Versim

by Curtis Hox

  Hark fought through a wave of nausea and vertigo as he realized the reason he was in this predicament wasn’t home. Saul knew he was always supposed to stick close to home on this week of the year—the anniversary of his father’s death and the time Hark could be held to fulfilling a critical promise. He had to know the boy was safe. And he wasn’t home. Neither was his mother. Hark grabbed the wall to steady himself.

  “Come on, Krista, I need my memory.” He moved to Frankie and adjusted his arms. “Direct access: memory dump request.”

  “Denied. You are not being tunneled by the official host—”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. It was worth a try, though. List all illegal insertions: Collides Rend-V.”

  “Harken Cole, specialist, unknown immersion host. Still at large.”

  “Take a bow at telling me what I know. Pure brilliance. Who else?”

  “Inspector Krista Cole and Agent Tripp Cole. Brief immersions. No longer present.”

  “I know.”

  “Who else?”

  Frankie began to totter. Hark reached for him just as he fell. “That’s it for him for a while.” He set Frankie on the floor. “Get him that pillow.”

  Binda set a pillow under his head. “He sure is smiling.”

  Frankie’s eyes returned to normal; he shut them while mumbling to himself.

  “He’ll sleep like a baby,” Hark said.

  “What was all that?” Binda asked.

  “I think Collides is under attack.”

  Binda grinned. “And we’re the stars.”

  “For the time being.”

  “What’re we going to do?”

  “My sister recruited you for a reason. Why?”

  “I have no idea. I just got a message to look for you. Said it would help my career.”

  “What are you good at?”

  She looked perplexed. “Cooking. I’m a good cook.”

  Hark shook his head and sat back down. The nano-engines working overtime, each one a micro machine repairing a specific cellular problem, made his bones feel on fire. His tongue was thick in his mouth. Even his teeth hurt. Each nerve in his body seemed to have pulled into itself, stretching all the soft tissue around it.

  He tried to focus as his vision swam. “Make me something to eat.”

  Binda nodded. “I can make—”

  “I’m kidding.” He grinned at her, even though his face felt as if it might split. “Something else. Why would Krista send you to me …?”

  17

  Binda watched Hark fall face forward on the bed and almost roll off. She rushed to his side and pushed him toward the center. He flopped onto his back. She stood over him, while Frankie lay on the floor like a guy jacked into a Rend-V or zipping on brain juice.

  Hark appeared beaten up, even in his jet-black superhero jumpsuit. She touched his leg, felt the reptilian skin-like material, and resisted an urge to crawl on top of him and run her fingers through his hair.

  She glanced through the open door. Celia Preston was on the other side of the suite, still moping like the spoiled celebrity she was. Binda returned to Hark. She couldn’t believe she was alone in the same hotel room with him. She knew who he was, of course. Everyone knew who Harken Cole was.

  Binda considered why she’d been called up and couldn’t find a reason.

  He asked me what I was good at, she thought. And I said cooking. Oh my god. Cooking. Why did I say that?

  Binda sat on the bed next to the Rend-V star, watching him breathe deeply, feeling heat baking off his body as if he were a machine. She knew she was being watched, probably by millions at this point. Even had her own riders. She was a conduit for others to experience what was happening.

  What am I good at?

  She ran a finger along his thigh, thinking a few naughty thoughts, and heard footsteps. She turned, expecting to see Celia. Another woman stood in the doorway.

  “How did you get inside the suite?” Binda asked.

  The woman was about her height with wavy long hair. She was dressed in a tight-fitting blouse and pressed denim jeans. She looked like a dressed-down lawyer, or a smarty who looked good in casual wear.

  “I’m his sister, Inspector Krista Cole,” she said and stepped toward the bed. Binda had to move out of the way. “He’s okay?”

  “Looks like he’s sleeping. Hot as hell. Did you say, Inspector?”

  “He’s healing.” Krista leaned over him, as if she might check his temperature.

