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Altogether the questioning and drawing up the report took about twenty minutes. Isaac

explained why he was standing; he didn’t know they were going to storm the agency.

Captain Robert (the officer turned out to be a captain) explained to Isaac that he had been stunned when the office was stormed because only two people were standing – the terrorist and Isaac. The security guard in the agency had switched on his walkie-talkie, so when they stormed the place the assault team knew that all the hostages were lying down. That was why they had taken Isaac for an accomplice.

However, the testimony of the other victims had completely convinced Robert that Isaac

wasn’t involved in the terrorist attack. Robert had checked that Isaac was there to download his energy, having first drawn up a provisional contract. Robert had read it and he had discovered that Isaac’s only relative, Victoria Frank, was in the hospital, waiting for surgery, and the contract stipulated that the cost of the surgery should be paid out of the Collective Mind money, and thus his final doubts about Isaac had evaporated.

“You can collect your things now,” Robert added calmly. “By the way, what’s this

gismo?” he asked, holding out the V-Rain. “I can tell you quite frankly that I deleted it from the inventory of your things, otherwise we would have had to hold you for another week, until we’ve figured out that this little thing wasn’t connected with the attack in any way. I’m really sorry, we dealt with Cavalier first and sent him to Marseilles, and then a whole horde of people descended on us: our bosses, prosecutors, the deputy prefect, journalists. It took us a long time to get round to you. And then, your sister’s surname isn’t the same as yours. I didn’t know she was your stepsister. But I checked all the information on you today, so that you could get back home, even if it is late. Off you go, it’s already ten o’clock.”

“It’s my invention. Harmless. It’s just to keep the rain off.”

Isaac raked up his things, and the V-Rain squeaked plaintively. All this amiability from Robert made him feel uneasy

“Isaac, I’m very sorry,” the captain suddenly added in a quiet, fatherly voice. “The news I have from the hospital isn’t too cheerful. Your sister has been in a coma since this afternoon.”

The ground suddenly crumbled under Isaac’s feet. He started crying. His mouth still felt dry, but tears the size of large hailstones rolled down his cheeks. He couldn’t say a single word, small change scattered onto the floor and his hands, full of various little bits and pieces, shook so badly that he simply couldn’t find his pocket.

It wasn’t fair! Bastards! Nobody specifically. Everybody. Isaac loathed them all.

“I spoke to the doctor, don’t despair, of course it’s bad, but her life isn’t in any danger.

You’ll definitely find the money for the surgery. And you should also see a doctor yourself, our medic said you have a slight concussion.”

No one was waiting for Isaac in the dark street. There was nothing for him in the future either. Rage against the whole world overflowed him, anger at the world, at his own

helplessness. He picked up a stone and dashed it into a shop-window. The siren howled and he turned into an alleyway. He finally arrived home at dawn.

It was already lunchtime and Isaac was struggling to keep his eyes open. His body was

complaining after the strain of the previous day, the despair that had made him decide to sell his creativity. The explosion, the hit to his head, the police station, Vicky being in coma; he didn’t sleep well turning from side to side the whole night. When he went to bed he couldn’t even undress and Elvis’s present was painfully prickling his leg as a reminder of the promise.

Isaac pulled out the piece of the board from his pocket and investigated it. The piece was just a piece. Actually, some parts survived. Now Elvis gets behind the bars for a long time not even knowing that he didn’t destroy anything but Isaac’s plans. Actually, the other way round: he served Isaac a favor as he would have been a Happy or Vegie according to the opponents of the downloading by this time. Now he unexpectedly earned some time and gained new hope. He

didn’t want to feel doomed.

Isaac quickly undressed and plodded into the bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror, he opened his eyes wide and raised his eyebrows. Squeezing his eyes open and shut he thought he looked more like a shabby hobo. Gazing out at him from the mirror was a thin young guy with dark hair and piercing grey-green eyes. The nose was a bit on the large side, so were the ears, and the cheeks were slightly hollow. You couldn’t really call him classically handsome, but the girls always saw something in him and they probably knew better. Even the small scar on his chin didn’t spoil his looks, instead it added a touch of the brutality that was lacking. Isaac made a slipshod attempt to tidy up his hair, but it still stuck out rebelliously. He glanced at the uneven covering of stubble on his face. “Unshaved as always, and I’m not going to shave,” he thought.

