She stepped off the transit booth pad and into a vast, cathedral-like foyer. Bright, purple light emanated from a grid pattern on the otherwise dark gray floor, walls, and arched ceiling, illuminating the thin, billowy haze whose purpose mainly was to mask the immense dimensions of the foyer and provide some semblance of privacy from people more than a few dozen feet away. Unlike the bright lights and noises of Der Wallen, this was a much quieter construct. In fact, as it was not the most popular construct with younger people, the design of the Lyceum was firmly rooted in the subdued primary colors of the first virtual constructs, going all the way back to early CRT screens of the 20th century. While individuals could modify the environmental settings to their tastes, most clientele, like Serah, rarely bothered with such things and preferred to experience the construct in all its glorious nostalgia.
Surprisingly, only a few dozen people were currently visible. She walked over to the information kiosk in the center of the foyer and checked the events calendar. Several lectures were in progress. Most were heavy philosophical discussions, which didn’t interest her. Several newly formed or short-term organizations that didn’t yet have constructs of their own were meeting in the smaller rooms. Various open-door common rooms were also listed where anyone could join for purely social or intellectual discussions. The last section interested her the most: the research booths. She promptly reserved one and went to the waiting transport booth that would take her there.
She arrived in a 3-meter by 3-meter square room with the same purple-on-gray motif as the lobby. The room was empty except for the transit booth and a featureless purple-outlined “couch” made of the same non-material as the wall and floors. She keyed for privacy on the transit booth, sat on the couch, and relaxed for the first time since leaving Der Wallen.
A quick diagnostic on her personal menu indicated she could still not use her interface, so she was stuck using the local constructs’ tubes to get around. She usually would call for an emergency technician — or, failing that, an in-construct terminal — who could override the “transfer,” reset her system, and wake her body back up in her apartment, an idea she toyed with for a few moments but decided to keep that as a last resort. She was sure she would be safe for the moment. Even if her pursuer managed to track her here and would take a master slicer to override the room’s privacy settings.
She keyed up the local interface menu, and an image of a scholarly gentleman appeared in front of her. “Good evening, Miss Wyles,” he said amicably. I am Syn. Vijay Misra. What will we be researching tonight? A juicy story for NPNA, I hope?”
“Vijay,” she smiled, happy to see a familiar face. She’d worked with Vijay a few times over the years on various research projects. “Yes, big story, urgent timeline.”
“Wonderful. I always enjoy working on these with you,” Vijay smiled back and waved a display screen and query prompt onto the wall before them. “Where do we begin?”
“Banpei research station near the Auria gate,” she said, pulling up a virtual notepad to highlight key points of what would undoubtedly be a thorough analysis.
An image of the station appeared, followed by a long scroll of informational text. “Independently owned scientific research station. Crew of sixteen plus scientific complement of forty. Built fifty-seven standard years ago by Vurn Enterprises, a holding corporation financed by the scientists and many of their employing universities. It flew under the banner of Auria and enjoyed official status as a colony territory.” Vijay summarized.
“What kind of research?”
“Over two thousand projects were initiated, some of which were contracted by external entities as a means to finance operational expenses. The rest were initiated and performed in-house. As this was a privately held corporation, only about half were published or shared with peers.”
“Well, we can start there. What experiments were public.”
“Most were experiments related to new planetary terraforming techniques, several dozen in advanced synthetic intelligence theory, several more in bioengineering and genetic design, and three dealing with universal constructors and Von Neumann machine theory.”
“Can you extrapolate or infer anything about the unpublished and unreported experiments?”
“Not with the information provided.” Vijay sounded apologetic.
“Show me the scientists on staff.” Images and bios of several people appeared on the screen. All of them were lengthy and contained hundreds of citations. “That’s too much information. Show me Abil Halferne.”
Halferne’s bio and headshot appeared. “Dr. Abil Halferne was the longest-serving member of the executive board, rising to that position from adjunct in just five years. Born on the Mycion colony 107 standard years ago. He held advanced degrees in medicine, biology, biophysics, psychology, parapsychology, xenopsychology, xenobiology, neuroscience, cybernetics, chemistry, physics, astrophysics, quantum engineering, mathematics, and neomathematics–”
Serah whistled in admiration. “Not an underachiever. How did his qualifications compare to those of the other scientists?”
“Halferne possessed the most advanced degrees with fifteen, followed by Syd Kumar and Nial Das with twelve, Wayde Lincoln with nine—”
“Stop. What were the most common degrees across all of the scientists.”
“All scientists except for one had backgrounds in either biology or xenobiology, psychology xenopsychology, and some form of physics.”
“How many published experiments dealt with any form of biology or psychology?”
“None of them.”
