Ghost of the Gods - 02 (9 page)

The singularity was very close and having powerful effects on Mark. He and Sarah both stopped walking at the same instant he felt its invisible grip tighten. People jostled past them. They became a pair of stones in a river of sleeping humanity that flowed around them. Not one person was able to wake from their daydreams to perceive the singularity. All that Mark was feeling was not even a ghost to them. An overpoweringly seductive urge to surrender to the singularity washed through him like a costal surge. The final event horizon was here and he wanted nothing more than to throw himself into the sweet maelstrom of pleasure he knew was before him. The seduction was not emotional or intellectual. It was something other. It was pure instinct. Mark was certain that if he lost just a little more self-control, he would sleepwalk right into the singularity and never return. His thinking felt very sluggish, as if some task running in the nanotech circuitry of his brain was stealing all available computing power. It was even affecting his muscle coordination. Sarah was holding onto his arm. He knew she was steadying herself. She leaned in close to whisper to him.

“The last of the emotions have vanished,” said Sarah. “I feel isolated. There’re no emotions radiating from you or the people around me.”

“The singularity is pulling on me harder than ever,” said Mark. “That means some n-web functions are still operating.”

Mark stared at a person and tried to invoke a medical assist. A fluoroscopic schematic of the person’s anatomy and vital signs came up superimposed over their body. He was relieved that some of the basic n-web functions were still usable. Everyone on the street had a faint orange smudge in the brainstem, which was the normal presence of a small amount of free-swimming nanotech. No matter where he looked he could not find a person with nanotech seeds nested in their neurons—the mark of a hybrid.

“Which townhouse do you think the singularity’s in?” whispered Mark.

“That brownstone five down from us,” whispered Sarah. She did not point. “The one with bay windows.”

“I was thinking the same thing. That’s two votes yea and zero nays. The singularity is in there and it feels like it’s sucking everything out of my skull. If hybrids are in there, they may be able to receive all the thoughts the singularity is stealing from us. They may know we’re here.”

“What now?”

“I’m too confused this close in. Once we found it, I was sure we’d figure out the next step but now… I just… I don’t know. If we were invited inside, I’m not sure we’d ever come out. There could be something lethal in there or maybe we’d just never want to leave. We have to know a lot more about what we’re getting into before opening that door. Let’s get out of here so we can think.”

“Mark!” she hissed.

Her fingers squeezed painfully into his arm as he realized he could barely move his legs. His muscles weren’t frozen. It was more like his body was arguing with his mind. All the rest of his muscles worked normally. Were they already ensnared by the singularity’s undertow? He lifted his foot, trying to take a step backward. It was like trying to walk against a rapidly flowing stream. He couldn’t make his foot move in the direction he wanted. He planted it down before the backward step became a step forward toward the singularity. The physical attraction was too much. The promise of pleasure must have been short circuiting his body somehow. Half of him wanted to give in. It would have been so easy. The other half—the thinking half—felt panic. Were hybrids watching and controlling him? He tried again to step backward, but the flow of the invisible waters was too powerful. A man appeared in a second story window of the townhouse that they
knew
held the singularity. The telltale signs of a highly evolved hybrid were visible in an assist. A pedestrian bumped into Sarah, jostling them both. The face in the window turned in Mark’s direction. Sarah managed to take a step backward, tugging on Mark’s arm, turning him toward her. Suddenly, he was able to easily walk. It was as if he had a neurological disorder like Parkinson’s, which raises a barrier to walking until you take that first step and settle into a normal cadence. The image of that hybrid in the window was burned into his mind. It felt like someone was intensely staring at his back as they walked away.

“What the hell just happened?” whispered Sarah. “If that guy hadn’t bumped me—”

“Later,” said Mark. “We’re being watched.”

Mark Freedman – Chicago Protectorate – February 1, 0002 A.P.

