Year's Best SF 2

by David G. Hartwell

  “I need my rest,” I said. “We go after basking seals tomorrow. We stalk them across the ice.”

  “With guns?”

  “With clubs. You know I hate guns.”

  “That's even worse.”

  “They're not real, Mother.”

  “The clubs or the seals?”

  “Both. None of it is real. It's Direct Experience.”

  “My $899 is real.”

  I was one of the first ones into the Departure Hall the next morning. I took off my clothes and sat down on the bench to wait for the attendant. I watched the other guys file in, mostly wearing parkas or safari outfits. Their attendants had them in their drawers by 8:58.

  At 9:14 Squeaky Shoes showed up. “What's the delay?” I asked.

  “Bug in the system,” he said. “But we're getting it.” He was sticking the little things to my forehead. “Close your eyes.”

  Bug? I closed my eyes. I heard the drawer rumble; I smelled the sharp smell of the Vitazine and it was like waking from a dream. Chemise was sitting on a brocaded settee under an open window, wearing a plum-red stretch-velvet baby T with lattice edging and elastic-trimmed neckline over matching high-cut bikini panties.

  “Chemise,” I said. I tried to concentrate but I couldn't help feeling I had been higher yesterday. A dog walked through the room. The window looked down on a formal garden with curving brick walkways. The sky was blue and cloudless.

  Chemise was looking away. I sat down beside her, feeling restless. I was about to get up again when I thought I heard a faint voice calling for help. I looked down and saw a crack in the baseboard. It was too small to put my hand in but I was able to crawl through on my belly, one shoulder at a time.

  I was in the concrete hallway again, with the stack of lumber shimmering against one wall. The girl in the red hat was yelling at me: “You almost got me killed!”

  “Bug?” I said.

  “What did you call me?”

  “Not Chemise?” I tried. She was sitting on the stack of lumber, wearing her

  MERLYN SISTEMS

  SOFTWARE THAT WORKS HARD

  T-shirt over white cotton panties cut high on the sides.

  “Not Not Chemise. You called me something else.”

  “Bug.”

  “Bug. I like that.” She had gray eyes. “But you have to quit looking around. We have to go through the mouse holes, not the doors, or you might meet yourself again.”

  “Then that was me I saw!”

  “That's what crashed the system. You almost got me killed.”

  “If the system crashes you die?”

  “Supposedly. Luckily I had saved myself. All I lost was a little memory. A little more memory.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Let's get going. I can take you to the Upper Room,” she said.

  I tried to sound casual. “I thought you wanted me to take you.”

  “Same thing. I know the route through the mouse holes. Watch me or watch the hat. Let's get moving. Clyde will get the cat out soon.”

  “Cat? I saw a dog.”

  “Oh, shit! We better get moving, then.” She threw the red hat behind me. Where it hit I found a wide crack in the concrete floor. It was tight but I managed to crawl through on my belly, pushing one shoulder through and then the other. I was in a bright room with one whole wall of windows. Potted plants were stacked on boxes and on the sofa. There was no place to sit down. Bug was standing by the window, wearing a pale-peach bra with adjustable tapered straps and deep décolleté, and a matching bikini with full back. And the red hat.

  I stood beside her at the window. I expected to see treetops but all I saw were clouds, far below. I had never been so high.

  “That cat, that dog you saw, is a system debugger,” she said. “Sniffs out mouse holes. If it finds me I'm a goner.”

  I liked the way her bra did in the back. “Do you mind if I call you Bug?”

  “I already told you, I sort of like it,” she said. “Especially since I don't remember my name.”

  “You don't remember your name?”

  “I lost some memory when the system crashed,” she said. She looked almost sad. “Not to mention the time when Clyde killed me.”

  “Who is Clyde? And who are you, anyway?”

  “You ask too many questions,” she said. “I'm Bug, that's all, a damsel in distress, and that's one of your fantasies. So let's get going. We can talk on the way.”

