by Sean Platt
His gun was wrenched away from behind. He turned to find himself facing Leo Booker. Leo was, it seemed, just the right amount of crazy. His weaning plan must have fallen short at the end, because although he seemed to have enough clarity to understand the stolen weapon’s function and aim it correctly, he didn’t seem nearly cogent enough to remember Dominic, to know if he was friend or foe, or that he himself had orchestrated this all from the start.
“Do you know about the squirrels?” Leo asked, his mouth slack and drawling.
“Leo,” Dominic huffed, raising his hands in surrender. “You don’t know what you’re — ”
There was a blast. A flash of light. A whoosh of charged air. Then Leo was unconscious atop Scooter’s huge form, the slumbergun still in his hands like a cherished bedtime toy.
Dominic, his heart hammering, looked toward the slumbershot’s source and saw Leah on her knee, limp on one side, her eyes flagging as if seeking sleep. She’d pinned the large weapon against her chest and had managed to pull its trigger with what looked like the only responsive finger on a dead-fish hand.
“Dobt say ebbythig,” Leah slurred through numb, paralyzed lips, pulling herself erect on sluggish limbs, impossibly ready to soldier on. She looked down at all the Organa bodies, then at the buses waiting for stacked human cargo, then at Dominic. “Jubt gebt to work.”
Chapter Nine
Natasha was in her office, immersed, practicing. It was strange, Isaac thought, to see her closed door, know she was in her rig, and not feel jealous or angry. She hadn’t exactly admitted to cheating on him in a way that teeeeechnically wasn’t cheating out there in the Viazo, but the writing was definitely on the wall. And yet today, he knew she wasn’t cheating. In a strange way, what she was doing in there now was finally for rather than against him.
Well, it was for Micah, not Isaac. But it was about Isaac, and Natasha — bless her newly sweet, sometimes-dumb heart — honestly seemed to think the idea of involving her husband in an onstage trick at a big, predominantly Enterprise gala was cute rather than embarrassing. But how would Isaac look if he refused? Micah was excellent at saying something he didn’t actually mean, then making people feel guilty enough to go along with it, and then (and this was magic, if anything was) somehow divorcing himself from the thing he’d proposed in the first place, so he could later say it was another’s dumb idea.
Micah didn’t actually want to do a magic trick, Isaac knew. He wanted to guilt Isaac into getting on stage then make Isaac look stupid for forcing him to do it.
Fucking Micah.
If there was any consolation in doing the trick (because he had to do it now; Natasha’s practice in the other room was driving the nails in deeper), it was in the reason this bullshit posturing was necessary in the first place: Micah wouldn’t feel the need to make Isaac look stupid if Isaac wasn’t on a plinth and, in Micah’s estimation, in need of being knocked down.
Isaac smiled. Despite all of Micah’s manipulating and scheming, Directorate was going to keep its Senate majority at Shift after all.
Isaac considered finding a mirror so he could look himself in the eyes and pump himself up, but it only took thirty seconds before he realized there was no point. He’d won. Micah could bluster all he wanted, but it was finally Isaac’s chance to be the bigger man. Isaac never got to be the bigger man because Isaac never won decisively enough to end up in a position to turn the other cheek.
There was a dinging sound. Isaac looked up.
“Canvas, what is it?”
The apartment’s canvas replied in its soft voice. “You have an incoming contact request, Isaac.”
“Put it on the wall here.”
“It’s not visual, Isaac. It’s — ”
“Okay. Go ahead with audio. Track and follow.”
The canvas waited a few polite seconds after Isaac’s interruption then finished its sentence. “The request is for an immersion.”
“I’m not immersing for a damned call.”
“I’m sorry, Isaac. The request is urgent.”
“Who is it?”
“Identification is secured. Would you like me to say it aloud?”
“Permission granted. Tell me.”
“The caller is Aiden Purcell.”
