Virtual Immortality

by Matthew S. Cox

  The hostility left Nina’s voice. “So you don’t think it’s a ghost?”

  Joey laughed for minutes before he could breathe again. “A ghost? Really? No, I don’t. Someone’s just sending us audio streams or using a voice modulator to sound like people we knew.”

  He explained his theory that there was a connection to New Hope. He told her about Mitch, about Cassidy, and the two hackers that killed themselves. When he brought that up, Nina’s face got paler. Two men had already committed suicide because of talking to the returned ghosts of former loved ones. At one point, Vincent tried to get her to do the same. Cassidy sounded close to jumping in front of a PubTran as well. Nina told him about Coe and Arlon Davies, how their dad heard their voices in his apartment at night.

  Neither could find meaning in why Mitch had been spared. Joey pointed out that his wife was never real. Nina lifted an eyebrow.

  “Imaginary people don’t make holovid calls. There’s nothing to sample the audio from.” It came out of her as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  Joey stared at her agape. The simplicity of the explanation embarrassed him for even considering paranormal ones.

  “Of course!” He spun in a circle and clapped. “That makes perfect sense. Christina never existed, so there’s not a trace of what she sounds like.”

  “Has your father tried to make you feel guilty or depressed?”

  “No… Not that I can think of, he has always been cloyingly polite. I doubt he has it in him. If the guy faking him acted like that it wouldn’t be believable.”

  Nina nodded.

  “I do have one tidbit of information I haven’t looked at yet… Proscion.”

  “Proscion? He fell off the grid two years ago, we assumed he was dead.”

  Joey shared the details of the Mayberry incident hidden away in Amber’s mind, connecting it back to Proscion by virtue of him having found the place.

  “That was seven years ago.” Nina shrugged. “We knew he was active then.”

  “Yeah I know. That’s why I haven’t checked up on him. I got nothing else. Maybe he faked his own death so he could dodge the endless stream of bounty hunters and assassins that the Silver Hack would send his way. If anyone could have done that, my money would be on him.”

  Nina shook her head. “I don’t think so. For that to be true he would have had to been paid enough to never work again. He hasn’t been active on the net in more than two years.”

  “Who says we all do it for money? Maybe he’s using a different alias and deck?”

  “I suppose it’s possible but you can’t fake a NRP.”

  “NRP?” Joey raised an eyebrow.

  “Neural Response Profile. It’s like a brain fingerprint. Everyone is wired just a little different and anyone that jacks into the net can be identified within a margin of one in ten thousand individuals by the way that their neurons react to the connection.”

  Joey rubbed his M3 jack with a nervous finger. He never thought the government could do that. “So you can tell who people really are? There has to be a way to spoof that.”

  Nina studied him. “We’re not talking about perfect accuracy, just the ability to narrow down a potential person by the way their brain responds.”

  “Oh, speaking about StarPoint…” Joey offered her a cheesy smile.

  She tensed up as he powered on his deck, waiting for the trick move, but his body language remained nonthreatening. He pulled up the data that he retrieved from the Badlands facility’s network and explained the psycho tot and the project they worked on.

  Her voice took on an ominous tone. “Give me a copy of those files?”

  He did. Nina scowled at the wall while he wrote it out to holodisk. Joey Dillon had been her best wildcard so far, but after talking to Hayley and now meeting him, she accepted that he was a pawn. She had no idea how he compared to Division 9’s network team, but at this point, she had little to lose by asking.

  “While you are looking into that Proscion matter, see if you can find any information on the whereabouts of Itai Korin or Anatoly Nemsky.”

  “Your guys can’t find them?” Her question intrigued him. The mere asking was a compliment.

  “No.” Folding her arms, she grumbled below hearing for a moment. “Here and there, bits and pieces. It’s like they’re ghosts.”

  “Maybe they are?” Joey grinned in jest.

  Her arms fell to her sides with a smirk. “That’s not even funny.”

  “Yeah, I guess it isn’t. Katya met Nemsky at that restaurant. She was pretty freaked out by him; apparently she’s read his resume.”

