The guard fires a single shot on his way down and Ki hears it whine past her face. The hollow-point frangible round disintegrates as it embeds itself in the acrylic glass staircase behind her. Lucy is looking down at the guard and watching him writhe and then vomit across the semiopaque floor. His glasses are gone. The girl squats down for the pistol, stands, and the man’s eyes widen as she fires a shot through his forehead and into the floor. The guard relaxes and seems to watch impassively the wave of blood from the back of his head push against the pool of yellow bile before him.
Both girls spin toward the door when they hear it open. A helix of smoke from the pistol is turning lazily in the light and the air tastes metallic. The pilot stays just inside the conference room. She is small with straight black hair that stops right at the patches on her shoulders. The look on her face is neither alarm nor terror. She makes no attempt to turn and run, and Lucy does not raise the pistol.
“You have two choices,” Ki tells the pilot. She is still breathing heavily, but she is in control. “You can either come in and join them, or you can take what’s in that case and fly us out of here.”
The pilot looks up from the floor, then shakes her head. “The case is yours,” she says with remarkable composure. “Now, where do you two want to go?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
One entire wall of Alexei’s Los Angeles office was a screen. When it was in standby mode, it defaulted to an interactive map which panned and centered on the locations of whatever new incoming events matched his filters, presenting key metrics and algorithmically derived synopses beside geographical points of interest. It also recorded all ambient noise in the room in a small buffer, which it analyzed using a multidimensional neural network. If it found patterns consistent with Alexei’s voiceprint, it attempted to distinguish requests or questions by matching certain acoustic properties—inflection, intonation, modulation, and pitch—with a specific set of predetermined keywords. Whenever the computer was sufficiently confident that it was being addressed, it went from hearing what was being said in the room to actually listening.
“Emma,” Alexei prompted. He used a plasma torch to light a long black cigarette, plucked a tobacco shaving from the tip of his tongue, then tossed the lighter back onto the desk.
The voice that emanated from the wall of well over a hundred million quad-color photoelectric acoustic pixels was that of a pleasant and unassuming British female.
“Yes, Alexei?”
“Center the map on West Africa. Sierra Leone.”
The map panned and zoomed until the West African coastal nation filled the wall. Thick smoke wafted among Alexei’s whiskers as he spoke.
“Show me real-time human population density.”
A heat map overlay emerged. The cities of Bo, Kenema, Koidu Town, and Makeni were warm, but the majority of heat was in the westernmost region between the Sierra Leone River estuary and the coast of the North Atlantic.
“Center on Freetown.”
The image didn’t move. “Are you referring to Old Freetown, now officially known as New Guangdong?”
Alexei looked at the screen with mild irritation. “Obviously.”
The map panned to the New Guangdong peninsula.
“Center on the most densely populated coordinate.”
The hottest region was eased into the center of the screen.
“Zoom in… Zoom in… Tell me what I’m looking at.”
“Xi Jinping Square.”
“Show the real-time satellite feed.”
The view that emerged looked to Alexei like blurry, multicolored static. It took him a moment to understand that the undulating pointillism was the top-down perspective of a mass of humanity.
“Give me recent keywords associated with this region.”
“From which sources, please?”
“All international news feeds.”
“How recent?”
“Let’s start with five days.”
“Protest. Demonstration. Occupation. Strike. Resistance. Civil disobedience. African Spring.”
“How many people are contained in the present view.”
“Approximately 1.8 million.”
“How many people were in this same view one month ago?”
“Approximately 1.6 million.”
“Two months ago?”
“Approximately 1.47 million.”
“How many people do you predict will be in this view sixty days from now?”
“Approximately 1.9 to 2.2 million.”
“Graph population density in the selected region over the last six months.”
Alexei absentmindedly rubbed his scalp with the tips of the fingers in which his cigarette was clinched. As he studied the positive slope, he felt his ring vibrate. He paused as the sensation continued and determined that the pattern was not familiar. When he pulled his handset out and checked the screen, he saw that there was no available information: no name, no image, no domain, no affiliation, and no location. He stepped forward and touched the soft silicon surface of the wall with his other hand, and the call was transferred, but rather than a video feed on top of the map, the call box showed a generic human silhouette. The column of data beneath read “Unknown” all the way down.
Alexei’s tone was guarded. “Yes?”
“Am I speaking with Alexei Drovosek?” The name was grossly mispronounced. Alexei could already sense self-importance and arrogance in the young man’s voice.
“Who’s this?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is the friends we have in common.”
“And who would that be?”
“A certain swashbuckling surgeon.” The man seemed amused by himself. “Now do you know who I am?”
“No, but at least I know why you’re calling.”
“Good enough,” the man said. “Shall we dispense with pleasantries and introductions and get right to the matter of price?”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m prepared to offer two million NGD.”
