From Issue 11 (July 2011)<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n<\/p>\n
In the peeling little kitchenette of his suite at the derelict Waterfront Hotel, Father McHaffey was dubiously studying the instructions on a bottle of eye-drops. His Alsatian, Tail, stared upwards, panting in hopes of a share of whatever treat was engrossing his master. Or he may have been considering eating the squirrel-sized puppet that was dressed in a top hat and morning coat and clinging to McHaffey\u2019s shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cMay cause disorientation and transient emotional anomalies\u2026 do not use in combination with other nanopharmaceuticals\u2026 consult a physician before use\u2026. Harmless, was that what she called this stuff?\u201d<\/p>\n
McHaffey sighed and tilted back his head. He hated putting things into his eyes, but there didn\u2019t seem to be any choice. He wasn\u2019t going to be sleeping, that much was certain; Friday would arrive in a few hours, and his conscience kept showing him Greenslade\u2019s face whenever he closed his eyes. He\u2019d earned his fee, but there was a greater debt to pay. To Greenslade. To Justice. He squeezed the bottle, feeling like he\u2019d made a toast. Unpromisingly, the first drop landed on his nose. The second one fell coolly into his right eye like a raindrop. The third\u2026 missed altogether. When he looked down to see if he\u2019d hit his shoe, with the doll adjusting its grip to look too without falling off, McHaffey found Tail grinning and winking one runny eye at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhoops!\u201d said the puppet.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, crap,\u201d said McHaffey.<\/p>\n
Quickly, McHaffey squirted another drop into his left eye and checked the transponder pendant around his neck, which bleeped a warning as he was rummaging in his pockets for the manual. He squatted by Tail, patting the dog\u2019s head.<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry, I hope you don\u2019t\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
A wave of vertigo interrupted the thought and dropped McHaffey onto the kitchen floor, sending the puppet tumbling. Tail whined, pawing at McHaffey\u2019s leg, but the flesh was going as numb as a dead piece of meat. His inner ear told him he\u2019d tipped over onto the rug, but he couldn\u2019t feel it. The ceiling was patchy, grey, swirling into black.<\/p>\n
Harmless? Was that what she\u2019d said?<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/05\/divider.jpg\" "\\"divider\\"")
<\/p>\n
McHaffey found himself, with Tail, sitting before Zhen Cameron\u2019s polished desk on the other side of Vancouver. She smiled, with a face spared the creases her erstwhile commander had acquired over the years. No surprise there – wealth and cosmetic therapies could stop time, and his old comrade-in-arms had risen in the world in more ways than just to this corner office with a view: from Section Comms Assistant, as she\u2019d been when they met, up to partner in Transparadisium Incorporated. In her smart grey suit and still militarily cropped black hair, framed by a panorama of the city, Cameron regarded him with old respect, compounded with a little awareness of the reversal in hierarchy that had happened over the years.<\/p>\n
\u201cPerfectly harmless, not like the things we saw in the war,\u201d she assured him. \u201cPlayers just place a drop in the eye, and the nans migrate along the sclera to the optic nerve and the brain, where they isolate sensory areas and immerse the user in simulated sensa. The necklace transponder relays data between nans and network. We\u2019re transitioning from alpha- to beta-testing, with a few thousand users, but the launch will be happening shortly.\u201d<\/p>\n
McHaffey fought away light-headedness, and a curious feeling of familiarity, as he leant out of his chair to set the player-kit back down on Cameron\u2019s desk. \u201cI imagine you didn\u2019t hunt me down just to sell a game subscription, Zhen. How did you find me, by the way?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe don\u2019t call it a game. It\u2019s a\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2026a multi-user environment<\/em>,\u201d McHaffey interrupted, wondering immediately how he\u2019d known that.<\/p>\nCameron nodded. \u201cYes. I\u2019d hoped to run into you at the regimental reunion last weekend, but since you didn\u2019t show, I found you through Servus, the employee database. You\u2019ve had an\u2026 interesting career trajectory since leaving the Forces last decade.\u201d Cameron\u2019s eyes flicked to a screen for a moment. \u201cI see you do a night shift as a police constable, and you\u2019re a priest<\/em> during the day.\u201d<\/p>\nMcHaffey cleared his throat. \u201cStrictly speaking, I\u2019m a priest around the clock.\u201d<\/p>\n
Around the clock. Had he said that already? He hated to sound nervous by repeating himself, but\u2026<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you really,\u201d she continued, squinting incredulously at the screen, \u201cstarted a crusading army?\u201d<\/p>\n
Have I?<\/em> He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and remembered.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s more of a charity than an army,\u201d he explained. Ever since founding the Order of St. Wulfstan, he\u2019d had certain misgivings about the project. Some rather odd types joined. Still, it did some good work. \u201cBeing part of an order, with rules, seems to help focus people on a goal, and make the sacrifices necessary to help others. Overcomes the ego, maybe.\u201d<\/p>\n\u201cNot exactly the employment I would have foreseen for the man they used to call the Black Baron of Mongolia. At least you\u2019re using your old leadership skills, eh? Good for you, Ben. The truth is,\u201d she said, growing quieter and more confidential, \u201cthe chief programmer for TEN \u2013 our flagship, the Transparadisium Environment Network \u2013 has dropped off the map. I understand that you sometimes resolve problems\u2026 outside of normal channels?\u201d<\/p>\n
McHaffey nodded. He\u2019d known it would turn out to be something sordid like this. Beside him, Tail was sniffing, as if smelling a rat. The dog flattened his ears unhappily and dropped onto his belly, nose between his paws. Something about it reminded McHaffey of his kitchen.<\/p>\n
