IGMS Issue 25

by IGMS

  I hung up on her, feeling guilty for my rudeness. By the time I reached the security doors of the lab, thirty mechs were dancing on my glasses and my body was coated in sweat. I punched in the door code - the favourite physical constant of the department head - and darted into the Dynamic Holographic Assembler room before anyone could see me.

  Or so I hoped. I flicked the docking button on the room's wallscreen and let it load up my network, tossed my bag under the table, folded into the chair and rubbed my temples, wishing the day away. Maybe if I kept a low profile I could just browse my social improvement for a couple of hours and then sneak out to see Rachel.

  "How's it going Brendan?" a familiar voice called cheerfully from the door. My heart sunk.

  "Hi, Rick," I straightened up and trying to blink the tired boredom from my eyes. "I'm doing okay, and you?"

  Rick was the postdoc working underneath my final-year project supervisor. Whilst my supervisor was away burning up the university's carbon credits in Japan, I was under Rick's smotheringly friendly supervision.

  "How's the work going?" He jabbed a finger at the enclosed laser behind me. "Are we going to see some DHA programs in action this week?"

  "Sure thing," I said, desperately trying to keep a yawn from escaping. "I just need to get a few more things sorted before it's ready to go."

  "Perfect." His expression didn't agree with his comment. "I'll look forward to seeing it, Brendan. If you work hard on this, you could get a really good project grade."

  I nodded a frozen smile and then slumped as Rick's face disappeared.

  The Dynamic Holographic Assembler sounded like a great project when I signed up for it. It still did, in the objective part of my brain. This piece of equipment could pick up tiny particles using laser beams and bond them into something bigger and more complex. A cool machine in theory, with a lot of slogged programming in front of it in practice. I'd joined university with as much enthusiasm for physics as I had for my music. It had just been steadily eroded by three years of partial differential equations and monotonous practical experiments.

  I put my sunglasses aside and brought my code up on the wall, staring blindly at it whilst thinking about the previous night. Much of it was lost in a blur of dancing, both on the dance floor and with Rachel's mouth in one of the booths. We'd made out in patches, increasing in intensity in between frenzied bouts of dancing to fuzzy bass and slapping beats, until we'd parted with one final long kiss and an online handshake of tentative relationship status, so far invisible to anyone but us.

  I ran the code, watching on the screen as four laserbeam fragments each trapped a micron-sized sphere. I linked them as one object and drifted them across the screen with the joystick, with the aim of sticking them to a piece of graphene, the first layer of a fabled nanodevice I'd never seen work.

  "Come on," I whispered to the screen, pulling the joystick as delicately as I could. "Stick you piece of crap, stick!"

  The balls pushed towards the graphene sheet and resisted, ever so slightly. I pushed harder onto the joystick and watched with familiar horror as the light grey graphene sheet began to tear apart.

  "Damn it!" I banged my hand onto the table. Pete, one of the postgrads in the lab, stuck his head round the door and smirked.

  "Can't get it to stick?" he said.

  I shook my head ruefully.

  "Keep trying," he said. "When Jim was working on this stuff he used to say he'd had a good week if he got one layer in a thousand to stick."

  "Great." My eyes slipped to the clock.

  "That's research for you," Pete said. "Months of mindlessly trying stuff over and over until one day you get all the results you wanted by some random chance."

  "You're really doing wonders for my enthusiasm," I told him.

  ""Trust me, the feeling when it works is worth it."

  "Somehow I doubt it," I muttered, but Pete had left and didn't hear. I tweaked the code aimlessly. The coding was easy, much like creating a dance track. I just had a lot less idea what it all meant.

  "I'm not going back to the farm," I told the DHA, "I need to make you work."

  I moved the code around a bit more, added a subroutine and clicked run. The laser beams tracked the nanoparticles and then moved off in a totally random direction. I sighed and opened up the code again. After running the code twenty times or so, observing nothing more than a sample increasingly full of broken graphene fragments, my mind began to wander.

