The Naked World

by Eli K. P. William

  “You know I couldn’t just leave a woman to be taken by them.”

  “Well they could have called in reinforcements. Then they’d have taken you.”

  “If they could catch me. We were on the outer edge of their territory anyways, too far for the mountain patrols to even hear us.”

  “You took risks and it’s not clear what the repercussions will be on our relationship. If the situation escalates, are you willing to take responsibility for your actions?”

  Vertical nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  “Good. Please continue with your story.”

  Vertical nodded again. “So I climbed up several stories and found three OpScis at a feeding station with the kidnapped woman, Shari. She was kneeling on the ground a few meters from her baby, who’d been left to lie in the dust. The OpScis were surrounding this man. Two research assistants held him while their field priest was cutting him with a Viewing Knife—you can see the mark on his forehead.” Vertical pointed at Amon, who unconsciously touched his stinging cut. He also felt the caked blood all down the side of his face and realized what a mess he must look like. “I guess they were trying to get a sample.”

  Tap-ta-tap-taptaptap … With his head upraised now, Amon saw that the boy made the sounds with subtle motions of his pen behind the upturned tablet. His tapping continued even as Hippo said, “You have something to add here, Books?”

  “Yes,” said Book. “This behavior is anomalous for the Opportunity Scientists. Bankliving bodies are thought to be highly prized within the religion due to their scarcity and trace content of what the Quantitative Priesthood terms ‘the Web.’ However, we possess no records of their members collecting eyebrow samples, and all reported ritual excisions were performed on corpses.”

  Part way through the man’s speech, the tapping stopped, though the boy’s motions continued unabated. From what Amon could tell, he appeared to be writing, though what or why he could not fathom.

  “Well he’s living enough,” said Hippo, “but is he bankliving? Vertical?”

  “He says no and personally I believe him. As you can see, he doesn’t have the Elsewhere Gaze. He never called for drones, even after the OpScis started cutting him. He’s also suffering from webloss. At first, we thought he might be crashnewb who got rejected from Er, but now we’re not so sure.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Earlier, when we put his finger into a machine, the alarm started to hum.”

  “So he’s already had his supplies for the day?”

  “No. The security system reacted straightaway, on our first try.”

  “So he’s blacklisted?”

  “Maybe. But the food never even came out, so he’s not a hungry ghost. And if he’s a crashnewb he would have had to get blacklisted much faster than you’d expect.”

  “Well, if you’re right, this man presents a unique case. The Opportunity Scientists must have clued in to this when they decided to sample him.”

  A whole conversation was revolving around Amon as if he weren’t present, and he had little idea what any of it was about. Who were these people and who were the OpScis? What sort of qualms did they have with each other and what did any of it have to do with him? He wished someone would explain what was happening and question him directly.

  “The way they treated him probably had something to do with what he was wearing,” said Vertical. From a ragged sack at her side, she dumped out Amon’s rumpled clothes into a pile, picked out his jacket, unfolded it, held it open by the shoulders, and displayed it to the circle.

  Hippo’s eyes went wide and Amon saw some members exchange perplexed frowns.

  “He claims to be a Liquidator and that would corroborate his story,” said Hippo. “Is it authentic?”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it. It’s nothing like Fleet fabric. The texture is different and it’s thicker than anything they give us except in winter. But the sure sign is this.” Vertical unrolled something from Amon’s undershirt and held it up: his nerve duster. “We confiscated this after he fired on one of the OpScis.”

  The circle shifted restlessly, in apparent surprise.

  “Does it work?”

  “Does it ever,” said Ty. “You should have heard the guy scream!”

  “Well that is all very puzzling. He obviously isn’t involved with the OpScis either. Not if he’s willing to deliver that kind of punishment to one of them.”

  “He’s definitely not,” said Vertical. “His taking one of them out helped Ty and I drive the others away. But I’m sad to say we had to let the baby go. Their researcher had his knife to her throat!”

