Virtual Murder
Page 10
Carlos poked the campfire fire a bit, sending red sparks into the air. He looked at Laurel and smiled. Light flickered on her skin and bald head. They sat side by side on a sleeping bag, their faces towards the fire.
Laurel took a light pen from her pocket and wrote in the air in front of her, leaving green glowing filaments. The words floated, sparkled a bit, then dissipated in the faint breeze. “Mahler was lying,” she wrote.
"About what?” Carlos asked. The statement caught him off guard. He'd been thinking how pretty she looked in the firelight.
"I'm not too sure. He was very clever. He knew I was watching him and he was very careful not to show me his feelings. I don't know how, but he knew I could read him."
"Does he know you're deaf?"
Laurel winced. “The mutants say they don't mind if you call them mutants, but I don't like to be called deaf."
"Sorry. What do you prefer to be called?"
"Laurel, if it's all right with you.” She wrinkled her nose and laughed silently. “All right, I'm being silly. Hearing impaired is such a vulgar expression, and deaf is so absolute. I like to think of myself as silenceful. That's a word I made up. It's graceful and more feminine than deaf."
She stopped writing and sat very still for a moment, looking out over the desert. “It's very silenceful out here at night, isn't it?” Laurel's light pen flashed as she wrote, and the letters wavered as the breeze moved them. They sparkled green and gold before vanishing.
Carlos nodded. The breeze moved the tent flap, and a coyote howled from far away. The moon was still fat and round, but tonight there were small wisps of cloud clinging to it like a filmy veil. He stirred and asked, “What did he lie about, exactly?"
"He lied about nearly everything he told you, or if he wasn't lying, he didn't tell you the whole truth. He was using you, Carlos. I wish I knew how, but he was using you for something. He knew you were going to come back to talk to him, and he was ready."
"How do you know that?"
"Did you see how close to the glass his face was? He wanted to be sure to see you."
"He could have moved there when he saw me coming."
"No, Mahler is nearly paraplegic. He can't move his whole body except with great effort."
"I didn't know that."
"You don't know very much about the mutants, but to tell you the truth, I don't know much more than you do."
"I need to know what he lied about,” Carlos said patiently, taking her wrists and holding her still while he spoke.
Laurel licked her lips, then she pulled her hands free. Her pen moved quickly, dancing through the night air. “He lied about two things in particular. When you asked him about emotions and hormones, he nearly didn't answer you. Instead, he turned the question to his advantage, but what he told you was mostly untrue. The mutants went through a particularly painful adolescence. They suffered depression, mood swings, and one or two tried to commit suicide. It lasted for about six weeks until the scientists found a way to speed their growth and stem their hormonal surges. It was very brutal for some of the mutants. I know that one of them became partially paralyzed from a stroke. I think it was M-3."
"One of the older sisters?"
"Yes. Mahler lied when he said that the mutants could control their hormones. They cannot. The scientists do it for them."
"Perhaps he doesn't realize this.” Carlos was silent for a minute, watching the fire, his eyes following the sparks as they rose into the sky.
Laurel made a face. “I don't know, but he was lying about something."
"But Laurel, he couldn't lie to me with you there, watching him."
"It wasn't a direct lie; he was simply evasive. Perhaps he doesn't realize I know about their hormones. It was several years ago and I only learned about it from transcripts.” Her mouth twisted as she shook her head.
"All right. What else?"
"He lied about the police report. Either he knows more than he's telling us or he has a definite suspicion about what happened."
"Do you think it's possible the mutants are involved?” Carlos leaned forward and put a stick in the fire. Far off, an owl hooted.
"How?” Laurel shook her head. “I don't see how any of them could profit from murder. Besides, it all seems to be hinged on sex, from what I gathered."
"You gathered correctly."
"The mutants have no idea what sex is. They have no way of experiencing it. They can read about a car and drive a virtual car, but they can't have virtual sex. Reading about it isn't going to help. Especially since all the pornographic sites were removed back in 2010."
"Good old 2010. Sex is simply hormones."
