Versim Page 3

  “I just jumped in to tell you,” Krista said. “I’ve been waiting for you to find a safe house. We both have.” She pointed at his hands. “Got your gear, I see.”

  “We? Tripp’s here?”

  “Down the hall. Making sure this place is safe.”

  “What the heck, Krista?”

  “We had to jump in after you did. Once you entered, the game would be on because they picked up your illegal immersion signature right away.”

  Celia harrumphed, crossed her arms, and pouted. “What’s going on? Who is she?”

  Krista gave Celia her palm, and the celebrity’s eyes widened at the insult.

  Frankie grinned, unable to stop looking back and forth between Krista and Celia. He’d probably never been in such a cramped space with two such beautiful women.

  Krista moved in close so that the others couldn’t hear. “This V has been running for twenty years, Hark.”

  “What?” He began clicking the retros off in his mind, wondering which one it could be. “I’m not coming in at the beginning, then why? And which one?”

  “A boring soap opera. But you know it. The Old World Collides.”

  “Are you serious? Why would I do that?”

  “Your memory return still that fuzzy?”

  “Like I said, just her. Everything else for the last few weeks is a blank.”

  Krista shook her head. “Better to wait for the return to happen slowly.”

  “You got your memory?”

  “I’m just staying in for a few minutes. I’m all here.” She tapped her forehead. “I know what’s going on.”

  “Lucky you. Screw the rules. Tell me.”

  “You know deep-immersed specialists like you are buffered for a reason. You’ve immersed too many times. Your body’s in a stasis vat, which means you’re staying in-V. Got to let memory return happen slowly, Hark.”

  That was true. Something about letting his cognitive architecture organize itself slowly meant they couldn’t do a memory dump all at once—and she couldn’t short circuit the process by just telling him. It could send his brain into a type of mental anaphylactic shock. The subtle clues, the gradual revelation of information, all of it was planned to ease him into this new world.

  “Hark, Tripp and I are hijackers too. We’re all three using the same tunneler.”

  “Krista, what have you done—?“

  “We’re here to help you, Hark.”

  “If they catch you, you’ll be killed. The Voxyprog don’t mess around with illegal insertions. If I’m off the script, and you help me, they’ll know you’re here.”

  “We have our reasons.”

  “You here on Spinner business as well?” he demanded.

  “Of course.”

  “What’s that have to do with me?”

  She ignored him. “Not now, Hark. You read the message.” Krista nodded at Celia. “Your mission is to keep her alive.”

  “That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

  “Yes you do.” Krista leaned in close and whispered. “She’s the host, Hark. You’ll understand soon. But just keep that in mind: she’s the host.” Host? They’re trying to kill the host? Krista saw his confusion and continued. “The pizza guy already has a few riders, and increasing as the minutes progress. He’ll be loyal. Use him.”

  Hark stared at his sister as if she’d just told him Celia was the Easter Bunny. If the pizza guy had riders, that meant he was in play for a reason.

  Tripp appeared. “Hey, big brother.”

  He looked much like Hark, only a bit leaner and, if truth be told, better looking. He was dressed in a smart blazer, with pleatless black pants and black leather shoes. He had that special something in the slant of his smile that made his mistakes seem less than they were. But he didn’t have Hark’s charm or grit, or so Hark had been told.

  They embraced with wide, open arms.

  “What’re you doing here?” Hark asked him. To Krista he said in a frantic, hushed whisper. “The host? No way. The host is never part of the drama. Why did I hijack this V, and why are you two here?”

  “Can’t tell you,” Tripp said, sniggering at Hark’s old-fashioned sweat pants. “You know how it is. It’ll mess you up. Has to come slow and sweet.”

  Hark hated to admit the truth. “Voxyprog technocrats run the show.”

  “Their rules.” Tripp moved in close for a better look. “Their game.”

  Both brothers smiled.

  “You two should get out of here,” Hark said.

  “She tell you you’re off the script?” Tripp asked.

