Versim (14 page)

She nodded and walked off.

Celia crossed her arms. “You want to tell me what’s really going on? You some sort of radical marketer? Am I being auditioned?”

“I wish.”

Hark inhaled a deep breath. He considered his next move carefully. Once he said the words, her mind would start to open to the truth. Her alarm clock would become available. She’d either wake up or not, depending on if she sought it out and found it. But, he had to start the process. That was his task. And for some inexplicable reason known only to them, EA was forcing him to do it, even if it meant shutting down the Rend-V. They were probably making a killing, every minute, as he stood there, the sales ramping up.
Say the words, and she’ll feel the weight of the truth.

 
“Celia Preston. ‘The lilies of Dover sway toward the eastern shores of Albion. The dream fades, Celia. And the roar of pebbles remind you evermore of home.’”
 

His breath caught in his throat as the transformation rippled across her face. Her hands curled into balled fists. Her cheeks sucked in like a bulimic’s. Her eyes bulged. Her jaw nearly unhinged. She rattled out a long breath. A faint moan followed.
 

He continued: “Your real name is Celia Preston, a versim touch they use for hosts like you.” Her brow knit. “Your actual body is floating in a popular stasis vat in the Voxyprog fortress. You’re in a shrine, actually, worshipped because of this world you generate. Your mind, Celia, is a powerful asset the Entertainment Agency uses to profit from all of this.” He raised his hands and looked around the apartment. “It’s all real, though. It’s not a simulation, but you’re being watched by millions. And right now, we’re the focus.”

“What … did you say? Those words? Something about the lilies of Dover …”

“You heard me.”

The words had been implanted in her before they’d begun the Rend-V. It was the first trigger of her awakening. She could still ignore the truth, if she chose. And he would have to help her find her alarm clock … and make her activate it.
 

The words of Miesha Preston came back to him in an instant:
What I’m asking you, Specialist Cole, is to wake up the host of The Collides Rend-V. Can you do that for me? Wake up the host? One way or another

Sweat beaded on Celia’s forehead. She blanched.
 

Hark moved to her side.

“I know,” he said. “It’s not easy.”

He’d been present for several awakenings. Those were sometimes solemn affairs, sometimes joyous, sometimes traumatic. This was a fully working world with millions of individuals who’d had lives for two decades. Each one would push to keep her from waking.

“I once dreamed … that I was someone else,” she said. He waited to let her speak. “What are you saying?”

“You, ma’am, are a woman with a world-building mind. You like to read as a child?” She nodded. “I did too. And all of this is because of you.”

She didn’t scoff or quip or snort. She stared at him.
 

“Look around, Mrs. Preston. Do you see anything odd?”

Her eyes slowly scanned across the kitchen. She stopped at the refrigerator. Hark turned. Pinned behind a magnet was a photo of Celia, maybe as a young girl. She was at the beach, wind blowing in her hair, a huge smile on her face.
 

Celia stood and rounded the counter in such a way she looked like she floated. She walked straight to the photo and grabbed it. She stared at it, and Hark saw the dawning complete. Celia looked up at him, the dream world already fading. Now, all she needed to do was one more step: activate her parachute so that she could wake up.

Don’t faint
.

He moved close to catch her if she passed out.

She held onto the counter, but she began to teeter.

He picked her up.

He carried her to her bedroom and laid her down. She was weeping, as if she’d remembered some long lost memory.

He glanced at her once to make sure she was all right, then shut the door.

Binda was standing in the living room, holding his kit. “She knows now?”

“She’s beginning to feel it,” Hark said. “You should use your parachute. Get out while you can.”

“They’re really trying to kill her?”

“The person who tricked me into this wants a disaster. She wants her favorite construct to be granted legal right to live in reality, plus a whole bunch of other twisted desires. And she’s going to flip this V so that he can show off. For some reason I have to wake up Celia before she’s killed inside.”

“Who?”

“Ever heard of Miesha Preston?”