  “He’ll be all right?”

  “Happy to be here?” Krista asked, eyeing Binda up and down. “With my famous brother?”

  The woman’s eyes rounded on her, seeming to grow bigger, to actually glow. But this wasn’t a fantasy V. That sort of thing didn’t happen in Collides. Binda had the distinct feeling the woman knew who she was, knew all about her. In fact, she imagined she was looking at someone who may have been watching her intimately for months.

  She reached into the clutch she carried—a shiny, blue purse no bigger than a wallet—and felt the dampener inside. The tiny device with a single button was used to create a bubble of privacy. As a non-principal, she could use it whenever she wanted: in the bathroom, the shower, in private moments alone, on dates, etc. She wasn’t contracted to keep it off because she wasn’t a principal.

  Even better, she didn’t need to use it right now because in this Rend-V, versim apparently wasn’t an issue, and whatever conversation they were about to have could be heard by anyone.

  “You know about me?” Binda asked.

  “I sent you the message to meet my brother.”

  “Why?”

  Krista nodded at him. “I need someone like you.”

  “Like me?”

  “He doesn’t know yet, what this is all about. But, soon, the memories will return, and Hark will have to make some hard decisions. You’re committed to being a principal, aren’t you Binda?”

  “You saw my audition?”

  “It didn’t land you a principal role, but it showed … potential.”

  Binda looked away from Krista, unsure where this was headed. She wanted a moment to think. She threaded her way across the room, deftly stepping between Frankie’s legs. He now lay catatonic, smiling like a man in some delicious heaven. Hark groaned once on the bed. And there was a strange bleedover inspector talking about what was supposed to have been a private part of her application.

  Krista moved to a table in the corner and poured herself a glass of water. “Unknown Binda Avey applies for Rend-V immersion employment. You’ve already registered as a paying customer, if nothing comes your way. But you try. Your credentials are in order. Your genoscript is captured. You’re ready for full immersion and a biovat. Your big day arrives, and what happens?”

  Binda remembered the brief scenario as if it happened yesterday. She stood on a ledge, high atop a skyscraper hive tower. This was in a real-world contemporary setting. She stood in a high wind, at the top of an arcology wing that connected to major portions of the superstructure. The day was overcast, gray mist blocking her view to the bottom. The drop had to be a thousand feet. A catwalk crossed the space. On the other side an old woman huddled. She guessed the woman was a construct, but that didn’t matter. They wanted to see her cross. And she did.

  “You didn’t get a principal role, but you were impressive,” Krista said. “Showed real heart. I’m not sure I could have.”

  “You gave me this chance because I took those steps?”

  Krista grinned. “Pretty much. That showed you’re willing to perform, which will make all this easier on you if things go the way I think.” Krista walked over to Frankie. She knelt. “Frankie here. See, he’s a constructed person. Not like you and me. He was inserted in this Rend-V a fully grown adult with false memories of his childhood. In fact, when we scooped him up to help Hark, we spent alot of money for a solid backstory. But he’s a nice guy. Isn’t he?” Krista faced Binda.

  “Nice enough,” Binda replied. She watched the woman st
aring at her. This was about the personhood debate. Constructs took the sharp end the stick all the time. Sacrificed. “You an advocate for constructs?”

  “Oh, yes, I am. But my brother tends to think a regular human being like you and me … that we have more worth.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “Of course, but you don’t like seeing a Rend-V end, do you?”

  “All the constructs just disappear,” Binda said. “It’s sad.”

  “That they do: disappear. And yes it is.”

  “And you want me to do what?”

  “I want you to do whatever is required to safeguard the integrity of this V.”

  “I do that, and I get to stay in this role?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Deal.”

  “I thought so.”

  Krista stood. “And Binda. There are over sixteen million constructs in this Rend-V. Of course, most of those are cookie cutters. But, nearly two-hundred thousands have some form of lived history. They live and laugh. They create art and philosophy and science. They … are valuable. And this Rend-V has been running for twenty years. That’s twenty years of real lived experience.”

