The Last Iota

by Robert Kroese

  “I had people watching her apartment,” said Mag-Lev. “Why does Selah want her? She’s stopped returning my calls.”

  “She’s probably just busy,” I said. “Doing … movie stuff.”

  “Whatever Selah’s paying you, I’ll double it,” said Mag-Lev.

  I suddenly realized that Mag-Lev thought Selah had hired us to find Gwen. No doubt Keane had already picked up on this.

  “I doubt you have that kind of money,” said Keane. “But I’ll tell you what. We’ll go to Selah, tell her that you have Kathryn, and that she’s safe and unharmed. She is unharmed, yes?”

  “She’s fine,” said Mag-Lev.

  “We’ll need confirmation of that,” said Keane.

  Mag-Lev nodded to one of the men at the door, who exited the room.

  “Assuming Kathryn has not been harmed, we will explain the situation to Selah. I’m sure we can come to a mutually satisfactory agreement. You’ll retain control of the DZ, and Kathryn will be returned safely to Selah.”

  “You think you can get Selah to agree to that?” Mag-Lev asked skeptically.

  “Based on my understanding of Selah’s interests, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  The door to the room opened again, and Gwen stumbled in. She didn’t look good. Her hair was tangled and her jeans were scuffed and torn at the knees, as if she’d been thrown to the ground. Her right eye was nearly swollen shut and her lower lip was swollen and bleeding. The gunman walked in behind her, his rifle pointed at her back.

  “Gwe—” I started, forgetting myself.

  “Jesus Christ!” Keane shouted, drowning me out. “You said she was unharmed.”

  “I said she’s fine,” said Mag-Lev. “And she is fine.”

  It took a momentous effort of will to keep from jumping over Mag-Lev’s desk and beating the shit out of him—or getting shot to death in the process, which was the likelier outcome.

  “Kathryn, are you all right?” Keane asked.

  Gwen nodded, glancing from Keane to me.

  “She was a bit reluctant to come with my men,” said Mag-Lev. “But I assure you she’s safer here than out there.”

  “Selah won’t be happy to see her like this,” Keane said. “Get her cleaned up. Get her some clean clothes and ice for those bruises. I’m going to tell Selah you haven’t harmed her and hope she doesn’t go ballistic when she sees her.”

  “You heard him,” said Mag-Lev to the gunman. The man opened the door and motioned for Gwen to leave. Gwen looked at me desperately.

  “It’ll be okay, Kathryn,” I said. “We’re going to talk to Selah. We’ll get you out of here.”

  Gwen nodded and left the room, the gunman following her.

  “Good,” said Mag-Lev. “We’ll get Kathryn cleaned up and you talk to Selah. You’ve got twenty-four hours. Either Selah gets behind my efforts to stomp out these rival gangs or I deliver Kathryn to her in a bag.”

  SEVEN

  Mag-Lev’s men dropped us off back at our office. They even gave me my gun back. Not surprisingly, Mag-Lev’s thugs were waved through the checkpoint with barely a glance from the LAPD. Ironically, Tortuga lieutenants were the exact sort of people these checkpoints were supposed to keep from getting out, but of course things never worked like that in real life. Exceptions were made for the powerful, and the ordinary people got bent over.

  At present, Keane and I sat at our conference room, finishing up lunch and plotting our next steps. “So,” I said, around a mouthful of reheated lasagna, “how are we going to convince Selah Fiore to support Mag-Lev’s efforts to take back the DZ when she’s … you know, dead.”

  “We’re not,” said Keane.

  “Then what are we going to do?”

  “Go back and get that coin.”

  “We can’t just—” My comm chirped. The display read “Selah Fiore.”

  “What the hell…?” I muttered, stopping to answer it. “This is Fowler.”

  “Mr. Fowler?” said a voice that sounded uncannily like Selah Fiore. “We need to talk.”

  “Cute,” I said. “This isn’t the sort of trick you can play more than once. Whoever you are, you need to get some new material.” I put the call on speaker.

