His fleeting compassion for Tate faded.
He was just a dirty old man. So he's dead. It's not like I killed him.
His attention settled on the roll-away chrome-plated clothes rack, on which hung old pants and shirts Tate probably hadn't worn in years.
I can do this. Nobody ever visits the house. I just have to replace him with my Tate mimic. He's hardly ever in touch with anyone, except gamers and prostitutes—and they won't know the difference. I'll go home this afternoon and come back tomorrow, like nothing happened. And I'll quietly inherit his fortune.
"At this point, what else could I do?"
Raymond got up and reopened the v-chamber. He leaned against the chamber's door frame, crossed his arms, and took a deep breath. He started nodding to himself and chewing on the inside of his mouth, looking at the body as a problem.
Chapter 2
Friday, October 4, 2069
One afternoon, over nine years later, Raymond sat in his office at the University of Michigan's Life Computing Lab, doors closed, the lights dimmed. It was a spacious windowless office, sparsely furnished, an odd tinkerer's assortment of animal toys and disassembled robots in neat groupings on the beige industrial carpet. He wore his favorite computer terminal: an old matte-gray-metal noise-canceling helmet and a pair of black manuhaptic gloves. He had hacked into the private workspace of Tim Farley, one of the other software developers on the Human Mind Upload team, to take a look at Tim's progress on a project Raymond had wanted for himself—the creation of a new persona, known as "Hank the Handler".
"Figures he would use the Legrange lexicon," muttered Raymond disparagingly, skimming the persona's speech module. "Hank's gonna sound like a butler."
The team would soon be attempting, for the first time in human history, to upload the consciousness of a primate into a computer. If the upload of Bento, a terminally ill chimpanzee, were successful, the Hank persona would serve as Bento's handler in his new jungle v-world. Raymond had requested the Hank project, but he was the most junior developer on the team. Instead, he had been given the project of creating Bento's v-world, which he had knocked out in a single night. Tim had been working on the Hank persona for over a week, and Raymond was appalled by how crude it was so far. He wanted to scrap the whole thing and rebuild it himself. But he couldn't. Not yet, at least—not while it was in Tim's private workspace. Raymond already had a reputation for shredding and rebuilding the work of others as soon as it was released into the shared workspace. If he were caught making changes in a teammate's private workspace, he might lose his position on the team.
He moved his hands in his manuhaptic gloves, issuing commands in a sign language that he had created himself. It was a secret language that allowed him to communicate sensitive information while in plain view of others, one of his dozens of privacy innovations. The helmet was another of his creations. By using his own components, he could be sure there was no spyware monitoring his audio, video, and facial data.
His computer translated his gestures into commands, and soon he was skimming through Tim's design notes. He read the transcript of a conversation Tim had had earlier that morning with Ellen, the Chief Developer on the team. In the conversation, Tim explained a problem he had been having: when he tried to make Hank smile and talk while doing something with his hands, the persona would sometimes fail to react to visual events around him. In the conversation, Ellen guided Tim through a series of obvious things to look into, but together they had been unable to pinpoint the problem.
"Well, that's simple," said Raymond to himself. "The dumbass started with a customer service persona, and he probably left the peripheral awareness thread at its default priority."
Customer service personas were intended to have total focus on the customer, giving the impression of imperturbable dedication. Raymond took a look at the persona's root thread priorities and saw that he was right. He couldn't safely fix the problem, but he could help Tim to figure it out. He scripted Tim's design analyzer to point Tim in the right direction when he logged in Monday morning.
As Raymond continued to inspect Tim's work, he heard a voice whispering in his right ear. It was the voice of Scorpio, a persona he had created soon after he was released from the Canal Street Home and moved in full-time at Tate's. It was the voice most associated with Raymond's self-esteem, a voice more familiar than his mother's; Scorpio had been his fighting and adventuring companion in the v-worlds of Agakhan, Telemesis, and Seneca. Scorpio was Raymond's only confidant, and now served as the mouthpiece of Raymond's far-reaching surveillance network.
