The Collected Stories of Vernor Vinge

by Vernor Vinge

  “This guy Reich keeps popping up,” said Dixie Mae. “He was behind the testing program that selected Victor and me and the others for customer support.”

  “Well, Victor’s right about him. Reich is a manipulator. I know he’s been running tests all this week. He grabbed all of Olson Hall for the operation. We didn’t know what it was for until afterwards. He nailed Graham and the rest of our gang for this one-day grading job. It looks like he has all sorts of projects.”

  “Yeah, we took our tests at Olson Hall, too.” There had been a small upfront payment, and hints of job prospects…And Dixie Mae had ended up with maybe the best job offer she’d ever had. “But we did that last week.”

  “It can’t be the same place. Olson Hall is a gym.”

  “Yes, that’s what it looked like to me.”

  “It was used for the NCAA eliminations last week.”

  Victor reached for his notepad. “Whatever. We gotta be going, Mouse.”

  “Don’t ‘Mouse’ me, Victor! The NCAA elims were the week of 4 June. I did Gerry’s questionnaire yesterday, which was Thursday, 14 June.”

  “I’m sorry, Ellen,” said Dixie Mae. “Yesterday was Thursday, but it was the 21st of June.”

  Victor made a calming gesture. “It’s not a big deal.”

  Ellen frowned, but suddenly she wasn’t arguing. She glanced at her watch. “Let’s see your notepad, Victor. What date does it say?”

  “It says, June…huh. It says June 15.”

  Dixie Mae looked at her own watch. The digits were so precise, and a week wrong: Fri Jun 15 12:31:18 PDT 2012. “Ellen, I looked at my watch before we walked over here. It said June 22nd.”

  Ellen leaned on the table and took a close look at Victor’s notepad. “I’ll bet it did. But both your watch and the notepad get their time off the building utilities. Here you’re getting set by our local clock—and you’re getting the truth.”

  Now Dixie Mae was getting mad. “Look, Ellen. Whatever the time service says, I would not have made up a whole extra week of my life.” All those product-familiarization classes.

  “No, you wouldn’t.” Ellen brought her heels back on the edge of her chair. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything, just stared through the haze at the city below.

  Finally she said: “You know, Victor, you should be pleased.”

  “Why is that?” suspiciously.

  “You may have stumbled into a real, world-class news story. Tell me. During this extra week of life you’ve enjoyed, how often have you used your phone?”

  Dixie Mae said, “Not at all. Mr. Johnson—he’s our instructor—said that we’re deadzoned till we get through the first week.”

  Ellen nodded. “So I guess they didn’t expect the scam to last more than a week. See, we are not deadzoned here. LotsaTech has a pretty broad embargo on web access, but I made a couple of phone calls this morning.”

  Victor gave her a sharp look. “So where do you think the extra week came from?”

  Ellen hesitated. “I think Gerry Reich has gone beyond where the UCLA human subjects committee would ever let him go. You guys probably spent one night in drugged sleep, being pumped chock full of LotsaTech product trivia.”

  “Oh! You mean…Just-in-Time Training?” Victor tapped away at his notepad. “I thought that was years away.”

  “It is if you play by the FDA’s rules. But there are meds and treatments that can speed up learning. Just read the journals and you’ll see that in another year or two, they’ll be a scandal as big as sports drugs ever were. I think Gerry has just jumped the gun with something that is very, very effective. You have no side-effects. You have all sorts of new, specialized knowledge—even if it’s about a throwaway topic. And apparently you have detailed memories of life experience that never happened.”

  Dixie Mae thought back over the last week. There had been no strangeness about her experience at Olson Hall: the exams, the job interview. True, the johns were fantastically clean—like a hospital, now that she thought about it. She had only visited them once, right after she accepted the job offer. And then she had…done what? Taken a bus directly out to LotsaTech…without even going back to her apartment? After that, everything was clear again. She could remember jokes in the Voxalot classes. She could remember meals, and late night talks with Ulysse about what they might do with this great opportunity. “It’s brainwashing,” she finally said.

  Ellen nodded. “It looks like Gerry has gone way, way too far on this one.”

