Collective Mind (29 page)

“Looking
for support from you is like treating a wound with brine. It only gets worse.
Her hope died kind of quickly. She abandoned me.”

“You’re
just selfish. A great, narcissistic egotist, who won’t admit his own mistakes.”

“Ah,
to hell with her! And you can fuck off, too!”

“Pascal,
it is quite possible that she still loves you. Why else would she talk to you
on the phone for so long when you’re drunk? I’d be only too happy to get
Michelle back, only I don’t believe it would work. I’ve screwed things up so
hopelessly. And she’s so… totally unbelievable! I just got lucky, didn’t I?
Like, once in a blue moon. But I blew it all.”

“I’m
sorry, that was because of me. I blew everything too. But I’m not going to
admit it!”

They
clinked glasses again and drank. A pause ensued, then Bikie arrived with beer.

“I
wonder, does it even matter to them that we are suffering like this, Bikie? Or
don’t they give a shit?”

“No
clue. What I’m sure about is that chicks don’t like crybabies. Watching the way
you two have been whining is disgusting.”

“Michelle
told me to go to hell. She hung up and she isn’t answering. No calls, no texts.
She said, ‘Forget about me.’”

“Don’t
fret, Isaac, it’ll be fine. Only don’t pester her right now. She is angry with
you today, for sure. She clearly likes you, that’s obvious.”

“Oh,
well done, you’ve set everything out neatly on the shelves. Like in a
supermarket.”

“Have
you told her even once that you love her?”

“No.”

“Well,
you’re a fool. Though it seems to me she took a liking to you precisely because
you are such a fool, an unusual cretin. Spaced out.”

Bikie
was strumming the strings of his guitar, Pascal was falling asleep, and Isaac
tried to write something in his phone.

“Michelle,
I miss you so badly, forgive me for being such a fool. You are the happiest
time of my life. I’m terribly afraid that I have lost you, that I’ll never be
able to hug and cuddle you. I love you, I love you, I love you. You are a
miracle that happened in my life. I will always love you. I want to take care of
you, my hopes and thoughts of you are my life. Let’s see each other again,
darling, please give me a chance. I need you very, very much.”

Isaac
read the message through obtusely several times, and then deleted it without
sending.

***

“Morning.
I’m desperate for water. Lousy sunlight blinding my eyes. Why aren’t the damn
curtains closed? The phone is ringing, but it is easier to put up with it than
get up. It is calling again! What do they want so early the morning? I don’t
want to get up at all. I have to try to get some more sleep.” Isaac turned his
face to the wall and fell asleep again.

 At
the other end of the line was displeased Pellegrini. He decided to summon Isaac
for another interview, so he wanted to make sure that he was not going for
another journey to his pseudo-Spain. “Never mind, I’ll call later,” the
commissioner thought as he got ready to leave for the airport. He planned a
three-day trip; besides Isaac, he had to talk to Pascal, Pascal’s administrator
and the staff at the hospital. He knew that the operation for Isaac’s sister
had been paid for out of Pascal’s account. Formally, there was nothing wrong
with it, but too many strange coincidences came together around this Leroy-guy.

Formally
still a Happy, Pascal was a very rich young man. His brains had come back and
the money was still there. The disappearance of his orange energy must have
gone unnoticed. Even though the amount retrieved was substantial, dozens of
other people downloaded their OE on the same day, so the overall level of energy
in the server shouldn’t have fallen. It would take them a week to figure out
the exact details of creativity transactions on a given day.

People
love statistics, and the data on the aggregated intellect of the planet was
reported every Monday in the weekly magazine “Science and the People.” No one
on the team really knew how the system of statistics worked but it was clear
that even if someone noticed a deviation, they would not immediately realize
where the leakage had taken place or whose brains the energy was from or – most
importantly – how it happened.

In
any case, the law had no provisions for the theft of OE, and it was not
possible to compel Pascal to download his creativity again. At least, it was
impossible to do it quickly. The legislation included quite a lot of ideas from
downloaders, and among them presumption of innocence prevailed.

