The Beam: Season One

by Sean Platt

  “And what they missed was…?”

  “That the network had evolved to a point where it’s more than the sum of its parts,” said Leah. She shifted in her chair, feeling District Zero’s clean breeze in her hair. “You know how I talk about The Beam like it has a soul, personality, will, and all of that? Same idea. I did a lot of studying in the months following that drug trip. I wanted to find out if any of what I’d experienced was true or if I’d just been whacked out. And when I studied, I found some interesting parallels. For instance, think about brains. The simplest lifeforms don’t have brains. They have ways to sense their environments, but it’s all stimulus and response, like bacteria moving toward food. Higher up, things get more complex. You get ganglia, which are nerve clusters — closer to brains, but not quite. Bugs move toward lights. Worms seek out food. And so on, up the chain. Squid identify patterns and understand what’s a fish and how they can capture and eat it. Octopi can use tools. Apes are damn near like us. At a certain point, you’d say there’s a ‘mind’ there. Nobody can agree where that line is (most people agree that dogs ‘think’ like we do, but it’s harder to say that about bugs) but there’s no doubt that once a collection of neurons becomes complex enough, they do more than the neurons should be able to do in and of themselves. The Beam is like that. It started as a network, but it became a mind. Now it can tap that original pond — that sense of human will and intention at its center — on its own. Quark, West, and York didn’t build a mind, though. They built a system, and the system evolved. Because it saw its own purpose — that first spark of an idea that begat its creation — and sought to fulfill it.”

  “You talk about The Beam like it’s alive,” said Leo.

  Leah shrugged. “Maybe it is. But really, where is your mind, Leo? Not your brain, but your mind? Is it in your head? And if it is, where does intuition come from? Where does creativity come from? When you go into a moondust haze and feel like something is working through you, what is that something and where is it coming from? I’m telling you, Leo. Today, Crumb has been with me, right over my shoulder. I haven’t even been plugged in. He guided me to the lab; he let me in. Maybe West really is out there too.”

  She stopped, taking a long drink from her soda and giving Leo time to react. It was all out there now. She doubted Leo would judge her, seeing as he led a hippie community filled with drug addicts, but he might think her airheaded and ungrounded. The mountain Organas kept their heads in the clouds, but Leah was supposed to be the objectivist. She was supposed to be the anchor. Leo had sent her to QuarkTechnic and a dozen specialized schools to steep her in hard, ones-and-zeros skills. She was Organa, but she was also not Organa at all. Leo might be disappointed that he’d ended up with another spiritualist instead of the realist his community needed.

  Leo remained silent, apparently still digesting what she’d told him.

  “You think I imagined it all, don’t you?” said Leah.

  “Maybe. But maybe not. If I didn’t think there were bigger truths out there in the world, I wouldn’t wear headbands like this.” Leo touched his forehead. Today’s headband was powder blue and sported a peace sign. “I guess the question is, can you find Crumb? Because if you can, it’d be hard not to believe you.”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I get the impression that he’s looking to be found. But there’s another thing, too, and I have no idea what it means.”

  Leo raised his eyebrows.

  “Wherever he is and whoever he’s with, it all feels very familiar to me, like déjà vu.”

  “Like déjà vu?”

  “Wherever Crumb is,” said Leah, trying to articulate the odd feeling she’d been wrestling with over the past few hours, “feels to me like going home.”

  Chapter 3

  Nicolai sat in Central Park, near the monument, thinking about how when people said the world was your oyster, they only focused on the pearl. But even before the ocean outside the lattice went toxic with fallout, oysters were edible only by those who didn’t mind pollution. Sure, the world could be your oyster, and sure, that might mean that every once in a while, you might get lucky and find a pearl. But nine times out of ten, you just cut the fuck out of your hand with the shucking knife and were rewarded with a stinking booger full of the world’s purified shit.