  “And he’s stupid, too. Our team is going to a party tonight, downtown. All of a sudden, there’ll be sixteen people who’ll know what’s been done to them. We’ll be mad as—” Dixie Mae noticed Ellen’s pitying look.

  “Oh.” So tonight instead of partying, their customer support team would be in a drugged stupor, unremembering the week that never was. “We won’t remember a thing, will we?”

  Ellen nodded. “My guess is you’ll be well-paid, with memories of some one-day temp job here at LotsaTech.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen,” said Victor. “I’ve got a story and I’ve got a grudge. I’m not going back.”

  “We have to warn the others.”

  Victor shook his head. “Too risky.”

  Dixie Mae gave him a glare.

  Ellen Garcia hugged her knees for a moment. “If this were just you, Victor, I’d be sure you were putting me on.” She looked at Dixie Mae for a second. “Let me see that email again.”

  She spread it out on the table. “LotsaTech has its share of defense and security contracts. I’d hate to think that they might try to shut us up if they knew we were onto them.” She whistled an ominous tune. “Paranoia rages…Have you thought that this email might be someone trying to tip you off about what’s going on?”

  Victor frowned. “Who, Ellen?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “So what do you think we should do?”

  Ellen didn’t look up from the print-out. “Mainly, try not to act like idiots. All we really know is that someone has played serious games with your heads. Our first priority is to get us all out of LotsaTech, with you guys free of medical side effects. Our second priority is to blow the whistle on Gerry or…” She was reading the mail headers again, “…or whoever is behind this.”

  Dixie Mae said, “I don’t think we know enough not to act like idiots.”

  “Good point. Okay, I’ll make a phone call, an innocuous message that should mean something to the police if things go really bad. Then I’ll talk to the others in our grading team. We won’t say anything while we’re still at LotsaTech, but once away from here we’ll scream long and loud. You two…it might be safest if you just lie low till after dark and we graders get back into town.”

  Victor was nodding.

  Dixie Mae pointed at the mystery email. “What was it you just noticed, Ellen?”

  “Just a coincidence, I think. Without a large sample, you start seeing phantoms.”

  “Speak.”

  “Well, the mailing address, ‘lusting925@freemail.sg’. Building 0925 is on the hill crest thataway.”

  “You can’t see that from where we started.”

  “Right. It’s like ‘Lusting’ had to get you here first. And that’s the other thing. Prof. Reich has a senior graduate student named Rob Lusk.”

  Lusk? Lusting? The connection seemed weak to Dixie Mae. “What kind of a guy is he?”

  “Rob’s not a particularly friendly fellow, but he’s about two sigmas smarter than the average grad student. He’s the reason Gerry has the big reputation for hardware. Gerry has been using him for five or six years now, and I bet Rob is getting desperate to graduate.” She broke off. “Look. I’m going to go inside and tell Graham and the others about this. Then we’ll find a place for you to hide for the rest of the day.”

  She started toward the door.

  “I’m not going to hide out,” said Dixie Mae.

  Ellen hesitated. “Just till closing time. You’ve seen the rent-a-cops at the main gate.
This is not a place you can simply stroll out of. But my group will have no trouble going home this evening. As soon as we’re off-site, we’ll raise such a stink that the press and police will be back here. You’ll be safe at home in no time.”

  Victor was nodding. “Ellen’s right. In fact, it would be even better if we don’t spread the story to the other graders. There’s no telling—”

  “I’m not going to hide out!” Dixie Mae looked up the hill. “I’m going to check out 0925.”

  “That’s crazy, Dixie Mae! You’re guaranteed safe if you just hide till the end of the work day—and then the cops can do better investigating than anything you could manage. You do what Ellen says!”

  “No one tells me what to do, Victor!” said Dixie Mae, while inside she was thinking, Yeah, what I’m doing is a little bit like the plot of a cheap game: teenagers enter haunted house, and then split up to be murdered in pieces…

  But Ellen Garcia was making assumptions, too. Dixie Mae glared at both of them. “I’m following up on this email.”

