Chapter 5
Ginny had lunch and considered her situation while the TV droned on about the new cyberterrorism bill. It seemed the government was organising a plebiscite on the matter, which was unusual, she couldn't remember ever voting in one before, but it still didn't inspire her to look into the issues and formulate her position on the matter. Anything that gave the police more powers to track down criminals of any sort seemed like a good idea to her at that moment.
With the arrival of Detective Constable Chu, the probability that she would end up in jail for letting herself get mixed up in Cal's affairs, began to loom in her thoughts. She had agreed to visit Chu later to sign her statement – not all of which was true. The fact that Chu confirmed that Dover Richards was a known criminal and Ginny was effectively protecting him by not mentioning Gavin's murder or his sister's suspicions, made her some kind of accomplice. The phrase 'accessory after the fact' came to her.
She switched the TV to a Chinese soap feed and turned off the sound. Beautiful men and women came together in various combinations and locations. Every conversation had an exaggerated emotional temperature, as if everyone in that world lived in a state of unnatural joy or misery, rage or despondency. Like being a teenager forever, she thought.
Irritated at herself for staring stupidly at the display when she should be doing things to sort her life out, she picked up the message from the development manager at WorldEnough and set up a call.
Derek Naumann answered, he looked cheerful and fresh, as if he'd been having a good day. “Ginny, thanks for calling back. Do you think you could pop into the office for a meeting?”
“No worries. When would suit you?”
“What are you doing right now?”
That caught her off-guard. She didn't want to go anywhere or meet anyone. But she gave herself a mental kick up the backside and smiled. “Now would be fine. I'll be there in a couple of minutes.”
She didn't want to get back in the tank. The thought of being in there if Dover Richards came round scared her witless. She needed to be free to run. No, she'd just lie on the bed – perfectly safe for a short spell in VR – and set up an alarm to pull her out if anyone came to the door. Working through the unit's systems to warn her of anyone standing within a metre or two of her door turned out to be more complicated than it should be and she turned up at WorldEnough's main reception ten minutes late.
“Please go through. Mr Naumann is expecting you,” the virtual receptionist said, indicating a door off the lobby. Ginny stepped through it, straight into Naumann's office.
She entered in a flurry of apologies which Naumann flicked aside with easy grace. “My fault for springing it on you,” he said. “Take a seat.”
Ginny looked around. Once upon a time, offices had been drab little boxes. If you were lucky, your drab little box had a view of something other than the office block next door. Those days were gone. Derek Naumann's office was a huge and ornate salon that might have been modelled on one from the Palace of Versailles at the height of the Bourbon dynasty. Gilded Rococo furniture of the most delicate and elaborate designs drifted in oceans of blue carpet that lapped at wide parquet shores. At least, she guessed, the brochures might say something like that. WorldEnough built virtual worldlets and every office there was an advertisement for the company's products. Ginny sat in one of the white-and-gold chairs and smiled at Naumann, waving a hand at the décor. “This is new.”
“Hideous, isn't it?” he said with a grimace. “I keep asking them for something a little less outré, but they insist I keep it until the new product line launches. Can I get you a coffee or something?”
No thanks. I need to get back to my unit in case I'm being murdered in my sleep. “I'm fine, thank you. How's business?”
Naumann gave an elaborate shrug and rolled his eyes. In a tone of mock gravity, he said, “Profits are slipping. The shareholders are not receiving the value we promised them. Something must be done.”
Ginny had heard this refrain before. What she couldn't see yet was why Naumann had called her in to tell her there was no more work when she didn't even have a contract with them at the moment.
“The powers that be are looking to me to pull their collective butts out of the fire, as usual. They need products that will shake the marketplace, worldlets that will inspire our customers and invigorate their businesses. In short, a miracle is needed.”
“I'm not sure...”
“You're not sure if I'm man enough for the task before me?”
Ginny laughed. She'd forgotten how much fun Derek could be. Nevertheless, she wished he would get to the point.
“Ginny, darling, you and I have worked together before. Many times. Let me tell you right now that it was never my idea to stop using you for our soundscapes. The world is run by accountants. Always has been. Cheaper solutions were sought and found.”
Cheaper? thought Ginny. If she charged any less, she would be paying them to let her work. Perhaps the thought showed in her expression.
“Oh, I know what you're thinking, and I agree. You get what you pay for. And, trust me,” he waved a hand at the room, “there's a good reason why the sound for this little extravaganza is always switched off.”
That was another good thing about Derek, he wasn't tone deaf like most people she worked for. “So... you want me to spice up the soundscape for...” She looked around. “...this?”
“Good heavens, no. This is beyond redemption.” He winked. “But don't tell the GM I said so. She thinks it's le dernier cri. No, this is why I called you in.” He moved his hands, working an interface she couldn't see, and pulled a 3D model out of the air onto his desk. “Just artist's sketches so far, as you can see, but it's going to be a whole new line. Chic, modern, tasteful and very upmarket.”
Ginny peered into the little model, trying to make out the details.
“Why don't you go in and have a look around?” Naumann said.