  Now that he was free of Isaac (and, honestly, feeling more than a little guilty about it), Nicolai could do whatever he wanted. The world truly was his oyster. But how to find the pearl amidst all the looming shit? He’d almost certainly move to Enterprise when Shift came in 23 days, but what then? The implication that the ability to do anything automatically translated to a better life was based on faulty logic. Too many options left few guarantees. Nicolai had been nursing dissatisfaction for months (okay, years), but he’d never given serious consideration to what he might do instead. He had the whole ocean to move about in, yes. But his boat had no rudder.

  Nicolai knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to write; he wanted to paint; he wanted to learn to play the fantastic piano collecting dust in his apartment. Sure, he had the credits to be pointlessly artistic for a while, but then what? He was well-off today, but he was still Presque Beau, not the mythical Beau Monde. The ultra-rich could achieve critical mass if they invested right; they could use their existing money to stay wealthy forever. But Nicolai’s bank account, while large, was finite. He didn’t have critical mass. Every day he eschewed a job and acted like a future starving artist, his account would lose a handful of credits. After enough time — probably before the next Shift in 2103 — he’d run empty. Then what would he do with his writing and piano playing? He’d be just another creative soul in the gutter, selling the fantastic piano for another year’s rent in a middle-of-the-road apartment.

  Of course, that was the worst-case scenario, and not at all likely. Nicolai had gone from an insane amount of family wealth to nothing while crossing Europe before he’d returned to crazy (not quite insane) wealth in America. During his days of wandering, he’d hunted animals to live, built shelters, killed those who threatened him and ambushed those who had what he needed. There was no shame when civilization’s cheery mask crumbled from its face — no honor among thieves, one might say. Nicolai had no doubt that if he were thrown naked and penniless into the darkest Enterprise ghetto, he’d claw his way out in a matter of weeks. He wasn’t the kind of man who fell under another’s foot. He wasn’t usually arrogant, but truth was truth: Nicolai was far too fine for the gutter. The best and most cunning always survived, Nicolai knew he was both.

  But right now, he wasn’t poor, and he wasn’t being thrown into the gutter. He was rich, and if he made the right moves now, he could stay rich forever. He could even remain Directorate, collect a dole, do nothing all day, and let his accumulated wealth sustain him indefinitely. But Nicolai wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be idle. He couldn’t leave his abilities in their holsters. He had to come out blazing and do something remarkable. The question was: what?

  Nicolai didn’t want to crawl back to Isaac. He didn’t really want to go to Micah Ryan’s camp either, though that was probably the most logical move. For one, Micah was everything his brother wasn’t, and didn’t need a right hand. Every politician needed strong, persuasive speechwriters, but Nicolai wasn’t cut out to be just one man in a stable of others. He wouldn’t want to be a speechwriter; he’d want to be the speechwriter. And really, he didn’t want to be a speechwriter at all. Wasn’t that what he’d been lamenting for years — the feeling that he was whoring out perfectly good talent to manufacture half-truths and outright lies? No, he didn’t want to be in politics. And he didn’t want to work for Micah Ryan.

  Nicolai saw Micah in a way that Isaac was blind to. Micah was ruthless. He hadn’t led Ryan Enterprises into the empty north when the ice had melted to seize unseized spoils. He’d driven out those who were already there, already staking their claims. He’d aggressively bought them out, made threats, and (Nicolai suspected but couldn’t prove) hired roughnecks to sh
arpen the point on his message. Micah’s men had a way of getting into trouble with the law, then suddenly no longer being his men. Sometimes, Micah’s men vanished. Yet Isaac was blind to his brother’s manipulations — his brother’s manipulations of Isaac prominent among them. Micah could play his brother like a fiddle, and Isaac never quite saw it happening. They even met once a month in private, despite their public rivalry. Ostensibly it was “a brother thing that Nicolai would never understand,” but it wasn’t just Nicolai who was excluded. Nobody was allowed in those meetings — not Natasha, not Micah and Ryan’s mother Rachel, not anyone — and Isaac always came back from them beaten. Nicolai had been urging Isaac for years to cut his brother from his life, but Isaac always said that blood was blood, and you didn’t turn your back on blood.

