“Who?”
Kevin kicked off from the edge of the Shawl section. Bairn watched the thin white strip of the tether as it slowly straightened and pulled taut, then she felt a jerk as she began to move after Kevin. Just when she was beginning to think that Kevin was not going to answer her, he finally spoke.
“Old commercial organizations. They are also sentient beings, Bairn. DIANA is an organization that responds to external stimuli, that manipulates its environment, that takes in energy and has the ability to reproduce. Even in the past, when it was made up solely of humans, it followed its own agenda, regardless of the well-being of the humans that provided its constituent parts.”
Bairn let out a little yelp as something brushed against her. A glowing green strand of connecting filament snaked by; thinner than her finger, it wriggled through the vacuum like a sine wave. Its soft light lit up the white skin of her belly, safe and warm in her transparent suit.
“Hey,” Kevin called, “let’s hitch a ride!”
He used the motion poppers of his suit to match speeds with the pulsing strand of connecting filament, then reached out and took hold of it, feeling its wriggling under his hand subside as it molded itself to his grip.
“Where are we going now?” Bairn asked.
“To see Judy Three and Helen,” Kevin said. “We’re going to meet eventually. Let’s keep the psychological advantage by finding them first.”
“Oh.”
The dark wall of a nearby section of the Shawl slid smoothly by.
“Try to show some enthusiasm, Bairn.”
“I don’t think I want to meet them—especially not like this.”
Kevin studied her body through the transparent spacesuit. Her nipples and pubic hair were dark against the pale glow of her naked body as it reflected the light of the connecting filament.
“What’s the matter with you?” Kevin’s voice was cool. “You look perfectly fine to me. I wasn’t aware that other people’s opinions mattered to you.”
“I don’t want to meet them like this,” Bairn repeated as softly as she could, even though she had cut the microphone feed. She stared at his black-clad body leading her in the long dive towards the Earth below. “Other people’s opinions don’t matter to me, Kevin,” she said back into the microphone. “Only yours.”
“Good girl.”
They were dragged towards the planet through a broken dark tunnel of Shawl sections threaded by the long curves of other connecting filaments. It was a beautiful, awe-inspiring sight.
Bairn felt terrified.
They rode the same filament for about five minutes, dropping through the reproduction area where sections of Shawl fissioned in order to create new ones. Kevin let go of the filament and guided them towards a newly separated section. Bairn’s vision was playing tricks on her as she approached its featureless black plane. She was flying towards a wall, dropping towards the ground, rising to the ceiling. Her brain struggled to cope with the geometric extremes of a sight her eyes had not evolved to identify during their passage from the trees to the plains of Africa.
And then Kevin did something to the processing space in which they were running and she suddenly fell through the wall and was left standing in the template of an apartment. It was so easy to forget that she was a digital Bairn that she began shaking with the shock. Kevin eyed her in a disapproving way.
“It’s cold in here,” she offered by way of explanation. A warning signal was flashing in the corner of her vision.
“Freezing. Don’t remove your suit until I get this place habitable,” Kevin said. “The VNMs have been deactivated so that the first residents may themselves choose how to customize this apartment.”
Bairn took in the grey surfaces of floor and walls. Boxy units and cupboards were arrayed at random, more to provide raw materials for construction than for any practical purpose.
“Of course, we are just in a virtual apartment, so the concept of VNMs is rather extraneous, but here we go.”
The boxy units shimmered and then split themselves apart into VNMs: silver spiders, smooth, jointless creatures that seemed to flow from one shape to another as they moved around the room, creating a regular pattern of creatures curving over the floor and walls. A frieze formed on the walls, a picture of a man in a dark trench-coat, standing before a grey slab of metal, reaching out to touch a metal tree with his right hand.
Bairn looked on. “That’s nice,” she said. “It reminds me of something.”
“Mmmm. Let’s have some furniture.”
As a low padded circle rose from the floor, Kevin pulled a thin sheet of plastic from his suit. He smiled as he looked at it, then let it flutter to the floor.
“That should make things more interesting,” he said. “Now, shall we wait for them outside?”
“Kevin?” Bairn said suddenly.
“Yes?”
“Do they have to die?”
“You make it sound like it’s some big deal,” Kevin replied. “I do it all the time.”
He stepped out through the wall of the apartment and back into space. Bairn was pulled along with him to float naked above the Earth.
Helen had changed into a one-piece black passive suit. Her blond hair had been tied back in a ponytail and then sprayed with a flexible black plastic coating that kept it fixed in place. She stood with her hands on her hips, gazing down through the transparent base of the factory at a fissioning section of the Shawl beneath her. She had made herself up to look like Judy: her black lips were taut against a white-painted face.
“I don’t know what point you’re trying to make,” Judy said, glancing across at her.
“And you a Social Care operative, too,” Helen said snidely.
It was cold in this section of the factory. Their breath came in white puffs, cold against the blue light that illuminated the open space.
“You don’t have to come along with me,” Judy reminded her, watching another unattached section of the Shawl spin into view.