She could see from his air of anticipation that she was expected to approve. So she got out of her chair and stepped up to the model. There was a door set in one wall that bore the usual entry icon. She touched it and found herself inside a suite of offices. The design seemed to be all space and semi-transparent walls, with small organic touches – a pile of stones here, a vine there. It was a style she had noticed lately in the design feeds she read. The walls reacted subtly as she approached them, changing hue, sometimes giving a fleeting glimpse of ocean and birds. The furniture was minimal, simple chairs, no desks, but when she sat surfaces rose from the floor and drifted down from the ceiling to float around her. They were all mock-ups but one carried a mug of coffee, and others were alive with information displays. When she rose, they slid smoothly out of her way and merged into the room. She walked around a little and admired the other rooms, all variations on the theme, then made her way back to the door and stepped through into Naumann's Loius XV museum. By contrast it seemed cluttered and excessively elaborate.
“Well?” Derek asked. “Isn't it just wonderful?”
She smiled at his enthusiasm for what, to her, seemed like just another fancy office. “It certainly makes the old product range look a little... conservative.”
“So tactful, darling.” He looked pleased to have his current office insulted.
“Bit of a departure for WorldEnough, isn't it? You'll be head-to-head with the top-end office suppliers.”
“I know, delicious, isn't it. We'll be coming in at about half their wholesale cost. We shall mop the floor with them. This is just a taster, we have a whole range planned, with luxury features at the pricey end and a cut-down budget version for the plebs. You should meet the designer. Young Korean bloke, barely out of nappies. What about the soundscape?”
Ginny had been dreading the question but tried not to let it show. She hated this part. They always expected her to be instantly inspired, to have brilliant ideas, and then pitch them in thirty seconds. Fortunately, Derek's enthusiasm wouldn't let him keep quiet, giving her a
few more precious seconds to think.
“We've been thinking Japanese. What's that theatre they have? Kuboki? Something like that. With maybe tinkling water, breezes rattling paper partitions. You know the kind of thing. And hard-surface reflections for internal sounds like footsteps and putting objects down. What do you think? Is that the way we should go?”
“It's... not bad,” she said. What she meant was, It's a terrible cliché and anyone with any sense would hate it on principle. “But maybe we can come up with something a bit more exciting. Something as modern as the design itself.” There was something about the organic touches and the sudden swirls of life from the wall images that teased her with the possibility of auditory analogues. A rising excitement seemed to lift her. This could actually be an interesting project. She could see herself really enjoying it.
“Derek?” She looked away from the model into Naumann's eyes. “Are you really giving this one to me?”
He tilted his head in reproach. “I wish I could, Ginny, but then I'd have the auditors all over me. Processes must be followed. I'm asking three companies to come up with ideas and quotes. You're one of them and I expect yours to be the most interesting submission by far. Please say you'll put in a bid.”
She forced a smile. It would mean lots of work, all unpaid, and she still had the Old Vienna project to finish. But what an opportunity.
“You know I'm a one-man-band, don't you?” she said. “I fit my marketing efforts in between earning my living. When do you need this by? My life's kinda complicated just now.”
“When can you do it?”
“Give me a month.”
“Two weeks it is, then. Here...” He used his invisible interface again. “I've just sent you the request for proposals. The model's in there.”
She looked wistfully at the bright little rooms on Naumann's desk. It was exactly the kind of work she wanted, big, interesting, with plenty of scope to be creative and have fun. A few days ago, she'd have been over the Moon to get this opportunity. Now all she could think of was how impossible it would be to do a good proposal while dodging murderers, and the police, and trying to finish a completely soul-sucking project for the guys at UnReality. Yet she had to try. Murderers come and go, she told herself, but the fridge is always there, demanding to be restocked.
“Thanks for this Derek. I will do my best,” she said. They shook hands and she left with a slowly knotting stomach.
-oOo-
A restless, fretful night left Ginny in no doubt that she couldn't stay in her unit a minute longer. Dover Richards could find her there. If he wanted to kill her, she was a sitting duck. It didn't help her peace of mind that the lock on the front door was smashed. She'd called the landlord's agent but they had been evasive about when they could send someone round to fix it.
She considered calling Della to see if she could sleep on her couch, but Della was another person she didn't want to see at the moment. Even if she didn't bend Ginny's ear about confessing to the police, she would ask endless questions to which Ginny might have to spin endless lies. No, she had only two choices, check into a hotel, or go to Sydney to stay with her parents. A hotel would be expensive – too expensive if she stayed there more than a couple of weeks – but at least it would probably have a tank in the room and she could get on with her work. Staying with her parents would be the usual torment, but it would only cost here the airfare – whatever that might be – and she could stay away as long as she needed to. She checked her bank balance and decided it had to be her parents.