“That’s odd since those were within everyone’s areas of expertise. Did Halferne publish any books on these subjects?”
“Halferne wrote or co-wrote nine books dealing with xenobiology, seven on xenopsychology, six on biology, four on psychology, and two on physics.”
“What is the most famous one?”
“Complexity Issues in Supporting Interaction Involving Intermediaries in Xenointeractive Systems. Co-written with Dr. Stevn Ellis and Dr. Jak Hodges.”
Serah smiled, “Sounds like a page-turner. Can I get a stem upload of that book?” Stem or ‘short-term memory’ upload would dump the book’s contents into her memory. Essentially the equivalent of quickly reading the book, then slowly forgetting about most of it over the next few days. It was generally a fraction of the cost of a direct memory implant, which would allow her, with a bit of effort, to retain more of the book for a more extended period so that she could process and retain the information on a more substantial level. The former was a means to cram or supplement existing knowledge for a meeting, exam, or thought exercise; the latter was a less desirable substitute for formal instruction and a low-cost alternative to an actual degree or certification.
“Shall I bill NPNA for the transfer?”
“Yes, please.” This meant Harry would see the bill and know what she was doing first thing in the morning. She had no doubt he’d okay the expense, however.
“Payment accepted.”
It had been years since Serah did a stem upload. She had forgotten the euphoric feeling of suddenly remembering large amounts of information that had not been in her brain a few minutes before. She winced and reflexively grabbed the sides of the couch. Suddenly, she felt she was an expert on communication between entities with no common biological processes. The application, if any, however, was absent from the text. What would this even be useful for? Dealing with syntelligence? Talking to animals? Plants? Aliens?
“I apologize. There are some heavy latency issues with the transfer. Are you running simultaneous presences?”
“I’m a slowbander, accessing through skullcap. I couldn’t if I tried.” She decided that this must somehow be related to her inability to access her personal menu.
“I will refund the credit for the failed transfer.”
Serah felt a flash of revelation and suddenly remembered large sections of the publication. In fact, she was sure she was now an expert on theoretical alien linguistics. “Are you sure the transfer wasn’t completed? I feel I have a pretty good grasp on the material.”
Vijay paused for a moment. “That’s unlikely. Less than five percent was sent. As it was an asynchronous burst, you would have received random, non-contiguous sections.”
“Really? I’m remembering the entire text.”
“Most likely, it’s your mind filling in the gaps itself to make sense of the information. Though, admittedly, there wasn’t enough information that you should be aware of the transfer at all, and certainly not this quickly. You’re not taking any memory-enhancing drugs, are you? Have you been practicing some new form of meditation or mental exercises?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Well then,” Vijay smiled, “I should compliment you on the remarkable efficiency of your brain and organization of thoughts.” He smiled condescendingly.
“Thanks, I think,” Serah said, confused by the compliment. “Let’s try a different approach. What about the accident?”
A video showed the station rotating madly out of control as explosions blew out various sections along its starboard and dorsal side. Serah could see the images were captured by a lifeboat camera. Several other lifeboats and shuttles could be seen launching amid the chaos. Some of these narrowly escaped being smashed by debris. “Due to the timing and location of the explosions,” Vijay began dispassionately, “official cause of the accident was ruled to be sabotage, though no known group or individual ever claimed credit. Fourteen crew managed to evacuate, but most of the explosions took place on the laboratory levels, breaching the hull instantly and cutting those sections off from escape craft. The entire scientific compliment was lost within the first 30 seconds.” A schematic showed the pattern of explosions. Even Serah could see that it was perfectly planned and timed. The official record was wrong, however. At least one scientist had survived that catastrophe. Whether by design or by chance, she could not say.
Serah checked the time. It was getting late, and Erik had still not tried to contact her. She had best get back to the Root Realm soon. “One more quick query, Vijay: Luna base. Military archive, code name: Yama.”
“Sure, one second,” Vijay chirped. “Nope. Can’t access that one. Sorry, it’s listed as classified.”
“I was afraid of that,” Serah sighed.
Vijay squinted and shook his head. “Classi … classi … classified …”
“You okay there, Vijay? I didn’t mean to get you in trouble or anything.” She’d never seen a synthetic personality behave like this before. Vijay’s image shook and momentarily lost resolution, and Serah saw the hud display flicker next to him. The gibberish it showed was all too familiar: the same she saw around her pursuer in Der Wallen. She lept to her feet and backed up toward the transit booth. “Vijay? What’s going on?!”
Vijay moaned in apparent pain, and then his face went expressionless. He regarded Serah momentarily, then started toward her. She was utterly helpless. She had no weapon, nothing to throw at him, and the couch was firmly a part of the floor and couldn’t be moved to block his path. She turned and dove into the transit booth, pressing the button for the front entrance as she entered.
