The Dystopia Chronicles (Atopia Series Book 2)

by Matthew Mather

  He looked at his hands, turning them over. He’d inhabited countless virtual bodies before now, but this instance took on a special significance. Now he had no physical body to return to. Did he feel different? Yes. Like a ship that had thrown off its anchor, his mind felt at sea, drifting—but free. There was no meat-mind holding him back, no dead weight.

  He laughed grimly at his own joke.

  But how to tell if “me” remained “me”?

  Mind uploading wasn’t proven, and “mind uploading” wasn’t even the proper term. They still couldn’t copy all of the intricacies of the live brain, but just the external and internal signaling. He was now a black box that mimicked the original in nearly every detail, with “nearly” being the operative word. People had died and kept their externally stored minds active, but the jury was still out whether these were still “people”—no legal courts would uphold the idea. So even if Bob was still Bob, he was technically no longer a person.

  Bob walked upstairs and looked around the kitchen. It was empty. A part of him wished his parents were here, but more of him was glad they weren’t. In some corner of his mind he thought that if someone had to tell his mother that he was dead, it would be best that he told her himself. He laughed again, sad now. Dying seemed to have a strange effect on the mind.

  Being dead would take some getting used to.

  Almost against his will, he moved across the entranceway to the door to his brother’s old room. His brother had been dead for more than six years, after committing suicide. And ultimately so did I. Funny how that worked out. The door slid open, and everything was where it always was. Their mother hadn’t touched a thing in the room since Martin died. She probably wouldn’t touch anything in Bob’s room now. He wondered if this habitat was on its way to becoming a mausoleum.

  Perhaps it already was.

  Gliding away, he climbed the stairs, out onto the rooftop terrace.

  Outside the sky was still blue, the sun still shining, and the beaches of Atopia stood where they always had, just beyond the booming surf. The world always felt unreal to Bob, but before he’d been able to lay his hand on a table, pinch himself when he needed, but not anymore. The dream of existence felt like it had swallowed him.

  Through all of life, thought Bob, death was our closest companion. It was always there, just a misstep away, patiently waiting, and always, in the end, winning and bringing us back into its arms—but no more. That constant companion was gone now. Death had become him. Bob breathed deeply, realizing even as he did it that he’d already taken his last one. He didn’t need to breath anymore, but didn’t have the luxury of long reflection either. He had a job to do.

  His gambit had worked.

  Letting his physical body be killed had drawn Jimmy in close, the human part of Jimmy’s mind going frantic, separating itself from the other. Jimmy didn’t want to kill Bob, not the human part of him. Bob had been counting on it, and with Jimmy’s guard down he found a crack into Jimmy’s inner networks.

  Bob had one more trip to complete: a journey into Jimmy’s mind.

  His view of the shining towers of Atopia, above the green forests and surging ocean swells, gave way to a voluminous, bright corridor. Not really a corridor, but a long set of huge rooms, connected by archways. At the far end Bob could see Jimmy arguing with another projection of himself, their voices echoing through the hallways.

  Bob walked toward them.

  Sky-blue frescos of angels and cherubs adorned twenty-foot ceilings bordered in gold carvings. Dark-framed oil paintings of uniformed men on horseback hung across one side of the walls. The other side was floor-to-ceiling lead glass windows that looked onto manicured gardens surrounding a long reflecting pool. Sunlight streamed in between purple drapes tied back with gold sashes.

  The place smelled stale. Elaborate furniture was scattered everywhere, much of it filled with sleeping creatures. Bob recognized them, the playmates of Jimmy’s childhood, the ones he once met in Jimmy’s hiding place under the sensory thunderfall. Jimmy sat behind a polished cherry desk set with an antique globe on it. Sitting on the desk was another version of Jimmy. The two of them were deep in discussion. They hadn’t noticed Bob yet.

  So this is what the inside of Jimmy’s head looks like. That voice we all had in our heads, now Bob saw Jimmy’s inner voice, incarnate and sitting on the desk. Or perhaps behind it? One of the two. Whether this was some psychosis of Jimmy’s, or an invasive intelligence, was an open question, but either way he had to be stopped.

