by Dima Zales
“You don’t sound too certain,” I think, partly to myself but mostly for her benefit.
She doesn’t respond, so I say out loud, “Can’t you use your hacking skills to figure this out?”
Phoe turns back to me. “This cathedral is located in a DMZ of sorts. It took a lot of effort for me to tap into it. I was lucky I got into it at all. But when I tried to trace his origin”—she points at the Envoy—“no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t. I reached an impenetrable Firewall that blocked me from accessing a large chunk of the overall computing resources. And I don’t mean I just can’t use them. I can’t even fathom what’s there. And he clearly exists in that unreachable region.”
“What’s a DMZ?” I ask. “And for that matter, what’s a Firewall?”
“Demilitarized Zone—DMZ for short—was an ancient computing term,” Phoe says. “Think of it as a layer of security against hacking that lies between systems that aren’t secured and systems that are heavily secured. A Firewall is another measure of security, one between the DMZ and whatever it is you’re trying to hack. It’s the Firewall that has me baffled, but none of this should be the focus of our conversation. I think we should be discussing the mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.”
I nod, letting go of the mystery of the Envoy’s identity for now to focus on the meaning of his conversation with Jeremiah.
Yesterday, Fiona, one of the Elderly, called a Council meeting to object to Jeremiah’s method of questioning me (via torture). The meeting took place but didn’t really change anything. The Council decided to allow Jeremiah to do what he wanted.
After I beat the IRES game and Phoe got the resources she needed, she was able to make everyone Forget I was ever in trouble, which means that Jeremiah can no longer recall the ‘should we torture Theo?’ Council meeting. Unfortunately for us, it seems this Envoy was notified that the cursed meeting was scheduled. Thanks to that, the Envoy knows that a Forgetting happened.
“Yes, your assessment agrees with mine,” Phoe says as a voice in my head. “And before you ask your next question, let me show you this.”
Phoe flicks her fingers, and the conversation between Jeremiah and the Envoy speeds up. Their lips move like leaves in a tornado, and their voices sound high-pitched. The effect would be comical if it weren’t for the bits and pieces of conversation I catch—information that confirms what I’ve already deduced. They know that Jeremiah’s brain was somehow tampered with, which should be impossible given his role as the Keeper of Information.
Phoe returns the recording to normal speed as Jeremiah asks, “Can you undo the Forgetting? Return to me what I have lost?”
“No,” the Envoy responds, the melody of his voice brooding. “I can’t recover your memories, but we can monitor you and the Council going forward. If you’re made to Forget again, I should be able to learn who was behind this atrocity.”
Phoe snaps her fingers again, and the scene pauses.
I exhale the breath I was holding in. The point the Envoy made about whether he can undo Forgetting is a question that goes to the core of my anxiety.
“That is one bit of evidence that proves this Envoy isn’t me, assuming you still needed reassurance on that front,” Phoe says. “I can undo a Forgetting, if I choose to do so.”
“Well, he could be lying,” I begin to say but stop. “No, he wouldn’t have a good reason to lie about that.” I inhale. “I’m glad he isn’t you. If he were you and could undo Forgetting, that would be a disaster. I mean, if Jeremiah recalled what happened, the Guards would be on their way to get me as we speak.”
“No.” Phoe rubs the heel of her palm against her chest. “The Guards aren’t on their way to get you…”
I look at her questioningly, and she flicks her fingers again.
The scene speeds up once more, then slows as the Envoy says, “Logic would dictate that you start your investigation with the last Forgetting.” He wrinkles his nose. “The unfortunate case of that insane Youth, Mason.”
Without my being conscious of what I’m doing, my hand strikes the Envoy in the face, but the punch doesn’t connect. Instead, my fist goes through the Envoy’s face. I should’ve guessed it would, since I’m inside of a recording.
Phoe pauses the conversation. “I don’t blame you for trying to smack him,” she says. “If I could punch this winged prick, I would.”
I take a couple of calming breaths and say, “Investigating Mason would lead them to me.”