“I want to find Kevin. I want to meet the person who did this to me.”
“Why?”
Helen folded her arms and said nothing. She was standing on a thin sheet of plastic, just a few centimeters separating her from hard vacuum and the long fall to Earth. She was at the focus of one of the Watcher’s greatest artifacts, the factory: the region through which materials from around the galaxy were funneled to provide the raw materials for the Shawl. It was the EA’s equivalent of the water and the carbon cycle: a living space that was born and died made up of sections formed of matter from the Earth, from the Enemy Domain, from the farthest reaches of human expansion. The space below made her think of a great melting pot. The spinning, fissioning sections of the Shawl seemed to boil and bubble like soup in a cauldron. All those materials being mixed together, eventually to fall to Earth.
Judy had explained it all to her. What she hadn’t explained was why.
“Hello, Three. Hello, Helen.”
Another Judy was approaching, walking over the slight curve in the transparent lens that looked down on the volume of the Source. Her kimono was black, her face white, and yet there were subtle differences between her and the Judy that Helen had come to know.
“Hello, Helen. Hi, Four. Hi, Three.”
And then another Judy was there, and another. Helen looked around as she found herself in the center of a constricting circle of digital Judys. She counted eight of them. All black-and-white, all subtly different. All of them wore impassive expressions, and yet Helen could feel how they were watching her. She could sense something, a faint disapproval. She got the impression that it wasn’t directed at her. Emotions were stronger at the moment—maybe the aftereffects of the MTPH Judy 3 had let her take earlier. Judy 3. They weren’t sure about Judy 3—that was what they were thinking. Was Judy 3 doing the right thing in letting Helen come along? Helen shivered, feeling unsettled. Why were they all so concerned about her own presence here?
One of the Judys stood forward
. It was a bizarre sight. Eight black-and-white women standing on a great transparent lake over the swirl of the Earth. Helen swallowed.
The new Judy spoke: “Eleven asked me to speak on her behalf.”
“Where is Eleven?” asked the Judy standing by Helen.
“I don’t know. Neither do we know where Two and Nine are.”
“The Watcher?”
“The EA?”
The words came from random points in the circle. It wasn’t so much as if they were having a conversation, more as if one person was speaking to herself. Helen looked around, feeling dizzy. Eight immobile black-and-white statues standing on nothing, and her, caught in the middle of the dream.
“The atomic Judy has seen a robot.”
“The Watcher is warning us off.”
“But why be so obscure?”
Not all of this conversation was in words. Helen caught the gestures, the signs made by people who knew each other as well as they knew themselves. How did they stay so constant? Why did the different Judys’ personalities not diverge? And why had they chosen to all stay the same?
“Something happened far off, at the edge of the galaxy.”
“The secret is out.”
“The Watcher can’t stop it spreading now.”
“If it wants to…”
“Eva Rye.”
“Justinian Sibelius.”
“Need to find him…”
“Judy 11.”
“The Private Network.”
“Kevin.”
Helen looked up at that point. All of the Judys but one were gazing at her. Judy 3 was the only one looking down at a fissioning section of the Shawl below.
“What’s the matter?” Helen asked.
“What do you know of Kevin?” It was one of the Judys—the one who spoke on behalf of Eleven.
Helen looked around. She felt annoyed to be spoken to like this, just another pawn in the Judys’ games. More, though, she was driven into a cold fury at the sound of Kevin’s name.
“Kevin? He’s the bastard responsible for the Private Network.”
“Partly responsible.”
“I don’t care. He nearly had me raped.”
“He has had you raped,” said one Judy, face impassive. “Kevin has a particular interest in you, Helen. We’re not sure why.” She looked away. “Maybe you’re right, Three…”
And then they were off again, speaking in broken sentences and that obscure sign language of their own.
“…Justinian died…”
“…Eva Rye insisted…”
“…the Watcher knew…”
“…David Schummel…”
“…atomic Judy is on her way to see him now…”
“…Kevin is here…”
“…long suspected…”
“…find Kevin…”
“…Three…”
“…Eleven…”
“…Three…”
“…Three…”
“…Eleven…”
“…Three…”
And then their conversation ceased. They were all staring at Judy 3—at Helen’s Judy.
“What’s the matter?” Helen said, but Judy 3 spoke without looking at her.
“We’re going to see Kevin. He’s up here. He uses the processing spaces of the factory and the Shawl. There is so much spare processing capacity up here, linked between the different virtual realities, that it is easy for him to escape detection. That’s what we think, anyway. Ten seems to think she’s got him pinpointed.”
“So let’s get him.”
“It’s not that easy, Helen. Kevin is not a normal personality. When he’s cornered, he just commits suicide. We need to stop him from doing that.”
“Well, think of something.”
“We have. It’s an old process. If we can locate his consciousness in the processing space, we can affect it directly, heighten his sense of self-preservation. It’s what Social Care does, Helen. Preserves life.”
