Glass Sky

by Niko Perren

  Jie searched for his bearings. Unbelievable. I’m completely turned around again. He waddled along the swimming pool’s tiled bottom, moving as quickly as water resistance and the space suit would allow. Air hissed with each breath. He yanked himself up the ladder, felt hands lifting him out of the water. He flopped onto the tiles. A support technician twisted loose his helmet as a diver climbed out of the tank and started disassembling the scuba gear.

  “That was terrible,” gasped Jie. “Do you need to kill me so often? I thought you were trying to build confidence.”

  “And teach you caution…” said a female voice.

  “Sharon?” Jie looked up in surprise. “How long have you been here?”

  “Ten minutes,” said Sharon. She watched him peel back the spacesuit. “You’re looking fitter.”

  “I’m starving,” said Jie. “But I lost three kilos.”

  Sharon came over and steadied him as he worked his legs free, a grin splitting her face.

  “You seem excited,” observed Jie, pulling on a robe. “They must have set the launch.”

  “Eleven days!”

  “Uh… fantastic,” Jie said glumly. This is really going to happen. No last-minute reprieve.

  “I’ve come to ask you a favor,” said Sharon. “You’ve seen the Witty Show?”

  “Of course. Clips anyway. I’m a gamer, not a watcher. And many of his jokes not funny in Chinese.”

  “Witty wants to interview you in L.A.,” said Sharon. “Given all the criticism of how risky our design is, Molari thinks it’s a good idea. American and Chinese taxpayers need to see what they’re buying.”

  “What about my holiday with Cheng? If we fly out in eleven day…?”

  “Don’t worry. After Witty, we’ll fly you and your family wherever you want.”

  “So I am done training?” Jie looked at the tank with relief. “No more simulator deaths?”

  “You’re now a fully qualified passenger,” said Sharon.

  Jie grinned. “The Witty Show! That is very exciting. I have never been to America.” Arbitrary detentions. Murders on the streets. “It sounds scary, actually.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Sharon. “In eleven days, it won’t seem scary at all.”

  ***

  Jie pressed his nose against the window as the plane descended over endless suburbs. From above, Los Angeles resembled a giant fun-house mirror, reflecting sky and sun from a hundred million solar panels. Even the freeways were covered with solar sheeting, their canopied roofs winding through the city like gleaming snakes. And so uncrowded! Barely a building broke three stories.

  A landing. A long taxi. The nervous shuffle out of the plane through the lie detectors and DNA collection stations. “Have you ever had violent thoughts about the United States? Have you ever taken an illegal drug? Are taxes on the wealthy acceptable to you? Do you agree with the Chinese occupation of Saudi Arabia?” Though Jie had nothing to hide, he sighed with relief when the interrogation booth opened.

  The terminal teemed with humanity: women in burkas, parents with crying children, people so fat that they couldn’t walk, business types, all mixed together. “Great Burger of the People welcomes you to Los Angeles,” blinked 20-foot-high letters. The GBOP dog and cat danced across the vaulted ceiling under their familiar Chinese logo.

  A much smaller sign pointed to ground transportation. Two lines of cars funneled into the passenger pick up area, the queue expanding and contracting with the waves of passengers. Most of the vehicles were one or two-person bubble cars, suited to a sprawling city where trips were hard to consolidate. Jie tapped his omni to a blue one-seater that had just disgorged a man in a business suit. He brushed off the seat and sat down.

  “Witty Show Headquarters, please.”

  “Please confirm West Shore Headwaters.”

  “Correction. Witty. Show. Headquarters.” Jie put his mouth to the grimy microphone and paused between each word.

  The car slid onto a freeway, merging between vehicles packed like blood cells in an artery. America! Bill Witty winked from a giant billboard. There wasn’t much in the way of views beneath the solarpanel roofs. A gap snapped open and the car glided sideways and merged onto a smaller road. It was a commercial strip fronting a suburban area. Fast food restaurants and chain stores flashed by. Older bungalows alternated with the rows of laundry-festooned concrete apartments that had been built when the streets had been decommissioned.