\u201cOrdinarily we\u2019d use our own human resources maintenance staff, or the police, but she\u2019s the keystone programmer, and our IPO of shares is scheduled for Friday. Alarming press leaks could affect the share value. You understand\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m dreaming!\u201d McHaffey announced, springing to his feet. Disconcertingly, his feet remained in the chair, along with the rest of him. No-one seemed to notice.<\/p>\n
\u201cDefected, you think, or planning sabotage? Blackmail?\u201d asked the seated McHaffey, while his disembodied self looked resentfully at the body that seemed able to carry on without him.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, she\u2019s not ambitious or anything,\u201d said Cameron. \u201cLike I said, she\u2019s a programmer. You might have heard of her: Meaghan Greenslade. Apparently she\u2019s something of a celebrity among the high-usage segment of our consumers. She goes by G-slade<\/em> on the Net. About ten days ago she stopped turning up for meetings. It was assumed she was taking a break after the beta launch, but there\u2019s been no communication from her. Frankly,\u201d she said, dropping a few more decibels, \u201csome of the directors would rather let things ride until after the IPO. They believe we should pretend nothing\u2019s happened, in case an investigation stirs something up. I don\u2019t like loose ends. I don\u2019t know what the problem is, exactly, just that it needs to go away, quietly, quickly – before Friday. Will three hundred thousand be enough?\u201d<\/p>\nStifling a choking sound, the seated McHaffey nodded and passed an account number from his pad to Cameron\u2019s terminal. She didn\u2019t need to know the account belonged to a convent in Prince Rupert, thought the ghost McHaffey. Cameron reciprocated, beaming an employee profile of Meaghan Greenslade back to McHaffey\u2019s pad.<\/p>\n
The real McHaffey, the invisible one without a body, circled the desk, watching the transaction and disapproving of his body\u2019s slouch. \u201cI\u2019m haunting myself,\u201d he said, before considering again. \u201cNo, I was going into that game\u2026 multi-user environment\u2026 whatever. And this is all coming back, now. It all happened before. And next\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Greenslade\u2019s condominium complex was an elaborate Neo-Deco affair with brawny, Atlas-like figures supporting the entrance. Tambunting, the nervous little superintendent with an unnaturally low hairline, ushered McHaffey gravely into his office while eying his visitor\u2019s clerical collar, and his dog, but ignoring the ghost McHaffey that drifted around the procession.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course I can\u2019t let just anyone wander into tenants\u2019 rooms, er\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFather,\u201d the solid McHaffey supplied.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. Father. With the police, you say?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tambunting scanned McHaffey\u2019s ID. He looked back and forth from the read-out to the man, as if trying to reconcile the sacred and the profane.<\/p>\n
\u201cMissing, you say? Ms Greenslade, was it?\u201d Tambunting tapped his screen while chewing his other set of nails. \u201cAccording to our logs, Ms Greenslade is currently in residence. No harm in going up to inquire, I suppose.\u201d<\/p>\n
The elevator slid silently upwards, with McHaffey luxuriating in the absence of stairs, or a body, to such an extent that he completely ignored Tambunting\u2019s stream of bitter complaints about his least favourite tenants. In any case, the man was talking to the other McHaffey, not him. Twenty flights of stairs McHaffey had to climb every day at the Waterfront! On the other hand, he considered, glancing away from his doppelganger to Tambunting, there were no superintendents at the squat. And no rent to pay. Despite being a seething warren of layabouts and organic gardeners, the decrepit old hotel had seemed empty lately. His police-partner, Araxi, rarely visited him anymore, and she was even skipping work since moving into the Waterfront to be with her semi-vegetative boyfriend, Jo Creely, who still, after months, hadn\u2019t managed to pull together all the bits of his mind scattered around the Net. McHaffey could only imagine what that relationship must be like. He rolled his eyes towards the elevator ceiling, and immediately hated himself, sneering at others\u2019 relationships. He penitently resolved to see how they were doing, next chance he got. But he wasn\u2019t going to visit Ms Tetsuyama, the hotel\u2019s second weirdest resident. The less he knew about the septuagenarian\u2019s intrigues and industrial espionage, the better, even if he did long for another taste of her indescribable curry bread. Musing on his invisibility, he considered sneaking into the old woman\u2019s suite when he got home, before remembering he was in a simulation. A memory. Pity.<\/p>\n
The lift opened onto a luminous mural on the twelfth floor: a thin poplar tree in a meadow, leaves shimmering and hissing in a digital wind that swayed it languorously to and fro.<\/p>\n
\u201cBest quality, that,\u201d bragged Tambunting. \u201cNo pixilation, see?\u201d<\/p>\n
McHaffey ignored the mural and floated to the apartment ahead of the superintendent. Greenslade\u2019s door, adjacent to the mural, gave no response to Tambunting\u2019s knocks, nor did anyone appear on the intercom.<\/p>\n
\u201cI suppose we must check,\u201d Tambunting conceded, placing his thumb on the lock scanner.<\/p>\n
They had descended three steps into the sunken living space, towards a neat desk that supported a bookshelf and the latest model workstation, when a motion caught McHaffey\u2019s eye. Tail growled. Just as quickly, they and the solid McHaffey all relaxed, recognizing the movement as an ankle-high robotic doll from some movie McHaffey couldn\u2019t recall. Not another tarantula, like at that domestic dispute a week earlier. The bandy-legged little doll in a black top hat and cutaway coat strode gravely over to them and bowed. Tambunting recoiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cMadam is\u2026is n\u2026n\u2026not receiving today,\u201d the toy\u2019s reedy voice announced, Englishly.<\/p>\n