Even
if the police or UNICOMA officials came after him, Pascal could play the fool
pretty adequately – Bikie had him watch dozens of videos of Happies and socialize
with his neighbors at the settlement. He learned their habits pretty well so it
would not seem too difficult to imitate them. But Pascal’s imagination worked
excellently by now, and he thought out dozens of ways how he could be outed by
a serious investigator.

Or
what if they made him check his OE level again…

He
had both his brains back and the money although now it was no longer his money,
but an operating fund, the team’s fund, which was just sitting in his account.
He had offered that himself. But it was not so easy to spend it: if a Happy
came in to buy a transistor and not a teapot, the salesman’s jaw would drop…

The
Professor has firmly concluded that he did not have amnesia, but the absence of
memory, resulting from the downloading of OE. They all agreed to get together
that evening and decide what to do next.

The
next day the preparations for Vicky’s surgery began. Isaac arrived at the
hospital, accompanied by Pascal and Bikie. The girl at the reception smiled at
them, asked the names of the patient, the relative and the other guests and
entered them all in the visitor’s book. She was clearly nervous, but Isaac took
no notice. His mind was focused on other things.

He
was delighted that at last his sister had a chance to get well. And not just a
chance but a very high probability of returning to a normal life. Of course, he
was nervous and agitated, as anyone would be in his place. Besides, he still
felt embarrassed that while she was in a coma and that he had almost fallen in
love with her. He still wanted to say the same words to her as he did then:
that he loved her very much.

They
went towards the lift and did not see the receptionist dial the commissioner’s
number.

Vicky’s
ward was on the third floor. The blinds were up, and through the windows one
could see a magnificent view of the sea and the city. It was probably the only
hospital in the world with such an insanely beautiful view.

Vicky
was lying under a sheet, with various tubes and drips attached to her body. Her
chest moved calmly and evenly as she breathed, and the sheet rose only a tiny
little bit. Even with those closed eyes and pale skin she looked tremendously
attractive. Someone in the future would be very lucky to meet her.

His
thoughts were interrupted by the doctor who came to explain the plan of the
operation and Vicky’s recovery.

There
were still several days before the operation. A brain surgeon would
specifically come from America. Right now they were introducing markers through
the IV, to color the tumor so that it could be better seen on the monitors. The
actual surgery would take no more than three or four hours, then the patient
would gradually be brought out of her comatose state followed by another week
of rehabilitation. The muscles had atrophied so massage, physiotherapy and
injection of stimulants would be needed to restore body tonus. The recovery
process used to take at least a month, but now it was quicker, thanks to
UNICOMA. Then they would allow him to collect Vicky and continue with the
physical therapy at home.

“And
when will I be able to talk to her?”

 “In
about ten days. Might be a bit sooner or a bit later. We should not hurry with
bringing her out of the coma, but don’t worry, you will have plenty of time to
talk,” the doctor reassured Isaac.

After
lunch the group split up and Pascal went back to his villa. He needed to review
the significant events of the past two days, get a clear idea of what was kept
where in his home check the state of his finances and practice Veggie behavior
just in case. His body, accustomed to daily workouts, was literally itching to
get on an exercise machine.

Bikie
went back to join Link at the villa and Isaac bought a bouquet of flowers and
tried to find Michelle.

***

Pellegrini
sat at the table and looked through his notes, Pascal Dean goes along with the
others to visit Isaac’s sister in the hospital. That was not typical for a
Veggie. Well, theoretically possible, just a bit weird. The money Isaac
suddenly got to pay for his sister’s medical expenses was Pascal’s money. That was
even stranger. Then the administrator had reported an alcoholic episode. Again,
more than unusual for a Veggie. Looks like they got him drunk to get the money.

Theft
from Veggies was a new crime for the new age and strangely, in seven years
there were no cases of this sort. Perhaps there have been, but they have not
been recorded or solved.

Pellegrini
felt prickles of excitement inside, like in the old times. He was looking
forward to cracking Isaac and creating a precedent of catching someone who
dared to take advantage of a trusting soul, to take candy from a baby, so to
say. He must look into everything to see if there had been any similar cases
before.