  “That’s all she told me.”

  Tripp glanced at Celia. “You understand what it means if they get her?”

  Hark nodded. “I do.”

  “Where will you take her?”

  Every Rend-V had a center responsible for internal narrative integrity staffed with Sersavant hackers. They kept the seams from fraying inside, only pushing up major problems to the hacker corps. Collides, from what Hark remembered reading about its construction years ago, had a Sersavant center that actually generated in-V entertainment. “I’m going to the Mediaplex to sort this out.”

  Tripp embraced him. “Good move. The memories will come soon. It’ll all be clear then.”

  He turned and headed out. Krista hugged Hark. “We’ll meet you there. We’ll talk later. Until then, keep her safe.”

  She’s the host, Hark said to himself. That mean’s everyone in this V is vulnerable. If a host dies in-V, the entire world disintegrates … and any living person jacked into the V is compromised. The biggest secret in V-Theory: they say dying inside isn’t a problem … but it always is.

  Hark stared at Celia as his brother and sister left. He smiled at her to ease her mind. She had no idea what she was.

  5

  Hark locked the door, the deadbolt thudding into place. Celia and Frankie looked at him and waited.

  “Oh, it’s time,” Frankie said. “We’re goners.”

  “Relax,” Hark said. “I said I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “He’s my bodyguard,” Celia said, dripping poison.

  “They’ll be expecting me back,” Frankie said.

  “You got a com device?”

  “Com device? You mean a phone?” He pulled one out of his pant’s pocket.

  “Call in sick.”

  “I thought you said—”

  “I said I wouldn’t hurt you, but there’s something both of you need to hear. Call in. You’re done for the day.”

  Hark paced as he considered his next move. The smart thing would be to sit tight and wait for the memory dump. The woman he thought was merely a principal protagonist was actually the host of the Rend-V. She shouldn’t be part of the drama. In fact, he had just interfered by illegally jumping into the drama … to keep her safe? He wondered which specialist was suiting up right now to find him. It was usually his job to make sure nothing like this happened in the first place. His brother and sister had also illegally immersed with fully husked presences, although they weren’t in stasis vats. That meant they could come and go in an instant. That also meant at least one remote host was tunneling all three of them. Krista and Tripp would have to pop out to hide their tracks while Hark remained hidden. Since he was tunneling in through the same host, they’d do their best to update his memory as soon as possible.

  They’d also be dropping more clues, as well.

  But right now, all he knew was that a host was in trouble.

  What happened in the last month to make me do this? What did I agree to?

  Hark eyed Frankie. “What are you good at, besides acting?”

  Celia glanced at him. “An actor?”

  Frankie cringed, as if he didn’t want to admit how bad he was to her.

  Hark winked at him.

  “Well, sort of,” Frankie said.

  “I bet he’s a sight to see,” Hark said.

  “I thought I heard you say you failed an audition.”

  Hark shook hi
s head.

  Frankie stared at the floor. “Yeah, I could have done better.”

  “So? What else besides acting?” Hark asked. He crossed his arms. Frankie was here for a reason. Hark needed to figure it out right away. “Do tell.”

  “I trained in Tae Kwon Do—”

  “—which would probably get you killed in a fight. What else?”

  Frankie glanced back and forth between them, as if considering whether to speak. He straightened himself, chin up. “All right. I’m a level sixty-one Knight Mage in Dungeons of Tor. Pwnage is my art form. They have blogs about me.”

  Hark smiled at the little man, seeing the kind of fire that would make him a fine principal secondary character. Whatever drama within drama was being rendered here, Frankie had a part carved out for him to play.

  “Good for you.”

  “Pwnage?” Celia said.

  “Pure ownage,” Hark said. “Our boy, Frankie here, has some cybernetic skills.”

  He watched Celia furrow her brow—still in shock and barely able to comprehend what was happening to her. Hark had nothing to help her yet, so he kept her thinking he was her bodyguard. Frankie, though … Hark knew exactly what he could do with him.

