CHAPTER IV
GREY SIM
Greyjan’s lay about ten kilometers outside the city, a solitary building on a country road that otherwise had no more than a rustic café or a family store here and there. Meadows stretched out on both sides of the highway, bright with wildflowers, their yellow, red, and purple blossoms nodding in the sun. True to its name, the ripple-grass waved like an ocean as breezes set the stalks in motion, tinged with gold from the sunset. Lines of trees stood in the distance, draped in feather vines. It all formed a pastorally gorgeous reminder of what I’d given up when I returned to Raylicon. The only “meadows” around the City of Cries were extensive mats with giant thorns that stabbed your feet.
I jogged to the tavern. I could have called a flycar, but I preferred to go like this, savoring the landscape. Ten kilometers was nothing. With the backpack slung over my shoulder, I looked more like a university student out for a run rather than someone with a military-grade shroud. The more innocuous people considered me, the better. I’d seen plenty of healthy young people running around the city lately, practicing for the Selei City marathon. Not many were out this far, though.
Better to play it safe. Activate shroud, I thought.
Done, Max answered.
Good. The jammer would shield me from IR, UV, and audio probes, even the new neutrino sensors that were small enough to use in a mesh system, as opposed to the old days when they took up entire underground lakes. My clothes and the holo-powder on my face projected images of my surroundings, their choices controlled by picochips. It made me invisible from far away, though if someone looked carefully, they might see the air ripple around my body. Up close, the holos didn’t work as well, but they at least blurred my body.
I wasn’t even tired when I saw the tavern lights creating a gold sphere of radiance in the slanting rays of sunset. Max, are you getting any signals from this place?
Not many. A few people are inside. The tavern only has a rudimentary mesh system. They’re also running a holocast of a bashball tournament. He paused. I just cracked their security. It’s outdated, to put it kindly. If they usually have so few customers, they probably can’t afford a better one.
I slowed down and walked to the entrance. Try going deeper. You could be just picking up what someone wants us to see, a quaint, outdated tavern in the middle of nowhere.
Working, Max thought. I’m still not getting anything interes—
I waited. Max? You there?
Nothing.
They better not have hurt my EI. I stopped at the tavern door, conflicted. If something had damaged Max, I should withdraw and figure out what happened. However, I might lose whatever lead this place offered. I considered, then decided to take a look inside. I could leave if I didn’t like what I found. The entrance was an old-fashioned wooden door, nothing automated. The entire building had that look, rustic, attractive with its weathered walls and all those wildflowers around the area. Even the weeds were pretty, their blossoms erupting with vibrant colors. Welcome to Parthonia.
It looked innocuous. Too innocuous. I slid the hilt of the knife into my left hand and pushed on the door. It swung aside on old-fashioned hinges, but someone kept them well-oiled, enough to make them silent. I walked inside, into a large room with walls paneled in wood and eaves supporting the ceiling. The place had a dingy look, as if oiling the door hinges had exhausted the proprietor’s attempts at upkeep. Old-fashioned lanterns glowed on the walls, shedding enough light to give me a reasonable view, but dim enough that the few people here probably couldn’t see past the holos trying to make me invisible. A wooden bar polished by years of use stretched along one wall, looking like an antique someone found at a sale.
No robot or mechanized server was taking orders, just a fellow behind the bar playing some game on his wristband. Probably he owned the tavern or otherwise worked for free. A place like this could better afford to hire cheap bots than pay the salary of a human bartender. Wooden tables stood scattered around the room. Only two had occupants, one with an older woman nursing her ale in a thick glass mug, and the other with a couple of young fellows watching the bashball game on the holo. It floated above the bar at the end of the room, filling that corner with colorful images of people in helmets trying to smash each other with a large ball.
No cyclist.
After a few moments of nothing happening, I went over and sat on a stool at the bar, a round deal with black leather. Max, can you respond? I asked.
No answer.
Damn. I liked this less and less. Time to leave and check on Max. Before I could get to my feet, though, the bartender came over, looking slightly less bored. “What’d you like?”
Well, hell. He could see me. Up this close, the holos might not hide me, but they’d still blur my face and body. It would look strange enough that I doubted he’d come over so casually. He acted as if he had seen me the entire time, since I came in the door.
Unless—
Maybe he was the one expecting me. His knowing I’d come into the tavern wasn’t necessarily the same as his seeing me. A drone might register my presence if it had sophisticated-enough systems to see past my disguise. Although that kind of tech seemed unlikely for a place like this, the cyclist who had sent me here had unusually advanced cybernetics.
