The Orb

by Tara Basi

  It was fascinating and horrible to watch the terrible lies and manipulation the Tramp was being subjected to. As she followed events, Zip began to understand the intricacies of Peter’s deception. He was trying to convince the Tramp that he’d escaped an assassination attempt by the Church. The Replay ended with the confrontation between the Tramp and Kiki over the divinity of the Orb.

  It was terribly distressing to see a man she revered being provoked and lied to. The only comfort was hearing him say what she’d always believed. The Orb was no god. But if the Tramp’s outburst ever got broadcast, its effects would be as unpredictable as the approaching Orb Event. The VR revealed to Zip that the Tramp could be ordinary and fallible. It only made her respect him even more.

  When she came out of the Replay, she was consumed by conflicting emotions, oscillating between anger at Peter and profound feelings of awe and euphoria. Zip had witnessed her prophet. Ultimately, her rage swept away everything else.

  She looked around the bedroom. Peter was nowhere to be seen. Zip stormed downstairs. He was in the kitchen, finishing his breakfast and drinking coffee. “Jesus and the Tramp, how could you treat him like that?”

  Peter shrugged. “I had no choice. I’m no fan of Pilgrims or the Church.” He pushed away his empty plate and sipped at his coffee. “But after the VR sessions with the Tramp, I’ve grown to respect the man.”

  Zip was surprised by Peter’s words. Her anger melted away. Maybe she had no right to judge Peter. She might have done worse to save Alice and the girls. “What now?”

  “I’ve been consulting with Bunny. We’ve decided on a direct approach, though we’ll all stay in character. Any abrupt change in the environment we’ve established might tip the balance of his mind.”

  “I guess Bunny was the hot woman. Bloody convincing. What do you want me to do?”

  Peter drained his coffee mug and stood up. “End the argument about the Orb quickly, so we can move on. Remember, he sees you as a Pilgrim Orb worshipper. Don’t try to change that position too abruptly. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Peter led her into a lounge area and took a seat on a nearby couch. Zip joined him and steeled herself as he initiated the VR.

  Zip started. She was staring into the enraged eyes of the Tramp who was leaning over her. She didn’t know what to do or say. Peter and Bunny, the beautiful woman, were standing nearby. The room was exactly as she’d last seen it in the Replay.

  When she didn’t immediately answer, the Tramp seemed to calm, the colour ran out of his face and he slumped down on his seat.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. It’s been very stressful, these last hours. All Pilgrims must come to their own personal conclusion about the role of the Orb. It’s not my place to tell you what to believe.”

  Zip still couldn’t bring herself to speak to the Tramp. She could only nod and smile. Every thought in her mind, all her preparation, had been instantly flushed away. She felt like a small child meeting her pop idol. The Tramp was talking to her, to Zip.

  The Tramp’s shoulders slumped, and his head dropped. He turned to Peter. “I really want to go back to Paris. Please make the arrangements. Any Record of our conversations will, of course, be Reset.”

  “Yes, absolutely, as per the Church-Industries pact. I assume you’ve discounted our warning about the Church wanting to murder you?” Peter said.

  “Yes. I have,” the Tramp replied and looked around the room, “and where’s that so-called Church director gone, Horacio? I think he should come back with me, don’t you?”

  “He got upset and left,” Peter said.

  “Are you all right, dear? You look rather stunned,” the Tramp said to Zip.

  Zip realised she’d been staring at the Tramp the whole time, and her mouth was hanging open. She had to stay in character, at least for now. The words finally came out as a nervous whisper. “Even with our differences, about the Orb, I’m very honoured to have met you.”

  The Tramp smiled; he’d relaxed a little.

  “You’re right: we have been lying,” Peter said.

  The Tramp immediately tensed, stood up and started backing away. “What? Is this another game? Are you trying to stop me leaving?”

  Zip felt a tear run down her cheek. Peter was tormenting him and she was part of it.

