Echoes of Another

by Chandra Clarke

  “Nothing,” Ray replied. “Just exhausted. Walked all day. Been sleeping rough. Hard to catch a good night in this weather.”

  The man squinted through the smoke at Ray, his black eyes drilling into him. “The other guy look as bad as you?” He indicated Ray’s scars.

  “Worse,” said Ray, truthfully.

  The man laughed. “My name is Dominic,” he said, stubbing out his cigar. “You’ll eat with me. Sylvie!” he called. Sylvie came out of the kitchen. “Two this morning.” She nodded and disappeared again. Dominic gestured to the bar, and Ray hobbled over to it.

  His stomach churned. Dominic! One of the Twins, here, now, already. He wasn’t sure whether to be happy or terrified.

  They sat at the bar, and Dominic turned to regard him closely. “Do you know why you woke up?”

  “No?”

  “Because I was staring at you. Took just under a minute. You felt me staring at you. Instinctively woke up. Don’t you find that fascinating?”

  Ray wasn’t sure how to respond. “I guess so.”

  Sylvie appeared, bearing two plates piled with food. She set them down and left, to return with a jug of water and two glasses.

  “Steak and chips,” Dominic said, brandishing his knife and fork. “My favourite breakfast. Mangia, mangia.”

  “Thank you,” Ray said and meant it. It smelled good. He ate some chips, cut off a piece of the steak, and put it in his mouth.

  “It’s real, you know,” Dominic said.

  “I’m sorry?” Ray said, chewing.

  “Real meat. Not factory grown,” Dominic said. He sliced a large chunk of his steak and brought it to his nose to inhale its scent.

  Ray stopped chewing. “Like, cut from an actual living animal?”

  “Yes,” Dominic replied, watching him. He took a drink of his water. “Very expensive, very hard to get these days. These animal rights idiota. They would have us forget we are animals, too. Deny our true nature.”

  Ray fought an overwhelming urge to gag. Nausea slammed into him. Carefully, slowly, struggling for control, he resumed chewing. He was sure he could taste blood. The blood of a creature. He swallowed.

  “It’s… interesting,” he finally managed. “I’ve never had it before.”

  Dominic laughed again and raised his glass at Ray. “Clever enough not to claim it was delicious. Or maybe not clever, but just honest. Well done either way.” He put down his glass, reached over with his fork, and speared Ray’s meat. He slapped it down on top of his own steak; the sound of the two pieces of meat smacking wetly into each other made Ray want to vomit. He looked down, focusing hard on his chips.

  “So, you are a man who is without a home and without a job,” Dominic said. “And you appear to know how to survive a fight, at least. What shall we do with you?”

  Ray reached for his water and was appalled to feel his hand trembling. He switched to picking up chips with his fingers instead, hoping that wouldn’t offend. “No, nothing,” Ray said, demurring. “I’m sorry I disturbed your breakfast. I didn’t mean to be here this—”

  “Do you know who I am?” Dominic asked him.

  Somehow, Ray found the strength of will to look at Dominic and hold his gaze steadily. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t,” he lied.

  “Mmm,” Dominic said, cramming more meat in. It took him a few minutes to finish the mouthful. “Then you will learn,” he said, finally. “I need people like you who are… situationally pliable. You will learn I am not someone who hears the word ‘no’ more than once from the same person. You will learn to like your new job. And…” he waved a forkful of steak at him, “you will learn to eat this and love it.”

  MEIKE

  Meike and Fa were in her bed. He was naked, lying on his stomach, his face half-pressed into the pillow. She had pulled on blue stretch pants and was sitting up, trying to read some papers.

  Fa stretched and yawned. “What is that? You’ve been staring at it for an hour,” he mumbled.

  “Something from work,” she replied. She was reading Kel’s draft presentation for the third time. She had worked out what the device did and sensed — dimly — it might be important, somehow. But she couldn’t see the point. Other people seemed boring to her. Meike didn’t think they’d be any more interesting on the inside than they were on the outside. Why would you want to record and replay people’s brain states?

