Serah decided it had been three, maybe four, years since she had been in-Phrame for anything other than the convenience of research or to save budget with a telepresence interview with someone on another continent, probably the North American territories. She stood on the “Home” platform of her personal interface “room,” the default starting location for every user of the Phrame. The room was still in the generic configuration everyone started with, and most people had extensively modified or at least selected a different environment within the first five minutes of entering. However, as far as Serah was concerned, she’d spent too much time meticulously organizing and customizing her Root Realm home and workspace to worry about elaborate custom interfaces for her infrequent visits in-Phrame.
She stepped off the transit platform and into “the room” – more of a sandbar island surrounded by the sea. In the distance in front of her, she saw a green, hilly island lined with palm trees; behind her, a larger beach framed by rocky bluffs. Gentle waves bobbed up and down, and an inexplicable, unseen wind chime sounded somewhere to her right. She never understood that part. Worse was the ambient music and calm female voice that greeted her, and read the contents of whatever Serah was looking at out loud. She muted that option instantly. The messages, general news, and default advertisements spun around her, along with an empty private mailbox, blank calendar, and a picture frame that cycled through stock pictures of models and landmarks.
With her left hand, she gestured for the transport booth, simply a convention allowing instantaneous movement between environments, called constructs, within the Phrame. While there were various shortcuts and emergency protocols for bypassing transport booths, appearing and disappearing without warning in the middle of most constructs was generally considered rude. Phrame residents felt it destroyed the illusion of “reality” for them. More fantastical constructs did not usually adhere to such conventions.
A circular pattern, approximately a meter in diameter, lit up on the floor in front of her, surrounded by a column of light. She stepped into the light and flipped through the directory before her. She could have had everything voice or thought triggered, but she enjoyed these old-fashioned tactile interfaces more.
Fischer already owned a few constructs in Phrame, where he was now restricted. He also had a half-dozen favorite hangouts. Most of these were casinos and sports or gaming complexes, but after a quick study of his patterns, Serah knew where she would most likely find him. It was Wednesday, late afternoon, which was one of the times Fiscer usually did business, and to make it easy for customers to find him, he almost always did his business in the same place. She idly flipped through a directory. There it was: “de Plezierkoepel.” A series of promotional advertisements around her contained scenes of what she could only describe as “tasteful debauchery at discount prices.” She knew this was slanting the message to the broadest possible audience. She’d seen the tactic enough to know reality would be much seedier.
What was she getting herself into? Was she really going to do this without waiting for Erik?
She decided she had to. The job was the only thing keeping her sane at this point. The only thing she felt comfortable doing. She sent a quick note informing Erik of her destination and intent but didn’t wait for a response. Steeling her resolve, she pressed the “transport” button. The circular patch of floor beneath her lit up in bright gold, and her surroundings slowly faded into a bluish glow.
When the glow subsided, Serah found herself on a similar disk in a large reception area reminiscent of an upscale hotel lobby. Several people were standing around, apparently waiting for companions to arrive. Others darted across the room, heading for transport booths to other parts of the Plezierkoepel construct.
“Good evening, Miss Wyles,” a friendly voice beside her said. She turned, startled, and found an attractive man dressed as a concierge standing next to her. “Welcome to the Plezierkoepel,” he continued. “I see you are new here. How can I be of assistance?”
“Well,” Serah said, attempting to sound as casual and confident as possible, “I’m looking for a gentleman named Liam Fiscer. I don’t suppose you could direct me to him?”
“Certainly. Liam Fiscer is currently in De Wallen,” he gestured toward the row of transit tubes on the far end of the room. “I’m sorry I cannot be more specific, but he has invoked global privacy. Once in that construct, however, you can locate him via your heads-up overlay.”
Serah thanked the concierge, walked over to one of the transit tubes, and pulled up De Wallen from the destination menus. The wall opened before her when she activated the link, revealing an elaborate cobblestone street approximately 15 meters wide. One side was flanked by ancient brick buildings, most only a few stories high; the opposite was a man-made canal that ran about a kilometer in each direction before disappearing around a turn. Every hundred meters or so, a stone bridge allowed passage from the street she was on to an identical street on the other side, and various boats and gondolas rode up and down the canal, passing through archways under the bridge. From the boats, groups of people in different states of undress smiled and waved at people on the street as they floated by.
