Versim (17 page)

He spun on his heel and strode for the exit. He passed Binda.

“Get Frankie and Celia.”

26

Hark walked the rest of the way in silence. At a perfectly rendered Bryant Square Park, he passed a series of bulky white tents with a gaggle of fashion industry types out front preparing for the first day of runway shows. Frankie gawked at the models and Binda glowered, while Celia refused to even look.
 

Hark paused to stare at the block just south of the park. The entire area had been constructed into a giant skyscraper complex designed to put Rockefeller Center to shame. Architectural and historical versim had been chucked out the door for the construction of a massive media complex. Its purpose was as a legitimate mechanism for creating narratives within this particular Rend-V. Inside, immersed Sersavant hackers kept the seams from splitting, while they managed a sea of in-V individuals who created their own rendered media, news, entertainment, etc.

Hark paused in the lobby of the grand complex. One wall reached to a lofty ceiling of glass in a dizzying display of video panels. These were quaint in comparison to what someone would see in the present, like old-world paintings next to live moving pictures. The videos all displayed 2D programming from the Mediaplex Corporation: narrative generated within the Rend-V itself.
 

Tourists buzzed about in the lobby, their shoes clicking on the lacquered stone floor polished to a brilliant sheen. Hark smelled, of all things, the sugary scent of cotton candy, something he’d only tasted in a Rend-V. Sure enough, a man behind an open machine spinning the confectionary handed cones to children.

Hark wound his way through the crowd, past a line of chatty people waiting for a tour of the facility. He walked to a wide counter with eight security employees behind computer screens, taking headshots, checking IDs, printing nametags.

Hark stepped in front of a man in a suit who scrunched up his face and opened his mouth to complain.

“Shut it, buddy,” Hark said. He turned to a bright-eyed young woman with the kind of glossy, blonde hair that only came from a dye, or a Sersavant’s juvenile fantasy. “Could you please contact someone for me?”

She almost frowned—probably because Hark had cut—but, charmed, she returned his smile, as expected. “Who would that be?”

Hark ignored the man mumbling behind him. “Illegal insertion, Alpha Romeo Delta 781: Repossession Agent, Tripp Cole, please.”

Her eyes flickered as Tripp’s personal data code bypassed internal security. She picked up a phone and spoke the name. She waited, nodded her head. “Those three as well?”

Hark waved them over. Everyone had their photo taken and accepted a sticky nametag. They walked through security, entered an elevator, and smiled grandly as they rushed to the top floor.

“Impressive,” Binda said.

“We could have just walked through a back door,” Celia said.

“We needed access to the top,” Hark replied.

The elevator door opened.

His brother Tripp stood there, grinning. He wore a Skinsuit—this one silver studs on blue like the skin of some Amazonian frog. He’d activated the armor to swell at his pectorals, abdomen, along the spine, etc. A compact AK was attached to his upper back, and a Blaster to his chest.
 

“Ready for the bad boys?” Hark asked.

Hark held the door open, while his wide-mouthed guests stumbled forward. Even Celia took a few faltering steps as she stared at Hark’s charismatic, but dangerous brother.

“Going dancing?” Tripp said, sniggering at Hark’s clothing. They began walking along an empty corridor. Glass windows provided a view of empty offices to either side. They look like they’d never been used. “I only have a short amount of time with you. EA agents and Vox leeches are on our trail, but we keep losing them. They want our Garce bad.”
 

“Keep him safe. And how’s Krista?”
 

“Digging up more dirt. She’ll be in later.”

Tripp pushed open a glass door into one of the empty offices. Hark passed through the doorway. He penetrated an invisible barrier, like prickles along his skin, as he passed through what looked like a small, empty office into a low-lit wide space. Rows of genuine Sersavant stewards lay in stasis chairs, handling routine maintenance.
 

Hark ignored the exclamations of Frankie and Celia, and even Binda. He followed Tripp down a row. Each steward was dressed in the typical robe and cowl of the techno-military order. They each reclined, eyes closed, their minds working overtime on some small detail that needed fixing within the Rend-V. Anything too big got sent outside to the Voxyprog Fortress where teams of cognopsychics interfaced with hosts to render worlds.