  Peter signalled for Zip and Bunny to sit down. Only the Tramp was left standing. Peter continued. He was calm and speaking softly. “Remember the tool Kiki gave you to verify that the Record of the attack was real? I’d like you to run it on the period immediately after the attack until now.”

  The Tramp’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What are you up to?”

  “We were trying to deceive you. Circumstances have changed. Please run the tool.”

  The Tramp looked confused, but he rolled back his eyes and was silent for a moment. “What the fuck? This isn’t real? I’m in a bloody VR? Why? Who are you people?” The Tramp didn’t wait for an answer. He rolled back his eyes again.

  Zip guessed he was trying to disconnect from the VR. Could he do that? Zip wondered. She got her answer almost immediately.

  The Tramp frantically began pacing and scanning the room, looking for an exit, an explanation. Abruptly, he turned back to Peter and stared at him with bloodshot eyes, then yelled in his face, “Why can’t I disconnect? Did that tool corrupt my Headgear? Answer me, damn you!”

  Zip wanted to scream at Peter to stop it, stop everything. She couldn’t. There wasn’t any other way.

  Peter placed his hands on the table and locked eyes with the Tramp. “I’m going to tell you the truth. The circumstances are … complicated. Please be patient.”

  The Tramp thumped the table with his fists and shouted, “Patient? You’ve kidnapped me. Industries are behind this. Right? Let me go, now!” Then he noticed Zip. “And why’s she crying?”

  Tears were streaming down Zip’s face. She buried her head in her hands. She couldn’t take much more of this.

  Peter held up his hands as though he were surrendering. “She doesn’t want to see you suffer, none of us do. It’s true, Industries staged all of this, hoping you would denounce the Church. Industries is no longer in control.”

  Zip realised that crying wasn’t helping anyone. She wiped her face and straightened up. Peter might need her.

  The Tramp rested his weight on his hands. He looked drained. “Let me out of this and we can talk.”

  Peter shook his head. “I’m sorry. For practical reasons, we must talk now, here, in this VR.”

  The Tramp shakily lowered himself into a chair opposite Peter. “Who are you people?”

  Peter smiled. “Friends. Our names wouldn’t mean much to you. Do you remember a Professor Simmons?”

  The Tramp crinkled his brow as though he was having trouble recalling, then his eyes lit up; he was focused, concentrating. “The Industries lead on Orb studies? What about her?”

  Zip couldn’t take her gaze off the Tramp. He was just a man. And yet he wasn’t just a man. There was something about him, even in the VR, even though he was dead. The Tramp glowed with an energy she could feel prickling her skin. Since Peter had started speaking, it had grown ever more intense. Zip could tell that the Tramp was deeply suspicious and struggling to know what to believe. Remarkably, he was holding onto his composure, but for how much longer? Peter hadn’t even begun to reveal the truth.

  “She’s found a message, linked to a countdown coming from the Orb. The countdown expires in a few hours. We believe there will be an Orb Event.”

  The Tramp leaned back in his chair away from Peter. He was concentrating. “What countdown? Event? What message? Why have I never heard anything about this?”

  “Simmons won’t tell us what the message is. Not until after the Event. She’s kept the whole thing secret until a few days ago.”

  The Tramp’s composure crumbled and he bellowed, “Make sense, damn it! Why am I here? What Event?”

  Peter pressed his hands together, as
though he was praying or begging the Tramp to believe him. “She doesn’t know. The Orb could disappear or explode and destroy London. All she’s sure about is the countdown. We’ve released you from Industries so you’ll be free to speak to the world after the Event. You might be the only one anyone will listen to. Can you imagine the chaos if the Orb disappears?”

  A smile cut across the Tramp’s face, as though he thought he’d caught Peter out. “What are you talking about? So it disappears. A few million Pilgrims might get upset, but they always had the wrong idea, like you,” the Tramp said, looking at Zip, “and Industries will lose its fairground ride. Do you think the Catholics, the atheists and countless others are going to be more than curious?”

  Peter sighed, “Of course, how could you imagine the impact?” He turned to Bunny and Zip as though seeking guidance as to how to go on.

