The Orb

by Tara Basi

  “You obviously know your porn, Peter. As it happens, that’s what this body’s first inhabitant did, before the poor girl died. It’s my little homage to her memory, and I kind of like the look,” Zip said, without any hint of annoyance at his question.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Thank you for calling,” he said, wishing he might have something positive to tell Kiki after all.

  “Those keys were helpful. I looked you up, Professor, your journalist daughter and the trial. You said you wanted to prove she was murdered. Well, here’s what I don’t get. She was murdered; her killer is serving a life sentence. You must know all that, so how does any of what you told me make sense?”

  “Not everything came out at the trial. Will you help us?” Peter was breathless. It struck him how alone and powerless he was. Kiki’s real murderer wouldn’t be found without help.

  “Maybe, Professor, maybe. How would this meeting with your dead daughter work? And don’t gross me out with some weird answer or I’m hanging up,” Zip said, her head cocked to one side, hands on her hips, her brown eyes filled with doubt and her barbed tail stabbing the air like an unsettled rattlesnake.

  “Come to my house tomorrow, around midnight. Tell no one. It’ll be a perfectly normal meeting. My daughter is quite lucid.”

  “Another face-to-face? That’ll be my second in two years. For a perfectly normal meeting with your dead, lucid daughter? Normally, I never go to the surface, but, to be honest, I’m kind of bored and you’ve kind of intrigued me. So sure, why not. This I’ve got to see. Bye, Professor.”

  Little Zip collapsed to a point of light before vanishing altogether. Peter smiled; Kiki would be pleased. His smile melted away as a Church of the Orb message flashed outside the train window, and he remembered what Kiki had told him about Zip: after she’d become ill and nearly died, she’d converted. Zip was a Pilgrim.

  Chapter Two – Quattro

  A little before midnight the next night, Zip stood in torrential rain, kicking up shards of gravel from an unmade lane. She watched the ’bot cab lights disappear into the gloom. The rain fizzled against the electro-static bubble that kept her dry. Zip shook her head and wondered again why she’d come. The professor was clearly mad, but chasing down leads for lost iguanas or philandering husbands holed up in VR brothels had all become depressingly tedious. Whatever happened, this should be different. It was already terrifying. Peter’s house was on the surface. Outside. Exposed.

  Zip turned to face a metal door set in a high stone wall. It was overhung with wildly dancing trees, agitated by the early winter storm. Further down the lane there might be other walls hiding shadowy houses. It was hard to be sure.

  It had been a long time since she’d stood under an open sky, longer since her last visit to the Greenbelt. A grainy, monochrome image of her pretty head seen through a sniper’s night-vision scope flashed into her mind. It made her flinch and stagger. Zip leant heavily against the wall to keep herself upright. It was safe. The surface had changed. It wasn’t dangerous anymore. Bad memories, that’s all they were.

  A jerky movement high up on the wall sent Zip scrabbling away, stumbling on the loose gravel, trembling with anxiety. The old fears had to be wrestled down and stamped on before she could cautiously take a closer look. Shiny glass eyes stared back down at her from the body of a metre-long, metal centipede. Zip clamped a hand over her mouth to kill the scream before it escaped. She recognised its deadly lines: a military grade security ’bot from the Second Orb War, the God War. There was another movement to her left, then more to the right. A squad of the armoured centipedes was patrolling the top of the high wall. What was Peter protecting?

  Zip forced her shoulders down and approached the heavy metal door, which was streaming with rivulets of rain. A high-intensity light exploded from the insect guard, placing her at the centre of a bright cone. For an instant, her feet weren’t touching the ground. Her heart paused. Zip took a moment to steady herself and recover from the fright and being momentarily blinded. She reached out and pressed the call button on an old-fashioned video entry phone. Peter’s anxious face appeared almost immediately.

  “Thank God you’re here. Just follow the lights.”