"Mosby," whispered Scorpio in his deep, dry voice. Mosby, his mother's maiden name, was Scorpio's nickname for Raymond. It was a name Raymond preferred to Quan, his father's family name. "Anya is headed to the break room."
Raymond closed his session with Tim's private network, tore off his helmet and gloves, and leapt from his chair. The break room was at the other end of the lab, and he didn't want to miss the opportunity to talk with Anya.
o-------------------------------o
Anya Cordovil was one of the Human Mind Upload team's six scientists, not counting Bob Wells, Chief Scientist and head of the entire project. At age 28, Anya was the youngest of the scientists, only two years older than Raymond. Surprise had put Raymond off balance when he discovered that she was single—not married, not engaged, not even dating. Oddly, it was Darryl, Chief Tech on the upload project and all around super-geek, who first clued him in to her singleness. Darryl, a man bereft of subtlety, had been sitting with Raymond in the lab's break room, neither of them talking, when Anya came in to get a coffee. Facing away from them, wearing a black broomstick skirt and a bay cardigan, she bent from the waist to pick up a dropped stir-stick, then straightened up and shook loose her long black hair as she grabbed her coffee and left. As soon as the door closed behind her, Darryl let out a low whistle and turned to him. "Now just how is it that that girl's single? Someone needs to provision that resource."
Raymond had been attracted to Anya since he first met her, but he had always found her intimidating—she was so put-together and spoke so easily, with an air of authority made all the more impressive by the remnants of a Portuguese accent. Knowing she was single made her seem more approachable. For the first time in his life, he seriously entertained the idea of pursuing a girlfriend. After weeks of fantasizing about speaking to her, he finally got up the courage to do it, and he discovered that she was actually quite friendly. He had since managed to have several conversations with her, some of them unrelated to work—personal conversations. Raymond didn't have personal conversations with anyone. By his own request, he had a private office. He generally avoided partnering with others on development projects, and when he did end up pairing with someone, he talked only when necessary. He attended meetings, he responded to voice messages, he participated in work discussions. But he never broached personal topics—he frankly didn't care where most people lived, whether they had families, what their interests were, what they did over the weekend. And he responded to polite personal questions with polite superficial answers, keeping his carefully constructed facade of normalcy as simple and manageable as possible.
Anya was the exception. When she cordially asked how he was doing, he lit up. He had come up with a handful of safe topics, things he felt he could discuss without revealing his duplicitous life. He would tell her about his bike rides, or about whatever project he was working on at the lab. And she listened to him. She seemed genuinely interested in whatever he had to say, as if she had all the time in the world for him. He eventually hit on the topic of animals. They were both animal lovers, as it turned out, and she loved the work he did for the animals they uploaded, to make their lives more comfortable, more familiar. But the safe topics would come to an end, and he was left wishing he could come up with interesting questions to ask of her.
Not long after joining the upload team, Raymond had hacked into the security cameras throughout the lab, so that he could replac
e live footage of himself doing things he wasn't supposed to be doing with generated footage of himself innocently working. As a side benefit, he was able to spy on his co-workers. Only recently had this voyeur's tool really interested him. It allowed him to keep track of Anya, and sometimes he would watch her in the research labs and listen to her talk with others, hoping to get conversation ideas. But, face-to-face with her, the gap between reality and his fantasies of an intimate relationship seemed a vast, uncrossable chasm.
He had hurried to the break room the day before, just as he was now, only to find that Suma, the only developer on the team whom Raymond really respected, was already there. As he stood waiting for the drink machine to make him an almond vanilla shake, Suma and Anya got into a discussion about yoga. Anya mentioned that she had tried yoga a few times but had never been able to stick with it. Raymond, who had been doing yoga nearly every day for years, pictured himself becoming Anya's yoga trainer. He imagined impressing her with his discipline and spirituality. This fantasy had stayed with him the rest of the day, and had kept him up much of the night, until he finally convinced himself that he should ask her if she would be interested in doing yoga with him.