“Women like stubble for some reason,” was the first clear thought that came to him. “And at the same time they complain that it’s prickly.” He tried to imagine what it was like when you stood at the mirror first thing in the morning and a girl walked up to you and ran her hand over your unshaven cheek like in an advertisement. But that was on television, that sort of thing didn’t happen in real life. Hop into the bathroom, grab a quick wash and dash off to deal with business at hand.

The few girls Isaac had dated before had never done that.

To get your cheek stroked, you needed someone you loved. A girl who loved you, not just some casual hookup. There hadn’t been any genuine loving in Isaac’s life since his sister had been ill and he didn’t wonder where it had gone.

No one needs a boyfriend with problems, especially one who’s almost a beggar. Everyone

has enough headaches of their own; they can do without anyone else’s. After discovering Vicky was ill, Isaac didn’t have the time or the money or, more importantly, the desire to have a genuine affair.

He had to make do with the girls – the drunk ones – who came his way at the America.

Hints were quite often made and he was given to understand or even told straight out that he was cute, that he had handsome features, that he was tall and well built. In fact he wasn’t that tall, but that didn’t bother Isaac, it wasn’t a problem in his life. No one needed to explain to Isaac what the female tourists had in mind when they said that sort of thing to the first young guy they met.

Take everything given, as they say, though he was always short of strength after a long shift and those short term lady friends simply highlighted that nobody seriously needed him. And he oh so wanted to be genuinely loved. Isaac could really be very dedicated to his loved one. It’s just that he had no chance of showing it. Even for his sister he was ready to sacrifice himself. When she fell sick, Isaac got deprived of the only love creek that the world directed towards him.

Isaac woke from his thoughts beside his computer, with a cup of coffee in his hand. “Oh, coffee! When did I manage to make that? Some things get done on autopilot, as if you have your own barman sitting inside you,” Isaac chuckled to himself, but he wasn’t feeling cheerful. “Stop.

Why go straight to the computer? That’s a habit. I have to call the hospital and find out about Vicky.”

“Grace Kelly Hospital, how can I help you?” the phone said in the familiar rapid patter.

“My name is Isaac Leroy…” Isaac cleared his throat, his voice was hoarse. “I’m calling

to find out about the condition of my sister, Victoria Frank.”

“One moment.” He was put through to a different number, introduced himself again and

was reconnected again. Finally he heard the duty nurse in the right department rummaging through her papers and the clatter of a keyboard and then a considerate voice chirped in his ear.

“Monsieur Leroy.” Isaac could never get used to that ceremonial form of address, and he winced every time. “Monsieur Leroy, your sister has stabilized and the worst has passed. At the moment she is listed as serious but in stable condition.”

“But I was told she’s in a coma! I want to speak to her doctor.”

The stupid, pathetic hope aroused by the medical term “stable condition” had been a

mistake. The doctor confirmed that Vicky was in a coma, but only yesterday her condition had been much worse. She could have died. It was all over now, the doctors were monitoring her progress and it would be clear when the surgery could be performed.

“There’s no need to hurry with the money, Monsieur Leroy, but nonetheless we have to

be ready to carry out the operation,” the doctor concluded, said goodbye and hung up.

Isaac was trembling, he instantly pictured Vicky so pale, so fragile, so seeking help and sustained by hope only. Something inside of him broke down and Isaac burst out crying. It was painful to realize that he had delayed for far too long, he felt sorry for himself. She could have died as I didn’t even consider downloading till the very end. The intrusion of the dumb-ass terrorist could have taken the lives of both of us. Why did I not come at least a day before? What a fool I was! Worse than any Veggie. The damned Agency!