  The screen went blank, and a harsh buzzer sounded. The door clunked and swung slightly ajar. Zip stretched out her hand and pushed the heavy gate wide open. At that moment, a flash of sheet lightning lit up the way ahead. Zip was startled, not by the lightning but the scene picked out against the night. A snaking path in white stone, bordered by sunken lights, led, like the yellow brick road, to a magic kingdom and the wizard’s home. It was a wondrous jumble of oblongs, constructed from glass and pink sandstone and framed in steel. Each block was stacked haphazardly, one on top of another, and angled acutely. They reminded her of the building bricks her daughter used to play with so very long ago, except Peter’s blocks were truck-sized and went up five storeys.

  Darkness returned to the garden and the building as the flash of light from the lightning faded. The illuminated path remained, and it led to a monumental doorway. Fridge-sized blocks of granite arched around the massive double door of the blackest wood, studded with brightly polished steel. Zip knew instinctively that if she went through that door, good things wouldn’t be happening. She was still rooted, still standing outside, staring at the way ahead through the opening in the garden wall, thinking about recalling the ’bot cab, when one leaf of the dark door at the end of the paving stones swung open. The professor appeared, silhouetted by the light spilling from the house. He beckoned her on. Zip’s body moved forward, as though she’d lost control. Truth was, the lure of something interesting on the horizon proved irresistible. And there was something else. The constant fear in her throat wouldn’t be beaten if she couldn’t remember how to swallow it down.

  Peter was casually but smartly dressed and looking less tense. He was a handsome man, slim with thick, black, salt-speckled hair, intelligent blue eyes and a warm, kissing mouth. Too old for Zip, and there was something effeminate in his manner that was unattractive.

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it,” Peter said, slightly embarrassed. “It’s a very tasteful ensemble.”

  Zip was puzzled for a second. She followed Peter’s gaze and realised the professor was complimenting her outfit. At first, she was a little annoyed that he was judging her again, but something in her warmed to his old-fashioned words. Zip sometimes enjoyed being distasteful. Perhaps it was a reaction to years of military and then corporate conformity. More likely, it was her sexy new body. Still, Zip was pleased he’d noticed. The deep-black trouser suit was vintage Armani; the ice-white, razor-sharp shirt was Chanel; the shoes were Gucci. Part of the vast wardrobe she’d bought or looted during her six decades of life and two Orb World Wars.

  “Thanks,” Zip said, stroking his cheek with her lioness tail. Well, she couldn’t be totally conformant.

  Peter flinched but managed to keep his watery smile. “Please, follow me.”

  Zip hesitated. The protection for the house and grounds seemed excessive. “Where are we going, Peter? Why do you have so much security?”

  “Just to my lab. A lot of my research is very … valuable. I’m consulting for Orb Industries. They provide the security.”

  The professor hurried off down the hall without waiting for her. He didn’t see her face crumple as if it were made of tissue paper. Waves of a cold and threatening darkness licked at her face. Orb Industries? Bad things were already happening. Zip physically and mentally braced herself. Control, she had control.

  “You didn’t say you worked for Orb Industries. That wasn’t in the details you gave me,” Zip said, and stood her ground in the doorway, waiting for an explanation.

  Peter sighed before answering, “Look, they don’t advertise our relationship. My work is … sensitive, and it’s not relevant. Please, can we?”

  The professor had opened a thick steel door, and she could see that there was another one just beyond. It was an airlock. A milit
ary, bunker-class airlock. Zip pointed at the door. “Why?”

  Peter looked at the massive metal door as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Oh, yes. My lab, it doubles as a bunker, bio and blast. Is that OK?”

  Zip hesitated. Bunkers weren’t that unusual. Everyone who could afford one had one. Maybe not that sophisticated, but, hell, she lived in a shelter. And Peter wasn’t threatening. She slipped into the small space next to him. He closed the outer door. It clunked loudly into place. Tumblers and vents started whirring.

  Peter’s face reddened and his expression tightened. “Sorry, I forgot to mention.”

  Zip scowled. What now? “Yes?”

  Peter wouldn’t meet her gaze, and his timid smile wasn’t reassuring. “It’s a digital bunker, as well. There’s no Net.”

  “What the fuck!” She made a grab for Peter’s throat.

  He easily avoided her hand, took it in his own and effortlessly held it down, as though she’d only tried to stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s the only way this will work. Please trust me. Please.”