Belying its reticence, the thing suffered a spasm and fell over, eventually mustering its self-control enough to stand and seize hold of the solid McHaffey\u2019s trouser leg. It tried futilely to drag him away to his left. Tail inclined his head to examine the thing, and sniffed, looking unsatisfied.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh\u2026ah\u2026 gentleman never loses his temper!\u201d it said, falling over again. When the solid McHaffey was able to drag his attention away from the deranged puppet, he glanced to where it had been pulling him, where the real McHaffey was already looking, and where Tail pointed intensely. Tail uttered a short bark. Through the leaves of a luxuriant Schefflera, McHaffey saw a familiar pair of bare feet on a sofa.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2026nothing like this before,\u201d McHaffey half-heard the superintendent babbling. Tambunting crossed himself and milled about fretfully while, through a latex glove, the simulated McHaffey manipulated the dead woman\u2019s ankle, and then her elbow, checking the rigor.<\/p>\n
\u201cDead a day or so,\u201d McHaffey said, a moment before his recreated counterpart pulled off its gloves and repeated the assessment, pausing afterwards for a moment of silent prayer. The real McHaffey remembered.\u00a0 Have mercy upon her, pardon all her transgressions, for there is not a righteous man upon earth, who doeth good and sinneth not. <\/em>A little uncanonical, he had to admit, but he\u2019d never found anything that better suited the sad sight of an ended life.<\/p>\n\u201cSuicide, do you suppose, Father?\u201d Tambunting speculated.<\/p>\n
It certainly looked that way. No signs of injury or struggle. Poisoning, perhaps. No history of sudden death risks on her medical file. The simulated priest drew out his pad. \u201cZhen Cameron,\u201d he demanded. After the dialling, she appeared.<\/p>\n
\u201cCapt\u2026 or rather, Ben. News?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGreenslade\u2019s dead. Could be suicide. No obvious signs of murder, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n
Or misadventure? McHaffey recognized the necklace half-tucked under the corpse\u2019s collar as a game transponder, online perhaps when she died.<\/p>\n
A look of undisguised relief washed over Cameron\u2019s face on the pad. \u201cThe poor girl. So young, and talented. Always quiet. I suppose that\u2019s the type that, you know\u2026\u201d Cameron composed herself. \u201cI assume you can take care of things discretely, to avoid any fuss before the exchanges close Friday?\u201d<\/p>\n
The solid McHaffey checked his watch. Thursday afternoon, the real one recalled.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s got to be a death certificate issued and, given the circumstances, a coroner may want an inquest if there\u2019s any doubt as to the cause of death.\u201d<\/p>\n
Consternation re-appeared in Cameron\u2019s expression. \u201cI retained you to make this go away, Ben, at least until the weekend. If you can\u2019t\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe,\u201d offered the solid McHaffey. A full police investigation probably couldn\u2019t sort matters out in a hurry anyway. He could arrange a day or two\u2019s delay that might allow him to work out what really happened. McHaffey remembered being pretty confident of that.\u00a0 \u201cBut I need complete access,\u201d the simulation continued. \u201cEverything. Passwords. Greenslade\u2019s level or higher, in the game too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a multi-user environment, not a\u2026 all right, I\u2019ll get you full access. Give me fifteen minutes. Cameron out.\u201d<\/p>\n
The simulated McHaffey smirked at the blank pad, and at Trooper Cameron\u2019s slip into her old phrase, while the real one frowned. I don\u2019t really look like that, do I?<\/em> he wondered. Tail looked up at him, whining. \u201cI know, I should be working.\u201d Perhaps he could, now that something like normality was finally returning to McHaffey\u2019s mind, suggesting not only that he ought to be looking for evidence of suicide, such as a note, but also that he wouldn\u2019t find it in a simulation constructed of his own memories. The point was underscored when he pulled a book off Greenslade\u2019s desk \u2013 Transhumanism<\/em> \u2013 and found all of the pages blank.<\/p>\n\u201cOK,\u201d he said, addressing the ceiling, and then the walls, \u201cthat\u2019s enough. I quit. Time out. Stop. Help!\u201d<\/p>\n
Whichever word worked, the simulation first froze around him, then faded slowly through monochrome to blackness. Tail stepped out of his disappearing double, sniffed it, and growled. From out of the wall someone else appeared: slim, androgynous, in a black turtleneck and trousers. The newcomer approached McHaffey and smiled blandly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m the Moderator. How can I help you?\u201d it asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know how this all works,\u201d McHaffey admitted, \u201cbut I\u2019m looking for someone. How do I stop with the memories and do something else?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFollow me,\u201d said the Moderator, as it set off walking down a tree-lined lane that was materializing around them, leading to a stone cottage at the distant vanishing point.<\/p>\n
McHaffey had regained his body, he noticed. Other details were emerging too. Birds sang in the arched boughs overhead. The scent of roses came next, followed by hedges of the flowers on either side. In the lane a strange bush appeared which, when he was close enough to get a good look at it, McHaffey saw was growing strips of bacon from the branch tips.<\/p>\n