Serah quickly took in the surroundings. She’d been to the real De Wallen a few times and seen several archival vids taken hundreds of years ago, likely the same period from which this construct was modeled. Something was familiar, at least, though she still didn’t relax in the slightest.
She walked over to an information kiosk and pulled up the preference menu for the simulation. “Show me Liam Fiscer,” she said. A green directional arrow only she could see appeared in front of her, pointing toward his precise location—a building just a few dozen meters up the road. A series of animated yellow dots on the ground, also visible only to her, indicated that her quickest path was to walk down the narrow alleyway next to the building directly ahead of her.
She glanced around the street, assessing the environment. Most people were standing in small groups talking, some wandering around by themselves. Nearly everyone was dressed provocatively in everything from very revealing eveningwear to form-fitting bondage outfits in leather or latex. Aside from collars or other distinguishing neckwear, one or two people were utterly nude. She looked down at her own avatar, dressed in a conservative white blouse and black slacks with wedge-heeled shoes that practically screamed, “You do not belong here.”
Her heart leaped into her throat. This was a mistake. This was exactly what Henry was saying was, “beneath her,” probably what he was protecting her from with his reluctance to give her the assignment. It was as if he knew she would end up here or someplace like it. She began to think all crime investigations must inevitably end up in some seedy pleasure dome. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath. There was nothing to fear. Lots of people frequented establishments like this in the Phrame, as well as in real life. There was nothing to be ashamed of. It was all perfectly legal, safe, and respectable. She was a professional, and she had a job to do. Sometimes, it meant being uncomfortable, but there was no reason to be embarrassed.
“Hey, Serah!” a familiar voice called from the crowd before her. Her heart sank.
“Jafet!? Hi!” she said, faking surprise and excitement, stifling a genuine nervous laugh. Jafet was slightly more muscular than his work appearance, now dressed in black leather chaps and a loose-fitting red silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down his smooth, tanned chest. She’d never socialized with him outside of work before, but given the amount of flirting he did, she was somehow not surprised to find him here under these circumstances.
“I can’t believe it! You’re never in-Phrame. As soon as I got the notification, I just had to see if it was true.”
She cursed herself for not setting up privacy filters before entering, wanting to be visible in case Erik tried to contact her. Now, anyone looking for her could find her as quickly as she found Fiscer, or at least she should be finding Fiscer. She wondered why Jafet would have a notification daemon that alerted him when she went in-Phrame. It was probably not for strictly professional reasons.
“By the way, this is my wife, Camilla,” he gestured toward a slim, dark woman standing next to him. She was similarly dressed in a very short black rubber dress with an absurd amount of cleavage that could only defy gravity and stay in place in a virtual simulation such as this. Camilla said nothing but looked Serah up and down as if she was a Sunday dinner. Suddenly, Serah knew the answer to her previous question about alerts.
“Very nice to meet you at last, Mrs. Meléndez. I’ve heard so much about you,” Serah said, then quickly turned back to Jafet. “Look, I’m here on a story. I really don’t have time to … be social … if you know what I mean.”
Jafet suddenly turned serious. “Understood. I can be on the clock too. Let me help. What do you need?” His tone was sincere.
She thought for a minute, then gestured for them to follow her into the alley where the HUD was directing her. “I’ve got a lead on a tech runner named Liam Fiscer that I desperately need to talk to.”
“And he’s here?” Jafet said.
“The next building over.”
“La Chasse Club?” he asked, nodding. “We know that one.” He gestured to his wife, who smiled knowingly. “Wait, you aren’t just planning to walk in there and start asking him questions, are you?”
“Well,” Serah said and stopped walking. “Admittedly, I haven’t thought this through.”
