Roo'd (13 page)

Fede had been coding more or less nonstop since they'd returned from the tower. Cessus had celebrated by smoking a fistful of weed and then munching three banana splits. He talked nonsense the whole time, his formerly lucid self-dissolving into a nonstop stream-of-consciousness tirade. Fede had the feeling that Cessus's being fully together was a rare event, but decided to take a chance when he reappeared in his bathrobe after a hot shower. The Chinese firewalls used a weird mix of homespun iptable rules and port-knocking systems, and Fede couldn't figure out how to propagate his code via the P2P networks because of it.

Cessus had sat quietly sipping a glass of grape kool-aid, a Cheshire grin plastered across his face, and produced a finely detailed description of the network architecture the Chinese were using to sidestep outbound data access. He'd grasped the essence of Fed's problem and fit it against a deep understanding of the networks in under a minute. And this while, clearly, completely stoned.

"How the fuck you do that, man?" asked Fed, after he'd recovered his wits and run some preliminary scans against the networks to see if it would work. The results were positive; it'd take a few hours to code up the right routines, but it would do the trick.

"Do what?" asked Cessus back at him, grinning again.

"How do you just figure it out like that? You're all fucked up but you get what I'm after right off and give me a good answer. You some kind of genius?"

Cessus laughed, a long soft barking howl.

"No, man. I just know how to allocate my brainspace. I was telling you in the tower but you were too busy trying to defend your own gestalt. And no, it isn't easy. Takes a whole lot of meditation to init concurrent and complete lobal access."

Fede stared at the man for a moment, a grimace of disbelief wrapping itself across his face.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked, against his better judgment.

Cessus smiled again.

"Let me make it simple for you, Feed. You've been training all your life to grind through information and pack it into your brain one letter, one digit at a time. That's good, that's how you own data; by chewing up and understanding each part. But once it's in there" Cessus reached over and rested the tip of one hot finger on Fed's forehead "it's up to you how you use it."

He leaned back, put his palms flat on the table. "Remember we were talking about how sometimes, when you're coding, you stop thinking about the individual lines of code? How you see the whole shape of the program and some other part of you does the actual coding?"

Fede nodded, cautiously.

"That's a state of whole-brain awareness. You're focused on the task at hand, but not at the expense of all the other processes. You play any sports? Meatspace stuff?"

Fede shook his head.

"If you did you'd know what I mean. I used to play combat sims, even real paintball games. After a while you get in a zone where you aren't thinking about your opponent's gun, the turn of the next trail - you're just listening. Your whole brain listens, processes all the data you can absorb through all your senses, organizes it all into one coherent picture of your situation and how you're going to react. That's what your brain is designed to do."

He got up and tore open another packet of grape soda powder, dumped it in his glass and topped it with water from the fridge filter. "What humans have that dumb animals don't is the ability to augment an immediate situation with additional information. We can learn abstractions previously, and bring that knowledge into play in the immediacy of the present. You can learn what the range of an opponent's gun is, and then know when he's staring you down if you're safe or not. But." Cessus stopped standing before the table, pointed at Fede over the top of his glass, "that doesn't mean you have to stop everything else to think about it.

"Once you own the data, really know it, you can let the rest of your brain handle it. That's what I've specialized in, man. Owning the data I absorb, and letting my brain do all the preprocessing. When I make a run, I spend a lot of time frontloading information about the situation and setting up peripheral inputs.

"When I was starting out I had whole walls of color bars, music feeds set to reflect data streams, all kind of shit. Turns out you can train your brain to notice pretty much anything as background information, though, so eventually I just put up traffic streams. That was what you were watching while we were in the tower."

Fede stared at the tabletop, at the ring of water where Cessus had set his first glass of Kool-Aid.

"So you don't think at all?" he asked.

"No, man. I think liminally. I make myself open to the multiprocessing the rest of my brain gives me. I let the other 90 per cent inform the ten percent I know of as the present, as myself. You can do that shit with drugs, but it'll cost you. Train yourself to do it, though, and you'll be able to program with all your knowledge at once, any time.

"Of course" he laughed "you may end up staying in that state most of the time, which is what I do. It's liberation, my man. It's being present to the complete reality of your experience during the only moment which exists, the white hot instant of now. That's zen."

