by Jason Segel
Nasha is sitting beside the man who’s captaining our raft. The only thing remarkable about him is how unremarkable he is. When I close my eyes and try to picture him in my head, all I get is a broad nose and sandy blond hair. His navy-blue shirt and pants have no recognizable style. I don’t have a clue what nationality he is. I haven’t once heard his voice.
I think we may have made a huge mistake hitching this particular ride. I look over at Kat, and I can see it in her eyes. She thinks so, too. It’s been obvious for quite a while that Nasha Ogubu is not who we thought she was. We know nothing about her. But whoever owns this boat must know exactly who we are.
Once our raft has been lined up alongside the ship, someone above tosses a rope ladder down to us. Nasha grabs the closest rung and begins to climb. The rest of us refuse to budge.
Our blandly boyish captain offers a hand to Busara. She won’t take it.
“Why are you waiting?” Her mother has paused to peer back down at us.
“I’m not getting off the boat unless you tell us who you are,” Busara said firmly.
Nasha huffs with frustration. “For God’s sake, Busara, I’m your mother,” she says. “You honestly think I would put you in danger?” The four of us remain seated. I am perfectly happy to keep Busara company on the raft. Nasha must sense that no one’s going to take that for an answer. “Who I was before I became your mother is an altogether different story,” she adds.
“Will you tell us who you were back then?” Kat asks.
“I’ll tell you what I can,” Nasha promises.
* * *
—
Nasha and James Ogubu have the ultimate meet-cute story. It’s a real shame no one else will ever get to hear it. He was a brilliant engineer. She was a spy sent by her employer to learn everything she could about him. Nasha won’t tell us who that employer was. A reasonable guess would be the CIA. The Kremlin would be equally reasonable. But I wouldn’t rule out industrial espionage, either. Every tech company in the world plants spies in their competitors’ operations.
Of course, just as you’d expect, the engineer and the spy fell madly in love. Which apparently didn’t prevent Nasha from continuing to report back to her employer. She retired from the espionage game when their daughter was born with a heart defect. After that, Nasha spent seventeen years taking care of her family—only to be pulled back into service the day Wayne Gibson showed up at the Company.
Everyone in the spy business knows Wayne, it seems. For years, he ran US Cyber Command—a fact that came as a surprise to all of us, including his stepdaughter. His mission was to protect the United States from cyber terrorism. When he took the job, he probably expected the bad guys to be hackers from hostile nations. Over time, he came to believe that the biggest threat to America came from the inside.
No one in government seemed to be paying attention to what our own tech companies were creating. The CEOs all claimed they were inventing things that would change the world. They never mentioned that their innovations might just as easily destroy it. The leaders of the tech world didn’t give a damn what would happen if a person’s voice could be copied or their appearance digitally duplicated. The only thing that mattered was boosting their stock price.
Then came an incident that sent Wayne sailing right over the edge: an engineer from an American biotech corporation disappeared mysteriously. For a while, it was feared she’d been kidnapped by a hostile rogue nation. The woman had been the genius behind an artificial parasite designed to settle inside the human brain and allow its host to be controlled remotely. It was just an experiment, the company said. The parasite had never been tested on humans. No one knew if it would actually work. It had taken over a week for the engineer’s employer to report her missing. Turned out the woman had run off on a spirit quest to India. But the incident was enough to scare Wayne Gibson into action.
Unable to get the government to act, Wayne went public. He spoke to the biggest news organizations in the country, accusing the tech companies of endangering the United States of America. Then one day he stopped talking. Milo Yolkin offered him a position leading security at the Company—and to everyone’s surprise, Wayne took it. Some thought he’d been lured by big money. Others thought Milo had offered him a chance to reform the tech industry. Nasha wasn’t buying either explanation.
“I knew what my husband had invented, and I knew what the Company could do. They were able to create new worlds. Download memories. Imprison people’s minds in virtual prisons. I also knew Milo Yolkin was unhinged. He’d clearly become addicted to Otherworld. The Company had turned into a giant security risk. At the time, I thought there were only two reasons Wayne Gibson would join. He was planning to either blow the whistle on the Company—or take it down.”
“But he didn’t do either,” Busara says.
We’re all huddled together around a table in the crew’s cramped dining area. I’ve been scanning my surroundings, looking for anything that might identify the ship’s owner. There’s nothing. No logos, no emblems, no writing of any kind. Even the crew themselves don’t offer any clues. They work silently. Whenever Nasha makes a move, they instantly dart away, like a school of fish avoiding a shark.
“No,” Nasha responds. “In fact, Wayne appears to be doing everything he can to save the Company. We don’t understand why he’s acting the way he is.”
“Face it. Wayne Gibson has gone over to the dark side,” I say. “He’s murdered dozens of people. He forced hospital patients to beta test Otherworld disks. There are at least five men in New York who’ve either died or killed another person while testing OtherEarth. Wayne told me progress was worth the sacrifice.”
“And I’m sure he meant it,” Nasha says. “Wayne’s a career military man. He’s been trained to believe in sacrificing lives for the common good.”
The way she says it leads me to think she might believe it too. I suddenly suspect she’d gladly sacrifice me for the common good.
