Complete Atopia Chronicles (5 page)

Bertram shifted back in his chair, enjoying the spectacle, his grin floating disconnectedly in my red-shifted vision. My chest tightened as I attempted to let go another salvo. I gripped the table with white knuckles. My vision was swimming.

“Does this have anything to do with me not wanting to use that kid instead of Patricia?” I asked.

“No, nothing like that,” said Bertram, smiling. I didn’t believe him.

“Olympia, look, I understand how you feel,” pleaded my boss, “but you could learn a lot from Bertram too. Look how calm and collected he is.” He looked back at Bertram. “There is no rush on this, why don’t you take next week off, paid leave, and think about everything, okay?”

I stared down at the table, trying to get a grip on myself. Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea. I could use the time to plan out a strategy of how to undermine these idiots. Maybe it was best to just nurse my wounds.

“Fine,” I grumbled under my breath. I let the prospect of vengeance cool my soul. “Fine. Glad we won the contract, sir. I could actually use a little time off.”

“See,” said Roger, brightening up, “now that’s the spirit. Take as much time as you need, Olympia, we need you here in top shape. This will be a big job.”

Yes, I thought, this will be a big job.

§

Taking off early, I managed to get home quickly and was well through a second bottle of wine and curled up with Mr. Tweedles on my couch when night began to fall. An unusual early snow had started outside, and I watched squalls of snowflakes begin sweeping by in the streets outside through my large bay window.

The stress of the day had hardly abated. Even after polishing off the first bottle, I was having a hard time concentrating on a new romance novel I’d started. My mind was shifting back to plotting the downfall of Bertram and my boss.

Mr. Tweedles started purring and rubbing up against me. I’d been enjoying cuddling with him, but he’d rolled over onto his back, inviting me to scratch his tummy. I kicked him off the couch.

Sighing, I picked up two sleeping pills from the drawer in my coffee table, and taking a deep breath I washed them down with a mouthful of wine. Lighting up my last cigarette for the night, I called up Kenny.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied instantly, appearing with a careful smile in my primary display space. I bet he’d heard about my little incident today. I bet I was the talk of the office.

I’d show them.

“Kenny, look, could you set my pssi to filter out anything that I find annoying, until you hear different from me?” If I have some time off, I reasoned, I may as well try to depressurize and make the most of the tools at my disposal.

“Sure,” he replied, “I guess I could do that.”

“I’ll just ping you if I need anything, okay?”

“Sounds good, no problem,” he responded, and then added, “and hey, enjoy the time off, okay boss?”

If I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn he was being genuine. I clicked him out of my sensory spaces without another word and got up off the couch, drunker than I thought I was, to wander into my bedroom and collapse on the bed.

9

OH MY HEAD hurt. I groggily lifted it off the sheets and waited while my blurry vision adjusted to the half darkness of my bedroom. It was still early and I didn’t need to be up for work.

Wait a minute, it was Saturday. Finally, the weekend. As memories seeped into my brain, I realized that I didn’t need to go back to work this whole week, perhaps longer. Screw it. I flopped my head back onto my pillow and called out weakly for Mr. Tweedles.

“Hey, kitty kitty,” I called out, but without response. That was odd. Ah well. I conked back out.

In what seemed like moments later, bright light began streaming in through the window. It must have been fully morning. My head ached dully, so I flopped out of bed and made for the kitchen to get a glass of cold water.

Mr. Tweedles was still nowhere to be seen. Did I let him out last night? I didn’t usually let him out since he was a house cat, but I had been a little drunk.

Downing a tall, cool glass of water, I immediately felt refreshed. I should go for a run, I thought to myself. That would burn off some stress and get the gears going. There was nothing like a good run to fire up the imagination, and my mind was already cycling with ways to get back at Bertram and my boss.

So I moved back off to my bedroom to put on some cool weather sports gear, and moments later I was off jogging down my street, drinking in the cool autumn air and enjoying the crisp bite of the year’s first frost burning off in the early sunshine.

