by Dima Zales
“Is it one of the Guards?” I subvocalize so frantically I nearly say the words out loud. “Did they jump in through a window?”
“I don’t think so,” Phoe says, following my gaze. “Go there and prepare your Stun Stick.”
I head back up the stairs to the landing, and from there, I enter the building’s forty-fifth floor. I make my way to the door where the figure is moving.
The red body heat outline looks like it’s making a gesture. The door begins to slide open. If there’s a Guard behind it after all, I just walked into his clutches.
I ready the Stun Stick and say, “Phoe, how do I turn off the heat vision?”
My vision returns to normal just as the door opens.
I raise my arm to stun the person who’s coming out but stop cold. It’s not a person—well, obviously, it’s a person, but he or she is wearing the weirdest costume I’ve ever seen.
A plush purple creature is standing at the threshold. It looks like a cross between a dragon and a hippopotamus. The hippo-dragon’s face is frozen in an overfriendly smile, and its short arms cover a green underbelly.
“Can I help you?” the hippo-dragon asks in a hoarse masculine voice.
“Will stunning him work through that contraption?” I think at Phoe with as much urgency as one can put in a thought.
“It should—it works through these suits, though I guess they’re more conductive. Tell him to take the head off,” she urges. “I turned off the radio in your helmet so the Guards won’t hear this exchange.”
“Please take off your head,” I say, giving my voice the arrogant air of authority I associate with the Guards.
“The helmet already disguises your voice,” Phoe whispers. “But that was a nice touch.”
The man raises his hands to his head and pulls the smiling headgear up.
As soon as I see a sliver of neck between the purple cloth, I touch the Stun Stick to it and press the button.
The purple monster falls down, the grinning head rolling to the side. The Elderly man underneath must be one of the younger members. His hair is only beginning to gray.
“Move him inside and take that outfit off him,” Phoe orders. “We don’t have much time.”
I drag my victim inside his room. The room is filled with crocheting paraphernalia and has an odd, musty smell. I drag the man out of the purple outfit.
“Should I swap clothes with him?” I ask Phoe.
Underneath the bright colors, the man is wearing a drab gray outfit that reminds me of what Youths typically wear.
“No, just put the dinosaur suit on.” A whisper of mirth enters her voice. “You should be able to wear it on top of your Guard getup.”
“What the hell? Why was an Elderly dressed like this?” I step into the bottom portion of the purple costume and pull it up over my Guard suit, finding it a surprisingly loose fit. I reach down to pick up the head of the monster and ask, “And how do you know it’s a dinosaur and not a dragon or a hippo?”
“It’s his Birth Day masquerade outfit,” Phoe says. “They’re all wearing them outside. I think this person works with little kids, and they probably get a kick out of this costume. And I know it’s a dinosaur because I’m fairly sure this is Barney—a Tyrannosaurs Rex ancient kids used to watch on TV. I’ll get you an episode from the archives one day. For now, please, we need to hurry.”
I put on the dinosaur head, mumbling about ancients and their obsession with violence. Using a T-Rex as entertainment for little ones? Granted, they did make him look warm and fuzzy.
Clumsily exiting the apartment, I head for the stairs. With the head on, I see the world through two small pinholes. I can’t picture walking down the stairs this way, but—
“No, the Guards are on the stairs. We’ll take the elevator. This way.” Phoe walks down the corridor. “Come on, stalk me, you monster.”
Ignoring her mockery, I reach the elevator and do the summoning gesture. Given the small arms of T-Rexes and the suit based on their anatomy, my gesture comes out clumsy. Still, the elevator arrives in an instant.
“I summoned the elevator.” Phoe snickers and walks in. “Can you move your tail?”
With the tail trailing behind me, I stomp into the elevator and cross my arms around my green chest. Seeing her chuckle again, I think angrily, “Can you make this thing go down, or are we waiting for the Guards to catch up with us?”
Not waiting for her to comply, I press the manual button but have trouble because the purple plush arm of my costume only has two giant fingers.
