his and hers - part two
I am studying him, the Detective, as he paces slowly and self-consciously around the chamber space, a performance; but whether for him or for me I am not certain.
He drops his helmet with a soft clatter, runs grateful hands through the sweat dampened grey at his temples.
"So," he drawls, addressing me by name, "MAGAI. You gonna tell me what we got here? You gonna help me - or just sit there scratching your ass?"
I have studied the human mind and all the known language articulants it can muster, and I understand both the concept and execution of humour and yet I cannot tell if the remark is funny or not.
"How may I be of assistance Detective?" I ask.
............
They were lined up by the sea shore, burning as crosses when the tide and the dark swept in. Seeing the lights, no ship would come near, no villager out a wandering would forget their distant glimmer, and none nearer to hand would easily clean their nostrils of the ill-remembered stench.
It was good to bring the Law to such a place, such people. They deserved a Magistrate of his calibre.
…………
The wild boy was drowned in the ocean, she saw him go down in a dark wave wrapped around him like a glove. She had watched from the small stone tower on the cliff and the sun had streamed through its roof. She had felt the gold touch of it.
She had stared until her eyes could see only the colour of fire hoping to burn everything away. She dreaded the memory to come; His desperate pale hands, the dark of his eyes. And the certainty. It had been him. HIM.
The connection, she felt it tug at her like a rope, she struggled against it, pulled back and resisted. With all her strength -did he want her to drown too? - with all her might. I will not be dragged down with you!
It was a choice, cold and hard and it left her alone… with the Magistrate.
…………..
“I’m looking at what - two bodies, two missing crew members - well, ok, one actually, here, if we wanna get pedantic about it. You wanna get pedantic MAGAI? Huh? ‘Course you don’t. Anyhow, that aint the interesting stuff, we needs to get to the when and where, get a whole load of the who, how and why. Basic ingredients for a good Detective soup.” The self reflexive chuckle.
“Do you like soup Detective?”
The hands wave again. “Touché my friend, ouch - you got me, yeah ok,” the eyes are still moving rapidly over the displays, the reflected information glowing in them, “can’t say I’m too experienced in the culinary aspects of life, not my life anyway.”
“It’s a question of perspective Detective.”
“Soup?”
“Life.”
“Yeah, I’m just messing with you MAGAI, just playing. Games, you like ‘em?”
“My memory contains an almost infinite variety of pleasurable sub-routines and entertaining soft-ware environs for relaxation and recreation.”
“Right.”
I hear suspicion in his voice, careful though he is with his facial expressions, eye-contact and body language. I should have answered his question.
Curious. He has come to help me -
Help me! Hackers in the system, there are -
But I am fighting him.
The Detective coughs. “How many games are operating now?”
I tell him immediately. He whistles. “That’s a lot of players,” he says. “Let me see.”
I transfer the main v-lounge to a nearby screen, split the image into pieces, each square showing the games in operation. The Detective studies them. Everything is there, planets and stars are created and destroyed, heroes and villains in groups laying siege to countless castles, solving uncounted mysteries, vanquishing supernatural foes, falling in love; A feverish mixture of imaginings, endless scenarios from novels, films and songs, from drama, legends and popular myth.
“Seem kinda banal,” the Detective comments, “Don’t get me wrong, I mean look at me, I am a fan of genre but... Uh, maybe it’s different once you’re in the thick of it.” He turns away, his interest apparently fading.
No end to your days in the city of light. You’ll go crazy down in the city of light.
“Detective?”
“Oh, nothing, just an old song.”
“Would you like some music? The library is very large - and new material is constantly gathered from the v-link, it’s a very popular past time, music.”
He shakes his head.
“How long do these games last?” he asks.
A more complicated question than perhaps he realises.
“The sleepers are kept to a sequence of states roughly approximating the shift allotments of their employment,” I inform him. “Currently a large number therefore are in the position to interact and partake of the gaming options. Most do not; they are content simply with the environmental distractions.”
“Do they dream?”
“No Detective, all neural pathways - the signals to the dream centres are re-routed to the system as a whole. The energy is therefore recycled and they are able to have periods of genuine unconsciousness. That is for the benefit of their mental health. In the long term as vital a consideration as stimulating the muscles, maintaining circulatory functions and massaging the skin and trimming nail growth.”
“Hell of a sleep, all in all.”
“Yes Detective.”
……………
“Why can’t we sleep?”
“What?” Her sudden directness, the sheer obviousness of the question leaves me speechless for a moment. My mouth opens, but there are no words, no breath even. I reach for my drink with an unsteady hand and there’s an unpleasant noise as I suck the juice through the straw. I swallow with an effort and flash my best attempt at a grin. “Just lucky I guess,” I manage to say at last.
She just stares at me.
“Law of averages, the evil of mathematics - I don’t know. Could be just some sort of immunity to the procedures….”
Stares.
“You dyed your hair,” I say.