I admired the scenery, completely devoid of any ads, the streets sparkling and walls scrubbed clean, with no vagrants to spoil the view or inspire guilt. It was perfect. I jogged along 75
towards Central Park.

It was calm, but gradually I began to get the feeling it was too calm. There was a complete lack of other people walking on the streets, or even any people in cars. It was early morning on the weekend, but even so. As I made it to the corner of the park, I decided I’d better check in with Kenny to make sure my pssi was working properly.

“Kenny!” I demanded. “Kenny, could you check the pssi system for me?”

No response. I slowed up my jog a little, suddenly nervous. Maybe he was hung-over too.

“Kenny!” I yelled out again, and then stopped jogging and halted, waiting for a response.

“Kenny!” I yelled, and then screamed, “Kenny!!”

My voice just echoed back from the empty space of the park. No sounds at all. Panicking, I turned around and began to sprint as fast as I could back to my apartment, calling out people’s names as I ran.

Nobody answered.

“Pssi interface!” I screeched as I ran.

“Dr. Simmons!” I pleaded, but there was no response.

Maybe the pssi was just broken, I thought, maybe I should just try my mobile. I burst in through my front door and rummaged around my purse for my mobile. I popped it in my ear and began calling out people’s names, but still, nothing. Alarm settled into my gut. I ran back out into the street in a panic.

There were cars lining the street but no one driving them, no people anywhere, and no Mr. Tweedles. How was it possible I was walking around in the street, right down the middle and not seeing anyone? How was it possible?

My mind raced. I’d told Kenny to set the system to erase anything I found annoying. I’d given Kenny root executive control, and I certainly found Kenny annoying, as well as my doctor. My God, what had I done?

I ran down the street, tears streaming down my face, my chest burning. I would get to my office, someone would be there even on the weekend, they would see me, they could fix this even if I couldn’t see them. My legs tired and I began to walk, calming down. This was ridiculous. Don’t panic. Just stay calm.

Eventually I rounded the last block before my building, and, turning the corner, I thought of all the ways I was going to laugh this off with everyone, but then my heart fell through my stomach. My office tower was gone, replaced by some other morphed amalgamation that looked similar but dissimilar at the same time.

I began to weep, waving my arms around. Of course I’d found work annoying. In fact, I found almost everything and everyone annoying.

“Please, someone help me! I’m stuck in the pssi! Please someone help me!” I cried out into the empty streets, looking desperately around me.

I was utterly alone in one of the world’s most densely populated cities.

I let out a slow moan of dread.

10

AT FIRST I’D wandered through the empty streets of New York. In desperation I’d taken the New York Passenger Cannon, operating perfectly to timetable but yet empty of passengers, to San Francisco. Arrival there had just made things worse, however, as it was as empty as New York.

For the first few days, I’d tried to remember the deactivation gesture that Kenny had tried to show me, the hardwired failsafe, but I hadn’t been paying attention. What was that sequence, what was the motion? Walking around, I pulled and scraped at my chest, twisting and turning and muttering random words, hoping one of them would be the deactivation sequence. But nothing happened.

With a mounting sense of horror, I began to realize that perhaps I was the only person left, the last person on Earth, or at least the last person on whatever version of the Earth I had led myself onto.

I stopped at the end of the pier at Fisherman’s’ Wharf. This place was usually packed with tourists, but of course it was desolately empty.

Opening my purse I stared at the pack of cigarettes inside. It had become endless. No matter how many cigarettes I took from it, the next time I opened my purse, it was full again. I’d even tried throwing it away in a fit of frustration, but then there it was again the next time I felt an urge coming on. Shaking my head, I pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

I’d explored everywhere, tried everything. I didn’t need to bring any luggage with me for traveling as I could just pick up clothes, any clothes I wanted, right off the racks.

