“You look like your soul’s weary,” Sergei said as he stared at him.
“Yeah, well, maybe it is. Maybe you get so lost in the work that you have no idea what you look like, right?”
“Do you ever hear from her? At all?”
Dowland paused for a moment. “Who?”
“You know who. Come on.”
The beer Sergei had also brought out tasted like cold, flat syrup. He took a sip from the can simply because his mouth was so dry.
“I see her all the time,” Dowland said.
“Yeah, me too. But I’m not talking about bikini ads. Have you had any contact with her?”
He shook his head, then told Sergei no. There was no reason to tell him about the last two encounters with Kamaria. Sure, he had seen her, and those two times had been bittersweet.
Mostly bitter.
“You two made a good couple,” Sergei said.
“Thanks. Good to know years later.”
“Shut up. You know you did. I thought she might get you out of your profession.”
“To do what? Work for a corporation, wearing a suit and tapping at invisible keys all day long? Shuffling meaningless files from one place to another?” Dowland cursed.
“Normal work hours. A salary with benefits. Vacation days. Sounds like a normal, healthy way to live.”
Dowland finished the beer and then chucked the can across the street, joining the dozen others. “Sounds like prison.”
“This man you want me to find information on,” Sergei said, then stopped for a moment before continuing. “He must be really important for you to pay me that much.”
“Seems to be so,” Dowland said.
“Any idea why?”
Dowland looked over to his friend in surprise, seeing more fear than curiosity on his face.
“You never ask me that,” Dowland said.
“I know. This—what you’ve told me, the price, even you coming down here…It’s different.”
“Why’s it different?”
“I know you won’t tell me, and I don’t want to know, but I’m pretty confident who you might have met with about this. And if you did, in fact, meet with this person, it means this is in a whole other league than either of us has ever been in. The kind that swallows people up. Not only individuals but families too.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Dowland said.
Sergei chuckled, looked at the rag in his hand, then put it back against his forehead. “I wouldn’t worry, except I can see something in your eyes I can’t remember ever seeing before.”
“What’s that?”
“Fear.”
THREE
What We Do in Life Echoes in Eternity
1.
When it was time to deplane, Cheyenne stood up and turned around to take one more glance. The man following her apparently didn’t care if she saw him. At one point during the trip, he even gave Cheyenne a nice round grin. The company was monitoring her for any unusual activity, and her jumping on a plane definitely was unusual. She would have to escape his beady eyes before she left the Denver airport.
What am I doing here in the first place?
She knew why she had made this trip, and she knew where she was supposed to go. But what then? Would her father finally come out of hiding? Did he have a full-time job waiting for her to replace the one she’d just lost?
Being here in another city and state was foolish for multiple reasons. Of course Acatour was going to closely monitor her actions. Regardless of any random data that hadn’t already been exorcised from her accounts at the corporation, the most important information she had resided in her head, and so far no one had invented a way of deleting the brain’s information. Since so much was stored on a SYNAPSYS, memories had never been better.
She didn’t rush once she was inside the terminal. Cheyenne knew she wasn’t in any real danger, not yet. After grabbing a coffee, she looked down at the small carry-on bag next to her. It was the only piece of luggage they allowed on planes these days. Cheyenne didn’t need much anyway. Her father had trained her to get ready quickly, to pack light, and to be frugal with her belongings. She always watched in fascination when people seemed to need to bring their entire bedroom with them on a trip. This bag contained only the important things. A handful of bigger items were safely stored in a rental unit called The Security Vault. Her stuff would be waiting when she went back.
If I go back to Chicago.
A communication table in the back of the coffee shop became unoccupied, so she sat down and typed out the private number for Dina. In seconds her former colleague’s voice could be heard on a non-SYNAPSYS link.
“Can you talk?” Cheyenne asked.
“Yes. I’m outside on the sidewalk. I wasn’t sure if this cell phone even worked anymore.”
“I can hear you breathing.”
“That’s because I forgot my training shoes, so I’m walking in these uncomfortable boots.”
“The new black ones with the heels?”
“Terrible,” Dina said. “I never should’ve let you convince me to buy them. Did you arrive at your destination?”
“Yes. Denver.”
“I thought you wanted to keep it a secret.”
“I did, until little Mr. Spy decided to tag along with me.”
“Are you sure?” Dina asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Who’s following you?”
“It’s someone from corporate. Acatour is merely protecting its investment. Not me, of course, but what I know. It doesn’t matter. I’ll lose the guy. Were you able to find anything?”
“Nothing,” Dina said. “I did what you wanted. Nothing in the company’s main system, of course. I tried to log in to your account but couldn’t. It’s frozen or locked. I’m going to keep trying. I have a few friends checking into things too.”
“I don’t want you getting in trouble,” Cheyenne said.
“We’re just looking for your father. This has nothing to do with PASK.”
