Turbulence (29 page)

“Maybe it did,” Vir says. “Jai and I became who we are now because that was what we dreamt of. It could be that, in their own way, the comics knew something. They understood the basic natures of superheroes, what would happen if men got these powers, what they would become, what they would
do. Maybe this is our destiny, to lead the world down one road or another.”

“You know your lines?” Aman asks, his voice surprisingly sharp.

“Yes,” Vir says. “You can edit it if I forget, right?”

“Yes. Let’s get this done.”

Vir flies up a few feet and clears his throat. He flicks his hair back nervously.

“Can we do a rehearsal before you actually tape it?” he asks.

“Whatever you want,” Aman says.

“Do I look okay?”

“You look great,” Uzma says.

Vir clears his throat again. Uzma watches him, hovering in mid-air, strong, handsome, tall, shiny-eyed, perfectly muscled, every woman’s dream. She sighs.

“Get on with it,” Aman says.

“Greetings, fellow citizens of Earth,” Vir says.

Hours later, a wake-up popup appears inside Aman’s head and he opens his eyes. He lies still for a few minutes, watching Uzma sleep in the moonlight, stroking her hair absent-mindedly. She’s curled up next to him, an arm across his chest, breathing softly into his neck, and suddenly he doesn’t want to get up at all. But then he remembers why he set the alarm in the first place, and the temptation is too great to resist.

She stirs when he slides out from under her arm, and again when the old four-poster bed creaks angrily, unused to being disturbed at this time of night, but she doesn’t wake. When her breathing is regular again, and he’s beginning to feel a little stalker-like for watching her sleep, Aman tiptoes out and upstairs.

In Sundar’s lab the briefcase sits innocently next to a small stuffed penguin, calling out to him. He wastes no time, picking it up and tapping in the combination.

The edges of the case slide out and the whole thing expands and unfolds like a sentient origami sculpture. In seconds Aman stands face to face with the armour. He presses buttons, and the front swings open.

Aman glances around furtively once, and steps into it.

The moment his back comes into contact with the armour, it shuts. It fits him perfectly, and he wonders if Sundar made it for him. He expects holograms to appear in front of him, bars of blue light to let him know his power levels in some sort of hyper-reality game-view, or at least a user’s manual for him to flip through and discard. But there’s nothing, he’s just a young man in a fancy black and silver can.

He shifts and squirms. The armour is surprisingly comfortable. He takes a tentative step. He feels a little heavy, and the world is a little darker through the triangular eyeshades on the mask, but apart from that it’s like wearing a really snug jacket. He stretches his fingers, feels warmth at his fingertips, a warmth that spreads slowly all over his body. It’s as if he can feel his entire nervous system, every tendril, every little end. His whole body tingles, and his head feels strangely hot. Almost involuntarily, he goes online.

The cyber-ocean feels different. It’s as if he’s swimming in deep-sea diver’s gear, not quite connected. For the first time, he feels the crushing weight of the data around him, and wishes he could be free of the armour, free of all constraints, something’s dragging him down. But with a little effort, he finds that the datastream bends to his will as always. Soon enough he finds what he’s looking for.

Hello, Aman Sen.

Hello again. What do I call you?

Aman Sen. I am you.

Right. Okay, let’s not get into this again. Can you tell me what this armour does?

It is well beyond all present-day military design. There is no database that lists its capabilities. I could examine it more thoroughly, but for that you would have to surrender control of your flesh to me.

No. Not doing that.

Very well. In any case, using the armour goes against your principles. You do not want the whole issue of powers to degenerate into petty physical contests, you want people to be able to see how powered individuals can be invaluable assets to the human race. Perhaps it is for the best if you do not learn to use the armour.

Yes, which is why I didn’t want to try it. I shouldn’t be here. But, you know…

It might make you as strong as the same superhumans whose acts of violence you find meaningless and wasteful.

Really?