"Aren't you romantic?” Laurel wrote the glowing words in the air, rolling her eyes and touching his chest. “Is that all I am for you? A way to empty your overflowing hormones?"
"Ha, ha, ha.” Carlos kissed her on the tip of her nose. “For your information, I haven't overflowed since I was in diapers. But this is serious, Laurel. One thing is certain—someone called Mitch Palo is in danger, and I don't know what to do about it."
Laurel yawned and cuddled in her sleeping bag, staring sleepily at the flames. Carlos lay down next to her, propping his head on his arms. There came the occasional cry of a coyote and the crackling sound the mesquite wood made in the fire. For Laurel, everything was silenceful, but for him, the night was full of whispers.
* * * *
"Mr. Palo, please don't get upset."
"Upset? Not get upset? What should I do, say thank you for putting me under house arrest? I came back, didn't I? We only went to have breakfast, not rob a bank or take the first flight to Brazil. Look, Monkey is just like you or me. He's a person, not a robot, and he's not dangerous. I can..."
"Mr. Palo, there is nothing more to say. You will be kind enough to stay away from him until the virtual voyage. Until then, I'm afraid you'll have to remain in this room."
"Where's Monkey?” Mitch stood up, towering over the Net Rep standing before him.
"He's in his own room. He'll be quite all right, rest assured. We've put him in a very luxurious room and he's got a shunt. He'll be fine until tomorrow morning."
"What happens then?” Mitch asked.
The Net Rep gave a tiny shake of the head. “We'll brief you just before the trip. If you need anything, the console over here will connect you to the service center where you can order food and drinks. If you wish to see a film, there are numerous choices in our video library..."
"What about the Net? Can I surf?"
"I'm sorry. Your shunt has been confiscated.” The man smiled thinly, turned on his heel, and left.
Mitch watched him leave, a meditative look on his face. “My shunt has been confiscated,” he mouthed at the closed door, “but I have another one."
Then he stood up and, hands on hips, surveyed the room.
It didn't take long to find the cameras. One was thinly disguised as a fire alarm and another glinted from the middle of the curtain rod. He nearly missed the third camera, installed in the painting, but that was because he couldn't imagine the Net being so obvious. He shook his head as he carefully realigned the lens. The bugs were easier; scanning with his portable radio and listening for the static, he soon found them all. He pulled them carefully from their hiding places and set them on a different frequency while staying out of sight of the cameras.
Now that a large space in the room was cleared, he opened his suitcase and removed the lining. Whistling tunelessly, he pulled a long, thin tube from within it. He took the cover off the console with a small screwdriver and plugged himself in, using the material he always had with him. He used just a small mask, not one of the bowling ball sized helmets the Virtual Tours used, thin gloves and fine wires attached to electrodes pressed into his ears and onto his temples. With the mask, electrodes and wires, Mitch could go beyond the normal user's online experience. The cutting edge technology Digby had helped him get allowed him to experience the virtual arena almost as if he were on a v
irtual tour. Sound and touch were slightly muted, but sight was sharp and keen. He couldn't eat or drink anything—he had no sense of taste at all—but he could go nearly everywhere, within the parameters of where he was visiting.
His teachers had jokingly called him a mutant. Now that he'd actually met one, he wasn't sure how he felt about them. Monkey was so captivating it was impossible to resist him. Mitch couldn't understand how the Net Reps could be hard-hearted enough to lock him in his room despite his entreaties.
Now, he floated in the Net space, intent on finding his friend. If he was, as the Net Rep said, shunted, Mitch should be able to locate him.
In the end, it was easy. Monkey was terrified and he'd retreated to his own world, but he wasn't in the institute and he wasn't in his own glass case. The trail he left was simple for Mitch, although it was doubtful anyone else could have found him. He floated in the traffic area of Net, the place called the highway. It was a vast, vague corridor where paths of different colors wove like stringy rainbows in every direction. Some were easy to identify, and those attached to publicity were the brightest and easiest to follow. Others led to online sites of interest; still others led to private lines. Mail lines were yellow and led only in one direction. Educational programs were colored a certain way, as were certain lines that were encrypted or coded. Those you had to possess a key to enter. Government lines were mostly coded, and they were the easiest for Mitch to unlock. Monkey didn't encode his line, he just hid it. It was so faint, and so ethereal, you could hardly see it unless you were looking for it. Mitch had gotten to know Monkey, so he knew instinctively what to look for.
