MINDFRACK

by S G King

He dressed hurriedly and hunted for an exit from the featureless chamber. A simple line framed the door; he expected the door to be locked, but it clicked open at his proximity and he pushed through into a narrow passageway.

  Another door opened, up ahead and around a bend, and he heard Shala’s approach. They knew he’d woken? The thought that there might be hidden cameras in the Faraday room was not a comforting thought.

  How should he greet her? He felt uncertain and trapped, like a kid at junior high, unable to avoid a classmate that he had a crush on.

  She rounded the corner and approached him. “Mark, you’re awake. Good. We have much to do before you leave.” Her manner was all business and haste.

  He felt used, his mood querulous. “Good? Is that all you can say? You practically rape me and then use your mind-control thing to put me to sleep and –”

  “Rape?” She laughed. “I didn’t see you complain, Mark Logan. Don’t look so confused. It was part of the process. We could have done this without the sexsss – but it distracts the deeper workings of the mind wonderfully, don’t you think?”

  Logan threw his hoody onto the floor and knew it was a petulant act as soon as he did it. “Goddammit, Shala, what’s with you people down here? Didn’t you feel anything?”

  She moved closer to him and stooped to pick up his hoody. “Lisssten to me,” she said quietly, “for your information it was one of the best fucksss I’ve had in a long time. I didn’t say I wasn’t capable of having a physical relationship. You’re a desirable man, Mark. Does that make it so wrong? And I felt nothing that conflicted with your desiresss. Are you in a relationship now?”

  “Uh, well, no.” He had a fleeting pang of guilt regarding Wanda, but, in truth, realised there was little of substance between them.

  “I do not seek any long-term relationship. My empathic nature fulfils me in ways that only my mother truly underssstood.”

  “Well, that’s fine then …”

  “Yesss, I believe so.” She regarded him coquettishly. “But maybe in the future …?”

  “Uh, I guess so then. Just let me know,” he said, sheepishly, and took his hoody from her and slung it over his shoulder. He decided to change the subject. “Look, I need to know. What did you do to me, back in the council chamber? I have this stuff in my head – and I don’t know what to do with it.”

  “It was a mindfrack – or at least that is what I call it.”

  “Frack?”

  “As in fracking for resources – like oil. It’s what you do to split a stubborn rock – inject it with something under pressure. It feels that way to me when I push thoughts and memories into someone else’s mind.

  “All right, I get it … So what happens now? How do I deal with this?”

  “With patience.”

  “What does that entail?”

  “We eat and then we go to the park.”

  “The park?”

  “You’ll see.”

  ***

  Logan should have guessed that nothing was as it first seemed down here.

  The park was another vast cavern about halfway between the Umbra and the fringe. The “park” was in fact a vertical green farm consisting of nano-engineered flanges of rock protruding from every wall of the bedrock going up five or so stories in height. Each flange had thick growths of farmed vegetation growing across it and over the side. Light was provided by banks of LEDs above every ledge. Narrow piping lined the walls everywhere. And there were dozens of Xenos on mobile lifts tending to the crops.

  In between the outer walls were a half-dozen or so pyramid-like structures, also brimming with vegetation. And dotted everywhere were large trees, which he guessed were genetically modified. Between all this were pathways with occasional seating. There were Xenos strolling around. It was a park of sorts.

  They found a seat to themselves.

  Logan’s mind was reeling with the impossibility of it all and he even considered that he might still be dreaming.

  “But how can you keep all of this secret? I’ve seen nothing anywhere on the Cloud about this.”

  “We have our ways,” said Shala.

  That was her stock response. At first, he had wondered whether there was more going on between them, the Xenos and the City Government, than he or anyone topside realised. He discounted that, but it left him with a big mystery that Shala was unwilling to resolve at this time.

  “Okay – what about the power for the lighting? That must take far more than the City’s power allocation that you’ve told me about?” He thought he had her on that question.

  “Thermal energy from boreholes converted to electricity. It’s a tried and tesssted energy generation method. I’ve been told by my colleagues that the lighting is especially efficient, and the crops are genetically engineered to need less light than normal crops. Vertical farms aren’t new. They are common in dense urban areas throughout the world.”

  She had a point, but nevertheless Logan found the entire enterprise extraordinary and was beginning to wonder just how far the Xeno underground communes extended under and out from Mahattan.

  After a moment of quiet introspection Shala let out a long hiss, and said, “Your nightmare was real.” The statement was loaded.

  Earlier, at her request, he had told her everything that he’d experienced since the mental download. His gaze collapsed from the lofty wonders surrounding them and he stared at her. “How can that possibly be?”

  “To be clear, it was your interpretation of Xiang’s vision of the future.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you saying that Xiang can actually see the future?”

  “Yesss, but to be more accurate, it is one of our possible futures. But it is the future that currently stands – the one with the highest probability.”

  Logan rubbed his chin as he struggled with yet more strange concepts. “I don’t get it – you’re going to have to explain.”

  And she did, or at least tried to.