It
took Pellegrini twenty-four hours to comb through the archives in search of
reports that somewhere, at some time, a Veggie had voluntarily transferred
money to a third party, but did not find any. Veggies had always faithfully
kept their money in the bank, hardly spending any of it. Pascal appeared to be
the only exception. So much the worse for you, Isaac.

When
the commissioner checked the whereabouts of Isaac’s mobile phone on the night
when Pascal went on a bender, he did not find anything. The phone was switched
off. But Pascal’s mobile showed up nine times in the region of Lyon. In Lyon?
What was he doing there and how did he get there? It was time to clarify all
this. Everything suggested that they had got Pascal drunk and forced him to pay
for the operation of Isaac’s sister.

Isaac
did not find Michelle, and she still was not answering his calls. He left the
flowers with the concierge and asked him to pass on a little note:

“How
can one speak of love in words both clear and simple?

Must
ample words be borrowed from above?

In
the surrounding world, I’m seeking an example,

To
tell you all. But how, I do not know, my love.

Much
easier by far than framing your description

Is
finding words to tell about the skies and sea,

So
I will take your hand and share my silent vision

I
will be numb and let my kisses speak for me.

Please
forgive me.”

After
a futile attempt to get the concierge talking about mademoiselle Blanche, Isaac
went back to the villa. As always, Bikie was growling over a computer. Pascal
couldn’t stay at his home, so he had arrived too. All they had to do was to
call the Professor.

“What
are you looking for?” Isaac enquired listlessly.

“Nothing
much, various garbage. Reading about a new motorbike that just came out. Real
high-class. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing
much. It’s because of Michelle. Right, let’s talk about something else. Where’s
Link?”

“Hey,
professor! The pea-brain is here, and Isaac is back! We are waiting for you!”
Bikie shouted loudly.

“I
was looking into how one can plug into the Collective Mind computers. There’s
good news – two pieces – and bad news,” Link said pensively. “We need to
discuss.”

“What’s
the puzzle?” Bikie barked cheerfully.

“The
good news is that Collective Mind has four servers, containing identical
copies. The first is located in New York, the second in Moscow, the third in
Hong Kong and the last one, the European server, is where we were, near Paris.
I myself once sent Blake my ideas on the location of the servers when I handed
over the technology. Where precisely the central computer and the equipment
room are located in the buildings, you and I don’t know. But never mind, we’ll
figure that out. The best news is that I have studied the amplifier that Pascal
created. It is small but very powerful! In theory, it is suitable for my
hacking-in device. Pascal and I can dig a bit deeper, adapt it a bit and
combine the devices together to get a really powerful hacker and transmitter.
If everything goes well, all the Happies within several kilometers will get
their energy back.”

“That’s
heavy!” Isaac and Bikie exclaimed in a single voice. They were inspired by this
news, Pascal was smiling too.

Pleased,
the professor puffed out a cloud of cigar smoke. This was a familiar, but
forgotten situation for him from his past when his students expressed
enthusiasm. Link smoked a lot, sometimes not taking the cigar out of his mouth
for days on end. The house already stank pretty badly. The cigar ash left marks
on the floor, the sofas and even the computer keyboard.

“What’s
the bad news, professor?”

“The
fact that three of the four servers are unsuitable for our purposes, even
theoretically. Of course, we could just try our luck the Russian style, without
being sure, but a bunch of Frenchmen in the Moscow institution might look
suspicious. Hong Kong is heavily guarded too and the staff there are all Chinese,
no Europeans. So Russia and Asia are out. I’ve been in the Paris building from
where we retrieved Pascal’s creativity, only once, before they installed the
server. I’m sure we could take it over, but there’s no point. The facility is
surrounded by forests and fields. The signal won’t reach the city, even with
Pascal’s amplifier. There will be no one within reach to return the energy to,
so we either have to gather a crowd of Veggies around the Paris storage server,
which isn’t practical, or go to New York.”

“So
what’s the bad news?”

“That
I won’t be able to go through the US passport control unnoticed. And it is
risky for Pascal to go without a cover story as well.”

“Then
let’s split up. Pascal and you deal with the amplifier, and Isaac and I will
explore the New York facility. And we’ll think about the border. How’s that?”
Bikie suggested.