Monkey's line was flimsy but not very complicated. Mitch found the trace by scanning all the lines leaving the Net building then choosing the one that seemed the most incongruous. Once connected to a line, it was rather like taking a moving sidewalk. Other times it could be like climbing a rope in the gym. Some lines were old and broke apart after a certain time, from disuse or misuse. New lines tended to glow faintly as if they were a bit wet. Monkey's line was not new, but it did glow enticingly. Mitch felt himself drawn towards the filament. He took hold of it.
Mitch was pulled along Monkey's line like a fish being reeled in through a rough sea. Around him, worlds flashed as he caught glimpses of games he'd played and realized Monkey had disguised his trail by stitching it like a thread through several different worlds in order to confuse any followers. After what seemed a long while, Mitch slowed and found himself in a thick fog. A silhouette appeared, drifting out of the mist like a ghost. It was Monkey.
"Hi.” He smiled shyly.
"Hey, Monkey, how are you?"
"Not so good, I'm afraid.” The image wavered a bit before coming into sharper focus.
With a thrill of shock, Mitch recognized himself. “Why aren't you using your own body?” he asked.
"I only saw myself for the first time two days ago. I don't know myself yet.” His voice was plaintive. “Why don't they let us out of our cases, Mitch?"
"I don't know.” It troubled Mitch that Monkey was trembling and on the verge of tears. “Hey, don't sweat it. I'm sure everything will work out fine."
"I was doing fine, wasn't I? I was adapting to the real world, wasn't I?” Monkey, in the form of Mitch, stretched his arms out in the position of a crucified Christ. They were both floating in a silver mist that was growing lighter by the second.
"You were perfect,” Mitch said. “This is a cool place. Where is it?"
"I made this world myself,” Monkey replied. “If you want, I'll show you around. I hope you don't mind that I pulled you in so fast, but I don't want anyone else to find it."
"They won't. I was just lucky I found your line."
"No, I wanted you to see it.” Monkey smiled and his face suddenly relaxed. “Here, take my hand and we'll fly."
They soared through thick clouds and suddenly came upon a clear expanse of blue sky. Mitch gazed in delight at the forest below him. A waterfall cascaded thousands of meters down a sheer, red cliff into a jade-green lake. There was another lake in the mouth of a volcanic mountain, and on one of its sides, a river ran uphill towards the magnificent falls. It was like a surrealistic drawing come to life. A shallow creek flowed out of a cave in the opposite side of the lake, twisted around the mountainside, and splashed into the river, which ran back up the volcano towards the waterfall.
"Do you want to swim?” asked Monkey.
"Sure!"
They fell through the air as slowly as feathers floating to the surface of the lake. The water was tepid and calm.
"Follow me.” Monkey swam towards the cave.
They drifted, pulled by the current into a tunnel. After a few moments of floating in darkness lit only by the glimmer of thousands of fireflies, Mitch saw the end of the tunnel, a bright arch of dazzling sunlight. When they reached the opening, a small creek swept them down the mountainside as if they were on a huge water chute ride. Mitch whooped aloud as they rushed downwards. When they splashed into the river, it was just a few lazy strokes to a small beach. They hauled themselves onto the warm sand, shook bright water droplets off their bodies and stood in wonder.
Monkey pointed to the trees above their heads, and Mitch saw a yellow cloud of jewel-like butterflies. A blue jay swooped among the branches and a red squirrel chattered high in a white birch tree.
"It's beautiful here.” Mitch's voice was hardly a whisper.
"Watch.” Monkey put his hand on Mitch's shoulder, and they stood perfectly still, mirror-image twins, in a pristine forest.
The sun rose and fell in an instant, shadows twisting like snakes around their feet. Then the scene shifted, and summer gave way to winter.