  Bob couldn’t help feeling intrusive. He was in the innermost sanctum of Jimmy’s being, past all the protective barriers. Intruding. He felt like he wanted to apologize, but resisted. He just tried to kill me. He should have felt angry, vengeful, but he didn’t. Looking at Jimmy’s face, still unaware Bob was here, he only felt sorry for him.

  Everyone had weaknesses. Bob knew Jimmy’s, had long known them ever since he’d watched Jimmy pick the legs off insects in the topside forests when they were kids. Jimmy had hidden it as they grew older, but now Bob felt like he’d failed Jimmy as well.

  “He forced us, we had no choice,” said the Jimmy sitting on the desk. The seated Jimmy had his face in his hands.

  One of the creatures stirred, noticing Bob, and Jimmy-on-the-desk turned around. His dark eyes flashed, but any evidence of surprise was replaced with a cruel smile. “See, no harm done. Here’s our friend.” He patted the other Jimmy on the shoulder.

  Bob’s feelings of sympathy evaporated in the naked malice he felt filling the room. He might have cheated death, but this Jimmy might kill him again. “I’m no friend of yours,” he said to Jimmy-on-the-desk.

  “How cliché,” mocked Jimmy-on-the-desk. “Sacrificing yourself for the sins of man.”

  The seated Jimmy looked up. His face registered genuine surprise. “Bob?”

  All of the creatures had awoken. Some of them approached, but Jimmy-on-the-desk held up a hand, easing them back from obstructing Bob.

  “Not everybody hates you, Jimmy,” Bob said, easing closer. He forwarded some private memories he had, of their talks, the times under the thunderfall—all the memories he shared with Jimmy, ones only Bob would have.

  “Hate us?” laughed Jimmy-on-the-desk. He spread his arms wide. “The world loves us.” Smirking, he nodded at Bob. “And you can call me James, I’m Jimmy’s better half. I know you talk to yourself sometimes too. Come join the party.”

  “I’m nothing like you,” Bob said to James.

  James smiled. “You’d be surprised.”

  Bob kept approaching the desk. “The more important question is, do you love yourself, what you’re doing?” he said to Jimmy.

  James laughed again, louder. “This is ridiculous.” He laughed, but in the background Bob felt him testing the networks, trying to find the hole that was allowing Bob to be inside their mind.

  “What was it you wanted to talk about?” Jimmy asked. “On the beach, you said you wanted to talk.”

  “We have no time for this,” James insisted. Now he stood and blocked Bob.

  The network traffic in Jimmy’s cognition systems became frenzied as James tried to force him out, but Bob had driven a splinter deep into Jimmy’s mind. The creatures began to converge, but now Jimmy held up his hand, forcing them back. They hung in a menacing circle around Bob.

  “This thing”—Bob pointed at James—“is not a part of you. It’s preying on you to get what it wants.”

  James confronted Bob, was just inches from his face. “Lies, just lies to try and confuse us.”

  The frustration at how difficult it would be to remove Bob’s connection was becoming apparent. James grimaced. Just bringing more force to bear wouldn’t solve it. He couldn’t just destroy Jimmy’s mind. It was where he existed as well.

  “I’m not lying, Jimmy,” Bob said. “Did I ever lie to you?”

  “I’v
e always been a part of you.” James tried pulling Jimmy’s attention away from Bob. “He’s the one that hurt you, made people laugh at you. Do you remember? I’m the one who protected you.”

  “I KNOW YOU have weaknesses, Jimmy.” Bob ignored James. “We all do. This thing knew yours, exploited them. God knows the world is a horrible place, and a lot of people deserve punishment, but you need to let them go.” Them, the disappeared, the ones Jimmy trapped within the pssi-system.

  “Let them go?” James was working himself into a fervor. “After what they’ve done?”

  Bob knew James needed Jimmy to agree to block out Bob, but Jimmy wasn’t cooperating.

  Bob pointed at James. “He is not a part of you, Jimmy.”