“The bleedover director?”

“The very one.”

“You’re in big trouble.”

“She’s connected and determined. And she’ll sacrifice this world and her mother to make her point—”

“—that some constructs should be granted legal personhood?”

“That’s it. She a grand hypocrite. Get out, Binda.” Hark looked around the room. “Where’s your parachute?”

“I’m staying.”

“Krista put you up to this?”
 

“She did, but it’s my choice. This is an opportunity of a lifetime. They’ll pull me out before a real death. I signed for it.”

“That only works under normal circumstances. But if the host goes, they’ll be too many insurance policies activating. It’ll crash the system.”

“We all die?”

“Everyone.” Hark retrieved his kit. “Help me with him.”

Frankie lay in a stupor on the couch, mumbling to himself.

Binda put a pillow under his head and sat next to him. She crossed her legs, her miniskirt barely hiding all her parts, but Hark looked away before she saw. He knelt by Frankie.
 

“Poor guy’s brain’s about as dry as can be. Synapses been firing overtime.” He swiped his hand over his kit. “Give me a mood booster to counteract dopamine and serotonin depletion.”

He felt the box hum. He set it on a coffee table holding several hotel magazines. Cobalt laser tendrils popped out of the box and lit on the magazines. They ranged back and forth and ate away, repurposing their molecular material.

“It’ll just be a minute. Drugs are easy to compile.”
 

Binda had obviously seen enough of these back home. They were quite common, if you had the money. Most homes had regulated molecular assemblers. You could use licensed templates, so long as you didn’t abuse them. As a boy he’d once tried to build his own girlfriend based on a fabricated woman in an old pre-Rupture film,
Weird Science
. He’d spent six months on the template. Within a minute of starting the fabrication, his box sent a warning to its manufacturer, and he got a visit by the authorities.

Two small pills appeared a few inches from the box, light caressing them with a few final passes.

“I got it,” Binda said. She put the pills to Frankie’s mouth. “Take these.”

He swallowed dry.

Binda glanced over her shoulder at Celia’s room. “How long will she be out?”
 

“Not sure. It’s a slow process waking up when you’re a host. Right now she’s experiencing a dissolution of who she is.”

“You’re the big hero on this one, aren’t you, Specialist Cole? Everyone here is counting on you, aren’t they?”

Hark continued to smile as Binda got it all wrong.
 

She was a little thing, with those big eyes and funky hair. She was smart, he could tell, probably had some sort of intellect package her parents bought for her before she was born. And she thought he was here to save the Rend-V. She had figured out Celia was under house arrest because she was a target. Binda hadn’t asked who or what was coming for them. She probably figured it was something bad. And here was Hark, hero extraordinaire, to save the day.
 

Dammit, if she didn’t realize he was here to save the life of a boy and woman in another Rend-V because of a goddamn promise. And he was here because someone had a beef with him for arresting a favorite villain. And he was here to be made an example of for political reasons. I’m here because of my own sense of duty, he thought, and I may have to kill you, Binda, and Frankie, and Celia to keep my word.

“Let’s let him sleep. Can you do something for me?”

Binda perked up. “Anything.”

“I need another set of clothes. Run downstairs and buy me some. And I need to contact someone. Frankie is out of commission for a little while. You can help.”

“Sure thing.” She smiled at him in that way the innocent smile at the mighty. “My hero.”

21

Celia stood by the floor-length windows that overlooked Broadway. She had to clear her head after feeling faint. Hark had brought her some more juice, then left her alone. He was in the bathroom, cleaning up. She grasped the cool glass in both hands as if it might slip through her fingers. She sipped, letting the citrus tickle her lips. Outside, the world as she had always known it busied itself with early morning activity. She wanted to walk out of the hotel and go for a walk.
 

Something unreal was happening that made her want to scream.

First the call from her sister that she was in danger, and then the arrival of her bodyguard.
 