Jafet shook his head, then looked directly into Serah’s eyes. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes, I suppose so—”
Before she could finish, Jafet reached out and tore open her blouse. Serah yelped instinctively, then remembered this was virtual clothing and could not be damaged that way. She was also grateful that she had selected and programmed virtual undergarments, more psychological comfort than necessity as virtual bodies hardly required cosmetic support. Jafet continued by untucking the blouse entirely and tying it in a knot just below her now-exposed bra, exposing ample amounts of cleavage and midriff. Then he grabbed the sides of her slacks and yanked them down two inches to the top of her hips. He finished by stepping back, palms forward, framing her as if for a picture. “Not bad considering we have to work with.” He smiled, impressed with the results. “Also, not off-the-shelf. Is that a custom body, or did you model it off your own?”
“I…” She crossed her arms defensively and then realized he was intentionally provoking her. “Never mind. I don’t have to answer that.” She smirked.
He reached forward, uncrossed her arms, and put them back at her side. “Don’t do that. You’ll stand out like a sore thumb. Now, smile and nod to everyone, especially the windows, and be sure to say ‘hello’ back if anyone greets you.” He continued walking, Camilla close behind. Serah stepped double-time to catch up.
The alley was narrow and crowded, but movement was orderly as everyone kept to their right. Large windows lined the street, each with a colored motif, either from the lighting or drapery. Almost every window had at least one person standing behind it. Red and blue, Serah knew, indicated cis-gendered and transsexual presenters, respectively; Green, she was pretty sure, indicated syntelligence. Several windows included variants such as orange and purple, which she realized must be reserved for replicated, fluid, or some other indication that the operator didn’t match the presentation. Glowing markers on the sidewalk around the window indicated privacy zones where conversation was only possible between people standing in the zone and people behind the windows.
Jafet and Camilla maneuvered through the crowd without effort, smiling and exchanging pleasantries with various people, before arriving at a nondescript door bearing the words “La Chasse Club.” Serah’s heads-up display was directing her around the corner to what was most likely the main entrance, but as her companions appeared to be far more familiar with the construct, she trusted their judgment. This was a private entrance of some sort, and the door would only function for specific select individuals. This was confirmed when Jafet opened the door without effort and gestured for the ladies to proceed in first.
The room was bathed in dim amber light, and a haze in the air limited visibility to approximately two meters, with everything beyond being either a silhouette or light source on the far wall. Offensively loud, period-accurate music played over strategically placed speakers. Serah made a subtle gesture with her right hand which turned the music down from her perspective, but not entirely off – as that would destroy the intent of the room’s designer. She made her way slowly along the wall to a bar area. Jafet and Camilla followed closely behind. Without asking, a bartender placed three drinks on the bar before them. Each person took one.
“What is this?” Serah asked, confused.
“Whatever you want it to be,” Jafet laughed. “You’re too used to the Root Realm. You’ve never actually done this before, have you?”
Serah shot him a warning glance but then realized he was right; she never had.
“Default is water,” he offered. Serah smirked and, just to subvert his expectation, adjusted the contents to at least appear a cloudy blood red, even if she kept the flavor and effects as water. “Is your man in here?”
Serah took a sip from her glass and nodded toward the corner where the heads-up display had conveniently outlined a man sitting at a table talking to two other men. “That table. The one in the middle.”
“Okay then,” Jafet nodded and whispered something in Camilla’s ear. She smiled, slinked over to the table like a predatory cat, and began speaking to the group. Within 30 seconds, the other two men had politely excused themselves, and Camilla had cuddled up next to the one Serah had identified as Liam Fiscer. Camilla gestured for Jafet and Serah to come over.
“So,” Fiscer said loudly and boisterously, “Your charming friend here says you would like to do some business with me, Miss Wyles.”
Serah was momentarily taken aback by being recognized. The fingers on Fiscer’s right hand, resting on the table, moved ever so slightly, however, indicating that he was busily scanning through his personal interface, no doubt pulling up every bit of information he could about the three of them, which would currently be splashed all over his HUD where only he could see it.
“Yes, Mr. Fiscer,” Serah smiled as innocently as possible, “We’re sorry to disturb someone as important as you if you were on downtime.”