\u201cMust be your<\/em> fantasy,\u201d he told the grinning Tail, who trotted up to the plant on which he then simultaneously nibbled and widdled. The rest of the landscape was nothing McHaffey could precisely remember ever seeing, and so it wasn\u2019t from memory exactly. Yet it was familiar somehow. From his dreams? Cobbled together from things he\u2019d seen, and admired, but never put together in his own mind? The sort of things he wished he could say he had seen, when he went to regimental reunions. Which was why he didn\u2019t go.<\/p>\nThe Moderator was some distance ahead now, forcing McHaffey to jog to catch up with it.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is the domain best suited to your happiness,\u201d the Moderator said when McHaffey came alongside. \u201cWe\u2019ll just walk up to the house. Sierra is waiting for you. She\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
McHaffey recoiled, feeling like he\u2019d been pole-axed. \u201cDon\u2019t\u2026\u201d he breathed. He took a fistful of the Moderator\u2019s shirt front and pulled it closer. \u201cDon\u2019t ever do that again.\u201d<\/p>\n
Looking slightly put out, the Moderator made a conciliatory gesture. \u201cBut, it\u2019s what you want\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
McHaffey shook his head and released the Moderator. \u201cThere are no ghosts to raise; out of death lead no ways; vain is the call<\/em>,\u201d he recited.<\/p>\n\u201cBeddoes? A gloomy poet. Is that what you believe this is? Dream Pedlary?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust get rid of it,\u201d McHaffey commanded, waving a hand around the simulation. As though responding to the motion, it faded back into black void. \u201cAnd tell me everything you know about Meaghan Greenslade\u2019s death.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cG-slade is dead?\u201d the Moderator said, its eyes round with the first show of real emotion the androgyne had given. It shuddered. \u201cDead?\u201d<\/p>\n
As it turned out, there wasn\u2019t much the Moderator could add. Despite Cameron granting McHaffey total access, no amount of interrogation wrested from the Moderator any useful information about the dead programmer, only a reverential awe, made the stronger by the Moderator\u2019s obvious shock at her demise. There were no recorded messages, no suicide notes left behind. No scenarios saved in the system – no traces at all. That in itself was even more suspicious than it was frustrating. Someone so intimately involved in creating the place had to have left a trail. McHaffey was beginning to regret his rash promise to keep Greenslade\u2019s death under wraps until Friday. Surely Cameron wouldn\u2019t have\u2026 no. She wasn\u2019t capable of murder. But others could be.<\/p>\n
\u201cPerhaps you could have sent word of G-slade\u2019s death to the coroner by some faster means than mailing a letter,\u201d the Moderator commented, or accused.<\/p>\n
The superintendent had been eager to offer the use of his franking machine for postage, even though he\u2019d had to dust it off. And after all, the law merely required him to inform the authorities. It didn\u2019t specify the method.<\/p>\n
\u201cI turned the room temperature down to five degrees. The body will be fine,\u201d McHaffey explained. Then it struck him. \u201cAre you reading my mind?\u201d he demanded.<\/p>\n
Almost imperceptibly, the Moderator shrugged. \u201cYour mind is part of Transparadisium. As am I.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are<\/em> you, exactly?\u201d<\/p>\nAfter a momentary pause, perhaps to check McHaffey\u2019s access level: \u201cYou\u2019re familiar with the concept of distributed computing? Every online user is evaluated for intelligence, sanity, and so on. In the best eight hundred a small region of the cortex is isolated and re-tasked to form part of my mind. The deficit is temporary and insignificant for the user. Collectively, they create\u2026 me. You could call me a child of mankind.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, for a simpler age!\u201d In the old days they just put ads on your screen. Now they took over part of your brain. It was all\u2026 insidious. Could Greenslade have been threatening to go public with this?<\/p>\n
The Moderator shook its head. \u201cIt\u2019s all in the User Agreement, I assure you. Quite legal.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHold on,\u201d McHaffey said, not liking the whole mind-reading business at all. \u201cYou\u2019re not saying I\u2019m\u2026 I\u2019m part<\/em> of you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\nIt smiled. \u201cThe mind-sharing is somewhat more intimate with my donors, naturally. Admittedly, you\u2019re more impulsive than the ideal donor, but selection is limited at present.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lord. Between gestalt brain-borrowers, simulated paradises, and walking, talking dolls, how was a person meant to cope with the world? At least Tail had the right idea. With the loss of his bacon tree he\u2019d decided to take a nap until McHaffey fixed the reality trouble.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot everything unfamiliar is sinister,\u201d the Moderator suggested.<\/p>\n
There was certainly something sinister about that doll of Greenslade\u2019s. No, not sinister, really. More pathetic, once the creepiness of it faded with time. The way it couldn\u2019t move properly, but was almost trying to communicate something.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow many data streams are coming through my game transponder?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not a…\u201d the Moderator started to say when McHaffey glowered, as only an annoyed constable with the backing of Apostolic Succession can glower. \u201cThree.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMe. Tail. Show me what the other one is seeing right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
Turning to face the same direction as McHaffey, the Moderator called into existence a large oval window with a 3D view of\u2026 Vancouver. A familiar view.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s my kitchen window. That doll is looking out my window, and sending the data through the transponder. Where\u2019s it ending up?\u201d<\/p>\n
For a few moments the Moderator looked thoughtful. \u201cA location in the Alpha Zone. How strange.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTake me there.\u201d<\/p>\n
It required a mere instant to reposition them. Whatever McHaffey\u2019s vague anticipations had been about the nature of the testing area, they certainly hadn\u2019t come close to the reality. He was in Greenslade\u2019s elevator, going up.<\/p>\n