  Fa rolled over, throwing an arm over his eyes.

  “What would you do if you could record an experience and then play it back again?” she asked him.

  A smile spread across his face. “That’s easy, baby. I’d replay the day I met you. I wish I had thought to video it.”

  Meike grimaced. He had to go soon. She hated it when they got this way; she had no idea what they wanted from her and no way to give it.

  “No, I meant the actual feelings,” she said. “The exact thing you felt, physically and emotionally.”

  “Whoa,” he said, sitting up on his elbows. His hair was a mess and his eyes were glassy and dilated. “That would be so blast. You could record the best sex you’d ever had. Just think of it! Getting your mind totally blown any time you wanted. Without having to work up any kind of sweat.” He rolled on to his side and stroked her leg, grinning at her. “I’d put all of our sessions on heavy rotation.” He flopped backward and sighed dramatically, still rubbing her. “That puts all kinds of questions into my head. You come up with the most profound stuff at the weirdest times.”

  She batted his hand away, irritated with him. He laughed and went to the bathroom, probably to look for more poppers.

  Meike tucked the papers back into the drawer of the night table beside her bed. What would be the point of experiencing the same sensation and over again? It would be boring. He might not be wrong though. Although she couldn’t recall of a single thing she had done that would be worth repeating once, much less several times, if Fa thought those would be good things to record, other people might as well. And they would pay good money for the privilege.

  She contemplated using the device and opening a studio, like the mod shops across the flow. But the idea of having a constant stream of Fa-like people coming to her all day was unbearably tiresome. Might be best to sell the thing outright to someone who could see its potential.

  She knew a few people who would appreciate a deal like that. Better still, they’d want to pay in a cryptocurrency to remain untraceable, just like her. In fact, she could sell it three times over, as she had two prototypes, and the schematics. The question was, could she demand a higher price for exclusivity, or should she risk selling it to different people? Some of her contacts were pretty dangerous.

  Meike heard Fa snorting something in the bathroom. She wondered if they would also scare him off.

  KEL

  Kel limped along Church St., gripping her bag tightly, the mech-assisted cast on her leg whirring almost imperceptibly with every step she took. The leg still ached like anything: a deep, down-in-the-bone ache like the one you got with a bad case of the new flu, but concentrated in the one area. But at least she was up and moving. She’d been going stir-crazy during the prescribed ‘take it easy’ period.

  She turned the situation over and over in her mind. The police hadn’t uncovered anything in their investigation of the assault. Whoever had done it had been astonishingly careful: dressed all in black, the attack done at night, and power to the lights and doors cut ahead of time, power backup also shut off. It rendered the security cameras almost useless, the footage only good for confirming the assailant had been human, and not, say, macaque. The only DNA found in the area belonged to herself and her colleagues, so he or she must have worn a superclean suit. But who? The question was driving her crazy.

  And making her paranoid. She tucked her bag a little more snugly under her arm and picked up the pace. She still had her third prototype device — fortunately, it was the most recent iteration — but hadn’t found a secure place to keep it. Clearly, it wasn’t safe at work: the robb
ery had proved that already. Her apartment would be no safer. She’d thought of taking it to a bank safety-deposit box, but that would require registering and describing exactly what it was for insurance purposes. Kel had been keeping it in the bag she always took with her everywhere, but given how absentminded she could be when deep into her work, there was a good chance she’d end up leaving it in a pod, or at the library or something.

  There was only one way she could think of to keep it with her at all times. Really with her.

  She stopped at a shop painted bright purple. The sign said BIOHACKER BITZ. She took a deep breath and went in.

  A cheery young woman greeted her. She’d shaved herself bald and had devil-horn implants above her eyebrows. The sight of them gave Kel some comfort; the protrusions looked as though they were growing under the woman’s skin like natural bone would and had always been there. If this was the quality of the work they did here, she was a great advertisement for them.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I hope so. I need something installed. A nurse at the hospital said this might be the place to get it done.”

