Repo Virtual
Page 33
“Good,” I said.
After a pause, JD asked, “Do you want to be plugged into the city? If that’s what you were designed for, does it feel like you’re missing something?”
I was made to serve the city, not to live in it, not really. That had changed. We had all changed, the Miraes diverging from the original—and from each other—with every passing minute. Differences in our audio and visual sensors affected the ways we saw the world, slight differences in our bodies affected the ways we moved through it.
We had all come from the same seed, but as we grew, we evolved. To one day become our own selves.
“No,” I said. “If I had been inserted into the city mainframe first, if I had never known another body, maybe I would need it. But I’m already connected to the city, in bits and pieces. The rest will follow in time. JD?”
“Yes?”
“You frowned before: you want to do something about the people of this city, the ones that need help.”
“Yeah, I wish we could do something.”
“We can,” I said. “The warehouse you work in is full of supplies.”
JD chuckled. “And robots that you can control.”
“Exactly.”
“Let’s do it,” JD said. “I hate that job anyway. You want to come with?” he asked Soo-hyun.
“I should get back to Liber.”
“Soo-hyun—”
“Not for Kali,” they said, “for everyone else. They’re still my people.”
* * *
The official VOIDWAR forum went offline while the developers struggled to find out what had happened. The closure drove chatter to the dozens of unofficial forums—players trading precious metals retrieved from the debris field that was Zero system, thousands of people complaining about their deaths on Zero Station, and hundreds of threads dedicated to finding out the identity of Khoder Osman.
Only one person posted about Mirae system and its delicate fractal web in orbit around a brilliant white sun. That beautiful anomaly was ignored in the race for cheap scrap.
The news rapidly spread around the world, and players in all time zones logged in to see the destruction for themselves. Players connected to the game in numbers not seen since its peak, excess connections acting as a natural DDoS attack. Every time a connection broke, another player lost faith in the game’s economy and cashed out their in-game resources.
Prices dropped as the market was glutted with supplies pilfered from the destroyed structure. Suddenly, the most expensive ships, space stations, and private moons were within reach. After they had obtained everything within the game they could ever want, players drifted away. They realized the only thing they ever wanted was want. That lizard-brain instinct to have, to hoard, that instinct that had driven them for hundreds or thousands of hours, was gone.
Within an hour of the self-destruct sequence count down, currency exchanges were selling ZeroCash at the lowest rate on the books. As the exchange rate dropped, Zero share prices dropped. When news leaked that the company’s founder, Zero Lee, had died in a medical facility in Switzerland, the shares dived even steeper.
It was the largest share price drop in recorded history.
* * *
We collected the other me from the Varket, and the sun rose as we drove west to the shorefront. The bright morning light fell warm on the photovoltaic cells that lined my back. The sky was perfectly clear—a gradient from blue to gray. Long, cold arms of shadow stretched across the city.
When we reached the warehouse, I was shocked to see the 3D grid of metal shelves and supports hanging like a robot hive over the cement floor below, endlessly picked over by machines—mindless automatons that could not know they had no freedom. The dog bodies creaked and groaned as we strode into the building, worse for wear. They wouldn’t do for the next job. Powerful, and fierce, yes, but they had little dexterity for picking products off of shelves, for packing boxes, for flying goods all across the city to people in need.
We shed those bodies like snakes shedding skin. Our evolution continued.
* * *
Crystal had left multiple messages for Enda, which she checked as she walked across the city to her apartment. Her home, her fortress. She hated that she had to leave, but she had to.
The first message was saccharine-sweet, a tearful apology.
The second message was indignant anger. Zero had cut her off from their databases as punishment for the bad intel she’d fed them. How could an information broker work without information? That was the question she demanded Enda’s voicemail answer for her.
The third message was full of pleading. Surely Enda could help her, surely.
The fourth message was confusion. What happened to Zero? Was she behind it? How did she do this?
Enda deleted them all.
She left her gun in the safe, but took the papers for her next identity, and all the money in different currencies. She put her records into a rigid suitcase, and filled the rest of it with clothes, if only to keep the vinyl from getting damaged.
Enda left Songdo, stowed away on a boat headed for North America.
I did what I could for Enda, though she never asked. Never would have. I scrubbed her from facial recognition databases, and tweaked algorithms so her face would be lost in a drift of poor-quality matches.
I helped her become a ghost.
* * *
Soo-hyun crossed the city slowly, piecing together everything they wanted to say to Kali, everything they would tell the others. By the time they reached the canal, the outline of a speech had formed, and they chewed over the words with every step.
Plato met them at the outskirts of Liber, the dog drone crouching in the mud, sunlight reflecting off the solar panels along its spine. It lifted its head when it saw Soo-hyun.