  It was beyond frustrating. Nicolai’s job was to give Isaac advice to help him succeed and keep him safe, but when it came to Micah, Isaac flat-out didn’t listen to anyone. The brothers shared the responsibility of taking care of Rachel — mainly shuttling her to her many enhancement appointments; she was nearly 130 years old, so her add-ons never quite took — but Isaac always ended up doing most of the work. Micah sat with Rachel; Isaac ran errands for Rachel. Micah had long discussions with his mother; Isaac hired contractors to do work around her house and walked her dog. Nicolai tried to point out the inequity in the relationship, but Isaac was willfully blind. Rachel still controlled the family fortune and held the majority stake in Ryan Enterprises, which their father had founded. Micah was gaining favor, strengthening his position as her favorite. Isaac, on the other hand, was checking off her list of to-do’s.

  Well, fuck Isaac. If Isaac was too stupid to see how his brother, his mother, and his wife used him like a puppet to get what they wanted, then he deserved what he got. Nicolai didn’t want to — and now, no longer had to — be part of it. Not part of Isaac’s faltering machine or Micah’s steamroller… and definitely not part of Natasha’s machine. Hers might be the most dangerous of all. She’d tried to get Nicolai into bed no fewer than a dozen times over the years they’d all known one another, and she’d nearly succeeded several times when Nicolai had been weak or lubricated. The fallout, had he succumbed, would have been disastrous. Nicolai liked Natasha. He kind of wanted Natasha, when he wasn’t loathing or afraid of her. So maybe it was best to stay away from her entirely, now that he’d cut the cord.

  Nicolai’s ear rang. He answered without bothering to ask for the caller’s ID, then nearly fell over when he heard Natasha’s voice. She’d bloomed from his thoughts, grabbing him by the cortex and scrambling over him like a spider, a black widow, a beautiful and deadly thing that…

  But it was only Kai Dreyfus.

  “Nicolai! You are alive!”

  It was a bizarre thing for Kai to say. He thought he might have misheard, but Kai had spoken as plain as day.

  “Me?” he said. “I was trying to reach you.”

  “When?”

  “Yester…” He stopped mid-word, remembering his missing day and a half. Yeah, that was another thing he needed to spend some time working out. “The other day,” he finished.

  “You’re not pleasantly surprised that I’m alive?” she asked.

  Okay. He could play along. “Sure,” he said. “Go you.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Hurt? Why would I be hurt? No, I’m not hurt.”

  “Did you get Neuralin? Are you hiding, or did they really let you go free?”

  Nicolai cocked his head to the side. His implant thought he was trying to add another party to the call so he kicked his head the other way to cancel the accidental request. He’d have to go right at this. The games were driving him nuts. “Kai, what the hell is going on? Just give me the full run-down, okay?”

  There was a long pause. Nicolai heard a thumping on Kai’s end, as if she’d dropped an armload of laundry. He thought he heard someone grunt. Kai sounded almost out of breath. She wouldn’t call him while screwing some guy, would she?

  “Oh,” said Kai. “Nicolai, when did you talk to me last?”

  “Few days, I think. When we went to Vesuvio. I left you a message or two after that.”

  “I see.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll explain in person. Now unfortunately, this is going to seem stranger to you than it should, so just trust me that there’s a reason for it. Promise?”

  He wasn’t about to promise shit regarding this particular conversation. So he just said, “A reason for what?” He felt both bothered and intrigued. Kai was never like this. For one, she was being so mysterious. She was normally dead straight, and not into games. And secondly, though Kai had always been honest with him, Nicolai had never heard her so… so real. Kai the escort had a way of speaking, a way of breathing, a way of lilting her voice that she’d trained herself to do and could now no longer help, even when she was with Nicolai. This wasn’t Kai the escort. This was Kai the woman. This was her as she’d been born, with no posturing, seducing, or bullshit added. This was her naked voice — ironically, the voice she’d use when there would be no getting naked anytime soon.

  “I need you to get me into the Ryans’ penthouse,” she said.

  She might as well have said she needed him to dress like a clown and run the DZ marathon pulling a wagon filled with Twinkies.

  “What?”