  The Tramp was exasperated and bewildered. Zip decided she had to intervene, she had to save the Tramp from this. “It was an act, before, about the Orb. Industries was forcing us to say things.”

  “You’re not a Pilgrim?”

  Zip steadied herself; she couldn’t be emotional. “I am, and I don’t believe the Orb is any kind of god, but there aren’t many of my kind of Pilgrim left.”

  The Tramp threw his hands in the air and groaned. “It was better when you were lying. At least you made some sense. You’re telling me you know my Pilgrims better than I do? Pilgrims who think the ball is a god are a tiny minority, like those crazy Pilgrimists. They don’t represent my movement.”

  Zip hesitated for a moment, hoping Peter or Bunny might continue. They stayed silent. “That was true in the year nineteen.”

  The Tramp stared at Zip as though she might be mad. “Exactly, now, this year.”

  “Check your Headgear,” Peter said.

  The Tramp checked and immediately stood up, sending his chair skittering away. His wide-eyed stare darted between Bunny, Peter and Zip.

  “You’ve corrupted my Headgear. I want out of this madness now.”

  “I know it’s a terrible shock, but it’s true; this is the year forty-two,” Zip whispered, as her insides churned. This was a little of how Quattro must have felt when she first realised she wasn’t really alive. They were torturing him, her prophet.

  “Look,” the Tramp shouted, holding up his hands, “do they look like the hands of a seventy-year-old man?”

  Peter stood up. “Remember when you reviewed the Record of the attack on your motorcade? You said that no one could have survived that.”

  The Tramp’s hands flew about his head and body as if they were startled birds. He stomped around the room. “What are you saying? I’m dead? This is the afterlife? I don’t believe in that crap.”

  Zip wanted to make this easier, but Peter had never managed it for Quattro. Maybe it was better to just tell him everything. “It’s been twenty-three years since you died in a Mossad-organised assassination.”

  The Tramp shook his head and laughed a little too hard. “You people. Do I look dead? I don’t feel dead.”

  When Peter didn’t intervene, Zip decided to press on; she wanted this over with. “Your Record survived your death. This man,” Zip said, pointing at Peter, “perfected a technology that allows a person to be reanimated from their Record. He brought his dead daughter back to life, now you. There have been others.”

  The Tramp laughed again. It was a harsh, short sound, as if he wanted to find all of this funny, yet there was something holding him back. “Prove it.”

  “Peter,” Zip prompted, hoping he could provide the proof.

  Peter didn’t answer immediately. He appeared to be thinking hard. Zip picked up a rapid private exchange between Peter and Bunny about vectors and reanimation sub-routines that she couldn’t follow.

  “Well?” the Tramp insisted, gaining in confidence.

  Peter closed his eyes, and his forehead creased in concentration. After another moment, he answered, “I can’t, not directly. I can, indirectly.”

  The Tramp slapped his fist in his hand. “You can’t because you’re lying. Why? Why are you making up this crazy lie?”

  “But we can prove this is the year forty-two. We can prove you have no Record after year nineteen, except for this VR. Will that suffice?”

  The Tramp looked worried, disorientated. “I have to rest; I can’t take all this craziness. Why don’t you people leave me alone?”

  “If you rest now, you’ll never wake up. Your reanimation is failing. Focus on now. Give us a chance.”

  The Tramp was ashen. He nodded.

  “This young lady,” Peter said, indicating Zip, “will give you a brief overview of what happened after you died, then we’ll give you unfettered Net access. Go where you want, check what you want. You’ll see it’s all true. We can’t fake the entire Net. What you’re about to learn could destabilise your mind. Focus on the facts. Try to keep any panic under control if you want to survive.”

  Zip shuddered. How was she going to do this?

