Idempotency (6 page)

None of this made much sense to him, but he went along with it, with his usual optimism intact. He picked up his passenger at a nondescript transport loading dock in the middle of an innocuous government building. The building housed several disparate agencies, mostly focused on interstate and state-corp trade, along with several South American embassies. The loading area doubled as a poorly lit, concrete sarcophagus with modest benches sitting alone outside a set of double doors that led to a lobby of only slightly more interest (in that it had carpeting and an empty reception desk). The place had been quiet; his had been the only transport active during his brief wait, and he had seen less than a dozen employees walking in and out of the waiting area.

His guest appeared punctually and did not bother introducing himself. Instead he asked rhetorically if Dylan was Dylan and then stated that they were to leave at once. Dylan exited the transport as his passenger neared, and he offered a handshake that was summarily ignored. The guest’s steely eyes never met Dylan’s own, instead looking straight ahead.

A chameleon of personas, Dylan was quick to switch gears: He gritted his teeth and as they entered the transport and asked his guest if there was anything he could do to make their trip more comfortable. The mystery guest politely declined the offer, though his face appeared strained while doing so. The guest then proceeded (without direction) to take a seat in the back of the transport, and immediately his tiny eyes turned bright red, twitching all the while. He was utilizing ocImps to connect to something more important than Dylan.

Suppressing a snicker at the mystery man’s pretense, Dylan shook his head gently, shut the transport’s door, and sat in one of the front seats. He instructed the transport’s AI to head to SolipstiCorp headquarters and received a response that the trip would take eighty-one minutes via the autoTrans. The transport accelerated softly, and Dylan made a motion to turn on his BUI, but stopped short of actually doing so to take a cursory glance at the man in the back of his transport. Mr. X was sitting up perfectly straight on the edge of his seat. He wore an overly plain, bleached white suit highlighted with a thin yellow tie. The suit appeared small, but Dylan thought this was owed to the man’s slight frame. His face was gaunt, supporting thin lips that were parted slightly, displaying small teeth. His pinpoint, glowing red eyes darted as if he were in REM sleep. A nearly shaved head seemed to enhance a widow’s peak that pointed off center of his nose.
Or perhaps it’s his nose that’s off center
, thought Dylan.

The transport left the building and began heading south. It was now speeding up noticeably. Dylan ran his hand through his bushy hair and clicked on his BUI with the hope of figuring out who his guest was. The man’s name was quickly found—Korak Searle—but after running every legal search he could think of, Dylan was left only with an innocuous title of “Business Development Executive, State/Corp Liaison.” It was a rarity in this time of extreme public transparency that anyone could remain so hidden on corpNets, especially if he worked with state governments in some capacity—even if the person in question had led a nondescript life. Dylan guessed that Mr. Searle had lived anything but a nondescript life.

He glanced away from the display hovering in front of him and toward the glass of water nearby, and as he did so he thought he noticed Korak Searle leering at him, but as his eyes rose to meet Mr. Searle’s, he found his passenger’s eyes twitching innocently above his off-kilter nose, still glowing red, representing his status as “busy.” For a moment, he thought he heard Searle whispering to himself, almost arguing. Dylan acted nonchalant while increasing the volume assist in his BUI, and turned on his BUI’s ability to read lips. His display refused to comply, complaining of poor data, but Dylan was certain Searle was either talking to himself or attempting to speak quietly to a person in his own periphery.

At last, Dylan heard Searle whisper quietly, but distinctly, “No. I will discuss this later.” Searle then gestured to the interface generated by his bilateral ocular implants as if he were swatting away a pestering fly.

Taking a drink with one hand, Dylan flicked his wrist with the other and flipped to a display of an aggregated news feed from the virtual entertainment-technology industry. Virt tech was one of the hottest business segments around, but his impassioned pitch to EGC earlier in this too-long day had been sincere and honest on the point of SolipstiCorp’s competitors. It wasn’t just sales talk: Dylan was convinced that his company had at least a one-year head start on their competition, both in terms of their noninvasive interface and their unique properties of time elasticity—living an entire life in the span of days. That leg up would take them only so far, however. The competition would eventually catch up; they always did—patents lasted only eighteen months, and the clock had started ticking months ago. Then SolipstiCorp’s success would hinge on people like Dylan, the business developer, the marketer . . . the salesman. It didn’t matter how far technology advanced—the programmers, scientists, gene manipulators, and stemgineers could create virtual Gods someday, but as long as there were competing Gods for sale, someone would be needed to make the sales pitch. Someone like Dylan. And he would be ready—ready to outline the differentiators, the value proposition, the quality of service that would make the SolipstiCorp virtGod the safe consumer choice. The
only
virtGod that was guaranteed for five years of flawless-higher-power-or-your-money-back functionality. The
only
virtGod that was on sale for 10 percent off . . . if you purchased today. The
only
virtGod on the market that could cure the common cold. It would sell itself, he’d say, knowing full well the prevarication of that statement. The only error with this logic would occur if the engineers decided to create a virtual salesman. Dylan smirked.
No worries there
, he thought.
Computer scientists loathe businesspeople
.

