Apex: Nexus Arc Book 3 (25 page)

S
aturday 2040.11.24

“Stealth mode,” Tempest said again, tapping her screen.

“And it works?” Cheyenne asked. “Against ERD’s Nexus detectors?”

“So they say,” Tempest murmured.

Angel frowned. “It’s in the same file as the chemreactor hack?”

Tempest nodded. “Yeah. Buried in there. A commenter on
nexus.revolutions
found it.”

Rangan watched Tempest. They were all crowded around her display, reading the details of the experiment an anonymous commenter had done in California. Angel and Cheyenne were musing about how to safely test this out for themselves.

“You’re skeptical,” he said to Tempest.

She turned, met his brown eyes with her green ones. “Damn right I am.”

“
I
want
to go out there,” Rangan told them.

The C3 had been out almost daily, in some set of two or three. Angel had been laid up while she healed. Tempest and Cheyenne had disappeared over Thanksgiving for two days, with no explanations given, no questions asked. No one ever talked about home lives. Real names were never used, only pseudonyms.

Now everyone was here again, and in good health.

And by all reports, the protests on the Mall were a zoo, almost like a small city, with tents laid out, food stalls, families with kids, and now tens of thousands of people. The violence of the 17
^th
had been quelled in an hour, and the pro- and anti-Stockton camps separated by a much wider gap and more formidable barriers.

“You’re out of your mind,” Tempest said, immediately.

Rangan took a deep breath. “Look,” he said. “Someday I’m going to walk out of this building. I have to. And I’m going to have to evade facial detection.”

He could see Cheyenne and Angel watching, paying attention.

“The protest has a lot of attention on it, but it’s also a chaotic environment. There’s a high density of faces, lots of movement. There’s an excuse for costumes and makeup. It’s an
easier
environment to avoid recognition than everyday on the street. You’ve shown you can go out there and not be recognized. Why can’t I?”

Cheyenne nodded in approval. He felt Angel warm to it as well.

“I’d like Axon’s help,” Angel said. “Looking at the mesh in a field deployment.”

Tempest fumed.

“No,” she said. “If he steps one foot out that door,” she pointed her finger towards the heavy industrial portal that led to the landing and then the outside world, “we’re all at risk. They’ll catch him. Then they’ll grill him. Then they’ll come for us.” Her eyes searched those of the other members of the collective, then came around to Rangan’s. “You’re putting everyone at risk if you go out there. If you get caught,
everyone who’s helped you
goes down. Everyone.”

Rangan stared into those eyes. He could feel her anger. He could feel her fear.

“Then help me,” he told Tempest. “Help me not get caught.”

“
H
ow do you feel
, Axon?” Angel asked.

Rangan kept walking around the room. The mismatched height shoes made him constantly favor his right foot in a way that bugged his hip. He wanted to reach up and push the fake dreads back out of his face. The contacts felt like he had a piece of sand in each eye.

“Like a gimp,” he said. “A Rastafarian, clown-faced, half-blind gimp.”

Cheyenne laughed at him, a deep throaty laugh from inside that broad frame.

They’d taken no chances with his disguise. High contrast, highly patterned face paint, like the rest of them, to break up the lines of his facial features, and also obscure his race. A dreadlocked wig that fell everywhere,
especially
over his face, to backup the paint. A red and black checked scarf he could lift up to cover his mouth and nose – plausibly justified by the chill outside – to further hide his features. Platform shoes that were an inch taller on the left than the right, to force him to limp, messing up gait detection. Contacts that somehow blurred retinal scans. Checked gloves that covered his hands, to minimize the chance of leaving any DNA behind. In fact, the only skin he’d have exposed would be his eyes, and even those were half hidden behind the annoying fall of dreadlocks.

On top of all that, he was running this new Nexus stealth code. It wouldn’t hide any Nexus
transmissions
, so he wouldn’t transmit at all. But it suppressed the reflexive response Nexus nodes sent back to pings from the ERD’s Nexus detectors, making you undetectable if you stayed in receive-only mode. Or so people were claiming in underground boards.

“Now push the hair back,” Cheyenne said, pointing yet another camera at him.

Rangan did with relief, looked right into the camera, then turned, giving her a range of profiles.

Cheyenne put the camera down, a serious look on her face.

“You’re good,” she finally declared. “But keep the hair in front of your face, and your scarf up, just in case.”

Rangan turned and looked at Tempest.

She had her arms crossed. She was frowning, shaking her head.

“Don’t do this, Rangan,” she said.

It was the first time any of them had used his name. And it reinforced something he’d thought of often – that he didn’t know any of theirs.

“I have to,” he said. “And it’s Axon to you.”

T
he first cop
they saw sent his pulse soaring, and Rangan reached Inside, fired up the serenity package, just to level three.

The cops looked right past him.

The National Mall was like nothing he’d ever seen. The crowd was huge, epic huge, music festival huge. They pushed past fervent protesters with signs, waving them around. They saw hippies in drum circles. A group of nuns, complete with black and white habits, waved signs saying LOVE THY NEIGHBOR.