  She told him that Xiang was a mathematical prodigy and a remote viewer; the RV part of his gifts, which he called his “farsight”, was an unexpected outcome of genetic tinkering and two generations of mathematical inherited pass-me-downs from certain “special” Xeno individuals. It was a formidable combination of mental talents. He had his very own quantum mechanical theory of the multiverse, but with a key and unorthodox twist (one for which his anonymously published papers received scorn from the scientific community). The multiverse theory in quantum mechanics stated that there exist an infinite number of branching realities at any moment in time. Xiang’s extensive treatise showed that there were points on the probabilistic curve of outcomes for human history where the number of possibilities may collapse into a finite number and on certain rare occasions converge into just two possible outcomes. This unusual state of mathematical affairs translated into a momentous point in human history.

  “Think Jesus or Hitler,” said Shala, trying hard to make the impossible sound possible to him. “They are key examples of convergence points in human hissstory, when the human mass-mind influences the quantum multiverse outcomes. Don’t forget that a central tenet of quantum mechanics is the impact of observation by the human mind.”

  “So you’re saying that we are at another such moment.”

  “Yesss …” She looked at him for a time, her green eyes widening a little and nictitating.

  “There’s something else, though, isn’t there – something that you’re about to cripple my mind with, aren’t you?”

  Shala smiled at him. “Good. Xiang’s treatise – Ezekiel’s Theorem – together with his farsight, predicts that you are one such convergence point in human hissstory. A particular conscious decision that you, Mark Logan, will make, will determine one of two outcomes for humankind. It came as a surprise to him when he used his farsight. We didn’t know, until he looked …”

  “What are you saying – I’m some sort of messiah?”

  She hiss-sniggered. “No, of course not, idiot. I only gave Jesus and
Hitler as examples. Mossst often it comes down to an ordinary individual, like you – they jussst don’t know it. The mass-consciousness of mankind is at a tipping point; its choice of direction has never been more significant or wildly divergent than it is now – or precarious. You mussst have realised that with the coming singularity? Mankind only has two options open to it. In Xiang’s own words: the cosmic stage is set, the seesaw of futures is perfectly balanced, you are the feather that will land on one of its ends – and tip it.”

  “Wait a minute – what’s the other outcome, he must have seen that?”

  “We won’t know until you act to change it. That is the paradox.”

  But what if it’s worse?

  “It won’t be.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because Xiang has computed all the options.”

  “But the possibilities for that outcome must be impossible to guess.”

  “Not according to Xiang’s Ezekiel Theorem and his farsight.”

  “But I thought you said he couldn’t …” Logan trailed off, shaking his head and realising that Shala was coming from a point of faith. Understanding traditional quantum mechanics was difficult enough, if not impossible, for the average mind, and Xiang’s Ezekiel Theorem made it sound like child’s play. “All right, I get it,” he said, knowing she couldn’t elucidate any more on that. He asked instead, “You didn’t tell the others. Why?”

  “Xiang told me that we mussst not overly influence you. If I had told the others, they would no doubt have intervened in some way.”

  “But surely you’ve already done that by telling me now.”

  “No – foreknowledge is not the same thing as manipulating you at the point of decision. It might not seem obvious at the time – it may be counter-intuitive – but we could inadvertently give you the wrong advice or do something to influence you the wrong way. I’m not sure – except Xiang believes we should let you go now ...”

  Logan took that as a veiled prompt and got up. He was feeling dizzy, verging on nauseous, but wasn’t sure whether it was his mind’s failure to cope with everything he’d been subjected to, or the odd breakfast that they’d eaten before their walk. Either way he needed to leave here and get back to some sort of reality. Without conscious decision, he found himself heading for the park’s exit.

  Shala didn’t stop him but called out. “Where are you going?”

  “To find a bar. You do have those?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Alcohol?”

  “Yesss …”

  “Good.”

  “But you’ll need me to find your way back to the fringe.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out – I’ll mention your name when I need help.”

  “Mark, wait – Xiang wanted me to tell you something before you leave us. It’s really important.”

  Logan stopped. His lips turned up in a weary smile. “Important? Go on …”

  “There’s a consciousness-variable that arises but doesn’t fit into his Ezekiel Theorem.”

  “And – again – what the hell does that mean – and why even tell me?”

  “I don’t know – but he said that the reason it doesn’t fit is that it isn’t human …”

  “Who or what are we talking about?”

  “It’sss Carrie.”

  48

  Logan navigated his way back to the commune fringe without incident and used the time to think.

  In truth, he considered absconding from the commune altogether to take his chances topside; maybe hang out with friends in a favourite drinking haunt or two and obliterate the last week of his life in a haze of beers and nanos.

  It was a fanciful idea and he knew his mind was seeking a reality-check of sorts, but when he thought more deeply he realised that was exactly what he’d been given, by Xiang and Shala; it was just that it was not the reality or future he’d have planned for himself. Until now he’d rarely looked much further ahead than the following year, or the next contract.

  So he headed straight back to the shop to see Wanda. To his surprise she wasn’t so concerned at his absence this time, as she’d been kept in the loop.