Cessus stopped and stared intently at Fed, his ruddy eyes glistening wetly in the dim light of the kitchen. Then he laughed, long and loud, and reached out to rub his hand roughly over Fed's head.

"Come on, white boy. Come on upstairs and let me teach you how to think."

Fede spent the next several hours with a strip of duct tape wrapped across his forehead, brainwave monitors stuck with gel against his scalp, a collar of galvanic-skin response indicators, pulse and breath rate sensors snugged up against the small of his neck. Cessus ran him through three hours of tests, three hours of progressively less entertaining games. The games were simple; maneuver a bouncing ball through a series of platforms, steer a boat through a bunch of buoys, fly a glider over a mountain landscape. There was no joystick; control over each game depended on Fede calming himself and reaching a state of near-pure alpha waves; the closer he got to what Cessus called 'the zone' the better he did at the game. After the first couple hours, tired and cranky, Fede was able to recognize what he had been talking about. It was the same space Fed tried to reach when programming normally, when dissecting new code; that pure empty feeling of just doing. He'd been there before, he went there all the time when he coded. But it was hard.

Around midnight Cessus and Fede were sucking down a veggie pizza from Cessus's favorite Italian delivery, arguing about how the process of frontloading a programs' shape every time was wasteful. Cessus felt you could just scan the code and know the thing, and program from there, but Fede wasn't convinced. He did know that Cessus was on to something with his hippie-dippie brainwave shit, though. When he'd gone back and looked at the Chinese P2P modules after spending three hours on Cessus's games he'd slipped into it easily, found the match between the routines and the port-knocking systems almost by accident. He was more focused on the feeling than the code.

Still, he found that the code he was producing was buggy and full of stupid errors. It was sloppy.

"That's your disbelief, grasshopper. The more confidence you have the less you'll trip yourself up" said Cessus.

Just then Marcus came into the kitchen, saying nothing, and started mixing himself a huge mug of protein shake. He glared at the two of them.

"What up, Marcus?" asked Fed. Cessus slapped a quick hand on his arm, shook his head at Fed. He raised his other hand, palm out towards Marcus. The huge man was already starting to lean over towards them, his lips curling back over his titanium shark teeth. Cessus led Fede upstairs, the pizza forgotten.

"What the fuck, Cessus?" asked Fede once the door to Cessus's room was shut.

"What the fuck, Feed" replied Cessus. "Why are you dicking around with Marcus when he comes down from a fight? You got to be able to tell when to leave a man alone, boy."

Fede recoiled. "Boy? Marcus is a friend of mine. I know if he needs leaving alone."

Cessus smiled, shook his head slowly. Something crashed downstairs. Something big and heavy, but Cessus didn't flinch.

"No, Feed. You don't. Marcus has a whole lot of chemical lines wired through that chassis, and when he's in a fight he uses all kinds of things. He comes home like that you just leave him alone, okay? I appreciate you considering him a friend, but trust me.

"Sometimes you just got to leave a man alone. Now… "

Cessus turned and pulled out a long piece of glass. Putting it on the low, candle-wax covered table in front of him he took out a packet of white powder out of his bathrobe and dumped a small pile on to the mirror. Fede stepped back.

"I don't use, Cessus" he said.

"Don't give me that shit. You've used since your fingers first hit a keyboard, you just haven't had to buy anything for it" said Cessus. "I've been training on those games for six years now. I was two years in before I got to what you sat down with today."

He looked up at Fed, his eyes flashing.

"You're a natural, Feed. Your code is tight, you got the knack. You know how to learn, how to make your brain take it in. Most important, you got discipline. But you keep holding yourself down to the status quo. You've been taught your whole life to code by the rules, use the same stupid routines every average script kiddie out there uses. You've seen the work of pros, you know it isn't the same."

He pulled a razor out from under the table and cut the powder expertly into six half-foot long lines. The razor went back under the table and he took out a short black straw.

"You could be a pro, Feed, if you bust open the bullshit you've reigned in your mind with. I'm not proposing a habit here" he gestured at the lines, "I'm proposing a one-way ticket to your taking back control of your mind."

Fede stared at the mirror. Cessus sat back and crossed his arms, his legs folded beneath him. A long moment passed.

"What is it?" asked Fed.