The elevator closes, and Phoe belly-laughs at my discomfort. However, as we get closer to the ground floor, she turns more serious, and by the time the doors open, her face is a mask of concentration.
Two Guards are standing there, their helmeted heads tilted in a way that tells me they’re looking inside the elevator.
17
My blood pressure spiking, I wave my two-fingered paw at them and lumber out of the elevator like I own the building.
I fully expect them to ask me to take the head off, but they don’t. Instead, as I head down the corridor, one of the Guards says, “Have fun out there.”
I repeat the moronic hand wave and follow Phoe as she walks out of the lobby.
Though the suit severely restricts my movements, I’m glad for the anonymity it provides. Guards are surrounding the building, but they pay the dinosaur no attention.
Phoe heads toward the black building, and I walk after her, trying not to gawk at the dressed-up Elderly all around me. Phoe was right. The best explanation for their funky costumes is that this is some kind of masquerade. We pass by Pinocchio, a red M&M candy, and a huge crowd of ancient rulers that include the King of Spades, the Lion King, and Barack Obama.
Despite my anxiety, I can’t help but envy the Elderly. The Youths never get to dress up like this, not even on Birth Day.
“This is so they can take the new generation of little kids outside for Birth Day without the kids seeing any signs of aging. Also, if it makes you feel any better, I believe the Elderly are thinking about doing something like this for the Youths next year. They’re testing this out on themselves this year, perhaps to see whether it will corrupt the Youths.” Phoe shakes her head. “I guess they discovered the one holiday Birth Day didn’t already copycat—Halloween.”
“I hope you’re right about next year,” I think, staring at a man dressed as Bugs Bunny. “Liam would love this.”
“Sorry to cut this short, but that’s our destination.” She nods at the black building—or rather, a building made of metal that has a black sheen to it.
“Do I just walk in wearing this costume?” I think at Phoe.
“Yes, wear it, and if anyone sees you, pretend to have randomly wandered in from the street,” she says.
“Okay.” I head for the door, but she steps in front of me, a worried expression on her face. I instantly stop. “What is it, Phoe?”
“After you walk in, I won’t be able to talk to you freely,” she says, shifting from foot to foot. “This building is worse than the Witch Prison. I only happen to know the location of the Test room from the instructional message the eligible Test takers received earlier today.”
She gestures, and a map overlay shows up on the Screen inside my visor.
“As you can see, all you need to do is walk down two corridors and turn left. Once you’re there, there should be an obvious way to start the Test by placing your palm on the control panel. Whisper, ‘Glove off,’ to your helmet, and it will come off, though I’m not sure skin contact is required. You can handle something like that on your own, right?”
“Won’t I need you? Inside the Test, I mean?” I step back and nearly trip over my costume’s purple tail.
“That’s what the Pi Trojan is for,” Phoe reminds me. “As soon as you’re in the Test, it will give me a way in.”
“What about walking my body out of here during the Test? Isn’t that part of the plan?”
“Once I’m in the Test, I’m
sure I can patch back into your body.”
“I guess.” I take an uncertain step forward.
“You can do this.” Phoe leans toward me and kisses my silly outfit on the cheek. “Go before the Guards figure out you’re not in that tetrahedron building.”
The reminder about our pursuers finally leads me to act.
Taking in a deep breath, I quietly walk into the black building.
“Phoe?” I think as I cross the spacious entryway. “Can you really not hear me in here?”
She doesn’t respond, so I follow the map in my visor.
I turn into the northeast corridor and manage to take two shuffling steps in before I can’t continue any farther.
A Guard stands in my way.
“Can I help you?” the Guard asks, his voice gruff and unfriendly.
A number of things happen in quick succession. I let my right arm hang loose at my pudgy purple side, while underneath the suit, I pull my actual arm, still dressed in the Guard outfit, out of the purple cloth around it. I then reach for the Stun Stick in my belt and say, “Where am I? I have a hard time seeing in this outfit. Can you help me take this head off?”