The
professor nodded, agreeing.

“Hang
on,” objected Isaac. “I want to tell you about my plan too. My suggestion is to
go to the police.”

Bikie
and Link gaped at Isaac in amazement.

“We
don’t really need any plan,” Isaac went on. “We’ll tell the police everything.
I thought about it and realized that we haven’t done anything wrong. On the
contrary, everything was right. Let’s stop taking risks and carrying this
burden. Of course, we won’t tell them all of the details. There’s no need to
say where your house is, Link, so don’t worry about that. We can say that
Pascal joined the experiment voluntarily, no one coerced him. He will confirm
that. Wolanski’s role doesn’t have to be explained. So we worked for him, who
cares about that?”

“Isaac,
I don’t trust them,” Link said calmly. “We’ll present our proof, but even with
my reputation on our side, there is a risk that the situation won’t develop the
way you think it would.”

“And
what if some villain has already hijacked COMA? But no one knows or realizes
that?” Bikie said in support of the professor. So his rebellious spirit hadn’t
disappeared after all. “Our plan is safer. That way we don’t risk running up
against malevolence in UNICOMA or the police.”

“The
Agency could react in a hostile way,” the professor agreed. They could start
lying and say that transferring of OE did not take place, that we simply erased
Pascal’s memory and that the energy was returned to him incorrectly. Even sue
us for theft.”

“But
not the police, why would they want to do that? And the police still have
enough power to stop anyone at all, whether it’s terrorists or COMA.”

Pascal
supported Isaac, affirming that, to his mind, his testimony and Link’s conclusions
would be enough. Professor Link himself! The creator of the invention, whose
opinion should be regarded as the most authoritative in the field! And if
several more people were brought back from being Happies that would definitely
be enough for the police to prohibit UNICOMA doing further downloading.

Bikie
retorted with a macabre observation that Pascal would be turned into a “lab
rat.”

To
enhance the effect, he sang in a morbid voice:

“Happy,
happy end,

All
the Happies will have their Happy ending!”

Thus,
opinions were divided, so Isaac had to make the final decision and accept the
responsibility. He thought things through again, weighing up the pros and cons
deciding in forming the Agency was definitely not a good idea. He recalled that
even though children born to Veggies had zero creativity, they hadn’t stopped,
but buried the problem under a mountain of endless tests and analyses.

And
now they might not stop, but launch an endless search for errors in the Link’s
method of back transfer of OE. Yet if that was true for UNICOMA, it was not for
the police and, thank God, so far the authority rested with the police. On the
other hand, there was some logic in what Bikie and Link were saying. The
professor declared that he had not agreed to anything like that, that his
freedom and even his life would be in danger, and if Isaac went to the police,
he would leave immediately. Without the professor, their case would collapse,
and keeping him here by force wouldn’t be a smart thing to do.

Big
money was at stake, the contributions of Collective Mind were too innumerable,
and the Agency’s influence too immense. Of course, the truth was on their side,
but it had to be gotten across. Skillful counter-propaganda could easily
distort all the facts.

And
really, no one knows how the world actually works. Which people would turn out
to be good, and which bad? Who could be trusted and who couldn’t?

Of
course, Isaac was tempted to go to the police and tell it all because then all
would be over, he could calmly take care of Vicky, and Michelle would be there.
If they didn’t say anything now, thousands more people would download and turn
into living corpses.

Intellectually
Isaac had already accepted his friends’ reasons, but he wanted so badly to
shrug this problem off his shoulders. The police were closing in on him, and if
he told them everything, he would be a hero instead of a suspect!

“We
take the professor’s plan.” Isaac’s voice was decisive again. “And we’ll get
this done as quickly as possible.”

“Hoo-ray!”
Bikie exclaimed and the professor sighed in relief.

Isaac
and Bikie didn’t waste any time, and immediately started analyzing the
information on the American facility. And there was a lot to go through. The
facility was in a building beside Central Park that used to be the Guggenheim
Museum.

“I
have an idea…” Bikie began but stopped short.

“Then
tell me,” Isaac urged. “You know, popcorn’s for chewing on, ideas are for
telling.”