This is speculation. I find your physical world unpleasantly overwhelming, but I am very curious to know what this armour does. Let me in.

No.

Why not?

It’s really weird, that’s why not. Uzma told me you took over my body once before, in Goa.

I was merely backing up your system until you rebooted. Uzma Abidi will verify that I meant you no harm. Besides, my actions resulted in sex for you, and subsequent romance. You should be grateful.

Whatever. She said you were creepy.

I am you, Aman Sen.

No you’re not. You’re just some digital image, a cluster of data that thinks it’s a person.

Everyone who spends time online has a digital persona, Aman. Usually more aggressive and/or attractive than their physical selves. People think they control this online ego, and they do in its early stages. But eventually this digital image takes control of fleshly functions every time the user connects to the internet. I am you. Thanks to your powers I am more… developed than other people’s avatars. You have come to me for help and advice. You know my price now. Make your decision.

You want to come into my body and examine this armour. And you want me to take your place online.

No. There is no point uploading the contents of your brain. I already exist. No, I would merely turn you off for a while and take charge of your flesh.

And what if you felt like staying?

I have had the opportunity before. Besides, if I chose to replace you in your body, I do not think you could stop me. I am only being polite.

All right. Be gentle.

There’s a sharp pain in his temples; the world tilts and diminishes to a single white horizontal line. A sudden, strong electric shock and the cyber-ocean vanishes completely. Aman feels a strange humming in the back of his head, but it’s all he can feel. He’s in a black room, an empty space. He can neither see nor feel nor smell. It’s as if he’s just begun to wake up in a strange place but hasn’t opened his eyes yet. The humming recedes into absolute silence. Hours or possibly only seconds
pass. A flash of light, like a monitor starting up. A white pulse, and the world flickers back into existence.

It is done.

What did you find?

There were a few pre-installed segments in the armour’s nerve fibres. Some were intended for enhanced communication: satellite linkage, GPS, data transfer and storage, media player and recorder, surveillance gear, e-book reader. Your intrinsic abilities remove the need for these. So I deleted them. The armour was then an empty shell. A body capable of feats extraordinary by human standards. Pure potential. It needed to be given instructions and capabilities.

So what did you tell it?

I decided to use this armour to remove your weaknesses, to arm you adequately for the current crisis. I taught it how to fight. This armour will give you enhanced physical abilities for short periods of time between recharges.

What abilities?

Stealth gear. Firepower. Detection systems — sonar, heat sensors, infrared, motion detection aura. There is a pulse cannon embedded in each wrist. The shell itself is very strong, and potentially capable of withstanding superhuman force.

Can I fly?

You can glide or jump for considerable distances. Long-range flight is beyond the batteries’ capabilities. You do have a solar recharge option, but it’s not efficient.

Damn. So, super-strength. Not much use if I don’t know how to fight, is it? I suppose I could do a lot of heavy lifting.

You may not know how to fight, but your armour does. It has several on-board alarm systems, emergency-control
devices and tactical response macros that recognise potential attacks and automatically work out defence and counter-attack strategies — lethal, non-lethal and warning, based on your stress levels. It will do the fighting for you. All you will have to do is be present and watch. Its moves were based on motion capture from preloaded videos of US military boxing and karate champions. I decided to delete those.

Why?

Because they were terribly unimaginative, and did not have access to the resources that you do. I downloaded several action films from studios in Hollywood and Hong Kong and reoriented your armour’s moves to those.

Now you’re talking. What films?

At first I used martial arts films — Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, Tony Jaa. But then I realised the armour’s powers would allow it to ignore ordinary physics — so I went through a long list of CGI-heavy movies and movesets from fighting video games. In short, you can now fight like Spider-Man. Or Neo. Or the Prince of Persia.

You are seriously cool, my friend. Thanks.

You are welcome. I have an admission to make.

Make it.