I stood up and leaned over the bar. Being tall had its uses; I could easily see behind the counter. He had no wheels or anything else unusual, just typical legs.
“What are you doing?” He sounded as if he didn’t know whether to be confused or pissed. He also sounded as if he saw me just fine.
I sat back down. “You real?” Maybe he was a holo. I tapped his arm. Definitely solid.
“Hey, cut it out.” He moved his arm away from me. “You want a drink or not?”
“Not.” I went for the straightforward approach. “I got a message from a cyb-cyclist. They said come here at ninth hour, which went by twenty minutes ago. You know anything about that?”
He blinked at me. “Cyb-cyclist? What does that mean?”
“The lower half of her body wasn’t human. It looked like a cycle with two wheels.”
“I don’t know anyone like that. I can’t figure why they’d tell you to come here.” He motioned at the nearly empty room. “Almost no one else does.”
Maybe I had the wrong place. “They said Greyjan’s. You know of any others?”
He spoke dryly. “We’re the only one.”
Max, are you getting any of this? I asked. Can you give me a sign if you are?
My bio-hydraulics suddenly kicked in and I stood up. Apparently I was leaving. “Thanks for your time,” I managed to get in before I headed for the door.
Max! I thought. It better be him and not someone who had done the supposedly impossible and highjacked my biomech web. Even Max couldn’t take over the system, but he did have access to the hydraulics that enhanced my musculature and skeleton. Cut it out.
I stopped walking.
Good. Then I realized it probably looked odd that I jumped up from the bar, strode to the center of the room, and froze. I headed for the door again. Max, if that was you moving my legs, lift my hand to open the door when I reach it.
Silence. At the exit, however, my hand lifted on its own and pushed open the antique door.
I walked into the night. The sunset had cooled until all that remained was a line of red sky on the horizon. Okay, I thought. We need a code. I’ll ask questions. If the answer is yes, twitch my right thumb. Wait, the hydraulics didn’t extend to my thumb. No, twitch my right arm. If the answer is no, twitch my left arm. If you aren’t sure, don’t do anything.
My right arm twitched.
Hah! This gave new meaning to the term “fast-twitch” muscles. I walked back toward Selei City, passed only by the rare hovercar that hummed by a foot or two above the pavement. In recent years, developers had fine-tuned the turbines that created air cushions for such vehicles, making them so quiet that you could barely hear until they came close enough to hit you. For safety, I kept to the edge of the mostly empty road.
Did someone hack your systems? I asked.
Another twitch of my right arm, the elbow just barely jerking out from my side.
Do you know who did it?
My left arm twitched.
It happened when I reached the tavern. Is it location dependent?
No twitch this time. He didn’t know.
Are only our neural signals blocked? That is, could you talk out loud?
Left twitch. That would be a no.
This majorly honks, I thought.
Right twitch that time.
I kept walking, putting distance between myself and the tavern. Someone wanted me to go to that alehouse. For what? To hack my biomech? Maybe they have some base nearby.
My right twitched, my left arm twitched, and then both twitched together.
What does that mean? Maybe yes, maybe no?
Right arm twitch.
Have they hacked you beyond blocking your ability to communicate with me?
My left arm twitched, no hesitation at all. As far as Max knew, his systems remained secure.
I think they brought me here to try a hack, I decided. But they couldn’t do it.
I agree, Max answered. And yes, the block does seem location dependent. I suspect it also blocked my link to your jammer, which is why your shroud didn’t stay active.
Ah! Welcome back.
I never went anywhere.
If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he sounded relieved. Actually, I didn’t know better. I didn’t care what he said about simulating emotions. However he experienced it, he felt relief.
It looks like they only blocked your communication, I thought. But we can’t be sure. Can you run deeper diagnostics on yourself?
Indeed. I have been running them since we lost contact.
I stopped walking and turned toward the tavern. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on.
Bhaaj, don’t. It’s too risky to go back there. They could be hostiles.
Are you picking up any more details?
Nothing dangerous. Nothing much at all. It appears to be exactly what it looks like.
Yet both my link to you and my shroud stopped working. I needed to know more about this place. Do you detect any weapons in or around the tavern?
The bartender has a small gun behind the bar. I checked his background. He’s licensed to carry it. I’m not getting anything else.
All right. I’m going back. Before he could tell me I should leave it to the authorities, I added, That’s why the police brought me in to help. I’m one of the people who takes the risks.
You don’t know if this connects to the case.
Yah. But I don’t know otherwise, either. I headed for the alehouse. I’ll be careful, Max.