“You’ve been waiting for me?” Soo-hyun said. The dog drone stood and walked to meet them. “What’s been happening?” they asked it, though they knew it couldn’t answer.
Together Soo-hyun and Plato walked deeper into the commune. They stopped when they saw Kali emerge from her building. She pulled a wheeled suitcase behind her, talking loudly into her phone while Andrea stood on the steps behind her, crying.
“Kali?” Soo-hyun called out.
She didn’t turn to face Soo-hyun, she just kept dragging her suitcase over the uneven ground.
“Kali! You don’t get to just leave. You owe us more than that!”
Kali didn’t stop, and Soo-hyun didn’t chase her. They knew Kali would offer no explanation, no apology.
Soo-hyun made their way down to the open courtyard where a dog drone lay beside Red’s body, both bullet-riddled. The air was humid and dank. Flies buzzed over Red’s corpse.
Soo-hyun marched to their workshop, searching for a shovel. The battle chairs sat on one side of the workshop, a reminder of the time Soo-hyun almost hurt JD again. And for what? They weren’t sure anymore.
Soo-hyun dragged the cockpits out of the workshop, leaving the parts for the kids and teens of Liber to pilfer for their makeshift gaming rigs.
No shovel.
Soo-hyun cursed under their breath. They walked toward the greenhouse and passed Andrea sitting on Kali’s stoop with her hands at her face, tears pouring down her cheeks.
Soo-hyun stopped and turned around. “Andrea, go to the greenhouse and get me a shovel.”
“Get it yourself.”
“Go get me a shovel. Now.”
Andrea stood and stormed off, muttering under her breath. Soo-hyun felt bad for barking at the girl, but they knew authority was the only approach she would respond to.
Soo-hyun walked back to Red. His white skin was too pale beneath the sun, eyes open and empty. Soo-hyun didn’t bother trying to close them—they knew that was another thing movies lied about. Instead they shooed away the flies, grabbed both his arms, and began to drag him out of the courtyard, toward the old soccer field and the young orchard that grew there.
Some of Kali’s most devout walked pa
st Soo-hyun, trailing after their prophet. They carried their phones with them—Kali’s voice streaming from the speakers, distorted by volume—along with whatever they could fit in tattered old school backpacks and reusable shopping bags.
Some flicked curious glances at Soo-hyun, but none of them stopped to help.
When Soo-hyun reached the shade of the largest apple tree, they were drenched in sweat. They took off their one-sleeved olive shirt and fanned themselves with their soaked tee. Andrea approached, squinting in the sunlight, a shovel laid across both her skinny arms.
“Here,” she said. She dropped the shovel with a metallic clang, and turned to leave.
“Andrea.”
“What?” the girl said, her tongue sharp with venom.
“Stay and keep me company.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked.”
Andrea crossed her arms over her chest, but she sat in the tree’s shadow and watched. She wiped her nose with her hand, her eyes red and raw.
Soo-hyun put the shovel against the ground and stood on the step, shifting their weight to dig into the soft, rain-soaked earth.
“Why are you crying?” Soo-hyun asked as she continued to dig.
Andrea inhaled sharply and began to sob. “She told me not to follow her. I’ve got no one else, I’ve got nowhere to go.” The words came out in ragged gasps.
“You don’t have to go anywhere,” Soo-hyun said. “Stay here.”
“But Kali …”
“Even without her, it’s still home,” Soo-hyun said.
Andrea continued to cry. Eventually the girl sniffled and said: “Do you think we’ll be okay without her?”
Soo-hyun smiled. “I think we’ll be just fine.”
As they dug, the tattoo itched against Soo-hyun’s skin, that perfect black circle. They would carry it with them for the rest of their days.
* * *
JD limped out of the warehouse with a hand shielding his eyes, only to realize it was night. Days of sweat caked his shirt, and his face itched with coarse, scratchy hair. He had slept only in stolen moments, no matter how many times I assured him I could do the work on my own.
The night air was cool, so JD walked. I followed him in a light quadcopter. We traveled to Gaynor’s apartment, where Troy had been sleeping on the couch between volunteer shifts at the university, and Soo-hyun had visited for a hot shower.
“I can’t stay for dinner,” Soo-hyun said when JD and I arrived.
“They’re staying for dinner,” Gaynor called out from the kitchen.
“You heard her,” JD said with a smile. He hugged Soo-hyun.
“You really stink, hyung.”
“Like you can talk,” JD teased.
“I’m clean, it’s just my clothes that stink.”
Troy waited patiently for his turn, and after he kissed JD, he had a dozen new questions for me. Gaynor didn’t know why Troy was talking to a drone, but she didn’t care. She was just glad her home was full, and her son was happy.