  Cringing and shaking of heads.

  “Well at least you managed to bring Shari back safe and sound,” said Hippo. “That is a blessing amidst tragedy for which we should be grateful. So what happened after the men left?”

  “I told this man to leave but he insisted we tell him how to get here. He told us he was looking for you and said someone named Tamper sent him. With his terrible webloss, I could see he’s totally useless. But when Ty explained that Tamper’s a friend of the council, I thought he might have information. So I decided in the end to strip him and bring him here.”

  “He mentioned Tamper and you two a moment ago. That’s why we decided to call you in. I suppose that’s the package for me?” Hippo pointed to the narrow tip of the plastic roll poking from the clothes.

  “Yes.” Vertical picked it up and unrolled it. “There are five coded sheets here. Can you read these, Books?” Vertical reached out and handed the sheets to Book.

  “Certainly,” said Book after a quick glance. “These documents have been encrypted with a cypher that we employed frequently until this past spring. In fact, it was I who instructed Tamper in its use.”

  “Well that speaks as strong evidence that this letter originated with Tamper as this man claims,” said Hippo. “What do the sheets say?”

  “As I no longer have the cypher committed to memory, I will delegate this matter to Little Book.”

  Book handed the sheets to Hippo, who laid them on the floor between him and the boy holding the tablet, apparently called Little Book. Only now that Little Book paused to pick up the sheets did he stop his slight pen motions behind the tablet. After briefly scanning both sides of each sheet, Little Book placed them back on the floor and recommenced his writing, as Amon watched his pen move. Until then his writing had been silent, but now each stroke on the screen was harder than before and made a rhythmic tapping.

  Reacting to the sound, Book said, “The five sheets consist of two letters drafted by Tamper, one four-and-a-half sheets long and one occupying a single side of one sheet. The shorter letter is addressed to Hippo and concerns the applicant. The letter of greater length is addressed to Xenocyst as a whole and contains content of an entirely personal nature.”

  “Can we hear what the shorter one says? It sounds like the longer one can wait.”

  Tap, tap tap tap taptap … “The letter reads, ‘Hippo, Spotted Liquidator running out Yume Station. Looked miserable. Followed to alley where he sat, command-gestured and blacked out. Searched sleeping body and found nerve duster. Checked back twice but out cold for hours. Returned next day. Saw him stumbling down busy street in bad infowithdrawal. Watched him attempt breaking into vending machine with bare hands.’”

  At this the whole circle laughed, but Little Book was undeterred in his tap-decoding of the letter and Book in his simultaneous interpreting of the taps.

  “Decided to approach and he asked way to DoD. Agreed to guide in exchange for story. So moving I gave back duster and told him to find you, Tamper.”

  Now Amon saw how Tamper had found him and taken his duster. A weeping Liquidator charging out of a train station would have been hard to miss.

  “Well I have no doubt that this is indeed a letter from Tamper,” said Hippo. “It uses one of our cyphers as Book pointed out and that brusque style is unmistakable.” Hippo paused for a moment to think, before addressing the circle. �
�This is a very powerful recommendation from a man I respect. As most of you know, Tamper did many good works for us here. While I would usually advise against wasting time with an unstable man, just think what we have here: a lone bankdead Liquidator with a working duster who suffers from webloss but cannot use vending machines. Don’t tell me you’re not curious!

  “Therefore, I propose that we offer him a hearing. If he’s able to speak, then I’m sure he’ll provide some amount of useful information. If not, we can always eject him as planned and none of us are the worse for it.”

  “Do any councilors wish to make further contributions to the discussion, either for or against?” said Book. “Then let the voting commence. All in favor of granting the applicant a hearing?”

  Amon looked around the circle with desperate terror as several hands went up. He counted four.

  “All in favor of ejecting him immediately?”

  Another set of hands rose, and Amon counted four again. One of the nine councilors had abstained, making it a tie.