I also. I’ve figured out their hack. I can stop them from interfering again.
Good work. I had almost reached the distance from Greyjan’s where our talk had stopped before. I can still receive you.
I wonder if my dive into their mesh caused the hack. We lost communication when I tried to look deeper into the digital silence surrounding this tavern.
I took the blue beetle out of my pocket and released it into the air. Send my bot around the tavern. If it finds anyone trying to crack you, have it scramble their attack with digitized nonsense.
Sent.
I was approaching the building again. This time instead of waltzing up to the front door, I went around to the back.
Can you still receive me? Max asked.
Yep. Clear as a sunny day. I considered the tavern, which hunkered next to me in the dark. It looked about twice the size of the room I’d seen inside. I wonder what they’ve got in the back.
The only signals I’ve picked up imply storage and living areas. Max paused. I’m
deep-diving again. Can you still receive me?
I can indeed. You find anything?
When he didn’t answer, I feared we’d lost comm again. Then he thought, Something is below the ground here.
That doesn’t sound unusual. City ordinances may prevent them from building above ground. Rural beauty and all that. More than half of Selei City clustered belowground, all those malls and parking lots and security offices. It added several layers to the city, all of them bright and shiny, full of bustle. It also made it possible to have so many parks and pastoral areas aboveground.
This signal isn’t what I’d expect, Max thought.
What’s differ—
Bhaaj, get out of here now!
I spun around and sprinted for the road—
A heavy weight slammed into my back.
Blue light surrounded me, so dim I could barely see. I’d been outside the tavern and then—here. I didn’t recall moving or passing out.
Max? I thought.
No response.
I stood up and looked around, peering into blue. I couldn’t see squat, which seemed odd, because light surrounded me, dim sure, but it existed. I held up my hand and saw the palm in front of my face. Everything else just looked blue. Weird.
I walked forward, testing the ground with each step, swinging my arms around my body. “Anyone here?”
Silence.
Max, I thought. Are you receiving me? Do the arm twitch thing if you can.
Nothing.
“Look,” I said to whoever was listening, if anyone. “If you want something, just say it.”
My left hand brushed a surface, what felt like a wall. Turning, I felt along the barrier, searching for a door, a panel, anything. After several moments of finding zilch, I leaned my back against the wall, thinking. Why couldn’t I recall how I got here? I hadn’t passed out, as far as I knew. It was like a holomovie editor had deleted part of the film, cutting straight from one scene to another with no transition.
Huh. Holomovie? Or virtual movie? Maybe I hadn’t gone anywhere. This could be a simulation that started when I got hit. To experience a sim this convincing, though, I’d need to wear a virtual-reality suit sophisticated enough to convince my brain of this “reality.” If someone had knocked me out, they could have put me in a suit, but the change seemed instantaneous. I had on the same clothes, trousers, boots, a pullover shirt, and my leather jacket. Matter of fact, I still had the knife in my hand. I checked for the shoulder holster under my jacket. Yah, my pulse revolver was there, snug against my body. A good-enough sim could make me feel all that, but I didn’t see how whoever did this could have created every detail almost instantaneously, exactly as I expected, without using any exterior aids, like a VR suit and goggles.
Another option existed, one I Did Not Like. If someone accessed my brain, they could manipulate my senses so I experienced this as real. The idea that anyone could manage such an extreme neural hack scared the hell out of me. If they could crack biomech as advanced as mine, they were way beyond the known state of the art.
Stay cool, I thought. First step: try out my senses. Sight was iffy. I could see blue, but it showed nothing. I heard nothing, either. Then again, nothing could reveal a lot. Sight and hearing were usually the first senses VR designers worked on, since most people noticed those first in a sim. Touch was also important. I felt the wall against my back, but nothing else. And smell—
Ho! I could smell just fine. The fragrance of wildflowers tickled my nose exactly that way it had during my run to the tavern. The wall I felt could be the side of the building. I couldn’t taste anything, but then, I hadn’t noticed taste before, either.
“Look,” I said to the blueness. “Your crappy VR sim is a mess.” I’d sound stupid if this wasn’t a sim, but what the hell. Maybe I could insult them into a reaction.
Bhaaj? Max thought. What do you mean, VR sim?
You’re back.
Was I gone?
I’ve been in this weird place, like a VR sim, for about five minutes.
My last memory is when you sprinted for the road, after I warned you to leave.
Why did you warn me? What did you find?
Silence.
Max?
I can’t access the memory. That’s not the only one, either. I can’t access my record of what happened after I warned you to run.
You can’t get to those records? Or they’re gone?
