Kaleidocide

by Dave Swavely

  They appeared again, looking the same, but the boy could sense that there was something different about them.

  “Mr. Cates,” the one closest to him said. She immediately seemed more human somehow, in facial and body movements. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but…” She shrugged and smiled, something that the construct would not have done previously.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Ni. The advertisement A.I. you spoke to was designed by my sisters and me, based on what we want to look like. Sometimes. But we are short on time, and must get down to business. Before we go any further, we have to ask you another question that wasn’t on the survey.”

  “Okay,” the boy said.

  “Do you have any opinions about the current Chinese government?”

  Which way does she want me to answer? he wondered, but then decided that honesty was the best policy.

  “Not really, except they seem a bit scary to me.”

  “How so?”

  “I was a history teacher, so I know enough about China to know that they have an imperialistic streak. And the guy who they say is really in power was involved in Taiwan and the annexations, right?” He paused. “Why are we talking about this?”

  “Because our boss just wasted twelve minutes and thirty-two-point-four seconds of his precious time talking to the last candidate, before we realized that he was a Chinese sympathizer.”

  The little boy had no response, except to pick his nose again.

  “Here, let us fix that for you,” Ni said with a grimace. Almost instantaneously the little boy disappeared and a well-dressed adult male with a beard took his place, still sitting, but now with a chair under him. The resolution was much higher.

  “How did you do that?” Jon Cates asked, speaking now in his own voice.

  “We took over the net closet you’re in at the library and upgraded it,” Ni answered, “and used one of the holos you gave us for your skin.”

  “You are good-looking, J.J.,” the journalist on the other side of the room said.

  “He’ll be even better looking soon,” Ni said with a wink. “Now, Mrs. Lang, we’re afraid we have to say good-bye. The rest of our discussion is confidential.”

  “But … my interview isn’t finished.”

  “Yes, it is,” the cyborg’s avatar said. “In fact, you’ll find that it has already been erased from your net room and cloud.” The pregnant, tan-suited woman looked down frantically, checking to see if this was true. “But don’t panic, your two children and one on the way will not starve. We have just deposited some money into your account.” As she said this, the interface for the woman’s bank account appeared in one corner of the room and zoomed in on the most recent item, a $10,000 deposit with no description, that might reveal where it came from. The housewife’s eyes widened when she saw the number.

  “You didn’t even need my password?” she asked.

  “No, and now comes the more unpleasant part of our good-bye.” The bank interface disappeared, and a security camera feed from an office building interior appeared. This also zoomed in, but on a woman who was working on a net pad in a cubicle.

  “That’s my wife,” the journalist woman said, even more aghast now. “She’s at work.”

  “And she’ll be able to stay working there,” Ni said in a threatening voice, “as long as you don’t talk about what happened in this room. But if you do, especially to the media, the other Mrs. Lang will be out of a job.” As if on cue, the pad on the desk began blinking off and on in bright colors, startling the woman in the cubicle and causing her to move her chair away from it, as if it might explode. Then it went back to normal, after which the woman looked all around for a while and eventually got up to ask other workers about the anomaly. Then the security camera view faded from the room.

  “We also know where you live,” Ni continued. “Nine-eighty-six North Washington Street, Pittsville, Wisconsin. We can crash all your net equipment permanently, and probably some other appliances, if you don’t honor our agreement.” To illustrate, the cyborg turned off the housewife’s net room, and her skin disappeared briefly until it was turned back on. When she reappeared, the tan-suited woman’s mouth was hanging open.

  “Can’t the police arrest you, if you do something like that?” she finally asked.

  The three Asian women looked at each other and laughed. After they were done, Ni spoke, and the other two figures were still again.

  “Remember what we said, and enjoy the money.” Then the pregnant woman disappeared for good, and Ni turned back to the man.

  “You go by Jon, right?” When he said yes, she continued: “Let me tell you about this job, Jon. But we won’t be able to talk about it long—you’ll have to make a decision very soon.”

  He said okay and she proceeded to explain about the upcoming assassination attempts without giving the name of the target. She explained that Jon would be physically altered and be in the line of fire, with a slim chance of surviving but a hefty payday waiting for him if he did. And that the money could be given to family or friends if he didn’t. She told him that her team would do their best to protect him because they wanted to keep the double alive as long as possible, so that more of the attempts would run their course and there was more of a chance that the party behind them could be exposed. He told her about the AIMS, because after that display of net mastery he figured that they would find out anyway. She said, “We did find out, thank you,” but to his surprise it wasn’t a deal breaker. She explained that it wasn’t her decision, but there were no other viable candidates at this time, and reiterated that time was of the essence. She also added that the process of physical alteration he would undergo could possibly cure him of the disease, the science of which she would explain later. She answered a few questions he had, then reiterated again that time was of the essence and asked for a commitment on his part.

  He made the commitment, because by now he felt like he had already been carried along too far to turn back. It reminded him of the feeling he had when his old life was slipping away, never to return, like it was spiraling out of his control. But this time he felt a spark of curiosity and interest (the first in a long time), and had a desire to learn where these new forces were taking him.