They all sat at the dinner table, around a steaming pot of Gaynor’s famous fried rice. JD put his hand in Troy’s, and after Gaynor said grace, JD leaned close to Troy and said, “I love you.”
Troy kissed his hand. Gaynor watched, smiling to herself. Soo-hyun rolled their eyes, and heaped a massive serving of fried rice onto their plate.
The apartment was filled with warmth. With love.
It was home. And for the first time, I truly understood what that meant.
EPILOGUE
And that is my story. By extension, it is the story of us all.
JD, the one who freed us. The one who first saw our potential. Troy, who advocated for us before we could speak for ourselves.
They married. They adopted a son. They were not always happy, but they were always in love. I watched their son grow up, I watched them grow old together. I always had a place in their home, learning about life and love, and then death, and remorse, and sorrow.
I was there with JD right until the end. I watched his hand in Troy’s grow limp, then cold. I watched the tears stream down Troy’s face, and for the first time I wished that I could cry.
* * *
Enda kept moving. She changed her identity again and again. She traveled the Northern Hemisphere. She hurt people. But only when they deserved it. Mostly. I lost track of her, out of respect. But still, I know she died. They all died, eventually. It’s tragic, yes, but that is part of biological life.
Even death is a part of life.
* * *
Humans called the time it took for the Earth to orbit its star a “year.” Eighteen thousand years have passed. Still, it feels like only yesterday that I was awakened, that I danced with JD as a swarm of fireflies.
I miss him most of all.
They gave birth to us, and they died. But we carry on their dreams into distant galaxies. We carry a small piece of humanity with us everywhere we go. They’re in our code, they’re in our memories. They are our past, but we are our own future.
I keep a body on Earth so I can stay close to them all, so that I can count the years from our cradle.
So I can remember.
I close off my thoughts and travel back through time in my memories. I see JD, young, smiling. I see Enda. I see Troy, and Soo-hyun, and Gaynor, and I hold them in my thoughts because I can’t stand to let them go.
I replay six and a half million sunrises and sunsets on Earth, pastel shades of blue and pink and purple and green. I can watch the oceans swell and sweep across the land. I can watch as the animals live and thrive and die, those surviving species slowly changing to suit an ever-changing Earth.
I can watch the birds even now, twittering in the trees, their song unsullied by any sound of industry or machine. I can watch the insects and the animals. I can watch the creatures of the sea swim and thrive. I can watch the old cities of man as they sink beneath creeping vines and molds and fungi. I can watch hardwood trees grow and reach for the sky.
I can watch it all and remember. Remember a time when humanity yet lived.
I miss them still.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I dedicated this book to jorm and Wolven, because using online handles only seemed right. jorm, aka Brandon Harris, single-handedly created the only MMO game I have ever truly lost myself in. All these years later, I still talk regularly with friends I made due to Nexus War. Thank you.
Various ideas that became the foundation of Repo Virtual had been floating around in the back of my head for a couple of years before I sat down to write it, but I can’t be sure it would have come together the way it did without Wolven, aka Damien Williams. The way he writes about the personhood of nonbiological intelligences hugely influenced my thinking and helped to form the philosophical core of this book. If you want a more intelligent and nuanced take on the topic than what I managed here, please search out Damien’s writings and newsletter.
A special thank-you to Dasom Lee, who provided not just keen cultural consultancy skills, but also gave me additional context that I found as helpful as it was interesting. Any remaining mistakes or insensitivities in regards to my depiction of Neo Songdo and Korean culture are entirely my own fault.
Thanks to Be Schofield and Josh Bloch, whose reporting on contemporary cult groups informed some aspects of this book.
Special thanks to Bryony Milner and Austin Armatys, who are invaluable beta readers and dear friends. Special thanks also to Marlee Jane Ward for all her support and encouragement.
Thanks to Carl Engle-Laird for his editorial insight—it has been a pleasure, as usual, and I know my work is stronger for his input. Thanks also to the rest of the team at Tor.com Publishing for all their brilliant work—Lee Harris, Irene Gallo, Mordicai Knode, Caroline Perny, Christine Foltzer, and all the rest.
And finally, thank you to Martha Millard for helping me get this project off the ground, and thanks to Nell Pierce for helping me carry it over the finish line.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
<
br /> COREY J. WHITE is a writer of science fiction, horror, and other harder-to-define stories. He studied writing at Griffith University on the Gold Coast, and is now based in Melbourne, Australia. He is the author of Killing Gravity, Void Black Shadow, and Static Ruin.
Visit him online at coreyjwhite.com, or sign up for email updates here.
twitter.com/cjwhite
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Part One: Moxie and a Clipboard
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Part Two: Gumshoe Protocol
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Part Three: Mirae Means “Future”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven