Analog SFF, September 2008

by Dell Magazine Authors

  “Just a low-lev mech,” Jack said. “Pick a weapon and paste it.”

  “Wait, holding on,” Rostov said. “Having little problem, no big deal, but strange. System trying upload second mech suit. Sorry. Thought was all debug.”

  “Jack, that was like no mech I ever saw,” Brody said. “It looked like it was made of light.”

  “What?” Rostov interjected. “Made of light?”

  “Yeah, in the trees.”

  “Okay, don't be doing nothing,” Rostov said. “What is you saw?”

  “I saw a light in the trees!” Brody exclaimed. “Wait, there it is again.”

  “Look, should be no light,” Rostov said. “Just puny mech.”

  “Well, we got a problem then,” Brody said. “Maybe you should get me out of here.”

  “Yes, yes,” Rostov agreed. “You wait.”

  Brody watched the light moving toward him through the trees. A moment later, his sensors pinged movement in the woods back to his right. “Uh, okay, I've painted the training mech. It's pursuing whatever that is in the trees.”

  “Huh?” Rostov said. “Mech chasing light?”

  “Looks that way,” Brody said. “Guess that means it's not an interface problem. I think there's a second player.”

  “That's not possible,” Jack said, his neck bent backward as he stared up at the enormous hologram hanging above him. “The only other impulse suit is tuned to me, and I'm standing right here.”

  “Maybe it's a thrill seeker,” Ted offered, “someone very smart or very rich. We get plenty of bored rich kids up here.”

  “Is not possible,” Rostov said. “Even if somehow someone sneaking into matrix, would be telemetry, but I showing nothing.”

  Brody took an involuntary step backward as lasers began filling the air between the two distant combatants. “Okay, they're exchanging fire.”

  “Look, is problem,” Rostov said. “I'm thinking only way could be second mech construct is from Brody optical bionics. Rostov system bypassing visual cortex, but game system good for new and old system. In trials, visual cortex saying, ‘if psyche happy, I happy,’ and don't be causing problem. But bionics not part of psyche. Maybe getting sensory data and thinking should be seeing something. And maybe system trying to give it, but without bio-indicators is only making light.” He paused. “But then why is trainer mech attacking it?”

  “Really enjoying the theory here,” Brody said impatiently, “but can we talk about it after you get me out of here?”

  “We must thinking this!” Rostov insisted. “We don't have stable matrix! You know extraction not instant thing. What if extracting Brody and second suit remaining? Could be much worse than cerebral bends. Could be brain damage.”

  “Brain damage!” Brody cried. “What're you talking about?”

  “Schizophrenia, coma, not knowing!” Rostov exclaimed. “Maybe death. You wait, Brody. We thinking this.”

  “Well, think fast,” Brody said. “The training mech just went down, and the intruder looks to be heading my way. Should I engage?”

  “No!” Rostov cried. “Okay, screwing it, I'm going to extract you.”

  A moment later a sharp pain pierced Brody's head, dropping him to his knees. He screamed in agony, his metal hands clutching his armored skull.

  “Agh!” Rostov cried. “What is—? I—canceling!”

  Brody fell forward onto his hands and knees as the pain diminished. He gasped for breath, barely aware of the damage indicators flashing on his reader.

  “You okay in there, Brody?” Rostov asked.

  “Yeah,” Brody panted. “I'm okay.”

  “Don't be worrying, okay?” Rostov said, though his voice sounded less than confident. “We thinking this.”

  Brody climbed to his feet in the green grass, an arm cannon targeting the flickering light moving toward him. “Yeah, let's do that,” he said. “Let's think this.”

  * * * *

  “Blame it on the phantom,” Ted Bridges whispered, ignoring the enormous hologram image of Brody's gleaming mech hanging in the air above him as he stared at the jet-black cylindrical booth containing his nephew's body.

  “It's not a damn phantom!” Jack erupted, patience frayed.

  “What phantom?” Rostov demanded.

  Ted glanced at Jack. “It's a local figure of speech. When the first workers came to the pole to lay the grav-plate for the spaceport, they reported seeing swirls of light. Scientists say they were probably a byproduct of emissions from the plating process. The spaceport dome was completed forty years ago, but the phantom sightings continue to this day. Once or twice a year, some guest will see it. It's like The Moon Dust's own poltergeist.”