“Not at all, not at all, my dear,” his face was a practiced smile. “I’m always happy to help a distinguished press member like yourself. And please, call me Skurv.” He smiled wickedly. “So, what can I do for you? Nanocam implant? Untraceable tracking device? It looks like an antique word processor might be more appropriate in your case?”
“Just a bit of information, actually.”
“Well, I have extensive databases of my own and access to quite a few more, but nothing particularly rare or valuable. Why come to me instead of a data broker or Darkphrame runner?”
“Information about one of your customers, actually,” Serah said with more self-confidence than she felt.
Skurv paused and regarded Serah with disappointment. “Surely you must realize that I would never betray the trust of one of my customers,” then, smiling, “even for someone as pretty as you.”
“Well, this customer is dead, so technically, you won’t be betraying anyone.”
Skurv paused. His expression turned sour.
Something flickered in the corner of Serah’s vision. She turned to catch it. Seated at a table at the far corner of the room was the outline of a dark figure, obscured by the haze but obviously fixated on her. He had a particular glow around him, not unlike the HUD display that highlighted Skurv across the room earlier. She felt the hairs stand up on her arm. She was only running the one trace. There was no reason he should be highlighted like this. Serah subtly cued her interface to identify this new man, but the result returned a strange gibberish of English and non-English characters that shifted and changed continuously. She was suddenly reminded of the lurker in the corner at Nine Stones and the eerie figure in her dream. She took a deep breath and tried to slow her racing heart.
Everyone at the table was staring at her, puzzled.
“I’m sorry,” she wiped her brow. “What did you say?”
“I said,” Skurv said unamused, “What makes you think I had anything to do with that?”
“I don’t think you did,” Serah said, trying to keep focused on the conversation.
Skurv regarded her for a moment as if reading her sincerity. A faint smile crossed his lips, and he sat back a little. “Because I didn’t. However, this still doesn’t incentivize me to help you.”
“I can pay you. Name your price.”
“Ask your questions first,” Skurv said flatly.
“Serah pulled up the file picture of Halferne from Erik’s transmission.” Skurv’s expression went blank.
“The Doctor, yes,” he nodded. “That one was already dead when he came to me.”
“He died again later that night. I need to know what you remember. I know about the skullcap and the hard cred. I need to know anything else you know. Was he with anyone? Did he say where he was staying? What else did he purchase? Did he tell you why he needed these things? How did he pay you?” Serah’s attention was suddenly drawn to the corner again. The dark figure across the room had moved. The faulty HUD display now showed him sitting two tables closer, still alone, still watching her.
“You seem very desperate, Miss Wyles.” Skurv paused for a moment and looked at each of them in turn. Yes, I may be able to help you. I’m still not clear why I should.”
“I told you I can pay you,” Serah insisted. “I understand you’re going to have extensive legal fees coming up soon.”
Skurv sneered, shook his head, and nodded subtly at the dark figure Serah had been watching. “It’s better to forego the money and stay out of your business, I think. You appear to be a woman with even bigger problems.”
Serah sat back, deflated. She glanced at Jafet, who arched his eyebrows and shook his head. He had no better ideas than she had. Suddenly, she sat up. “Look, Mr. Skurv. I’m just a reporter working a story here, but even I could trace that skullcap to Tahmo Lain and eventually to you. As far as I can tell, you two are the only people who have spoken to Halferne since he arrived on Earth. How long do you think it will be before the police also make the same deductions? I know you’re not involved, but the police won’t be so certain. If you help me solve this murder, I can save you and your business a lot of disruption, not to mention negative reputation, plus you’ll make a bit of profit for your time.”
Skurv pretended to think about it, but Serah knew she had convinced him at the first mention of the police. “You make an excellent case, Miss Wyles, but, ah—” he ran his hands along the insides of both Camilla and Jafet’s thighs, “I don’t think I want this transaction to be traceable. Given the circumstances, it’s not your money I want, if you know what I mean.”