  “He’s not a big deal. Anatoly is only a problem when he has a company of soldiers with him and a government that lets him run wild. On his own, he is just an over the hill soldier. Maybe we can use her to arrange a meeting?”

  “Speaking of which, that idea you have about Nemsky… I think you’re being tricked.” Joey let out an impish laugh.

  Nina walked over and looked down at him. “How do you mean?”

  “You told me that Nemsky’s plan is to set up a guerilla squad in the black zone here, right?”

  She stared.

  “Well…” He exhaled. “It ain’t Nemsky chasing the gangers out.”

  Her eyes narrowed; his grin widened. When he got the hint she did not care for his teasing, he lost his smile. “It’s a cyborg.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Joey leaned back on the couch and told her about Mark Bolt, the reporter, the Mayberry contact getting his head vaporized and about Mark’s situation with his daughter.

  “I’m pretty sure he’d turn himself in if they gave him a body that didn’t scare the shit out of his kid. He’s still loyal; he’s just messed up over his family.”

  Something like this, Nina could not keep under her hat. An AWOL Marine she would have to report even if she could sympathize with his predicament. The fall was inevitable, but she could steer the proverbial parachute on the way down.

  “I’ll see what I can do for him.”

  “He’d appreciate that. I can’t even imagine what it must be like for him, having his own kid not even want to see him.”

  “Yeah, it must be”―Nina looked out the door into the darkness―“hard to deal with.”

  “So… what happened that night?” Joey slid over and made room for her on the couch. “I never had a government assassin in my apartment before, kind of fun actually.”

  Some strange quality about Joey made her sit next to him before she thought it through. She had the legal authority to kill at a whim and he acted so casual. It did not feel like bravado, more like he did not care at all, even enjoyed the danger. He lived in a hellhole, had almost no social graces, and was probably a criminal, but something about his personality struck a chord. He had that same irreverent streak that Vincent did as well as a similar sense of impropriety.

  She felt a bit like Hayley must have the other night. In spite of every rational thought that ran through her mind, she stayed and talked.

  Little five-foot-four Nina once adored the feeling of protection that came from clinging to a man. Not in that helpless-female way that her mother so often put on in public; for her, it was had been a private surrender when she was alone with Vincent. Now, she found it hard to justify any sense of protection from a man; the strange desire was at odds with her military hardware and kept her mind off balance. Another hour passed in a meandering chat about nothing of great importance, she stumbled along, responding in a distracted manner as she tried to sort out her emotions. Guilt weighed on her as she wondered how Vincent would feel. The speed with which she went from ready to twist Joey’s head off to wanting to spend more time with him numbed her mind. Dr. Khan had brought up that she should eventually find another person to build a relationship with. The time would come when she needed to get on with her life. The Vincent she knew would want her to be happy.

  Their conversation eventually wandered into silly things like favorite music and even c
hildhood pets. She slid down a rollercoaster, talking about far more than her conscious mind wanted to. It felt natural; he just pulled things out before she could think about what she said. As much as she tried to stop, it kept happening.

  Nina opened her eyes, finding herself curled on the couch under a rat-chewed blanket. He had taken her boots off and placed them nearby. Joey was on the floor a little ways away, using a plastic bag full of paper shreds for a pillow. She sat up, making as little noise as she could, and reclaimed her boots. Pausing at the door, she sent her PID to his NetMini.

  He had made a convincing show of clearing himself and his associates from knowing involvement. She would have to split the facts apart from her strange new feelings and go over the particulars with Hardin. In addition, the network team would have to find a way to explain how false vids passed K-N.

  A lot of eyes would be looking at a lot of numbers for a lot of hours.

  oey’s boot knocked against the door in time with the gentle motion of his surroundings. The hardest part of the job had been climbing up the six-foot ladder into the cab of the behemoth cargo transporter. Masaru volunteered to drive and Joey let him; he could daydream about Nina while slipping in and out of sleep. His friend’s katana had made a triviality of the four mercenaries guarding the truck. Their reaction to the attack that lasted all of six seconds would keep him laughing for months. Masaru had not the first clue how Joey found it, only that he had said something about needing to do Katya a favor to keep the government off her.