  The car stopped in front of a two-story brick building and the door slid open. There was no visible signage. Is this a mistake? Across the street a gas station had been turned into a convenience store. Grass grew from cracks in the crumbling asphalt; the row of pumps rusted under a disintegrating awning. A group of teenagers stood around in tight calf-length jeans and floppy-brimmed hats, trying to look cool in the heat.

  They’ve probably got guns. Jie stayed in the car, one hand on the door. “Is this the Witty Show building?” he yelled at the kids.

  One of the youths pointed. “The edificio behind you.”

  Jie glanced at his omni. He was hours early. And Cheng would be home right now.

  “Hey,” he called back. “Do you have public gaming centers in America?”

  ***

  The gaming center occupied the basement of a gym, below the deserted workout facilities. Flickering displays lit the dark hall in ripples of color. A graying woman danced in her control harness, jerking her arms back and forth like a marionette in the hands of an epileptic. A man aimed a gun at his screen while yelling “chingada hijo de puta!” A hundred people easily, so cut off by their virtual worlds that Jie could have walked through naked.

  Jie found a free system and docked his omni. He tightened the waist and chest straps while the game system pulled his personal information off the Chinese servers, and moments later he materialized next to Cheng at the entrance to the familiar passage. He swung his sword a couple of times, getting used to the unfamiliar controls and the feel of the sliding treadpad below his feet. The headset smelled of sweat. ‹Let’s do this,› he said, using his brave warrior voice. ‹You said you have a new plan?›

  ‹Did you notice how small the beast’s ears are?› said Cheng. ‹But the nostrils are huge, right? It isn’t hearing us. It’s smelling the smoke from the torch. Remember what the old crone said?›

  ‹Smoking is bad for you! It was a clue.› Jie smacked his head, clanging his sword against his helmet in the game world. ‹I thought it was a public service message. It all makes sense now.›

  They left the torch behind this time, relying on Cheng’s night vision to guide them. The beast lay in the same position as always, toiletbowl nostrils highlighted in the shaft of surface light. Two steps. It sniffed, stirring in its sleep. One. Cheng snatched the cup and quickly backed away.

  ‹See!›

  Jie grinned. All parents thought their children were special. But Cheng was special.

  It didn’t take long to retrace their steps out of the dungeon. The bodies of the zombies that had guarded the entrance still lay atop the stairway, unmolested by even the buzzing flies. Jie stepped over them, sword ready. Zombies had a nasty habit of not staying dead. But these ones didn’t stir.

  They emerged into dazzling sunshine. A strangely feathered bird hopped away and fluttered into the rustling trees. Jie could almost smell the fresh air. All they needed to do was bring the cup to the Council of Elders and collect their reward. Jie led the way down the crude trail they’d cut through the tangled vegetation. Cheng followed behind, bow taut, scanning the bushes.

  ‹Do you hear that?› Cheng whispered. ‹Voices. By our horses.›

  They stopped. Jie heard nothing. Warriors were practically deaf. I’m definitely playing a wizard in the sequel. They crept to the clearing’s edge and peered through the bushes. Armed men. At least 20. An even match, perhaps, if not for the black-robed figure in their center. Count Dargool! He sensed them, somehow, and turned his glowing red eyes on them.

  ‹Thank you
for finding the cup for me,› he croaked, flashing rotten yellow teeth.

  Cheng clutched their treasure to his chest, but Dargool just flicked his hand and the pack tore out of Cheng’s grasp, scattering its contents among the leaves. Another flick, and the cup was Dargool’s. He turned it over, admiring.

  ‹You didn’t think I’d share such power with the rest of the Council, did you?› he sneered. ‹Guards. Kill them.›

  The game froze. ‹Awww, Mom. Not now. It’s just getting good. Ten more minutes!›

  Jie looked at the screen. Is it that late in Beijing? Zhenzhen had been more than patient. ‹Mom’s right,› he said. ‹Time for homework, young elf. And I’ve got a talk show to prepare for. We’ll have to die another day.›

  Chapter 14

  TANIA PACED THE waiting room, admiring the pictures of Witty’s guests. Every few seconds the images faded and new ones appeared. She was sure that if she watched long enough she’d recognize every celebrity of note. The inner doorway opened and a brown-haired man in shorts and an old T-shirt stepped out.