  Ellen gave her a long look. Whether it was contemptuous or thoughtful wasn’t clear. “Just wait for me to tell Graham, okay?”

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, the three of them were outdoors again, walking up the long grade toward Building 0925.

  Graham the Red might be a smart guy, but he turned out to be a fool, too. He was sure that the calendar mystery was just a scam cooked up by Dixie Mae and Victor. Ellen wasn’t that good at talking to him—and the two customer support winkies were beneath his contempt. Fortunately, most of the other graders had been willing to listen. One of them also poked an unpleasant hole in all their assumptions: “So if it’s that serious, wouldn’t Gerry have these two under surveillance? You know, the Conspiracy Gestapo could arrive any second.” There’d been a moment of apprehensive silence as everyone waited the arrival of bad guys with clubs.

  In the end, everyone including Graham had agreed to keep their mouths shut till after work. Several of them had friends they made cryptic phone calls to, just in case. Dixie Mae could tell that most of them tilted toward Ellen’s point of view, but however smart they were, they really didn’t want to cross Graham.

  Ellen, on the other hand, was persona non grata for trying to mess up Graham’s schedule. She finally lost her temper with the redheaded jerk.

  So now Ellen, Victor, and Dixie Mae were on the yellow brick road—in this case, the asphalt econo-cart walkway—leading to Building 0925.

  The LotsaTech campus was new and underpopulated, but there were other people around. Just outside of 0999, they ran into a trio of big guys wearing gray blazers like the cops at the main entrance. Victor grabbed Dixie Mae’s arm. “Just act natural,” he whispered.

  They ambled past, Victor giving a gracious nod. The three hardly seemed to notice.

  Victor released Dixie Mae’s arm. “See? You just have to be cool.”

  Ellen had been walking ahead. She dropped back so they were three abreast. “Either we’re being toyed with,” she said, “or they haven’t caught on to us.”

  Dixie Mae touched the email in her pocket. “Well, somebody is toying with us.”

  “You know, that’s the biggest clue we have. I still think it could be somebody trying to—”

  Ellen fell silent as a couple of management types came walking the other way. These paid them even less attention than the company cops had.

  “—it could be somebody trying to help us.”

  “I guess,” said Dixie Mae. “More likely it’s some sadist using stuff they learned while I was drugged up.”

  “Ug. Yeah.” They batted around the possibilities. It was strange. Ellen Garcia was as much fun to talk to as Ulysse, even though she had to be about five times smarter than either Ulysse or Dixie Mae.

  Now they were close enough to see the lower windows of 0925. This place was a double-sized version of 0999 or 0994. There was a catering truck pulled up at the ground level. Beyond a green-tinted windbreak they could see couples playing tennis on the courts south of the building.

  Victor squinted. “Strange. They’ve got some kind of blackout on the windows.”

  “Yeah. We should at least be able to see the strip lights in the ceiling.”

  They drifted off the main path and walked around to where they wouldn’t be seen from the catering truck. Even up close, down under the overhang, the windows looked just like those on the other buildings. But it wasn’t just dark inside. There was nothing but blackness. The inside of the glass was covered with black plastic like they put on closed storefronts.

  Victor whipped out his notepad.

  “No phone calls, Victor.”

  “I want to send out a live report, just in case someone gets really mad about us being here.”

  “I told you, they’ve got web access embargoed. Besides, just calling from here would trigger 911 locator logic.”

  “Just a short call, to—”

  He looked up and saw that the two women were standing close. “—ah, okay. I’ll just use it as a local cam.”

  Dixie Mae held out her hand. “Give me the notepad, Victor. We’ll take the pictures.”

  For a moment it looked like he was going refuse. Then he saw how her other hand was clenched into a fist. And maybe he remembered the lunchtime stories she had told during the week. The week that never was? Whatever the reason, he handed the notepad over to her. “You think I’m working for the bad guys?” he said.

  “No,” Dixie Mae said (65 percent truthfully, but declining), “I just don’t think you’ll always do what Ellen suggests. This way we’ll get the pictures, but safely.” Because of my superior self control. Yeah.

