“Everyone please find a spot and grab some goggles. EduTain is famous for offering different types of AR in the same package, to accommodate different learners. So if you’re an audio kind of guy who hates reading, you can toggle to that mode. Okay, I’m going to join you in a minute and put mine on. Everyone got theirs on? Everyone seeing Paris right now? Good. And, as I was saying with respect to learning, if you’re a people person, you can toggle and you can interact with people on the tour. So if history is your thing, you can chat with Clovis the Lazy here about how things were circa the year 632.”
An image of a young-looking Frankish king appeared on the modern-day Rue des Barres. She pulled off her goggles and glanced around. Everyone was lost in VR, staring into their viewers and exclaiming at what they were seeing. The guide was also immersed in the imagery.
She quietly put the goggles back on the floor, threaded her way through the crowd, and slipped out of the arena. The official tour wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know about EduTain from a few searches. She had to figure out what they were working on, what they were researching. Why were they tracking her lab? Had they stolen her device?
A security guard looked at her closely as she crossed the main hallway of the building, so she made a beeline for the washrooms she had seen there earlier. Once she was safely behind the door, she pulled it open a crack to look out. The guard had lost interest for the time being and gone back to watching the doors.
Kel removed her visitor badge and tucked it under a towel on the sink. She’d be less conspicuous without the bright yellow label.
She left the washroom, ducked into the hallway where the lifts were located. The tour guide had said they did all of their research and development on the sixth floor, so it was the number six button she selected when a lift arrived.
The lift doors opened onto a quiet but busy floor. There were a series of large offices and workspaces, all with huge picture windows that looked into the hallway, and even larger windows that provided a view of the outdoors. Given the amount of activity she could see going on, and the lack of noise, Kel assumed they were well soundproofed. She was immediately jealous; she much preferred this arrangement to the old-fashioned open plan layout of her own workspace.
Kel strolled down the hallway, trying to look as though she had a destination, but stealing glances at rooms on both sides. One room appeared to be used for music scoring and sound effects. In another space, several people were clustered around a wall, arranging a storyboard. In still another, costume designers were busy testing period costumes to be scanned and rendered into virtual reality.
Nothing looked promising until she rounded a corner and discovered the space where they were working on VR hardware. The workshop was full of parts, fabbers, and prototypes for next-generation eyewear, controllers, and feedback systems. Kel paused, looking at the various bits and pieces spread over a workbench. Was her device there? What would they want to use it for? There were just two people in the room right now. Could she hide in the building until later and come back to this area when they had gone for the day? She looked for storage rooms.
“You there!”
Kel spun around. It was a very large security guard. “Uh, hi,” she stammered. “Which way to the washrooms?”
“You know that already,” the guard said. “Come with me, please.”
“I do?”
“Yes, you left your badge in the washroom. The system is heart rate synced. We knew the minute you dumped it. Come with me. Now.”
~
If she had been jealous before, Kel was green with envy now. This woman’s office was enormous.
“Thank you, Manuel. You were right to bring her to me,” the woman said. “I’ll be sure to update Ms Torres on this when she gets back. Could you wait outside?” The guard nodded, then left Kel and the woman alone.
“Please sit down,” the woman said, pointing to a chair. “I’m Pauline McDonald, executive assistant to Maura Torres.” Kel sat down. “So which organisation are you spying for?” Pauline demanded.
“Me?” Kel replied indignantly. “Why is your company monitoring our computers?”
Pauline cocked her head to one side. “What organisation are you with?”
“You mean you’re bugging so many you don’t know which one to start with?”
Pauline didn’t answer, and the two women glared at each other.
Kel finally said: “I’m Dr Kel Rafferty, University of Toronto. I’m doing Alzheimer’s research. My… something I was working on has gone missing. I think you have it.”
Kel thought Pauline looked surprised, though the expression was so fleeting it was hard to tell. “What was it you were working on? What could possibly be of interest to us?”
“I would rather not say, and I really don’t have a clue. All I know is that I found your packet sniffer in our network.”
“I have no knowledge of any packet sniffers,” Pauline said.
Kel thought that was probably true. Someone who worked as an assistant to the company’s CEO likely wasn’t involved in setting such a thing up. That didn’t mean the company hadn’t deployed any, though.
“While I’m sure the work you do is interesting and noble,” Pauline continued, “I can’t imagine why you’d think we would be interested.” She leaned back. “And if you are missing a device, I suggest you take it up with the police or make enquiries on the street. But please don’t go wandering through private property, Dr Rafferty. We take corporate espionage quite seriously. If we find you poking around here again, we will have you arrested. Manuel will see you out.”
SETH
Mike’s secret club turned out to be a drab storefront on Church and Gerrard, right beside a clothing shop that featured several gynoids and androids modelling the latest fashions in the window. The proprietor hastily wrapped himself up in a dingy saffron robe when Seth came in.
“Namaste,” he said. “How may I bring peace to you today?”