“Soldiers know they’re putting their lives on the line,” I say. “Wayne’s been sacrificing civilians. A lot of them have been kids.”
“Yes, he appears to be willing to accept a great deal of collateral damage,” Nasha agrees bluntly. “That’s one reason we’re extremely interested in finding out what Wayne’s up to. We’re hoping you’ll be willing to help. We need you to talk to Max Prince.”
She stops, as if waiting for an answer. The four of us share a long look. No one appears terribly convinced. Finally, Busara clears her throat.
“Who do you work for?” she demands, her voice cracking.
Nasha shakes her head. “I can’t tell you that, sugar.”
“Then why should we trust you?” Kat asks.
“We risked exposing our operation to rescue you and Simon from the Company,” Nasha says. “I’m sure you realize they would have killed you.”
“Abigail Prince paid people to rescue us,” I argue. “What did you and your employer have to do with it?”
“Abigail didn’t know it, but she hired us,” Nasha says. “We’ve been overseeing this entire operation. We were the ones who put you in touch with Abigail in the first place.”
“No, you didn’t.” I know that much for certain. “A friend of my mother’s gave us the number.”
Nasha raises her eyebrows as if it’s hard to believe I could be so naive. “And you didn’t find it at all odd that a lawyer was able to track you down and deliver the message within half an hour of your call?”
I think I’ll just shut up now. I’m obviously way out of my league.
“I don’t understand,” Elvis says. “Why do you need our help? If you’re convinced Max Prince knows something, why don’t you go speak to him yourselves?”
“We have,” Nasha says. “He refuses to say a word.”
“Why did you think he would?” Busara asks bitterly. “He doesn’t have a
ny more reason to trust you than we do.”
Sighing, Nasha reaches under her seat and pulls out a thin laptop. “You need more proof of our goodwill.” She cracks open the computer and types in a password. Then she turns the screen to face us. A different video is playing in each quadrant.
“What the hell!” Elvis cries, pointing at the upper right quadrant. There’s a man on the screen. He’s cooking what appears to be an omelet, wearing a frilly apron—and nothing else.
“Friend of yours?” I snicker.
“That’s my dad!” Elvis shouts, just as his father turns his back to the camera, revealing a pair of hairy butt cheeks. “Oh my God! Turn that off before my mom comes in!”
Nasha reaches over and clicks off the feed. It’s nice to know there are limits to Elvis’s deranged sense of humor.
“What are you doing to my parents?” he demands. Then Busara grips his arm and puts a finger to her lips. Three videos are still playing on the screen. My eyes have landed on a small, pretty woman with dyed-red hair that’s gray at the roots. She’s sitting on a sofa with her feet tucked beneath her. There’s a book in her lap and a cup of coffee in her hand. Behind her is a large picture window that offers a view of a vast green forest with mountains in the distance. I can see a few goats milling about nearby.
Kat leans forward, her face inches from the screen. When she turns back around, I can’t tell if she’s relieved or terrified. Probably both. “That’s my mom, but where is she?” Kat asks. “Wayne told me he’d had her committed to a mental institution.”
“He was lying,” Nasha said. “We’ve been taking care of your mother since you were in the coma. She’s in a safe house in Eastern Europe.”
“Eastern Europe?” Kat repeats. “Would you mind being a little more specific?”
“I’m afraid it would be unwise to disclose the exact location. If you were to fall back into Company hands, Wayne could extract that information and use it against you.”
Kat’s lips stay sealed. She’s not going to argue. But she isn’t satisfied with the answer. She grabs the computer as if determined to figure it out for herself. But the moment her eyes drop to the screen, they dart away from the feed coming from Europe. Kat taps the lower left quadrant of the screen. “Simon! Look! It’s your dad.”
“Do I have to?” I ask.
“And your mom!” she says, pointing to the next video.
This time I lean in. The moment I see her, I’m convinced the image is fake. I’ve known Irene Eaton for eighteen years, and I’ve seen her in jeans maybe two or three times. Yet the woman I’m supposed to believe is my mother is walking across an apartment I don’t recognize wearing ripped jeans, boots and a black T-shirt. She doesn’t even look like the same person.
“Nice try,” I say. “You got the hair right, but that’s not my mom.”
“It is,” Nasha says. “Your mother’s life has changed a great deal since you last saw her. She doesn’t have much need for her old wardrobe these days.”
Okay, that makes me nervous. I’m pretty sure my mother owned at least one Chanel suit that she loved like a second child. “Why not?”
“She resigned from her law firm. And she no longer lives with your father. She’s devoted her life to helping you.”
“Me? She doesn’t even know where I am.”
“She has an idea,” Nasha says. “We’ve let her know you’re in good hands. She’s aware that we’re keeping an eye on you. I’m sure she suspects we’re keeping an eye on her as well.”
I sit back and study Nasha. Despite her black spy gear, she’s as pretty and poised as a TV mom. She’s even wearing little diamond studs in her ears. Never in a million years would I have expected any of this from her. I suppose it’s served her well throughout her career. The best spies are always the ones no one ever suspects.