  “Huh,” Rostov said. “Am thinking was gas, or maybe too much cocktail. Am thinking ‘phantom’ is malfunction cause by Brody implant. Am thinking is two good option. Best is turning off second avatar.”

  “Then let's do it!” Jack exclaimed.

  “Can't,” Rostov said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because not knowing how interfacing with bionics,” Rostov said. “Not knowing ‘on’ switch, so not knowing ‘off’ switch. And whole system is glitching. Right now can't even turn off training program, so more trainer mechs going to be attacking Brody any time. First must get back control.”

  “You said there was a second option,” Ted prompted.

  “Yes, am thinking we splice new extraction instructions, making sure default to extracting all other avatar before Brody. Am thinking is maybe good idea.”

  “Just do it!” Jack snarled.

  “Yes, Jack, but first need back control and also must check is safe. Mr. Uncle Ted, please, my colleague, Dr. Drune? Can you bring her?”

  “Yes, of course,” Ted said. “What's her number?”

  “You finding her at blackjack counter. Also, will be needing neurosurgeon and neuropsychologist, okay?”

  “Well, uh, I don't know,” Ted said. “But I have my shrink on speed dial.”

  “Fine,” Jack said as he started for the second iso-booth. “You guys work on that. I'm going in.”

  “No!” Rostov shouted. “Matrix already jumble, you maybe making worse! Maybe you big vegetable too when extracting!”

  “You just figure it out,” Jack said as he grabbed his sensor suit. “Brody's going to need help. I got him into this mess. I can't let him face it alone.”

  * * * *

  Helen was trying to have fun, trying to coax luck. Sometimes even math needed luck; she of all people knew that. The stack of chips in front of her was tall, but the chips themselves had changed colors over time, and not in a good way. Her math was right, she was certain of it. So what was wrong?

  Julio's hand on her thigh felt nice. That wasn't the handsome young man's real name, she knew. At least, the odds were against it. She knew he thought he was scamming her, and she was indeed being scammed, she knew; but she couldn't help wondering, did he know that she knew? Was he scamming her smalltime, which she allowed, or hustling her big-time while she pondered distracting romantic notions?

  But he was such good company, so attentive, and he had such nice hands. She focused on the one in her lap as the one on the table nipped another chip. Then a different hand landed on her shoulder.

  “Dr. Drune? Please, my name is Ted Bridges. I'm the hotel manager. Could you come with me, please? Dr. Rostov needs your help. These men will gather your chips. It's quite important.”

  Damn, Helen thought as the warmth of Julio's hand faded from her thigh. She shifted her wheelchair into reverse, pivoting backward to face Ted and the four security guards standing behind him. What are the odds?

  “Let's go, boys,” she said, shifting her chair into forward. “Try to keep up.”

  * * * *

  Brody was scanning the terrain, looking for a defensible position, when a silver-colored mech materialized beside him. The mech was rugged, sharp-edged, heavily armored. Like Brody's own, it was designed to look dramatic for the crowd.

 
“Hi, Jack,” Brody said casually. “Really glad you came to see me.”

  “Hey, what are friends for?” Jack replied. “So where's the phantom now?”

  Brody pointed into the woods. “It stopped moving. I guess you scared it.”

  Jack peered into the trees. “Yeah, I see it. Looks like it's watching us.”

  “No panicking,” Rostov said. “I seeing in hologram. Is very strange. We thinking this.”

  Brody snorted. “You know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking I should just paste it! If I kick it outta here first, I should be okay for extraction, right?”

  “As a last resort,” Jack said. “The only thing Rostov knows right now is that he doesn't know anything. If that is a projection from your bionics, who knows what killing it would do?”

  Brody frowned. “But if it's coming from my implants, where does it get volition?”

  “Now that's an interesting question,” Jack agreed. “What do you think, Rostov?”

  “Huh? About what?”

  Jack repeated the question.

  “Yes, is big dilemma,” Rostov agreed. “If operating on system protocols, should be attacking players, not watching. If is second Brody avatar, should be making same movement as Brody.”

