Idempotency (45 page)

Grep leaned down next to her. “You okay, Sin?” He reached out to her, but his hand again passed through her shoulder.

“I’ll live. At least I’m awake now.” She smiled slightly at him.

“You’re amazing, Sin.”

She blushed.

Far in the distance, the rumble of a threatening cumulonimbus cloud erupted over the High Sierras. Somewhere under that cloud a relieving rain pattered the arid Nevada ground. Simeon hoped the showers would meander in his direction, but he didn’t hold his breath. He stood outside of his team’s yurt, observing the land and the people around him. Below, a tattered collection of slum dwellers were tending to their daily routines. Mothers washed clothes in the contaminated river at the base of the ravine. Fathers were fixing up their decrepit housing units. Children sat in clumps at various open areas of the slums. They were being taught trades that might one day allow them to make a meager living: electrical, plumbing, agriculture. Simeon knew better, however; the chances of these kids ever earning a corp paycheck were slim to none. Most would be residents in this same slum for their entire lives.

Simeon’s eyes shifted to a point across the river. Similar daily routines were ongoing within the decomposing casinos that lined the shore. The casino residents were held in high regard by the slum dwellers; they had significantly more value to their names and sometimes even collected consistent government paychecks. And yet, both sides of the river that made up the slum town of Laughlin earned a fractional pittance in comparison to those paid by corps.

A hand slid up Simeon’s back, and Nimbus whispered into his ear, “They’re almost there.”

“Does it matter?”

“Sorry?”

“Look at this, Nimbus.” Simeon gestured out at the desolation in front of him. “Every few months we hole up in a new slum. They’re all the same. And how many are there now? Hundreds in America alone? Thousands? Ninety-nine percent of the wealth in this country is owned by 1 percent of the workforce, all of whom are employed by a handful of parent corporations.” He paused and shook his head. “The fact is, I’m starting to question whether we can even go back. These kids are never going to get enough of an education to do any damn thing about their situation.”

“You’re rehashing consumerist platitudes, Sim. What’s your point?”

“My point is: How long have we been at this? And things just get worse. If I was managing myself, I’d fire me. Fact is, maybe . . . I mean, maybe this Titus facility isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe they are actually trying to do some good.”

“Oh my God, who stole my partner? Is this the part of the mission where you get all self-doubty and downtrodden on me?” Nimbus smiled wide while flinging her curly blond hair out of her eyes. “You know, I bet the fine people of Laughlin are as happy, if not happier, than the majority of people working in corps on the peninsula. In fact, I’ve read studies that say as much.”

He looked down at her. “So then why the hell are we doing all this?”

“Well, I think you are asking that rhetorically, but . . .” She pursed her lips in thought. “There’s still something to be said for free will, right? I mean, if what we’re learning is true—that NRS is shaping people’s minds—then Titus is casting people’s fates. And that’s not right.” She patted him on the shoulder, then slid down to clench his arm lovingly. “Besides, we don’t have any other skills. What else are we going to do—get real jobs?” She smiled. “Come on inside. You’re needed.”

Sliding further still, she took him by the hand and led him back into the yurt.

For Sindhu, the following thirty minutes consisted of a circuitous, somnambulant march behind Grep’s shadowy, hovering image. They trekked through the bowels of Titus; strands upon strands of wires made up an industrial tapestry of life-giving veins that powered the great facility around them. Hidden from the view of the Titus resident, the unrefined service tunnels were far more important to the Titus facility than the elegant external decor. In addition to an uncountable amount of flat twists and turns, Sindhu had climbed up many clanging stairwells made of corrugated steel. Without realizing it, she had begun to breathe heavily, and her injured right leg ached more than ever. Luckily, the new pain in her shoulder was distracting her slightly from that of her leg.

“Okay, we’re here.”

“We are?” Sindhu asked dubiously.

“Yep, right through here.”

“That’s a concrete wall.”

“It’s a holoWall. Go ahead, no one’s on the other side, poke your head through.”

The wall resided at the middle of a long hallway. Smooth concrete made up one side of the corridor; the other side housed layers of wires and piping. Sindhu had lost all sense of direction some time ago while she blindly followed Grepman. Lazily, she put her nose within a centimeter of the wall and then pushed forward slightly, expecting to feel the cold of concrete. Instead, she felt a slight draft. She instinctively closed her eyes while doing this, and when she opened them, her pupils dilated immediately at the sight of a rising morning sun.