“What did you find?” Hark asked.

Tripp stopped before a young woman. She looked to be peacefully sleeping, except her eyes moved rapidly behind her lids. Every now and then her lips would open, like a fish’s as it lay on land, suffocating.

Hark waited for the data to register out of the multitude of signals. He saw a frequency peak above the others in his HUD.

“Display,” he said.

Hark kept his face an impassive mask as images from this Sersavant’s current task cascaded before his eyes. Frankie and Binda watched him, obviously aware he was seeing something that they couldn’t. Tripp pretended like nothing was happening. He even tried chatting with Celia, who replied in crisp retorts that would have made anyone but Tripp give up.
 

Hark ignored the exchange as the hacker tried an in-V physics cheat to imprison a braineater inside a backyard. The location was an exclusive Clinton Hill townhouse with a rare enclosed backyard. Ivy-covered brick kept the decomposing monster inside, but it was using all its strength to shake a wrought-iron gate apart for access to the street. The hacker kept rebuilding the gate’s hinges minute-by-minute.
 

How long can she keep that up?

“Over here,” Tripp said. “This one’s … a bit meaner.”

Hark stared at a gruesome scene of a beast-man rampaging through what looked like a medical clinic. Staff had barricaded themselves inside a room, but the creature was feasting on the innards of several individuals in the hallway. Thick bristles stuck out of its hide. An extended maw’s like a wolf’s or bear’s extended from its face. Huge teeth rent flesh. But it stood upright like a man, and when it flashed its wild eyes, intelligence resided there.

Hark followed as he moved from steward to steward, each one working on containing similar scenarios.
 

“The horror elements are bleeding over,” Hark said. “Cannibals and werethings, how …
old school
. Stoker would be happy.”

“What?” Tripp asked.

Hark snarled at his younger brother for not respecting narrative history. “Nothing.”

Tripp stopped at the end of the row. “Whatever. You have your work cut out for you.”

“Is that it?”

Tripp snarled back. “It’s Miesha Preston … we’re dealing with. Of course, not.” Hark saw Celia perk up at the name of her forgotten daughter, but she looked away before Hark could fully read her expression. “And Ervé, don’t forget.”

“He’s a twisted antag with a beef,” Hark said. Tripp pointed to the last steward, a skinny young man no bigger than Frankie who had probably traded his soul for this cushy job that would fry his brain in a few years. “And now for the freaky stuff.”

Hark only need a few seconds of seeing a young boy’s body morphing into a human-machine hybrid made of children’s toys to understand the depth of Ervé’s depravity. The boy was alive.

Hark began moving back down the aisle. “I need to speak to Miesha Preston.”

“Won’t do any good,” Tripp said, “you know that. She hates your ass. You’re part of whatever grand plan is fueling this.”

“I didn’t even know she was on the rise.”

“Your fault for reading too much and not paying attention to the celebrity feeds.”

Hark passed through the permeable barrier into the hallway. “Where can I leave them, until I’m done?”

“I knew you’d ask. I cleared out a space for you one floor up.”

“Cleared out?”

“Big time paying customers, bro, always get placed in the best jobs. But I triggered their insurance policies. They went out with grace.”

“Right.”

“The office of a CEO, plus an unlucky CFO who happened to be there.”

“Perfect. Who enters a Rend-V to be a CEO? What a waste.”

“Yeah, I made that one hurt a little.”

 
Tripp led them up a floor to a spacious multi-level suite of offices with a perfect view of the city. The desk was a small item in a corner, the rest of the space occupied with sofas, tables, chairs, a fully stocked bar, a space with a wall-length video screen.

Hark scanned for bodies but didn’t even register a drop of blood.

Tripp Cole: always the professional
.

“We got a few minutes,” Tripp said, nodding to the far side. “Let’s talk.”

Hark followed his younger brother up wide, granite stairs to an elevated space overlooking the office. Tripp flopped onto a plush, leather couch. This looked like a great place for a tired executive to take a nap.
 

Tripp grinned as he sat back, hands behind his head. “Well, well, well.”