  “A few months after you were assassinated, still in the year nineteen, a second Orb World War began, the God War. Pilgrims everywhere were being massacred by the godly, Catholics, Jews, Muslims; and then the godly turned on the atheists, the Ungodly. It was a turning point. The Ungodly, Industries and the Church, now the Church of the Orb, entered into an alliance. Industries developed a new class of AI weapon: monstrous self-aware machines. The tide turned and it was the godly, now the heretics, who were being massacred. For seven years, it raged, and then the Vatican fell. Jerusalem and Mecca were incinerated. It seemed to be over. There was peace, for a while. Then the AIs mutinied and attacked all of humanity. That war ran on for three more bloody years. The AIs were defeated, or at least they disappeared. Since then, Industries and the Church have settled into an uneasy peace. A cold war is being fought over control of the Orb. London is the only technologically advanced city left in the world. Everywhere else is in ruins, people are living in squalor. There are billions of Pilgrims and nearly all of them believe the Orb is God. There are only millions of Ungodly left; nearly all of them are here, in London. The world has lived on the edge ever since. An Orb Event could tip us over.”

  The Tramp listened quietly to Zip, his head slowly slipping into his hands. When she finished speaking, he looked up. His eyes were wet. “It can’t be true. How could they, after the horrors of the Money War? We wouldn’t. We’re not that insane. To go to war over a ball?”

  “We’ll give you some time. Explore the Net,” Peter said.

  The Tramp rolled back his eyes. Zip felt drained. How could the Tramp survive that truth, all that horror she’d disgorged in a few little sentences? The poor man would find a multitude of terrible recollections in the Net – public broadcasts of atrocities beyond imagining. Zip knew first hand that, despite the stories, the AIs weren’t the worst. Humans were so much better at torturing, mutilating and humiliating their own kind.

  They waited in silence for the Tramp to finish his trawl of the Net.

  “I’m really dead,” he whispered. “The God War happened? What do you want from me? What’s going to happen to me?”

  When Zip looked at the Tramp, he was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His face was white. He was trembling.

  “If you can maintain your mental stability, you can survive indefinitely in this VR, or any other in the Net. In time, we can give you a body. It will be a mechanical body. Very sophisticated and powerful. You’ll be immortal.”

  “I see,” the Tramp said, though it was obvious from his darting eyes and slack expression that he hadn’t really taken in what Peter had told him. “And what do you want me to do?” he continued, still in a daze.

  “After the Event, if anything happens, we would like you to speak to the world; your words might calm the situation.”

  “Of course, I’ll do whatever I can. Now, I feel tired. Can I sleep a little?” the Tramp said, his eyes wide and unfocused.

  “Yes, sleep. It’s some hours
to the Event. I’ll wake you nearer the time,” Peter said and then led the Tramp towards a long couch at the back of the room.

  The prophet lay down and was almost immediately asleep.

  Peter exited the VR, taking Zip with him.

  “Will he be alright?” Zip asked. She was crying again.

  “It’s amazing he’s survived till now. If he wakes up, he’ll probably be OK.”

  “If?”

  “Sleep’s the most complex part of the reanimation. Last time he slept, he wasn’t conscious. He might dream this time, and I guess they won’t be happy dreams. We’ll know soon enough.”

  Zip stopped her crying. She didn’t have the time to worry about the Tramp. There were the living to save. She called Bunny.

  “That was remarkable. I hope he survives,” Bunny said when it got through.

  “So do I. Can you – sorry, Bunny – send a jump-jet for me?”

  “It’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Zip disconnected. “Peter, I’m going to say goodbye to Alice and the girls. You’ll look after them? And the Tramp?”

  Peter smiled. “I’ll do my best. If you see Petula, please tell her from me to die horribly and soon.”

  Zip frowned and left. She found Alice and the girls in the well-stocked bunker.

  “I’ve got to go now. You’ll be safe down here. Do what Peter says. I’ll be back soon.”

  They embraced. Everyone knew no one had any idea who’d survive or if she’d make it back. Zip tore herself away before she started crying again and headed to the garden. The jump-jet was dropping out of the night sky on collapsing pillars of invisible energy. Zip boarded, and as her ride lifted, gained height and turned towards the invisible Cuboid. She wondered if her journey was really coming to an end.