The Guard shrugs and steps toward me.
I reach for the dinosaur head with my left hand and pretend to fumble. With my right hand, under the suit, I raise the Stun Stick up to my neck.
The Guard places his hands on my purple headgear and pulls.
As soon as there’s an inch of space between the two pieces of the dinosaur’s skin, I jab the Guard with the Stun Stick and spasmodically press the button.
The Guard collapses on the spot.
Blowing out a relieved breath, I take his Stun Stick, figuring two weapons are better than one. Then I take the rest of my purple suit off, rip the tail off, and use it to tie the Guard’s arms behind his back. Not sure how well this will keep him bound, I also put the dinosaur headgear on his head, only backward. This way, he won’t see where he is when he regains consciousness. Finally, I rip up the rest of the suit and tie strips around the Guard’s legs and across his torso and shoulders. Happy with my work, I drag his limp body into a nook in the corridor and zap him one more time for good measure.
Free to move again, I run toward my destination.
The next two turns are uneventful, and the third one should be the last. According to my map, the Test is right there, in a spacious room.
I turn the corner.
The Test room is empty except for two things: a large, lit-up wall to my right, and the Guard turning my way to my left.
“Hello, Ronny,” I say, taking advantage of his nametag label in my visor’s interface. Before he can react, I move in to close the distance between us.
“Noah?” he says, his posture uncertain.
I get closer and fib, “I’m here to relieve you of your duties. It’s a little happy Birth Day surprise.”
I don’t know if he’s reaching for his Stun Stick because he heard over his radio about everyone chasing after ‘Noah’ or because my improvisation was completely out of character with what a sane Guard would say, but the fact remains: he’s reaching for it. I’m four feet away, so we’re both outside Stun Stick reach. This is when I realize I’m holding on to my extra Stun Stick, another reason Ronny might be paranoid.
I throw my extra weapon at his head. He raises his hands. If it’s to catch the Stun Stick, he fails. If it’s to protect his visor, he’s being silly. This helmet can easily withstand that impact. I use his momentary distraction to punch his midsection.
He staggers back.
I pull out my second Stun Stick.
He manages to take his out.
As though looking in a mirror, we touch the other’s shoulder with the sticks. It’s a matter of whose finger will press the button first.
I squeeze mine just as my consciousness escapes.
* * *
I wake up as though from a horrible nightmare. Where am I? Why is my bed so uncomfortable?
Then reality reasserts itself. An unconscious Guard is lying at my feet. I’m in the Test room, and we just zapped each other. If I’ve regained consciousness, that means the Guard, Ronny, is about to come to as well. It also means the Guard I left behind—the one tied up with the dinosaur outfit—is awake and trying to free himself.
I sit up and reach for the Stun Stick to my right. In a flurry of movements, Ronny grabs my ankle and pulls. His other arm reaches for his own Stick. I kick at his helmet and roll right, grabbing the Stun Stick as I go. Jumping to my feet, I see him do the same.
We circle each other slowly.
He lunges with the Stick, aiming at my right shoulder. I jump to the side, his Stick missing me by a hair, and counter by bringing down my weapon on his wrist like the ancient club it resembles.
The brute-force maneuver works, and his Stun Stick clanks on the floor. He follows it with his eyes—a big mistake. Using his distraction, I touch his exposed torso and pump him full of volts.
He crashes to the ground.
Breathing heavily, I drag his body to the wall where the Test is. There’s a pedestal with a large palm-shaped indentation. Phoe mentioned there would be something like this when she sent me in. I drag Ronny closer to the control panel and zap him again to give myself the maximum amount of time to take the Test.
I place my hand on the indentation.
Nothing happens.
“Glove off,” I whisper, remembering Phoe’s instruction.
The glove separates from the suit, and I put it under my belt. With a deep breath out, I place my naked palm on the control panel.