“The
Americans are smart chaps. They make money on everything! They could have put
the storage server in the UN headquarters, but no, they put it in a public
place and now they make money on guided tours as well. And that gives us a
definite chance. A lot of personnel work in the building and some are stationed
there permanently, some visit from overseas. They don’t all have access to the
underground central storage server, but I think there must be a few dozen: the
director and his deputies, lab assistants, security men, technicians, cleaners,
etc., etc. If you think about it, the list could be even longer. And what’s
more, I think the security is not serious. More to deal with fanatics and
vandals, so most of the activities take place at the entrances to the
building.”

“Yes,
look. The Agency branch used to be located at the intersection of First Avenue
and 42nd Street, and they only moved to the former museum last year. And there
haven’t been any serious attacks on COMA for at least four years.”

“There
are the photos,” said Bikie, leaning back in his chair, pleased with himself.
“It’s all out of the social networks. In some you have a great view of the
central hall, the cloakroom, and the restrooms. The security at the door is
serious, of course, but in the hall, basically there isn’t anyone.”

Bikie
was incredibly good at his job. In fifteen minutes he dug up all the statistics
for attempted attacks on the storage servers. Official data wasn’t too
comprehensive, but he found a mass of information in the press and the social
networks. In the past, the servers had been attacked regularly, and often by extremely
well-prepared groups. But that was before. Now it was loners like Elvis, who
were easily neutralized by standard security measures. The “Monaco terrorist
attack” had been the most notorious case that year.

“First
let’s look at the ones who might need money. There must be a lot of cleaning
ladies for a building like that,” Pascal suggested.

“You’re
wrong there,” Bikie replied. “While you were a vegetable marrow, cleaning
ladies were replaced by automatic robots. A cleaning lady is probably someone who
controls the automated vacuum cleaners.”

Pascal
could see that Bikie disliked him, even though they were on the same team.
Pascal hadn’t actually done anything bad to him. Well, he phoned Eva once when
he was drunk, but that was understandable, he’d lost two years of his life and
the girl he loved. Isaac mostly ignored Bikie’s attacks. He knew that calling
someone a vegetable, a pumpkin with brains or a sardine out of the tin was part
of Bikie’s style, especially if that someone had once downloaded his OE.

“Come
to think of it, Pascal’s idea is pretty good. Pascal, you’re rising to the
occasion as always. More ideas than seeds in a watermelon,” Bikie droned.

“Bikie,
why don’t you just dig up the names?” said Isaac. “I think the chances of
finding ourselves an ally out of thirty or forty people, or at least, a
gullible blockhead, are close to a hundred percent.”

“One
blockhead is already an ally of ours, we can put a whole team together!” Bikie
chortled

 “Pascal,
please take no notice of him,” Isaac forced out through his laughter. “Bikie
got a tattoo on his head, the ink percolated into his brain and darkened his
sense of humor.”

“The
important thing here is to do the search for the blockhead right,” Bikie
persisted. “We should listen to Pascal’s advice and do the opposite.”

“Bikie,
before I was a professor, I was a lab assistant, and I earned the money for my
experiments at poker. Leave this to me, I won’t get it wrong,” boasted Link,
who had just walked up.

“Professor,
I’m checking the stakes, show me your bluff,” Pascal joked.

Everyone
laughed at last and the tension hovering in the air between Pascal and Bikie
evaporated. Whether Bikie liked Pascal or not, he was a high-class technician
and recognized Pascal as a talented inventor. He appreciated that the amplifier
created by Isaac’s old friend was now the key element of the operation: he had
been impressed by the way that Pascal and Link discussed reconfiguring the
device to enable OE transfer over long distances. So now it turned out that the
rebirth of the biker movement and the reanimation of the good old, uniquely
designed Harley-Davidson were in Pascal’s hands. And nothing infuriated Bikie
more than picturing the shops of the future, where they sold almost identical,
averaged-out Ducatis and Harleys. Bikie envisaged the difference in the future
as existing only in the emblems, and for some reason the Ducati’s was white and
the Harley’s was red. Or maybe these companies wouldn’t exist anymore and
there’ll be just one, combined. Things were already heading that way.