A green dot bounced toward Dylan in the lower right of his BUI’s periphery, indicating someone was attempting to contact him immediately. It ripped him out of his daydream. There was no information on the contact, so he decided to ignore it, assuming whoever it was could deal with asynchronous communication for now. But the contact was persistent, and several seconds later the green dot pinged Dylan again. Curiosity won him over, and he flung the dot with his hand into the middle of his display and it opened into a text chat.

. . . BEGIN 32 TERABYTE OpenPGP PUBLIC & AUTHORIZED ENCRYPTED CHAT SESSION . . .

[Anonymous 11:13:15] Dylan, loved the jacket you were wearing today, very colorful.

[Dylan 11:13:47] Sorry, who is this?

[Anonymous 11:13:55] Well, anyway, good talking to you.

The chat box vanished. Dylan rubbed his eyes as if he had just awoken with a bad headache. He glanced at his coat, which was draped over the chair opposite him, and as he did so, he once again felt as if his passenger was rubbernecking in his direction. As Dylan’s gaze moved from coat to passenger, he again found Mr. Korak Searle was deeply engrossed on whatever fast-moving objects were displaying on his visual cortex. The sudden mystery of both his guest and his anonymous acquaintance led to a few minutes of indecision, combined with a heightened sense of nerves. Dylan laughed a bit at the absurdity of the moment, resolved that nothing sinister was afoot, and reached out toward his jacket on the other seat.

“A unique pattern." Korak Searle’s voice was monotone, but quite articulate. His red eyes continued to seize in front of him.

Dylan froze with his hand outstretched. He didn’t respond, just stared at Searle. Finally, after several beats, Searle slowly turned his head away from his BOI display and toward Dylan. His eyes slowed their dance, turning from red to gray until they froze upon Dylan, who grabbed his coat without breaking their gaze and quickly slipped it on.

“I’m sorry, I don’t catch your meaning . . . Mr. Searle.” Dylan smiled wide. His nerves were long gone, replaced by a now unquenchable curiosity.

“Your jacket—” Dylan’s throat lurched “—it is quite an interesting pattern. It seems out of place, out of time.” A thin half smile appeared on Searle’s face.

“Uh-huh . . .” Their eyes continued to talk. “Well, thanks, I like—”

“Is it Indian?” Searle interrupted, as though Dylan had not been talking.

“No, Pakistani,” replied Dylan evenly.

“Hmm . . . interesting . . .” Searle nodded as his eyes moved away from Dylan toward the jacket, then finally back toward his own display, where they began to shiver once more, flaring red again.

Smirking, Dylan shook his head slightly and looked out the dimmed front window. His transport was boxed in with others, speeding along at over 150 klicks now. They would be in San Diego in under an hour. Dylan shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and immediately snagged his right ring finger (which was devoid of any rings) on a sharp edge. He thumbed a small piece of plastic and knew immediately that he held an encryption chip in his hand. He fiddled with it momentarily before clutching the fingernail-sized chip in his palm. He deftly brought the chip up to his BUI, which was attached to his left ear (opposite Searle’s view). His BUI immediately recognized the small chip as an encryptChip and imported the private key contained on the chip into its local memory via secure near-field wireless communication. The small chip hissed—the result of an intentional chemical reaction that destroyed the data that had been there moments before. No sooner had the key been imported than a new chat notification bounced on Dylan’s BUI holographic display. This time the request came from someone named “Simeon.” Dylan quickly motioned the chat to life.