He walked now with long eager strides through the wide, brightly lit laboratory halls to the break room. Just before going in, he stopped to smooth his new shirt, a shiny black v-neck that he had had computer-tailored a little on the tight side, to show off his fit physique.
Anya stood by herself, her back to Raymond, looking at the project schedule on the wall. He could tell from the sound of the drink machine that her shake was nearly done. He walked around the table and chairs that occupied most of the room, crossed his arms on his chest, and looked over Anya's shoulder at the project schedule.
"Do you think we'll hit our target for the Bento upload?" asked Raymond.
"We have to," replied Anya with unexpected gravity. "He doesn't have much longer to live."
"Really?" Raymond's spirit fell. He'd caught her in a down mood. "Oh, wow. I didn't realize he was that sick."
"He's so weak." Anya looked at him with sad brown eyes. The privilege of her shared emotion felt like a gift to him. "I was with him last night. He's got a cold that his body just can't beat."
"Poor guy," said Raymond, sincerely touched.
"And all that's left between now and the upload is testing." She turned back to the schedule and shook her head. "Testing and re-testing. He's such a good little chimp. I can't stand the thought of losing him while we go through all this overkill."
She grabbed her mug from the drink machine and took a sip. Raymond asked for a mocha shake and the drink machine started working on it. They stood together for a moment, Raymond desperately wanting something else to say. He knew he was about to lose her. If the lull stretched even a few seconds longer, she would announce that she should go.
Anya let out a big sigh. "Well—"
"That was a big sigh," interrupted Raymond. "Sighing like that is a... can be a... sign of stress."
"Yeah, well—no surprise there, I guess."
Awkward pause.
"Do you ever do yoga?" asked Raymond.
"I've tried. You know, it's funny—Suma and I were just talking about yoga, yesterday. I love it, but I've never been able to stick with it."
"It does take discipline. You really have to make it a habit."
"So you do yoga?" asked Anya.
Raymond nodded and grabbed his drink. He was starting to have second thoughts, suddenly scared by the possibility that she might actually take him up on his offer.
"Do you go to a studio? Or do you just do it in a v-chamber?"
"Oh, a v-chamber." He wanted to go on to tell her about Nurania, but already he felt himself closing up. He wasn't used to sharing anything about himself. He could tell that Anya expected him to say something more, and he hated that he couldn't. He was so used to concealing the details of his life that anything even vaguely personal had to make it through miles of mental red tape before being approved for vocalization.
"I've tried doing yoga in a v-chamber," said Anya, taking up the slack in the conversation. "It just doesn't seem right to me. I mean, it's nice for lessons, but it always feels artificial. I like doing it in my living room. In my v-chamber, I'm always a little on edge, like I could be interrupted at any moment. I don't know, I guess I only feel in tune with my body when I'm in reality prime—nothing virtual."
"That's kind of ironic. Given you're an upload researcher, I mean."
Raymond's wrist relay vibrated. He glanced at it and saw that there was an urgent message for him from Scorpio. He tapped the display to acknowledge the notification and make it go away.
"I suppose," replied Anya. "Although, if I were uploaded, I guess the v-world would become my reality. I wouldn't be in a v-chamber, suspended in nanomist. But the v-chamber thing works for you?"
Raymond nodded. "It does." He made up his mind to tell her about Nurania, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, she started again to announce that she should go.
"I'm sorry," she said. "You were about to say something?"
"No, it was nothing. I was going to... never mind."
Anya looked at him quizzically. "You were going to say something about yoga?"
Suma entered the room. Raymond's instinct was to leave, to extricate himself from a group social situation where he might be the focus of attention.
"Hey guys," said Suma. She gave Anya a look that struck Raymond as teasing. "Did I overhear something about yoga?"
"It turns out Raymond is into yoga," said Anya.