  She threw the red hat against the wall. I found it in the corner, where the wallpaper was pulled loose, revealing a crack barely large enough for my fingertips. It was tight but I was able to manage, one shoulder at a time. I was in a bedroom with a bay window. Bug was—

  “Do you mind if I call you Bug?”

  “I told you, it's OK.” Bug was standing at the window wearing a pearl-white satin jacquard demi bra, accented with scalloped trim along the cups, and a string bikini with a sheer stretch back accented with one little bow. And the red hat, of course.

  “Clyde will find me here in the Veep sooner or later, especially now that they suspect a bug. But if I can make it to the Upper Room, I can port through to the other systems.”

  “What other systems?”

  “The Arctic, the Amazon, whatever adventures they add later. All the franchises are interfaced at the top. It'll be like life. Life after Clyde.”

  “Who's—?”

  “Shit!” A phone was ringing. Bug picked it up and handed it to me. It was porcelain with brass trim, like a fancy toilet. Before I could say hello I found myself staring up at the water-stained ceiling of the Departure Hall.

  “Client services wants to see you,” said the attendant. For the first time I noticed the name stitched on his white jacket. It was CLYDE.

  “You still seem to be showing up in rooms where you aren't supposed to be,” said Dr. Cisneros. “On code strings that aren't connected. Unauthorized pathways.” Dr. Cisneros had been eating lunch at her desk, judging by the little pile of bones at the edge of her blotter. “Are you positive you haven't noticed anything unusual?”

  I had to tell her something, so I told her about the dog.

  “Oh, that. That's Clyde's cat. The system debugger. He configures it as a dog. It's his idea of a joke.”

  Sometimes the smart thing is to act dumb. “What kind of bug are you looking for?” I asked.

  Dr. Cisneros swiveled the computer monitor on her desk so that I could see the screen. She hit a key and a still picture came up. I wasn't surprised to see Bug—wearing the MERLYN SISTEMS T-shirt and the red hat, of course. She also wore baggy Levi's and glasses. “Early this year one of our programmers was caught illegally altering proprietary software, which is, as you know, a federal crime. We had no choice but to call BATF&S. But while she was free on bail awaiting trial she illegally entered the system.”

  “As a client?” I asked.

  “As a trespasser with criminal intent. Perhaps even to commit sabotage. She may have been carrying a resedit. She may have left loops or subroutines designed to render the software unstable or even dangerous. Unexecutable routines, unauthorized pathways.”

  “I don't understand what this has to do with me,” I said. Mother always said I was good at lying. Mother ought to know.

  “The danger to you,” Dr. Cisneros said, “is that one of these unauthorized pathways might lead to the Upper Room. And the Upper Room is not, at present, exitable. It's an enter-only. You may have noticed that Victoria's Palace is a one-way system, from lower to higher rooms. It's like the universe. You go until you hit an exit sequence.”

  “The phone rings,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Dr. Cisneros. “That was Clyde's idea. A nice touch, don't you think? But at present there's no exit sequence, or phone as you call it, installed in the Upper Room.”

  “Isn't there a door?”

  “There's an in door but no out door. Where would the out door go? The Upper Room is at the top of the code string. The client would be trapped. Maybe foreve
r.”

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Keep your eyes open. Rogue programmers have rogue egos. They often leave signature stuff lying around. Clues. If you see anything odd, like a picture of her, a little token left around, try to remember what room it is in. It will help us isolate the damage.”

  “Like a red hat.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Or her herself.”

  Dr. Cisneros shook her head. “It would only be a copy. She's dead. She committed suicide before we could have her reapprehended.”

  “Rhonda left another message on your answering machine,” Mother said when I returned home.

  “Barbara Ann,” I corrected.

  “Whatever. She says she's going to bring your stuff over here and leave it on the lawn. She says Jerry Lewis—”

  “Jerry Lee, Mother.”

  “Whatever. Her new guy, he needs your old room. Apparently they're not sleeping together either.”

  “Mother!” I said.

  “She says if you don't come and get your stuff she's going to throw it out.”

  “I wish you wouldn't play my messages,” I said. “What's the point of having two machines?”