Angel flashed them a peace sign as they walked by. “Rock on sisters.” A nun flashed a peace sign back.

They dove deeper into the massive throng, walked around an ad hoc stage where a serious looking man was making an impassioned speech about civil liberties. A digital sign proclaimed a list of apparently notable speakers for the rest of the day. Rangan hadn’t heard of any of them. They passed med tents, food stations, water stations, row after row of portable washrooms, power charging stations fueled off portable fuel cells, tents for the hardcore who stayed out all night, a legal aid booth, a group of yellow-robed monks, a soundstage where a jam band was playing and where hundreds of people were rocking out, dancing, their coats and some of their shirts discarded in piles as their body heat built up from their joyous motion.

It was warm, this November. The warmest November on record so far, in what looked on track to be the warmest year ever recorded around the world or in North America. Apparently it wasn’t freezing at night yet. That had to be helping these crowds.

And all that body heat.

Three times they passed a scene where Rangan was sure he saw one person handing a vial of Nexus to another. He had no idea how many times he missed that.

“Wow,” Rangan said.

“Bigger every day,” Angel said quietly. “And charged up by the Supremes.”

Nexus was everywhere. He could feel the righteous fury coming off the minds of the sign-waving protesters, the deep tranquility from the little knot of shaven-headed monks, the trippy rhythmic trance in the thoughts of the drummers, the fugue of music-making from the jam band, the hardcore ecstasy of rocking from the dancers. It called to him. He wanted to just sink into it, let himself go, let himself go wild in this crowd…

“Stay on target,” Cheyenne said, putting a strong hand on his shoulder.

Rangan shuffled on, a court jester with bad hair and a worse limp.

“
T
his is the place
?” Rangan asked.

Angel nodded. The spot where the fight had broken out – where the projection of rage and violence had assaulted them – was nothing special now. The pro-Stockton protesters had been moved to a different area, on the other side of the Washington Monument, with two streets and a hill separating the two camps.

But Angel had wanted him to see this.

“This is where the N was densest?” Rangan asked.

“Yeah,” Angel confirmed, casually looking around, making sure no one was close. “That’s why I dragged us over here. It seemed like a weird place for it.”

“The… transmission,” Rangan said. “The thing that hit you… It lasted for less than a minute?”

“Thirty-seven seconds,” Tempest answered. “I’ve gone over it again and again.”

“And not again since.”

No one said anything.

“And no outbreaks of violence at any other protest that day,” Rangan said.

They all shook their heads. They’d been over this already, more than once. Whatever had happened here had been unique.

“Someone freaking out, maybe,” Cheyenne said. “A first timer. Bad trip. Maybe high on meth or something else. Couldn’t hack it, overprojected.”

Angel shook her head. “No. There wasn’t any sense of self. No identity. No thoughts. No stream of consciousness. Just urges. Not a hack, either. It wasn’t at the level of the operating system. It was just talking directly to Nexus nodes, just an emotional projection, incredibly simple. And incredibly loud.”

Rangan chewed his lip. He had a flash of a late night, passing a pipe around at Ilya’s place in SF. Wats going on about world peace, about what would happen if everyone could touch each other’s minds, about mutual understanding, about empathy, about an end to war.

What if you wanted the opposite?

What if you wanted to
incite
violence?

He turned, and looked around, let his mind relax and feel the edges of the thousands of other brains running Nexus out there. He thought of the Nexus handoffs he’d seen. He got a flash of the high end chemreactor at the Bunker, churning out Nexus at high speed now, the sudden appearance of a hack that had cracked the crypto on
seventeen
different models of modern chemreactors at once.

He had a bad feeling about this.

He turned back around, to the place where the fight had broken out.

Tempest was there, looking at him. He wasn’t broadcasting, but she knew what he was thinking.

No.

She’d worked it out for herself, already.

Her paranoia about the chemreactor hack…

“They’re all connected,” she said. “Someone’s spreading Nexus intentionally. So they can spread chaos. Last week was just a test, just a rehearsal, for something bigger.”

Rangan nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “And we have to stop ’em.”

S
unday 2040.11.25

Laughter is the best medicine.

Sam laughed and played with the kids every chance she got. Body time. Play time. Laugh time. They could get so pulled into their brains, and each other. She made it her job to get them into their bodies. Feng helped.

Tumbling in the grass. Tag. Summersaults and cartwheels. Patty cake. (Hide and seek turned out to be a total flop, alas, unless Sam was the one who hid. And who could hide for long with a bunch of posthuman kids all linked together looking for you?) Little tiny bits of self-defense and
kata
.

The eight who knew her well were always happy to play. The seventeen who’d come to Shiva’s island from other sites were… not wary, really. But they took some time warming up. They didn’t know her mind the way the others did. Without Nexus they didn’t have that bond. But they learned about her from the others. And they grew to love body play time.

And at the end, she’d force one or two or three to play her favorite game.

“What am I thinking?”

They’d be sitting cross-legged. They’d chat about something. She’d stop. Would alter her body language.

“What am I thinking?”

Could they still interact with a human they weren’t linked with? Could they find connections that weren’t obvious on the surface? Or would she grow to feel less and less real without the direct presence in their minds?