  Binda saw a fire in the woman’s eyes and felt goosebumps ripple along her arms. She recognized the timber of a zealot. This woman was a bleedover Spinner, for sure.

  She unconsciously moved away, the backs of her knees hitting the bed. “Are you … a—”

  “—bleedover collector? You can say that.” Krista moved in close. “I’m more than that, Ms. Avey. And as your patron, I need you to perform.”

  Binda nodded. “I will.”

  “Good.” Krista moved even closer, now almost nose-to-nose, as if she might place a kiss on Binda’s lips. “Play the part you’re intended when the time comes.” Hark groaned again and shifted his weight. “I have to go, but I’ll be back.”

  “You’re illegal?”

  “Of course.”

  Krista disappeared as if she’d never been there. One second she was present. The next she was not.

  “That is so cool: a real Rend-V jumper.” Binda reached into thin air where Krista had stood. The pleasant tangerine aroma of her perfume still lingered.

  18

  Hark woke up with his bottom lip stuck to the bed sheet. He wiped away the dried spit that had acted like glue. The room was dark. He heard Frankie snoring on the floor. He sensed another presence in the room, thinking it was Binda. Then he realized the person was sitting in the only chair in the room. Who the …?

  “It’s Tripp.”

  “Oh, hey,” Hark said, trying to focus. “When’d you get here?”

  “Been waiting an hour or so. Krista’s been, and already left. She’s running, Binda, as you know. Said it was okay to tell you at this point. Binda’s game. I can see Frankie’s game. Looks like you woke him up already. He taking it hard?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Late. The ladies are already asleep.”

  “You jumped in?”

  “Smack dab in the room. Our host is good.”

  “Obviously.”

  “You still hurt?” Tripp asked.

  “Everything’s down. Repairing me bit by bit.”

  “I saw the fight. You were about to get a whooping.”

  “All part of the plan. He came at me with ninety five percent in that twined attack. Punched right through my carapace and my armor—”

  “—and depleted his own reserves.”

  “I tied him up … and …”

  “I saw. He sneaked an exit, Hark. Ran with his tail between his legs.”

  “Smart move. I can notch that up as a win. He’ll have to swallow it. What’s the news?”

  “Krista said you were still out when she got here. Was wondering if the full memory dump had happened. Asked me to check on you in person. What do you know, so far?”

  Hark tried to clear his head. It pounded as he sat up straight. He felt his chest expand as if barbs had been sown into his skin, tearing soft tissue as he moved. “I got the written message to protect Celia when I first arrived. That was you guys, right?”

  “Yep. We believed they were going to kidnap the host. They sent those three thugs. We got you in just in time. Maybe a ritual execution, or something big like that. Not sure why, other than to draw you in. But you knew that and went anyway.”

  “Let me work it out. I’ve been waiting for more. Got a few clues. Serial killer. Voxyprog.”

  “Again, us. Letting you know what to expect.”

  “Shut the heck up for a second, little brother. I hacked in and learned a few things.”

  “Stupid move.”

  “My head’s good. Nothing too big. But that’s all.”

  As if he had never forgotten, Hark remembered the Sersavant woman asking him to awaken her mother. He remembered it happening in a restaurant. She’d cried. She was so eager, as if she knew he would have to help her, but she couldn’t have known. And on the very day he couldn’t say no.

  “She asked me to …”

  “Yeah?”

  “To … heck, I have to wake Celia Preston … one way or another.”

  “The host of this Rend-V.”

  “The host.”

  The rest of it was there. He remembered hiring their own illegal tunneler host, Garce, all the preparation for entering, his brother and sister’s intermittent jumps, the use of Frankie and Binda. Operation Hark’s A Screw Up.

  “How do I get myself into these scrapes?”

  He saw the white of Tripp’s teeth flash off the light from a digital clock glowing crimson in the corner.