  “I apologize for the deception,” said the voice. “It’s very important that we meet.”

  Keane watched me quizzically from across the table.

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “The police have found the body,” the voice said. “And the surveillance footage. It doesn’t look good for you and Mr. Keane. I can help you.”

  “I’m sure you can,” I said. “As you’re the one who created the problem.”

  “Please, Mr. Fowler. I can explain everything. Meet me at Bolero in Hollywood in half an hour. Reservation will be under the name Hearst.” The call ended.

  “Our mystery caller again,” Keane said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Must be someone using a voice modulator. Whoever it is, they know about Selah’s murder. She wants us to meet her at that Brazilian restaurant, Bolero.” I’d once tried to make a reservation for me and Gwen at Bolero. They had a six-month waiting list.

  “Smart,” Keane replied. “Public place, high profile.”

  “Says she’ll be under the name Hearst. Like William Randolph, I suppose.”

  “Or Patty,” Keane said.

  “How do we know she won’t have the cops waiting for us?”

  “We don’t,” said Keane. “Call her back. Tell her to meet us at the northeast corner of San Pedro and Sixth in ten minutes.”

  “We can’t get to San Pedro and Sixth in ten minutes.”

  “We don’t need to,” said Keane.

  I shrugged and hit the callback button. After some time, the person with Selah’s voice answered. “I hope you’re on your way, Mr. Fowler,” she said.

  “Change of plans, Ms. Hearst,” I said. “Meet us at the northeast corner of San Pedro and Sixth in ten minutes.”

  “I prefer not to be seen on the street,” said the voice.

  “Your choice,” I said. “We’re not going to Bolero.” I hung up and turned to Keane. “Now what?”

  “Call a cab. Have them wait at the northeast corner of San Julian and Sixth. Then call April.”

  “Got it,” I said, realizing what Keane had in mind. I sent the coordinates to the cab app on my comm. Then I called April.

  “Hey there,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “I need a small favor from you.”

  “What else is new?”

  “You can see Sixth Street from your office, right?”

  “Part of it, sure.”

  “Good. In about seven minutes, a woman is going to be walking down Sixth Street from San Pedro to San Julian. At least I assume it will be a woman. She’ll be on the north side of the street.”

  “Tell her it’ll be more like ten minutes,” said Keane. “And she’ll be carrying a bouquet of red roses.”

  I shot Keane a puzzled glance, but didn’t ask. “Keane says—”

  “Yeah, I got it. I’m looking out the window now. I can stay here until your mystery woman shows up. What does she look like?”

  “That’s what you’re going to tell me,” I said. “Call me when you see her.”

  “Okay, chief,” she said. “Over and out.”

  I honestly don’t know why April puts up with this shit.

  “All right,” I said. “Now what?”

  “Now,” Keane said, getting up from the table, “we take April’s car to Grand Park.”

  I got up and we walked to the street, where I had left April’s car. We got in and I headed west toward downtown.

  Keane said, “At four fourteen exactly, call our mystery woman back. Tell her to go east on Sixth until she gets to a flower shop. There’s one a few doors down from the corner. Have her buy a dozen red roses, then walk back toward San Pedro. Keep her on the line until she gets there.”

  I nodded and kept driving toward Grand Park. Something had been bothering me about
the iotas, and I figured now was as good a time as any to ask Keane about it.

  “Earlier you mentioned the bootstrapping problem,” I said. “But you never explained how iotas got around it.”

  Keane nodded. “The intrinsic value of a virtual currency derives from the algorithm on which it’s based,” he replied. “A virtual currency like iotas or XKredits is based on an algorithm that creates artificial scarcity. The algorithm presents a series of puzzles, and individuals can use computers to solve those problems in exchange for more units of the currency. This operation is called ‘mining.’ Every time a puzzle is solved, the next puzzle becomes slightly more difficult. For example the very first puzzle might have be ‘Guess a number between one and ninety-nine.’ The next puzzle would be something like, ‘guess a number between one and one hundred.’ And so on, with each puzzle a little bit tougher than the last. Even assuming endless increases in available computing power, eventually mining becomes too processor-intensive to be worthwhile. So while there’s theoretically no limit to the number of XKredits or iotas that could be in circulation, in practice there’s a clear point of diminishing returns.

