The Beam: Season One (32 page)

Micah opened his simulated eyes to find himself in what looked like a large boardroom a moment later, still dressed exactly as he was in real life, again holding a cigarette. Cigarettes were just as expensive in virtual space as in life — not to keep the raff from smoking them (the raff couldn’t afford full immersion even if they knew about it), but rather to rape people a little bit more. Meeting spaces on The Beam were capitalist endeavors, just like the rest of Enterprise.
 

Across from Micah was a tall man in a white lab coat, sitting in one of the chairs, clearly uncomfortable. When Killian saw Micah blip in, he stood, then held himself stiff, as if at attention. Micah, who liked to watch old war films from back when war still existed, half expected Killian to salute.
 

“Sit down, Jim,” he said. Killian preferred to go by “James,” but Micah thought it sounded presumptuous.

“I’m sorry,” said Killian, sitting. There was that “subtle” thing again. It always surprised Micah how many people, after he fucked with them, ended up apologizing.
 

Micah didn’t sit. He circled the table instead, drawing puffs from his simulated cigarette. He could taste it in his mouth, feel the smoke in his lungs, and smell it as he plumed through his nose. He also felt mildly high, thanks to the engineered tobacco the cigarette’s programmers had so excellently simulated.

“Tell me what’s new, Jim,” said Micah.
 

Killian shifted, and something like relief crawled across his body language. He looked like someone had pulled a thorn from his toe.
 

“Oh, things are going very, very well, Micah. Fidelities of BioFi 7.6 are well above what we’d hoped, and the speeds we’re seeing are tremendous. We’re seeing successful replication of entity after entity not just on The Beam, but also within our buffers. Which actually raises an ethical issue, because once the transfer is complete and verified, we’d want to delete the buffer copy, right? I mean, once it’s no longer needed as a backup? But some of our people are joking that it’s murder.”
 

“How can it be murder if no lives are ended?”
 

“Well, it’s a joke, of course. But really, if you think about it, the definition of ‘life’ is evolving, as is everything else. Life has always been conceived in biological terms — something that consumes, excretes, defends itself, reproduces, and so on — but when we’re talking about sentience within a virtual world, that definition no longer suffices. Even the earliest AI with the smallest emergent properties present versions of those traits of living things. They consume space on a server. They can copy themselves to reproduce. I mean, just look at West — there are copies of him everywhere, in addition to West Prime within the central spindle. So we get all these sticky new questions like, ‘When you erase a mind — even if it’s just a copy — then is that ‘killing’ that mind? I see both sides. Truth is, if you took one of the buffer copies and dropped it into one of the main sectors, it would continue to function as any other, because that’s the whole point of there being a backup in the first place. And when you consider that it would carry a self image and would, in a space like we’re in now, present itself as wholly real and corporeal? That it’d have thoughts and an attitude, and if you pushed it or tried to fight it, it would fight back? With all that considered, I see why people wonder about deleting even our redundant copies. But I’m speaking philosophically, you understand.”
 

“Fascinating,” said Micah. He didn’t actually care.

Killian seemed to read Micah’s impatient expression and continued. “But yes, the speeds and fidelities are very, very good, and soon mind duplication and transfer will be considered as nothing more than a simple outpatient medical procedure. Then, it’ll become wholesale, and people will stop regarding it as a fringe practice.”

“Excellent. Good work.” This time, Micah
did
care. Most people were governed by fear. Fear was a much bigger obstacle than restraint or conscience. Most tempted men didn’t refrain from cheating on their wives because they felt it was wrong, but because they were afraid of getting caught. Removing fear in the right places and adding it back in the right places — even if the moral qualms stayed right where they were — was the key to selling anything. From Micah’s point of view as a majority Xenia shareholder, fear could be sticky. Philosophy, not so much.

Killian looked down, fiddling with his fingers and thumbs, almost twiddling. He looked up, catching himself, and moved his eyes around the room. Everywhere other than at Micah.
 

“What about the biologicals?” Micah asked.