  “Tania Black?” Bill Witty extended an enormous hand to fist bump hers, dazzling her with perfect teeth. Tania's heart fluttered. His skin was so flawless that it seemed to glow; his flowing hair was balanced at the exact intersection of youthful energy and gray wisdom.

  “Plea… pleased to meet you.”

  “How do you know Ruth?” Witty led her through the doorway and down a hall.

  “I met her at a protest in New York,” said Tania. “We have cycling dates when we’re both in town.”

  “Are you… friends?”

  Tania had to think about it for a moment. “We’re getting there.”

  “Ruth’s a remarkable woman,” said Witty. “I’ve worked with her a lot. I’m a big supporter of environmental causes. From behind the scenes.”

  “You should speak up,” said Tania. “People respect you.”

  Witty shrugged. “My audience wants celebrities and politicians. If I push an agenda, I’ll lose my podium. But I slip in a guest like you every few months. Luckily, Tian Jie is a celebrity right now, so we’ll pull decent ratings.”

  He held open a door marked “studio.” The high-ceiling room was maybe 30 feet by 20. One half was empty except for an ornate wooden desk and three plush chairs. Everything around the desk was painted the same matte green. In the other half of the room, two technicians in orange “Witty Show” T-shirts worked behind a long console covered with computer equipment.

  “Welcome to the studio,” said Witty with a flourish. He laughed when he saw Tania’s confusion. “What you see on TV is all special effects. The audience, the windows in the background, the pictures on the wall, the carpets, even the ‘accidental’ cameramen in the frame. All fake.” He plucked his shorts. “My clothing is digital too. I can’t stand suits and ties. And the networks will do anything to save a dime.”

  “That explains the neighborhood,” said Tania.

  “I’m lucky to even have a studio,” said Witty. “Mike at Midnight works out of his basement.” He offered her the guest chair. “It takes ten minutes for our software to learn your face. I give it fifteen, just to be safe. I had a guest’s head vanish in the middle of an interview once because he wasn’t properly calibrated.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head, so that only the top of his hair was visible. “450 million people watched me talk to an empty suit.”

  Tania laughed, sneaking a quick glance at his exposed stomach. Wow this guy is sexy! Look at those abs! She sank into the luxurious chair. The second seat was empty. “I assume Tian Jie is videoing from China?” Too bad. I would have liked to meet him.

  “The show’s always live and in person,” said Witty. “No amount of computer technology can replace meatspace. Jie’s at the game center down the street.”

  “You let him out alone? In this neighborhood?”

  Witty laughed. “It’s always the same with foreign guests. They assume they can wander anywhere. Don’t worry. One of my investigators is keeping a discreet eye on him.” He leaned back in his seat, unrolling a scroll on his lap. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. Just to get a bit of your flavor.” He smiled, his eyes lingering just a moment too long. Is he flirting?

  “Uhh, will these questions be on the show?”

  “No. I adlib. Audiences can tell if it’s real.” He waved at the empty studio. “Or at least they can tell if the interview is real. Now, do you have any pets?” He scribbled words on his scroll, linking them together with arrows. “A favorite food?” More scribbles. “Give me the long version of what you’re hoping to achieve at UNBio?” They talked for 30 minutes, continuing well after the technicians gave Witty the thumbs up.

  When Witty was satisfied he excused himself. Moments later Jane Penny, the woman who had booked Tania onto the show, swept into the room, trailing a knee-length robe of pink ribbons. Tania gasped. She’d always assumed that outfits like this were intended to humiliate.

  A terrible thought struck her: What if Penny wants me in something like that? No. I’ll refuse.

  “Up.” Penny circled Tania like a vulture eyeing a fresh carcass. “Oh. It’s worse than I thought. Lucky for you I’m here.” She snapped her fingers. “Milan Red Dress 17.”

  “Hi, I’m Tania,” said Tania.

  “The screen,” Penny said, waving at the monitor. “Look at the screen. Quick. Quick. We don’t have all day.”

  The monitor showed Tania standing at the desk in a long red dress. As she moved, the dress flowed with her, as if she were peering into some parallel clothing universe. She’d seen similar software in retail stores of course – her face transplanted onto a crude model that jerked around like some puppet corpse – but this was the real thing.