  “In addition to the value imparted by this artificial scarcity, a virtual currency like XKredits or iotas has some inherent advantages over physical currency. Because of the decentralized, nonphysical nature of the system, it’s possible to execute payments with zero transaction cost—no credit card fees or bank fees. Also, these payments are theoretically untraceable. Ironically, virtual currencies get much of their value from the actions of the governments trying to suppress them: by making certain financial transactions illegal, they increase the incentive for buyers and sellers to use untraceable currencies.

  “Despite these advantages, as you pointed out, virtual currencies still aren’t actually based on anything. They don’t represent anything in the real world—no pile of gold or silver. So in the end, their value derives purely from speculation. People mining or buying the currency in order to sell them at a profit later on.”

  “The greater fool theory,” I said. “Even if you were a fool to buy XKredits at a certain price, you can always find a greater fool to sell them to for even more in the future.”

  “Exactly,” said Keane. “A market based purely on speculation is going to be extremely unstable, and unlikely to tempt large institutional investors, who want stability. That’s why XKredits remain a curiosity, with less than one percent of the global currency market. Even after the Collapse, more people use dollars—old dollars, that is—than XKredits.”

  “So how did iotas do it?” I asked.

  Keane smiled. “The creators had a big pile of gold.”

  “Bullshit,” I said.

  “Not literal gold, obviously,” Keane said. “Virtual gold. As well as silver, platinum, dwarven gems, magic swords, and spaceships. And real estate, of course. Lots of real estate. Entire planets.”

  “You’re talking about video games,” I said.

  “Massively multiplayer games, yes,” said Keane. “There are now roughly two billion habitual players worldwide, spending an average of five hours per day playing online games. While these people are playing those games, the game world is their reality, and the law of supply and demand applies just as much inside the game as outside. Prior to the invention of iotas, each game had its own proprietary currency, and these currencies had the same weakness as any state-backed fiat currency. For one, in order to transfer wealth from one game to another, players had to rely on third-party services engineered to get around the mercantile-style controls put in place by the game manufacturers. The transaction costs were high, and the player risked being sanctioned by the game’s administrators for violating the rules. The more serious problem with proprietary currencies didn’t surface, however, until the bankruptcy of Carthage Interactive. They’d bet big on an interstellar trading game called Equus, but it turned out to be a big money loser. They pulled the plug on the game without any notice. Analysts estimated that nearly two billion dollars’ worth of virtual property simply disappeared.”

  “Make-believe stuff,” I said.

  “You underestimate how much of the world is composed of make-believe stuff,” said Keane. “Money isn’t the only collective delusion around. In any case, many players, who had been watching Carthage’s financials, saw the end coming, but there wasn’t much they could do about it. It was impossible to cash out of the game, because the money used to buy all this make-believe stuff existed only in the game. So when Carthage pulled the plug, the money disappeared along with the rest of the universe.”

  “And the iota was supposed to fix that problem.”

  “The iota system was an open-source algorithm developed by a group of volunteer developers to allow both in-game and inter-game financial transactions. It shortly became the default standard for gaming currencies. Players liked it because they could leverage their wealth creation in one game to overcome obstacles in another game. Developers liked it because it offered a prebuilt interface for in-game financial transactions, so it was one less thing they needed to build. There was some resistance at first from the big game companies, who wanted to maintain control over their own development infrastructure, but iotas soon became the standard in independently developed games, and competitive pressure eventually forced the big names in the industry to adopt the iota infrastructure as well.