 
They’d been working two sides of the same coin for years. In the beginning, Hark’s little brother had followed him but washed out of specialist training because he had no taste for narrative. He was picked up by the repos because, well, he was a damn-fine killer. Hark took care of business inside, while Tripp took care of business outside. Krista, did a little of both.

“Look at us,” Hark said, sitting slowly. “Working side by side.”

“First time for everything.”

“You’re taking a big risk.”

Tripp kicked his feet up on a low table. “Worth it.”

“Krista?”

“She’s determined, brother, for her own reasons. I’m here to make sure neither of you get hurt.”

Hark dampened all his enhancers, letting his AbSys barely hum in his gut, a reminder what stores of power he had at his disposal. He didn’t want to talk about Krista and her need to manipulate Rend-V threads that bled over into reality. The public thought her job was to cut those threads, but Hark knew better. The idea he was going to shut this one down was probably more than she could handle because of her clandestine interests, most of which had to do with her narrative archive project that she refused to talk about. He didn’t know much about it, but he knew something in
Collides
was important to her.

“She pissed at me?” Hark asked, already knowing the answer.

“For what you haven’t done? Yeah. She knows you, Hark. She knows you’ll ignite this entire place if you have to. But something about this makes me think she believes you won’t do it. I think she wants to know she can convince you not to do it. She wants to believe you won’t do it.”

Hark edged closer. “Goddamn it, Tripp. I’m trying to save this place and everyone in it.”

“You’re going to wake that woman up.”

“After I get everyone out.”

“They’re doing everything in their power to keep what’s coming under wraps. Subscriptions are breaking records. Floaters and viewers are everywhere. Application for principal riders are stressing the system. Full immersion customers are applying to live here. You’re a hit. They’ll probably even forgive you for using an illegal host, if it works out.”

“Works out?” Hark asked.

A long stretch of silence sizzled between the two of them. Tripp and Hark stared at each other as only brothers who knew each other so well could stare. They were either going to embrace or fight, but a thousand judges wouldn’t be able to agree which.

Tripp stuck his chin out. “It was just a promise—”

“—that EA is holding me to.”

“Even if it hurts their bottom line?” Tripp shook his head. “No way.”

“I sent the message to the brass. I requested an evac via a Voxyprog producer. He told me off. They know what’s coming. EA sent its own rep with some Vox muscle. She verified it. My contract says that if I don’t do what’s asked of me on one day of the year, they’ll shut down
The Borderlands
. The boy dies. I promised Paul I’d take care of his son until Saul was old enough to get out. This is the last year I need to do it. I promised.”

Tripp waved that away. “I’ll get the boy out before that.”

“And put him in a new type of danger.”

Tripp chilled instantly in such a way Hark wondered if he’d crossed a line. The two of them had physically fought three times in their life, Hark winning all three. But Tripp had gotten better each scrap. And those had been in reality where their capabilities were muted. Who knew what kind of wild-assed upgrade Tripp had commissioned.
 

“I’d never go after him,” Tripp said.

“I know you wouldn’t. But other repos would.”

Tripp finally looked away, admitting the truth with a grunt. “They would.” He swiveled his head and glared. “And if EA doesn’t evacuate? How many living people inside will get their brains fried because of your promise? How about that little hottie down there who’s obviously itching for your love muscle. You give it to her yet?” Hark forced himself to stay calm, letting his crude brother get it out. Tripp spent too much time with stormtrooper grunts to know better. “No? I know you will. She’ll be a potato head. No doubt. The scrubbers will work on the rich first. And the longer you stay in stasis after a disconnect, the worse it is. What about the little defective pretend human down there? Pizza Boy. You’re using him as a proxy, I know. He’s a straight-up cookie cutter with twenty years of false life. Dead, Hark. Krista will shit bricks over every single one of them. And that doesn’t even address her own interests here. Thanksgiving will suck for years to come, bro.”

“I haven’t … with Binda.”

“Not yet.” Tripp grinned. “But she wants it. Am I right?”

Hark couldn’t hold it back and grinned. “I’m … going to avoid that, if I can.”

“And the host?”

“I said the phrase. Her alarm clock appeared. She picked it right up. I need to find her parachute to complete it. It’ll be here. Hidden, but it’ll be here.”