“I just got fired from PASK because of my father. So, yeah, this sorta does have something to do with the company. I don’t want you to be next.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t mind. The way this place erases you…It’s scary. It’s like deleting a file.”
Or a coworker.
Perhaps while they were looking for information on her father, they could also try to find Malek. She could use his help, or at the very least she would enjoy his company while searching for her dad. She genuinely missed the guy.
“Do you really think you’ll find this person your father told you about?”
“I’m not certain of anything anymore,” Cheyenne said, “except that I have done nothing wrong. To anybody.”
“Yet you can still be fired and followed and treated like a criminal.”
Cheyenne could only nod. “I’m going to do my best to escape like one. I’ll contact you later.”
Cheyenne sat for a moment, scanning the coffee shop and seeing the man following her sitting on a bench near the entryway, and tried to think of a plan. Her mind drifted to her job and how she had figured out solutions to problems online. When others were distracted by lights or motion in one direction, Cheyenne investigated the shadows in the other direction. So that’s what she began to do now.
It didn’t always take a scientist to discover the best solution. Sometimes it just required stopping and considering options and applying a little common sense.
It was natural to think the coffee shop in the airport had one entrance and exit, the one that Beady Eyes waited by. The well-dressed employees in their uniforms came and went through the doors. This was what the public saw. The store wanted to remind the customers of their hard-working and gregarious employees. Nobody wanted to be reminded of bored young people strolli
ng in to work an eight-hour shift in part-time jobs they couldn’t wait to get out of.
Employees arrive and leave in another way. They probably change into their well-pressed shirts in the back. No big deal—just a simple thought. Now she needed to talk to someone to figure out a way to leave through the back door. The friendly kid with the cool hair and glasses who served her the coffee was the perfect person.
“I was wondering if you could help me out,” Cheyenne said to him as she walked up to the counter.
He immediately stopped what he was doing and said “Sure” without hesitation. Cheyenne was reminded what Malek had once said to her. “You don’t realize the whole sexy vibe you can give off.” A comment like that between coworkers wasn’t tolerated at Acatour. Since the gender and misogyny wars a couple of decades ago, the rules were strict about using even simple adjectives like sexy or hot. But Malek wasn’t trying to hit on her, nor was there any hint of harassment. He claimed to be simply stating a fact, at least in his opinion. Since Malek liked to tease her as well, she took it as a joke.
I couldn’t be sexy even if I tried.
The guy behind the counter was probably just being nice instead of being enthralled by her rapturous beauty. That’s what she would have told Malek.
“There’s a creepy guy who was on my flight from Chicago, and he’s been following me ever since we got off the plane. Don’t look but he’s right outside.”
“Want me to call security or something?” he asked.
“No, I don’t want a commotion. I have a job interview to go to, and if some kind of situation happens—even something minor—I know I’ll be stuck here for a while.”
“So what can I do?”
“Is there any other way to leave the shop?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure. There’s the employee entrance, and it links up to the workers’ hallway that leads out to the parking lot. You can go out that way, but then you’ll be out of the airport.”
She continued to evaluate the situation.
“Okay, I have another question, then. What time do you get off work?”
2.
Ten minutes into the car ride with the young man from the coffee shop, he told Cheyenne he could drive her all the way to Colorado Springs.
“It’s not far. I know some people there too. Are you staying long?”
Malek would have been really teasing her now. She could hear his voice: “Oh, you’ve done it now. He’s totally into you. Look at the poor guy. He’s smitten.”
There had been only one way to leave the airport—exiting through the employee entrance. Since the coffee shop guy had only another hour on his shift, she asked if he could drive her to a nearby transit station where she could get an Autoveh to take her to Colorado Springs. He obliged and was eager to oblige a little more.
“That’s very kind of you, but no, thanks,” she said.
As he steered the small car, Cheyenne watched his every move, noting the digital monitor on the dash that showed all the angles outside.
“What? Am I driving funny?”
“No…I just realized I haven’t been in an actual car in a very long time. City girl.”
“I live in the foothills, so there aren’t any trains,” he said. “Lots of winding roads. And I don’t trust Autovehs.”
Looking through the sunroof, she studied the sky, a bright blue stretching for miles in every direction.
“It’s stunning how beautiful it is here.”
“Chicago, huh,” the guy said. “Guess you don’t see scenery like this around there. But you do have that ridiculously big supertower, right? Have you ever been inside that?”
She nodded and said with a slight grin, “Once or twice.”
“That’s my dream. To one day take one of those glass elevators to the scenic level. I’ve seen pics and videos, but nothing beats actually being somewhere.”
“Reminds me of something my father once told me,” Cheyenne said, looking out her passenger-side window at the white-capped Rocky Mountains in the background, guardians of the distant horizon with their grandeur.
“What?”
“He said people like to build monuments to themselves, but nothing can compare to God’s masterpieces.”
