Sleep State Interrupt

by Ted Weber

  Waylee was more difficult to rouse, but the smell of frying eggs helped. As they ate in the dining room, birds chirped on Artesia’s comlink.

  “It’s Francis,” Artesia said, looking at the screen. After a few “yeahs” and a “just a minute,” she passed her comlink over. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Francis was on voice-only. Pel pressed a thumb over the camera lens anyway. “Thanks for your help.”

  “I have some news. M’patanishi’s being held at the Southwest station. Councilman Cutler got him a lawyer. He’s being charged with obstruction of justice.”

  Pel chuckled. “That’s ironic.”

  “No concealed weapon charge. He has a permit. So the next step is he goes before a judge for arraignment, probably by video. He pleads not guilty, they set a hearing date, then his lawyer argues for release. Obstruction of justice is just a misdemeanor, and even though he’s got priors, he’s a pillar of the community with a lot of connections. I’d be surprised if he even has to post bail.”

  “So he’ll be out soon.”

  “Yeah, and unless they’re pricks about it, they’ll drop the charges – not worth their time.”

  “Great.” Pel repeated the news to the others.

  “What about Kiyoko?” Waylee asked.

  Pel relayed the question.

  “That, it seems, is more problematic. The FBI have her. I called them up but they said her case falls under national security and they wouldn’t say any more.”

  Shit. “Can you get her out?”

  “I’ll try. National security is a bullshit excuse that’s way overused. Plenty of case law to back me up.”

  After Pel clicked off, he looked up his friend Marcio. They’d grown up in Greektown together, although Marcio was actually Salvadoran. Good times, playing Little League and video games, then graduating to weed and girls. Like most of his friends, Marcio still lived in the neighborhood, but the place had plenty of jobs and minimal crime. Pel usually looked him up when he visited.

  Pel turned off the camera and GPS on Artesia’s comlink, then loaded a location spoofer and ID spoofer from one of his data sticks. He picked a location in south Chicago, and device and subscriber IDs typical for burners. Then he typed his friend’s number.

  “Who’s this?” Marcio answered, voice only. “How’d you get this number?”

  “It’s Pel, you rude motherfucker. I’m on a burner.”

  “Pel! ’Sup, bro?”

  “Seen the news?”

  “I fucking hate the news.”

  “You sound like Waylee. Okay, she and I are in a bit of legal trouble.” Better not say anything incriminating. “Cops are after us though I’m not clear why.”

  “Vea? You don’t know why?”

  “They think we were harboring a fugitive. We had to skip town. That’s why I’m calling, I need a favor.”

  “You were harboring a fugitive?”

  “No, they just think that, and I’m not sure why. Anyway, I need you to go see my cousins and ask them to keep an eye on our house before it gets ransacked.”

  “Why don’t you call them yourself?”

  Was Marcio deliberately being irritating? “Because their phones might be tapped. You’re not an obvious connection, though.”

  “Vaya pues. I’ll tell them.”

  “My dad has keys and the alarm code. Tell my parents not to worry, I’ll clear this mess up, and in the meantime, I always wanted to see the world anyway.”

  “Where you going?”

  “Tell you what, I’ll send you a postcard.”

  Pel asked how everyone in Greektown was doing, told him to say hi to everyone, then said goodbye. Since this was a misdirect, he didn’t warn Marcio to delete the call record or clear the cache. Word would spread that he’d skipped town and might have left the country.

  * * *

  Kiyoko

  Laying on a plastic-encased foam mattress that stank of other people’s sweat, Princess Kiyoko didn’t know why the gods chose to be so cruel. Perhaps it wasn’t a choice. Perhaps it was the nature of gods to be cruel, or at least indifferent to suffering.

  Kiyoko was a good person, a creature of the light. Yet she’d been taken away and imprisoned in this awful place. Her captors had moved her to a tiny concrete cell with this narrow cot and a cold steel toilet, which no doubt had a camera trained on it. She saw no chance of rescue, and had soaked both sides of her thin pillow with tears.