“They have everything they need to cure people: the technologies, the methodologies, the high-class specialists – and all of that thanks to sucking creativity out of people like me and Pascal. But no one benefits from it all because the treatment has to be paid for. Until we go to that freaking Agency to sell our creativity, people, our nearest and dearest, just keep getting worse!”

What was going on? The media were choked solid with praise for Collective Mind. The

whole world was rejoicing at the rosy forecasts of a happy future for mankind. Problems were being solved, scientists had been given answers to their questions, and solutions had been found for the technical puzzles. Even the people who became total Veggies after offloading their creativity were happy and looked content. What about those who fell sideways? We have no choice: it’s either Einsteiner or the abyss, right?

No one paid any special attention any longer to terrorist attacks, like the one Isaac got involved with yesterday. Even the police ignored the feeble street protests. Solitary messiahs, protest graffiti – there were always plenty of mental cases and petty hooligans around. These troublemakers claimed we should be afraid of the power held by Collective Mind. Some

opposition scientists claimed that pooled creativity was only useful to make progress on the kind of projects that had some prior work already done. Not even a billion donors, they said, could be helpful to start novel ventures of the future, such as conquering the deep space or curing future viruses. Thanks to Collective Mind, people could accelerate research and bring it to a conclusion more quickly, but without prior developments, pooled creativity was useless. Teleportation might seem like science fiction, but in the middle of the last century, the smartphone was pure science fiction, too. Not to mention the internet, as no futurists could picture its importance in today’s world.

Last week the Agency announced that it was going to double the pay for those who study

quantum physics. Alright, okay, you may think that you guys gotta create and then we’ll buy you out because in quantum physics we have serious gaps, a deficit of ideas!

Orange Energy sucked out of people would never be able to do what its original owners

could – it wasn’t capable of asking a new question, creating a dream, inventing a new fantasy.

Only human beings could do that. “Nonetheless,” objected the experts from the UN, “there’s no guarantee that a man who holds on his creativity would make rational use of it by himself. We still have to reap the full benefits of the revolutionary leap forward that the world has made, readjust. Let’s harvest the scores of new inventions that Collective Mind will produce, and deal with the problems later. We’re studying them, but their number is miniscule in comparison with the thousands of supremely important successful new developments that we have.” The success of Collective Mind was well protected by the armor plating of a host of useful technologies.

“Supremely important,” Isaac spat out angrily. His hand reached out for a cigarette. “But I don’t smoke!” In stressful moments, Isaac’s old reflex of fumbling on the table with his hand for a pack of cigarettes sometimes came back.

He tried to pull himself together. “The computer could still work out, there’s still time.

You can earn the money you need to pay for your sister’s surgery from the V-Rain. Then there’ll be enough for a decent human life too. Use the chance you’ve got! The doctors still don’t have a full picture! Just get on with the work like a grown-up while there is still time! And don't forget: long comas may cause permanent damage.”

His rage and the pain inside his head made it hard to focus on his work.

What the heck was going on here? Isaac slammed his hand down on the mouse in

annoyance. The plastic cracked, but thank God the mouse still worked.

“One thing the terrorist was right about was that the people who run the Agency and sit on all these inventions have too much power.”

“In all of the futuristic films, there always has to be an omnipotent corporation or empire.

Essentially that is the model of the future world. Of course, no one ever thought the dragon would emerge from the UN. The more Veggies there are, the more docile the world is. The total elimination of crime has weeded out a whole mass of freedom-loving individuals who were beyond their control. Tomorrow they’ll call anyone opposed to Collective Mind a criminal.”

All that was left from the rebel Elvis was the small prickly piece of board and a half sane promise to burn it.

As he tried to focus his mind on his work, Isaac played with the piece, intending to throw it out as he had promised himself to do. After his reflections about Collective Mind, Isaac felt a certain respect for Elvis’s audacity. He had to conserve his own energy and not waste his breath on idle talk and promises, especially if it wasn’t all that difficult to make them into reality. Isaac looked at the piece of board again – it had a couple of microchips and a mini-memory card on it.