  “Who’s made you strong?” insisted James, his face distending, staring at Jimmy. “We’ve done this together.”

  Bob shook his head. “He’s killed everyone who loved you. He killed your parents, killed Patricia.”

  “Lies, all lies!” yelled James, now a grotesque caricature of Jimmy, a monster that towered over the room.

  Jimmy cried out. “My parents abandoned me—”

  “No, they didn’t.” Bob forwarded copies of the data Patricia Killiam collected before she died. “This thing lured them away and killed them.”

  With Bob this far inside their shared mindspace, James had no way of intercepting or adulterating the data. “He’s just trying to trick you, trying to make you weak—”

  “Patricia loved you, and this thing killed her, too.”

  “She was an old woman,” James insisted, “she gave up, she had no will to live.”

  Bob paused to let Jimmy analyze the data. “And I loved you, too, Jimmy. I still do.”

  “He doesn’t love you,” growled James, fire burning in his eyes. The creatures encircling Bob morphed into monsters with fangs and claws menacing.

  Bob looked straight into Jimmy’s eyes. “And now it’s killed me, too.”

  “Lies!” James screamed. “He’s being clever. He let himself die, he swam down there, trapped himself. Get rid of him, Jimmy, we have no time for this. Get rid of him!”

  But the little boy Bob had once known, tears streaming his face, stared at the monster towering over him. “No,” Jimmy said quietly.

  23

  SID LEANED BACK in his rocking chair and looked into the sky. It was snowing, or at least it was snowing on the outside. High above his head the Commune’s shield deflected the snowflakes, sending them skidding and tumbling across the sky. It seemed like they were in a giant inverted snow globe, the snow churning and dancing outside while the real world inside it watched.

  He was sitting on the covered front deck of the Reverend’s church, the floorboards creaking as he rocked back and forth. Vince and Connors sat on a bench beside him. The Reverend leaned against the railing in front of Sid. A man and woman in a buggy, pulled by two horses, clip-clopped past, the man tipping his hat at Sid. Nodding and smiling, Sid waved back.

  “So the attacks stopped?” the Reverend asked Tyrel.

  Mohesha nodded, her projection appearing with Tyrel’s just beside the Reverend on the deck. “Yes, Commander Strong called a halt to the operation. Beyond that we have no information.”

  “Good.” The Reverend bowed his head and glanced at Sid. “Perhaps young Robert Baxter succeeded in his efforts, as great as the cost was.”

  It was midday. Even through the snow, Sid saw the tops of the mountains ringing the Commune. To say this place was a fortress was an understatement. It had a near unlimited supply of energy tapped from the magmatic upwelling below, matched with a continuous flow of fresh water from underground aquifers fed in from the mountains.

  Using Sid’s network diagrams, the Ascetics had neutralized more than a dozen people identified as nodal points, infected by whatever was flowing through the crystal networks. Everything now rested on what was happening inside Atopia. Sid stopped rocking and leaned forward in his chair. “Did we manage to get in touch with Nancy or Kesselring?” Still nothing from Nancy since she initiated contact with them in the pod.

  In fact, nothing at all had come out of Atopia in the past hour. The Atopian reality blackout meant that half of the world was unaware, but governments of the Alliance were clamoring for information. The viral skin that infected Atopia not so long ago was still fresh in people’s minds.

  “No.” Tyrel shook his head. “And the access keys to the Terra Novan systems that we gave to Robert Baxter are still active.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Sid saw the couple in the buggy disappear into the mouth of an access tunnel that led underground. The Commune had opened them when the first attack awakened the sleeping behemoth of the Commune’s defensive systems. The smoking remains of Allied drones were scattered high in the hills around them. Above ground was only a small part of the Commune’s infrastructure. The larger part of it stretched below, in the networks of tunnels that stretched under the granite shields of the mountains. This place could withstand a direct nuclear strike.

  Sid let out a long sigh. “I’ll see what I can do about that.” He was the most familiar with Bob’s networks and systems. It would be like bringing a part of him home, if he could find anything. “Do we still have any connections into Atopia?”