-oOo-
The plane banked as it climbed, pushing through the rain, leaving Brisbane Airport to be swallowed by the suddenly wet Spring weather. The plane was a small, unmarked, windowless tube, painted a dull grey. Inside, its fifteen passengers filled fewer than half the available seats. The steward, Andy, who occasionally patrolled the aisle, cast his eyes over Ginny's fellow passengers. To Ginny, most of them appeared to be in drugged sleep. Their heads lolled and their mouths hung open, their bodies slumped in their seats. She had never seen so many people unlatched at the same time, lost in virtual worlds, working or playing, oblivious to their environment. One woman had told Ginny she intended to stay that way until they reached Sydney. The steward regarded those ones with a happy smile. They would be no trouble at all, Ginny supposed.
A handful of passengers were latched, though, staring about them with expressions of wonder or interest, as they took in the “view” or the in-flight entertainment, smiling at Andy as he went by. The young man smiled back, offered them drinks, meals, keeping them comfortable. That was his job: helping them through the ordeal.
Ginny had often wondered why people flew at all. Why, in this day and age, would anyone need to, let alone want to? Even unlatched, it was a gruelling experience with no proper bed or tank to lie in. And if you went augmented or native, it was hell. Yet, every week, she now knew, another couple of dozen would make the trip. She had not been able to imagine what on Earth would make it necessary to move your body so far. Well, now she knew. Although it seemed unlikely the others were all hiding from murderers.
Ginny watched the steward as he happily patrolled the uncarpeted aisle of the windowless plane, checking that no one had slid out of their seat and that all the latched ones were fed and watered.
“Hi there,” Ginny said as he went past. “Do you think I could get some water?”
“Of course, Ms Galton,” he said. No doubt her name, seat, flight details, were all there. Including her network status, it seemed. “If you'd like to latch to the plane you'll have a much better flight,” he said. “And if you want to unlatch, we have full QNet connectivity throughout the journey. No need to suffer the grim reality.”
Ginny smiled at the disconcerted steward. People told her she had a good smile, big and generous. It seemed to put the young man more at ease. “It’s all right. I like to give it a break now and then. If you’d just bring me that water.”
The truth was that Ginny had been running on minimal aug ever since she met Naumann yesterday. She daren't latch to anything in case a pot plant or a post box turned out to be an untagged assassin. It sounded like crazy paranoia just to think it but Ginny was taking no chances.
She waited until Andy was gone, then re-opened the virtual folder on her lap. She flicked through the pages of the research she was doing. Her recent brush with Brisbane's underworld had left her feeling stupid and ignorant – not to mention vulnerable. There was clearly a whole world out there she didn't know or understand and this endless trip was her chance to fill in a few gaps in her education.
And she was learning some very surprising things.
Like that being untagged was neither as impossible nor as uncommon as everyone seemed to believe. The authorities even had a name for it, “turning ghost”. Maybe her friend Cal was dead or maybe he’d turned ghost. Dead didn’t matter to the police. Turning ghost would normally be no big deal either. Thousands turned ghost for one reason or another each year, it seemed. Whether it was deliberate or just an accident, the tag teams tracked most of them down in the end and brought them back online. “Tag teams” or just “taggers” was what criminal types called the police missing persons officers. The division the nice Detective Chu worked for. She heard Tonia's voice saying, You're some fucking tagger's bitch. The hatred in her tone still made Ginny shiver.
When she chased down the term “lotos eaters” – obviously a term of contempt on Tonia's lips – she found it came from Homer's Odyssey – one of those books Ginny had always meant to get around to reading one day. According to what she found, a bunch of guys landed on a North African island and started eating drugged lotus fruits. Which made them stop caring about their quest to get home and just want to hang about getting stoned. Not very helpful, Ginny thought, until she found a footnote that mentioned that “in popular culture the term is used by members of the infamous September 10 terrorist group to refer to anyone who uses AR or VR technologies.”
So she chased
down that reference and found September 10 was bunch of nutjobs who spent their free time sabotaging communication lines. September 10 was growing in stature as a terrorist movement after some audacious and effective attacks. It was named after the day in 2049 when the US government made electronic tagging compulsory for every man, woman, child and domestic animal in the country.
Naturally, by 2049, most people in the States were tagged anyway. If you weren’t tagged, how would the stores know when you came in to be served? How would your message services know where to find you? How would people who were latched know not to walk into you or drive right over you? If your tag didn’t keep the network informed about where you were and what you were doing, you might as well not exist.
And that, of course, was the reason for the law. It could be very useful for certain people not to exist. People who didn’t want to be found or people who were doing things they shouldn’t be doing. Such people became known as ghosts – and governments, Ginny discovered, are scared of ghosts. In the twenty years since the US passed its law, similar laws had been passed in the European Union and then in most other states around the world.
But it wasn’t just criminals and misfits who dodged the taggers. There were also many people who objected to tagging as a matter of principle or of religious conviction. Some of these people organised themselves into terrorist groups and some of these groups formed uneasy but horribly effective alliances to disrupt and destroy the societies they hated so much.
So there were tag teams to track down the untagged and it was a serious and deadly business. The amazing thing to Ginny was that it was all so low-key. She had never seen anything about taggers on the news, and she'd certainly never heard of the September 10 terrorist group. It made her nervous to think of all this going on below her radar. Maybe she should pay more attention, scan a wider set of feeds.
Heaven is a Place on Earth Page 7