  “The tie-breaking decision is awarded to our presiding chair,” Book announced, looking to Hippo. “What is your vote, chairman?”

  “You’ve heard my opinion already. I vote to hear his story.”

  “The official pronouncement, then, is that this man will be heard.”

  Amon sighed with relief again, and returned his focus to his breathing, praying that his nerves would hold out.

  “Is the applicant ready?” Book asked.

  “Y-Yes.”

  “Then bring out the mirror.”

  PART 5

  NAKED STORIES

  8

  XENOCYST

  1

  Sitting alone on a thin sheetless futon, Amon watched hazy afterimages of the day dance and dissolve into each other in the darkness that enveloped him. Thousands of passing faces crowding narrow alleys and stairs, dawn sunbeams imbuing the river with color, a cockroach blinking its blue eye, crumbling heap of towers leaning over the approaching shore, the fervent eyes of the field priest as he touched the blade to Amon’s brow … His mind was too exhausted to sort this jumbled stream into chronological order or contribute any thoughts to it. All he could do was blankly observe its flowing, trying his best to stay upright and awake.

  Ribs aching, forehead stinging, wrist sore, muscles spent, Amon was so worn out he needed all his willpower to resist the weight of his body. He would have already laid his head on the mattress some minutes ago if not for the fact that Vertical was supposed to be bringing him food. He had been reluctant to enter this dark, hot, musty elevator when she and Ty had brought him here (about half an hour ago by his estimate) and told him this was his room, but had instantly given in when she promised him a meal. Having eaten nothing since the riverbank with Tamper the night before, his stomach throbbed so urgently with hunger her deal had been irresistible.

  He was not happy about being locked up in this tiny space, no better than a jail cell. He was not happy about anything that had happened to him that day. But he felt some small relief because he knew it could have been worse. At least there were walls and a roof to shelter him from the horror outside for now. After all his baffling experiences since waking up in the alley, what might happen tomorrow or any day after was not for Amon to even guess.

  “Before you is a conventional mirror,” Book had said at the council after one of the guards placed a small easel with a square mirror set on it in front of Amon. “Do you perceive your reflection?”

  “Y-yes,” said Amon, aghast at the sight of his own naked face for the first time. Though all his familiar features were there—buzzed hair, blue-green eyes with double-folded lids, longish nose, thin line of mustache—without digimake his light brown skin was pocked, his jaw slightly crooked, and his lips too small, not to mention the greasy sheen of sweat coating him, the nick in his left eyebrow and the blood caked down his cheek. In a brownish-gray T-shirt and shorts, he felt as though the mirror were reflecting the wrong person by mistake.

  “What the council requests,” said Book, “is that you stare into your own eyes while you speak. You are permitted to look away at any moment you wish. However, at such times you must desist from speaking immediately. Do you understand and consent to the requirements?”

  “Yes. But what is this for?”

  “This is the method by which the council ensures your statements are truthful. There are specific eye movement patterns that I have been taught to identify. Insofar as you refrain from telling a lie, it will be unnecessary for you to fear us.”

  This reassurance only made Amon more nervous. What were they going to ask him? Would he be able to answer truthfully?

  “The hearing will now commence. Is the applicant ready?”

  “Yes,” said Amon, staring into his own eyes as instructed.

  “According to the letter, Tamper first encountered you in the vicinity of Yume Station. By what means did you enter Tonan Ward?”

  “I took the train.” Amon wanted to look around the circle to see how people were reacting but kept his gaze trained on his eyes.

  “Access to a train would require monetary payment, unless someone bankliving escorted you. By what means did you cross the river into Free Tokyo initially?”

  “I didn’t. I mean, I crossed here, to the District of Dreams, for the first time this morning.”

  “To clarify then, you were shipped to Free Tokyo from a bankdeath camp elsewhere. Is that your claim?”

  “No. I’ve never been to a camp before.”