  The sight of the Highway so far below unnerved him. The giant articulated truck was unlike anything Joey had ever ridden in before. The flat faced cab floated atop two wheels nine feet in diameter on each side. A thick rubber tread circled the stationary metal core, pulled by motors in the center. The rest of the wheels were a quarter of the size. Enormous black letters stenciled across the side of the gunmetal grey cargo box spelled out ‘Siege Arms’. Joey bit his lip, thinking about the more than two thousand assault rifles in the back, worth about seven or eight grand apiece. The temptation to offload them one by one on the street was high, but he did not do this for money, he did not even do it for Katya.

  The little white-haired girl was hard to say no to.

  Between thoughts of Nina’s visit a day ago and the vibrating cabin, sleep eluded him. Joey’s right eye popped open, tracking a series of light blobs forming in a slow metamorphosis on the windscreen. The endless things appeared small, and grew fatter as they slid upward before vanishing into a streak that sailed off to the right. He never noticed the street lamps before; they were much harder to see at two hundred miles per hour than at sixty. Other vehicles shot past them on the left. Most of the traffic moved at least twice their speed, and he longed to be there with them.

  “So why the philanthropy?” Masaru glanced over at his friend.

  Joey chuckled. “If she’s dead, I can’t subject her to my piteous mockery.”

  “Dead?” He blinked in shock. “Why would she be dead?”

  Joey chuckled. “She got made at the factory when she stole these.” He pointed his thumb back over his shoulder. “It’s got something to do with some Russian despot. Anyway, she wanted to lay low for awhile.”

  Masaru squinted at him. “She didn’t say anything about getting caught.”

  “She didn’t get caught, she got seen. Division 9 is involved.” Joey closed his eye again. “Her preference for getting in with her silver tongue doesn’t help much against security video.”

  A waterfall of derision ran from Masaru’s mouth in Japanese. Even Kurotai Electronics had no influence over Division 9. They had no PR liaison and no one outside of the agency knew who their brass even was. Their official role entailed dealing with misbehaving foreigners, usually by killing them. That whitened Masaru’s knuckles as he clutched the steering wheel.

  “Do you know why they’re involved?” Masaru stared out the window.

  “Well, she is a foreign national.”

  “She’s also not important enough for them to care about.”

  “Are you sure? How much do you really know about her?” Joey smiled, taking a little pleasure in watching his friend’s usual unflappable demeanor show cracks.

  “What are you saying?” Masaru glanced at him.

  Joey shrugged. “Well, these guns… She arranged their disappearance for the benefit of that Russian warlord.”

  “Why would she do that? She despises the ACC.”

  “That right there is the million credit question.” Joey slapped himself in the thigh to add emphasis. “All I know is that Division 9 showed up at my apartment for a chat. They think we’re all working for this guy as well as some Israeli wingnut.”

  Joey filled Masaru in on a basic overview of what Nina showed him. Masaru tapped his fingers on the wheel. His father would not find this amusing. Even with a perfect explanation, a whisper of impropriety with overtones of espionage would be a disaster for the company.

  “I must distance myself from this as soon as possible.”

  Joey’s response stalled in his throat when a large forearm burst through the roof above Masaru and yanked him out into the night. The tattered ribbons of metal that flowered up from the hole hissed and clattered in the violent gale that flooded the cabin. As Joey scrambled to grab the wheel, Masaru sailed ahead into view. He landed on the road, skidding in an out of control spin upon a cushion of sparks. His armor and the traction coating got into a heated argument. Joey wrenched the wheel, forcing the leviathan one lane left to avoid running him over. The maneuver caused alarms to ring through the cabin as the truck spent several seconds with half its wheels in the air. He howled, twisting the wheel the other way, smooching the dash when it slammed back down.