It was so sudden, as if a cover was suddenly whipped off the world. Snow sparkled on the ground. A fine powder swirled in the air. The trees leaned as a storm approached, dark clouds slouching across the sky. Snowflakes began to fall. The snow blurred Mitch's vision, but he was not cold. He could see things as if he were omnipotent: a bear in his den, jays huddled in the fir tree, a squirrel curled in his nest and deer lying pressed together for warmth. A pine marten poked his head out of his burrow, and snow frosted his fur. Night came, and darkness settled upon the world.
Then the snowstorm tapered off and the sun rose once more. Everything was bathed in a pink and gold glow. Deer struggled out of their hiding places. Birds shook their feathers and fluttered into the air while the squirrel bounded from branch to branch. A lynx padded across the snowdrifts, his soft fur whipped by a freezing wind. Ice crystals sparkled in the air. Winter passed in the space of a minute. Snow melted, vanished, and plants pushed out of the thawing earth. Crocuses opened purple blossoms while pale spring grass feathered the ground. Leaves budded and unfurled. The sunlight became green, filtering through a dense canopy of trees. A wolf howled as night fell, the moon sailing across the sky like a fat, yellow boat. Mice watched the night sky with beady eyes, and an opossum balanced like a tightrope walker on a high branch, the moon tipping his fur with light.
Mitch saw constellations wheel through space, and then dawn colored the sky pale gray and rose. Spiders knit webs and decorated them with dewdrops. Mist emerged as the sun grew hotter, and the forest was first gray with fog, then green and dappled with gold.
All the while Mitch watched and saw everything. He saw each tree and leaf, each animal and insect. Even the fish swimming under the water and the birds in the sky had no secrets from him.
Then Monkey took his hand off his shoulder, and time snapped like a rubber band back to normal. Mitch sank down on the sand, his legs suddenly too weak to hold him upright.
"Did you like that?” asked Monkey.
Mitch shook his head, incapable of answering. Tears ran down his face as he took a shaky breath. “How did you do that?"
"It's like swimming. You have to learn, but once you do, you realize that you always knew how to swim and that it's easy."
"The Virtual Tour program. You made it, didn't you?"
"I mean, you didn't need all the movie footage you were provided with, did you?"
"We studied it carefully. The orders were to create a world analogous to the one in the Caribbean, and we did our best."
"You did your best,” Mitch said slowly. “Was this,” he swept his arm in an arc, “all from film footage as well?"
"This part of my world is from your world. You wouldn't understand the part I created from my imagination."
"I would like to see it,” Mitch said.
"Not today. We must return to the real world. Time is almost up for you, and soon they will come get us."
"Get us? For what?"
"I'm not sure, but I think we'll be working together. I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not.” Mitch grinned. “I loved your world, Monkey. I hope I'll be invited back."
"Whenever you wish to come, you'll be welcome. Thanks to you, I know what it's like to be a human being. Before meeting you, I was nothing but a freak, a living machine. Now I know what friendship is, what sharing means, and what it feels like to have a woman take hold of my pal and..."
"Um, that's quite all right.” Mitch coughed to hide his grin.
"I only hope that I'm Sarah will do that to me again,” he said wistfully.
"I'm Sarah?"
"Her pin said that was her name. It's beautiful, don't you think?"
Mitch clapped him fondly on the shoulder. “It's a lovely name. Come on, we'd better go. I don't want the Net Reps to catch me shunted."
Chapter Nine
I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself,
And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so.
~Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
* * * *
Andrea floated through the day. Her mind kept drifting back to dinner, then breakfast then ... Her cheeks turned pink and she busied herself with her files. Not that there was much to do that day. Until the murder investigation was finished, Virtual Tours was closed for business.
The Net had sent David Willow to check out some sort of new anti-virus program. He'd called her that morning and left several messages with Sally. Andrea had called him back and been very cold. He'd gotten the message. Several red roses had arrived shortly afterwards, with a store-bought thank-you note. It was, Andrea reflected, the most civilized separation she'd ever experienced. She tossed the note into her garbage, put the roses in the silver polo trophy that one of her exes had given her, and patted Cocotte on her silky head.