The next sixteen hours went by fast.

Fede crashed sometime after noon the next day. Cessus had brought him a tea with strange ping-pong-ball sized seedpods in it which he drank without thinking. He'd spent at least twelve solid hours coding, twenty data streams dancing in the background of his vision, behind his compile jobs and module libraries, behind the blinking cursor from which all things came. Cessus had dropped him into a simple biometric feedback loop once he'd taken his first line, an image of a broad red vertical stripe and a thick red ball. The clearer Fed's head was the closer the ball came to center. Fede had finally gotten it hidden behind the line after half an hour and lost it completely when Cessus pulled up the first data stream. In another forty-five minutes he was able to keep the ball hidden and the data stream running. Another hour after that and he could spot errors from the simple TCP/IP traffic flow Cessus was pushing past him without letting the ball slip.

Fede lost track of time after that. Cessus pushed him data, he acclimated to it, and soon he had a development environment chock-full of inputs flowing through his visual space. But it wasn't like that - it wasn't external. He was the data, he was the environment. He saw the compile errors before they occurred, felt it in the debugger's increase in cycles. Sometime early in the morning he'd had a flash of understanding, had seen crystal-clear how the compromised Java libraries could be used to run his algorithms against the as-yet-unseen data set spread across the sea of Chinese boxes. He'd understood it the same way you understand that the next beat of a song is going to happen, the same way you know where your coffee cup is behind the paper you're reading. He reached out and took it, drank deep. The code happened.

Cessus danced, played music, went in the bathroom and masturbated. He brought Fede countless glasses of water that Fed emptied from his bladder while chording one-handed. Fede sat behind the tall red line and let it all go through him, and the sun came up, and he drank the tea. He remembered keying in a save sequence before slipping into a peaceful, hot sleep.

When he woke up his head felt like someone had rubbed shattered glass into his brainpan. He was desperate, panicked and fatigued. That he couldn't figure out how to socket on his legs was a tragedy beyond all description, so he left them lying on the floor, sniveling, and crawled as quietly as possible to the bathroom. He vomited in the toilet and lay there, heaving breath, cold spasms pulling at his stomach.

Eventually Marcus appeared, picked him up in his arms like a baby and gently seating him downstairs on the couch, his legs placed neatly besides. Cessus was nowhere to be seen. The mod fighter brought him a bowl of gray-green mush, blackish swirls of what tasted like dirt spiraling through it. He tried to protest but the big man wouldn't budge, and eventually he'd just shoveled the cardboard-tasting mash down his throat. When he was through Marcus brought him a big mug of coffee, pulled out an ancient monitor-pad, and keyed him into the house media database. Fede sat and listlessly watched cartoons, sobbing occasionally. His life wasn't supposed to be like this, this chaos. He had worked so hard for so long to go the right way, to not make the same mistake Tonx had made, and now here he was. Doing exactly what his brother had done, thrown it all away. Fede sat and listened to his blood creep, felt the heavy black weight of sure dead certainty that everything was ruined.

After an hour or so Cessus appeared, moving slowly downstairs. He waved briefly at Fed, his eyes red and throbbing, and disappeared into the kitchen. A conversation so soft he couldn't follow drifted through the doorways, and he fell asleep.

Fede woke up again to Cass's voice, cold panic flooding him. "Marcus?" her voice had asked from down the hall. There was fear there, a vibrating waver. "I think there's someone following me."

Then there was a thump followed by a bright flash and her high-pitched scream, and from where Fede was sitting he could see her helmet bounce across the doorway and out of sight down the hall. Marcus flew from the kitchen, his tiny, deep-set eyes glowing as he danced to the door, bellowing for Cessus. A mass of dreads appeared taking three steps at a time and Cessus's white robe spun wide as he twisted into the doorway behind the fighter. Fede had a single image of Cessus's hairy black ass beneath the robe before he snapped to and grabbed for his legs, slamming them on and jumping out of the couch. He almost pissed himself right then, very nearly dumped a load in his own pants. His guts twisted tight, his lungs spasmed, and he fell limply across the living room table.

"Get the fuck up and help, Feed" screamed Cessus over his shoulder, pulling Cass across the floor and into the living room by one arm. She was dressed in her usual black cargo pants and a bloody wife-beater. Bloody. Fede peered at her as she went past, and one of her eyes swiveled towards him, pink froth slowly sliding from her lips. She grinned.