  For a moment, she forgot about going offline, more upset by how easily he’d avoided her attack. More enemies than she could count had been immobilised with that lightning-fast, precisely targeted throat strike. Not anymore. Not with this untrained body or these reflexes.

  The inner door swung open. With no Net, she’d be blind and deaf to the world. It had to be more than a decade since she’d been offline. Could she even remember what it was like? It was horrible. Alarms were going off all over her head. Her ears were ringing, her eye lids twitched uncontrollably. Little red, yellow and blue lights were flashing at the periphery of her vision.

  “Mute all, Alpha One Alpha,” Peter mouthed.

  She snatched her hand away from Peter’s grasp and relayed the command to her Headgear. Everything fell silent, the lights and the twitching faded away, and her vision cleared. It was like stepping out of full VR into an old cinema showing a 2D, black and white movie.

  Peter looked genuinely mortified. “Are you OK? Sorry, I should have told you to mute the alarms. I forgot. I’m so used to coming down here.”

  They were standing at the top of descending stone stairs. He offered his arm and motioned for Zip to follow.

  It couldn’t get any worse. She was here, in control and still curious. And she was Zip, not Zara; her paranoia had to be kept in check. She waved away his offered arm. Slowly and carefully, keeping her eyes fixed only on the next step, she followed Peter. The walls and stairs were flexing and bending as though they were made of rubber. It had to be a side effect of her abrupt disconnection. By the time she reached the bottom, everything was looking more solid, if a little dull without the active Headgear overlays. The bunker was a dimly lit, stone-lined room. The only contents were a number of very old-fashioned-looking Virtual Reality beds and a floor-to-ceiling bank of computer hardware against one wall. Zip didn’t recognise the configuration. The tanks of liquid nitrogen being used to cool the kit suggested it was a very high-end super-computer.

  Zip looked again at the antique VR beds. “I thought you said it would be a face-to-face. What’s with this old VR crap?”

  “I didn’t say it would be a face-to-face. My daughter’s dead. Please.” Peter pointed at a couch.

  Zip was puzzled by the strange setup in the professor’s basement and his unexpected acknowledgement that his daughter was dead. “I can VR anytime, anywhere. Why did I have to come here and what’s with the beds?”

  “It’s a private, closed system. Please, trust me,” Peter said. He looked anxious as he climbed onto one of the couches and motioned Zip to take her place on another.

  Private or not, Zip knew she could bail at any time.

  There were three leather VR daybeds with tubular headrests, arranged side by side with a gap of a metre or so between each. Lowering herself onto the couch furthest from Peter, she swung her legs up and laid herself out, being careful to avoid any unnecessary creasing – one of the disadvantages of real clothes.

  Her remaining Headgear readouts confirmed what Peter had said: there was a VR connection even though there was no Net. It operated via some sort of induction loop built into the bed’s headrest, which was connecting directly with her Headgear. There was an unusual, but not unpleasant, tingle in her extremities and then the VR kicked in.

  Zip was still lying on the couch alongside the professor. Nothing seemed to have changed, except the computers were gone. In their place was just a blank stone wall. But there was also the unmistakable smell of VR ozone. She was under.

  A slight woman in her late twenties emerged from the shadows at the back of the lab and walked a little unsteadily towards Zip. She was barefooted and wearing a simple, blue, sleeveless dress. Her jet-black hair was tied back in a severe ponytail, framing her flour-white face and magnifying the dark shadows under her bloodshot eyes. Based on the material Peter had sent her, the woman could be Kiki. She looked dead, but she was walking.

  “Are you Zip?” the stranger whispered.

  Zip stood up and approached the ghostly figure, unnerved that there was no VR participant information, even the obviously fake kind, not even on Peter.

  Zip presumed the avatar was Kiki’s. Why would Peter allow someone to use Kiki’s image like that? One disturbing reason came to mind. She glanced at Peter. If true, he wasn’t enjoying it. The professor’s face was frozen in grief. Zip turned her attention to the newcomer. It could be anyone behind Kiki’s image, a man or a woman.