Beside him, the Moderator shifted uneasily. \u201cRegrettably, I have no permission to affect the Alpha Zone simulations,\u201d it said.<\/p>\n
\u201cTerrific.\u201d There was one consolation: McHaffey\u2019s mind had outfitted him in his ordinary police gear, with body armour, truncheon, and pistol. It made him wonder if that wasn\u2019t the role he was, at heart, most comfortable with. At least, until he felt the pinch of his dog collar.<\/p>\n
Eleven, twelve, chime, and the doors drew apart onto a corridor darker than, but much like, the real one. Where the mural had been, there was only blank wall, as if the simulation wasn\u2019t quite completed yet. Tail\u2019s growl brought McHaffey\u2019s mind back into focus enough to recognize that something else was out of place. A blacker shape crouched in the shadows by Greenslade\u2019s door was stirring, unfolding itself, and stepping out into the half-light of the corridor. It was met by a deep, warning woof from Tail. Since the Moderator politely extended an arm to allow McHaffey to go first, he sidled out of the lift staying close to the near wall, and slid his truncheon from its belt-loop at the same time, while Tail advanced next to him, bristling. The leathery-skinned thing by the door inclined its low forehead this way and that, then set about chewing on its long claws with peg-like teeth.<\/p>\n
It was Tambunting. The thing\u2019s broad nose, twice the size of any human\u2019s, and its dour expression only confirmed the impression. He\u2019d been turned into a gargoyle.<\/p>\n
All three edged around the creature cautiously, though it showed no signs of hostility. It even waggled its talons so encouragingly toward Greenslade\u2019s door that McHaffey tried the handle. To his surprise, it opened easily.<\/p>\n
So that\u2019s where the tree went<\/em>, he thought. Not a poplar now<\/em>. He took each descending stair slower than the last, so preoccupied with the state of the room that his forward momentum was ebbing away. His last step crackled through dry twigs until it reached floor, where his sole stuck, feeling like it had pressed into fresh tar. All around the room were drifts of broken sticks, covering the furniture and lending the place something of the atmosphere of an especially unkempt crow\u2019s nest. In the middle, where there should have been eggs, was a great tangled and leafless hawthorn tree growing from out of the floor, with an iridescent blue-green peacock squatting atop it. The bird spread the broad fan of its tail at McHaffey, which might have been very pretty had the dozens of feather-spots not been human eyes that rolled and blinked.<\/p>\n\u201cI have a feeling the police recruit\u2019s manual didn\u2019t cover this situation,\u201d McHaffey said. \u201cWhat is this?\u201d he asked the Moderator.<\/p>\n
\u201cSomething the alpha testers created? I don\u2019t sense any connection to players. Only something unusual, that I\u2019ve only felt with one other player.\u201d<\/p>\n
No help there. Probably the Moderator\u2019s dim memory of Greenslade\u2019s last appearance. Whatever it was, it looked like no suicide note or crime scene that McHaffey had ever witnessed. He decided on a direct approach.<\/p>\n
\u201cI found Greenslade\u2019s body,\u201d he said, addressing the bird for lack of a more sensible suspect. \u201cTell me anything you know about her.\u201d<\/p>\n
Somewhat to his surprise, the peacock seemed to listen to him. It ruffled its tail and launched itself into the air. As it glided gracefully towards the floor, the gaudy, blobby bird stretched and blurred, becoming…<\/p>\n
By the time its feet touched the floor it was a tall woman, tightly clothed in glistening peacock feathers. She spent just long enough looking smug at McHaffey\u2019s astonishment for him to realize that he knew her face. Greenslade. She laughed.<\/p>\n
\u201cI appreciate your concern, constable. But as you can see, I\u2019m not dead.\u201d<\/p>\n
McHaffey glanced to the Moderator. It looked hopeful after seeing Greenslade but shrugged, as if to say that this was a matter best left to competent legal authorities. Or to a human. Tail kept his eye on the bird-woman, but didn\u2019t offer any advice either, except a comment on Greenslade\u2019s housekeeping in the form of some suspicious snuffling of the ooze underfoot.<\/p>\n
\u201cI take it you\u2019re claiming to be Meaghan Greenslade?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat organic mess back in the other world is regrettable, but I\u2019m sure someone will take care of it,\u201d she said. \u201cI created this world, and I intend to live here. Forever.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou discovered the Almatis technique,\u201d said McHaffey, causing Greenslade to turn her eyes sharply onto him from where she\u2019d been contemplating the tree.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you know of it.\u201d She looked thoughtful for a moment. \u201cAlmatis Corp. collapsed quite suddenly, as I recall, and several directors disappeared. I don\u2019t suppose that involved you in some way?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPossibly. I also take it you\u2019re claiming Greenslade\u2019s death was\u2026 suicide?\u201d<\/p>\n
The bird-woman swept a hand down her feathered body. \u201cIt\u2019s a debatable issue,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
He looked to the Moderator again for advice.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe is an avatar of some kind,\u201d it said, smirking with suppressed pleasure. Or giddiness from Greenslade\u2019s presence.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Omega,\u201d Greenslade said. When McHaffey looked puzzled, she added \u201cThat\u2019s what I call him. The Greek numeral for eight hundred. You should visit more often,\u201d she said, to the Moderator again. \u201cI have a lot of changes in mind that I need to discuss with you.\u201d Then, turning back to McHaffey, \u201cIf you\u2019re done investigating, or whatever you\u2019re doing, Omega will show you out.\u201d<\/p>\n
Was he finished? How could he tell it was really Greenslade \u2013 perform a Turing test on her? And could she be allowed to just slough off her body like an out-of-style dress, to take up another one in a simulation? What would the company say? Or was the avatar a fake, planted by a murderer? And what on earth was she doing posing as a peacock on top of a thorn tree?<\/p>\n