Alexei took a few wandering steps away from the wall as he filled his lungs with smoke.
“Hello? You still there? You didn’t just pass out on me, did you?”
“Two-point-five,” Alexei said.
“I didn’t say I was prepared to offer you two-point-five. I said I was prepared to offer you two.”
“I heard you, but I think we both know the value of what we’re talking about here.”
“I think we both also know that you’d be lucky to get half that on your own.”
“Maybe. But that still leaves you with nothing, doesn’t it?”
The man sighed. “Two-point-two,” he said. “And we’ll cover your expenses.”
“Done,” Alexei said. “When and where?”
“Can you be in Chicago tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Good. There will be a reservation for you at the Shangri-La under the name Mr. Kingston.”
“How do I contact you once I’m there?”
“You don’t,” the man said. “We contact you. Travel safe.”
The call box faded from the screen. Alexei checked the time, then slid his handset back into his pocket.
“Emma, I need to book a trip.”
The map zoomed out, panned to the other side of the world, and zoomed in on LA. “Will you be traveling to Chicago, Illinois?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to fly into O’Hare International Airport, or Midway International Airport?”
“O’Hare.”
“When would you like to leave, or what time would you like to arrive?”
“I’d like to leave on the earliest possible flight tomorrow morning.”
“How many passengers?”
“Two.”
“Would you like to fly common, business, first, executive, senior executive, executive officer, presidential, or private?”
“Presidential.”
“Would you like me to reserve a car?”
“Shall I verify a reservation at the Shangri-La for a Mr. Kingston?”
“No. Don’t worry about that. Use my business account for everything and make sure I get receipts.”
“Thank you. Your trip has been booked. Would you like to hear your itinerary, or shall I forward it?”
Alexei took a final drag from his cigarette before crushing it out in the ashtray on his desk. “Forward it.”
He took the back stairs down two levels to the basement. Like most of the areas of the house, the lower level was biometrically secured, and Alexei waited for the camera to complete its scan. When the LED in the wall transitioned from red to green, he pulled the heavy door toward him and stepped out onto the catwalk. He put his hands on the rail in front of him and looked out over the playroom.
There were at least twenty-five children below him, most in groups of two or three. Their teachers were small, shirtless Thai men whose bodies were all compact glistening ripples. Most wore pads on their forearms and midriffs which they used to absorb the sharp, slapping blows from the children’s feet, knees, fists, and elbows. The center of the room was a raised platform on which two small groups trained, and the rest of the room contained arrangements of mats, heavy bags, cubbies of pads and gloves, full-body dummies with impact sensors built into their noses, throats, solar plexus, and groins, and tennis balls suspended so high from the ceiling that the children had to launch themselves into the air to strike them.
Alexei located Ki’s group in a corner. She was training with the twins—two young Cambodian boys—and they were taking turns striking the throat of a dummy, then receiving instruction from their teacher after he checked the corresponding readings on his handset. Ki wore loose shorts that were cut high in the thighs for maximum mobility and a tight black tank top. Her hands and wrists were wrapped, and her hair was pulled back in a long ponytail.
They stopped training when they heard Alexei on the metal steps. They watched him descend, and the instructor gave a sharp bow as his employer approached.
“What do you think?” Alexei asked the fighter. The man was short and thin, but as fast a man as Alexei had ever met. “Are they ready?”
“Yes, sir,” the instructor reported. “They are small, but they are strong, quick, and they are fierce.”
“Good.” He looked down at Ki. “I just got the call. We leave in the morning.”
Ki looked up at Alexei and tried not to react. She gave him a single stern nod, and he could see that she was making fists beneath her hand wraps. Alexei got down on his knees and when he opened his arms, she broke from her stance and fell into him.
“It’s all going to be OK,” Alexei told the girl. “Nobody will touch you. You will be very well cared for.”
Ki’s chin was on Alexei’s shoulder and he could hear her sniff. “Where am I going?”
“I don’t know,” Alexei said. “There’s no way to know where you’re going, who you’re going with, or how long you’ll be gone. But that’s why I need you, Ki. You’re the only one who can do this. You’re the only one who can get close enough.”
He felt her nod. He rubbed her back, then pulled her gently away.
“No more crying,” he told her. “From now on, you must turn your fear into strength. Do you understand?”
There were tears on the girl’s cheeks but defiance in her eyes. “I will come back,” she told Alexei. “I will see you again.”
“I know you will,” Alexei said.
He stood up and looked down at the twins. They wore long pants that came down over the tops of their feet and no shirts over their skinny chests. Their hair was long and heavy with sweat.
“What about you two?” Alexei said. “Are you ready?”
The twins looked at each other, then back at Alexei. One of the boys let his mouthguard drop into his wrapped palm. “Where are we going?”