  “Our boss will be here soon,” she said to him. “Along with the man whose place you would be taking. In the meantime let us ask you about this. We can’t detect the brainware you said that you have—is it broken?”

  “No,” he said. “I had to cancel the account—couldn’t pay for it anymore.”

  “What company was it? Allware, or another one who used their stuff?”

  “Allware.”

  “Can you give us your idents so I can activate it? We could crack Allware’s ice, but it would take a little while.” He gave her the information, feeling carried along again.

  “I thought you wouldn’t hire me till I talked to your boss,” he said.

  “That’s right, but we’re trying to save some time.” Time is of the essence, he remembered. “There. You’re back online. Now you can leave the closet if you want or need to—you can get a cup of coffee or use the bathroom. Or you can turn the closet off and just use your eyes, which would probably be good. A public net room like that is easier to hack than your brain.”

  He did as she suggested, and turned the closet off. He was now out of the virtual room and back in the real library cubicle, and all he could see besides its walls was the small standby icon flashing in the top left of his vision. For a few moments he sat there in the library cubicle, staring at the door and thinking about running away while he was temporarily disconnected from the superwoman. But he was almost sure that she could reconnect with him remotely in a split second. Inexplicably he felt more fear of these strange people, and of the unknown world they represented, than he had felt about committing suicide.

  “N, R, U, T, N, O, M, E, T, S, Y, S,” he said. The chip was set for vocal commands rather than thought controls
, because he had used it too sparingly to master the latter, which were more complicated. The purpose for spelling the words in the command backward was so that features of the cyberware would not be activated by random or unrelated speech or thoughts. For the same purpose, all the commands had to be at least seven characters.

  A moment after he issued the command he was back in the same Exit room with the Asian women, which showed that they were in fact connected to and even controlling his cyberware, because this site wasn’t his homepage.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got in here,” Ni said, and he could almost feel her rooting around in his head, though he knew it was psychosomatic. “You have a lot of interesting material in your cache.” She was referring to the porn, of course, and he was embarrassed despite himself. “And some bad viruses.”

  “That’s another reason I canceled my account,” he said. “I couldn’t afford all the security systems you have to buy. That’s where they get you.”

  “We’ll have to wipe it all if you’re hired,” she said.

  “Fine with me,” he said, and meant it. As fun as the virtual sex had been at first, he only had bad memories of it now. “Do it now,” he said, somehow knowing that she could.

  “Done.”

  Then the three female figures moved to form a row facing him, and started looking at each other and themselves as though they were now uncomfortable in their skins.

  “Jon, meet our employers.” The woman’s voice came from everywhere now, not out of the mouth of any of the skins. “They don’t look anything like this, of course, but they’re using our skins because you can’t see their faces until you’re hired. On the left is our boss; you can call him T.T. In the middle is the man you would double for…”

  “You can call me M.A.,” the middle one said in a male voice.

  “And on the right is his assistant.”

  “You can call him ‘Ass’ for short,” the middle one said again, then looked to his left. “Sorry, big guy, I couldn’t resist.”

  “You have a pretty good sense of humor,” Jon said, “for someone whose life is in danger.”

  “It’s not the first time,” he said. “And I’m excited about meeting you, because I hear you’re willing to help me save it.”

  “I guess I am.”

  “Good,” said the Asian woman on the left, also in a man’s voice. “What do you think about China?”

  “I already asked him,” the disembodied woman’s voice said.

  “This must be confusing for him,” the middle one said to the ceiling. “Why don’t you vary the skins somehow?”

  “How’s this?” the voice said, and the skins changed. The one on the left now had sandy and wavy hair, the middle one short black hair, and the one on the right had become much larger than the other two and had no hair.

  “I hope you can agree to hire me soon,” Jon said, “so I don’t have to look at this mess for too long.” The Asian women with the men’s hair laughed.

  “It doesn’t have to be much of an interview, if you’re willing,” the middle one said, turning more serious. “I’m told we don’t have much choice, and we don’t have much time. But I just wanted to make sure you’ll do what we say, and that you’re at least somewhat normal, because over the next few weeks you’ll be spending a lot of time in my house, and I’ll be spending a lot of time in your head.”

  16

  SAVIOR

  Angelee was dreaming about her late husband again when her mind recognized a new sound, and her eyes slowly opened. The ceiling was a blur at first, but then her vision cleared enough to see a huge mosquito hawk flitter across it to join a gang of them near one of the corners. She lay on her back on the bed of the brown room at the Cadillac Flats Apartments in Napa City, feeling the rumble of the subway outside under Soscol Avenue. And as awareness fully dawned, she realized the sound that woke her was Simon unlocking the door and entering the room.

  She sat up abruptly and pulled her knees up to her chest, hoping that the space around her on the bed might keep him from groping her again. Unfortunately it didn’t work, because he just jumped onto it and helped himself to whatever he could reach. At least it was only one hand, because in the other he held up his InPhone.

  “Juss in time,” he said proudly. “Got me the app for your switch, hoover. Hadda go to the libree to find oudabaddit and download it. Hadna been there for a while.”

