Thlop! Smack! Thlop! Smack! … Thlop! Smack! Thlop! Smack!… SKREEK!…. …. Thlop! Smack! … Thlop! Smack!…
Remy pondered on the immutability of the sounds and wondered if there were any future, anywhere in the universe where the echo of running shoes on an open court could sound any different. Sweat poured down from his forehead, across his chest and shoulders, finally making a runnel down his spine and shaking onto the concrete floor of the transcription printer cavern where it spattered in fat droplets behind him as he jogged.
With a thought, Remy enabled the noise-canceling protocol for the nano-swarm swimming in an infinite vortex embedded in his ear canals. An invisible screen of nanites only a few molecules thick began absorbing vibrations microseconds before they could reach his eardrums. Polygonal gaps between molecular bonds allowed for enough leakage in oxygen to keep his ears from registering the pressure change as the dampening boundary activated. An instant later, Caleb Followill started wailing his sad reverie through his brother’s thumping footprint and driving strings in Kings of Leon’s Fairytale, from 2016’s album Walls. The molecules on the side of the screen closest to Remy’s eardrums vibrated the track in a perfect re-creation of the performance, limited only by the technology that captured it. The music was broadcast from the central computer wavelessly using a direct kinetic protocol that transferred vibrational energy across atomic hemispheres from the host to the user via a valeic key. Central storage eliminated the boundaries created by data storage limits if embedded in the user.
Remy marveled at how difficult it was to learn to run his morning route from the center of the music, but the mind adapts quickly, and magic becomes mundane in forgetfulness.
“2016 was a good year.”
That was a thought. He recognized it as his own. Sometimes it was hard with all the new adaptive communication technology he was wearing. A bit of an upgrade in his employment, considering his tastes. He volunteered as a tester, and though he was in no position to negotiate, Gina had still allowed him to be contractually limited to only Max’s tech. Max’s tech was always non-invasive and mostly aesthetic; quality of life enhancement and augmentation to a nearly mystical level, no military application. That said, having ears that acted like thought-controlled AirPod Pros could be quite disconcerting. Godiya’s texts came through as speech without tonal control and felt like intrusive thoughts as often as they didn’t . . . At least they used to . . . The mind adapts.
“The last good year.” Also a thought. Also his own.
Remy vaulted over a small courier robot carrying a chunk of transcript on a roll to an unknown destination on its trackless grid. Steel filament spread in twisting veins across the concrete floor of the great cavern, still undefined in dimension. He had run as far as he could be reasonably assured he could find his way back from, as many as fifteen miles in a given direction, and had never found the outer wall. Masses of stone remained un-trenched and acted as borders of certain spaces. He always found the edge of them and could continue in his original direction. Most often, they were pockmarked with small divots, each crammed with some piece of electronic equipment that he could still not identify. He thought they might be some type of signal repeaters, or perhaps a matrix of sensors that communicated with the nano-hives. He speculated often, but researched not at all. Sometimes, it’s best to leave the magic magical.
“And where did he go?” Not a thought, a memory.
“…and where did he go?” It repeated.
“How long was Max dead when we killed him? And where did he go?” Godiya repeated in his memory for the zillionth time.
“I don’t know,” Remy thought, “but after all this time, somebody does.” Remy finished and headed back to shower and visit Gina. Sometimes it’s best to know the truth.
He was still carrying his towel when he passed Max’s suite on his way back to his dorm. He stopped, and the towel dropped to the floor with a damp squelch. His jaw nearly followed.
The corridor facing the walls of Max’s suite was one-way glass; the interior side comprised more of those infinite pixel displays, these pretending to be drywall. Through the glass, Remy could see Godiya reclining, a copy of Gibson’s All Tomorrow’s Partiesclasped lightly between her thumb and forefinger. Her ringlets flew in violent arcs around her ears and face as she gestured in animated exchange with someone standing to the other side of the door, which remained inconveniently opaque. Out of focus, his depth of field unable to compensate for Godiya’s aggressive gesticulation as she rose, was the very tall, very thin figure of a young man. Max stared blankly ahead with hands grasping the rails, and feet pistoning rhythmically across the belt of a simple treadmill. The noise apparent in the room wouldn’t have leaked into the corridor even without his onboard NC, which was idle in the silence that lacked even Remy’s breath.
“He’s awake?”
Both women froze as Remy entered, the heat from their faces a sour custard of thick energy that clouded the room. He didn’t pause.
“He’s not awake,” Godiya, flat, her eyes fixed on a point just above and to the left of Gina’s head.
“We were just discussing that very topic. He’s not cleared for this”, Gina softly directly into Godiya’s eyes.
“Then why is he in here?”
