Idempotency (15 page)

“Cops?” Dylan said, frozen again.

“PubSecCorp—graviCopters—move it, Boxst—“ Before Simeon could finish, the canister popped open and began to fill the room with same grayish-blue gas that Dylan had seen in the adjoining room just minutes before. The two men reacted quickly and hurled themselves into the corridor, Dylan tripping as he crossed the threshold. As soon as they were through, Simeon flipped his hand through the air, gesturing to life another transparent, shielded door. Before the shield had formed, everyone could hear the clink
of another canister plunk into the wall near the first. All sound evaporated as a bright blue explosion lit up the room they had just left. Each person held their breath and shielded their eyes. The extreme cold burst from the conflagration beyond the shielded door and permeated their skin, reaching inward to touch bone, teeth, fatty tissue—entirely engulfing them.

“Keep moving, people,” Simeon said calmly, just above a whisper.

The sounds of quick and heavy breathing returned to everyone’s ears, as did the scraping of shoes. A few minutes passed and everyone heard—no,
felt
—a deep rumble reverberating through the earth.

“I’ve collapsed the passageway behind us. It should buy us some time,” Simeon said calmly. “Keep moving!”

Mitlee and Chicklet were leading the way. They held small lights in front of them, which was necessary owing to the steep descent of the corridor they were traveling in. Dylan noted that this tunneled corridor was clearly of a different construction (much more modern) than the room they had just left. No one talked during the descent.

After ten minutes of walking, the group descended a final flight of stairs, halted, and turned off their lights. The chill had dissipated only slightly. Shirts were nearly frozen damp, and an odor of fear-laced sweat hovered in the stuffy hallway.

Mitlee, standing just behind Chicklet’s right shoulder, whispered, “Door, windows, opacity 5 percent.”

One door and two windows lit up just slightly, flooding the room they now stood in with the light of the drab day beyond. Dylan’s eyes took a few seconds to adjust. Once they did he saw they now stood within a small building just to the east of the Hiram M. Chittenden Locks, which served as an antique method for moving boats from the higher elevation of Lake Washington into the Puget Sound. The room seemed to be a storefront for marine supplies, though Dylan thought it appeared a little too organized for such a store. Outside of the windows, dozens of boats sailed, motored, and hovered past them.

“It looks clear,” said Jay-san.

“It won’t be for long. They’ll figure out where we went soon enough,” Nimbus replied despondently.

“Probably,” Jay-san muttered.

“Definitely,” Chicklet and Mitlee agreed in concert.

The blame being directed silently toward Grepman was palpable, and he knew it. Simeon seemed deep in thought and was looking at something in his ocImps. Grepman’s guilt seemed to build exponentially every minute that passed with no further action. He couldn’t stand it anymore and started to speak, “Guys, I’m so sorry—”

“Now is not the time, Grep. Apologize after I fire your ass later. We need to get to the boat. We’ll leave in pairs, twenty seconds apart. Boxster, you’ll come with Nimbus and me.”

Fairly certain he was in a state of shock, Dylan silently followed his orders. His mind was swimming in questions, and he had every intention of getting them answered, just not yet.

Chicklet and Mitlee went first. They left out of a side door that was less technologically advanced than the front; it consisted of a sheet of corrugated metal that lay hidden behind an old desk, locked with a simple padlock. Jay-san and Grepman bickered in whispers—something about the erroneous release—and ended up losing track of time and leaving a minute later only after Simeon told them to shut up and get moving.

Nimbus, Simeon, and Dylan left last. They walked east along the waterway for about five minutes. Boats of all types cruised by in both directions. Dylan tensed as a police boat silently cruised past them. He glanced over at Simeon, but the man’s expression remained unchanged, as did his gait; if he was worried, it didn’t show.

A few minutes later the trio took a left onto a small dock and joined the rest of the group aboard a thirty-foot yacht. Jay-san had already untied, and they pushed off the moment everyone was aboard.

The yacht was equipped with magRails, enabling the ship to slide with ease from their current lake level down the six meters to the Puget Sound. However, they opted to use the antiquated method to lower their altitude: the Chittenden Locks. Simeon expertly navigated the thirty-foot boat into the smaller of the two locks and tied off in between two larger vessels. They were virtually invisible between the two luxury cruisers, though it was merely cautionary, as their boat was being summarily ignored: Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, just some friends out boating.

