Idempotency (17 page)

[NIMBUS 12:42:24] Who’s SOP? Nice try slipping away into publicSoil, but our adversaries are thorough.

[Dylan 12:42:27] I thought I saw someone watching us.

[NIMBUS 12:42:35] You didn’t see anyone. They are watching you within a darkVirt, as a virtGhost. And so am I. I’m standing right in front of you at this very moment.

[Dylan 12:42:43] I doubt that very much. Forgive my skepticism. But, you must be listening in on me somehow.

[NIMBUS 12:42:50] Ask Kristina to explain.
Quietly.

Dylan leaned in and whispered, “Kristi, I just got a message from—uh—them. They say we’re being watched by ghosts?”

“
VirtGhosts?”
She replied a little too loud, then put a hand over her mouth, then removed her hand, thinking that might have been too conspicuous.

“Yeah, what does that mean?” he asked.

“Well, virts can be anything. They can be computer graphics of any kind of world. But they can also be video feeds. You can virtTrip on Mars in realTime. Just like Garrett Hawpe and his friend were doing, except Garrett was
actually
there. So, anywhere there’s a holoVid feed, there can be a virt. It’s certainly possible that someone is virtTripping in a holoVidFeed right here, at this location.”

Another message popped into Dylan’s periphery and he gave Kristina the
wait
sign again.

[NIMBUS 12:45:04] You’re wearing a suede purple jacket over a simple dark shirt. Your coffee cup is leaking slightly and appears to have left a spot on your brown corduroy pants.  Nice retro look, btw.

[NIMBUS 12:45:23] Now you’re holding up three fingers, one of them is your thumb, on your left hand, just under the table.

[NIMBUS 12:45:29] And . . . now you’re flipping me off. Classy, Dylan, real classy.

[Dylan 12:45:34] WTF? Where are you really?

[NIMBUS 12:45:52] I’m sorry, I know it’s jarring.  But we don’t have time for you to get used to this.  Know that we are always watching and trying to help however we can. I can guarantee there are at least a half dozen other folks sitting around you right now in other darkVirts, listening to your conversation.

[Dylan 12:46:01] I hope you enjoyed the show in the shower this morning.

[NIMBUS 12:46:22] Your line of questioning is drawing suspicion. They monitor everything. As soon as their Bayesian mapping algorithms detect any sort of suspicious speech pattern they will send agents to investigate, and if they learn you’ve been working with us, they won’t hesitate to act and we won’t be able to help you.

[NIMBUS 12:46:29] I need you to steer the conversation away from using virts. Hey, I have an idea, maybe you can talk about your relationship with Kristi?

[Dylan 12:46:36] All of you women are in cahoots, aren’t you?

[NIMBUS 12:46:41] Do it now, please . . .

Without turning off his BUI, Dylan looked at Kristina and said, “Hey, never mind, I don’t care that much. If you find any more info send it to me offline,” he added.

She looked confused, then understood his reason for evasion. “Yeah, I will. There’s plenty I can give you. I’ll try to sort out some interesting tidbits.”

“Cool, thanks. Let’s get out of here. Frank’s gonna be overdue on chewing my ass out about something by now.” She giggled and they both stood up in unison.

As they did, a final message came into Dylan’s periphery:

[NIMBUS 12:48:12] Sigh, men :/ So many cowards, so little time. Talk soon, Dyl-Pickle

Sindhu stood in front of a plain-looking door, in the middle of a generic office building. A banal sign was plastered onto the paneled door, displaying a spinning 3-D logo. The sign read:
X-R-S-eyes
, the entire name spun with the
X
serving as its axis.

Sindhu knocked and, unsurprisingly, heard no response. She started to knock a second time, decided she was grossly impatient, and so she simply opened the door and walked in. She paused as she entered. In front of her was an expansive space with several medical beds on each side of the long room. Three large windows looked out at the ever-graying San Francisco Bay. Several patients lay quiescently in some of the beds, attended to by a few nurses. A bearded man was studying a holographic image floating above one of the patients. He was clearly in charge, as the other three individuals were incessantly asking him questions. He sighed heavily and waved off the hologram, then quickly turned on his heel and walked over to Sindhu.