"That's cool," said Suma to Raymond. He noticed her glance at his chest. "And you're probably the type who has no problem doing it every day."
"Not every day," he said. "There are some days where I'm just too busy."
"So, is it more of a workout thing for you?" asked Suma.
"No, I get that more from, um, karate and wing chun." Raymond mumbled the end of the sentence, embarrassed by the sense that he was bragging.
"Wow, that's really cool," said Suma. "I wish I exercised more. You know, isn't it unusual for a developer to be so physical? And yet you're this amazing developer, too. It's really impressive."
Suma crossed to the drink machine and asked for an iced tea. Anya and Raymond stood sipping their shakes. Raymond was torn between leaving and staying. His uncertainty about how to leave courteously made staying the default winner. Suma took her glass and relaxedly leaned against the counter.
"You were just saying you wanted to do yoga more often, weren't you?" asked Suma of Anya.
"Yeah," said Anya. "I just never make it a priority."
"You two should do yoga together."
Raymond stared at Suma, wondering whether she had actually just said those words. It was as if she had divined his fantasy, neatly boxed it up, and handed it to him—just as he was wondering whether it was something he really wanted.
"Suma!" scolded Anya. "I... I'm sorry, Raymond. I would never presume to impose on something so private."
"Oh, but—I mean, I..." Raymond was completely at a loss. He couldn't tell if Anya was trying to brush him off or merely being polite. But she could have left some time ago if she had wanted to.
Again Anya looked at him inquisitively. He felt she was trying to uncover the real meaning of the few words that escaped him. "You..." she coaxed tentatively.
"I wouldn't mind at all," said Raymond.
"Are you sure?" asked Anya. "I don't want you to feel obliged. You can certainly say 'no'."
"No, I'd love to." He locked eyes with Anya in an unmistakably meaningful moment, but bashfulness forced him to look away.
"Okay," said Anya. "I'll bring in yoga clothes on Monday, and we can try it some time next week. After work?"
"Sure," said Raymond. "Yeah, any day—just let me know."
"Then Monday," said Anya with a laugh and a shrug. "After work."
"Great—Monday," repeated Raymond. "I'll send you a v-world link, and you can... y
ou can use one of the v-chambers here in the lab?" She nodded. "Alright. Great. I'll see you Monday."
He turned and left the break room, the remains of his shake in hand. He wanted to run and jump through the halls. The sound of excited whispering in the break room followed him. It occurred to him that he could play back sound from a security recording to hear what they were saying, but he decided it was probably best not to know. He would rather trust his sense that whatever it was, it was good.
As soon as his office door closed behind him, he jumped across the room and planted a solid kick in the practice bag that hung in the corner.
"I can't believe it. She likes me. And Suma knew it. They've talked—they must have. Oh my god. Anya likes me, enough that she actually told Suma. Oh my god!"
Raymond's wrist relay vibrated again. It was the same urgent message from Scorpio. He wondered what could possibly be so important. He ran a finger across the face of the relay and a holographic text message appeared just above Raymond's wrist. His grin collapsed.
Chapter 3
Monday, October 7, 2069
The simple purity of a Nuranian purple wren's crisp warbling echoed within Raymond's mind. He sat in lotus position, eyes closed, alone. He inhaled and exhaled fully, naturally, allowing the peace he had attained to seep through every muscle. The light gurgling of Orlea Brook, which surrounded him on three sides, felt as though it were within him. For the first time in three days, his mind was clear. Stress and exhaustion had given way to clarity. His worries had been set aside, and he felt ready now to lead Anya through a yoga session.
He opened his eyes. He was in Nurania, at his favorite yoga spot. He sat atop a small moss-covered rise at a bend of Orlea Brook, one of the red streams in the valley at the foot of Mount Golgora. The moss grew thick and soft, providing an ideal yoga mat. An old forest—home to hundreds of species he had created through the years—rose majestically all around him, wrapping his little spot in its vast sheltering embrace.
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