  Mohesha shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Sid hoped Nancy and Commander Strong had the situation under control, but the longer this information blackout persisted, the more worried he was.

  “Do you know where Willy’s body is?” Mohesha asked after a pause.

  Sid looked to his right, at Willy and Brigitte nestled together. Willy shook his head.

  “No, we don’t know where Willy is,” replied the Reverend. The people in the Commune were serious about keeping their privacy, and the Reverend had had enough of his grandson being used as a pawn in this game.

  Mohesha frowned. “Are you sure?”

  Tyrel raised his hand. “If he says they do not know, they do not know.” In the projection from Terra Nova, Mohesha narrowed her eyes, but didn’t push the point.

  “Sidney, if you could please look into—”

  Tyrel was interrupted by a high-priority broadcast. In an alternate display an image of Jimmy Scadden appeared.

  “To our friends and allies, we apologize for the disruption in communications. We would like to reassure our partners that everything is in order and under control.” The viewpoint panned back to reveal the Boardroom of Cognix Corporation at the apex of Atopia. Conspicuously absent was Commander Strong, but Kesselring was there, smiling vacantly. “We discovered internal spies working with Terra Nova, and had to suspend operations pending an investigation.”

  “I am happy to report that we have apprehended the suspects.” The viewpoint zoomed in on Jimmy’s face. “With the removal of Commander Strong, Mr. Kesselring and the rest of the Board have placed me in direct command of Allied forces. Operations against Terra Nova and its agents will resume.”

  Sid’s splinter network watched the Allied platforms powering up their weapons systems in the southern Atlantic. Jimmy’s broadcast continued on in the background.

  His heart sank. What had happened to Nancy?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to have to speak at a later date,” said Tyrel.

  “Shouldn’t we get underground?” Willy asked Sid, leaning over to put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Not quite yet.” He looked at Willy and squinted.

  “Why?”

  Sid frowned at Willy. Why was it that Jimmy was still so intent on finding Willy? By now he must have known that Sid and his friends had gotten the information from him. And Mohesha just asked the same thing. Were they missing something? Sid had extracted all the data available, but maybe he should look at it again.

  “What?” Willy was getting uncomfortable with Sid still staring at him. “You’re freaking me out a
little.”

  “Would it be all right if I checked your body again, see if we missed anything?”

  Willy shrugged. “I guess.”

  Brigitte giggled. “I’ve already been over every inch.”

  Sid smiled. “With your permission of course.”

  “Of course,” Brigitte replied.

  Alarms sounded.

  24

  OLYMPIA ONASSIS AWOKE with a start. It had been months since she had seen anyone else as she wandered alone across the world, trapped within the Atopian pssi-system she installed in her brain. Her mind had unglued, terror and despair replacing the anger and unhappiness that filled her life before. She traveled the world—on the turbofan transport network, on the passenger cannons—but everywhere, the world she created was empty of people.

  Eventually she came home, to the little house in Brooklyn where she grew up. Her mother still lived there, or at least, she did in the real world. Olympia wasn’t sure what world she was in, but whatever it was, it gave her some small comfort to know she might be in the same space as her mother. Each night she would get into the small single bed of her childhood, still in the same room overlooking the oak tree in the Schmidt’s house next door.

  And each morning she would awake alone in the world.

  This morning, though, something woke her up. A noise. There it was again. Not just a noise, but a human voice singing. Olympia pulled off her bedcovers, her heart in her throat. Of course she’d heard human voices in her lonely travels—in recorded films, old newsworld broadcasts that she spent most of her days watching—but this voice sounded like her mother.

  Pulling open the door to her room, she almost fell to her knees.

  “Olympia?” said her mother, recoiling slightly, holding a basket of laundry. “What are you doing here?” She frowned. “Where have you been? I stopped at your place and found your cat. He looked like he was starving so I—”

  But before she could finish the sentence, Olympia jumped and hugged her. Her mother dropped the laundry and, ever so slowly, reached around to hug her daughter back. “Are you okay?”