He struggled up and over the table, tried to grab a leg as Cessus pulled her into the dining room. She kicked feebly.

"Sa'right" she slurred, one arm waving. "Gimmie water."

Cessus came back with a pink power-puff girls mug. She tossed it back, getting more on herself than down her throat.

"Get your guns, cowboys" she said, slapping the back of her hand against her mouth. Blood began to trickle from her upper lip, but she didn't seem to notice. "We got company."

That was when they heard Marcus bellow. Fede watched Cass's eyes dilate at the stone-hard sound, the raw animal groan from the front doorstep. There was a sharp crack and a flash down the hall before somebody let loose a muffled scream. Marcus stormed inside, a body in a suit limply trailing behind the man's head, which Marcus held in one hand. He was bleeding from a hole in his hip and there was a quickly purpling dent in his forehead.

"Get the pack" he said, pointing a thick finger at Cessus. "Type 9947 into the keypad downstairs" he said, pointing at Cass. "Take her there" he said to Fed, swiveling to stare him in the eyes. There was nothing behind them, just a blank, seamless shape, a functioning Fede didn't, couldn't understand.

"Now" said Marcus. His voice was soft, but it made Fed's feet jumped beneath him, made him grab Cass despite the twisting in his guts and sling her arm over his shoulder.

They were on the stairs and halfway to the basement when he realized his gogs and chord were upstairs.

"I've got to go back" he huffed.

"Fuck no" she coughed.

"Fuck yes" he said, moving to prop her up against the stairs.

She stabbed her thumb in his eye. They dropped, her legs not strong enough to take the two of them. The servos in his ankles whirred and creaked, rattling against the steps as they slowly shuffled into a collapse. They slid several steps to the landing at the bottom of the stairs. He heard her retch, struggled up to see her long pale neck bent back over her shoulder. She spit a phlegmy glob across her arm and turned to glare at him.

"Help me up" she grunted. He did as she asked, blinking away tears.

The tiny basement had a five-foot tall server rack wired to a punch panel on the far wall. The punch panel had a keypad, and Cass typed in the code before collapsing against the wall under it. Fede crouched next to her, his hand pressed hard against his swollen eye. He couldn't open it. There was an explosion upstairs and Fed smelled smoke.

"Fucking hurts" he said, his head ringing with a deep, threatening buzz. He realized she was crying beside him, tiny little-girl gasps. His one good eye made out her sweat-slicked face, snot dribbling down one nostril, lips curled into a wounded pout. She gasped again, louder, and started dry heaving.

Cessus appeared with a hammer and a slick-looking hiking pack. He took one quick look at them and started whaling at the pressboard wall at the back of the room. Stacks of old-style muscle vids, a pile of training pads and several 20-gallon containers of protein powder scattered underfoot. Gray dust flew and chunks of plaster scattered over them, Cessus swinging like a maniac, peppering the wall with blows. In less than a minute he'd cleared away a big hole in the plasterboard. "Fuck" he breathed. Through the dim light Fede could see a dozen rebar poles set horizontally through the frame, solid-looking wooden boards nailed neatly behind them.

The ceiling suddenly shook and a man screamed. It wasn't like in the movies, Fede thought remotely, where people howled dramatically. This was a desperate thing, a whimpering, terrified sound, and it ended quickly. The door at the top of the stairs blew open and Marcus came thundering down the steps. Cessus had produced some kind of pistol and had it aimed and ready, his arms straight, one lens forward and glowing slightly over his eye. When he saw it was Marcus he lowered the gun, nodded at the hole in the wall. Marcus nodded back, his eyes narrowing slightly when he saw the rebar.

Cessus handed Fede the pistol, pulled him to his feet and shoved him towards the bottom of the stairs. Fede put his finger over the trigger, raised it to aim at the empty landing at the top of the stair, tried to stare down its length like they did in the vids.