“I don’t mean to interrupt, ma’am”, Remy addressed Gina, “but his eyes are open, his hands are grasping, and he’s… ah, loping? Along a treadmill? Uhm… that’s why I thought I came in here.”
“I’m glad you believe that, Mr. Ramirez,” she returned to Remy. “He’s in here because I’m about to clear him, which I told him. He just didn’t hear. I have NC override. Sometimes, however, it’s not audible. I’m going in. You show him The Window, then give him what he wants,” she finished to Godiya.
“What does he want?” Godiya looked at Remy and her cheeks flushed.
“I’m going in to introduce Max; you can finally introduce Remy.”
“To whom shall I introduce him, Gina?” Godiya responded, flustered but smooth.
“The Gibson, of course,” Gina echoed as the door closed behind her.
Godiya bit her bottom lip, smoothed her sculpted skirt, and restored herself to her full height.
“Right,” she said, “How the hell did she know about that?”
“Maybe Max told her. You said he was listening.”
“I did, indeed,” Godiya exhaled.
“Max is not awake. The central computer is using a VEIL connection to drive Max’s body like a robot. It is the best way to prevent muscle atrophy, and though Gina believes Max may need to use that body again soon, since contractually Max isn’t ever leaving this facility, I believe the therapy carries a host of unnecessary risks; not the least of which is death of the body, and while not conscious that is technically where Max’s consciousness still lives,” all in one breath until her lips were nearly blue.
“I have experienced Max’s death countless times, Javier Ramirez, though he has not. I stand vehemently opposed to any unnecessary risk where Max is concerned. Death’s sting is a razor that experience does not dull.” Godiya concluded, looking up from her toes and meeting his gaze.
“It is time for your prize, Mr. Ramirez. Follow me.”
Remy followed Godiya into the suite next door to Max’s. They left the lanky figure plodding along the rotating band, its blank eyes fixed on a glass wall that looked like plaster.
“The system will drive his body back to bed. New capabilities came with the last hardware upgrade; that’s why Gina drove him away from the school and back to the facility in SIM. Max is still there. Self-isolating. He believes he poses a threat to the world around him, and only the facility can protect both him and others from his influence.
“Truth is, Max’s sense of the ‘uncanny valley’ is overcoming his ability to stay coherent in SIM. In essence, he’s losing his ability to distinguish between what we tell him is real and what we tell him isn’t. So Gina mined Max for something new, and he delivered . . . ”
Godiya flourished Diana White, two arms boxing a simple grey body-formed contour chair on a chrome flange pedestal in the background.
She continued.
“The Window to the Soul,” Godiya purred with feigned mysticism.
It was remarkably non-technical looking. The device presented itself as nothing more than a formed plastic composite chair, albeit military grade construction was evident.
“This device is the test model for a new surveillance system that will take every police and military intelligence operator out of the line of fire forever. At least, the one we’re testing in SIM will. This one just mirrors it. In SIM, a virtual hive of nano-cams shaped roughly like you will stand invisibly in the room with Max when Gina visits. The cameras are the size of a single human cell and use nano-rotors to hover. They do not shimmer like in the movies. They do make Max shiver when we pass through him. When you’re in the chair, the nano-hive can pass not only visual, but also the rest of the sensory data to you using a Verified Electrical Interrupt Leverage system. That’s the same way the system would work in the real world. An operator would sit at The Window and become invisibly tele-present in another location, with a central computer controlling the hive and relaying the data through a VEIL connection. Through the VEIL, the operator controls a hive of just enough molecules in a shape they instinctively know how to manipulate that can see, can hear, can smell, can ‘touch,’ can sense pressure and temperature, can sense moisture, humidity, can . . . taste? Could—I don’t know— dip their ‘tongue’ in an onsite operator’s drink to ‘taste’ for poison…”
Outside the chair, Godiya paused and opened her palm. A flat nothing extended across the palm of her hand, presenting itself as a two-inch by three-inch bio-luminescent screen of startling clarity. A scene of a twenty-year-old boy sitting in a battered La-Z-Boy, throwing darts at a line of light beer cans atop a stack of milk crates on the other side of the room unfolded as Godiya finished.
“You get video on SIM screens and one-way audio via VEIL. Follow me.
“Proof of method in SIM is accomplished in the following way. We have an operator in a mock-up of this chair in SIM. That operator is observing Max’s conversation with Gina, under her orders. If the technology Max theorized works, the operator will have the tele-present experience I described to you, the central computer inside the SIM will process that data and send it back to both the operator in the SIM and our real equipment here, on the side of the glass Max doesn’t know about.
“If you’ll kindly read my palm,” Godiya grinned, “you’ll see Max’s design works perfectly well. They usually do. Listen in. Gina pushed Max to self-isolate so she could introduce him to someone new. Someone no one else can know about. Someone who could change things.”