  She started to hand the notepad to Ellen, but the other shook her head. “Just keep a record, Dixie Mae. You’ll get it back later, Victor.”

  “Oh. Okay, but I want first xmit rights.” He brightened. “You’ll be my cameragirl, Dixie. Just come back on me anytime I have something important to say.”

  “Will do, Victor.” She panned the notepad camera in a long sweep, away from him.

  No one bothered them as they walked halfway around the ground floor. The blackout job was very thorough, but just as at buildings 0994 and 0999, there was an ordinary door with an old-fashioned card swipe.

  Ellen took a closer look. “We disabled the locks on 0999 just for the fun of it. Somehow I don’t think these black-plastic guys are that easygoing.”

  “I guess this is as far as we go,” said Victor.

  Dixie Mae stepped close to the door and gave it push. There was no error beep, no alarms. The door just swung open.

  Looks of amazement were exchanged.

  Five seconds later they were still standing at the open doorway. What little they could see looked like your typical LotsaTech ground floor. “We should shut the door and go back,” said Victor. “We’ll be caught red-handed standing here.”

  “Good point.” Ellen stepped inside, followed perforce by Victor, and then Dixie Mae taking local video.

  “Wait! Keep the door open, Dixie Mae.”

  “Jeez.”

  “This is like an airlock!” They were in a tiny room. Above waist height, its walls were clear glass. There was another door on the far end of the little room.

  Ellen walked forward. “I had a summer job at Livermore last year. They have catch boxes like this. You walk inside easy enough—and then there are armed guards all around, politely asking you if you’re lost.” There were no guards visible here. Ellen pressed on the inner door. Locked. She reached up to the latch mechanism. It looked like cheap plastic. “This should not work,” she said, even as she fiddled at it.

  They could hear voices, but from upstairs. Down here, there was no one to be seen. Some of the layout was familiar, though. If this had been Building 0994, the hallway on the right would lead to restrooms, a small cafeteria, and a temporary dormitory.

  Ellen hesitated and stood listening. She looked back at them. “That’s strange. That sounds like…Graham!”


  “Can you just break the latch, Ellen?” We should go upstairs and strangle the two-faced weasel with his own ponytail.

  Another sound. A door opening! Dixie Mae looked past Ellen and saw a guy coming out of the men’s room. Dixie Mae managed to grab Victor, and the two of them dropped behind the lower section of the holding cell.

  “Hey, Ellen,” said the stranger, “you look a bit peaked. Is Graham getting on your nerves, too?”

  Ellen gave a squeaky laugh. “Y-yeah…so what else is new?”

  Dixie Mae twisted the notepad and held it so the camera eye looked through the glass. In the tiny screen, she could see that the stranger was smiling. He was dressed in tee-shirt and knee-pants and he had some kind of glittering badge on a loop around his neck.

  Ellen’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times, but nothing came out. She doesn’t know this guy from Adam.

  The stranger was still clueless, but—“Hey, where’s your badge?”

  “Oh…damn. I must have left in the john,” said Ellen. “And now I’ve locked myself out.”

  “You know the rules,” he said, but his tone was not threatening. He did something on his side of the door. It opened and Ellen stepped through, blocking the guy’s view of what was behind her.

  “I’m sorry. I, uh, I got flustered.”

  “That’s okay. Graham will eventually shut up. I just wish he’d pay more attention to what the professionals are asking of him.”

  Ellen nodded. “Yeah, I hear you!” Like she was really, really agreeing with him.

  “Y’see, Graham’s not splitting the topics properly. The idea is to be both broad and deep.”

  Ellen continued to make understanding noises. The talkative stranger was full of details about some sort of a NSA project, but he was totally ignorant of the three intruders.

  There were light footsteps on the stairs, and a familiar voice. “Michael, how long are you going to be? I want to—” The voice cut off in a surprised squeak.

  On the notepad display, Dixie Mae could see two brown-haired girls staring at each other with identical expressions of amazement. They sidled around each other for a moment, exchanging light slaps. It wasn’t fighting…it was as if each thought the other was some kind of trick video. Ellen Garcia, meet Ellen Garcia.