Isaac’s internal temperature seemed to plummet to absolute zero. He felt twin urges: to run to his rig as quickly and subserviently as possible, or to sprint to the docked hovercar and flee. The latter was childish and would solve nothing, but hearing from Aiden Purcell now felt like getting a ping from Satan, informing a sinner that it was time to hand over the soul previously exchanged for fame and fortune.
“What does he want?”
“I have no information on that, Isaac.”
“Ask him what this is regarding.”
The canvas went silent.
Isaac began to sweat. That had been a bad idea. It would change nothing; whatever Aiden wanted, he wanted. Purcell wasn’t the kind of person who felt the need to explain himself, either, and he’d resent the question. It would also show Isaac’s weakness. Purcell had made his fortune (not to mention snagging himself a position in the above-Beau-Monde group he and Micah both knew existed but neither of them were dumb enough to discuss) by gathering data and knowing how to see through people better than any scan could. Purcell would see the request as time-wasting procrastination. It wouldn’t improve the forthcoming encounter, whether Isaac wanted that encounter to happen or not.
Instead of replying with Purcell’s answer, Isaac’s canvas began behaving erratically. A few of the Beam surfaces flashed, and a cluster of holo-projectors began to rotate. There was a distinct shimmer in the air as a small cloud of hovernanos prepared a local projection, to give whatever was coming more clarity and reality.
A second later, Aiden Purcell appeared in the living room, sitting in one of Isaac’s chairs, more tangible than any hologram Isaac had ever seen.
“Have some dignity, Isaac.”
“I didn’t — ”
Purcell picked at something on the knee of his bespoke black trousers. “I try to be polite, but let’s not pretend you need to accept my calls for me to appear.”
Isaac, unsure what else to do, stepped closer. “Let’s take this into an immersion.”
“That was my thought as well. But now I’m here and don’t want to move.”
Isaac’s eyes ticked toward Natasha’s office. He had no idea how long she’d be in there, doing whatever secretive thing she was doing. “Natasha could hear us,” he said.
Purcell held up a hand. A cigarette appeared between two fingers. He took a puff. Holograms were just holograms, but Isaac could clearly smell the smoke.
“That would be a shame,” Purcell said.
“Please.”
Purcell pursed his lips. “Fine. But that’s two favors you owe me.”
When Purcell was gone, Isaac forced himself to move fast. So much for running from this meeting. His living room wasn’t a simulator, and yet the scent of smoke would assault Natasha the minute she emerged. He’d need to burn something when he was done with Purcell to cover. And if he ran, he’d discover what else of Isaac’s the man could get into without permission.
Like taking over his optical sensors.
Or becoming an internal voice, forever whispering in his ear.
Or maybe a virus, digging into the soft data of Isaac’s Beam presence.
Isaac jacked in, skipping all of the safety checks and every bit of the startup protocol he could bear to pass over. His entrance into the parlor simulation was so abrupt that his five senses screamed with vertigo. He staggered against the coffee table and had to catch himself by grabbing a bookcase.
Purcell was already seated, just as he’d been in the living room: lips slightly pursed, waiting for Isaac to move through his drunken idiocy and stop wasting his time.
“So,” the man in the dark suit said, puffing the same cigarette, “how are things with Natasha?”
“Fine,” Isaac stammered.
He looked at the chairs. Was he supposed to sit? Was he allowed to sit? He honestly couldn’t remember most of his last meeting with Purcell. In his mind, he’d conducted the entire encounter on his knees, hat in hand, possibly offering to unzip the man’s fly and get to work.
“You didn’t tell me the whole truth, Isaac.”
“What do you mean?”
“You told me you wanted to disrupt Natasha’s concert because it was a threat to distribution of party power and sentiment. You didn’t tell me you planned to personally storm in and save the day.”
“I…I had to send in real insurgents. Two birds with one stone. And people who, after they were arrested, wouldn’t raise more questions with the police. They were a genuine threat. I had to do whatever was necessary to — ”
“Oh, stop it, Isaac. You’re embarrassing yourself. And insulting me. You didn’t tell me what you’d planned to do — storming in to save your wife like Galahad on a white horse — but that doesn’t mean I didn’t know. Your profile’s largest area of strength is insecurity. Do you know how phenomenally rare that is? You’re someone who’s managed to take your astonishing depth of weakness and make it your personal touchstone.”