In an instant, after the usual flash of blue, she found herself back in the main lobby. She started walking for the exit as fast as she could without drawing attention, not daring to look back, merely assuming she was still being pursued.
“Serah!” a female voice yelled from a crowd of people to her left.
Serah turned and saw an unusual-looking woman, middle-aged, short, and slightly stout in a way that implied her avatar was based on her natural features rather than an idealized form. She ran over to Serah and and placed a friendly hand on Serah’s upper arm. “Erik sent me to make sure you’re okay. Obviously, you’re not.”
Serah jerked away. “Let go of me!” she shouted, not slowing her pace.
The woman grabbed her arm again, more forcefully this time, and pulled her toward the crowd. “You need to trust me. We’re here to help you.”
Serah stopped briefly and looked directly at the woman. “I trust Erik. I don’t know who you are.”
“Even though you quit smoking five years ago, you still keep a pack of puffsticks in your top desk drawer. The access code is ‘48-A, 59-G, Apricot, Banana, St. John.’”
Serah stopped and regarded the woman more closely. It was a smart move — two simple things that only Erik knew. Whomever this was, he trusted her. She nodded in understanding. “I was in a private booth. My research assistant. He’s malfunctioning or something. I think he’s trying to kill me.”
“Okay, keep your eyes on that crowd of people over there and come with me.” The woman said. Serah nodded as they merged into a group of four people who were talking amongst themselves. None of them acknowledged or even looked at the two of them.
“They’re with me. This is W, X, Y, and Z,” the woman said without humor, gesturing to a woman with cat-like features, a man dressed like a 1920’s gangster, a girl in a gold kimono, and a skinny hairless man, respectively. “They’re one of the best off-book project teams in the European Conglomerate. Oh, and my name’s Flo. Flo Ridamann. First things first, we need to get you out of here and someplace safe. Can you tell if you’re still being followed or watched?”
Adrenaline was driving her into dizziness, and Serah barely registered any of what was being said. Bits of Halferne’s textbook were still working their way into her memory, adding confusion to everything. She nodded, tilting her head slightly to the right to indicate a man standing by himself, obviously scanning the room. “Yes. Standing in the corner by that archway. I can make him out plain as day, even in a crowd. They always flicker on my heads-up display, surrounded by some kind of telemetry gibberish. He’s not the first one to do that. It’s like someone is trying to point them out to me.”
Flo and the others stepped back for a moment. She did not look at the archway but put it in her peripheral vision.
“A shade?!” the one called Y gasped excitedly.
Flo shook her head, worried. “I’m not convinced. It’s obviously self-aware. It’s chasing her.”
“That could be instinctual, like a wild animal who has picked up her scent. Just because it isn’t moving doesn’t mean its waiting. It may be trying to reacquire her.” X nodded.
Z looked puzzled. “Even if you’re right, Shades can’t move between constructs, they’d be filtered and scrubbed by the entry systems.”
“It could if it was being controlled. What if someone is using it like a wild animal to hunt her?”
“This is all fascinating,” Serah said, “but I think I’m going to just log out and get back to the Root Realm.”
“No, don’t do that,” Flo said. “We need to compare notes, and I need to talk to fill you in on what we found.”
“We can’t do that at my apartment? You really want to have a chat while I’m being chased by that thing?”
Flo thought for a moment, then turned, grabbed Serah by the shoulders, and looked earnestly into her eyes. “Okay, I’m going to give you some coordinates for emergency transit. I need you to wait for me there.”
“I can’t. My interface is locked up. Something about a transfer in progress.”
Flo grunted, nodded in understanding, and looked at Y, who made a series of frantic finger gestures that looked like a cross between a dance and a wizard casting a spell. “Okay, I’ve got you. I’m cutting your interface now. While I’m at it, I’m going to mask your ID so you don’t show up in heads-up displays.” She continued gesturing and then nodded. “That should hide you from your friend for the time being.”
Serah shook her head as if to clear it. “You can do that?”
Y pursed her eyebrows. “No, I just did that. If you look, you should have access to a backup interface now.”
Serah tapped her middle finger to her thumb three times. Her heads-up suddenly lit up with an unfamiliar set of options in a different color and font than her standard one. “How did you?—”
“No time,” Flo interrupted. “Set transit destination for Construct 1021-CN24, Passphrase: ‘Satori Qasr Sepulcher.’ I’ll join you in a minute.” She gave Serah a reassuring squeeze of her arm and stepped back.
Serah fiddled with the new interface, which, as promised, worked perfectly as if it were her own. In an instant, she was gone.
© 2022 Darrin Snider. All Rights Reserved.