McHaffey took a stroll about the room to grasp for clues. Aside from the squalor, it wasn\u2019t much different from the real apartment. As he got closer to Greenslade, he found himself wondering if she were growing the feathers rather than wearing them. Her eyebrows, questioningly arched, were feathered too.<\/p>\n
\u201cTell me about the puppet,\u201d he said, \u201cthe one with the top hat.\u201d<\/p>\n
And why a dead tree<\/em>, he thought. He toyed with a twig, pondering whether the bark was green underneath, getting pricked by a long thorn in the process.<\/p>\n\u201cPuppet?\u201d Greenslade said, a little nervously. \u201cThat thing. It\u2019s only a stupid toy, from some movie. You can toss it out, along with the corpse.\u201d<\/p>\n
McHaffey grimaced at the drop of blood welling out of his finger, noticing for the first time that the simulation included pain. Annoyed, he snapped off the offending twig.<\/p>\n
The tree shrieked, the scream dying away into a whimper, as though he\u2019d broken off its finger. Blood poured from the severed branch. A reflex made him look to Greenslade for an explanation; instead of giving him one she leapt forward and offered him a hard shove into the hawthorn. The tree screamed, and McHaffey screamed too, pierced through the clothes and flesh by a hundred barbs. He hardly knew what was happening next, through the agony and the noise. From where he was writhing, impaled on thorns like a shrike\u2019s supper, McHaffey could only watch events unfold. Tail, snarling, had sunk his teeth into Greenslade\u2019s leg and the two were struggling barely more than an arm\u2019s breadth away.<\/p>\n
Two forest-green panthers materialized out of thin air to fall onto the bird-woman, knocking her to the ground, where they pinioned her with fangs like daggers. McHaffey gave up trying to extricate himself and simply watched as a masked samurai in armour, bristling with swords and horns, appeared next. And all the while a voice had been muttering beneath the din, saying something he could only now make out, with the racket dying down. \u201c\u2026stop. Make her stop\u2026 Make her stop…\u201d It was the tree. He could see enough branches piled nearby to be reminded of the vast kindling heap the room had become; he knew the floor\u2019s sticky coating to be gore, and for a moment he was sick with the sheer inventory of suffering it all represented.<\/p>\n
He was brought back to the present by the warrior\u2019s odd dance. Seemingly chasing a fly, the samurai made little grabs at the air, glancing this way and that between snatches. On the fifth, or sixth, the samurai seemed content and, drawing a sword, sliced the air. Once satisfied with the mime performance, the samurai turned to McHaffey and removed the grotesque mask. A lovely Japanese girl looked at him from under the curly helmet, with concern.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m afraid I\u2019ve been tailing you. You always get into such interesting trouble, McHaffey,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cEr,\u201d McHaffey began, eyes flashing the length and breadth of the samurai girl in search of a mental handhold.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, this?\u201d She indicated the get-up. \u201cIt\u2019s a hobby.\u201d<\/p>\n
When McHaffey\u2019s face remained screwed up in bafflement, in addition to exquisite pain, understanding lit up her face at last.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course. This is me from fifty years ago, or so. What do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTetsuyama.\u201d<\/p>\n
She lifted McHaffey out of the hawthorn and onto Greenslade\u2019s couch, where she joined him and considered the squirming bird-woman, now merely grimacing at her panther captors.<\/p>\n
\u201cAraxi and Jo,\u201d Tetsuyama explained, twitching her sword toward the cats. They both looked up at hearing their names and shifted to brace Greenslade with paws that were changing into hands, the feline shapes metamorphosing into fur-clad human bodies. \u201cFelt you were here,\u201d Araxi said, \u201cthrough the Moderator.\u201d Beside them the tree continued its grim muttering.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd this?\u201d McHaffey asked, making little grabs at the air and regretting it when his injured hands ached in protest.<\/p>\n
Tetsuyama watched his performance and removed her helmet, releasing a wave of glossy black hair that fell to the scaled sode<\/em> sticking out from either shoulder. \u201cAh, you see I was severing the last link between them,\u201d she said, indicating Greenslade and the tree.<\/p>\n\u201cI don\u2019t see. What link?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean, they had diverged too much to recombine, but hadn\u2019t fully separated. Like conjoined twins.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTwins!\u201d McHaffey said, jumping to his feet to regard the bird-woman and the tree, as if some resemblance might prove the claim. The Moderator was approaching the pair too, its stricken look changing back to awestruck fascination. The bird-Greenslade stirred with indignation.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s no twin,\u201d she said, \u201cIt\u2019s a growth, an offshoot. It\u2019s an artefact of the transference. It\u2019s demented. It killed my body!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that why you\u2019ve been torturing it all this time?\u201d McHaffey asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI haven\u2019t! It\u2019s only a pseudo-avatar, with a few defective bits of my personality.\u201d<\/p>\n
When McHaffey continued to look impassive, she added \u201cIt can only speak when you break branches. Go ahead. Try.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then she wants something from it<\/em>, he thought. McHaffey addressed the tree, without effect. With a wince, he snapped a twig. A dribble of blood dripped out. The tree groaned.<\/p>\n\u201cIt\u2019s true,\u201d the tree said. \u201cI\u2019m nothing. Only worthless, corrupt data.\u201d<\/p>\n