“Thanks?”
Purcell puffed his cigarette. “It’s not a compliment.”
Isaac’s eyes flicked around, hands clasped at his waist, unsure what else to do with them.
“Oh, sit down. You’re making me sad.”
Isaac sat.
“The problem isn’t that you enlisted my help — ”
“I needed permission, not help.”
Purcell’s dark eyes moved from Isaac’s then back with a long enough pause to make Isaac physically shrink, almost becoming part of his chair’s digital leather.
“The problem isn’t that you enlisted my help,” Purcell repeated, “but that you didn’t tell me the true reasons for the stunt: to improve your standing in your wife’s eyes.”
“I — ”
“Relax. Like I said, I knew, and still gave my blessing.”
“Thank you. It’s better for the party when I have enough respect to lead pro — ”
“If you think I’m going to let you finish sentences now, you’re insulting me further.”
Isaac swallowed.
“What I’ll admit I didn’t see coming,” Purcell said, “was that Directorate — the party itself or its Czar of Internal Satisfaction — wouldn’t need any help this Shift.”
Isaac thought he was maybe supposed to respond but decided to spare himself the indignity of another interruption.
“How well do you know Carter Vale, Isaac?”
“Not that well. Not as well as you must.”
“Stop being so fucking servile, Isaac. I just asked a question.”
“I’ve met him. We’ve exchanged a few words. Not much more than that.”
“Hmm. Because there’s a problem with Vale that requires addressing.”
Isaac had thought of that. Privately — not even including the new and improved Natasha — he’d cheered Vale’s disruptive little coup at the Primes. But everyone else he knew, outside of party toadies, was walking around with a little black cloud overhead. Micah tried to keep his chest out and chin up, but Isaac could easily see how pissed off his younger brother was. Ditto Nicolai, whom he’d begged twice to return. He could even hear it in his mother’s raspy voice. Vale had shocked everyone and stolen an almost-certain victory from Enterprise. After Vale had dropped his bomb about a revitalized Project Mindbender, the idea of beem currency pulling everyone toward Enterprise seemed laughable.
“Okay,” Isaac said.
“Tell me, Isaac, are you planning to attend Craig Braemon’s Respero Event?”
“I’m — ”
“Of course you are. And you’re going to go along with Micah’s little stage show idea?”
“I think — ”
“Good, good. And Isaac?”
“Yes?”
“You’re proud of what you did to help Natasha, aren’t you? Not what you did to put her life at risk, but what you then did to save her from your own ineptitude?”
“Um. Yes?”
“Are you or aren’t you?”
“I guess.”
“Maybe I should talk to her about it, if you’re unsure. Tell her the story behind the story, as it were.”
Isaac didn’t know how to respond. No answer seemed correct. Fortunately, Purcell recrossed his legs and continued before he could.
“There are limitations to what I can do these days, unfortunately,” Purcell said, now flicking at the lid of a brass lighter Isaac hadn’t seen him pick up. “It’s true for all of us. But a good leader delegates regardless. And since you caused the problem with Vale, maybe it’s right that you do something for me.”
“I had nothing to do with — ”
“Your party, Isaac. Do you want to be a big man or not? Because you can’t have it both ways. You can’t defer responsibility and want credit for your accomplishments. You must take the good with the bad. The responsibility and the praise. Not everything can be like it was with Natasha, where you connive for a pat on the back. You want respect? I’ll tell you how to get it: Put your hands on the damned wheel, and steer the ship. Right now, the captain of Directorate’s ship is a rogue. Vale wasn’t given permission to announce what he did about Mindbender. The laugh is that he doesn’t know anything about the reality behind the project, which means the future course of actions could have easily been avoided.”
“What do you mean?”