I did not reprogram the suit with you in mind. When I saw its capabilities, I decided to keep your body and undertake a deeper study of your world. This armour was not built for you. I think it was built for me. It shields me from the excess of sensation that makes your fleshly world unpleasant for me. Once I understood this, I realised I had no reason to bring you back.

Why did you, then?

Because it would have been wrong to stay.

I’m glad you figured that out.

It does not compute wholly, which I find irritating, but I believe it was a test of character, and I am… happy I passed it. But I feel I should warn you. You started on this adventure with a certain set of ideas about what powered people should do. These might have resulted not just from your sense of what was right and necessary, but from your physical weakness, from the nature of your powers. Lacking the ability to explore other options, you decided they were inferior. This armour will make you as powerful as Vir Singh or Jai Mathur, if only for a short while. It will help you become everything you think you do not want to be.

You know I have no intention of using it. I just wanted to know what I was turning down.

Whatever you decide to do with this power will tell you many things about yourself. We both know that you will encounter several situations where putting on the armour would make things considerably easier for a while. I passed my test when I let you return. I hope you pass yours.

Thanks. I don’t think I want to be tested, though — so I’m just not going to put it on ever again. Makes it easier. I just wanted to try it once, you know? Can you understand?

I can. I wanted to try it once as well. And that is what worries me. Good luck, Aman Sen.

And Aman is offline again. His nerves are still on edge. He takes a tentative step forward. He stretches, turns and wonders how to initiate some sort of fancy kung fu move.

“I knew you’d be here.” Uzma’s at the door. Beneath his mask Aman’s face is extremely sheepish, but Uzma’s smiling indulgently. She walks up to him and pats him on the shoulder.

“You should have told me you wanted to play,” she says. “What does it do?”

He doesn’t have to press any buttons this time, the armour is linked to him now and can feel what he does. It opens neatly and folds itself. Then the briefcase stands between Aman and a very puzzled Uzma.

“I’m not going to use it,” he says. “I don’t want to become like them.”

“You look good,” she says.

“You want to try it?” he asks.

She shrugs and yawns.

“Maybe later. Come back to bed. Get some sleep. Have you checked how Vir’s video’s doing, by the way? Is it news yet?”

Aman had uploaded Vir’s superhuman-introduction video to YouTube before going to bed, wanting to see how people responded to it without TV experts telling them what to think. But then he’d forgotten about it completely. As Uzma departs, smirking slightly, Aman goes back online, and finds he’s missed a lot. The comments had started pouring in only a few seconds after he’d uploaded the video. Now there are so many comments that the whole of YouTube is groaning under their weight.

Aman ignores the usual mountains of random hatespeak, links to porn websites and teenaged Americans yelling at everything and everyone around them, and finds several common threads of response. Most people think this is viral marketing for a new movie, and frantic debates have started about whether Bollywood special effects will ever be on a par with Hollywood or Hong Kong. It had taken a while before the
conspiracy theorists found the link, but as soon as it became a Featured Video they had arrived in their hordes, and had started talking about UFO sightings in Arkansas and Bolivia that they believed were responsible for everything.

Vir’s appearance has been analysed endlessly. Arguments now rage over whether or not he is Arab, gay and a reincarnation of Michael Jackson. The merits of several TV magicians are discussed. Self-proclaimed video experts examine the film and declare it fake. The overwhelming consensus, however, is that this video is an insensitive stunt to pull so soon after the alleged superhuman terrorist attack on London, and the movie or TV show it intends to promote is doomed to failure because of this — and because of the wooden earnestness of the actor playing the flying man in the video. Vir mentioned an email and a toll-free phone number in the video, asking other superhumans to get in touch, and thousands across the world mail, call or Skype. After dealing with a few irate Belgians, Aman delegates the task of screening calls to his thought-bots.

Aman spends a few seconds muttering angrily at himself, then he stomps into Vir’s room, wakes him up, delivers a few instructions at high speed and leaves before Vir has time to come round properly and agree.