“Hello, is this Digital Buddhas?” Seth asked him.
“Indeed, it is,” the man said. With blond hair and blue eyes, he didn’t look very Tibetan to Seth. Then again, he’d been told he didn’t look Italian, so who was he to judge?
“I heard about this place from someone I met in VR,” Seth said. “Told me you had this thing you could plug into a standard jack for a fantastic meditation session.”
“Ah yes, we have several packages available. Our Instant Transcendence package is our best seller. For the price of just one great meal out with drinks, you can—”
Seth raised a hand. “Actually, it’s not transcendence I’m interested in, it’s—”
“Of course, if that doesn’t suit your budget, you can try the next level down, which is our Chakra Charger. You will feel better, attract more—”
“No, no,” Seth said, “you don’t understand. I—”
“For bargain hunters,” the man said pointedly, “we have a Healing Hertz for positive thoughts. This is being offered at the introductory price of—”
“The device,” Seth interjected. “I’m interested in the device. Are you selling that?”
The man bristled. “Are you suggesting you wouldn’t get a genuine encounter here?”
“What? No,” Seth said. “I don’t care about the experience. It’s probably great. I just want to know more about how it’s done.”
“You doubt my credentials, is that it? Going to start up your own shop? Where did you study, eh? I spent three weeks in Tibet!”
“Good grief, I’m not interested in anything to do with meditation. I want to know where you got the device.”
The man pointed to the door. “Out!”
“Jeeze, you’re not very zen,” Seth said.
“Out!”
He decided to pop into a few of the other shops and ask questions. News of the device had spread like wildfire down the rest of the flow, but no one here seemed to know where to get one.
He decided to try one last place an
d stepped into a place called The Black Eagle. It was a Saturday, so the place was busy with prospective customers. He was accosted by a rentbot set to aggressive sales mode. “Hey, sailor!” he said. “What are you into tonight? Did you know our loyalty club gives you a permanent ten percent discount? What do you say?” He twirled around, showing off a perfectly proportioned swimmer’s physique. He stopped and posed seductively. “I’m available right this very minute.”
“Sorry, not here for a rentbot, thanks,” said Seth, and the bot pouted. “But I am looking for information on a special kind of recording device.”
The bot rolled its eyes. “Everyone has been asking about those in here today. I’m beginning to think I will be out of a job soon. Follow me.”
Seth followed the bot to a display shelf at the side of the showroom. There were several objects locked behind glass. The bot undid the cabinet and pulled one out. “We’re giving these away free for a limited time. Your mission, darling, should you choose to accept it,” the bot said, with a charming smile, “is to record your hottest experience, start to finish. Bring it in and we’ll give you three months’ exclusive access to our Love Exchange club for free. And you’ll be enrolled in our loyalty club at no charge.”
“And what if I don’t bring in an… experience? What happens to the device? Does it expire or something?”
“Sweetheart, don’t sell yourself short! You have plenty of time to find a hot date. And remember, I’m not booked yet!”
“No seriously,” Seth said. “What happens if I don’t?”
The bot let out an exasperated sigh. “The boss claims there’s a ninety-day lockdown installed on it, so you must bring it back in then. But honestly, according to my scans there doesn’t seem to be anything like that on there. I am certain he hasn’t the slightest idea how they work. He’s just fabbing copies of the device he got off someone else. Just recycle it when you’re done. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find someone much more willing.”
Seth examined the device. It looked innocuous and like it would fit into a standard port. He’d take it home and let Tasha examine it for viruses and other malware before trying it out.
HAROON
At another recruiting event, Haroon hung around until the officer wrapped up before he came into the room. He approached the woman nervously and waited while several people from the audience asked her questions.
When the last person finally left and he got his turn, she smiled warmly at him, which gave him the courage to speak up.
“Hi,” he said, “they told me to meet with someone here about my application?”
“Ah, right,” she said. “I’m Constable Martin. And you must be…” She picked up her tablet and tapped it a few times. “You must be Haroon. Thank you for coming out to meet me in person. We got your application and your medical exams. I wanted to communicate with you personally. Your grades are decent, and we really liked your enthusiasm in your application. Your medical exams checked out, but, well, I wanted to discuss your police record with you.”
Haroon was bemused. “My police record? What do you mean?”
“Typically, we don’t look at someone with a history of serious criminal offences, including involvement with organised crime, but given you were underage we were wondering if there were any extenuating circumstances that aren’t stated in the reports?”
Haroon opened his mouth and shut it again. It was several long moments before he could process what she’d said to him.
“But I don’t have a record!”
The constable’s expression was confused. She looked at the tablet and then back at him. “Are you trying to claim you are not Haroon Subhan Minhas?” She handed him the tablet.
Haroon viewed the report and nearly did a double take. His own image looked back at him.
Except, when he studied it closely, it wasn’t him at all, but rather, someone who looked very like him, twenty-one years ago.
“That’s my father,” he breathed.
“I’m sorry? Could you repeat that?”