“Yes.” Phoe’s blue eyes are pools of worry. “And there’s this.”
She fast-forwards the conversation until Jeremiah says, “I’d like to be granted the Lens of Truth for this investigation.”
Phoe pauses the recording again and interjects, “In case you missed it, the Lens of Truth is what the Envoy used to make Jeremiah answer his questions earlier. I believe it’s a neural lie detection algorithm of some kind.”
She continues the recording.
The Envoy looks thoughtful for a moment, then decisively says, “All right. You and Fiona will be granted the Lens of Truth for the duration of this investigation.”
“Fiona?” There’s a note of agitation in Jeremiah’s voice.
“Yes,” the Envoy replies, watching Jeremiah intently.
“But she’s the reason I requested the Lens of Truth to begin with.” Jeremiah’s jaw tightens. “She’s the very person I want to question first.”
“That would be completely out of the question,” the Envoy says, his voice so forceful it reverberates in my belly. “I will not allow you to turn this quagmire into a platform for petty political squabbles.” He shakes his index finger at Jeremiah. “Fiona is a capable Councilwoman, and if something were to happen to you”—there’s a threatening undertone to the Envoy’s words—“she’d succeed you as the Keeper.”
For a moment, Jeremiah looks like he was struck. He seems to be considering whether to talk back. Either his fear or respect wins out, because he says, “I understand, Envoy. The honorable Fiona and I will take your gift and investigate.”
For the first time since the Forgetting issue came up, the Envoy looks pleased. I guess pairing Jeremiah with Fiona was some kind of test, and Jeremiah passed.
“You’ll start with Mason’s cohorts and work your way up to the Instructors.” The Envoy’s voice is a calmer melody. “If the Lens needs to be used on any of the Elderly, I want to be notified about it first.”
“As you wish,” Jeremiah says, and his mouth freezes.
I look at Phoe, who’s flicked her fingers again.
Though I expected the Envoy to say something along those lines, now it’s official. I’m definitely one of Mason’s cohorts.
Phoe and I stand there in silence. Then she looks me in the eye and says, “We’re done here. Let’s go back to the real world.”
I open my mouth to launch into a torrent of objections, but Phoe is no longer in the room.
I take one last look at the mystery AI, or whatever the Envoy is, and signal to leave the VR, showing one middle finger to Jeremiah and the other to the winged creature.
The white tunnel swirls me back to my man cave, and I repeat the gesture. Another white whirlwind later, I find myself back on my bed in the real world.
Phoe is still standing above me. When she sees me open my eyes, she sighs deeply, and a distant expression appears on her face.
“So,” I say, breaking the silence, “they’ll investigate me using that Lens of Truth.”
“Most likely, yes,” Phoe says, but she sounds distracted. “Jeremiah just called upon the Council to discuss it, so I suggest we wait until that meeting is over before we decide what to do next.”
“But—”
“I mean it. We need to know all the variables.”
“And you can eavesdrop on their meeting?” I frown. “Isn’t it risky, given the Envoy situation?”
“So long as I stay out of their minds, I shouldn’t be detected. Hopefully.”
“I guess it’s worth the
risk.” I get up from the bed. “We have to know how deep this goes.”
“Exactly.” She looks distant again. “It’s going to happen in about twenty minutes. We can wait that long.”
“Okay,” I subvocalize. “In the meantime, I think I need some fresh air.”
“Good idea,” Phoe says and heads for the door.
We’re both pretty quiet as we make our way out of the Dorm building.
When we get outside, we’re greeted by the rising sun.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Phoe says.
I’m not sure if she’s talking about the sunrise or how it’s reflecting off the dew on the grass, but she’s right. It’s been ages since I’ve woken up this early, and I guess I was missing out. Even knowing that the sun isn’t real, that we’re in space surrounded by stars, doesn’t detract from its beauty.
I walk down the green walkway and notice Youths who are already awake. To my right, a couple of boys are meditating. To my left, two girls are practicing yoga.