Sindhu was now peering out at an expansive, top-floor corridor, the ceiling of which was made out of an arched glass. Interspersed among the clear glass panels were several multifarious stained-glass pieces.

“We’re way ahead of them, Sin. They’ve figured out that you must have escaped through a service tunnel when your transport showed up empty. They’ve got units combing all sorts of places, but they’re expecting you to try and escape the facility, not to try and access the most secure portion of the building. In some ways, our destination is our best cover.”

“Yeah, that’s great,” she replied sarcastically. “Does anyone have an idea of how we’ll actually get out of here once I find Dansby?”

“Simeon’s working on that. Let’s just stay focused on getting Dylan first. Do you see these double doors down here? He’s through here.”

Grep had floated out into the corridor, and Sindhu quickly followed. She had been surprised to feel the soft squeak of a hardwood floor underneath her as she entered the hallway. Ornate wood also outlined the walls; the heavy wood was an odd juxtaposition to the open ceiling. As she walked up to the large double doors—also made of a heavy wood—they clicked loudly and popped outward. Sindhu halted abruptly, surprised at the prompt opening. She pulled a large wooden handle and the door swung open silently.

Stepping inside the room, she immediately noted the smell of sterility. The empty room was blindingly white and served as a waiting room or an office of some kind. A simple white desk sat in the middle of the room, and Sindhu quickly walked around it and into a smaller white hallway. She passed a few smaller offices on both sides before quickly arriving at a larger white room that included large sets of windows looking out upon the hills of Mexico. On a simple twin hospital bed, in the middle of the room, lay Dylan Dansby.

“Holy sh—” Sindhu sprinted over to Dylan’s side and sat on a stool next to his bed. Compassion welled up within Sindhu’s typically steely eyes, and she brushed away the tattered, curly, sweaty hair on his forehead. Her hand passed over the metal spiderweblike headgear he was wearing.

“Oh, you poor thing, what are they doing to you?” she mumbled as she fiddled with well-hidden controls next to the bed. A holographic display jumped up in front of her, providing a readout on Dylan’s situation. It was not favorable.

She looked up at Grep. “I’m going to shut it off. Cold stop. Does anyone have any issues with that? Kristina?”

Kristina’s quivering voiced popped into her head. “Hey, Sin, I’m here. There’s something I want to try before we unhook Dylan. Give me a second to talk it over with Simeon.”

Sindhu could hear a heated debate in the background. Something about Kristina having logged into Dylan’s deathTrip remotely. Sindhu glanced up at Grepman and he shrugged.

“Okay, Sindhu.” Simeon’s sounded confident but frustrated. “Against my better judgment, we’re going to stop Dylan’s deathTrip, but we’re not going to unplug him just yet. Kristina brought some SolipstiCorp tech with her. We’re going to let her log in and see if she can connect with Dylan.”

Back in the yurt, Kristina was frantically setting herself up to virtTrip with Dylan. She had taken the nanoReceptor pill and was now carefully strapping on the headset. She lay down on the couch and asked Mitlee to hold her hand while she was under. Mitlee fought back scared tears and agreed to help.

“If the deathTrip is turned off, then what will you even find in there?” Simeon asked Kristina.

“There’s a default virtual location. It’s kind of like a default error; like a page-not-found, or four-oh-four from the old Internet days. If something goes wrong, the user is placed back at the default location. They also wait there during loading and shutdown of the deathTrip. They don’t remember any of it, though, so it may be for nothing. But I’m hoping it will leave a trail in his subconscious. It’s worth a try, right?”

Simeon didn’t offer an answer, but asked a follow-up question, “What’s the default location?”

“An elm tree in a park,” she stated, while waving her hands fervently in front of her. “Okay, I’ve patched in and am shutting down his deathTrip now; looks like he was at 94 percent complete. He was old.” She waved her hands a few more times, then placed them on her lap. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Simeon pursed his lips. He didn’t like this plan, but he acquiesced to Kristina’s determination. “Three minutes. That’s all you get, then we shut it down.”