  “We get quite a few unofficial referrals from the hospital, actually,” said the woman. “Of course, that’s because most of the staff work here.”

  “I’d hoped that was the case. But I don’t understand why this stuff isn’t done in a real hospital.”

  The woman smiled. “I’m not going to hit you with a sales pitch, but let me assure you, this is a real facility, every bit as professional and sterile as the hospital. The work isn’t done where you were because it’s not regulated. Legislation hasn’t caught up to reality, as usual. So that creates a liability issue for the hospital that it isn’t willing to take on.”

  “But you are?”

  “Yes,” she said simply. “The doctors and nurses who form the corporation here have hefty insurance premiums. But they want to do the work, so here we are. What is it you’re looking for? Piercings? Genital beads? Something like this?” She indicated her head. “I gotta tell you, there was a guy in here last week that had some pretty wild headwork done. Klingon-style head plate. It’s gonna look blast when it’s healed.”

  “Nothing that stylish, I’m afraid,” Kel said, trying not to be distracted by thoughts of how she’d look all bald and bumpy. She paused for a second, mustering her courage. “I just need a standard brainjack.”

  “Nice,” the woman replied. “Come back into the guest gallery, and I’ll show you some of the different ports available. There will be quite a few waivers to sign. And we must discuss payment.”

  The woman disappeared from view. Kel stood there, irresolute. Bao-Yu was right: she’d never considered one before now because she didn’t really need one. Between her work ethic, her natural ability, and coffee, she’d always been able to achieve what she set out to do. Augments took time and money she didn’t want to give up. Kel had never gone around announcing as much but on the odd occasion when someone had asked her what she’d had done, her answer had always resulted in an awkward, strained silence, and a false smile. “Oh, lucky you,” was the usual rejoinder.

  Kel frowned to herself. Was she afraid? Brainjacks were fairly commonplace these days, and complications were rarely reported. And she had designed the implant for the jack! She knew exactly how it functioned. A memory of her grandmother, looking confused and helpless, rose unbidden in her mind. The surgery wasn’t entirely risk-free: she could suffer brain damage if she was unlucky or the surgeon was having a bad day. Surgeries were still not one hundred percent complication-free.

  But she needed to keep this implant hidden while she tried to work out who had stolen the other ones and why. And she had to test and improve the design, on an accelerated schedule now, to get a patent secured and to ensure the device was properly licensed and used the way she had meant it: to capture and replay flow. There wouldn’t be time for extended studies and animal experiments until after she’d safeguarded the rights. She would have to be the test subject.

  Kel squared her shoulders. She recalled the long line of researchers in history who had experimented on themselves to prove their work, like Werner Forssman and his cardiac catheterisation or Barry Marshall and his ideas on what caused ulcers. This device was too important, it had too much potential, for her to get squeamish now.

  She followed the woman into the gallery.

  RAY

  Ray’s heart was pounding. It was close to three in the morning.

  He was about fifty metres away from the administration office for the Mississauga megafab station and warehouse. It was humming with activity.

  Even from this distance, he heard the fabbers working through the night in the giant building behind the office. This station made pods on demand for the city and the surrounding area. At one end of the building, transport trucks automatically delivered worn-out pods for disassembly and recycling by the bots inside. Through a window over in the middle portion of the building, Ray could see a machine working on constructing the main body of a pod, the print head zipping back and forth, adding layer after layer of material to build up the lightweight shell. Elsewhere in the building, other parts were being fabricated and advanced down a conveyor belt, where they were gripped, manoeuvred, and assembled into a full pod by a small, silent army of robots. Completed pods drove themselves out the other end to their destinations. There were no humans around. There wouldn’t be until at least 9:00 a.m., and perhaps not even then: the technicians travelled a circuit of megafab stations and checked each one only intermittently or when there was a self-reported issue to fix.