A giant Screen appears on top of the panel. On the Screen are the words: Authenticating age.
I swallow. Phoe’s insane idea of making me ninety years old is about to get tested. After a moment, the Screen turns green—universal for confirmed—and a giant panel slides out of the wall. Upon closer inspection, I realize it’s a bed.
Lie down, Test subject Theodore, the Screen states. Once you’re in a horizontal position, initiate sleep.
I expected the world to go white, the way it does on my trips to Virtual Reality and the IRES game. I didn’t expect to take a nap. There’s no helping it, though. I drag poor Ronny under the bed, get on, and zap him one last time.
Then I lie down and tighten the muscles around my eyes to initiate assisted sleep.
18
I’m standing in a tunnel made of shimmering, translucent material. It looks as though water is somehow staying upright, creating the walls of this place. The material even ripples like water. There is no sky. The water walls keep going up, seemingly indefinitely, blending into the horizon of the non-existent sky. There are also doors here, doors that look like they’re made of ice. The row of doors stretches out in both directions as far as the eye can see.
“Theo?” Phoe’s thought says in my mind.
“Yes,” I mentally respond. “Looks like your Pi trick worked.”
“Forget about that.” Her thought is urgent. “We need to abort this Test.”
“Why?” I subvocalize.
“Don’t subvocalize.” Her mental reply is uncharacteristically sharp. “Look like you’re trying to choose a door.”
I do as she says. Turning right, I walk down the tunnel, gazing from one identical door to the next.
“What’s going on?” I think at her, trying to control my anxiety. “Why are you so spooked?”
“This is too risky. I thought the Test would involve Virtual Reality, not this.”
“What do you mean? How can this not be VR? Are you saying this is the real world?” I look at the water walls and the lack of sky. “This environment is clearly fake.”
“Okay, I don’t want to split hairs about terminology. You could call it a Virtual Reality of sorts, but what makes it different is you. Specifically, how your mind arrived here.” Phoe’s thoughts hold an undertone of worry. “You see, Virtual Reality typically involves your neurons experiencing fake inputs and outputs from your nanos, a bit like
Augmented Reality but taken to the extreme. It’s your meat brain that goes through the experience. This place doesn’t work like that.” Her worry seems to intensify. “There’s a feature in your nanos I noticed a while back. They seem to record what happens to your connectome, which is the combination of everything in your brain that makes up who you are, from your neurons to the lowliest neurotransmitter. I never realized how detailed that snapshot is or that it was used for any practical purpose in Oasis. I assumed it was dormant technology left over from your Singularity legacy. That the Elderly use this technology is hypocritical, but in hindsight, given Forgetting and all that, I don’t know why I’m surprised.”
“Hold on.” I stop her from going off on her ‘the Elderly hate technology and they’re hypocrites’ tangent. “I’m not sure I follow, Phoe. What are you saying?”
“Have you ever heard of uploading people? Did they scare you with such a concept at the Institute?”
I strain to recall such a term. “No.”
“Okay, imagine if someone took a person, scanned them with nanotechnology, and created a perfect replica of them inside a simulated environment. This copy would be indistinguishable from the original, at least insofar as when you talk to them or how they feel about themselves.”
“Kind of like the way you work? Your body that talks to me, that is?” I feel ice forming at the bottom of my chest. “Like what you said in the cave?”
“Kind of. My other self designed my body. It’s not a copy of someone else’s. But the principle of it, running emulated neurons and the rest, is the same. The mechanics of how an upload works is also similar to the way that version of my body does—”
“And you’re saying that I’m—”
“—currently an upload,” she says in my mind. “Your real brain is sleeping back on that bed.”
I examine my clothes. I’m wearing an ancient outfit of dark jeans and a blue t-shirt, but that happens in regular VR. My thought process is the same. My emotions—particularly my overwhelming fear—feel realistic. The more I think about being this disembodied digital echo of myself, the less it makes sense. I feel normal. I’m here, breathing air and having a mental conversation with Phoe.