  “Not all that helpful, doc,” Jack commented.

  “Uh-oh, incoming,” Brody said, pointing as two new mechs appeared at the edge of the forest. “Doc, we have two new phantoms. They look like the first one, but they have sort of a reddish glow to them.”

  “Yes, registering them in synth-field, but still no biolock.”

  “Yeah, they're just—hold on! They're moving toward us! Shit, they're firing!”

  Thin beams of ruby light lanced across the field to strike Brody and Jack, both of whom dropped to one knee to return fire. Purple stars flashed in the meadow as their blue lasers crisscrossed the incoming red. The enemy rushed forward, and Brody's damage indicators flashed more insistently as laser light danced across his body armor.

  From the corner of his eye, Brody saw the white phantom step from the woods as two identically glowing mechs appeared beside it. In shape, they were very nearly identical to Brody's own mech suit, and they seemed to move just as easily, yet they were almost transparent, as if made of smoky glass, and a white light suffused them from deep within.

  Brilliant, blue-white energy beams lanced from fragile-looking lasers mounted on their shoulders. The weapons looked more like delicate curios than weapons of war, but the beams traced smoking lines across the red-hued mechs, who turned from Brody and Jack to answer the new combatants.

  “Holy shit, what's going on?” Jack cried. “Brody, are you okay?”

  “No, not so much,” Brody confessed. “Power's low. We need to find cover.”

  Jack grabbed Brody's arm and together they staggered toward the nearest wall of trees and away from the furious combat raging behind them

  * * * *

  Ted Bridges raced to keep up with Helen as she sped across the casino floor and into the Pit, heedless of dodging tourists. He wasn't surprised to see a steady stream of them drifting into the arena, since he'd directed that the doors be left open. It had seemed like easy PR at the time, and as expected the initial attendance had been sporadic, but word was obviously spreading that something unusual was happening.

  It wasn't until Ted had caught his breath in the elevator that he began to explain as best he could. “But I admit the science is beyond me,” he concluded as the elevator settled onto the stage floor. “I mean, what the hell is synth-space? Pardon my French.”

  “Mr. Bridges,” Helen said, ignoring his repeated request that she call him Ted, “the derivation of the word hell owes nothing to the French, it stems from Old English. But to answer your question, synth-space is a modulated perturbation of zero-point energy. It's similar to the synth-mass used to increase localized gravity, except that its properties are entirely contained within the ZPE field.” She paused. “But I fear this isn't helping you much, is it?”

  “No, not much,” Ted assented, hurrying after Helen as she shot from the elevator.

  Helen gasped, her seemingly indefatigable chair coming to an abrupt halt. “My goodness!” she exclaimed as she stared up at the towering hologram wherein squads of crystalline and metal soldiers competed on a smoking battlefield. “So real! The new projectors are working perfectly!”

  “Yeah, the projectors are great,” Ted said, “but the rest of the system is a piece of shit, pardon the Old English! That's my nephew in there, you know!”

  “Yes, of course,” Helen said. “I—”

  “Helen!” shouted Dr. Rostov as he hurried toward them. “You are here finally! We are having unique occurrences!”

  “Yes, Mr. Bridges has explained,” Helen said as they approached the collection of computers and technicians huddled near a cluttered table a short distance from the two sealed iso-booths. “Show me the telemetry.”

  “The phantoms are multiplying and not tracking on most monitors,” Rostov said as he handed Helen a laptop. “It must be Brody optic implants.”

  Helen studied the brainwave readings. “His readings look normal,” she said. “Jack's, too. Where are the phantoms’ readings?”

  “There aren't any,” Ted interjected. “If you ask me, we should shut off the power and get them out of there now!”

  “Wait,” Rostov said. “Helen, looking please at synth data. Now, telling me, what is that?”

  Helen studied the information. “It shows eleven players in the matrix, counting Bridges and Upshaw,” she said. “But there's no corresponding bio data.”

  “Nil registry,” Rostov said. “But is there.”

  “You've checked for echo?” It was more statement than question, and Rostov merely squinted at her in reply. “Then I must concur with your assessment, doctor. Certainly, the implants are implicated.” She chewed her ample lower lip. “What we need, gentlemen, is a neurosurgeon.”