  Footsteps thudded from the roof as someone heavy managed to keep their balance during the maneuver.

  A baritone Russian accent came through the hole. “Is enough distance, yes?”

  Joey kept his eyes on the roof as he slid low against the seat to the driver’s side to stomp the brakes. A body swung down and smashed into the windshield, cracking it. Joey loosed an involuntary shout at the sudden appearance of a man clinging to the front of the cab. He held on to something out of sight above the windscreen, his face contorted with a grimace as he held on during the hard deceleration.

  A light grey suit jacket flapped in the breeze, exposing a tank top. The man had the well-muscled appearance of an assault infantryman, though he looked a little old in the face. After a few seconds of staring at him, Joey blinked in disbelief. The man stuck to the front of the truck was Anatoly Nemsky.

  “Oh, shit!” The tone in Joey’s voice would have been more appropriate for receiving a long wanted gift.

  Joey did not want to join Masaru on the road. He stayed out of arm’s reach and guided the massive transport to a halt in the far right lane. He grinned, anticipating how happy Nina would be with him for finding this guy. He fished for his NetMini to call her, flashing a cocky grin as the truck reached a complete stop amidst a cloud of coolant fog and smoking rubber.

  Nemsky punched through the window in an attempt to grab him. Joey dove screaming into the passenger seat, abandoning the device in favor of his gun, and fired from the hip. The Russian bailed, falling out of sight as three shots turned bits of the windshield into geysers of powdered glass.

  He kicked the door open, slid down a ladder, and spun about in search of Nemsky. Just as he faced the front of the truck, the big Russian came around and grabbed his gun arm. He pushed it to the side and spun Joey into a chicken wing.

  Joey ran up the side of the truck, stepping on the large treads of the drive wheel as he flipped up and over the big man and staggered away. Six feet further back and he would have fallen two hundred yards to the city below.

  Nemsky turned on him with a glare, lunging as Joey fired again. At least one thump came from a body hit, but Nemsky ignored it. Joey’s shirt tightened around his neck as the Russian got a fistful and lifted him off the ground. He cocked
back his arm and pounded Nemsky in the nose with his pistol. The big man had little reaction to the hit, and Joey’s hand throbbed.

  “What the fuck?” Joey shook his hand a few times, trying to dismiss a sprain. “Damn, I thought that Spetsnaz shit was a myth. Wait… you weren’t Spetsnaz.”

  Nemsky laughed, walking Joey toward the edge of the Highway.

  The line of solid ground slid out from under his view, giving him a nice panorama of the city below. Excitement and terror battled for his attention.

  “When people steal from me, I am usually inspired to return the favor with a creative death. I do apologize if this is a bit of a letdown.” A wry smile spread over the Russian’s face.

  Joey threw his weight behind a kick, driving his boot into the side of Nemsky’s head. A red mark formed on the skin of his cheek but the big man was unimpressed.

  “Struggle, little mouse!” Nemsky hefted Joey higher. “Do it again.”

  “Oh, fuck…”

  On Nemsky’s gut, a glint of plastisteel peeked through a bullet hole from where a strip of skin tore away.

  A series of smoke puffs hissed up from the ground, tracing a straight line of dots along the surface of the Highway and into tiny fires on Nemsky’s leg. The stink of burning polymers watered Joey’s eyes. Both heads turned at the same time toward a soaked Masaru draped over a cluster of broken water cans in front of a highway support frame.

  Nemsky released Joey and dove under the truck to break line of sight before the S-19 could fire again. Joey fell, catching the edge of the road in his armpits. Masaru crawled out of the crash absorber and staggered toward the truck; the tattered remains of his coat fluttered behind him, black armor gleamed in the overhead lights.

  Nemsky rolled out from under the other side of the transport and leapt to his feet. Masaru came around the trailer as the Russian tore the driver door off the cab with a wrenching screech of failing metal. He dove to the side to evade the door, which glanced off the road, bent from the force of the hit. Another pulse of laser fire sent Nemsky under the truck, giving Masaru a chance to stand.