  “Video games do require a … certain mindset,” Hark said. “Here’s the thing, Frankie. I need to hire you for an important job. What do you make a month delivering pizzas?”

  “About two grand.”

  “That’s 24K a year.”

  “Give or take.”

  “You stick with me for the next few days; I’ll pay you fifty thousand US dollars.”

  Celia’s head popped up. “What?”

  Frankie smirked, as if he were being tricked. “Whatever. Where’s my three hundred for getting the bag.”

  “Ma’am, please pay the young man. We need his help. I saw the cash in your purse.” She stared at the clutch that was still on her arm. “Go ahead.”

  She opened and withdrew several hundred dollars. She fanned them out.

  Hark nodded toward the money.

  Frankie inched his way over and withdrew three one-hundred dollar bills.

  “Fifty thousand, Frankie, for a few days’ work—maybe a week or so, I’m guessing.”

  Frankie stuffed the money in his pocket. “You’re serious?”

  “As serious as I can be.”

  “Why me?”

  “You got the kind of skills I’m looking for.”

  “Let me see the money.”

  Hark paused. He stared at these two strangers whose world was about to be turned upside down. He’d hoped to do this later, but he withdrew his Assembler Kit from the paper bag. It was a simple rectangular box of dark, composite metal with a glass readout on the front. Not a single seam or rivet. He placed his palm on it, and the device activated.

  “Oh well,” Hark said. “You might as well see what you’re dealing with.”

  “What the horn dog is that?” Frankie asked. “A battery?”

  “Now listen,” Hark said. “This is top-secret government hardware. No mention of this to anyone.” He leaned over the device. “Two-hundred and fifty one-hundred US dollar bills.”

  A beam of pulsing azure light punched out of the side of the fabricator. It reached the floor as if searching there. It found an empty wooden chair, then moved to the upholstery. It began to eat away at it in rapid time, as if erasing it. The material disappeared in seconds. The light then moved to the floor and fanned back and forth. A minute later, stacks of bills began appearing, at first just etched objects, the light passing in rapid, modulating waves with such speed the eye had trouble seeing the bills become whole.

  “That is some freaky hardware,” Frankie said. “Those real?”

  “How do you think they make money these days?” The light stopped as the last bill fabricated, the lie convincing Frankie. “Half now, half later.”

  Frankie scooped them up, a banana grin stretching from ear to ear.

  Hark returned the assembler to the bag.

  “What do I have to do?” Frankie asked.

  Hark patted him on the back. “I thought so. I could use a change of clothes. A pair of sturdy pants, a long-sleeved shirt. Pick up a light sports jacket and a pair of boots. I also need a small back-pack for my gear.”

  “You got it, man. I’m on it.” Frankie looked at the cash in his hand, as if he might ask Hark how to pay for it. “Yeah, I got it. It’s on me.” Frankie headed for the door.

  Hark reached out and stopped him. “Don’t tell a soul. Not about me, about the money, about her. Don’t mention the hotel room. Clear?” Frankie’s eyes were wide, suddenly fearful. Hark almost lifted him off his feet. “Tell me you understand this isn’t a game.”

  “Yo, man, I got it. Chill.”

  Hark shut the door on Frankie as a news show on the TV caught his attention. He pretended to ignore it by turning to Celia, but he caught the headline of a round-table discussion show: NYC Predator: the Work of One Man or Many? Celia began to ask about that box and how it made the money while he listened to pundits examine a few incidents of random killings in public places. The major world news outlets had picked it up. The Times was reporting the events were the work of a single psychopath. Celia had calmed enough for her to listen to his story about black-ops’ government hardware and how there was all sorts of stuff out there she wouldn’t believe. He couldn’t tell her the truth, of course. At least not yet.