Purcell smiled. “Mindbender is a real thing, Isaac. Micah knows that. Do you seriously not?”
He didn’t. “Of course I do. I just didn’t get what you were saying about it.”
“If Vale had promised Shangri-la and that had managed to sway the nation, he’d have been a rogue. But his actions have accidentally shone light on a real project of grave importance, and that makes him a fly in the ointment.”
“Oh.”
“I know, because you’ve just told me, that you know all about Mindbender,” Purcell said, clearly not fooled, “but you might not know that the trickiest bit Xenia still needs to crack is what they call the ‘fragmentation paradigm.’ The full explanation is complicated, but the short version is that every time Mindbender tries to separate mind from body, there’s a tether that won’t quite break without spilling the mind everywhere. It’s as if the confinement of a lump of gray matter gives a mind shape. Whenever they try to upload a mind, it fragments.”
“That sounds like a problem.”
“Agreed. But the rest is easy at this point.” Purcell shrugged then said, “So for instance, you’re connected to The Beam most times, aren’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Well. With the right permissions, you could be uploaded at any time — now, tomorrow, when you’re sleeping…whenever. Or parts of you could be uploaded. But of course, that would be terrible. It would be like having sections of your brain cut out, given the fragmentation issue.”
“Oh.”
A snake’s smile crawled onto Purcell’s features. “Luckily, there are safeguards in place to prevent someone from doing that to you. Pretty decent ones…for most users.”
Isaac swallowed.
Purcell clapped his hands and sat up. The sudden change made Isaac jump.
“Anyway!” he said. “You’re going to Braemon’s event. And if you play your cards right, smooth as you are, I’m sure you can arrange a meeting with Vale. To…convince him of some things?”
“What things?”
“Sensible things.”
“How do I — ”
“Let’s just begin with the fundraiser for now, Isaac.”
Isaac nodded. He didn’t like that answer but was in no position to argue. So, when it seemed Purcell was satisfied, Isaac said, “Can I ask a question?”
“For you, Isaac? Anything.”
“How close is Xenia to solving the whole Mindbender thing?”
It was more t
han curiosity. Now that Purcell had connected a few dots, Isaac’s mind was recalling bits and pieces he’d heard but not understood — revolutionary changes Micah had implied in his grandiose manner, his mother’s lack of concern about things that should be disastrous to the Enterprise Party and Ryan Enterprises but for some reason weren’t. The ideas were big enough to seem frightening. Not knowing, now that he’d seen a piece of the puzzle, was much worse.
“I suppose that depends on who you ask,” Purcell said.
“What if I ask Micah?”
“Why don’t you ask Micah?”
“Or my mother.”
“Again, Isaac. Why not ask your mother?”
After a few seconds, Purcell seemed to realize Isaac wasn’t going to answer rhetorical questions, knowing their answers. Isaac was part of the company and party in name, but no one behaved that way. Asking would only lead to embarrassment.
“I suppose it’s just a matter of figuring out the fragmentation paradigm,” Purcell said. “Solve that, and the only remaining hitches are, in my opinion, philosophy.”
In my opinion. That had the ring of an unexplored corner, and for some reason, Isaac found himself needing to inspect it.
“Not everyone agrees with you then? Do some people think there will be problems even after that issue is solved?”
Purcell stopped straightening a pleat on his pants and looked up, perhaps reaching the limit of patience with Isaac’s impertinent questions about something that was clearly none of his business.
“It’s just superstition.”
“Oh. Okay.” Wishing he hadn’t asked as Purcell stared at him.
But then Purcell, curiously intent, said something odd: “Are you a religious man, Isaac?”
“Not really.”
“Do you believe in God?”
“No.”
“Do you believe in SerenityBlue?”
“No.” Though he knew, for a fact, that Natasha did. Had seen SerenityBlue on The Beam more than once, she’d said to the accompaniment of Isaac’s derisive laughter.
“What about Noah West?”
That was a stupid question. Without West, who would have created The Beam? Who’d created the world they all lived in?