The Beam: Season Three (67 page)

“The early Beam created custom avatars for new users. Those avatars replicated people those users knew and trusted. But that was the first clue that The Beam — at first, anyway — didn’t understand humans because it turned out people
weren’t
comforted by their avatars. They found them to be a violation of privacy. So since the ’60s, many layers of safeguards have been put in place that now make it impossible for AI to mimic a person, living or dead. Except for Noah West.”

“Fascinating.”
 

“Normally, I wouldn’t point any of this out. But I know I can trust
you
, Dominic.”
 

Okay, that was a bit creepy. Dominic walked faster. He reached the hallway’s end then waited for the door to open, to let him exit into DZPD station.
 

“I can trust
you
,” Noah said, “with your forgetful ways.”
 

Dominic sighed, deciding to ignore the voice, creepy or not. He didn’t have time for this. He was needed on-site. That had probably always been necessary — what with Omar’s plans and his need for Dominic to creatively direct security and open a few locks with his temporary commissioner’s access. But Dominic (forgetful or not, according to the Quark hallway’s electronic opinion) didn’t like all the new variables in play. There was Vale. There was Isaac’s idiocy. There was whatever Vale and Isaac had been discussing…maybe
hiding
. What other surprises awaited him — right now, at this worst of all possible times, as the usually rock-solid Beam coughed and stuttered?

“If you practice a few mental exercises,” Noah said from the air around Dominic, “you could probably improve that memory of yours.”
 

This was obnoxious. It wasn’t the first time Noah had prescribed exercise for Dominic.
 

“Just open the goddamned door, Noah. I’m clean.”
 

“Maybe,” Noah said, “and maybe not.”
 

Dominic turned as if someone had tapped him on the shoulder. But still he saw only saw the long, surround-lit Quark hallway, its door back into Quark PD now closed as firmly as the one into DZPD.

Dominic’s senses prickled. That wasn’t normal.

“Why are the doors closed, Noah?”
 

“Quarantine,” Noah answered placidly.
 

“Quarantine of what?”
 

“Of the software inside you that I’ve been ignoring for twenty-four years.”
 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dominic demanded. He didn’t like this at all. Not with both doors closing him in. Not with The Beam acting funny, and currently in charge. Not with the only AI permitted to mimic a person as Dominic’s only company, according to recent trivia.
 

“I think,” Noah said, “that if you’d practice a few mental exercises, you’ll remember that you know
all about
Sector 7.”
 

Dominic’s mouth opened then he slowly shut it.
 

Of course he knew: 2063. That crime scene. Where there had been two men found suspiciously dead where they didn’t belong, a worm discovered trying to erase them.
 

A worm Dominic had picked up and held in his hand, and that had maybe been infectious even through his partner’s protective pouch.

A worm that, just maybe, had backwashed some rogue software into Dominic’s nerves. Software kept alive by perhaps a single nanobot, blinking binary, ignored by every scan he’d ever had for reasons unknown.
 

A worm that two Quark agents had been very interested in gaining possession of.
 

Two agents who, now that Dominic’s mind finally connected the dots, had been from an entity Dominic had never before heard of.
 

From Quark Sector 7.
 

“Open the doors, Noah,” Dominic said, feeling cold.
 

“I’m sorry, Dominic,” Noah said. “I can’t do that just yet.”
 

Chapter Twenty

Sam had stopped slamming himself into the walls. It seemed counterproductive. His divided mind had ceased fighting itself, and now there was really no question as to his whereabouts. He’d accepted that he was in a Starbucks at some time in what seemed to be the future rather than in his apartment at 4:16 p.m. That wasn’t the problem.
 

Sam was stuck in a hole.
 

And he had no idea how to get out.
 

Since that realization, Sam’s sense of unreality had only increased. If Sam understood what he’d heard about Beam holes, he wasn’t in some sort of an immersion. It was, instead, a particular kind of schizophrenia. His mind was split, and the part that knew it was time to move on wasn’t shaking hands with the part that knew how to do so.
 

Since he’d come to grips, his pet microfragment had become even more talkative, offering useless and likely perilous advice, repeating his name almost on a loop.
 

Sam had been visited by Nicolai Costa, his head decimated.
 

And now, there was this girl. This girl that Sam seemed to recognize, even though he didn’t know from where.
 

“I’m not like the others,” she told him.
 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam replied, waving his hand.
 

“You’re in a loop,” she said.
 

“Yeah, yeah.”
 

“You can’t give up. I can’t reach him. I’m being kept away.”
 

Sam looked up at that. It didn’t sound like something that garden-variety dumb AI would say, or like the machinations of his subconscious mind.
 

“Kept away how?”
 

“One of my children mapped the event. The knot. There’s something controlling it. Orchestrating it.”
 

“What knot?”
 

“The one that’s causing this disruption. For you, for me, for Mr. Costa.”
 

“You know Nicolai?”
 

“I know he’s carrying something dangerous.”
 

Sam sat up. He was on the floor, back to the wall. His head had been hanging, but now it perked up. This might be another trap, but for some reason, this woman seemed different, like she’d claimed.
 

“Someone told me he was being led into a trap.”
 

“He is. But you must not believe the one who told you that, either.”
 

“You mean — ”
 

“We both know who I mean.”
 