Helen felt as if her skull was made of glass. She tried to suppress her thoughts. Everyone present knew what she would do if ever she had Kevin trapped in a processing space.
Judy 3’s look made her feel angry.
“If I do catch him, wouldn’t you want to watch?” Helen asked. A wave of disapproval came from the Judys again. Helen had the impression it was still directed at Three. It began to fade as, one by one, the Judys flickered out of existence. Soon, only Judy 3 remained.
“Come on,” she said, looking chastened.
They stepped between virtual sections of the Shawl via white hexagons painted on the floor.
“Anyone who says the Shawl wasn’t designed to be principally a virtual construct hasn’t tried to traverse it in the atomic world,” said Judy. “It only works when you can do what we’re doing. All that messing about with transit bubbles is inelegant.”
“I know what you’re trying to do,” Helen said, still sullen. “Trying to get me chatting. Calm me down. Don’t talk to me about anything that isn’t to do with capturing Kevin.”
“Fine,” Judy said. They strode down a long, high corridor lined on both sides with low doors. A fine misty spray constantly rose from the floor to the ceiling, glowing eerily in the green light that suffused the tunnel.
“What is this place?” Helen asked, her face beaded with moisture. “What sort of person wants to live in this environment?”
“That’s nothing to do with capturing Kevin,” Judy replied, “so I won’t waste your time by giving you an answer.”
Helen could see how Judy was watching her from the corner of her eyes, the action giving the lie to her otherwise impassive expression.
“Just watching again, Judy?” she asked.
“It’s what I do. In Social Care we try not to judge. We let the clients judge themselves.”
“I call that moral cowardice. You’re so frightened of making a decision that you won’t even let a man close to you.”
“Maybe you’re right, Helen,” Judy said with a smile, and Helen silently cursed herself for being drawn into conversation.
They came to the end of the long corridor, and Helen walked quickly onto the hexagon painted on the floor there, eager to get away.
In atomic space the sections of the Shawl were all just over three kilometers apart. Here in the digital world there was no such thing as absolute distance. Helen stepped straight from green mist into a Mediterranean landscape: brilliant blue sky shining down over dazzling white buildings. She gasped at the beauty of the scene before her: whitewashed houses and apartments arranged around courtyards, narrow roads climbing between smooth, white walls linking the terraces that climbed up from the gentle blue sea that lay far below. Trailing plants and creepers cascaded down the various levels, brilliant red and orange flowers blooming around them in a riot of color, their heady perfume filling the air. The sound of bees and the smell of orange blossoms were carried on a cool breeze.
“This would be a nice place to live,” Judy said. She pulled an orange flower from a nearby creeper and tucked it into the fold of her obi, then began to descend a shady set of stone steps tucked into the space between two white buildings.
“Why are we here if there is no sign of Kevin?” Helen asked, trotting after her.
“We’re trying to triangulate on him. My sisters are stepping through the sections of the Shawl all around us, listening for him. We reckon he is in the space between us, in the area where the sections of the Shawl replicate.”
They rounded a corner and found themselves on a wide terrace directly overlooking the sea. The breeze was stronger here and they could see people on the terraces below flying kites. Blue and green dragons chased delicate pink birds—so many virtual people, all flying kites in a blue sky 22,000 kilometers above a virtual Earth. Helen had a sudden feeling of vertigo.
“What’s the matter?” Judy asked, picking up on Helen’s sensation, high as she was on little blue pills. “What’s the matter, Helen?”
Helen was s
uddenly dizzy, crouching down on the grey cobbles of the terrace as if she was afraid of falling into the sea below. She held one hand to her mouth.
“All these people.” She gagged. “I never thought…All alive in a processing space and they still fly kites. We’re not even here, and this is what we do. I can’t follow the steps sometimes. People fly a kite, standing on a roof of a house in a section of the Shawl that floats high above the Earth that really only exists in a processing space that is located who-knows-where…”
Judy folded her arms into her sleeves and stared. “A mind is a mind, Helen,” she said calmly. “Just think of a tune. Written out in musical notation, recorded digitally, played on a flute, sung by a human; it’s still the same tune no matter how the medium changes. It’s the same with your thoughts. Your mind is your mind.”
Helen stretched her hands out on the warm cobbles before her, feeling their smoothness, connecting with something solid and real. Except of course they weren’t.
“My mind…”
“Even in your atomic form, your mind was always more than just a bunch of neurons. Well, why should your mind be any less valid just because it is written in a processing space rather than in flesh?”
The wind gusted. The crack of kites and the slap of the strings could be heard. Three golden children chased past them wearing nothing but pale blue ribbons in their long dark hair. They were gasping and squealing as they played a game of catch.
“Children?” Helen said. “There are still children, even in this place? Children, and kites and nice places to live…”
“And good food and drink…music and literature and art,” added Judy.
Helen reached up to her scalp and began to pick at the edge of the piece of plastic that she had formed over her hair, aping Judy’s appearance.
“I do all this, and yet it means nothing.” She pulled at the plastic, peeled it free of her head, and dropped it to the ground.
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