“I have a very special mission for you two,” Alexei told them. “How would you like to go live on a boat?”
PART TWO
DON’T BLINK
CHAPTER EIGHT
Now that California State Route 1 is auto-drive enabled, Alexei can work while he rides. The position of his Ducati Ibrido Carbon is calculated down to the centimeter by combining signals from at least eight of the sixty-four HD-GPS satellites owned and operated by Pearl Knight Holdings. His location, speed, heading, orientation (relative to the road), mass, wind drag coefficient, and vehicle specifications are all transmitted via persistent gigabit wireless connection to overhead cellular drones that relay it to control towers which forward it via optical fiber to PKH servers. Solid columns of parallel processing cores infused with tubes of liquid nitrogen synthesize the data and distill it down into single frames of a situational model which are both encrypted and compressed before being transmitted back to Alexei’s motorcycle via the inverse of the route by which their inputs arrived only a handful of microseconds prior. The bike’s onboard computer decrypts and decompresses the packets, reassembles them, then integrates the results with readings from local laser and microwave sensors before concurrently updating the augmentation overlay of Alexei’s visor and making minute adjustments to the bike’s speed and inclination as it streaks south at ninety-one miles per hour along the curve-lined cliffs high above the heaving white waves of the Pacific.
All Alexei has to do is relax and let the bike maneuver beneath him. The system will allow him to participate within a reasonable threshold should he choose to do so, increasing or decreasing control as he shifts his weight, or twists the throttle, or exerts varying levels of pressure on the heated and shrouded grips. When done correctly, this dynamic becomes an intense symbiotic collaboration between man and machine which can sear the sympathetic nervous systems of even the most hardened and cynical adrenaline junkies.
But Alexei has more on his mind right now than just carving up cliffs. As he leans back, the front suspension increases, the handlebars extend, and the foot pegs move forward to accommodate a more upright posture in which he feels he is less likely to be distracted. The faster he can work through this problem, the sooner he can lean forward again and get back to summoning some serious endorphins by sending the smooth, serpentine bioasphalt of Route 1 careening away beneath his solid carbon parabolic wheels as wildly and indiscriminately as the laws of conventional Newtonian physics will possibly allow.
“Emma,” he says into the microphone embedded above the front vent of his helmet. “I want to do a little brainstorming.”
The response comes through his ear pads and is accompanied by an underlying acoustic mirror image of the ambient noise around him. The miracle of active phase cancellation makes their conversation as effortless as pillow talk. “I understand, Alexei. How can I help you?”
“First of all, I’m going to need access to the IDI.”
“There are sixteen entities selling access to the Federal Identification and Demography Index today. Would you like me to enumerate them?”
“No. How many of them have I used before?”
“Seven.”
“Use whichever is cheapest out of the ones I’ve used before.”
“AAI—or Anonymous Access, Incorporated—is offering fully obfuscated and encrypted access to the Federal Identification and Demography Index for—and I quote—the low low price of only four hundred and ninety-nine NGD per query.”
“Lock it in. Use a different offshore account for each query, selected at random.”
“Pseudo-randomness, or quantum randomness?”
“Quantum. The good stuff. And try to keep your queries to a minimum.”
“Of course. Message from AAI gateway: Welcome, Alexei. Your money is always good here.”
“Cute, but so much for anonymity. Any idea how they know my name?”
“Anonymous Access, Incorporated guarantees protection against man-in-the-middle attacks, and that your access will appear anonymous to any and all intermediate third p
arties; however the access of any service through AAI constitutes expressed consent to AAI’s terms of service which explicitly grant AAI the right to store personally identifiable information solely for the purposes of improving the customer experience.”
“Unless I pay extra, right?”
“For an additional ninety-nine NGD per query, AAI will remove all transactional history associated with your account after one hour of inactivity or upon the explicit termination of your session.”
“Do it. And from now on, I want you to pay more attention to the privacy policies I agree to.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Now let’s talk about gaming.”
“Would you like to talk about sports, gambling, board games, video games, or the colloquial use of the term ‘gaming’ meaning ‘to rig or influence the outcome of’?”
“Video games. Specifically online gaming.”
“Online video games can be divided into three general categories: multiplayer online games, or MOGs, in which players compete or cooperate in a transient arena; massively multiplayer online games, or M-MOGs, where players compete or cooperate in a persistent arena; and online real-life crossover games, or ORLiX, where actions in the physical world affect online gameplay and character development.”
“The first two.”
“Both multiplayer online games and massively multiplayer online games can be further subdivided into first-person shooters, role playing games, real-time strategy games, turn-based strategy games, simulations including sports and vehicle operation, casual or social games including—”
“I’m only interested in first-person shooters, role playing games, and real-time strategy games.”
“Would you like me to list relevant titles?”
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