  Too bad the dress looked ridiculous.

  “Ackkk. Definitely not,” agreed Penny. “You are not a dress person. No. Too gangly.” Penny cycled through outfits, settling on blue slacks with a white blouse, adding in a thin necklace and some earrings for a touch of feminine. “There!” She clucked in approval.

  “That does look nice,” said Tania. Penny’s outrageous sense of style must not extend past her mirror. “Is it possible to order a nondigital version of these clothes? I could use something nice for the next UN Climate Summit.”

  “Nice? These are Louise LeMeur,” said Penny, as if that explained everything.

  “Meaning?” asked Tania.

  “Meaning you can’t afford them,” stated Penny.

  I don’t know about that. She’s obviously never bought a knock-off.

  ***

  Jie stood in the darkened studio, a few meters back from the pool of light centered on Witty. A very tall woman with long brown hair walked up, following the faint green dots on the floor. ‹Pickle monkey breath, Tania Black,› she said in heavily accented Chinese. ‹You must be Tian Jie.›

  Pickle monkey breath? Oh! Nǐ hǎo wǒ shì. She got the tones wrong.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Jie replied in English.

  Witty sat behind his gleaming wooden desk, eyes closed, hands on his knees, palms up. He breathed deeply in, out, in, out. A timer on the monitor showed 90 seconds remaining.

  “Your leg’s jiggling,” observed Tania.

  “Sorry,” said Jie. “I am nervous. Such a big audience is very scary for me, especially when speaking English.”

  At ten seconds Witty opened his eyes. “Oooh. Ahhh. Eeee. Yaahh. Puh. Puh, puh,” he said, contorting his face in exaggerated gestures.

  This isn’t helping my nerves.

  “FIVE, FOUR, Three, Two, one.”

  Lights flared, and a voice boomed out of nowhere. “Live from Los Angeles, it's the Witty Show, with your host… BILL WITTY!!”

  Witty, in shorts and T-shirt, leapt up, waving, grinning, and bowing to the empty room. “Thank you. Thank you.” He waited for the fake applause to die down. “Did you hear that Eye-Sistant issued an emergency software patch today? Their navigator has been randomly leading people to the nearest GBOP restaura
nt. Great Burger of the People has denied any involvement and offered a reward for the virus writer.” He grinned. “They’ll give him 100,000 dollars and a lifetime supply of burgers.”

  Laughter. The monitor blanked and the audience numbers plummeted for first commercials.

  “Was that funny?” Witty asked. “What was our joke rating?”

  “About a four,” Penny called from the back. She pointed at Jie and Tania. “Get ready.”

  “Three, two, one.” In the virtual studio a nonexistent cameraman moved out of the frame.

  Witty swept through his news segment, then gave Jie and Tania a rousing introduction. Penny gesticulated and Jie stepped into the pool of light. Witty clasped Jie’s hand and smiled, but it did nothing to put him at ease. Jie had never gotten comfortable around Western smiles. Is Witty nervous? Happy? About to give bad news? The simulated crowd cheered, and Jie could almost feel them, out there in the darkened studio. The audience number on the back wall had gone up to 575 million as the commercials ended, but was falling already.

  He and Tania sat down.

  “Jie, what’s your secret?” asked Witty. “I knocked out a wall in my house last year, and it took the contractors four months to finish painting. But you got a spaceship custombuilt in five weeks?” He paused, a comedic delay calculated to the microsecond. “Do your engineers do bathrooms by any chance?”

  The audience roared fake laughter.

  “The launch stack was already built for a satellite,” said Jie. “It is not rated for carrying people, but they tell me it is safe. All we needed was moon-landing vehicle. That was easy using standard parts. The moon has no atmosphere, and gravity is low, so simple engine is enough.”

  “Getting home is the hard part, right?”

  “That’s right,” said Jie. Is it getting easier to breathe? “It is one way trip right now. They need extra time to make a stronger vehicle that can survive Earth reentry. They will send it to us when it is ready.”

  “So you’ll be stuck there? What if somebody gets sick? Or pregnant? There are three women on the crew…” Witty’s glance managed to convey exactly what would happen if he were trapped on the moon with three women.