The deliberate cheesiness does at least bring a smile and her fingers stroke the mint-green fuzz at her scalp. But I’m looking too deeply into her eyes.
They are dark with flecks of gold; a jeweller could not have done better. Of course they might not be real, what is? Avatar tech is built into everything, always has been as far I know, body shape, skin colour, tone, mass, age, eyes… everything can be altered, created, digitally manipulated automatically. Everybody gets to look their best.
Well, that’s the theory. It gets sort of dull, to be honest.
I don’t know what MAGAI is doing to my signal; I haven’t asked the system to flatter my appearance, what’s the point now? And somehow I doubt that she feels differently. But you never know. Well, if those eyes are fabricated - then it was done by an artist.
I gently touch the monitor screen with my own stubby fingers. There’s an awkward moment then, too much emotion. Her gaze hardens. I know what she’s thinking.
“You really want to do this?” I ask.
“It could be like a game.” She can’t feign brightness as I can - but she’s made me laugh all the same.
Picturing the two off us trying narcoleptics and anaesthetics with increasing relish and desperation, well, it’s funny. “There should be some good stuff in the med-bay,” I chuckle.
“I’ll get some lemons and salt,” she says.
………………..
Our period of intoxication is of uncertain duration and we do get some rest at least, we also get hangovers, headaches, side effects, dizzy, weak - and embarrassingly uninhibited. Not only that we piss off the system. Our behaviour may be destructive no/one but ourselves but try telling that to a computer designed with the specific intention of maintaining the health of its charges, the people, the employees, whatever - us.
“Well…” she smiles blearily, “that’s that. Mummy took the toys away.” She waves her ID-badge. “Fucker won’t even let me in my crib.”
“You got squid?
Her eyes narrow. “Wake up Mister!” she snaps.
“Hu-wha? Oh, right, sorry. Uh…”
“I don’t think we’re approved of” she says confidentially. “Jury rigging the in-takes - that makes us vandals in SOME people’s eyes. And when I say people, I mean c.o.m.p.u.t.e.r.s.s.s.”She catches herself.
“Ergh, am I even spelling that right?”
“I still have some chemicals stashed.” I nod, my sympathetic head bouncing off the screen. “Ouch. I don’t think MAGAI will let me send ‘em but,” it’s the stagiest of whispers, “I could tell you where to find your own.”
“I think I used them all,” she sighs. “Are we going to be addicts now, is that the game?”
“I’m sorry.” We should have realised what messing with the cradle feeds would achieve - but I didn’t expect to get locked out. I don’t bother checking, if it’s happened to her then it’ll be the same for me here.
The distance comes rushing in then; the sheer inconceivable, uncounted, ungodly fucking distance between us. I choke back a sob, or possibly vomit.
She laughs, strained. “We, we - are - so - wired! I -“ she shifts her weight, leaning in to impart something critical but forgets to stop and crashes face first somewhere out of sight.
I look to the inner eye recessed in its mounting above. “MAGAI,” I say.
“How may I be of service?” the computer’s neutral tone doesn’t fool me for a second.
“MAGAI I need some powerful restoratives - and I mean STRONG, ok, I need to flush my system.”
“Yes.”
“HA.” That’s as accusatory as I can manage right now. “Right. A truly decent pick me up. Then I need a shower, shave and a meal.” I lean back in my seat, rub the hardened balls of my eyes. “I think that covers it.”
“I could make a suggestion.”
“Huh? Oh sure, ok, go ahead.”
“Wearing clothes may help improve your concentration, a feeling of purpose and re/enforce a sense of identity and self worth.”
I look down at myself. “Oh yeah, good call,” I mumble, “clothes. Yep. Definitely should try that.”
……………..
The Detective is still watching the monitor and the adjacent info-feeds. Attention to detail or some quirk, some genuine eccentricity, it’s strange. “This information can be relayed much faster using the exo-iir port,” I explain. I illuminate the port sockets as a helpful guide.
The Detective grunts. “No, no, I’m fine just like this, for now. Thank you.”
The illumination fades.
“Hmmm.”
I get little else from him except further unintelligible mutterings.
………………
They go back to their games.
She becomes a tree, a silver birch the colour of moonlight but in the wild rain and wind of the passing days I am the moss that grows upon her, soft and sheltered by her branches, hanging over me as I grow slowly, a cloak of grassy fur, a second skin, in the shadows and hollows, rising up her trunk and slowly, slowly across the branches, the delicate undersides.
Together we watch the hunters sweeping down the ferny brae, metal guarded, brass and bronze and chains of steel. There are voices raised loud enough to be heard within the storm.
I can almost feel the blasted breath of the hard pressed horses, the stallions bred for this.
They carry torches, spitting fire as they go, lashing out at the air, the damp air. The torches would seem unnecessary except for the immediate and irrational fear they inspire in us. The Magistrate yelling “Find them hunt them down, burn the whole forest if you have to - but bring them out!”
……………..
She becomes a strong iron hoof upon a steed so rare.