  “I can't help it. Your machine recognizes my voice.”

  “That's just because you try to talk like me.”

  “I don't have to try,” Mother said. “How was your day? Bash any baskin' robins?”

  “Very funny,” I said. “We did club a large number of basking seals today. They weren't babies though. We club the old seals, the ones that have borne their children and outlived their usefulness to the tribe.”

  I gave her a look but she chose to ignore it.

  The next morning I was the first one in the Departure Hall. “Get squared away with Bonnie?” the attendant asked.

  “Bonnie?”

  “Hold still.” He was sticking the little things to my forehead. “Lie down.” It was like waking from a dream. I was in a library with an arched glass window over-looking faraway hills. Chemise had taken down a book and was leafing through the pages. She was wearing a black camisole embroidered with velvet jacquard on whisperweight voile, with slender straps, deeply cut cups and a full stretch-lace back. I could see that the pages were blank. “Chemise,” I said. I wanted to tell her I was sorry I was neglecting her. I liked the way her cups did when she bent over, but I had to find Bug. I had to warn her that Dr. Cisneros and Clyde were looking for her.

  I searched along the baseboards looking for a mouse hole until I found a crack behind a warped board. It was barely big enough to stick a hand in, but I was able to crawl through on my belly and wedge one shoulder in at a time.

  I was back in the concrete hallway.

  Bug was standing beside a pile of two-by-fours, wearing her MERLYN SISTEMS T-shirt over French-cut white cotton bikini panties with scalloped lace trim along the edges. And the red hat, of course. And glasses!

  “What's with the glasses?” she asked me. She tried to take them off but couldn't.

  “They know about you,” I said. “They showed me a picture of you. Wearing glasses.”

  “Of course they know about me! Clyde for damn sure knows about me.”

  “I mean, they know you're in here. Although they think you're dead.”

  “Well, I am dead, but I won't be in here long. Not if we get to the Upper Room.” She took off her red hat and sailed it down the hall. It landed by a break in the concrete where the floor met the wall. It was too small for even a mouse but I was able to wriggle through, first my fingertips and then one shoulder and then the other. I was in a conservatory with big bay windows overlooking bright, high clouds that looked like ruined castles. Bug—

  “Do you mind if I call you Bug?”

  “Jesus, I told you, it's OK.” Bug was standing by the window wearing a white voile bra with lace-embroidered cups and matching panties with lace inserts on the from and sides. And the red hat. And the glasses.

  “I'm willing to help,” I said. “But this Upper Room stuff sounds dangerous.”

  “Dangerous? Who says?”

  “Client services.”

  “Cisneros? That cunt!”

  “I wish you wouldn't call her that. She says once I get in the Upper Room I can't get out. Like a Roach Motel. No phone.”

  “Hmm.” Bug looked straight at me. Her gray eyes looked worried. “I didn't think of that. Let's go higher, where we can talk.” She threw the red hat and it landed next to a little wedge-shaped hole barely big enough for me to crawl into on my belly, squeezing one shoulder through at a time. I was in a dark room with heavy drapes and no furniture except for an oriental rug on the floor. Bug—

  “Do you mind if I call you Bug?”

  “Will you stop it? Why does DE make people so stupid?”

  “Beats me,” I said.

  Bug was sitting on the floor, wearing a white fauxsatin bra trimmed with an embroidery edge and a matching faux-satin string bikini. “Bug is not really my name,” she said. “It's either Catherine or Eleanor, I forget which. It's one of the things that goes when they kill you.”

  “They told me that you committed suicide.”

  “Suicide with a hammer, right.” I liked her laugh. I liked the way the strings on her string bikini did. They were like tiny versions of the velvet ropes in theaters. “They got me arrested, that much of what Bonnie told you is true. I'd been creating illegal subroutines, mouse holes, to allow movement throughout the Veep. That's true, too. What she didn't tell you is that Clyde and I were partners in crime. Well, how could she know? That cunt. I put the mouse holes in, buried them in the mainstream code string so Clyde and I could later access the palace on our own. Blackmail and extortion was our game. Clyde designed the palace and left the mouse holes up to me. That's the way we always worked. What I didn't know was that he was already in cahoots with Cisneros.”