Serah’s heart sank. His meaning was clear, and it was flattering. For a moment, she considered how badly she needed the information. She wasn’t certain she was capable of going through with something like that, though.
Jafet caught her discomfort immediately and tried to assure her with a smile. “Skurv, if I may. Surely, you understand the awkwardness of two co-workers–”
“Darling,” Camilla said, shushing Jafet with a finger. She stroked Skurv’s cheek, leaned in, whispered something in his ear, then smiled at her husband. Skurv’s eyes lit up. He looked at Camilla, astonished, then Jafet, and finally turned back to Serah.
Serah started to protest to Camilla, having some idea what was going on, but the dark-haired woman smiled and shook her head, patting Serah’s leg reassuringly.
Skurv cleared his throat, “He came to me five days ago. He gave no name and would not say where he was from. I ran a recognition trace and instantly learned who he really was. This is standard practice for me. He asked for three things. The first was the skullcap, which you had already mentioned. He also wanted access codes for a military archive on Luna, code name Yama, which I supplied with no little difficulty, I might add. Finally, he was looking for an individual. He had a police report, and social services case number, but not a name and address. He paid handsomely from an off-system account on Auria.”
Serah clandestinely made notes in her HUD, trying to capture the information as fast as Skurv was regurgitating it. He paused for a moment, waiting for her to catch up.
“And, before you ask, the person he was looking for was Serah Wyles.’”
She tried to conceal her shock. Remembering the price that came with it, she looked apologetically at Jafet and Camilla, who smiled, apparently not the least put out by paying her debt in this instance.
“Now, my dear,” Skurv said, leaning forward. “I’m sorry you won’t be joining our little party,” he lovingly stroked Jafet and Camilla again, “but you … ah … seem to have an unwanted admirer.” He nodded toward the table where the mysterious figure still sat, staring at them motionless. “Perhaps you should forgo politeness and use your emergency transit. I assure you, we won’t stand on etiquette.”
Serah nodded toward her friends with unspoken gratitude, pulled up her interface, and selected immediate transit back to her home construct. Instead of the familiar blue button that would instantly transport her away, she was met with an error message.
Interface is not available at this time. Priority transfer in progress.
Her heart sank. “My interface is locked. It won’t let me exit. What the hell is a priority transfer?!”
“You can still use the transit booths,” Jafet offered.
“I would be careful,” Skurv said, “Your friend just got up to leave. He may know what you’re trying to do. Not to worry, though, he went out the member’s door.” Serah nodded, remembering the door she came in would not open for her even if she wanted to use it. “I suggest you go out the lobby entrance. It’s just down that hallway.” He nodded in the opposite direction from where the figure had departed. “Perhaps next time?”
Serah smiled cordially and stood up. “Jafet, when I get out of here, where’s the nearest transport booth?”
“Out the front doors, turn right, 100 meters to the corner.”
“I owe you big time for this,” she said hurriedly. Jafet smiled, waved her on, and walked as quickly out of the room as she could without looking suspicious.
Within 30 seconds, she was down the hall, across the lobby, out the door, and halfway down the block. Ahead, she could barely make out the familiar indicators labeling a transit booth. She turned and looked behind her for any sign she was being followed. Her worst fears were confirmed as she saw the dark figure’s flickering HUD indicator and corrupt identifier text in the crowd behind her. He was rushing through the crowd. She still could not make out any of his features, and were it not for the apparent malfunctions, she wouldn’t have seen him at all.
She ran, not looking back to see if her pursuer had done the same. When she reached the transit booth, she elbowed her way past two large men and physically shoved a young woman out of the way who was about to enter. “Sorry, it’s an emergency,” she blurted out, pulling up the directory. She knew she couldn’t go back to her home construct. It would be too easy to trace her. There wasn’t time to scan for a destination, and in all the confusion, she hadn’t yet figured out where she was running to.
The word “Veritas” crept into her mind, and suddenly she knew. With a gesture, she discarded the directory, pulled up the transport prompt, and entered one of only four destination codes she had committed to memory.
Der Wallen vanished in a haze of blue light.
© 2022 Darrin Snider. All Rights Reserved.