When I turn the corner, heading toward the soccer field, a Youth inserts himself in my path. I’m so lost in thought that it takes me a moment to realize it’s Owen. What the hell is he doing awake at this unreasonably early hour? Somehow, I doubt he got up to meditate.
When he sees I’ve spotted him, he walks toward me.
Not in the mood for his shenanigans, I attempt to get past him by stepping right.
He steps to his left, once again blocking my path.
I automatically step to the left.
He moves to the right this time. Clearly, he’s trying to get in my way.
I stop and say, “What do you want?”
“Oh, I didn’t even notice you there, Why-Odor,” Owen says in his hyena-like tone. “If you want to dance, why don’t you just ask me?”
“I’m not in the mood for your shit,” I say. The intensity in my voice, as well as my blatant breaking of the vulgarity rules, makes Owen take a slight step back.
Unfortunately, he recovers quickly and says, “Well, I am in the mood for a chat.” He looks around to make sure no one can overhear him, sees that we’re alone, and quietly adds, “So who gives a shit what you want?”
“I’ll give you two seconds to get out of my way,” I say as evenly as I can, given the tension of the morning thus far. “One.”
“Theo, don’t,” Phoe whispers.
“Fuck you,” Owen replies and puffs out his chest, looking like a weird hyena-peacock hybrid.
“Wrong answer,” I think, and without saying a word, I do something I’ve only done once in the IRES simulation.
I ball my hand into a fist and punch Owen in the jaw.
3
I expect Owen to raise his fists and fight back, like in the IRES game. To be honest, I’m hoping he’ll give me a reason to hit him again.
He doesn’t raise his fists. He just stands there, looking as stunned as a cartoon character that ran off a cliff.
Then, to my surprise, Owen gracelessly collapses.
“Dude?” I say, looking down at him. “Owen?”
He doesn’t reply.
I think I knocked him out, like an ancient boxer.
“Is he okay?” I ask Phoe.
With a flick of her wrist, Phoe brings up a Screen.
I see vitals on the screen and assume they’re Owen’s. They look normal, but I wait for her to answer.
“Yes, he’s fine,” she says and shakes her head. “I didn’t expect you to do that.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, half to her and half to the unconscious Owen. “I’m not used to having so much pent-up emotion.” I rub my aching knuckles with my left hand. “I had no idea my punch would be that effective.”
“Well…” Phoe clears her throat. “It normally wouldn’t be, but I did something to a group of nanos in your body while you were sleeping, and this might be a tiny side effect of that.” She gives me a weak smile. “I’ve been meaning to tell you about it.”
“What?” The hair on the back of my neck rises.
“There’s nothing to be concerned about.” Phoe’s smile wanes. “Remember how much interest you showed in the rejuvenation nanos that are dormant in your body? Well, once you went to sleep, I scanned you with my newly enhanced senses, and I found many more nanos that are meant to be generally beneficial. They also seem to have been developed before Oasis was formed, and like the longevity-enhancing rejuvenation nanos, it looks like their effects were never turned on.” She scratches her cheek. “I examined the ones that were safe and simple in their operations, and when I felt confident, I turned one of them on. It seemed like such a terrible waste of potential…”
As she speaks, I feel blood drain from my face. “You said you wouldn’t mess with me without my permission.”
“No.” She steps backward. “I said I wouldn’t tamper with your mind. What I enabled has nothing to do with your brain. Well, not exactly, anyway. I guess it gives your brain steady oxygen.” She scratches her neck this time. “Basically, what I did will make your body work more efficiently. This nano does what a regular red blood cell does, only better.”
I look at her, unblinking, debating whether she’s kidding around with this nonchalant discussion of manipulating frightening ancient technology inside my body. I vaguely recall reading that red blood cells carry oxygen and take carbon dioxide out.