They surprised her. They did well. Sometimes, when they were in groups, scarily well.

S
unday night
, Sarai asked if she could stay up later than the others, for just a little bit. She was the oldest. Sam gave her permission. Just one hour. They took a walk, through the campus, between the trees, under the stars. Sam took Sarai’s hand in hers. The air smelled of jasmine. It was pleasantly cool, a benefit of Bangalore’s elevation.

“What am I thinking?” Sarai asked.

Sam laughed and looked at the girl.

“You’re thinking that turnabout is fair play.”

“I miss Jake,” Sarai said.

“Oh, sweetie.” Sam pulled her closer.

“What do you do when you’re sad that he’s gone?” Sarai asked.

Sam’s heart ached.

“Sometimes…” she said. “I cry. Sometimes I meditate. Or I run.” She paused. “It takes time. The heart heals, like anything else.”

She turned Sarai towards her, looked her in the eyes. “And other times, when I miss Jake, I remember that I only have you in my life because of him.” She looked up at the stars. “And that he’d be so happy about the things that have happened. That you’re safe. That the world is a better place for kids who are special.”

They walked again.

As they returned home, to the former base commander’s home converted to their use, Sarai spoke. “I think it’ll be easier when you’re back.”

T
hat night
, as Sam drifted off to bed, she wondered if she was selfish for not taking the Nexus again yet.

Maybe I’m ready. Maybe I’d help the kids more than I’d hurt them.

She woke hours later in a panic attack, Jake dying in her arms again.

Her heart was pounding. Her chest was heaving. Her skin was lathered in sweat. Her sheets were soaked.

“You’d be happy,” she told his ghost. “You’d be so happy. Thank you.”

Then she forced herself up, to the floor, forced herself into a cross-legged seated position, forced herself to her other therapy.

Anapana
: observe the breath. Observe the thoughts rising. Still the mind.

Then
vipassana
: observe the body, go deeper, watch without judgment as the mind works, as it stills. Tranquility grows as insight arrives.

Then
metta
: the meditation of loving-kindness.

Let the compassion rise. Let the loving-kindness rise. Recognize that the source is infinite. Direct the flow outward. Outward towards Jake, who’d given her so much love, who’d mentored and cared for these children, who’d shared those precious months with her. Towards Kevin, who’d saved her, who’d mentored her. Towards her parents, who deserved so much better than what they got. Towards a long list of people who’d been there for her, or whom she’d harmed, or simply known.

Towards Kade and Rangan and Ilya and Su-Yong Shu who’d made this thing, Nexus, that would let her connect with these children again. Someday.

And finally towards herself, flawed, but healing, and growing, and doing the best she could.

At the end of it all, she felt washed clean, rinsed out by the loving-kindness.

I’m not ready yet, she told herself. Not yet. But I’ll get there.

S
he walked
into her new office later that morning, past the security checkpoints and the palm scanner and the retinal scanner and all the rest.

Her office-mate was there, waiting for her, one arm in a sling.

“Morning, Feng,” Sam said.

Feng swiveled his chair and grinned at her. “Good morning, co-worker Samantha!”

In his good hand was a steaming mug of tea emblazoned with the words “ASK ME ABOUT HUMAN CLONING”.

Sam laughed.

Feng laughed in response, bouncing up and down in his chair like a little boy, utterly delighted, green tea sloshing out of his mug and all over him.

Sam shook her head and kept laughing.

Feng saw the tea spilling everywhere, and that just made him laugh harder, uncontrollably hard, bouncing even more, the mug shaking up and down vociferously.

Steaming hot green tea splashed everywhere.

Sam laughed harder, hands rising to her face, seriously worried she couldn’t breathe she was laughing so hard.

Feng threw back his head, howling uproariously with delight, utterly unphased by the scalding hot liquid.

Sam collapsed into her own chair, hands clenched around her belly, aching with laughter.

Oh, Feng.

E
ventually
, there was no more tea in the mug. Feng went to get towels, and Sam surveyed the office.

They were officially external advisors. Consultants on Division Six’s refactoring. She wasn’t actually sure to what extent the Indians expected them to add value, and to what extent this was simply a way to keep them close, and under observation. But it sure was a nice office.

And she really couldn’t beat the company.

Sam looked over, at where Feng had returned and was trying to mop up the mess he’d made. She suppressed a chortle. She crossed to the window instead.

“Never allowed to laugh when I was being trained,” Feng said. “Very serious childhood! Guess I’m not so coordinated that way.”

“Mhmmm,” Sam said, grinning. “Or you did that on purpose.”

“Me?” Feng sounded hurt. “Never!”

They were up on the third floor. From here, the view took in one of the many green open spaces of the research campus. And in fact, if she slid as far as she could to one edge of the window…

Sam smiled to herself.

Yes. From one side, she had a partial view of the building she was most interested in.

The building she knew the least about.

The building where that fellow she’d noticed the night of the reception worked. That fellow who’d acted nervous. That fellow who’d left early.

From here, she could just barely see the building where Varun Verma worked.

And she’d be keeping an eye on it.

Yes she would.