Kristina nodded.

“Simeon, we don’t have much time here. How much longer is this going to take?” Sindhu asked as she tried to listen in on their conversation.

“She’s in. We told her she has three minutes before we pull the plug.”

Kristina waved her right hand a final time, and her left hand became limp within Mitlee’s death grip.

Dylan sat with his back against the Camperdown elm tree, his legs straight out and crossed in front of him. He wore a simple white T-shirt and jeans. In his hands, he fidgeted with a twig from the tree, rubbing it back and forth.

Kristina materialized a few meters in front of him. He noticed her arrival, but didn’t flinch.

“Hello, do I know you?” he asked.

“Hi Dylan, it’s Kristina. Do you recognize me?” she asked.

“I think you have me confused with someone else. My name’s Coglin, Edward Lee Coglin. At least, I think . . . I’m feeling confused. I don’t even know how I got here. Or where I am.”

Dylan looked up from his fidgeting fingers and began frantically looking around. The tree’s leaves were yellow from a crisp autumnal air. Rolling grass hills could be seen in all directions, with more trees of varying types atop the hills. The sky was overcast, but bright from an early-morning sun.

“Dylan—” His head swung toward her at the mention of his real name. “I only have a few minutes, so please listen to me. Your name is Dylan Dansby. Until recently, you worked as a business developer at a company called SolipstiCorp. You used to get mad at me when I would call you a salesman.” She smiled at the old memory. “Your best friend is your old boss, Frank Cunningham. You and I were in love once, and I hope we still are.”

She paused and allowed him to study her. His eyes squinted in concentration as he grasped at a deck of cards that were shuffled in his mind. She crept close to him and sat down at his side, her own back now against the old, scraggly tree.

Knowing she was running out of time, she started again. “Dylan, my fondest memories of us were when we would watch a movie on my purple couch. The first half of the movie was like a dance, each of us snuggling closer, trying to get comfortable. You always sat on the right, and my head would always find its way onto your shoulder.” She placed her head on his shoulder now, then took his hand in hers. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t reciprocate, either.

“I love you, Dylan Dansby. Please remember how much I love you.”

“Kristi . . .? Kristina?” Dylan asked, a glimmer of recognition flashing within his previously docile eyes.

“Dylan!” she cried as his image disappeared.

“Okay, three minutes, time’s up,” Simeon barked. “Sindhu, rip the damn thing off.”

Not one to wait for a second opinion, Sindhu hopped up, unknowingly grimaced from the pain in her leg, then ripped the SolipstiCorp tech off of Dylan’s head. She considered stomping on it, but simply threw it across the room instead. Hesitating, she started, then stopped, feeling as though she needed to unhook some other device, but there was nothing else attached to Dylan.

“What now?” she asked.

“We wait,” Kristina replied. She had exited her own virtTrip as soon as Dylan had disappeared. She looked groggy—she was rubbing her temples—but functional.

Kristina added, “Sindhu, go back into one of those offices you passed earlier and grab a cool towel for his forehead. Also, if you can find any meds in there, grab them—preferably some kind of schedule-one upper, but even just amphetaAspirin would be a good start.”

Sindhu bounded off the stool and said, “On it.”

“It’s Coglin.” Kristina spoke to the entire group. “They are programming Dylan to think he’s Coglin.”

“Coglin?” Simeon asked, stumped.

“Maybe he’s dying?” Nimbus said.

Sindhu returned with three towels of various dampness and temperatures, several bottles of various medications, mostly strong amphetamines, and two actuating syringes.

“How about this?” Sindhu held up one of the LFActuating syringes, which had a small white label on the side. “It’s an adrenaline-amphetamine mix. Subcutaneous air pressured, LFActuator. Good?”

“Good. Do it.”

Not a beat later, Sindhu’s arm swung down and plunked the LFActuator onto Dylan’s shoulder. It clicked, and everyone held their breath.

A moment passed.

Another . . .

When Dylan’s eyes suddenly flared open, they displayed a pure terror that was matched only by the wild scream that simultaneously erupted from his mouth.

Thousands of kilometers away, Kristina began to sob.

“We have to get out of here, Sin. We’ve been in one spot too long,” Grepman said as he hovered near the door.