“That side is much harder, but we’re getting there. The problem is that truly biological parts don’t like to live without a mind operating them. I know how that sounds, but it’s true. Working in this field… I’ll tell you, it’s enough to turn a man religious. And I mean the old church, not the new church. God and all that.” He looked up at Micah, who was holding the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, hands clasped loosely together in front. “What I mean is,” said Killian, still stammering, “is that you start to wonder if a body, after you die, maybe
is
just a hunk of meat. Because at this point, we can stimulate the biology almost entirely, and all that’s missing is… well… a soul. Or a
mind
, I guess. Yes, ‘mind’ is sufficient. Sorry, I’m not expressing this well, but what I’m saying is…”
 

“How long?” said Micah.
 

“Oh, I don’t think it’ll be long. We’ll crack it. It’s a bit like trying to hold a bag open for long enough to shove something large inside it without anyone to help you. Right now, we can do it all piecemeal. And we can do it with processors and metal and so on, but…”
 

“Biological parts,” said Micah. “That’s what we want.”
 

“Of course. And it’s coming along. Humans all function as mind and body. We can engineer a lot of the body. We can split off the mind. All that’s left is the pairing. We’ll get there.”
 

Micah nodded. But Killian had already looked away, now with his leg crossed, fiddling with his shoelace instead of his thumbs.
 

“What’s up, Jim?” said Micah.

Killian looked up.

“Just tell me. Stop fucking around and tell me what’s bothering you.”
 

Killian seemed to consider playing coy, then hemmed and hawed for a moment before admitting that there had been some confusion over a new salesman named Greenley. A temp receptionist had confused Greenley for another man — a Presque Beau and below salesman named Thomas Stahl — and had sent Stahl into the advanced biologics lab. Micah, his temperature rising, thought that Killian was probably deflecting. The receptionist would already have been wiped and hence be unable to defend herself. Regardless, Killian fucked up. Who simply took the word of a receptionist as gospel?
 

“It’s not a problem!” said Killian, attempting to smile. He pushed back from his seat, but Micah put a hand on the chair’s back, telling him without words to stay seated. “We wiped him, but apparently he had a deflector implant…”
 

“And of course, the world’s most advanced upgrade lab wouldn’t check for that sort of thing,” Micah interjected.
 

“Well, yes, but see, it was all very confusing with the swarm escape the day before, and… well, like I said, it’s not a problem anymore, in fact, it’s…”
 

“You didn’t think to tell me about this when it happened, Jim? It’s Sunday, and seeing as Xenia is on nine-to-five, the very latest this could have happened was Friday.” He was keeping his voice even and low, but everything in him was repressing an urge to use his virtual hands to rip Killian’s virtual head from its shoulders. Thanks to Micah’s hack, he could make Killian’s real body feel it, too.
 

“Well, it was handled very quickly! We discovered the deflection as feedback on the sensor records when we did our nightly sweep, and plus, I’d decided to check in on him anyway because I wanted to be thorough, and we found out that some of the people he buys from… well, that’s not important. But we sent someone out that night.” He paused, as if deciding to omit part of the story. “He’s in custody now. I sent in Kane. So I didn’t want to burden you with it. You don’t need to be concerned with trifles. You…”
 

“You sent in
Kane?”
 

“Well, yes, because…”
 

“Why would you send that sick fuck in? That’s so much
worse
than taking prisoners. Both could get you sent to Respero —” Here, Micah carefully avoided saying that “we” could be sent to Respero. “— but you know how I feel about that goddamn polack. I didn’t want him here in the first place,
certainly
not at Xenia,
certainly
not in development, but the board…”
 

“He was being obtuse! We needed information, and…”
 

Micah’s eyes narrowed. “You needed information?”
 

“Well, yes.”
 

“About?”

“Just in case… you know…”
 

Micah thought he knew what Killian was implying and didn’t like it. Was this salesman’s incursion truly an accident? Or had he been sent there by someone? Killian’s actions seemed to imply the latter.