BEGIN 256 PETABYTE OpenPGP PUBLIC, PRIVATE, & AUTHORIZED ENCRYPTED CHAT SESSION . . . AFFIRM THREE TIMES TO ACCEPT PUBLIC KEY AND SIGNED CHAT FROM:

SIMEON:SIM_a8f3de13320b. . .<256PB>. . .34cf6

Dylan looked at the screen quizzically. He was no stranger to sending and receiving encrypted messages between partnered corporations, but he had never seen an open-source implementation. He hesitated, finally allowing curiosity to get the better of him (a simple text chat was harmless, after all). Waving his hand in a downward motion three times, a new message arrived almost immediately:

[Simeon 11:20:07] Hello Dylan, we must talk fast. I am guessing this encryption key will last a maximum of 400 seconds.

[DylanD 11:20:36] Who are you? How did you get me the chip?

[Simeon 11:20:45] Later. Just read.

[Simeon 11:21:12] First: your passenger—he’s not what he seems. But I’m guessing you already knew that.

[Dylan 11:21:15] Why?

[Simeon 11:21:18] Second: we must meet in person. I have vital information about your company’s dealings with major corporations and governments, and I need your help. Many people need your help.

[Dylan 11:21:21] What are you talking about? Who is this? Is this a joke?

[Simeon 11:21:25] Third: assume you are being watched at all times, because you are. By several parties.

[Dylan 11:21:30]  OK buddy, funny shit. Who the hell are you?

[Simeon 11:22:33] Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of the ramifications of what you are creating. You know damn well what your new virt tech could do if used maliciously. You know firsthand.

[Simeon 11:22:37] We’re getting off track. Here’s the point: I want to meet with you this weekend.

[Dylan 11:22:39] Are you for real? This has to be a joke, right? Who are you??

[Simeon 11:22:40] I’m a friend—rather, I hope to be.

[Dylan 11:22:45] Look, sorry pal, this is ridiculous. The only coast I’ll be visiting this weekend is in San Diego where I’ll be surfing.

[Simeon 11:22:47] In your deathTrip, you had a wife, right? Sabrina? Was that her name? Do you believe she was a real person?

[Dylan 11:23:01] Type faster.

[Simeon 11:23:14] We have reason to believe your failed deathTrip was . . . intentional. Malicious.

[Simeon 11:24:10] Dylan, still there?

[Simeon 11:24:15] Dylan?

[Dylan 11:24:17] ?

[Simeon 11:24:19] What?

[Dylan 11:24:24] Type More. I need more before I even begin to believe you.

[Simeon 11:24:45] We have your entire deathTrip. Your name was Dalton. You grew up in the state of Washington, went to Catholic school. Your mother died of odd circumstances, possibly suicide, or murder, or both. You met Sabrina, your first wife, in college before you dropped out. You lived hard, and you played hard. I even know what Sabrina told you on her deathbed.

[Dylan 11:24:59] How the fuck do you know this?

[Simeon 11:25:12] Meet with me, and I will tell you.

[Dylan 11:25:20] If it wasn’t an accident, or an error, or a bug, or whatever, then who caused it?

[Simeon 11:25:27] Meet with me, and I will tell you.

[Dylan 11:25:33] No. You have to give me more to go on.

[Simeon 11:25:39] This is risky; we are over time.

[Dylan 11:25:47] I need more.

[Simeon 11:26:01] Your great-uncle’s accidental scrambling was not accidental. And neither is your own botched deathTrip.

[Dylan 11:26:11] Are you suggesting they are related?

[Simeon 11:26:16] I’m not suggesting.

[Dylan 11:26:24] What? Why? This is impossible.

[Simeon 11:26:38] No, it’s not. We are way over time. That’s all. Meet me and I’ll tell you everything we know.

[Simeon 11:27:09] Details: Washington Coast, Oyehut Indian Reserve. It’s off corpSoil, it’s not even state or public land. There’s a small casino on the beach near an old ghost town called Ocean Shores. Use secure, encrypted debit only. Take PUBLIC transportation to Olympia, rent a car to get to Ocean Shores. Once there, stay off the autoTrans. And whatever you do, turn OFF your BUI, or any other networked device on your person. Go completely dark.

[Simeon 11:27:09] ?

[Simeon 11:27:10] ?

[Simeon 11:27:12] ???

[Dylan 11:27:15] OK! I’ll consider it.

[Simeon 11:27:31] You better do more than consider, we need you as much as you need us. We are way over time. I will be at the bar around seven p.m. on Saturday, probably a little late and a little lit. See you then. And remember, absolutely NO networked devices. Powered down, batteries out. Public transport only. Go dark.