  * * * *

  “Thanks again, Dr. Blatt, I know you're busy. Hell, you're the busiest! I'm so grateful you make time for my regular sessions. You know I'd never ask unless it was an emergency.”

  “Of course, Ted,” said the immaculately dressed Dr. Blatt as the elevator descended. He rifled through the thick folder Ted had handed him. “I did have to reschedule an appointment, but it's your nephew, after all. I'm afraid I don't know much more than you do about recent ZPE experiments, however. About five years ago there was an explosion—in Quebec, I think—when some idiots tried to harness a quantum-field rift or some such, but I never looked into particulars.”

  “Look, doc, as you can see, I've done my homework on these guys,” Ted said. “Drune was one of those ‘idiots.’ She'll be the one in the wheelchair. Rostov is an oddball, too, if you ask me, but he's legit so far as I know. What I really need is for you to tell me we can get my nephew out of there.”

  The door chimed open and Dr. Blatt took a long stride forward. “Well, Ted, I'll have to confer, and then I'll give you my best recommendation.” He spared only a cursory glance at the hologram towering above him as he headed for Rostov and Drune, Ted on his heels.

  “Dr. Benjamin Blatt,” the psychiatrist said, extending his hand, which both doctors took in turn. “I've skimmed the files Ted gave me. I'm not a neurosurgeon, but I'll help if I can.”

  Ted grew increasingly agitated as Rostov launched into a debriefing that rapidly became, to Ted's ears, incomprehensible, especially when it occasionally drifted into Russian, which both Drune and Blatt apparently spoke to some degree. Ted fumed as the three chuckled over some incorrect idiom Blatt employed, and he was furious by the time Rostov finished.

  “Well, the only thing I'm sure of is that ‘zero brains’ are definitely involved!” Ted erupted. “Dr. Blatt, please, I have doctors standing by! I think we should get them out of there now, before irreparable damage is done!”

  Blatt draped a long arm around Ted's shoulders and led him a few paces away. “Ted, we've talked about this in session,�
� he said. “You've done well by Brody, but you can't fix his life for him. What I can tell you is that Brody's bionics are essentially the same model we've used for a decade. I've seen his engrams and there's nothing abnormal there, except for the spike when they tried an extraction. But given that episode, I must agree with them that removing either man right now would be unwise if we don't have to. We need more information, Ted.”

  “You'll stay, then?”

  “Of course, Ted. Rostov has discovered ... something. I don't know what yet, but something important, and I intend to find out what. In the meantime, you should probably contact the governor.”

  “You think so?”

  “Ted, if you want to protect your nephew, I suggest you shed as much looney light on the situation as possible. You control the cards right now. Don't give up the deck or you'll regret it.”

  * * * *

  Wisps of smoke swirled from the muzzle of Brody's forearm cannon as he looked around in disgust. Charred blotches of blackened ground and reeking husks of twisted metal marred the once pristine landscape, and fires blazed in the trees.

  “So how many was that?” he asked.

  “I've lost count,” Jack said. “The phantoms disappear when they fall. Only the trainer mechs stay where you kill them.”

  “How many phantoms are there now, Uncle Ted?” Brody asked. “The damn things breed like rabbits.”

  “They're impossible to count, the numbers change all the time,” came his uncle's voice. “But I can tell you that the next set of trainer mechs will be Vipers. The manual says they're very aggressive.”

  Brody laughed. “Trainer mechs are the least of our worries.”

  “Yeah, but, uh, Brody,” Ted said. “Look, we have another problem.”

  “Of course we do.”

  “I've been looking ahead to level two. The manual says it introduces ‘new world concepts.’ Scenario one is called ‘The Aviary.'”

  “Hey, flying!” Brody said. “Haven't done that in years!”

  “Yeah, only Dr. Rostov and his colleagues say they're not sure what's going to happen when the world shift occurs. Actually, there's damned little they do seem to know!”

  “Look, shouldn't be no problem,” Rostov interjected. “Could be good thing. Recalling, Rostov method is total different system. Change to new matrix could erase phantoms, or...”