“Not what you expected, am I right?” The bearded man had a portly belly that Sindhu correctly guessed was fond of beer and wine, in that order. Upon closer inspection, Sindhu noticed that his beard seemed to be graying. He wore a simple blue long-sleeved shirt and black slacks. There was absolutely nothing interesting about him, except his eyes; his green-glowing eyes. Sindhu was drawn to them. She stared at them greedily, and as he noticed her awe, he poked at the air in front of him a few times and his eyes began to display images of what was exactly behind him. Sindhu started. It was as if he had two holes in his head; she could suddenly see the bay beyond him, through his head. He smiled and his eyes returned to a normal appearance, with a subtle green glow.

“No. I was expecting something more . . .” She allowed her words to trail off.

“More professional?”

“Yes, to be frank.”

“I can assure you, we run a tight ship. Sanitation and sterility are of the upmost importance. All of my materials, technology, and even my assistants are the best darkCreds can buy.” He paused and flashed a proud smile. “You will not find better service.”

“Then I’ve come to the right place.” Sindhu felt an awkward need to validate his claims.

“Yep, your info is good. In fact, I’ve been expecting you; a tall Indian girl—big eyes, pretty smile, goes by SinTh3t!c. I’m Dr. Ocular.” He held out his hand. “But most people know me as DocOc on the darkNets.” The bearded doctor smiled proudly at the nickname.

“I hear good things, DocOc,” Sindhu said while shaking the man’s hand.

“You hear right. I’ve also heard good things about you.” Never good with compliments, Sindhu blushed. “Now, don’t be bashful. I’ve seen some of your contributions to the Buoyant project. They are masterful. You’re work is helping keep me in business.”

“So then you’ll cut me a discount?” Sindhu deadpanned.

“Well, we do throw in our top-of-the-line cochlea implants for free—two microscopic, vibration-based audio devices, no bigger than a pinpoint, which lets you hear while virtTripping. Other than that, nope, ’fraid not.” A male nurse urgently shouted the doctor’s pseudonym from across the room. Dr. Ocular glanced in that direction and sighed. “Appears the minions can’t handle a minute without me. Look lady, I’m not one for chitchat, so . . . you ready to do this?”

Sindhu nodded.

“Okay then—first thing, we need validated transfer of funds. What currency model do you prefer?”

“Dupondius,” Sindhu replied flatly, referring to a popular anonymous digital currency. “I can transfer now if you wish. I’ve already accessed your near-field payment ID. As of midnight GMT, the Dupondius-to-USD exchange rate is one-point-two-eight. So, I’ll transfer twenty-three K, plus fifty-seven Duponds. Accurate? Shall I?”

The doctor was a little put off; he wasn’t used to his clientele driving monetary exchanges. After a beat, he replied, “That sounds fine. Brian over there will confirm accuracy. We use after-hours exchange rates, so it may be a bit different. Transfer 10K now, and we’ll work out the difference on the other side. Okay?”

Sindhu nodded. “Done. How long will this take?”

DocOc gestured Sindhu to follow him. “It’ll take about an hour. You’ll want to plan on staying in bed for at least three days after. You’ll be able to see, but it will take some time for your brain to adjust to the interface. It’s . . .” He hesitated. “Uncomfortable—at least initially. You’ll be very dizzy. Most people have trouble walking for the first day. Some encounter serious nausea.”

“Will it hurt?” she asked as she sat on a hard bed with beveled edges.

The man’s portly belly began to rock as his beard bobbed from a hearty laugh. “Oh, hell yes, it will hurt. Biggest fuckin’ headache you will ever have!” He laughed himself to empty, then got serious. “It’s worth it, though. It’s goddam worth it. If you don’t mind me asking, why are you doing it? Travel? Sex?”

“I’m looking for SOP.” Sindhu saw no reason to not be pointed, and as she hoped, the bearded doc seemed startled.

“SOP? Sons Of Pseudo? I don’t believe they exist. Good luck, girl, whatever rocks your boat.” The doc was clearly hoping for a more salacious response. “So what kind of ocs do you want? I have a sale on for gen-one-point-sevens—”

“No—I want the best. Give me the gen-three-point-one ocs. And upgrade the firmware to Beta-eight. Also, I’ll pay for whatever darkVirt locations you might—“

“Now hold on one minute, Miss. What kind of operation do you think I’m runnin’ here?” he asked in a pained voice. “You’ll have to find your darkVirt locations on your own. I can give you the best tech around. That part is legal—well, not really, but it’s low on the corp litigation priority list. But providing you with darkVirt locations? That’s another story. You’ll have to find those on your own.”

“Just give me whatever you have, I’ll figure it out from there,” Sindhu rejoined grumpily.