Behind him he heard Marcus tear the first piece of rebar out of the wall. The stairs shook and his ears rang. The tip of the gun bounced around at the end of his arm, a live thing. Marcus tore another bar out of the wall. Cessus cursed and bent to search through the pack. Marcus tore another piece of rebar, grabbed a big plastic jug of powder and slammed it several times against the boards mounted there. They shuddered, tore away, and a sharp yellow light flooded the room through the hole. Cessus swung the pack over to Marcus, who stuffed it through the hole and let it fall into the space beyond. Then Cessus clambered over the larger man and followed the pack. Marcus gently picked up Cass and fed her, feet-first, through the hole, then turned and pulled the gun from Fed's hand before feeding him through the hole too. Marcus shouted at them to get back. Then he disappeared into the dark of the basement.

They were in some kind of storage room, cardboard boxes stacked along both sides of the long space. Long flat-panel lights lay yellowed and torpid against the ceiling.

Marcus jumped through the hole. His shoulders were slightly too wide and a piece of board stuck to his shoulder by a nail, a gash opening up through his shirt and flesh. He landed facedown flat on the concrete with a heavy thump. He turned his head to where they were huddled nearby, waved one hand to get down. A white-hot sheet of flame shot through the hole like a jet engine. Marcus scuttled forward, the piece of board sticking to him like a badge. They found a fire door leading to stairs and hurried up them, Marcus in the front and Cessus to the rear. Fede supported Cass as they went, felt the itching tear as the mounting post in his right leg twisted. He'd meant to get it adjusted, had never found the time. They came out the top of the stairs and jogged down a long hallway, climbed another set of stairs and went through a wide empty room, bare metal wall framing standing silent next to soggy piles of plasterboard. They turned and went down another set of stairs and came out onto a fire escape on the second floor of a long alley. Across from them a featureless brick wall rose two floors, mute and windowless.

"I'll go" said Cessus, smiling widely at Marcus. The tendons in his neck shone slick with sweat. He nodded briefly at the bloody stain on Marcus's thigh. "You do something about that."

Cessus climbed over the side of the escape and Marcus grabbed his free hand, leaning out wide to lower the smaller man closer to the ground. It was still a good-sized drop, and when Cessus fell and rolled on the black tarmac Fede could see it hurt. He stood and waved jauntily, turned and limped quickly down the alley towards an oversized garage.

"Who are they?" asked Marcus, turning and examining Cass. "How'd they find us?"

She hissed slightly as he probed her ribs, one big hand pushing aside her breast to find the hole in her side. He sniffed, then turned and reached into the bag.

"They got to be the mouse" she said, her teeth ground tightly together. "I came back to the shop. Somebody had been there. Mil wasn't around. It smelled like trouble, so I didn't go in, took off from the back." She cringed again, tears starting from her eyes as Marcus lifted her arm over her head and tore her shirt open across her midriff with two fingers, like party paper. He sprayed a small blue aerosol can over the wound. Her skin stained yellow.

"I couldn't get Tonx on the comm. Went for a lookup on the public proxy before I realized they'd owned my comm too. Took the long way here, thought I was clear until I got to fifth." She whimpered slightly as Marcus smoothed half of a strip of tape over the top of her wound, pulled it down to fasten the hole together.

"Shouldn't you get the bullet out?" asked Fed.

"Shut up" snapped Cass, glaring at him. "There's no bullet in there. Marcus is the one with the bullet." Marcus put one thick finger against the smooth line of her chin and pulled her face back towards his.

"Then what?" he asked before turning back to the bag.

"Then I walked in your front door and they fucking shot me. I got scared, Marcus. I brought them down on you." She began to cry again.

"We don't have time for crying, my dear. I'm touched, but I'll bill you later. Turn your head." Marcus sprayed the contents of another small can over the tape, pink film forming against her golden skin. He pulled her arm down.

"Try not to move that much" he said. "Feed, you okay?"

Fede nodded.

"Liar" said Marcus, smiling. He lowered himself against the railing and pulled long stainless steel tweezers from a plastic Tupperware box. He hooked a thumb over the hem of his pants and pulled them out from his hip, revealing a bruised black hole. Fed looked away as Marcus stuck the tweezers in the hole and started searching. The big man grunted twice and something small clanked against the landing before falling to the cement below. Fede felt nausea grip him, turned in time to see Marcus wiping the tweezers neatly on his pants before reaching for the aerosol cans. The door at the end of the alley began to open, electric winches pulling it smoothly upwards.