  The latch on the solid white door scraped and clanked. She rolled on her side and cast aside the scratchy grey blanket.

  The two minions of darkness entered, carrying folded metal chairs and a small cardboard box with no top. They set the box on the bare floor next to the cot.

  She sat up and looked inside. A baloney and processed cheese sandwich huddled next to a little cup of apple sauce and plastic bottle of Happy Deer Spring Water.

  Her tormentors unfolded the chairs, sat down, and spoke in the guttural language of the underworld.

  At first, she strained to understand, then she realized they were casting a spell on her. A spell to transform her, make her one of them, follow the biddings of their masters.

  No. Kiyoko threw her hands against her ears and recited the mantra of protection, the one she’d discovered as a child to ward off her parents’ iron hands.

  Stars above,

  Stars so bright,

  Fill the world

  With silver light.

  Protect me with

  Your magic rays

  And drive the evil

  Here away.

  The mantra worked, even without BetterWorld qi. The creatures argued with each other.

  She kept repeating it until they left her alone again.

  She lay back down on the smelly mattress and pleaded with the gods. “Release me, or send me a champion. Do not forsake me in my time of need.”

  The gods did not answer.

  * * *

  Charles

  “Think it’s safe to go back into the Comnet?” Charles asked Pel, admiring Artesia and Fuera’s immersion gear.

  It was just the two of them in the main part of the basement. Shakti and Dingo were washing and sorting clothes in the adjacent laundry closet. Pel had dumped all his stuff on the white carpet and sat on the floor, sorting through it. Besides the VR helmet, he’d packed two sets of 3-D goggles, headsets, and gloves, plus his homebuilt supercomputer, data cubes, and memory sticks, and all sorts of cables, signal processors, and tools. Too bad he left the suit.

  Pel looked up. “It’s more a matter of procedures than timing.”

  Charles wanted to punch himself. The government hackers, or maybe MediaCorp’s, outsmarted him, transmitting his location and hiding the fact. He should have told the others right away. Shouldn’t have assumed he could crack anything thrown at him.

  It was his fault the authorities had found them. His fault they didn’t take off before the raid. His fault Kiyoko, the beautiful angel from BetterWorld, was in custody. His fault Waylee, their leader, had broken down. “What’s gonna happen to Kiyoko? What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing you can do for her,” Pel said. “It’s up to our lawyer.”

  “So is Waylee still in charge?” All she did was sleep now.

  Pel glanced at the ceiling for a second. “No one’s in charge. That’s the point. Everyone should be free and equal, like the media says America’s all about, but then goes into fits whenever someone tries to make it real.”

  “I’m down. Code of the Collective. No leaders, freedom of information, freedom to do what you want.”

  Pel stood up. “I’ve been thinking about our plan to sneak into that fundraiser. Maybe it’s not a good idea now.”

  They can’t just give up. “We’ve done all that work. You went to so much trouble for me. Shouldn’t we go through with it?”

  Pel looked down. “I don’t know how we can. We can’t go back to the house. We’ve gotta focus on helping Kiyoko. And Waylee’s a mess.”

  �
�We’ve got this place.” Charles pointed to the piles of immersion gear.

  Pel stared at his VR helmet on the carpet. “We didn’t count on Homeland Security getting involved, and being so, uh, capable. We should have thought things through better.”

  Charles wanted to admit it was his fault, but the words wouldn’t come out. “You know Homeland’s got some of the best hackers in the business. They give out money and prime gear and official approval to do all kinds of spy shit. They go out and catch hackers and give them a choice – work for us or go to prison.”

  “Would you work for them if they offered?”

  “They made an example of me last time.”

  “’Cause you embarrassed MediaCorp. They’d have you executed live if they could.”

  “Yeah, fuck them. Anything I can do ’gainst them, I’m down with.”

  Pel examined their hosts’ immersion setups. “We need to know how Homeland found us, and how to avoid them in the future.”

  The virus from the news station, most likely custom designed. “I’ll be more careful.”