“Fine, just fine.” DocOc seemed to be sizing her up, then he blurted, “Ah!” The doc shook his head, then reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a stamp. “Ready? You’re definitely going to want this.”

“Sure, let’s just get this done with.” Sindhu held out her arm and DocOc stamped a clear liquid onto the underside of her wrist.

“Forgot to ask,” the doc said quickly. “You can always change it, but what kind of eyeballs do you want when you come to?”

Sindhu was already feeling dizzy, and she mumbled nearly incoherently, “I want . . . the world.”

DocOc snorted. “Okay then . . . whatever floats your boat.”

Sindhu stared at her wrist momentarily—what appeared to be worms began eating away at the periphery of her vision. She blinked, and the next moment she was awake in one of the beds ten meters away from her prior location.

Her headache was immense.

“Ah, you’re awake!”

She tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea reached into her bowels and pushed outward with an open palm. She opened her eyes and was surprised at the clarity of her vision. In fact, her vision was so clear she could see pores on her hand and the fine print on a bottle of meds ten meters away— simultaneously. The clarity was dizzying and forced her to clamp her eyes shut once more.

“Whoa, hold on there, champ.”

DocOc had been checking her vitals as she awoke. He placed a hand underneath her back and helped her slide into a slouching position as he instructed the bed to rise to a thirty-degree angle. She reopened her eyes and saw the doctor reach behind her to grab a piece of tech that she didn’t recognize. He handed it to her; it was white, flat, and circular.

“What is this?” she asked groggily. It felt like she was holding a small dinner plate.

He signed. “I call it a reflectProvider, but some people just call it a mirror. Flip it over.”

Sindhu rolled her eyes at DocOc’s sarcasm, but the action nearly made her throw up. She brought a hand to her face and rubbed her temples while raising the mirror. She opened her eyes . . . and saw the world. Her eyes were an exact replica of Earth. She smiled one of the best smiles of her entire life.

“Nice, right?” The bearded doctor beamed proudly. “It’s a custom job. The rotation happens exactly as Earth’s does, as if you’re looking at the sun. Oh! And the clouds are an exact replica of the current weather conditions across the globe. Also, at night, you’ll see the lights of the continents. Of course, you can always turn it off and go back to replica eyes, but I think I did a damn good job, if I can toot my own horn.”

“Dr. Ocular, I’m rarely satisfied.” She glanced again at the mirror and smiled. “I am satisfied.”

Somewhere, an old clock ticked tirelessly. Dylan sat on the couch in his office ruminating on his predicament. It had been one week since he and Kristina had had coffee together. One week of utter boredom at work. He’d taken to napping on his couch in the afternoons, but not by choice. In fact, sleep was fitful these days. And today was no different, as his mind began to drift to his failed deathTrip six months earlier . . .

“Just remember to butter ’em up first. Then fuck all the chicks you can.” Frank Cunningham slapped Dylan on the back as he rubbed his shiny head with his other hand.

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to remember anything from this life during my deathTrip—isn’t that the point?” Dylan said, the nerves in his belly causing his voice to quiver just slightly as they walked down a wide, white hallway. He was toying with the strings on the blue gown he had changed into moments before.

“I have a theory that whatever you concentrate on while they are putting you under will be the driving force during your deathTrip,” Frank replied confidently.

“You have a theory, huh? When exactly did you become a scientist? And let me guess: this theory, is it supported by your one and only experience? You probably focused on being a dick and it came true?”

Frank feigned a pained expression. “Dylan, my dear friend, my buddy, as usual you misjudge me. I have only the most rectitudinous of intentions.”

Dylan laughed. “What the hell does—if that means you are trying to be a rectum, then I agree with you.”

Frank appeared doubly pained. “Dyls, while I do enjoy the occasional wanton screw in the park, I happen to believe that moderation is
always
a wise rule of thumb—that’s why I only practice it half the time.” Frank flashed an avuncular wink and grinned as he patted his buddy on the shoulder.

For his part, Dylan looked perplexed as the pair reached the end of the hall. The door scanned Frank and opened after presumably verifying the veracity of his bald head. The two friends walked into a large room that displayed the perfect melding of scientific laboratory and software-development center. Several people milled around the office, waving their hands at large, floating three-dimensional media projections. An older man wearing tight-fitting clothing—no doubt to show off his body, which was of someone fifty years his junior—noticed the two entering and walked over to greet them. He had thick gray hair and a gray goatee. His face was a wrinkled old shirt, but his shoulders were broad and his legs thick. He extended a powerful arm toward Dylan and smiled.