She flexed her fingers, and the screen snapped to six by nine. Godiya led Remy through a corridor to where an electric cart hummed, waiting for them. She passed her palm over the dash, and the screen snapped onto the surface, now viewable to all passengers.
Leaning over, Godiya whispered in Remy’s ear, “Are you watching closely?”
Gina thumped down the stairs into Max’s den; a mock-up of his basement apartment, 40-watt light, bacon grease haze, green shag, and all. She snatched the dart as it flew by, flipped her wrist, and left the projectile vibrating in the oak frame of Max’s bed.
“I know you’re lonely, Max, and I know you blame me, but that hardly counts as a micro-aggression.” Gina delivered in her usual flat tone, eyes level, unperturbed.
“Besides,” she continued, “I’ve come to help.”
Two large men in black jumpsuits began lugging crates down the steps. As they started unboxing equipment, Gina went on.
“I do understand, Max. I do. What do you think intelligence training at 14 was like for me? That’s a bad time for a girl to be socially isolated and run through abuse and defense training. It’s a bad time for a girl to be trained to survive infiltrating companies of men who hate women. But that’s not what you volunteered for, Max. I just have to vet anyone who talks to you, and the list of candidates your age or interests for me to vet includes, well, no one. I don’t have anyone I can get clearance for. You’re a secret Max, one we never expected to have to keep this long, but you know why we do. Not all of those accidents were hallucinations, Max. People got hurt.
“I finally found someone who matched my criteria. And Max, I’ve been looking for four years. I never forgot what it was like to be alone, and I never wanted that for you.”
The men behind them flipped a switch, and a bank of screens turned on. Some were traditional flat panel monitors, while others were the full height of the wall, maybe five by eight panels. The young woman who appeared was stunning, with deep blue eyes set in dark skin, freckles the color of chocolate chips sprinkled over the bridge of her nose. She was firm and full in feature, perfectly contoured to attract the eye, and Max was looking when she raised her eyes and met his gaze from the collection of monitors.
“Is this a live feed?” He was startled.
“Max, this is Grace. She’s Australian. Don’t be surprised if she calls you ‘mate’.” Gina grinned as Max blushed and turned from the screen.
“We haven’t gotten audio yet,” Gina gestured toward a glowing keyboard on Max’s desk, “but go ahead. She’s been waiting to meet you for months while we cleared her. Gentlemen, you are dismissed.”
Gina’s tone softened, and she returned her attention to Max.
“You may both feel free to talk about anything you like. Yes, I’ll be listening, but unless you threaten self-harm, I don’t care what you say. You’re right, I’m a domineering, cranky, contrary, bossy bitch most of the time. There, I said it so you don’t have to.”
On the monitors, Grace made her way to her desk, where a camera fixed her face on Max’s desk monitors.
“Well,” Gina squinted at Max sideways, “Get to it. She’s not going to wait forever. I’ll leave you two alone,” and she made her way back up the stairs.
Max looked at the girl for a long moment. She looked so small, so far away, sitting at her desk on the large wall monitors, but her eyes pleaded, wide and questioning, from above his desk. He slowly raised his hand from his hip, waved his fingers, and smiled sheepishly.
“Hello, Max. I’m Grace.” She typed.
The electric cart stopped in front of a huge building shaped like a chrome teardrop. It was roughly three city blocks in diameter and came to a point at the apex of a ten-story arch. Godiya made an “X” with her finger across the image, and the screen disappeared. Jumping from the cart, she pressed her palm against the exterior, and a two-story hatch dissolved into the floor. They wound through corridors until she stopped in a cylindrical room where a four-foot-diameter glass tube stood, like obsidian, from floor to ceiling in the center. A round surface, perfectly smooth, glowed with a deep-purple luminescence, encircling the cylinder.
“The fact that we could witness that scene means that Max’s design worked. The system relayed the scene from a simulated invisible hive in Max’s SIM real-time to our real equipment here, just like it would from a real hive in any physical location on this planet.
“How did it feel to be a fly on the wall, Mr. Ramirez? Next time, try the chair. You can be a ghost.
“Say ‘Hello’, Remy.”
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Godiya pressed her hand to the surface encircling the obelisk.
“Say ‘Hello’ to who?” Remy asked.
“Say ‘Hello’ to the General Regenerative Agent Curating Education. She was how we put Max’s memory back together each time Sidney killed him.”
A small purple woman walked, glowing, from nowhere to stand her full five foot ten inch height inside the obsidian tube. Perfect in every detail, she turned to face Remy and folded her hands behind her back.
“Hello, Mr. Ramirez. I’m Grace. I’m The Gibson.”