  Pel looked at him. “I don’t think that BetterWorld trap gave them more than a citywide location. Otherwise they would have moved in sooner. You got out of that pretty well.”

  He’s got no clue. Charles tried to decide what to say. Like a chump, he’d fallen for two traps, not just one. He couldn’t seem to stop making bad choices. “If we’re careful, though… I mean… we can’t just give up.”

  Pel examined his reflection in a helmet faceplate. “We could use a passive rather than active approach.”

  “Huh?”

  “Keep gathering the info we need, but no intrusions. And nothing that might point to us. Use Artesia and Fuera’s gear until we’re sure mine is safe. I’m ditching William Godwin and staying away from the Collective.”

  Pel had changed his mind about quitting. Charles felt like cheering, like maybe he hadn’t ruined everything after all. “What about that broker you gotta deal with?”

  His face clenched. “Shit. Yeah, we need to pay the balance. I promised some wireless keys. I was hoping you could help with that.”

  That ain’t exactly easy. Charles eased onto one of the recliners. He wouldn’t be able to walk or run around, but it was definitely comfortable. “We should check the New Year’s traffic programs.”

  “Yeah, maybe the White House sent a message to the attendees since we last looked, and maybe we can figure out who the caterers and musicians are.”

  Artesia’s—or Fuera’s—immersion helmet smelled like perfume. Shakti flashed into his mind. She wasn’t beautiful like Kiyoko, but it was his first time seeing a girl totally naked, and it was a good long view, dark nipples and curly pubes. Unfortunately it came with Dingo’s trouser hose, which ruined the whole image.

  Pel brought him back. “First thing, look around and see if Homeland knows what we’re up to.”

  “Yeah, let’s go in, and do everything systematic.” I’ve gotta step up my game.

  Pel sat in the recliner next to him and put on the gloves and helmet. Charles did the same.

  * * *

  Kiyoko

  Princess Kiyoko stared in the metal mirror over the steel washbasin. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been imprisoned. Her dress looked rumpled, her hair tangled and greasy, her face tired and dull. She yearned for a shower and change of clothes. And she could kill for a box of Pocky. The food here was awful.

  She repeated the protection mantra. She would endure.

  Her cell door opened. Two grim-faced men with buzz cuts entered, wearing white collared shirts with black ties. “Lawyer’s here,” one said.

  The other handcuffed her wrists behind her.

  “You don’t need to cuff me.”

  “Procedure, ma’am.”

  They led her by the arms to a small fluorescent-lit room with white brick walls, a plastic table and two metal framed chairs with vinyl padding. A dark man wearing a navy blue suit sat in one of the chairs behind a stretched-out data pad. He rose as one of the guards removed her handcuffs.

  “Kiyoko Pingyang?” His eyes were relaxed and sympathetic. Her champion?

  “Yes, that is I.”

  He stepped forward and held out a hand. “I’m Francis Jones. I’m your lawyer.”

  Kiyoko hurried to her champion and wrapped her hands around his. It felt warm.

  The guards left, shutting and locking the door behind them.

  “I’m here to get you out,” her champion said.

  She hugged him, tears of joy blurring her vision.

  He wriggled out of her grasp. “You, uh…”

  Did I do something wrong? “I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t be.” He gestured toward the chairs. They sat. She wiped her eyes.

  He swiped fingers on his data pad. She couldn’t see the screen. “We can speak in confidence,” he said. “They’re not allowed to listen in or watch us.”

  “Okay.”

  “First, let me tell you what’s going on with your case. The FBI is going to press charges of aiding escape of a prisoner.”

  “They said that’s ten years in prison.”

  “That’s the maximum. It’s never applied. Realistically, since you’ve got no record, we’re probably just looking at probation. And that’s if you’re convicted. The government’s case is weak.” He glanced at his screen. “They’d have to prove this so-called fugitive was living at your house, that you knew he was living there, and that you knew that he was a wanted fugitive. So far, they have disclosed no physical evidence of any of that.”