I’m fairly certain the data is still there. I’m trying to retrieve it.
Do you detect any people nearby? Someone shoved me in the back.
No one close. I get life signs within a larger radius, probably people in the bar.
What about the blue beetle? Can you reach it?
Not yet. I’m working on it. Something is blocking my signal, but not very well.
It’s like someone wants to stop us, but they can’t do it right.
Yes, well, they’re successful enough to trap you in this simulation.
Partially. It affects my sight and touch. Not smell. I’m not sure about sound. I concentrated, listening. A bird trilled faintly in the distance. I think it mutes the sound but can’t block it.
If you’re right, then at the moment you are several meters to the side of the tavern.
Not anymore. I explored until I hit a wall. I think I’m leaning against the tavern. If this sim is as bad as it seems, no way could it make me believe I’m supporting my weight against a solid surface unless I’m actually doing it. I scowled. I don’t see the purpose of all this.
My guess? Someone tried to crack us and failed.
I don’t think they want to kill, injure, or capture us. I still have my weapons.
Maybe they’re afraid to remove them. A sim doesn’t change your fighting ability.
Sure it does. I can’t see shit.
I would certainly hope not.
Max.
Is the wall visible at all? Can you feel its texture?
I turned and pressed my palms against the surface, leaned in until my nose touched it, then pushing away again, all the time squinting, staring, closing one eye, then the other. I can’t see anything. It feels like glass. The tavern has wooden walls.
That assumes it’s real wood. Cheap synthetics often feel unnaturally smooth.
I knelt down and ran my hands along ground. I hope I’m not doing this in full view of anyone who happens to go by here. I’ll look like a nut.
This area gets almost no traffic. I’m surprised this tavern stays in business.
Yah, I thought, preoccupied. The ground felt . . . undefined. Smooth—no, a little rough—no, long planks cut from wood. Max, do you remember how the ground looked by the tavern?
I have images. They’re blurred due to the dusk—cleaning them up—a wooden walkway circles the building.
I think I’m feeling the walkway. This sim only seems to affect sight and sound. I scowled as I stood up. It still implies they accessed my brain.
I don’t think so. If they could affect the centers of your brain that control sight and hearing, the sim would be much better.
Not if they had limited access.
Either they fire your neurons or they don’t.
That’s a simplification. It depends how many neurons they reach and how accurate they target areas of my brain. And who the hell knows what else.
I don’t think that’s what you’re experiencing now, though. This is too crude.
I hope you’re right. I remained tensed, poised to defend myself. I think someone slammed me in the back as a distraction, so I wouldn’t notice the shift to VR. The change was almost instantaneous.
The only way that would work is if you’re wearing a VR suit.
I can’t be! I have on the same clothes. This sim isn’t sophisticated enough to fake my clothes in such detail. I tried to think beyond the expected. Could someone create a suit out of the ambient surroundings?
I don’t follow your meaning.
Like the atmosphere. Could they alter the air around me so it behaves like a VR suit?
I want to say no, it’s impossible. However, I think that might be a brilliant idea.
They would have to thicken it somehow, create a layer that molds to my body.
Not the air. They could use a molecular airlock.
Ho! You’re right. I tried to recall how they worked. I learned about molecular airlocks when I took biochem in college, but it’s been a long time. Remind me about the details.
You get cranky when I tell you something you know. You say I’m Maxsplaining.
He had a point. I won’t grumble, I promise. The more I can remember, the more I might be able to figure out this VR business.
All right. You need a lipid bilayer to make the airlock. Lipids are biochemical molecules. They don’t dissolve in water.
Big molecules, right? I tried to recall if they did anything else besides appear in airlocks. Oh, yah, stupid me. They formed the basis of life. They’re part of the cell membranes for organisms that originated on Earth. And they’re thin layers. I mean, really thin, like only a few nanos.
If you mean nanometers, then yes. To make the molecular airlock, chemists dope the bilayer with nanobot enzymes. To use the airlock, you apply an electric potential.
To the membrane, yah? The potential turns off the bots. No, that wasn’t right. Why saturate a membrane with bots if you just turned them off? Or something like that.
Altering the potential causes the bot enzymes to change shape. Each shape allows the bot to lock into a different receptor molecule in the membrane.
I remember! It’s like a key. When the bot and the receptor click together, it changes the behavior of the membrane. It changes its— I paused. I can’t remember the word. It allows some materials to pass through but it stops others.