  The birth control switch had been installed during her first gig as a prostitute, before she had met her husband, and she wasn’t looking forward to it being turned on again. But without ceremony or warning, Simon started tapping the screen to activate it.

  “Say the password.” He held it up near her head, even though he didn’t have to.

  “Lady Lee,” she said weakly, and after a few more taps on his phone, a blinding pain seared through the base of her brain.

  The implant sent neural signals into the pituitary gland, preventing the release of FSH (follicle-stimulating hormone) and stopping ovulation at its source. The initial disruption of the additional electricity had an effect on the nerves not unlike a bad tumor. Angelee didn’t understand any of that, of course—she just knew it hurt really bad, and was soon gripping the back of her head and knocking the front of it against her knees.

  “Hey, ho,” Simon started, when he saw how bad she was hurting, and rubbed her back in an awkward attempt to help her. “Don’ wanno babies, but don’ wanno dying, either. You gonna make me too much money.”

  “You … have … to…,” she barely managed to say. “Turn … it … off!”

  “Oh, oh, right.” He fumbled at the phone, realizing that he hadn’t completed the activation process, and accidentally dropped it on the brown blanket because he was only using one hand. He fished for it while Angelee continued to suffer, then finally located it and hit the “Finish” icon. The little Asian girl stopped twitching, but curled up in a tighter ball for a few moments.

  “You okay?” Simon asked, patting her back again. “Memmer I told you how much we gonna make tonight, cuz you’re brand-new stew. Got summun who’s payin’ biiiiig money cuz you’re so young and fresh. Drives ’em loco, they line up … highest bidder, baby.”

  The pain had receded some, so Angelee lifted her head and opened her eyes. The left one was drooping and cloudy, but she knew that it would return to normal before too long.

  “Okey, hoover,” Simon said, relieved that she was recovering. “Lessee if it worked.” He triggered the app again on the phone, and waved it up and down, from her head to her bottom, though he didn’t have to do that either.

  “Says you’re safe,” he declared happily after a few moments, then leaned in close to her, swamping her with his chemical breath. “Like to test it, me, but the johnny boy gonna be calling soon…”

  Suddenly Angelee came fully back to life when she heard a soft voice say “Mommy” from the doorway to the other room. Her little son Chris was staggering through it, trailing a blanket and rubbing his eyes. She shot out of bed and crouched next to the boy to comfort him, while Simon also clambered off the bed and stood up, with concerns of his own.

  “Thought you said he was gonna sleep at night,” the pimp shouted.

  “He will,” Angelee answered, the pain of the switch a forgotten memory now.

  “It’s night, and he ain’ sleeping.” Simon stepped over and crouched next to the boy, with the opposite effect that his mother had. “Lissen ta me, lamb meat. You better stay in that room over there, or I’ll hafta throw you in with the package.” The boy had no idea what the man was saying, but he cowered nonetheless at Simon’s bad breath and bad teeth. “Or you gonna be sleeping forever.” The pimp stood up and pulled aside his jacket to show his gun to both of them, and as he did his phone vibrated with the call from the customer who would turn Angelee back into Lady Lee.

  “Now you stew,” Simon said quickly to her before he answered the phone. “Getcha bitchass in that room and get that boy to sleep, while I talkit.”


  She did as he said, hustling Chris through the door and swinging it almost shut behind her. In his bed was the tiny amp (all-media pocket) that she used so often to settle him down or lull him to sleep. Cheap apartments like these didn’t have net rooms, so the holo was simply projected in the air above the amp, with a rather low quality. The audio was also muted, because she didn’t want Chris to turn it up too loud and draw attention to himself. So while they were here he either had to watch it silently, or Angelee had to reproduce or improvise the sounds for him.

  In this case she could do the latter, because it was a holo that they had watched repeatedly with Peter before he died, and many times since then. It was both Peter’s and Chris’s favorite movie—the father had even named his son after the main character. Angelee started to describe the current scene to Chris, one which contained two men walking along a path in the woods, but then she noticed that she could hear Simon talking on his phone in the other room. So she tucked Chris in and crept over to listen through the crack in the door.

  “Yeh, no, I unnerstand,” Simon was saying. “You like ta hurt ’em. But can’t afford to lose this one, or have her damaged bad.” A pause as he listened to the other party. “Yeh, no. I know there’s always a way, but not this time.” Another pause.

  “Collaterwhat? Naw, I’m juss playin’ witcha. I know what it is. I’ll bet my butt ring you don’t have anything good enough … No, too hard ta fence … Already got one.”

  Simon paused longer this time. “Now you’re playin’ wit me. You serious? What’s wrong with them?… Okey, deal. But if she dies, I’m keepin’ both.”

  He hung up and called to the other room in a much louder voice, “Get youseff ready, hoover. He be here in ten.”

  Angelee tiptoed back to the bed and cuddled with Chris.

  “What’s wrong, Mommy?” the little boy asked softly.

  “Shhhhh. Can we watch the part at the end, please?”

  “Okay,” he said. She selected the scene that they had viewed more than any other since her husband died, and narrated it for the boy.