Once they passed through the locks and into the Sound, Simeon had decided to cruise north in order to avoid the now-visible and obvious commotion on the shores and cliffs of Discovery Park to the south. The plan would take them around the northern tip of Bainbridge Island, then down south toward Tacoma, where they would drop off Dylan, who would catch a magRail back to San Diego.

It all sounded just fine to Dylan.
Copacetic
, he thought insanely. He sat on a plush couch at the front of the flat, composite, horseshoe-shaped ship, deliberately avoiding conversation, which he was unable to do once Simeon finally crept over to him.

“Hey, Box,” Simeon spoke softly. Dylan did not acknowledge him. Simeon persisted. “Hey, so, that didn’t exactly go as I had planned it." He looked pained.

“No shit? I watched a man die today. Man?—actually, it could have been a woman for all I know,” Dylan replied, still looking out of the window ahead of him. They were passing through a tight corridor on the western side of Vashon Island now, nearing Tacoma. Pine trees lined the shorelines, which were easily seen now as there was far less traffic in this area of the water.

“It was a woman. A friend of ours. I’m hopeful she didn’t die. I doubt she did. She was frozen. They were attempting to capture us for arraignment. Still, I know it was traumatic. I’m sorry, Boxster. On the scale of one to fucked up, that was fucked up.”

“Who
are
you guys?” Dylan asked, this time wanting a real answer.

“I explained that already.” He sighed, then continued: “It’s not hyperbole, man. There’s a war coming, Boxster, at least if we have anything to say about it. And if it doesn’t come, then we’ve already lost.”

“Why would the cops just fire at you guys like that—I mean, they didn’t even try to arrest you—”

Simeon laughed his deep, guttural laugh, which died off like a skipping record from another time period, slowly coming to a halt. “Those weren’t cops, my friend. Those were corp security contractors, likely hired by NRS through some web of corporate ownership. They have the power to arrest, and that’s exactly how they do it. Believe it or not, what they did is entirely
legal
.”

“I believe it not,” Dylan grunted. “Seriously, I don’t believe that’s legal. There’s no way that can be legal.”

“Believe it. Listen, we’re almost to Tacoma, and we don’t have much time. I’m sure you have a million questions and I’m not trying to hide anything, but I just don’t have the time to explain everything to you. I’d encourage you to do some investigation, but be discreet. Be
very
discreet.” He emphasized his point by lowering his voice an octave. “Always assume you are being monitored. Holos, vidConfs, corpNet traffic for sure, virts even. Because they are monitoring, sniffing, constantly. They are watching you, but we’ll be watching you, too. They are watching everyone at SolipstiCorp right now. This is a fragile time for them; it’s not often NRS is out-engineered.”

“Who? Who’s watching?” Dylan asked with a croaked voice. He had a fleeting thought that he was still hungover from the night before.

“NRS mainly, but government forces, too. Though that’s almost synonymous at this point.”

Dylan finally looked at Simeon. “But why? Why do they even care?”

“Ah, we only have theories right now. We aren’t exactly certain of their endgame yet. Obviously they are testing for memory transference-stemgineering two-point-oh—and you, like your uncle, must have some genetics that interest them. It also has something to do with this new deathTrip tech you guys have engineered. And we think it has something to do with the population explosion of the lower classes.”

“Why me? Even if I bought your crazy theories—which I don’t—how could I possibly help you guys? And why would I want to? You guys are obviously wanted criminals of some kind.”

“That’s fair. We are wanted and anonymous. But we are not criminals. As for you . . . well, we’ve done our research, Boxster. We think we can trust you, and we believe you will do the right thing when given the choice. Now it’s time for you to do your research. You have skin in this game. NRS will get to you, you better believe it. Your life is at risk. But this is so much bigger than your life. As for how you will help: In a few months you’ll get a call from a headhunter offering you a job. It’ll pay double what you currently make. Take it. We’ll go from there.”

“What’s the catch?”

“The job will be with NRS.”