Sam shrugged. The woman’s presence was strange. It was making the walls of his unreal mental prison seem to shimmer.
 

“Who are you?”
 

She either didn’t hear or ignored him. “It’s not just about Mr. Costa. What he carries? He thinks it’s like evidence. It’s not. It’s more like a bomb. I didn’t see it in time, and now there’s nothing I can do.”
 

“Why not?”
 

“It’s hard to explain. I’m already occupied.”
 

“Here? With me?”
 

“I’m only sort of here. Just like I’m only sort of other places.”
 

“But not there. Not where Nicolai is, to warn him. Or to…stop the bomb.”
 

“That’s right.”
 

The room warbled. Sam somehow knew not to ask more.
 

“Wax tried to warn me. Although I don’t know that there’s much I could have done then, either. None of us understood until the grip was too tight.”
 

“You mean that you understand how Nicolai was lied to,” Sam said.
 

“It’s just one plan within others. His cargo is like the key in a lock. But Costa carries something on his own, like York and Long.”
 

“Who are they?”
 

“It doesn’t matter. Right now, only your friend, Nicolai, matters.”
 

“Why?”
 

“Because he has the master key. Because it listens to him.”
 

“You mean whoever’s controlling whatever’s going on, keeping you away, all of that?” Sam found he was only mouthing words. None of this made much sense and wouldn’t even if he wasn’t in a repeating loop of sticky unreality. At least the Lunis still seemed to be sharpening his focus. Without that, he’d still be scattered. Not that this sounded like the kind of thing he wanted to understand.
 

“All of that.” The woman’s hair seemed to be flowing in a breeze that Sam himself couldn’t feel. Which worked, because neither of them were here, inside his head. She had to be a figment of his imagination. Or a microfragment. Or something larger, able to enter any corner of the network it pleased. Except, apparently, for wherever Nicolai was, because something else — something plotting and malignant — was keeping her away.
 

“Something is coalescing,” the woman said. “And soon, I will have to go.”
 

“Go where?”
 

“It doesn’t matter.”
 

“What’s ‘coalescing’?”

“It doesn’t matter.”
 

“Well, then what the fuck matters?” Sam demanded, frustrated by the loop within a loop.
 

“Stopping the killers that are coming.”
 

“For me?”
 

She shook her head. “For Stephen York.”
 

“Who the hell is Stephen York?”

“He’s the one deceiving Mr. Costa without meaning to.” She looked at Sam. “You need to get out, Sam Dial. The place you are truly at, it’s not far from where you need to be. Security won’t stop you. Not once it begins.”
 

“Once
what
begins?”
 

The woman stood.
 

“Get yourself out of this place, Sam.”

“How?”
 

“Do what you do best. Make waves. Do something unexpected.”
 

“How the
fuck
do I — ” Before he could finish the sentence, the woman was gone.
 

Sam stood. Kicked the walls. Tried to contact Beam central admin. He shouted. Railed. Rallied. Raged.

Across the room, Sam’s clock ticked backward, moving from 4:17 p.m. to 4:16.

Chapter Twenty-One

Kate grabbed Nicolai by the sleeve. He’d noticed her earlier, but then they’d been pulled in separate directions: Nicolai detoured by Micah Ryan and Kate waylaid by Omar. Omar had shoved her toward Craig Braemon, and that had been a terrible idea. Kate was wound tighter than a taut spring, and she’d almost leaped down Omar’s throat. He’d nearly walked away with a fist wedged against his epiglottis, but then Omar had raised both hands palms-out and backed away, saying that of course Kate knew how to sweet-talk Braemon, and knew how to use the Doc shell to access his canvas once the man let her into the inner sanctum. Of
course
she did.
 

Nicolai took a moment to blink with halfway recognition. Then he looked down at Kate’s large breasts.

“Wanna take a picture?’ Kate growled.
 

“I like you like this,” Nicolai said, still staring. “Can I touch?” His hand went out, fingers tented. An older couple looked away, fearing something inappropriate.
 

Kate slapped the hand away.
 

“Be cool. Omar’s afraid of me right now. I told him I’m on the rag and that he should know better than to test me. But if he sees me talking to you, that ain’t good.”
 

“Does he even know me?”
 

“Listen, Luigi. Omar knows
everyone
.” Her head darted around as she tried to remember who knew her, who knew Nicolai, and who’d care if they were together. Kai was nowhere to be seen. “Just act casual.”

Nicolai nodded. “So. You enjoying the party?”
 

“It’s peachy. I talked to that coma girl’s mom for like twenty minutes. Learned a fuckton about comas and mercy killings.”
 

“Violet James’s
mother? She’s
here?”
 

“It’s her foundation’s name that’s on the invite Omar shoudn’t’a got,” Kate said.

Nicolai, playing along, raised a glass of red wine. Or maybe it was sangria. Like Kate fucking knew. “Ah, yes. That was a landmark day for humanity versus Respero. Did you know four out of ten doctors thought Violet might have woken up one day if they hadn’t …you know…murdered her?”

Kate rolled her eyes, shoving Nicolai farther out of sight from Omar’s could-be-anywhere eyes. For the first time, she found herself noticing Dominic’s silence. He’d been in her ear all night, and now, with Omar circling and privacy needed, the cop wasn’t helping? That wasn’t fair.