  “There’s more,” Tripp said. “We figured out who the daughter of our celebrity host is.”

  Hark breathed deep, feeling his shoulders unwind. He was much better than he’d been only hours before. “Give it to me.”

  “Miesha Preston.”

  “The bleedover director?”

  “The one and only. She snagged you, bro. She’s a certified aural psychic who got past your defenses.”

  “I don’t use them, especially on that day.”

  “Then you’re stupider than you look.”

  “EA would know. They’re capturing all this … drama. Ten years they’ve been doing it. This is my last one until Saul is eleven and can get out of The Borderlands a living, human being. Just like you and me.”

  “I hear you. I got no beef with him.”

  “And the mother’s coming too.”

  “She’s a construct, Hark. They won’t let her.”

  “They said they would.”

  Tripp shook his head, and even in the dark and with his night vision off, Hark could see his brother’s adamant confidence that no constructed person would be allowed to live in reality. Tripp’s job was to hunt them down and remand them back to their Rend-V worlds—which meant executing them in reality. EA would then decide to reconstitute them or not.

  “Doesn’t matter, though,” Tripp said, “because you told your good buddy you’d keep his son safe, no matter what.”

  “No matter what.”

  “Here we are, then. So go start the process to ‘wake her up.’ She’s in the other room, asleep. Or why not take the other route: snap of the neck, and it’s done. Poetic, right. Either way, you wake her up in this world, only to wake her up in another.”

  “Let’s go over this one more time: Krista sent me the message to protect her?”

  “Of course, she wants to protect the integrity of the V. She knew the host was a target.”

  “Then it’s true someone’s trying to kill Celia.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. What we know is Miesha Preston’s using you for her own reasons.”

  “You need to get out of here, Tripp. It’s dangerous. If I have to kill her in-V ... ”

  Tripp ignored the suggestion with a sneer. “You’ll do it, right? You’ll wake her.”

  “I’ve got no choice.”

  “One way or the other.”

  Silence followed. Hi
s brother said nothing, but Hark could tell he was watching him. If a host was murdered in-V—if she had a real death experience—every living person riding and viewing could be irreparably damaged. Every valuable construct would be lost, as well as the other constructs who’d lived their lives as rendered persons. It would be an atrocity on an unimaginable scale.

  But any time a Rend-V was to be terminated, a specialist was sent in for a ritual awakening of the host. It would be controlled and slow so that all principals, secondaries, riders, viewers, etc.—all paying customers who had real bodies in the real world and who had paid money for the experience, expecting to return to their original bodies one day—all of them would be safe. But, only the most valuable constructed persons would be saved, those who might have use in other Rend-Vs because of popularity or because they were just so useful. The rest of the constructs would be wiped out of existence in an instant.

  Like Frankie. Like so many others made for this temporary world.

  Hark could feel his hands shaking. He grabbed his knees to steady them. “If I don’t fulfill the promise I made to wake Miesha’s mother, to wake Celia, EA will shut down The Borderlands, and Paul’s son will die, Saul will die, even though he’s a legal person. Tripp, I got no choice.”

  “I hear you, brother. No choice.” Tripp placed a package on the table. “Open it after I’m gone. Tells you who’s coming after her. It’ll be a good show. But you can handle it.” He stood. “It’s time me for me to jump out. Hark, find her triggers to wake her up the slow way, if you have to. You fulfill your promise to Miesha and your contract with EA and your duty to Paul. And everyone with a real body wakes up whole. That’s the best way. But do it fast.”

  “I know. The best way,” Hark said and watched Tripp disappear as if he’d never been there. “But not the only way.”

  Hark stumbled over to the light switch and flicked it on.

  A simple package like they one he’d gotten when he’d immersed sat on the table. Frankie still snored on the floor, a pillow still under his head.

  Just a constructed person, Hark thought. But he’s real enough. And I may wink out his existence.