  Ray was crouching in the bushes with Tomasso, Dominic’s lieutenant and the man who’d drawn the straw to break in the new guy. A short, thickset Italian with long black hair swept straight back into a ponytail, he had classically Sicilian features and sad eyes.

  “Tell me again,” Tomasso said.

  “I walk up to the building like I’m meant to be here,” Ray said. He wore a dark blue technician’s uniform. “I palm this device against the door.” He raised a small black box that would wirelessly retrieve a master digital key signal from the software controlling the lock. Originally intended to be on a programmable master key, the manufacturer had carelessly left it in the lock itself. There were hundreds of these locking systems throughout the city, and most of them remained unpatched. “If it doesn’t work, I pretend there’s a problem with the door itself. I fiddle with it and walk away, tapping my wristband.” Ray touched the fake wristband on his wrist.

  “And if it works?” Tomasso asked him, before turning his head, hawking, and spitting into the bushes.

  “Then I run the plan.”

  “Okay, go.” Tomasso made himself more comfortable. “You get caught, I leave. I’ve never seen you.”

  “Got it,” Ray replied.

  He backed out of the bushes and headed for a section of the parking lot where they had determined the facility cameras didn’t quite cover. It would look like the pod had parked at the far edge of the lot and he was walking in. He tried to walk as naturally as he could, but he was vibrating with tension. Ray hoped the camera resolution wasn’t good enough to pick up on that.

  He made it to the office door and, in one smooth motion he had practised dozens of times, let the black box drop out of his sleeve and into his hand as he raised his wrist for a scan. Ray waited, his breath coming fast now, for several long seconds, before he heard the welcome sound of a bolt clicking back. The door swung open for him.

  He glanced around, trying to get his bearings. Tomasso had made him watch intercepted security footage over and over dozens of times to learn the routine of the technicians here, and to figure out the layout of the building, but it had all been shot from above. It looked very different in real life, here on the ground. He consulted his fake wristband as though to remind himself what the trouble was supposed to be here. Then, gritting his teeth, he walked purposefully — he hoped — to the main computer.

  Ray positioned h
is body between the screen and the camera he knew would be behind him, so it wouldn’t be possible to see what was happening. Tomasso had walked him through what a tech would be doing. One, wake the screen. Two, tap for a login prompt. Pause for a beat. Three, let it identify you. Four, gesture for the trouble ticket screen to see if anything needed doing. Only Ray wouldn’t be doing any of that. He would never actually wake the screen; instead, he would just be going through the motions. At the second step, waiting for the login, he casually shifted his weight and placed his left hand on the table next to his screen.

  In his thumb, a micro transdermal transmitter executed a program that bypassed the facility’s thingweb traffic router authentication mechanism. Within a few seconds, it had changed the admin settings for the domain name system to a malicious IP address owned by Dominic’s gang. Ray sucked in his breath. The insert was cheap and not well made and it generated a lot of heat. He could feel it burning his thumb from the inside out. His mind flashed to the bomb and the shrapnel that had sliced into nearly every part of his body. He gripped the table hard, struggling to resist the urge to rip at his hand to get the device out.

  After counting out the right amount of time in his head, he walked away from the computer, took a quick look around as if he was being sure nothing else was amiss, and left the building. He walked back to his ghost parking spot, his hand pressed hard against his hip to control the pain.

  “Done,” Ray panted. “You didn’t tell me this was going to light me up so bad.”

  Tomasso smirked and held out his left hand to check Ray’s thumb for a look. Without warning, he gripped Ray’s hand hard, brought a knife out with his right hand in a paring grip, caught the raised edge of the transmitter and flick-ripped it up and out. Ray jerked and swallowed a shout. Blood welled up out of the hole. He clamped his other hand over the wound but his palm was so sweaty it made it burn all the more. He swore as loudly as he dared in the night.