Permeability. Different permeabilities let different materials through the membrane. For the airlock on a space ship, humans can go through but not air. It forms a seal with your body. The bots remember their original state so the membrane can reform after you go through. He paused. Maybe the tavern had a molecular airlock in its entrance. If it detached from the doorframe, it would mold to your body.
I’d have seen it. Those membranes shimmer.
Silence.
Max?
I’m running models. The airlock doesn’t have to shimmer. It’s designed that way so you know it’s there. You can feel it move along your skin, too. Did you notice anything?
Nothing. I considered the idea. Max, could someone alter the bots in the membrane to act like VR sensors? My sight might be the easiest to control because that’s the best-developed VR tech.
That might work. I don’t know how well, but it would be a clever idea. Another pause. Bhaaj, I am picking up indications of lipid molecules on your body.
I wonder who set it up. We still don’t know who hit me or where they went.
Do you hear anyone?
No one. I swung my arms through the blue. My fist brushed the wall, but nothing else. It’s odd. The blow felt like that time a robot sentry struck me in the back while I was in that Cries warehouse. It happened on that case where I had to enter the building without, uh, talking to the owners.
Max answered dryly. You mean when you broke into the warehouse?
Um, well—yah. The robot slammed me to the floor. I stopped. Max, it felt exactly like that. I don’t think anyone hit me tonight. Someone tried to distract me while they turned on the VR suit. Maybe they somehow brought up that memory.
An interesting question. It would be a clever trick, but inefficient.
Yah, well, I need to get out of this “interesting” sim before that someone whacks me.
One moment . . . After the requisite moment, he added, I’ve accessed one of the two locations in my memory that they blocked. The reason I warned you was because someone did get past my defenses, for an instant. He sounded pissed. It was enough to send the suggestion of such a blow to you. Your memory filled in the rest.
That’s evil. I clenched my fists, wanting to defend myself, then forced myself to relax. Fists wouldn’t help against this bizarre attack. Instead, I closed my eyes, concentrating on my senses other than vision. If they were less compromised than my sight, it might be easier to kick them free of this sim. After several moments of trying to hear or smell my surroundings, I scowled, frustrated.
I’ve contacted the blue beetle, Max thought. Something scrambled its systems.
Not again. Can you repair it?
I think so, but it will take a while.
I spoke out loud. “Whoever is playing this game, just tell me what you want.”
No response.
“You must want something,” I said. “Otherwise why do this?”
Bhaaj, I don’t think they can hear. Max sounded puzzled. This sim barely functions. We’ve blocked it, me on the digital front and you with your training to resist coercion. They might not even realize you’re experiencing a shadow of what they tried to do.
Maybe I can get out of it by leaving the tavern again. I touched the wall. I can estimate my location if I assume the wall I feel is the side of Greyjan’s tavern. Once I get to the road, I can feel the curb enough to walk along it. I’m not sure how to get there, though. This blue is confusing.
I can help. He added, If you succeed in leaving this tavern, you should stay gone this time.
Yah, no kidding. I stepped away from the wall. Is this the direction to the road?
Yes.
I took another step, then another.
Angle more to your left, Max thought.
So we went, Max giving directions, with me swinging my arms and testing the ground as I walked. I still had no sense of anyone else nearby. Even with the noises muted, I thought I’d hear a vehicle go by on the road. The blue stayed blue.
I soon reached the curb. It was easier to walk, since I could feel the ridge that separated the road on my left from the meadow on my right. I stumbled several times over rocks. Apparently gardening bots didn’t do much upkeep this far out from the city.
How are your sensors? I asked.
Improving, Max answered. I’m back to about sixty percent of normal.
I’m not. I squinted into the blue. I’m having trouble distinguishing virtual blue from the night, though. Try activating my IR filters for night vision.
Done.
The blue lightened. The infrared sensors in my eyes worked by detecting heat, and my surroundings were mostly the same temperature, a pleasant warmth, not too hot, not too cold, with the hint of the night’s chill. Except—I could see the road. Not clearly, but there—yah, its border with the curb looked like a line. The curb showed, too. I recognized this new shade of blue; it came from my IR vision, which showed cooler temperatures as blue and warmer as white or red.
Max, deactivate my IR.
Done.
Everything dimmed—but yes! I still saw the road. The meadows that bordered the highway rippled in the pleasing way the rural planners had designed them to do. The chirps and clicks of life intensified, and the sweet smell of wildflowers tickled my nose.
Okay. I’m coming out of the sim.
My sensors also work, Max said. I am repairing the blue beetle, too. However, all trace of its records for tonight are gone.
I set off running, headed home. We have a new question: Who the hell did this, and why?