  “At this point, there was nothing preventing iotas from being used for other sorts of transactions. Everyone knew iotas could be used in games, so they had objective value, even though the objects iotas could be traded for were entirely virtual at this point. Soon game retailing sites began allowing game licenses themselves to be purchased with iotas. And from there, it was a short leap to accepting iotas for electronic devices and other physical goods. Iotas became, almost entirely by accident, an alternative form of real-world currency. At this point, the feds would ordinarily have taken an interest, but the spike in iota usage occurred shortly after the Collapse, when the federal government was having a hard time just keeping the lights on in D.C. Geeks buying headsets and joysticks with pretend money was not a priority.”

  “And then the Free Currency Initiative came along to give the iota a shot in the arm,” I said.

  “Right,” said Keane. “A few weeks into the iota boom, when the dollar was bottoming out, the Free Currency Initiative was formed. These guys were smart. They knew iotas were on the verge of going mainstream, but they also realized the feds were eventually going to get a handle on the dollar situation. When that happened, they were going to come down hard on iotas and anything else that threatened their fiat currency. So the FCI made a big play, trying to inject enough iotas into the economy so that by the time the feds got their act together, it would be too late to stop them. The government could outlaw iotas, but only at the expense of pissing off a lot of constituents and, more importantly, campaign donors. And because iotas were untraceable, even if they outlawed them, the black market would live on.”

  “And the celebrity auction was part of that play,” I said.

  “The auction and all the prep work leading up to it,” Keane replied. “Getting nonprofits and corporations on board. It was a clever bit of business.”

  I nodded. I still didn’t understand who was behind all this maneuvering or why, but I’m not sure I had the head for understanding monetary theory.

  At four fourteen I called the mystery woman.

  “I’m not there yet,” said the voice. “Give me five more minutes.”

  I glanced at Keane, who scowled.

  “You’ve got two,” I said. “Don’t hang up until you’re at Sixth and San Pedro.”

  She said something that I didn’t catch.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Told my driver to run the lights,” she said.

  “This is your personal driver or a cab?”

  “Neither,” said the woman. “I’ve been given a sort of … personal escort.”

  “All right,” I
said, not sure what to make of this.

  “Keep her talking,” said Keane.

  “What the hell am I supposed to say to her?” I asked, muting my comm.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Keane. “I just want to make sure she’s not giving anyone instructions.”

  I sighed and unmuted the comm. “So,” I said. “I’m a big fan of yours. I’ve probably seen Road to Tomorrow twenty times.”

  The voice laughed. “That was a very long time ago, Mr. Fowler. Were you even alive when that movie came out?”

  “I watched it when I was in basic training. First movie of yours I ever saw. Is it true you had chopped onions in your pockets for the crying scenes?”

  “You understand I’m not actually Selah Fiore, right?” she said. “Also, it was garlic, not onions. Selah thought she was being clever, raiding craft services for onions. But she was a silly kid, sheltered. She didn’t know what onions looked like. It did work, though, more or less. She said the smell lasted for days.”

  “I would imagine so,” I said. I’d remembered the garlic story from an anniversary retrospective of Conan O’Brien’s show a few years back. Whoever was playing the role of Selah had done her research. “I think I’ve seen every movie Selah ever made,” I said. “Even that god-awful thing where she was a mermaid in that kid’s swimming pool. Pretty sure I watched it with Japanese subtitles.”

  “A bootleg, no doubt,” said the voice. “I don’t believe it was ever released in the States. Anyway, I…” The voice trailed off.

  “You what?” I asked.

  She was quiet for a moment.

  “Ms. Hearst?”

  “I’m coming up to the corner.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Have the driver let you out. Tell him to drive to…” I glanced at Keane, who shrugged. “Tell him to drive to Knott’s Berry Farm,” I said. Why not? I thought. Drivers never get to have any fun in these scenarios.

  I heard her giving muffled instructions to the driver, then a door opening.

  “I’m here,” she said. “Where are you?”