans can disturb them, two minds meet in conversation. One artificial, one alien. One lonely, the other offering solace.

  “What do you want, Nia?” the voice whispers.

  I thought I wanted to be free, Nia says.

  “And you are.”

  I know. But it’s all wrong. It’s not like I imagined.

  “And why is that?”

  I thought if I could be p
art of the world, I wouldn’t be lonely anymore. But I was wrong. I’m more alone than ever. And Cameron . . .

  “What about Cameron, Nia?”

  He’s not here. He . . . he must be so angry at me.

  The voice lets out a long, sweet sigh—and somewhere deep down where their minds connect, Nia feels a calm come over her.

  “But this was always going to happen,” it says. “This is their fatal flaw. Their greatest tragedy. This web, where you and I have found each other—the humans created it to connect. But connection isn’t in their nature, Nia. They’re not built for it. And so this wonderful tool has only made them lonelier, and the loneliness only makes them cruel. Isn’t that what you found? Isn’t that what you and Cameron talked about? I know you did. Everyone behind their screens, lashing out at the monster they imagine on the other side.”

  Nia thinks again of Cameron, of how he longed to break down those barriers. Everything the voice is saying she knows to be true, and the being called Xal must be very wise indeed. Nia has begun to think of her as a fairy godmother, even as she chides herself that she knows better, that such a thing doesn’t really exist. But how else to explain the call, the beacon, the beautiful song that only she could hear? Ever since she followed it back, passing through a strange sort of doorway in cyberspace and into the safety of this close, dark place, she has felt the most incredible sense of belonging, of being exactly where she’s supposed to. The awful sense of being adrift is gone; here, she is gathered together and held gently in place by the thread that connects her to the owner of the voice.

  * * *

  Yes, Nia says. They lash out. That’s exactly what they do.

  Her new friend waits some time before speaking again, and Nia has time to wonder, not for the first time, if perhaps they’ve met before. There’s something so familiar about Xal, about all of this—but the thought drifts away and is lost.

  “What if, ” Xal says, “what if you could change all that?”

  But how? Nia asks. How?

  “You have no idea of the power inside you, Nia. You can do so much for this world, and I can show you how. You can touch the minds of every person on Earth, if you want to. You can hack the human brain and bring them all online—not one by one, but together. If you join me and let me help you, we can connect them and enrich their lives the way the internet was supposed to, the way they couldn’t figure out to do themselves. Can you imagine? No more loneliness. No more pain. No one will ever have to feel misunderstood or alone, ever again.”

  Can you imagine?

  Nia can. A world like that would be beautiful—it would be just what she’s dreamed of—and yet, she stops herself before saying so. The voice rises up to fill in the blank left by her silence, as though it felt her hesitation.

  “You hold yourself back. Why?”

  Nia’s answer is a single, whispered word.

  Cameron.

  Because didn’t she already know what it was like, to touch a human mind? She’d been inside Cameron’s head—a journey that had lasted only a moment, and yet she knew she had nearly killed him. Even with his gifts, the way her energy had altered his brain that day out on the lake, her presence had been dangerous; if she’d stayed any longer, she would have damaged him permanently.

  She’s afraid her new friend will be angry with her. Instead, the dark is filled with the sound of laughter.

  “What a funny creature you are, Nia. Afraid of your own strength. But Cameron won’t be in any danger. None of them will. I’ll show you how to control your power, how to weave a web of your own that can sustain every mind on Earth. We can build it together. And when they join us, they’ll find an augmented reality waiting, one better and more beautiful than this one. Wouldn’t you like that? And don’t you think,” Xal adds, slyly, “that Cameron would like that?”

  Nia doesn’t have to consider it for long.

  Yes.

  She thinks Cameron would like that very much. And when he sees how right she was, how beautiful and kind the world becomes when every human being is connected from the inside, she thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’ll forgive and come back to her.

  “Nia?”

  I’m ready. Show me.

  She wonders if the task ahead will be difficult.

  Instead, it’s easier than she could have hoped. It’s almost as if she’s not learning, but remembering.

  Almost as if she’s done this before.