“Your dad a religious man?” the driver asked her.
Trick question. And tricky too.
“No,” she said. “But observant.”
When they reached the busy transit station, Cheyenne thanked the young man for his generosity.
“No problem—my pleasure,” he said. “You ever been to the Springs before?”
“No. But like you and the Incen Tower, I always dreamed of visiting. I told my father once if I could live anywhere, it would be Colorado Springs.”
“Drink lots of water, as they say.”
“Tell me something,” she asked as he pulled up to the curb next to the facility. “What’s a great place in town to grab a beer?”
“Oh man,” the driver said with a chuckle. “There’s like twenty amazing places. Hard to say which one is the best. Lagger’s Pub. The Drift. Taylor Street Bar. Those are a few off the top of my head.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh yeah, there’s Stouts. It’s a place the locals love. Usually find some shady people there, but the beer is outstanding.”
“Stouts?” Cheyenne asked, making sure that was the name.
“Yeah. Obviously known for their stout beer, though it’s an acquired taste since they make it so strong. A pint of that could get you lost and wandering in town.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“You have my contact info in case you need something. A shuttle. Or a drinking companion.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Cheyenne said, climbing out of the car. With her travel bag in hand, she headed into the main building, where she could get her Autoveh. Dina had reserved a vehicle for her, so Cheyenne’s name wouldn’t pop up on the network once the car arrived.
She knew it was only a matter of time before someone caught up with her again. Vanishing from the network and the ever-watchful eyes out there took hard work and talent. That was why her father’s disappearance had been so shocking. Even a handful of the most ingenious hackers who she contacted, most of them through Malek, couldn’t find anything on Keith Burne. That meant her father must have had help erasing himself.
But why? What was he disappearing from?
As she found a kiosk and typed in the code Dina had given her, Cheyenne looked through the outer glass walls to see if anybody nearby was paying attention to her. She could see travelers—an elderly woman talking into the monitor at another kiosk and a couple who were waiting by the doors for their vehicle. But there were no workers at the transit station. Nobody sat behind a desk or a steering wheel. Everything was automated and interconnected. A few taps on a screen and she’d be the next in line for her transportation. Then a few taps on the window of a car, one that didn’t have a door handle but opened and shut on its own, and she’d soon be on her way. That was why she had watched the guy from the coffee shop in fascination. He wasn’t just sitting and being driven around. He was driving himself.
Simple things like that were taken care of by others. Her apartment, for example. Indy, her LC, would wake her up and help pick out her outfit, reminding her what she had worn the last month and making suggestions based on the latest trends. In the past how did people find the time to make those decisions themselves? Her bed automatically remade itself the moment she left to go to work. Her coming and going and even her going back to get something she had forgotten were all recorded and monitored, not out of suspicion, but simply because that was the way things were. Technology had replaced so many things. So many that now people didn’t even bother to learn how to do simple, basic functions.
“Why learn to fly a kite when you can have a machine do it for
you?” Malek had once said while they discussed the pros and cons of AI and technologies. “And since you don’t know how to fly a kite, then you’re not going to show your child how to do it, because you can’t. Because you don’t need to. And so the dominoes go, falling down. We become more stupid, and the machines become more powerful.”
“Since when did I suddenly have a child?” Cheyenne had replied, loving to give her coworker a hard time.
“But you see what I’m getting at, right?” he had asked, not taking the bait.
“These things improve our ways of life. We don’t have to worry about learning to drive or watching the road. Instead, we can engage in conversation or read books or—”
“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on. ‘Engage in conversation’? First, why do you sound like a college professor? And really? People don’t talk in moving vehicles. And read? Yeah, they read the world reports and the news from strangers, and they check their accounts, but actually read? Come on, Cheyenne.”
“We work in the technology field, yet you always make it seem like it’s a bad thing.”
“You know it yourself. Fallible and very flawed people built that technology, some of it set in place decades ago. Algorithms can take on lives of their own, but ultimately there’s always one of us giving birth to the code. And who are we to suddenly play god in others’ lives?”
As the door to the red Autoveh closed and the car began to coast out of the parking lot, Cheyenne couldn’t help missing Malek. It was those types of conversations and thoughts that ultimately led to his dismissal.
“Well, hello, miss,” an older gentleman’s voice said in speakers all around her. “Name’s Bennie. Where are we headed today?”
He sounded like a grandfather, and she could picture him already. A beard and a big belly, the sort of man who loved to sit in a rocking chair and watch the sun fall behind the mountains, then later cook his family their favorite meal and read his grandchildren a bedtime story before they were tucked in. This whole mental picture arrived in her mind after hearing his voice.
The reason there wasn’t anything visual representing the driver like the mechanical baristas at Incen Tower was simple: the mind was far more effective in conjuring a picture that could create an impression. No algorithm or advanced bit of technology could ever replace the vitality of imagination.
American Omens Page 6