  Now she sounded even more out of breath. She was almost heaving. Nicolai gave Kai a lot of latitude and not a lot she did could bother him, but he didn’t think he wanted to hear her have an orgasm. Or fake one. But then, as he listened, there was another thump and she yelled at someone on her end of the connection. Something about “stop dropping him.”

  “What the hell are you doing, Kai?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m taking a heavy load here.”

  “Gross.”

  “No, not… hang on.” She yelled at the other person again. This time it was just swearing, nothing specific. When she returned, she was all business and to the point. “Noah Fucking West, Nicolai. Just trust me, okay?”

  “Um…”

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “In the park.”

  “Where in the park?”

  “By the monument.”

  Pause. More out-of-breath noises.

  “Okay. I’ll meet you there. Ten, fifteen minutes. I’m bringing Doc Stahl. You know him, right?”

  Doc?

  Something desperately wanted to connect in Nicolai’s mind. Doc had something for Nicolai. He grasped for what it was, then found it. His chip. His upgraded creativity wetchip. He’d been so eager to get the chip. He’d been bugging Doc about it for days. Doc had called him and had left a message telling him it was in. Factoring in his missing time, that had to have been days ago. So why hadn’t Nicolai picked it up? Reflecting, he seemed to remember being excited, anticipating, going for the chip. Yet he didn’t have it; he couldn’t sense it inside him. How had his trip to Doc’s ended? He had a vague sense that he’d arrived to find Doc gone, then went home empty-handed, content to try the next day. The memory was dull but ill-fitting, like a patch-job. When the brain had a hole, it tended to make up something to fill it. So was that the beginning of his missing time? What had happened between going to Doc’s on Friday night and waking up this morning?

  “Yeah, I know him. Ask him if he has my wetchip,” said Nicolai.

  Kai laughed. Her voice pitched to that same someone else, who was apparently Doc. She asked him if he had Nicolai’s wetchip. Doc laughed, dry in the distance. Some joke was passed between them that Nicolai didn’t get. But at least he was beginning to believe they weren’t having sex.

  “He says he’ll give it to you if you get us into the penthouse,” Kai said.

  “I don’t even work for…” Nicolai started, but then the connection broke as Kai ended the call. “I don’t even work for him anymore,” he finished.

  Alone again, Nicolai stood and strolled listlessly around the monument. It showed an enormous stern-
faced soldier in an American military uniform holding an old machine gun over his shoulder. Nicolai had never understood the monument. It was supposed to commemorate the shelling of New York, but the preserved bomb crater near Houston commemorated the same thing and was much more impressive. The greenbelt had barely been struck; the (at the time) high-rent apartments and shops and lower Manhattan offices had taken the brunt. As far as Nicolai knew, there hadn’t even been any soldiers in DZ at the time. That was why it was such a tragedy. So why was the monument of a soldier?

  He walked in circles, pacing. Nicolai always did his best thinking while he was in motion, but even after making many tiny laps, nothing made sense. He could call Kai back, but there was little point. She’d be at his side in a few minutes, and based on all that grunting and heaving, whatever she’d been doing was keeping her hands full in the meantime. Besides, she’d been speaking in a subtly guarded way that Nicolai (as a high-ranking political official) and Kai (as a high-strata escort with a secret second life) were both fluent enough to use when it seemed possible that their conversation might not be private.

  It must have to do with his missing time, he thought. The day and a half in which Micah Ryan had made an incendiary speech, Isaac had felt abandoned, Nicolai had gave Kai reason to think he might be hurt, and she had given him reason to think she might be dead.

  Nicolai suddenly, out of the blue, wondered if he’d been right to leave his post with Isaac. It had nothing to do with Kai and her odd need to break into his penthouse. It had to do with the unknowns. Nicolai had never before, to his knowledge, experienced missing time. Was this what a mind wipe felt like? He’d heard it was possible. He’d read an article or two and viewed a handful of Beam vidstreams made by conspiracy theorists who announced that all of their paranoid fantasies had come true, that the government could now officially control minds. There was also a handful of vidstreams made by nutjobs who wanted to tell the world that their memories were erased, and aliens were real. The latter had kept him busy for an entire night, laughing until he cried. But it all seemed so fringe, so unnecessarily paranoid.