“So you and your employer are spying on all of our parents,” Kat says. I can hear the suspicion in her voice.
“To keep them safe,” Nasha assures us.
That’s the innocent explanation. I can think of a few others.
“And to let us know you can get to them whenever you like,” Kat adds.
“We aren’t trying to threaten you,” Nasha says. “We won’t interfere with your parents’ lives unless the Company makes a move against them.”
“What if we decide we don’t want to give you any information?” Busara demands. “Will your employer hurt their mothers and fathers?”
“Of course not,” Nasha replies. “But we may choose to reallocate the resources that are currently devoted to their protection.”
“You’re saying you’ll leave our parents in danger,” I translate.
“We are not the ones who endangered your parents. It is not our duty to protect them. We are helping them in the hopes that you will return the favor and help us.”
The only sound in the room is that of the ship’s engines. Everything seems even more complicated than it did on Abigail’s island. I catch Kat’s eye and she gives me a nod. She’s in. Elvis nods as well. Busara isn’t looking at any of us. She’s glaring at her mother.
“Did Dad know who you really are?” she asks. “Did he know who you work for?”
Nasha’s expression doesn’t change. Her face remains a mask. But something flickers in her eyes. “Yes,” she says.
“That’s why you won’t go see him in Otherworld, isn’t it?” Busara asks. “He must feel as betrayed as I do right now.”
“Did he say that?” Nasha waits for her daughter’s response, but Busara stays silent. “I didn’t think so.” Nasha stands up and peers down at the four of us. “I’m going to give you some time to consider our offer. I’ll be back in an hour.”
She leaves the tablet lying on the table, the videos of our parents still playing on its screen.
Elvis and Kat are hunched over the tablet, trying to figure out where Kat’s mother might be hidden. Elvis says the goats look Romanian.
“See how well groomed they are?” he asks, tapping the screen with a finger. “Romanians really love their goats.”
Busara shows no interest in the videos. Why would she? Her parents are both accounted for. But something is clearly wrong with her. She’s staring at the wall with a blank expression. I don’t think she’s moved an inch since her mother left.
“What are you thinking about?” I reluctantly drop down beside her. I’m really not the right person for this operation, but it looks like no one else is going to volunteer.
Busara sits with her hands in her lap, her eyes still on the wall. “I’m thinking that I never knew my mother,” she says.
The grief in her voice takes me by surprise. The way she says it, you’d assume that her mother was dead. I have a hunch that pointing out that Nasha Ogubu is alive, well and probably eavesdropping on our conversation won’t do much good. So I wisely opt to keep my mouth firmly shut.
“I was nine when my parents found out I was sick,” she continues. “My father immediately disappeared into his lab. I knew he was searching for some way to help me, and I thought he was a hero. But my mother was the one who really saved me. That whole time, she barely left my side. She would sit on the side of my bed and tell me about all the things that happened to her when she was growing up in Africa. A snake crawled into her bed one night and she tossed it right out the window. Another time she outwitted a band of poachers who were stalking the local elephants. I thought she was exaggerating, but I loved all her stories. The lesson was always the same. She told me she never gave in to fear because she knew she was bound for big things. She told me I shouldn’t be scared because I was too.”
“She was right,” I tell Busara.
“She was full of it. The mother I loved never really existed,” she says. “She’s probably not even from Africa. I’m sure all the stories were bullshit.”
“Maybe. But the per
son sitting on the side of your bed was real,” I point out.
Busara finally turns to face me. “The person sitting on the side of my bed was there to spy on my father. The loving-mother part was just a disguise.”
“Remember what Elvis said about disguises?” I ask. “He said there are things about each of us that we aren’t able to hide. He was right. And those are the parts of us that are the most real. Think about it. You couldn’t hide that you’d fallen for Elvis.” I pause just long enough to hear the punch line of what I can only assume was a dirty goat joke. “Even though I’m still having a hard time believing it.”
“He tries to be funny because he wants people to like him and he worries his intelligence will set him apart,” Busara says. “But Elvis is a genius.”
“Oh, I know. And for the record, he says the same thing about you. He saw it even when you were doing your best to act like a robot. That’s the other thing you can’t hide, Busara. You are bound for greatness. Your mother figured it out before you were ten years old. It doesn’t matter if none of those things really happened. The lesson of all her stories was true.”
“The lesson was that I’d grow up to be like her,” Busara says softly. She’s watching Elvis on the other side of the room. There’s real fear in her eyes. “Simon, what if I have?”
“Then you are exactly who you’re supposed to be.”
The way Busara raises her eyebrow when she turns to me, there’s no doubt she is her mother’s daughter. “Who are you?” she asks. “And what have you done with Simon?”
“Believe me, I’m as surprised as you are,” I tell her. “But this is a subject I happen to know something about. Do you know what this is?” I tap my giant nose.
“Your bizarre claim to fame?”
“It’s the thing I can’t hide. Until I was twelve, I had no idea where it came from. I didn’t look like anyone in my family. It made me a mark for every bully in school. Then one day I found a picture of a man who looked just like me. He’d been a gangster in Brooklyn. They called him the Kishka because of his nose.”