“Exactly.” Phoe seems to be examining my shoes. “These devices are called Respirocytes. They work better than red blood cells ever could. With them enabled, you should be able to survive for hours without breathing. They’ll allow you to run much easier and sprint longer distances without getting out of breath. That’s why I took the liberty of activating them, given all that running you did yesterday. I thought you’d be pleased.”
I remember all my huffing and puffing yesterday, and some of my anxiety gives way to curiosity. Not needing to breathe for hours? That’s impossible.
“There you go,” Phoe says, her smile reappearing as she looks up at me. “That’s the spirit. Respirocyte is the earliest nanocyte ever invented. Its design was put forth as early as the late twentieth century. The ones in your body were simple enough in construction and function that I could verify they were safe beyond a shadow of doubt, even with my limited resources. I never would’ve enabled them otherwise.”
“Fine,” I subvocalize. “Just ask me before you enable anything else next time.”
“Deal,” Phoe says. Then she adds quickly, “With the exception of special situations, such as when you’re in mortal danger and enabling something might save your life.”
“Agreed,” I subvocalize and look back at the unconscious Owen. “Now can you explain to me how the extra oxygen made me stronger?”
“Oxygen definitely makes your muscles perform better, though I didn’t think the effect would be that significant.” She looks at Owen’s vitals again. “It is conceivable that, in addition to your punch, he also lost consciousness due to shock. After all, he probably hasn’t been hit in over a decade, if ever—”
“Oh, he’s been hit. I remember when Liam punched him in kindergarten.” I smile at the memory. “He didn’t get knocked out, but he did cry—profusely.”
“There you go.” Mirth enters Phoe’s gaze. “This confirms my theory that bullies are secretly pussies.” She glances down at Owen. “And sometimes not so secretly.”
Though I’m still a little mad at her, I can’t help but chuckle.
I gesture to snap a photo of Owen in his unconscious condition and bring it up on my Screen. I debate sending it to Liam but decide against it. The Adults could easily intercept and correctly interpret what happened, which would lead to a Quietude of legendary proportions.
“They can even access it this way,” Phoe says.
“Can you delete it then?” I subvocalize.
“You never actually took the picture.” She winks. “I intercepted the command and put that image on your Screen locally.”
“Devious,” I subvocalize and dismiss my
Screen.
She stands there looking smug, and I turn my attention inward.
If what Phoe said is true and I really can survive for hours without breathing, I should be able to hold my breath beyond my previous record of fifty seconds.
I hold my breath to put her words to the test.
At first it feels like any other time I’ve held my breath—not bothersome at the beginning.
Emboldened, I count Theodores: one Theodore, two Theodores, three…
I know from prior experience that ten seconds is when a slight discomfort usually begins.
This time, however, it doesn’t. I feel exactly the way I did on the first second.
After thirty seconds, I still don’t feel any unease.
After sixty Theodores, my mood improves with every passing second.
“I’m glad you finally appreciate my gift.” A hint of mockery dances in Phoe’s voice. “But you didn’t knock him out strongly enough to hang out here much longer. At this point, I’m preventing him from getting up using methods I’d rather not use, given all the unwanted attention. I also don’t consider it very ethical to be doing this, even if it’s Owen we’re talking about.”
“Will you make him Forget?” I pointedly keep holding my breath.
“I already did,” Phoe says. “If you really want to test the Respirocytes, you should sprint to your favorite spot while holding your breath.”
“That’s a great idea,” I think.
“The only type of ideas I get.” She grins, turns her back to me, and runs.
Resisting the temptation to give Owen’s butt a kick, I follow her.
Phoe runs fast, but I keep up. In a few moments, I’m approaching my full-on sprinting speed.
I take long strides and focus on my breath. Minutes pass, and I don’t feel the need to breathe. A few more minutes later, there still isn’t a hint of me running out of breath. As I run, pure joy replaces my initial concerns and my grievances with Phoe. Every millisecond is identical to that very first rush I got when I started sprinting. And it’s not just not needing to breathe that’s different. Running is subtly easier. My muscles seem to recover faster from the exertion.