  What bothered him, though, was that his clues were still vague. First the serial killer, which was a standard trope in horror Rend-Vs. Then the Voxyprog sign, which shouldn’t have been there at all, which meant a radical element might be at work. Add to the mix Tripp and Krista’s arrival with news Hark had immersed illegally and that he was being directed to protect the Rend-V’s hidden host …

  Celia sat back on the bed, legs straight, and leaned against the headboard. “That pizza smells good. I never had lunch.”

  “There’re a few slices still in the box.” Hark set two pieces on the lid and placed it on the bed. “Eat up.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked, as she fingered one of the pieces.

  “Harken Cole,” he said instinctively.

  I just told her my real name, he thought. What the heck is going on? Even though I’m illegal, there should still be a major block on me saying that. I’m not in character. No direction. No idea what the narrative tropes are. I’m playing myself. That breaks every versim rule out there. Why am I doing this?

  She pulled her phone out. “I can’t believe it’s not working.”

  Her hands began to tremble. She almost dropped the phone. Then Celia Preston turned away toward a corner, pulled a pillow over her head, and cried quietly. Hark moved to the bed and considered placing a comforting hand on her back.

  Since he wasn’t here officially, that meant he wasn’t a principal character scripted into the drama by the Rend-V’s producers and directors. He was here for another reason (even though he had no idea who sent him or why). What he did know was that this host had been peacefully immersed for twenty years and someone now wanted to kill her. But she didn’t know she was a host, of course, and if she died while inside …

  He placed his hand on her back and tapped a few times, discreetly, letting her know he was there if she needed him. He was able to calm her enough that she sat up.

  “Tough times being a celebrity?” he asked, hoping to get her to talk away some of her fear.

  “You don’t know the half of it. What did my sister tell you?”

  “Nothing, just that you needed protecting.” Another lie, he thought. I have no idea who her sister is or what problems Celia has. I shouldn’t feel guilty about this, but I do.

  “I’ve had a few stalkers. But, my career is in the can. I’m getting too old to dance the way I used to. The roles I get are all horrible. I’m being paid less. It’s as if the world wants to keep me in a little corner that keeps shrinking.” She reached out and touched his gloved hand. The Skinsuit looked like anothe
r dermal layer, but of black scales the size of sequins that glittered in the light. “More government gear?” Her finger lingered on his hand, and he could feel it through the Skinsuit. The heat of her finger sunk into him, as if she were massaging his hand. She let it linger there. She lifted it slowly, smiling for the first time. “A man of mystery. My sister never settles for second best, so you must be good.” She sat up. “She’s also been trying to set me up for years. This isn’t all some staged goof, is it? Some sort of radical new way to date?”

  “No ma’am.”

  “Too bad.” She winked at him, recovering quickly. She edged to the bed, set her feet on the floor, and sauntered to the bathroom.

  Hark watched her go, noted the shape of her one-in-a-million behind, the way the lean muscle of her legs shaped her pants, and told himself to be careful. It was one thing to have a steamy affair with a principal in a prescribed drama or romance—and another thing to engage a host. Imagine a kiss that could undo a world.

  6

  He heard a knock on the door. “It’s Frankie.”

  Hark let him in. “Keep quiet. You get my stuff?”

  “Yeah, I hope they fit.”

  Hark dropped his pants and removed his tee. He stood there in the form-fitting Skinsuit, as if made of gleaming obsidian. It covered every inch of him up to his neck. In his collar was a compressed hood and mask he could wear when needed. Frankie stared at him as if he were a superhero.

  “Way cool,” Frankie said. “I was wondering about those gloves.”

  “Not gloves. A part of the suit.” Hark touched his hands and the material retreated upward, leaving his hands bare.

  “Cool. Can I?” He reached out a single finger.

  “No.”

  “What the hell are you?”

  Hark took the bag of clothes and began getting dressed without examining them. They looked casual and rugged enough for him.

  “You ever had one of those moments, Frankie, when your life is so boring you want to poke your eyes out?” Frankie nodded. “All you can think of is snapping out of it. You wish something would come along, a surprise, a moment of reality that makes you feel alive?” More nodding. “You’re about to have one.”