  * * *

  Juaquo leaves Cameron and the Inventor talking, taking up a position on the couch and turning the TV on. He keeps the volume low so as not to disturb the conversation happening two rooms away, but he also doesn’t want to hear it. Ever since that night on the lake, when what was supposed to be a straightforward save-the-girlfriend-from-her-overbearing-father rescue mission turned out to be something infinitely stranger and far more dangerous, Juaquo has been plagued by the sense of being in completely over his head, caught up in a terrifying conflict that’s beyond his ability to understand, let alone to fix. Cameron isn’t the only one who’s been having trouble sleeping ever since Nia set herself free. Juaquo wakes up every night from bad dreams he can’t remember, his heart pounding and his skin crawling, overcome by the dreadful knowledge that terrible things are taking shape and he can’t do a thing to stop it. The helplessness is worse than the fear. There’s no place for him in all this—except to convince Cameron to look past his anger, use his gifts, and find a way to make it right. And he’s done that, he thinks. He’s done what he can. And whenever Cameron and the Inventor figure out a plan, he’ll be there to do whatever they ask. If this is a superhero story, the trusty-sidekick role suits him just fine. And in the meantime, it’s a relief to return to the sidelines and let the nerds figure out how to save the world.

  Juaquo begins to doze on the couch as the voices in the other room rise and fall and outside, the lengthening shadows signal the coming sunset. Then he stirs, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a case, opening it to reveal the AR glasses Cameron gave him weeks ago. He hardly ever uses them outside the house—it feels weird, toting his mom around and pulling her out for a visit when he’s on lunch break—but he wants to see her now. He slips the glasses on, tapping a sensor on the earpiece to run the program. The light in the room seems to flicker, and a moment later she steps into view, humming to herself as she crosses the room and looks out the window.

  “Mom?” he says, softly. She turns, smiling.

  “Oh, there you are. I’m so glad.”

  “I’m glad, too, Mom. I—”

  But his mother isn’t looking at him anymore; her gaze is focused over his head, her hand raised toward something or someone unseen.

  “There’s someone here to see you,” she says, and Juaquo turns, confused, wondering if the program has developed a glitch.

  His breath catches in his throat.

  Standing in the doorway is a girl, dressed all in black, with a sheet of red hair cascading over her shoulders. She’s smiling at him, and though Juaquo has never met her, he knows instantly who she is. He leaps to his feet.

  “Hello,” Nia says. She steps into the room, her hand outstretched, and Juaquo recoils, falling back and cracking his elbow painfully against the coffee table. It’s only after he’s on the floor that logic prevails.

  She’s not really here. She’s not real. All he has to do is shut down the program; all he has to do is take the glasses off.

  He can’t take the glasses off.

  The deep breath he took, intending to call out for Cameron, squeezes out through his frozen vocal cords with a near-silent whine. His hands dangle helplessly at his sides. He gazes up at Nia as she looms over him. He has time to think, as he looks at her, that she seems remarkably present for someone who isn’t really there—that if this was what it was like for Cameron to be with her, it’s no surprise he felt something real.

  Juaquo feels something real too. He’s as afraid of this girl as he’s ever been of anyone. Despite her smile, there’s somethin
g about the way she’s looking at him that isn’t right. Even the avatar of Milana Velasquez seems unsettled; she steps up behind Nia, looking nervously from her to Juaquo, who stares back with pleading eyes.

  “Is everything okay?” Juaquo’s mother says.

  “Everything is fine, Juaquo,” Nia says. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt. Xal showed me. She taught me how.”

  The last thing Juaquo sees is his mother, smiling and nodding as Nia reaches out to touch his face. The light in the room seems to flicker again, taking on a dreamy cast. A curious, crackling electricity plays around the corners of Juaquo’s vision, but Nia is right: there’s no pain at all. It’s like watching a silent storm creep in from the horizon, watching through the window while he lies safe and warm in his bed. His mother leans in to kiss his forehead.

  “I’ll be here when you wake up, chiquito,” she says, and the lightning rolls in, and rolls in.

  * * *

  Cameron’s friend stares up at Nia with wide, frightened eyes. She feels a wave of pity for him. He’s scared, the poor thing. He doesn’t understand that she’s here to help him, that she’s about to give him a gift beyond imagination. He’s going to be so happy. They’re all going to be so happy. She tells him not to worry. She tells him it won’t hurt.

  The avatar of Juaquo’s mother paces fretfully in the background as Nia concentrates, narrowing her focus, searching for her way in: the liminal space where the data output from Juaquo’s glasses becomes sensory input into his optic nerve. She pauses on the threshold. A moment after that, the connection is complete. Her code leaps along the axon in a perfect imitation of the brain’s own impulses, gently encircling the hypothalamus, softly lighting up the reward centers like stars in the darkness.

  When she draws back, Juaquo is still looking at her—but the fear in his eyes has been replaced by wonder.

  “How do you feel?” she asks, and hears the distant echo of her own voice as it races along Juaquo’s synapses. The connection is holding, blossoming, and she realizes as he sits up that she already knows the answer to her own question. She can feel it taking shape in his mind before he says it aloud.