Too many events had transpired after that, each one sending her further from a place of comfort. Then, last night, she had a strange dream, a thousand voices, each one distinct, each one with a request. She woke up remembering the dream, something she never did. She hadn’t thought it unusual that she couldn’t remember any dream she’d ever had until last night. And out of the cacophony of voices, one stood out, a towering presence that wanted … she tried to focus on the dream, tried to remember.
 

She almost let the glass of juice slip through her fingers.

She set it down on the windowsill because her hands shook.

Something about a library …

Celia remembered the voice in the dream wanted her help in securing a library. She shook her head to clear it. Don’t worry, she told herself, the stuff of dreams are just … the stuff of dreams. But the odd lyric that Hark had said to her felt like an auger driven deep into her mind, unraveling it, heightening the feeling that the dream she’d had last night was important, that the world around her wasn’t as it seemed.
 

She felt her heart in her chest beating, felt a rising heat in her body. She steadied herself against the glass window. The panic attack was less intense this time. Her knees didn’t feel empty. She could carry her weight. She told herself to breathe and to focus on a random woman on the sidewalk with the pink parasol and the lovely sequined pumps that glittered in the sunlight. That was her world. Right down there. No matter what else happened, she told herself, she wouldn’t forget it.

Then an image of the New York Public Library on 5
th
Avenue formed in her mind. She saw the lions, and the stone steps, the wide facade, the mighty ashlars. She had walked by it many times. But … it was different now.
 

A fortress …
 

Celia had to sit back down.

She did so just as the hotel door opened.

Binda walked in carrying a few bags.

Celia laid her head down, closed her eyes, and tried not to hyperventilate.

22

Binda set the bags down and hurried over to Celia. The woman sat on the couch, eyes closed, one hand on her head. She was pale, as if all the blood had drained into her legs and couldn’t find its way back up.

“You okay?” she asked.

Celia shook her head, eyes still closed. “Just give me a minute.”

Binda heard Hark in the other room talking to Frankie. The two of them seemed like they were becoming fast pals. Binda was happy for Frankie, although she knew she had a few charms he lacked. If this was to be her big chance to become a true Rend-V actress, she had to be committed. She was willing to play whatever part they wanted. She just hoped it would keep her close to Hark. In fact, she hoped for alot more than that.

“It’s tough, I bet,” Binda said, “waking up.”

Celia opened her eyes for a second, nodded once, then shut them again. “Waking up … I guess that’s what this feels like.” Celia stood, suddenly. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She rushed to the restroom.

Binda wandered over to the door to Hark’s room and deposited the large bags. “I’ve got your clothes.”

The door cracked. He stood there in his skin-tight Consortium Skinsuit like some perfect ideal of rugged masculinity. He smiled, and she smiled back.

“I hope you were kind,” he said.

“You’ll look good.”

She handed the bags to him.

He smirked, accepted them, then shut the door.

She’d almost suggested she could help him try them on.

She stood in front of the closed door, hands on hips as if she might will it back open with an evil stare. She looked around the room, knowing she was at the center of things. Right now, millions of viewers were in their living rooms, in pubs, on trains, in parks or in hives, watching
Collides
from a million different angels. They could control the POV as if they were camera operators. Most of them would be zooming in on the action surrounding Harken Cole. That meant most of them were probably watching her getting denied right now.
 

She’d entered the V as a paying customer outside the drama. Her parents were connected and rich and paid to have her genoscript captured. Her essence had been scanned and processed. EA had husked her a body in-V and readied it for her. The day she went to the immersion facility, she didn’t hesitate when they gave her a vat suit. She put it on, then the goggles and the ear and nose plugs and climbed into the liquid-filled cylinder.
 

The last thing she remembered was how warm it was before she woke up in a bed in her new apartment in the West Village. As an embodied individual in-V, she wasn't supposed to have any contact with the principals. That was why she was allowed to stay awake. But she’d been recruited. And now she was crossing over into the drama. Her keen sense that the world was watching made her self-conscious, but she was already shaking that off.