Point Defiance, the northern tip of land near Tacoma, was speeding up toward them now; a just visible marina was their target. In the back of the boat a heated discussion was taking place where the other passengers huddled. They seemed to be debating where to head next. Jay-san was the dissenting opinion, and Nimbus was starting to get frustrated by his lack of buy-in. The twins were busy hacking away at their BUIs, while Grepman looked out the window, clearly shaken by his earlier mistake.

Simeon brushed back some rebel strands of hair that had come loose from his ponytail during the commotion and were now blowing in the wind, excited about their brief freedom. He reached into his front pants pocket, then looked back at Dylan. “One more thing. This memCube”—he handed Dylan a cube of memory, one centimeter in size—“contains your entire SolipstiCorp deathTrip. You don’t have to believe me, but this is our only copy. It also contains the data we received on your uncle.”

Dylan shook his head slowly. He looked back at Simeon, expressionless. “Seriously, who are you guys?” he asked.

The flames on Simeon’s arm swayed with the rocking of the boat, and an aurora passed over the devoid pupils of his ocular implants. “We’re no one, Boxster, and we’re hoping you will be no one with us.”

Coglin stood next to a grand curved window overlooking Lake Washington. The clouds had parted and a ray of sunbeams glistened on the choppy surface a hundred meters below. As he did every week, Coglin was giving a small pep talk to his staff to close NanoRegenSoft’s weekly executive business review. Around the table sat a dozen executives representing all departments of NRS. Several of them were holograms broadcast from international locations.

Coglin loved these moments; all eyes and ears were chiefly on him alone. This was the moment he could impart his vision upon his flock. As a younger man, he had done this routinely through media outlets; now, as an older man, he imparted his wisdom on fewer people, but he ensured those few were powerful leaders in their own right. It had taken him decades to understand that leadership was exponentially more powerful when wielded through a small, organized hierarchy instead of a flat throng of followers.

“Team, we stand on the precipice of a vision that began decades past. As you know, when I first recruited Korak as the second NRS team member, I sold him on a three-phase vision—a trinity, if you will.” A few light-hearted chuckles floated around the table. “Phase one was to hire the best and out-innovate our competitors. Most of you were hired during phase one. Phase two saw extreme customer growth; we needed people to rely on our products and to build capital. God willing, we outperformed every phase-two goal we ever set. Now, with the purchase of SolipstiCorp’s technology licenses and the fantastic progress on the build-out of our new low-income care facilities, we’re about to embark on phase three: Healing the poor from the disease that is poverty, and creating more customers at the same time. A sacred cycle.”

Coglin drew a raspy breath and held out his arms. “Ladies, gentleman,
this
is the moment we have all been working toward. In your lives, these—” he struggled for the right word “—divine opportunities might only come along once, twice if you’re lucky. Don’t let this one pass you by. Everyone needs to be fully bought in and 100 percent on board.”

Coglin grinned and clasped his hands together. “All right. Let’s get to work!”

As the NRS executive team began to stand and funnel out of the large room, Coglin motioned to Kane to stay behind. Kane nodded as Coglin walked over and sat in the chair next to him.

“Kane, I have it on good authority that our candidate for transference, Dylan Dansby, has been contacted by SOP. I don’t know if he’s working with them directly, but my source has told me they are trying to persuade him of their vision. We need to watch this carefully. I’m going to offer him a job at NRS.”

Kane appeared shocked. “A job, Reverend? Here, at NRS?”

Coglin nodded. “Yes. I want to keep him as close to us as we can. This could be a coup for us, Kane. As if Dylan working for SolipstiCorp wasn’t enough of a blessing, now this news—it plays into our hands even more.”

Kane shook his head in wonder. “Well, the Lord truly works in magical ways, Reverend.”

“That he does, Kane, that he does. I’m going to have Korak vet Dylan for a position in sales. I’ll also inform Korak about my suspicions of SOP.”

Coglin drew a new breath, and continued on, “One more thing: Where are we at with finding SOPs new location?”

“No luck so far. We are, however, tracking a new recruit by the name of Sindhu. We know she’s searching for them. She’s not even being cautious about it, and we’re pretty sure they’d love to get her on board. She’s brilliant, supposedly. Very active in open-source darkVirts. We’re following her trail closely.”