  When he began to share his experiences in the Umbra, Wanda interrupted and told him that she’d been contacted by Salvatore and had disturbing news of her own that could probably trump anything he had to tell.

  He’d seriously doubted that, until she told him.

  Salvatore was just a brain?

  Wasn’t decapitating Salvatore torture enough?

  Overloaded with impossibilities, a part of Logan wanted to react hysterically, to scream at the walls and run and not look back, ever. Instead, he set off for another walk about, urgently seeking those Xeno bars.

  ***

  Without much effort he found a bar in a main thoroughfare of the underground village. It sold a range of drinks including bizarre health or “utility” cocktails with names like Y-Zee, Spock Shock and Meet the Face of God. They also had their own brand of labelled beers.

  He ate a veggie burger made from a protein manufactured within a vertical farm, and washed it down with a Hard Bark ale. It wasn’t at all bad, he thought. He’d bring Wanda here later – after he’d sorted out his personal “business”.

  Beer in hand, he made for a cubbyhole at the back of the bar, his hood up, trying not to attract too much attention, which was crazy when he thought about it. It certainly challenged the perceived notion of normality.

  He let his internal buds negate the background noise and set off a train of thought regarding George Grist – as Shala had instructed. He needed to learn how to access his new store of knowledge.

  Unsurprisingly, the first thing that came into his head was Grist’s intolerance of Xenos and his wish to eradicate them. He was actively working with high-ranking corrupt government officials, some of whom were Guild members, who were planning to fabricate fake Xeno terrorist activity. It would then be a simple step to lobby and gain a ruling from the House and Senate to lock down the Xeno culture. There were fears amongst the Xeno Council that a dangerous level of persecution would follow. Logan parked that thread in disgust; it was too close to his – or rather Xiang’s – visions of the future.

  Something else … Grist was dying …

  But he knew that already, didn’t he?

  Logan realised there was a problem with the transfer of memories or knowledge. Once they became integrated into his own mental tapestry, in some instances it might become difficult to differentiate between his own experiences and memories and those that were Shala’s or Xiang’s. He would need to guard against that.

  He let the thought-trail continue …

  Grist sought immortality ... He was dying of an incurable, age-related autoimmune disease. If he could not solve the problem of life extension through bio-tech before he died, or they – being GNG pharma research – develop a medical solution to his disease, he would go into cryogenic suspension. There were impressive advances in that field. It seemed an extraordinary idea, but Grist had every intention of coming back.

  But what of his outage from life, GNG, the Guild …?

  And there’s the nub of Grist’s problem, Logan realised, seeing a preamble of thoughts coming up: Grist’s overwhelming fear, the fuel that propagates his selfish, psychopathic activities.

  He stopped for a moment and pondered how the Xeno Council could possibly know of such things. But then there was Xiang and his remarkable ability of farsight, and Shala the empathic Svengali. What of the others?

  He continued to let the insights about Grist come to him, and dug deeper.

  Currently, the law did not see the resurrection of someone that had formally died as a right to lay claim to what was once theirs. Simply put, offspring, or family, could lay legal claim to Grist’s estate while his frozen body was inert or legally impotent. Hence the murder of Dexy and his recent obsession with finding his son – no doubt to remove him, too.

  Ha… now, that was something that he def
initely didn’t know before Shala’s mindfrack.

  He stopped his introspection again and caught the eye of the Xeno barkeep, a man with every part of his head covered with animated iTatts, which made it hard not to stare, as his face continually seemed to evolve: now it was bone, becoming a skull that erupted into tissue, blood vessels, muscles and finally skin, before working backwards again. The effect was mesmerizing but distracting.

  Another Xeno beer landed on his table.

  He continued uncovering more of his implanted memories.

  The knowledge that came to him was both enlightening and a curse, because now, he realised, soberly, he couldn’t walk away from it: it lived within him.

  Above all else, he knew that Grist must be stopped. The future was beyond bleak if left to run as it was progressing. He recalled the demise of his future self or “old-Logan”. From a purely selfish point of view he didn’t want that version of events to be the one to happen to him. He recalled the dreadful visions of the Xeno round-up and executions, along with the blank zombie like faces of the bystanders. It was Grist’s version of hell.

  He also knew that no amount of prognosticating would divert the course of history from a bad one to a better one. Action was required. But in what form or shape?

  What if he could finish what Dexy had started? That would mean getting Carrie in front of Grist and somehow getting him to voluntarily unlock Carrie’s memories. Then he would take out Grist. Finally, they would find her brother, who would willingly take over Grist’s GNG empire and stop the Guild’s plans for world domination …

  He laughed derisively; yes, he could achieve all that – if his surname was Bond. In truth, he knew there wasn’t a hope in hell of accomplishing any of those goals, and in any case he doubted he could kill a man in cold blood, even if that man was Grist and had a future that would impress Beelzebub himself.

  Logan sighed, feeling overwhelmed and fatigued at the relentless pressure to do something.

  There had to be another way.

  Despite his recent bad experience of nanos, he popped a combo to help him focus and relax, and washed them down with a swig of Xeno beer.