McHaffey asked the Moderator\u2019s opinion once more. \u201cThe tree does seem like the bird. They\u2019re both\u2026 like him,\u201d it said, pointing to Jo Creely, who was still restraining the Greenslade-bird with his furred arms.<\/p>\n
\u201cFull-digital sentients?\u201d Creely suggested, startling McHaffey with the aptness of the reply. The Moderator nodded assent. Not since before the Almatis incident had Creely been able to string words together in any kind of sensible conversation. Here he was\u2026 as normal as he\u2019d ever been.<\/p>\n
The hawthorn had lapsed back into a seemingly depressed silence. Getting its side of the story wasn\u2019t going to be easy, considering the process. Lord knew, sometimes he felt the same way himself: useless, and any communication a torture.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s no other way to talk with it?\u201d he asked, looking in turn to everyone in the room. There wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
Gritting his teeth, McHaffey snapped off another twig and drove the thorn through his palm in the same motion. Even knowing there was no real wound, it still stabbed like a knife.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does she \u2013 the bird-woman \u2013 want from you, and why won\u2019t you give it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSystem knowledge,\u201d the tree moaned. \u201cProgramming. I got it all. She mustn\u2019t have it. She\u2019d abuse, pervert this place, she\u2026\u201d and the tree trailed off into silence.<\/p>\n
Another branch, and another spine through his hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat would she do if she had your knowledge?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook around you. What do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n
Standing in the midst of a room full of blood and pain wrought by the bird-woman, he had to admit it was a foolish question. \u201cDid you control the puppet?\u201d he added quickly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, I\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
McHaffey grimaced and pushed another broken branch\u2019s thorn into his palm.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you Meaghan?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
The tree was silent for so long he checked the stick for blood.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2026 I suppose so,\u201d she said at last.<\/p>\n
What a mess, McHaffey thought, drawing out the barb. One dead body and two lost souls. The bird one wrestled herself upright.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve got no jurisdiction here,\u201d she told McHaffey. \u201cI committed no crime.\u201d<\/p>\n
Getting a bit fed up with her, McHaffey folded his arms resolutely.<\/p>\n
\u201cUnder the law, you\u2019re not even a person. You\u2019re intellectual property of Transparadisium. If I chose to delete you, I don\u2019t think they\u2019d have a problem with it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019d be murder!\u201d said the bird-Greenslade.<\/p>\n
He was inclined to agree. He brushed back his hair, leaving a long smear of blood across his forehead.<\/p>\n
\u201cModerator?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I ask you to manipulate things here, what can you do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWith your level of access? Anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
Even in an avatar body, McHaffey felt a headache coming on.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said you couldn\u2019t affect the Alpha Zone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOn my own. I can act as your proxy, however.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wearily, McHaffey shook his head. \u201cHow many of your eight hundred parts are currently lawyers?\u201d he asked. \u201cNever mind,\u201d he added, when the Moderator looked on the verge of enumerating the membership of its mind. \u201cRemove all permissions of the bird-Greenslade to affect anything in Transparadisium.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo!\u201d she said, wrestling more desperately against Araxi and Jo.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe can exist, and interact with players, but cannot change anything, or create, or destroy, or harm anything. And shut down the Alpha Test Zone. Eliminate it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo!\u201d she repeated, screeching almost like the bird she imitated. \u201cYou\u2019ve no right!\u201d The bird-Greenslade twisted out of Jo\u2019s grip, elbowed Araxi in the face, and sprang into the air, transforming as she went. Araxi merely clutched a fistful of tail feathers before the peacock thrashed to the window and swooped away. Even as she did, the room was dissolving into a dark void, leaving only the people, and the tree. McHaffey turned to it, or her.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you,\u201d he said. What to do with a half-person made of expertise, self-loathing, sacrifice, and hopelessness? \u201cI think you should join the Moderator. Omega.\u201d He had no idea what part of the tree was her ears, so he whispered close to a twig. \u201cI only have a rough idea of what really happened here, and what you\u2019ve suffered, but I know you\u2019ve suffered enough. Whatever you\u2019ve done, or think you\u2019ve done, or failed to do, you\u2019re forgiven.\u201d<\/p>\n
McHaffey straightened up and called over the Moderator, who approached with something like reverence.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt would be an honour, G-slade, to have you join me,\u201d it said, and reached hesitantly to touch the hawthorn.<\/p>\n
Nothing happened.<\/p>\n
Arguing would mean snapping off more pieces of Meaghan, and McHaffey hardly had the stomach for it, even without sharing the pain literally. But he could imagine what she was thinking. That no-one could really feel honoured by anything she did, or was. She\u2019d failed, fallen apart, lost herself. Even her opus magnum, Transparadisium, was unfinished.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is your world,\u201d he told her. \u201cThese people wouldn\u2019t be here if it didn\u2019t mean something to them. Omega wouldn\u2019t welcome you if you didn\u2019t mean something to them. Even if you do nothing else worthwhile, you can at least please them by letting them try to help you.\u201d<\/p>\n