  “Yes, I’m Zip. And you are?”

  The girl didn’t answer. She looked puzzled, as if Zip’s question was a test and the answer was just out of reach. Kiki’s avatar folded in half, as if an invisible assailant had punched her in the gut. The distraught woman’s hands flew to her ears, protecting them from some terrible noise only she could hear. The only sounds in the room were the stranger’s shuddering sobs and her ragged breathing.

  Peter jumped off the couch and rushed to comfort the girl, enveloping her in his arms and holding her close. “It’s alright, Kiki, Zip’s here.”

  Abruptly, the girl stood upright and pushed Peter away. “I’m not fucking Kiki. I’ve told you before. I’m … nobody, nobody at all.”

  Zip, the girl and Peter stood in a circle only a metre apart. The spectral woman had stopped sobbing; she was giving Zip a cold, red-eyed stare. Peter was embracing his own body very tightly and had dropped his head.

  Zip had to break the painful silence. “What should I call you?”

  “I don’t know. Just don’t use her name. Wait, call me … Quattro,” the girl answered, her voice steadier, stronger.

  Peter shuddered at the mention of Quattro.

  Zip decided to plough on. After all, they’d dragged her to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night and she wanted answers. “Why am I here, Quattro?”

  Quattro didn’t reply straightaway; she seemed to be struggling with some inner dilemma. “You’re very beautiful. Peter said you’d changed, even your name. Wasn’t it Zara before?”

  There was something about the ghostly girl that enveloped Zip like a shared tragedy.

  “Look, I understand about feeling lost, not really knowing who you are anymore,” Zip started to say.

  Quattro interrupted, “You do? How?”

  “Pip,” Zip said, indicating her own body, “is beautiful. When we met, she was a hedonistic nineteen-year-old. I was in my sixties, with a past I’d rather forget. A stroke took her, but Pip wasn’t an empty shell. Her soul, something, survived … and changed Zara … me. It took us a messy long time to become a functioning Zip.”

  Quattro smiled in a way that only made her look more tragic. “Maybe you do understand, a little. We’re different, though. My soul is lost, and I’m not getting it back.”

  Zip studied the woman’s drained, blank features, looking for something in her expression that would make sense of what Quattro was telling her. Her empathy was being drowned out by old instincts
squealing warnings. Whatever this was, it felt dangerous, wrong. She had to stay detached. It was time to get down to business.

  “Quattro, I’m a professional investigator, not a therapist. What do you want me to investigate?”

  “I’m not sure. Right now, I feel like a book I’d almost finished, but the last chapter is missing. I want to know what happens.” Quattro turned her head to stare coldly at Peter. “All that selfish, old bastard wants is absolution. He can’t stand the idea of another suicide in his family.”

  “That’s not true. I just want to know what happened to you,” Peter started to say but stopped abruptly when Quattro balled her fists and moaned aloud in frustration. “Sorry, what happened to Kiki, not you, Quattro.”

  Zip was getting just as frustrated and struggling with a rising sense of danger. “Look, if I wanted to watch a soap, I’d have stayed at home. Tell me why I’m here and who the hell Quattro is, or I’m off.”

  Quattro nodded and motioned for Zip to take a seat on one of the VR couches. Zip sat down. Quattro and Peter joined her on an adjacent couch.

  The ethereal girl laid her hands in her lap and leaned forward. Her eyes glazed over as though she was recalling something important, and then she was staring intensely at Zip. “I’m a machine’s dream. I have all of Kiki’s memories, up until the twenty-third of August last year. She died on the fourth of December. We want to know what happened in-between. Can you help us?”

  “Whoa, rewind! You’re a simulation with her memories? How’s that possible? And why the twenty-third of August?” Zip asked, shocked that Quattro wasn’t an avatar for a real person. She’d always been able to tell if she was dealing with a machine, even over an audio link.

  Peter spoke up, “Ki—Quattro is my simulation. August the twenty-third was the last time I copied Kiki’s Record. The last time I had any contact. Quattro was activated a week ago, after that farce of a trial. I’d hoped she, it, might help me find out what really happened.”