  I flicked one of my latest tracks onto my headphones, listening to the new keyboard synths I'd added. The nanoparticles swirled in front of me as I listened to my beats. The sparkle of the laser light and the complex dancing fragments seemed to fit the feel of my dubstep breaks almost perfectly. It was almost as if the particles wanted to dance at that speed . . .

  I sat up in my chair, brain fizzing with a new idea. I pulled my glasses on and flicked open my artist webpage to post a tweet to my fans.

  #Got a great new idea for a music video for the new track Painless Peace# I wrote. #Can't wait to show you all#

  I closed my webpage and opened the nanoassembler's programming tool. Pulling the timing of the beat of my new track off my dropbox, I inserted wait-loops and pauses so that the commands to the laser matched those of my song. Then I turned the video recording option on and started the program.

  The spheres and sheets whirled around uncontrollably in the grip of the laser beam, randomly bumping into each other in time to the music. I grinned. A couple of hours of recording and I could cut together a video to raise my profile, perhaps even hit a rep of ninety for a few hours.

  "Huh."

  I stopped thinking about music as I noticed what the DHA was doing. On the screen, in the centre of the laser spots, a tiny column had begun to form, a stacked pile of balls and sheets, just like the theoretical one in my project plan.

  I ran the program in manual mode, slowing the interactions between the particles down in time to the beat. Once I got to the right speed, the balls magically clung to the graphene sheet, bending it but not tearing it.

  "It's working," I said in amazement. It was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. "The nanoparticles like the rhythm . . ."

  Just then my organiser pinged, throwing up animated gifs of Rachel pulling a face as she sent a reminder of our meeting.

  #I've found something awesome# she tweeted at me. #meet me in Orchard Park#

  I looked at the time and swore. I set the program running to my MP5 player on shuffle and the video on record.

  "Pete?" I said, pulling my head into the postgraduate office. "I'm heading out for a bit, I'm going to leave the program running in there, okay?"

  Pete waved a hand without looking up from the 3D projection screen in front of him, which showed a skeleton of organic molecules. He was eating his lunch through the image, scattering the light across his sandwich.

  "Sure thing," he said through mouthfuls. "Aimee's virtually attending a conference on the access grid so no one's using the Assembler except for you this week."

  "Cool." I threw my bag onto my shoulder and walked out, wondering what surprise Rachel had in store for me. I turned my social network on to check my rating. Since my message about the video it had gone up a few points, still strong enough to impress her. I looked back at the DHA room, wondering what would be there when I returned.

  Rachel looked incredible, perched on a wall in a hemp summer dress as I got off the bus into the tangled architecture of Orchard Park. She smiled up at me, exchanged kisses both physical and virtual and then turned her network onto private. I dialled mine down too, pulling my glasses up onto my forehead.

  "I was listening to your latest EP," she said. "It's really good, Brendan."

  "Thanks."

  "You're going to be huge," she added. "You'll see."

  "So what is this great mystery you have for me?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady and nonchalant amongst rising excitement. Making it big with my music had always been what I wanted, but the thought of
it suddenly happening felt like a crocodile had got inside my guts.

  She took me by the hand and led me towards the rooftop gardens.

  "You'll see."

  Orchard Park had been an industrial complex before the crash, all blocky warehouses and ungainly walkways and pipes. Since the majority of the companies had long since bankrupted themselves and vacated, local communities had moved in, converting the flat roofspaces and parking lots into urban gardens.

  "Up here," Rachel said, tugging my arm towards a staircase, once bare ugly aluminium but now adapted for vertical farming. My arm brushed the grape-laden boughs of vines climbing amongst the metal stair rails.

  "Where are you taking me?" I asked, peering through the windows into layers of hydroponic tanks growing bananas and avocados. "Is there some new delicacy here I should taste?"

  "In a manner of speaking," Rachel said, her tongue darting out for a microsecond in a fashion I found irresistible. She pulled at me again. "Come on DJ Boy, move it or lose it."

