by Jak Koke
Jonathon had never really expected the plan to work; he’d only set it up because he’d been afraid to go all the way. Afraid to cross over and join Tamara. And now, he was isolated from his closest friends. Synthia, Venny, Grids, everyone.
I'm alone.
"Look, chummer," Theo said. "I’m gonna leave you to your thoughts. I’ve got biz, but if you need anything, just push the button on your bed, and I’ll come." Theo’s head disappeared from the periphery of Jonathon’s vision, then came the sound of a door opening and closing.
The silence of the room haunted Jonathon. The absence of sound created a stillness that enveloped him in its death. Like the icy cold nothingness of space.
I am truly alone, he thought. Even when his mother had died, Tamara was there to hold his hand. But now . . .
"You’re not Dougan Rose." The woman spoke in a husky voice, stating a fact, not a question. Jonathon looked at her, standing above him. Long straight black hair and dark eyes. Olive skin and the same black bodysuit with feathers he’d seen her wearing at the shooting range in Grandma’s Pharmacy-and Survival. Except now, the feathers were larger, like those of a massive bird, and woven into the fabric of her arms and legs. They covered her ears and head, making her look like an owl. Her name, he remembered, was Maria.
She must be projecting here, Jonathon thought. As Syn did in the locker room.
"Your aura’s wrong," Maria said. Then, after looking closely at Jonathon, scrutinizing with her eyes, she went on. "Is Dougan Rose dead then?"
Jonathon nodded.
"You’re Winger?"
Jonathon didn’t answer, but she must have known.
"I’ve been waiting for you to wake up," she said, and there was a softness to her eyes that drew Jonathon in. "I wanted to thank you. What you did—killing Dougan Rose—was a good thing. He deserved to die a long time ago." Tears welled in her eyes as she bent over him. "He was responsible for my brother’s death. For so many deaths."
Jonathon reached up with a gauze-covered arm to brush away her tears. To caress that beautiful face. So sad now. But his bandage-wrapped hand passed through her dark cheek as though it were translucent. Touching nothing but air.
Maria took a step back and gave him a melancholic smile. "Thank you, Jonathon Winger. I hope we meet in person someday. Until then, your secret is safe with me." Then she disappeared.
Leaving him alone again with only the yellow ceiling tiles for company.
Minutes passed in absolute silence before . . .
It started in the distant reaches of his mind like a ghost. A shiver of sand, barely audible. A hiss of static, vanishingly faint. As if, perhaps, in his imagination.
Tamara, is that you?
Tamara ?
Epilogue
The hiss rises in your head as Jonathon Winger’s sensations fade from your body. The static grows to fill your ears, and a grainy holographic black serves as a backdrop for the closing credits.
You jack out from the console in the armrest of the sim-recliner where your flesh has been sitting during the simfeature. And the events of the story flicker in your mind for a minute as your senses return to the here and now.
But those sensations fade slowly as you exit the theater and return outside to the heat and the exhaust. All that remains of the sim is the hiss in your head. You barely notice it, but the static does not dissipate. It serves as a subtle reminder that reality is never completely virtual. That even sim can have a lasting impact.
The static crackles on in the subliminal regions of your mind. And later when you are alone in the silence of a dark night, you hear the wailing whispers. And you feel the crackle at the edge of your conscious mind as they hiss their secrets.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Seana Davidson for the multitude of sacrifices she made when my wrist was broken. She stayed up and typed for me, she put off her own work to help me get through the first half of the book, and her comments on the first draft prevented me from embarrassing myself more than once.
Credit should also go to Jonathan Bond, Marsh Cassady, Tom Lindell, and Mark Teppo for their insightful critiques of the manuscript, to my writer’s workshop for its support and commentary, and to the staff at FASA for its help, especially Donna Ippolito whose unwavering encouragement kept me writing through even the toughest parts.
Dedication
For Jonathan Bond, my good friend and an excellent writer, without whom I would never have had the courage to write anything after college.
This novel is based on a short story Jonathan and I wrote in collaboration; the original core idea was his, and I am deeply grateful that he let me use it here.
About the Author
Dead Air is Jak Koke’s first published novel. His second, Liferock, will be published by FASA Corporation as part of its Earthdawn® series in late 1996. Koke has also sold numerous short stories to AMAZING STORIES and PULPHOUSE: A FICTION MAGAZINE, and has contributed to several anthologies such as Rat Tales by Pulphouse, Young Blood by Zebra, and Talisman, an Earthdawn® anthology.
Jak is a lab technician during the day. His work currently focuses on protein expression in marine phytoplankton and the attempt to isolate environmental markers for bloom conditions including "red tides."
Jak and his wife Seana Davidson, a marine microbiologist, live in California with their three-year-old daughter, Michaela.
COPYRIGHT
ROC
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published by Roc, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.
First Printing October. 1996
10 9 87654321
Copyright © FAS A Corporation, 1996 All rights reserved
Series Editor: Donna Ippolito Cover: Doug Anderson
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