Mark and Sarah had carefully walked and probed the outer edges of the worst of the singularity’s tidal effects to map them. They had selected a spot to set up a forward camp that was just outside the worst effects. The twenty-eight story apartment building was five blocks from the singularity. They had a clear line of sight from top floor apartments thanks to the fires and explosions that had gutted whatever had occupied the blocks in between. The apartment tower had been a very expensive residence with a marble foyer, rooftop pool, and all the luxuries only huge sums of money could buy. Now it was unoccupied unless you counted pigeons and rats. A third of the building had been gutted by fire and most of the windows were gone. There was no electricity or heat. The apartment they’d selected for their surveillance nest had no front door and all the windows were shattered. It was a frigid and windy mess.

Mark stood in front of the broken out windows and gazed down at the city streets. It was the best view of all the apartments they’d checked. From this distance the townhouse could have been a piece on a Monopoly board. He could sense the singularity radiating out from within the brownstone’s walls. He had a strange idea that he couldn’t shake, that the singularity was alive and thinking. Sarah was out purchasing needed equipment. At this distance from the singularity, he still felt disoriented at times and his thinking seemed slower, but it was far better than even a partial block closer. He was also growing accustomed to the negative effects, which lessened them. He would not be ensnared as easily a second time. He examined the other townhouse mansions on the block. Each one was connected to the next, forming a solid wall of what had been unimaginable wealth. All the townhouses showed signs of current occupancy. He had read that the ratio of habitable apartments to people was ten to one. Very little real estate had an original owner living in it, and every bit of it had been nationalized. Now anybody of moderate means could afford to live in those townhouses as long as some USAG executive or government official approved their application. All signs indicated cronyism was still alive and flourishing.

Mark turned at the sound of something scurrying. Ralph looked up from his nap with one eye open, then went back to sleep. The living room was full of fine antiques covered in windblown dirt and water damaged. Mark was satisfied with the surveillance nest they were setting up. They had sleeping bags, a camp stove, and food. It would be a lot like camping on a mountaintop. Without an elevator, it would take a very determined person to climb twenty-eight flights of stairs to reach their apartment. The odds of someone accidently wandering by were slim. Unexpected visitors would likely only be there for unpleasant reasons. Mark had already removed a door from a lower floor apartment and installed it on their new abode. A visit to a local shop had turned up a door jammer bar and replacement deadbolt along with four car batteries. The door hardware had been almost free. The batteries and rental of a shopping cart to get the batteries home had cost far more but had also been ridiculously cheap. His RFID bracelet had given up a little over one hundred virtual dollars, which was an imperceptible dent in the huge amount of e-money he had in his account. Mark thought back to Ike being so proud of the identities he had crafted. The forty-five thousand dollar monthly stipend for doctors had sounded like an amazing amount of e-money, but now Mark understood why it had been so easy to set up. With all the subsidized and controlled prices inside a protectorate it would be impossible to spend so much money. The huge paycheck was really just a clever enticement to recruit doctors. Even more than in the Outlands, most of the non-consumable luxuries were free or almost free in protectorates: cloths, housewares, appliances, and more. If you couldn’t find what you wanted in an abandoned store or apartment there were government run redistribution shops called
G-shops
. The government kept track of the goods in G-shops to prevent hoarding and for luxury items charged a modest fee based on scarcity. So what could your average overpaid protectorate elite spend all their excess e-money on? Mark guessed consumables like nightclubs, legalized drugs, prostitution, and gambling were the businesses into which most of the disposable e-money flowed.

Lugging the car batteries up to the apartment had been grueling work. Mark’s body was full of dull aches that came and went. He heard the stairwell door bang closed at the end of the hallway and froze. With his senses dulled by proximity to the singularity, he didn’t know if it was Sarah. She’d only left two hours ago; that was not enough time to collect what they needed. Ralph went to the door wagging his tail. Thank god for good old low tech canine sense of smell. Mark let Sarah in and saw success written in the amused smile on her face. He hadn’t been sure everything they needed could even be found.