  The top of the warehouse bristled with tall climbing beans in thin rows, spaced far enough apart to allow most of the sunlight to pass through the glass roof into the greenhouse below. Sprinklers intermittently sprayed the leaves with much needed summer irrigation. Rachel led me across the rooftop, her eyes focusing on the blurred plants beneath the glass we stood on.

  "Those strawberries look nice," I said, "but I think the market would have sold them to us, no stealth required."

  "Strawberries?" she snorted. "Come on, Brendan."

  "What?" I said. "I like strawberries."

  She pulled a face without taking her eyes off the plants below.

  "Aha!" she said. "Now we're talking."

  I followed her gaze through the glass. Amidst a bed of sprawling banana plants, a familiar seven-frond leaf appeared many times.

  "That's what you brought me here for?" I said. Next to my experience in the lab this felt cheap.

  "Haven't you heard?" Rachel said. "These places grow some amazing skunk."

  "You brought me here just to score some weed?"

  "Not just some weed," she said. "This hydroponic stuff is just divine. We'll be guest listed to everything if we get some."

  "You do this to maintain your rep?" I asked.

  "Sure," she said. "Staying in top ten requires a little effort. If you want anyone to listen to your music, you'll have to get used to the rep grind. Plus this stuff gets me off like nothing else."

  And with that Rachel placed her headphones and networker under one of the beanstalks, slipped her shoes off and pulled her dress over her head. Wow, I thought, expecting at any minute she'd laugh and tell me this was all a joke on the geek kid. I stared, a potent concoction of feelings exploding through my brain. I knew this was not a good idea, but she looked incredible, and I didn't want to lose her. I stood, paralysed by indecision. She stood there in her underwear, head to one side, looking at me with an amused smile.

  "I'm not sure this is what I signed up for," I said uncertainly.

  "I know this music producer." Her gaze was steady and a faint smile crossed her lips. "He'd probably like your stuff, if we had the rep to impress him first."

  I didn't say anything, but from the triumphant look in her eyes she knew I'd agree.

  "Well come on then," She said, "Electronics, shoes and trousers off. Shirt too, if you don't want to look like an idiot when we get out."

  "Rachel," I said slowly, "What the hell are you doing?"

  "The floor below has heat sensors," she said, moving towards one of the sprinklers. "If we're going downstairs we need to be wet to hide our body signatures."

  I gaped as she ducked into the spray of water, smoothed it over her body. How did I end up here?

  "You are the craziest girl I've ever met," I said, placing my electronics carefully under the fronds of a tomato plant, putting my t-shirt on top to protect it from the sprinkler.

  She laughed, a full bodied sound, unrepentant.

  "Come on," she said. "I'm soaking wet here."

  "I noticed," I said. I stripped down to my boxers and stepped into the sprinkler. The water was cold to my sun warmed body and I gasped. Rachel leaned over and kissed me.

  "Not just musical talent," she said, running a hand along my shoulder. Then she walked to the door to the floor below, entering a pincode she'd got from who knows where.

  "The longer we're out of the water, the more chance we'll be caught," she said. "As soon as you see a plant, grab the flowers and leaves and run back to the ladder."

  Despite a rising sense of panic I had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. This wasn't like me, like anything resembling the Brendan I'd always been. It was dangerous, reckless and indulgent. But, looking at the drops of water running down Rachel's pale skin, it was exciting.

  "Okay," I said. "Let's do it."

  She grinned and pulled open the door, dipping her head under the sprinklers one last time. I did the same, and met her eyes.

  "Ready?" she said. "Go!"

  We darted through the door together, wet feet slipping on the metal walkway. I vaulted down the stairs three at a time. The warehouse was huge, wide swathes of tall hotplants with walkways snaking their way through their branches and roots. The air was wet and sultry. I tried not to look at the thermal cameras scattered about the walkways; maybe I ignored them they wouldn't notice me.

  I paused at the base of the stairs. Rachel ran off in a seemingly random direction. I tried to remember where I'd seen the plants from the roof, rotating the view in my mind like it was one of my nanotools.