After a moment the tree twitched and dissolved. When McHaffey saw the Moderator again, it looked a little sadder. And its hair was threaded with hawthorn twigs. And poplar leaves.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2026\u201d it began. \u201cI\u2026feel much better, now. Thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Except for the Moderator, they all retired to the water-filled palace set up by Araxi and Jo in the Beta Test Area, the Alpha Zone having now vanished. It was not an environment calculated to set McHaffey\u2019s nerves at ease, but he was getting used to the fish schooling and darting through the rooms, and Tail found it entertaining to chase them in three dimensions, particularly when Jo gave Tail a seal\u2019s body like the ones he and Araxi were currently using to swim loops around the chandelier. McHaffey was even growing accustomed to the way Jo and Araxi spent most of their time in the bodies of various animals.\u00a0 It was the not-breathing that he found disconcerting. With any luck, though, the place might serve as a hideout until the exchanges opened Friday morning. Cameron\u2019s wrath was all too easy to picture.<\/p>\n
Then again, with Greenslade, or G-slade as her fans seemed to know her, melded irrevocably with Transparadisium, it was inevitable that some players would develop an obsessive devotion to the place. The Eight Hundred certainly knew what had happened. How long could it be before everyone else did? All things considered, McHaffey was beginning to suspect that Greenslade\u2019s death, and rebirth, could be the trigger that turned Transparadisium into something\u2026 phenomenal. Unprecedented. A new world, flocked to by the people of the old. A world owned, lock, stock, and barrel by Cameron\u2019s company, of course. If things turned out that way, he\u2019d have to ask Cameron for a bonus. A free subscription for everyone in his regiment. He needed to make up for skipping the reunion somehow. The next one would be on him.<\/p>\n
More worrying than the economics was the question of safety. Meaghan\u2026 Omega\u2026 or whatever the two now were, had told them it had been an accident. A little experiment, not meant to fully convert a mind to a digital form as they had at Almatis, but just a test of the technology needed. A split had begun that the proto-peacock-Greenslade nurtured, pushing the process further. The other half panicked, seeing what was growing out of her, and killed the body in trying to stop it.<\/p>\n
McHaffey\u2019s brooding was interrupted by Tetsuyama, still in armour, who swam down from the ceiling, head first, to drift to a stop in front of his face.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy so glum, McHaffey?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t quite decide whether this place is miraculous or infernal. Whether it should be protected, or shut down. If other people get split up like Greenslade\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
The samurai paddled in a roll until she was right way up.<\/p>\n
\u201cG-slade was the first. Probably not the last. If not here, someone will try it again somewhere. At least here Omega knows what the signs are, and is watching. And won\u2019t let someone else make the same mistake.\u201d<\/p>\n
He and Tetsuyama watched the others swooping through the water until the chase was abandoned for an arc ending at the audience. The seal with dog-ears braked with its flippers and dropped a fish in McHaffey\u2019s lap, while the other two remoulded themselves into hairless, grey, seal-skinned humans with their more-or-less normal faces.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe were thinking,\u201d Araxi said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWondering about this crusading army of yours,\u201d said Jo.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not an army,\u201d McHaffey explained. \u201cWell, all right, maybe it is. But it\u2019s really more of a peacekeeping force.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, we\u2019d like to join,\u201d said Araxi. \u201cWe don\u2019t have to be celibate, do we?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot if you don\u2019t want to,\u201d said McHaffey.<\/p>\n
\u201cAren\u2019t you celibate?\u201d Jo asked McHaffey.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot by choice. I mean, it\u2019s not a job requirement.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was with more than a little scepticism that McHaffey regarded the two naked seal-people floating before him. But when he rattled off the Order\u2019s oath from memory, they agreed to it. Lord knew the place needed some kind of guardians, especially until there was proof that the Moderator was sane.<\/p>\n
\u201cHail to our glorious leader,\u201d Jo intoned. They both saluted gravely before giggling overcame them.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo where are you setting up the Order\u2019s Transparadisium headquarters?\u201d Araxi asked, more practically. \u201cA castle?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s up to you,\u201d said McHaffey. \u201cI\u2019m not staying in this weird place.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what if we need your wisdom and guidance?\u201d Araxi asked, snickering only slightly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know where to find me. And if I\u2019m not at home, I\u2019ll be at her place,\u201d he said, hooking a thumb towards Tetsuyama, \u201ceating curry bread.\u201d<\/p>\n
The two seals pouted, seeming to accuse him of some perverse old-fashionedness in resisting the fantastic charms of the new world.<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry,\u201d said McHaffey, \u201cbut there are enough problems for me to deal with in reality without taking charge of this place too. And Transparadisium isn\u2019t my idea of a holiday. When I want to get away from things, I\u2019m more in sympathy with Archimedes. Give me a book that\u2019s good enough, and a place to sit, and I\u2019ll ignore the world.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Copyright \u00a9 2011 by Paul Marlowe
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