Restaurants were always open. At first I tried going into buffets, and row upon row of fresh, steaming food would always be waiting for me. After a little while I’d discovered that if I had an urge for anything, I could just go into a restaurant, and magically the meal I wanted would be there, ready for me to sit down and eat alone.

All of the mediaworlds were still broadcasting, but the news was filled with stories about families, about happy reunions and lost children newly found. I often spent my afternoons sitting alone in cinemas and watching endless reruns of old romance films.

Something had to be wrong with the pssi system. Weren’t the smarticles supposed to wash out of my system by themselves eventually? Somebody out there would figure it out, somebody would save me, and then just as suddenly as it had started, it would be over.

Perhaps I’d been upset with everyone, angry at the world, but I wasn’t anymore. I just desperately wanted to see someone, anyone, it didn’t matter. I’d become beyond terrified of being alone.

But still, nobody appeared.

11

HAD IT BEEN weeks or months? It was hard to tell. My psyche had begun to unglue itself as my conviction slipped that somebody out there would notice my absence.

How long could this last? My mind kept returning to my own marketing campaigns, to pssi’s main selling feature of dramatically stretching the human lifespan. Was it possible that I could be left wandering alone for years, decades, even a century?  Or more?

My mind frantically circled around and around the thought, unable to fathom it, clawing desperately at the edges of this prison without walls. I suspected that the system wouldn’t even let me kill myself. There was no escape.

Today I was wandering around Madrid, through Beun Retiro Park. It was as devoid of people as everywhere else my lonely travels had taken me. I was walking between rows of skeleton trees, across carpets of golden leaves that they’d shed like tears just for me. It was a beautiful day under a perfect sky as winter settled in.

At least, it could have been beautiful if there’d been anybody else there but me, by myself.

I thought a lot about Mr. Tweedles. Everywhere I went, I kept thinking I saw him, just up ahead, just passing a lamppost. I’d feel him brushing up against my leg, and then wake up, realizing I was still stuck in this nightmare. I think he’d been the only creature who’d ever loved me. I hoped someone was taking care of him.

My life hadn’t ended, but without anyone else, it had ceased to have any meaning.

Stopping next to the Crystal Palace in the middle of the park, I opened my purse to take out another of the endless cigarettes. I lit up, and then bent down to pick up one of the beautiful golden leaves from the gravel path. I studied it carefully and began to laugh, and then to cry.

It was so peaceful here. It was what I’d always wanted, just to be left alone, and I only had myself to blame, or to thank. My God, please, somebody had to notice I was gone.

My sobs of laughter rang out through the empty morning sunshine, under a faultless, empty blue sky.

~ Childplay ~

Book 2:

Commander Rick Strong

1

Identity: Commander Rick Strong

FROM THIS ALTITUDE, the stars had just begun to poke their pinpricks of light through the deep blue violet sky. The hazy film of the Earth’s atmosphere painted a milky edge onto the curved horizon as the sun rose up and morning broke fully.

Looking down I could just make out Atopia, flashing like a distant green gem beneath the wisps of stratospheric clouds, almost swallowed amid the endless seas below. From here, lacking any surface buildings except for the ring of the mass driver circling it and the four gleaming farm towers that rose up out of its center, Atopia appeared as a forested island a mile across, fringed by white sand beaches.

Returning my focus to the job at hand, I did another sweep of the area. But still nothing. I zeroed in on one of our UAVs, a giant but gossamer–winged creature whose photovoltaics glittered and reflected the morning sunshine back into the emptiness. I followed it with my projected visual point of view, watching its massive transparent propeller swing slowly around and around, urging it onwards into the edge of space.

“Good enough?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think that’s far enough,” responded Echo, my proxxi.

“Well, no hurry. Let’s make sure nothing is out here.”

I was kind of enjoying this lazy crawl across the top of the world with the UAV. I took a deep breath, watching the sun reflect off the seas from between the clouds below, trying to force a sense of relaxation into my body. The silence was serene and complete up here. I should come up more often, I thought to myself.

Just then, the new metasense I’d had installed prickled the back of my neck.