He swiped the report up to read it. They had caught Subhan in a police sweep just over two decades ago, not long after he had moved into J-District. After a brief scuffle with the arresting officers, and a bunch of lengthy interviews, he had admitted to working as a part-time security guard for the mafia. They released him on bail and then he was rearrested several days later for public drunkenness and assault. The second arrest report suggested he had many severe injuries that were a few days old, and some new ones from the fight he’d been picked up over.
Haroon abruptly recalled one of the many times his father had woken up screaming over the years. “I say no thing!” he would shout. “I tell them no thing!” He must have been worked over by the local don to find out if he’d said anything incriminating to the police. He eventually spent time in jail for his association with the gang, but they made no other major arrests connected to the case. The mob apparently decided he hadn’t snitched after all.
“Mr Minhas,” the constable said. “Could you say that again?”
“This,” Haroon said, still reading, “this isn’t me. This is…” he paused. He wasn’t willing to admit this was his father a second time. “Look at the report dates here. I’m only nineteen.”
The constable took back the tablet and studied the report. “Hmm, look at that. When records with similar or identical names are pulled up, the computer usually filters by image to reduce false positives.” She glanced at his photo and then at him, back and forth, even holding the tablet up near his face. “So why is this your picture?”
“It’s not. Look, the nose and chin are different,” he said. She didn’t look convinced.
“Let me see your ID please?” she pulled a small object out of her pocket and scanned it over his wrist. She referred to her tablet again. “You didn’t get this ID until just a few years ago? Forgive me, but I’m wondering why that would be? An ID with an age so far off chronological age is usually a sign of ID theft or something worse.”
Haroon could sense a shift in attitude, going from friendly recruiter to someone investigating a possible crime. Her tone wasn’t hostile, but it had gotten a lot sterner in the last few minutes. “I wasn’t given one at birth,” he replied. “I never knew my mother, and grew up more or less on my own.” It wasn’t a lie, but it glossed over his father. “If you check dates for my education, you’ll see I had a late start on that, too.”
“Oh?” she said. “Yes, it lines up. With the same name and what looked to be the same face though…” She squinted at the image and then shook her head. “A relation perhaps?”
Haroon shrugged. “Maybe. It’s a big city. I suppose I might have family around, but…” he let it trail off.
She gave him a shrewd look. Haroon wondered if she guessed what the relationship might be. “Well, the force would reserve the right to ask for a test to prove your age should you go through with your application and on to the next step which is the entrance exam. In the meantime, I’ll disassociate this record from your application. Now I’m really glad we took the time to talk to you in person. I would hate to lose someone because of some confusion over dates, and the way you handled yourself now suggests you would be a good candidate. Not everyone would have taken being confronted with a record — even an erroneous one — nearly so well. Being calm under pressure is a key part of the job.”
“Thank you,” Haroon said.
“May I send you some test dates?”
The last thing he felt like thinking about just now was an exam, but he didn’t want to say as much to her. “Yes, that would be fine.”
She forwarded the information to his wristband, they bowed politely to each other, and Haroon left the building. He wilted onto a nearby park bench, ignoring the rain soaking through his trousers.
His father was a criminal. It looked like he had chosen — chosen! — to move into J-District. Haroon had always assumed Subhan had grown up there and hadn’t found the means to escape it
.
Ever since he was old enough to understand the term, Haroon had known his father was an alcoholic. A part of him had always worried he would be one, too, which was why he’d never been tempted to sneak a drink. He knew there were good treatments for alcoholism available — outside of J-District — so if he got out of J but in trouble with booze he still had options. Yet still, for many years in the small hours of the night, he had wondered if he could leave the district, and even whether that treatment would be enough. What was it was like, not being able to say no to a drink? Would he ever feel like he couldn’t?
This, though, this felt different from alcoholism. It wasn’t an affliction or a disease, or even stealing food to feed your kid. This was working with the mafia. The same people that once threatened Yoshi and terrorised everyone else in the neighbourhood for years.
His own father.
And what about his mother? The one time he’d asked his father about her, he’d been backhanded across the room. What happened to her? Was she a criminal, too? An alcoholic? A drug addict? Was this why he struggled so much to concentrate in school? Why he always felt so fidgety? He wasn’t stupid. He knew the fact she wasn’t even in their life or nearby wasn’t good news. What if her record turned up suddenly? Haroon thought of the recruiter’s increasing brusqueness. What would the police think of him then?
Was there any part of him made of anything good?
MAURA
“No, no, no!” Maura’s fist crashed into her desk. Then, embarrassed by her loss of control, she took a few deep breaths.
Pauline had just come in. She changed course and went directly to the fabber for tea. Maura accepted it gratefully.
Pauline sat down in the chair by the desk, leaning forward. “So what can I do?”
Maura gave Pauline an irritated look. “Help me turn back the clock? To prevent this?”
If Pauline was affronted by the snark, she said nothing. She simply waited until Maura was ready to discuss the problem.
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