“I got two high resolution Sony low light video web cameras with integrated image intensifiers, two Celestron spotting scopes, notebooks, software, tripods, power adapters, duct tape, and two twelve volt power inverters,” announced Sarah. “The only thing in limited supply was the inverters. The first G-shop I tried was the one we passed the other day that sold mostly fancy electronics. They had everything on the list. I was nervous, figuring the clerk wouldn’t be stupid enough to miss the fact that I was buying a do-it-yourself spy kit. I thought about spreading out the purchases at different G-shops, but what’s the point? Government records would show everything I bought anyway. Spreading out the purchases might even look more suspicious. You won’t believe what happened. While I was shopping the telescopes, I watched an older couple come in and buy an entire spy kit. I kid you not. One of the clerks helped them pick everything out. I just watched and listened, trying to keep my mouth from hanging open. This whole city is nuts. All the spy gear is selling at a premium. Voyeurism has become a hobby for well to do protectorate citizens. There’s even a website called
Candid Candy
for sharing funny or embarrassing clips. The highest voted clips win prizes.”

“I guess if it’s good enough for the USAG to spy on everyone, it’s good enough for citizens too,” said Mark.

“The twisted psychology behind this has to be something magnificent to behold,” said Sarah. “So anyway, it all went fine—no suspicion, no problems. Cost me three thousand bucks and change.”

Mark and Sarah were seated on a decaying couch, staring at the screens of two notebook computers. Encircling the couch, they had hung tarps from the ceiling to create blackout curtains. They wanted to prevent light from the notebooks from reaching the windows and drawing attention. Sarah’s shoulder was touching Mark’s. The glow of the screens illuminated them as twilight grew deeper. Cracked glass littered the floor. A thick layer of dust covered everything. The car batteries were lined up in a row against a back wall. The power inverters connected to the car batteries quietly hummed as they produced 120 volts of standard house current. Electrical extension cords snaked from the inverters to the notebooks and the electronic surveillance equipment. Two spotter’s telescopes on tripods were aimed out a broken window. Video cameras were attached to each telescope’s tube and held in place with duct tape. On the notebook screens were real-time video images of the townhouse. The notebooks quietly hummed as the video was recorded. One telescope and camera was aimed at the front door. They were using the second telescope to systematically examine every brick and paint chip on the townhouse a few square feet at a time. One thing was clear. This building was not what it seemed from casual inspection. Mark got up to move the telescope another five degrees to the left, then sat back down. The new image showed a set of floodlights and a surveillance camera mounted together and aimed down at the street. This was not a USAG surveillance camera. This was private security equipment. An inspection of the roof revealed three oversized HEPA air filtration units the size of small closets. The units were painted drab green and had what looked like military part numbers stenciled on them. A short amount of searching on the Internet turned up documentation and manuals. The air filtration system was used on NBC bunkers to maintain positive pressure to hold at bay nuclear fallout as well as all airborne chemical and biological weapons. NBC stood for nuclear biological containment.

“It’s a fortress,” said Mark. “The front door has concealed hinges that belong on a bank vault. The windows are so thick they have to be bulletproof. They’ve got an infrared curtain forming an invisible fence. The roof is covered in solar panels. I’d bet they’re off the grid, and what about that concealed
pop-up vehicle barricade protecting the whole front of the building?
”

“What about that sat dish and antenna array on the roof?” said Sarah. “It looks like something you’d find on a police station.”

“It’s definitely not satellite TV,” said Mark.

“All that gear doesn’t make sense. They’re hybrids,” said Sarah. “Why do they need satellite communication? Maybe the singularity is blocking them from using the n-web the same as us. I wish we could intercept those signals leaving the roof.”

“That would be a good trick,” said Mark. “I doubt we could buy the electronics gear we’d need, and even if we could grab the signal, it’s probably encrypted.”

Mark got up and moved the telescope another five degrees. A window came into view. Thin drapes obscured everything except the glow of room lights.

“What if they’re a criminal gang of hybrids?” said Sarah. “You witnessed a murder. Maybe it was a hit on a rival gang. All that radio gear would make sense too. What better way to keep your secrets from other gangs of hybrids than to use sat communications? We can’t find out what they’re sending back and forth. If it’s encrypted, I’d bet the NSA might not even be able to do it.”

“You may be on to something,” said Mark. “And since they’re inside a protectorate, law enforcement has to know what’s going on here. Either the Enforcers are on the take or they’re working together.”