  She wanted to hug him again.

  “Some more good news,” he continued. “No more of this national security bullshit. I’ve got the ACLU behind me, and we’ll make sure your rights are respected, and you go through the normal judicial system. Which means you get a bail hearing, and we’ll plead financial hardship since you have no family—”

  “My sister and her boyfriend are family.”

  “No family with means, and you have no income to speak of.”

  She had some income but mostly off the books. Certainly she wouldn’t argue the point.

  He continued. “So I’ll argue for release on your own recognizance. The charges are relatively minor, they have no real evidence against you, you’ve never been arrested before, and you’re not a risk to anyone. You’ll have to stay in town and appear in court, assuming they don’t drop the charges entirely, and there’s a chance they’ll put on a tracking bracelet, but you’ll get to go home.”

  “Please don’t let them put a bracelet on me. I don’t want the cops following me everywhere I go.”

  “Oh. Well it depends on whether the judge considers you a flight risk. Since your sister fled, and no one knows where she is, the judge may well assume you’ll skip town to join her.”

  “But I didn’t flee. I stayed put when the cops arrived.”

  “Yes, that’s true. I’ll be sure to bring that up.”

  “So how’s my sister? Have you heard anything?”

  He nodded. “She’s out there, but that’s all I know. I’ll let you know if I hear more.”

  Hope she made it to Canada.

  “Alright,” he said, “now let’s go over what happened. Everything you say will be confidential, but I need to know all the details so I can prepare your case.”

  It seemed like she could trust Francis Jones, but Kiyoko decided to omit as much as possible. She’d tell him Charles was staying at their house, but not say how he got there or why he was there. Or anything about her sister’s crazy ambitions to break into a presidential fundraiser and bring down America’s rulers.

  15

  Thursday

  Waylee

  Waylee had never seen such a big crowd. Faces, mostly young, stretched from the stage all the way back into darkness. To either side, they crowded the stadium benches up into dimly lit firmaments. The fans screamed with excitement, jumping up and down.

  She glanced to her right. Kiyoko, weari
ng a frilly pink dress spattered with cat silhouettes and ribbons, patted her bass and smiled. To the left, Pel, costumed as a Borg, set up rhythm and background loops on a huge touchscreen. Waylee switched on her guitar, fingered an F power chord, lifted her pick high in the air, and swiped it down against the strings.

  Nothing happened. No sound but the faint clicks of unamplified strings.

  God damn it. She checked the guitar’s active electronics and wireless system, and her amp. All on. She motioned for Shakti to bring out another guitar, then grabbed the mike. “We’re Dwarf Eats Hippo, and…”

  Nothing from the mike. She tapped on it. Nothing.

  The fans stopped gyrating and stared at her. Where was Shakti? And Kiyoko? She was gone too. And Pel, he’d disappeared from his station. The crowd turned and started for the exits.

  “Wait, hold on,” she shouted. “We—”

  She couldn’t hear her voice now. She screamed, a deep lungful of air behind it, forcing out that energy she was so famous for. But nothing came out.

  Someone was shaking her, shaking her shoulders.

  The emptying stadium disappeared into fog.

  “Wake up, damn it.” Pel.

  Just another stupid dream she couldn’t afford to have analyzed. She wanted to ask Pel what he wanted, but her face buried itself in the pillow. Song lyrics composed themselves.

  One sour day,

  With malicious glee

  God took a dump

  And created me.

  “Kiyoko’s being released,” Pel said.

  Waylee sat up and stared at him, noting the little flecks in his brown eyes, the hairs and pores on his olive skin, and the light shadows across his chiseled face, all of which were too detailed and non-ephemeral for a dream.

  “She’s going home today. No bail, no tracer, and Francis thinks they’ll drop the case entirely. They don’t have any real evidence and they’re just using her to fish for us. Worst case, she’ll get probation. No prison.”

  Waylee opened her arms. He climbed on the bed and embraced her.

  “You’re so kick ass, it hurts,” she said.