  “But you are not bankliving as we have already discussed.”

  “Right. I’m bankdead just like all of you. No bank account, no apps, no ImmaNet. Nothing …” Amon felt his voice cracking as though he might cry at the thought.

  “I think we need to take this interview back slightly,” said Hippo. “So, Kenzaki-kun I believe it was. How exactly did you end up meeting with Tamper, bankdead and dressed like a Liquidator?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Amon, remembering the hours it had taken to tell Tamper.

  “Well the council is very busy,” said Hippo with a curious smile. “We have several other cases to work through yet. But since your case is rather complicated, it seems we have little choice but to hear you out.”

  “O-okay … so where do you want me to start?”

  “One usually starts at the beginning.”

  Amon thought of Tamper, who had said something similar—perhaps he had even learned it here.

  “Make sure to tell us everything important,” Hippo continued. “Especially the parts you regret, as those are always the most instructive.”

  As Amon began his story, he felt gazes searing him from all directions, as though many magnifying glasses were concentrating awareness on the one spot where he sat, his own awareness through the mirror among them. He meant to tell the council more or less the same story he’d told Tamper, but after what Hippo had said about regret he found his remembering guided in unexpected directions, following currents of painful emotion to their source. The incidents he related seemed to play like videos inside the light on his pupils and the moments that brought him guilt appeared there most vividly. It was as though the sins appearing in his reflected eye were reflected back by his eye looking upon it, and this reflected reflection was in turn reflected back ad infinitum, so that segments of his past layered over each other endlessly until their reality thickened into an event that seemed to actually be happening at that moment. Like the time in the Ginza club when he bowed to Sekido’s demands and cheated on Mayuko. Or the time in Shinbashi when he refused to give Rick advice for the sake of his savings. Then there was his assassination of Lawrence Barrow, his hanging up on Mayuko in her moment of grief over Rick’s death, his agreeing to accompany her to a weekly mansion where she would ultimately be hacked and beaten … Deep in his own pupils, Amon saw those he had hurt grimacing miserably—Rick, Mayuko, his many bankrupt targets—and he would cringe. Occasionally the guilt was so intense that he would ha
ve to look away, stopping his tongue as he’d promised. While it had been hard enough admitting to such mistakes in front of Tamper alone, now a whole room of people was listening, analyzing, judging his every word.

  Partway through, another bottle of soda was brought to him, and he would pause occasionally to sip from it and gather his thoughts. Since this was his second time telling the story, the words came more easily. His audience remained silent aside from the occasional question when he faltered, and he puzzled over their attitude. From their bright steady gazes, they seemed rapt with attention, but how could something so dull as a mere story without music or visuals of any kind hold the interest of an audience so completely?

  All the while, Little Book kept moving his pen over his tablet, starting when Amon spoke and stopping soon after he paused. Amon could only guess that he was taking notes, a practice he had only ever seen in historitisements and that struck him as preposterously archaic.

  When at last Amon was finished after however many hours, the council was silent for a while, apparently immersed in thought, until Hippo spoke. “Thank you, Kenzaki-kun,” he said, using the formal “kun” a second time. Then to Amon’s surprise, he turned to the council and said, “I propose we make an exception to our protocol and offer him a trial period.”

  There was another pause, but now the councilors were frowning and exchanging looks.

  The first objection was raised by a man on the left side of the circle. He had a gray-streaked beard on an otherwise young, smooth-skinned face, and sunken, dark-ringed eyes, which seemed to gaze off over the heads of the assembly as he spoke. “Are you joking?” he said. “This infojunkie wreck?”

  “He is suffering from webloss, that’s undeniable,” said Hippo, “but the speed at which he’s been recovering is remarkable. Only a few days ago this man cash crashed. Without any Er treatment he’s already managed to come this far. Only last week he was a full believer in the PR-opaganda of the Free World and yet now he seeks justice and recompense.”