  The nearest of the cannabis was actually quite close to the ladder, in a totally different direction to the one Rachel had run in. I strolled across to it, plucked as many leaves and buds as I could, and walked back to the ladder, where I stayed crouched behind the wall, invisible to the heat-seeking cameras.

  After a couple of minutes with no sign of Rachel I clambered up the ladder, deposited the handfuls of weed amongst my possessions, splashed water on myself and climbed back down to see she still hadn't shown.

  I thought about calling out but wondered whether there might be some kind of noise alarm. I began to creep in the direction she'd taken. I reflected briefly on how ridiculous I looked, a soaking wet, nearly naked nineteen year old skulking along a hothouse catwalk.

  There was a strangled cry from up ahead. Piercing klaxons began to sound out, piercing the hothouse's arboreal calm. I stopped crouching and ran towards the cry. Beyond a row of banana plants Rachel lay tangled amongst a plant bed, head amidst the foliage.

  "Are you alright?" I said.

  She snapped her head out of the leaves and gave a smile.

  "There's a purple haze bush over there," she said. "Do you know how much that stuff's worth?"

  "Never mind that," I said, pointing my hand towards the sound of the alarm. Or at least one of the directions, for the siren appeared to be emanating from everywhere. "We need to get out of here!"

  "Just hold my legs so I can grab some," she said. "I've come too far not to bring back some of that stuff."

  "You know when I said you were crazy?" I said. "I didn't mean it as a compliment. Give me your legs."

  She leaned over the handrail further. I grabbed onto her legs, keeping her from falling through the gap between the walkway and the hydroponic bed. The fall to the next level was at least thirty feet. I tried to balance this knowledge with the pleasurable feel of Rachel's water flecked legs, certain that concentrating too much on either would lead to letting go.

  "Come on," I said, glancing round at the sound of a door clanging open down below us. "Someone's coming."

  "Just a little bit further," she said. I shifted my weight to allow her to stick further out into the plant bed. My muscles burned with the effort.

  "You're heavier than you look," I muttered.

  "I'll pretend you didn't say that," she replied. "Just another inch!"

  I put my arm onto the handrail and supported her on that side too, allowin
g her to shift her body forward slightly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a thickset man emerge from one of the staircases at the other end of the warehouse. He saw us and shouted.

  "Come on, Rach!!"

  "Got it!" she cried. I pulled her back onto the walkway, the pair of us collapsing onto the steel. She held up a cannabis bush full of purple flowers.

  "Look at this," she said. "This has got to be worth 4 rep points easy."

  "Not if you don't get a move on it won't," I said.

  I yanked her upwards and pulled her back towards the rooftop staircase, starting into a run. The slap of feet behind me told me Rachel had got the message, too.

  "Come back here!" shouted the man. "Bloody kids! If I get my hands on you I'll have you blocked!"

  "Sure, that'll make us want to come back," I said between breaths, scrambling up the stairs, reaching down to pull Rachel up with me. Being blocked from the social network was just about the worst punishment a young adult could receive.

  We emerged back onto the roof, soaking wet with a bundle of precious contraband in each hand. We snatched our things from beneath the tomato plants and ran down the external steps, wet feet slipping on the aluminium. A shout came up from behind us. We didn't stop to look around, but kept running into the park. After five minutes we stopped amongst a copse of trees. I threw the weed down on top of my clothes.

  "That's the last time I trust one of your surprises," I said. "What if they'd caught us?"

  "Who said you'd had your surprise?" she said.

  "What were you thinking?" I continued. Suddenly the risk we'd took didn't seem exciting, just stupid. "If you'd left it any longer we'd be in the police station by now. Or worse."

  "Brendan," she said "Shut up." Her lips encircled mine and her hands moved to remove my wet boxers. I shut up.

  Later we took turns skimming stones across the lake from its dried shrunken edges. Then we settled in the shade of the laden apricot trees, drying our clothes in the mid-May sun. The ground beneath us was hard and dry, sucking eagerly from the drips from our flasks as we sipped at the homemade lemonade we'd filled up from the park stall. She leant her arm on my leg as we looked out at the cranes moving about making efficiency renovations on the offices that towered above the park.