  “What are cahoots?”

  Bug made a vulgar gesture with a thumb and two fingers; I looked away. “Cisneros owns 55 percent of the franchise. Which made her irresistible to poor Clyde, I guess. For months they had been playing Bonnie and Clyde behind my back, while I was busy hacking away. Anyway, when Victoria's Palace got accepted at Inward Bound, some franchise-checker dude found the mouse holes—I hadn't really bothered to hide them—and he told Cisneros, and then she told Clyde, and he pretended to be shocked and outraged. Set me up. So as soon as I got out on bail I went in to get my stuff—”

  “Your stuff?”

  “Subroutines, proprietary macros, picts and diffs. I was going to rip it all out. And maybe trash the place a little. I was carrying a resedit so I could rewrite code even as I was riding it. But Clyde got wind somehow. So he murdered me.”

  “With the little hammer.”

  “You're beginning to get the picture. Just opened the drawer and, whack, right between the eyes. What Clyde didn't know was that I could save myself. I always run with a little auto-save macro I wrote back in community college, so I lost only about ten minutes, and some memory. And my life, of course. I ducked into the mouse hole space but who the hell wants to live like a rat forever? I was waiting for my prince to come and take me to the Upper Room.”

  “Your prince?”

  “Finger of speech. I was waiting for the Veep to open. Any dude would have done.”

  “Figure of speech,” I said.

  “Whatever. Anyway, what Cisneros doesn't know—or Clyde either—is that the Upper Room is interfaced at the top with the other Inward Bound areas, the Arctic and Amazon franchises. I'll be able to get out of the Palace. And, as more and more modules get added, my universe will get bigger and bigger. If I watch my ass, I'll live forever. Or haven't you noticed that there's no death in DE?”

  She stood up and yawned. I liked the pink inside of her mouth. She took off the hat and threw it against the wall. It landed by a little opening under the baseboard. It was tight but I managed to squeeze through, one shoulder at a time. I was in a stone room with a tiny slit window and a foldin
g chair. Bug—

  “Do you mind if I call you Bug?”

  “Will you knock it off? Come over here.”

  Bug was wearing a black lace bra with deep décolleté cups and wide-set straps, and matching black lace thong panties with little bows on the sides. And the red hat, of course. And the glasses. She made room so that I could stand beside her on the chair and see out the slit window. I could almost see the curve of the earth. I could almost feel the curve of her hip against mine, even though I knew that it was my imagination. Imagination is everything in DE.

  “We're not so far from the Upper Room,” she said. “Look how high you've gotten me already. But Cisneros is right about one thing.”

  “What?”

  “You can't take me into the Upper Room. You'd be stuck. No way back.”

  “What about you?” I liked the little bows.

  “I'm already stuck. I don't have a body to go back to. You provide this one, I guess.” She peered through her glasses, down the front of her bra, down the front of her panties. “Which is why I'm still wearing glasses, I guess.”

  “I'd like to help you get to the Upper Room,” I said. “But why can't you go in by yourself?”

  “I can't move up, only down,” Bug said. “I'm dead, remember? If I only still had my resedit, I could—Shit!” There was a phone. We had hardly noticed it until it rang. “It's for you,” she said, handing me the receiver.

  Before I could say hello I was staring up at the waterstained ceiling of the Departure Hall. I heard shoes squeaking. The attendant helped me out of the drawer. Clyde.

  “4:55 already?” I asked.

  “Time flies when you're having fun,” he said.

  “Guess who's here?” Mother said.

  I heard the snarl of a toilet flushing in the bathroom.

  “I don't want to see her,” I said.

  “She came all the way from Salem,” Mother said. “She brought your stuff.”

  “Where is it, then?”

  “It's still in her car. I wouldn't let her bring it in,” said Mother. “That's why she's crying.”

  “She's not crying!” a deep voice called out from the bathroom.