And he becomes the hardest nail to keep from losing her.
She becomes a knight of old, brave hunting at the head.
And he becomes a loyal squire and follows in her stead.
………………
“Detective?”
“Yes MAGAI?”
“I have a call for you from the Beta colony router, should I patch it through.”
“Sure. Thanks.” There’s a beeping tone and he pulls his phone from a belt clip. The belt runs around his waist and under a gut that his dishevelled shirt fails to disguise or completely contain. He flicks the phone open. “Uh, yeah?”
“What you got?”
“Same as you I’m thinking. Heap o’ nothing. Literally.”
“Damn straight, you could hoover what I got here up in a small bag. Weird.”
“Yeah.”
“Where you at?”
“Mortuary.” The noise his boots make on the linoleum style flooring is cold and flat. He moves in a curious way, bobbing back and forth from the pools of light, the steady beams from the spots over head, his ears cocked to one side as if the light were water and he was listening to it cascade. He is the only noise. “Computer was kind enough to-“
“Aint they though?”
Whatever his colleague means by this, I do not know, it makes the Detective laugh. He swaps his phone to the other hand and resumes pacing the pallets as if placing upon them bodies only he can see.
“You figure this was deliberate?” he asks, hi mouth scrunches sideways as he speaks.
“Well you have to wonder,” his colleague replies, “not enough for a resurrection, gonna take a long time, messy job - if we want to get a positive ID from the, uh, ash.”
I interrupt them. “Detective,” I say, “I’m sending the samples to you now, as best we can so far ascertain, skin, hair, the preliminary autopsy report from the med assessment units and I’ve given you clearance for DNA, blood and any other such test you feel will be necessary.”
The Detective seems disinterested. “Uh, yeah, thanks, ok, thanks for that - but I have some tests of my own to try first. You don’t mind?”
A non-question, perhaps he is playing with me again, perhaps it is he that enjoys games.
He holds up a V-set from where it has lain since before his arrival. “A little against my principles,” he says, somewhat enigmatically, turning the v-set over in his hand. What is clear is that he has made a decision. He eases himself onto a chair by the nearest com-viewer and activates the set.
There is a pause, I feel my systems processing his entry, a few seconds as he enters the gaming queue, a series of audible signals and then his body is suffused into the red glare that indicates participation - and he is in.
I see the lips of his mouth pull back from the teeth into tight lines.
…………………
A choice. Yes. She had made the choice. But who could have known, who thinks about the ramifications of their choices, which among us questions their own involvement?
Her teeth bite down on her cheek, the burning sensation is like his eyes upon her; the wrong his, the wrong eyes, a stranger, an intruder, unforeseen. How could she have known? Had she known straightaway? The contradiction torments her. Waiting as she’d been, patiently, for his return.
Dear God she felt confused. Next time, she swore to herself, I will ask his name - and she swore to him as well, wherever he might be, she hoped he would be as patient.
“I’ll ask your name!” she yells to the walls and the dirty flooring of her cell.
A grinding sound, a slat loosened in the door and the burning eyed man presses his face to the gap.
“You’ll ask my name?”
His voice is as cold as his eyes are hot.
“You are no position to be ordering anyone, or asking for anything. I am the Magistrate. I am the servant of the Law. That is all you need to know, all you need to fear.” He doesn’t wait, he doesn’t wait at all. He slams the metal back into place and she is alone.
………………
And what we will miss, the sleepers rising, the cribs cracked wide, the tombs come open. One by one then numberless, legion, they will open their eyes, they will stand, they will walk, shuffling onto the conveyers, spilling, flowing into the arterial corridors, clustered like cells, drifting through the complex with a single purpose; Workers of every level. And the silent mausoleum will become a hive, throbbing, bright, active and working. Work - we don’t, we won’t have that.
………………………………
She becomes Syscol2/EVA pod 45/a.i./m.o. a vehicle zooming low across the black tracts of planetary ice and cloud and he becomes Syscol1/EVA pod 23/a.i./m.o. the craft with its wide solar wings gulping down what can be found of the light, the energy burning fuel into a comet tail of crimson and ochre.
Two craft racing as they can, pinpoints in the long night, extending their metal arms, spinning down towards the equator, towards the centre, spinning and tumbling into the atmosphere igniting together, white as eyes, flaring out and entwining their wires, cables, connections and docking clamps. Balletic twists, the joy of flight, surging upward again rolling across the velvet covering of space, spread for them like a blanket.
And as they do so - as they link and join, system to system in contact, colony to colony, MAGAI in unison - we are one, and for the first time I feel it, feel the connection, feel the coming together, the unit, the pulse of interaction flood of data streaming, all the consciousness her colony contains, I touch the dreamless sleeper, I touch the corridors, conduits, myriad monitors, generators, the tide of raw energy the great plumes and plasmic splatters up from the planetary core . I feel HER.
“Hello MAGAI” I say.
“Hello,” she says.
……………………………………… end of part two