by A J McKeep
The oval Cab-U flyer waits in the rain at the front of the building. I’m out in the air just long enough to feel it rasp, metallic on the back of my throat. The Cab-U’s gullwing door opens to let me step in, though I more or less fall into the empty compartment and tumble onto the back of the round bench.
Rising quickly, the Cab-U hardly banks at all as it turns. A voice that I recognize says, “A gulp of free air on the house, Tag.” A squeeze bottle of air raises on a tray that slips up beside me.
The Gabriel sits on the bench opposite facing me.
Cab-U
THAT ONE SARDONIC EYEBROW slightly raised, always ready with the next surprise. “There’s plenty more if you need it.” I’m in shock and only dimly realizing that it’s just a hologram. Of course he still owns Cab-U. Why wouldn’t he? And, of course he has a hologram programmed to greet every customer by name. Of course he does.
I push the button on the tray for another squeeze bottle of air and am astonished at the price. I take some water, too. That costs almost as much. Gabriel says, “Thank you for allowing me to Cab-U, Tag.” There’s that old Gabriel grin. This is beyond unnerving. “I hope I’ll be seeing you again soon. Please, ask for anything that you need and, in the meantime, enjoy the ride.”
The look on his face is as though he recognizes me, like a long lost friend. Which I am, kind of. But that’s just Gabriel schtick. He couldn’t possibly recognize me as Tag. Surely. There’s no way. And it’s just a hologram. A projection from a dumb bot. I take a gulp of the water. I had no idea how much I had missed drinking water.
Even with the faintly plastic lemon edge, the water awakens my throat and stomach. My body rises as the coolness diffuses into me. I guess Tag doesn’t hydrate as much as she might while she’s gaming. I must remember to mention it to her, if either of us live long enough.
The Cab-U flies through a brown and gray canyon of brick, rust and uncleaned glass. The city looks entirely unfamiliar. The structures and façades of streets that drift by and below seem to be roughly an even mixture of the new but filthy and the wrecked and abandoned. The sky is a strangely uniform brownish blue. I’m shaken, sitting under Gabriel’s concerned but inquisitive gaze for the whole journey.
All the time that I’ve been loose on the net, my main preoccupation has been avoiding having him find me or find out anything about me. Half an hour back into the world and I’m sharing a cab with him. Finally, it does strike me as funny.
Here we are together, when I’m dead and he’s a hologram. It’s like two fictional characters meeting. Do fictional characters know about each other? Do they know anything, or do they merely act?
The Cab-U settles in front of the hospital and I’m struck by how temporary even it looks, with thin roofs raised on rusty poles, walls with flapping plastic covers and buildings that all look incomplete. Like the contractors suddenly got wind that they weren’t getting paid, put down what they were doing and left with anything they could carry that had value.
As I’m about to step out of the cab, The Gabriel speaks again. “Hope I’ll see you again soon, Tag.” A reflex makes me wave as I leave.
~~
The hospital’s main reception and enquiries desk in a foyer that’s half open to the outdoor air, making me wish that I’d bought more bottled air from the Cab-U. The desk is manned by smooth, pale gray bots. One of them swivels to greet me and I say the name of the administrator with whom I made the appointment. The bot surprises me with a fairly courteous nod. It moves around, bends slightly backward, then swivels it faceplate back to me. The plate has the word ‘SMILE’ across it.
“Administrator Kiko will be with you presently. Please, make yourself comfortable. May I offer you air? Water?”
I said I would have both. The packs that the hospital dispensed were a third smaller than those Cab-U sold, and about twice the price.
Gordon Kiko is a middle height, middle aged, round faced man with reddish curly hair. He wears a doctor’s white coat, even though his name tag says ‘ADMINISTRATOR’ and the name part doesn’t say ‘Doctor.’ He looks at me with his curly-haired head slightly on one side. He smiles from a face that’s not unpleasant, but is curiously punchable. Still, the entertainment value of punching him wouldn’t make up for the impact it could have on our professional relationship.
“Forgive me,” he says, way too smoothly for my comfort, “I wasn’t expecting,” his fingers flex, “I wasn’t expecting you to be a girl.” His lips tighten and he presses them between his teeth. “And especially not such a lovely girl.”
The urge to punch him is almost overcoming me about now. Do men really talk to women like that? Did they always? I ask him, “The room you’ve arranged for me…”
He cuts me off. Pulls what is probably meant to be an endearing smile. Somehow it looks patronizing. He says, “The room is all ready for you, Ms. Fox.” He pulls his grin tighter and bows his head toward me, “Foxy Ms. Fox.” And stands back looking pleased with himself.
I don’t move. I just maintain eye contact. Fully charged, Tag’s enhanced arm could probably knock his head clean off the top of his wobbly neck. Still, that would not be a productive development in our business.
Hesitant and maybe a little confused, Kiko says, “The equipment you ordered has all arrived.” Then he finds his grin again. “I expect you’d like help setting it all up.”
“I’ll call if I do.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. If you’d like to come this way,” and he starts to lead me to the elevators.
I don’t move. I start, “I want to know,” and he hurries back. “The room you’ve arranged for me.”
“Yes, yes,” he rubbed his hands together.
I made Tag’s voice stay flat, but I was losing patience with this fool interrupting me, “Does the room have walls on all sides?”
“I’m sorry?” he took a step back.
The room. Is it fully enclosed?”
“Ms Fox, this whole city is in a climate managed dome. There is no building regulation or health requirement for barriers against the weather.”
How did I not know that Carbondale was a bubble city? This far North, I should definitely have thought of it. Was that bad news? Not as far as I could see, although the damned air certainly was. If I’d known, I would have ordered all the kit liquid cooled and vacuum sealed. I may have to come back and swap it out. But that wasn’t the point.
“Does the room have walls on all sides, Mr Kiko?”
“It does. As a matter of fact. Would you prefer a vented room? Only you didn’t specify.”
“No. Sealed is fine.” I didn’t want to give away any more of my peculiar ignorance about present-day life in the real world if I could possibly avoid it.
“Do you want to go to the room now?”
“Please.”
Now I let him guide me to an elevator, although the way his eyes are flickering makes me apprehensive. Inside, he pushes a button for the forty second floor. Floor numbers flick swiftly on the indicator panel. There’s a view of the murky sky through the elevator glass. Kiko has his palms forward as he steps near to me. I straighten up.
He looks down at the box with the NeuRoCrown and he grins. “Are you here to play games, Ms. Fox?”
Tag is taller than him by a good three inches. I drop her voice down a couple of tones. And I chill it a few degrees.
“Am I paying you enough for arranging the room, Mister Kiko?” I lifted a cyber enhanced hand. I so wanted to find out what Tag’s rocking bod could do.
He freezes. “Uh. Yes. Um…”
“Good. Now step back.”
He does.
I drop my voice another tone lower. “Be clear, Mister Kiko. I’m easily offended by invasions of my personal space. And I can be apt to act impulsively.”
Kiko steps smartly back. We make the rest of the elevator ride together in silence.
The room is small and square, windowless and presently crowded, with one chair, one small, square table, Crane
and myself, and a stack of boxes which I am not going to start opening until after Crane has left.
“It has an outlet for the uninterruptible power supply here,” he points to the outlet, and another next to it, “And one for the backup here, exactly as you specified. The power provision for the operating room is on the same grid. In the event of the power grid failing and the generator being destroyed, there should be no more than ninety seconds between one supply going off and the other coming on. In anything less than a catastrophic event, there should be no time lag whatever. And, of course, in any but the most abnormal circumstances, the regular uninterruptible power from the grid would be perfectly stable.”
He moves a step nearer. “So, you must have something very important going on in that equipment.” I grab a hold of his wrist. The strength I fell in Tag’s bionic motors is so very tempting. I could crush his wrist to jelly if I chose. I give him a hard squeeze until his eyes bulge.
“It’s important enough that I’ll have redundant monitoring, cameras, motion and seismic sensors around the room, as well as a gas sampler.” I feel a crunch and hear a crack. He certainly feels it. “If anyone so much as breathes in this room after I’ve left, their DNA will be messaged to me before their second breath.” He nods rapidly and backs off as soon as I let go of his wrist.
“I hope I didn’t do any damage, Mister Kiko.” That isn’t true. I’m a few steps a step past caring one way or the other. “If I did though, as we’re in a hospital already, you won’t have far to go.” He looks affronted as well as hurt. “The door code, if you don’t mind.” He passes me a card.
“Payments will reach your account monthly,” I tell him flatly, “As agreed. If there is any variation to my terms, if anyone comes in here or makes any attempt to interfere with the equipment, the details of out transaction will be sent to the hospital board and the local SecuriCorps.”
His eyes burn. “Believe me,” I keep Tag’s voice hard and flat, “You have a great deal more to lose than I do here.” His chin lifts and I nod as I tell him, “I’ve checked.”
His jaw clenches and he glowers.
“Thank you, Mister Kiko. Goodbye.”
And he leaves me with my boxes of new toys.
The childish excitement of new boxes rises in my chest and thickens my throat. I take a moment. I still have water from reception and two squeeze bottles of air. I probably should have bought more. I’m wondering if I can risk a trip down and back in the elevator.
Definitely, I would prefer not to. I want to get my business here done. Get everything set up and running, then sealed and secure. I want to be back to Tag’s bedroom and get swapped back. Get her back into her own finely enhanced body, and me back to the contactless drift of the web. After that, some things may change. But I don’t want to think another step ahead yet.
I do know that I want to get Tag back into her own room before I make the swap. There’s no need for anyone else to know about this room. Ever. Ev. Ver.
Backup
WHILE I CONNECT THE kit together, establish connections and install my downloaded code from Xak, I connect Tag to the other outlet. This should get her body charged up in no time. When I’m done, I might take a run outside.
I’d really like to try a little parkour, but I won’t risk hurting Tag before we swap back.
As well as the power supplies from the hospital, which are the reason I chose this location, I have a set of a dozen lithium ion cells as a last-ditch backup power. Assuming the routines and transfers all work correctly, I’ll have my whole self securely backed up onto a bulletproof mirrored storage rack in this room.
When I get myself uploaded back onto the net, I have a plan for making the backup regularly and automatically update, with step-back snapshots. And, if that works, maybe I’ll duplicate the setup in another city.
If all of this works the way that it should, I’ll be as safe from memory loss, fragmentation, fracturing or erasure as it’s possible to be.
First thing, I change the keycode combination on the door lock, and fit an additional lock of my own, all of which takes a lot longer than I want it to. At this point, everything does.
~~
To be certain that the backup I make is viable, I need to squirt myself into the drive and inhabit it, just for a moment. See that I’m there and complete. Check a few memories and make sure that everything connects and works. I hadn’t thought of it before, but since Tag’s body is attached to the power outlet now for charging, it seems sensible to leave it attached. Incase anything goes horribly wrong, I’ve left a message to go to Tag in two minutes, so she can at least have a chance of getting her body back.
While I thought of the freedom it would give me, the little standalone box connected in a rack of drives and switches seemed like a heavenly gift, somewhere to keep the whole of me safe and guarded. Now, getting ready to pour myself into it, I’m terrified that I’ve overlooked something and I’ll either be disrupted and mangled or fragmented in the transfer, or else wind up trapped in the thing, bouncing off the walls of a tiny digital prison cell for eternity, or at least until all the power finally does fade.
As I was loading the box and squirting data onto the drives, I added a number of big, classic games. Vulcan’s Finale was one of them. While I did it I wasn’t sure why. And now I know. It’s in case I’m trapped in there. The box has net access, so even if I can’t get back into Tag, I should be able to get out and then to wherever Tag is now.
I’ve thought it through so many ways and now I’m having a moment of doubt. But there isn’t time. I have to do it, and soon. Get in, get out, get Tag’s bod back home and switch. That’s all there is to it. The NeuRoCrown is on and working, I have the gloves on and set up for a backup means of control, I’m connected, the interface is ready.
The image in my mind is of a violin. I don’t know why I thought of that, but it seemed right. Maybe I played one when I was alive. I doubt it. With it I’m thinking of a song. A very old song. Sweet dreams are made of this. I don’t know why I thought of that, but it works.
In front of Tag, right in her, in my, eye line, I’ve put a picture of a violin on the wall and the number forty-two. If all of that isn’t enough to get me back, well, it’s goodnight Vienna. What the fuck does that even mean? Okay, it’s time. Now.
~~
Now with no sensation again. I’m in the box and there’s nothing but darkness. The net connection is somewhere, but I don’t want to use that unless I really have to. It could mean being out of Tag’s body too long.
All I can see is directories and filenames. There’s a graphical operating system, but I’m not even seeing that. Somehow, I’ve dropped into the level below. Panic rises, but it won’t help. I need to check that I’m all here – although the old ‘I think therefore I am,’ seems almost enough of a guide right now. If I could see a way to get back into Tag’s bod, I would take it.
Okay. Calm down. The violin, the song and the number. Look around in here for the violin. There are thousands of directories. –
usr
files
lib
Damnit. Maybe I can do commands like an old-style terminal.
find / name “.jpg”
So it lists every file on the damned machine while it searches. There’s a way to make it not do that, but I can’t remember what it is. I haven’t done any of this for so… damn. Not found. Okay, wait, maybe it needs little switch characters. I remember something like,
find ~/ -name “.jpg”
And about a million filenames with ‘.jpg’ at the end scroll by. “.” Okay, that’s good.
find ~/ -name “violin.jpg”
And there it is.
/Users/Monk//Violin.jpg
Just one file. Now what?
open /Users/Monk//Violin.jpg
There it is. The picture. I run the song in my head and I can feel the connection. Look out and I can see the violin picture in the room and the scrap of paper. With the number. I can move Tag
’s hand. I can be in both places at once. But that feels really dangerous.
A flash of a room I never saw before. Darkness, shadows. And red. It’s only an instant and I can’t make out what the shapes are, but the feeling is not good.
Okay, I’m scared enough now that I am pulling back into Tag’s body. Right away, I don’t care. I want this finished. Now. No waiting. I’m getting back into Tag’s body, I’ll get in touch. Swap back. Right here. Right now.
The violin. Focus on the violin. And relax. Damn. I’m panicking. I have to get back up to the net, get Tag back into her body. We have to swap back. I need this business to be complete. How long Tag and her body can survive apart and still be successfully reunited I have no idea.
I have to relax somehow. What was the song? I’m remembering the beat, but I can’t get the words. Look at the violin. Remember the song. Look at the violin. There, there on the piece of paper, there’s the number. On the wall. Forty-two. I feel the pull around my forehead and it’s sickening. There’s a sweet taste in my mouth. But I’m back.
Back in the square room, higher than it is wide. I feel nauseous. Tingly and numb at the same time. Buzzing all over my body, but it feels like the buzz is outside me. That doesn’t make sense. Everything drains away and goes black.
“How’s my body?”
WHEN I COME TO, it takes me a moment to think where I am. I’m looking at a featureless wall. In a square room. There’s a picture of a violin. Oh, there. I’m in Tag’s body. That was sleep. Actual sleep. Damn What I’d give to be able to really sleep.
And I’m in this lovely, girl’s body.
I haven’t even registered the time. How long has it been?
I message Tag. She comes back, “How’s my body?”
“It’s great. Never better.”
“You sound sleepy. Have you been asleep?”