“It’s handled, Mr. Ryan,” said Killian, still fidgeting. “We’ll Gauss them all and they’ll never even know…”

“Them?”

“Well, there are two others. A woman who was helping Stahl and a man — probably an accomplice! — who came into his apartment right after we apprehended Stahl. It’s handled. Really. Promise. The only reason I didn’t say anything is because your time is more valuable than this, and you have bigger things on your mind than your involvement at Xenia, what with Shift coming and all…” Killian trailed off, apparently done but content to leave the thought hanging.

Micah realized that his shoulders and arms had tensed and told himself to relax. Because his current body was a projection, it obeyed his commands as they came through The Beam. His fists unclenched and his shoulders drooped. His breathing fell. He decided that what was done was done. So, with effort, he smiled. He told Killian that he’d handled the situation admirably, clapped the man on the shoulder, and politely excused himself. Then, with the meeting complete, Micah left first. He opened his real eyes to find himself back in his office, in his rig.
 

Micah stood, then started to pace, refusing himself the luxury of succumbing to the vertigo that often followed reemergence. Despite the mood he’d forced upon the end of the meeting, Micah was far from pacified. The way Killian had handled things was hardly admirable or appropriate.

After his head cleared, Micah walked to a wall, swiped open a window, and tapped prompts until he saw a revolving icon that indicated The Beam was trying to reach Micah’s “fixer.” Despite Killian’s assurances that the situation was handled, Micah felt far from sure that it was. It was time to send in the person who made him feel sure when nobody else could. The person who worked for Micah outside of Xenia’s little security force of inept Beam zealots, who wouldn’t hesitate to make things right at Xenia — even if Xenia was too blind to see what was in its own best interests.
 

The call didn’t connect, telling Micah that the party he was trying to reach was offline or off-grid.
 

Micah swore. He was alone, so he allowed his tone to rise, running a hand through his hair, mussing it.
 

“Canvas.”

Chirp.
“Yes, Micah?”
 

“Rebecca, send a message to Jason Whitlock.” He couldn’t take any more infuriating discussions. At this point, he only wanted to issue commands, and for people to do as they were told.
 

“What is the message?”
 

“Tell him I want a Capital Protection agent assigned to round-the-clock surveillance on James Killian from Xenia Labs. The minute Killian does anything out of the ordinary, I want that agent to report in. If he can’t get me, he’s to report to Whitlock, and Whitlock is to use his judgement on pulling Killian in or doing what is needed. Priority.”
 

The canvas AI scanned the message for loose ends, then found one. “Do you care who Mr. Whitlock assigns for this surveillance, Micah?”
 

Micah ran a hand through his already-mussed hair. “It can be anyone,” he said, “as long as they are equipped to wear a Stark suit.”

Chapter 5

When Kai was fifteen, she was raped by three men who saw her on the street during the day, then followed her to her temporary home — up under the stanchions of a highway overpass — later that night. The next day Kai found herself beaten, bloody, and barely able to twitch. A woman found her and took her to an emergency room where she convalesced for several days. Kai’s first act after becoming ambulatory was to go to a well-known local dealer and trade half of the food she’d managed to scavenge for a conventional grenade. She then entered a ramshackle settlement, every vagrant eye fixed on the young girl so stupidly walking amongst them like a bulls-eye with feet, and found the men who had raped her. A few minutes later, Kai scraped pieces of her attackers from shrapnel-pocked walls and took them home as souvenirs.
 

A few years later, after Kai had bought her way out of the gutter, she found herself trafficking services in lower-end neighborhoods, a roof over her head as she worked for a man who “managed” her business. Even at twenty, Kai didn’t feel she needed help — either in handling her affairs or protecting herself — but the neighborhood was union: you worked for Tom or didn’t work at all. It was a good deal for Tom; his new girl was incredibly popular and made him a ton of money. Kai didn’t see it that way — she was doing all the work while Tom sat back and sipped his percentage. So she tried leaving, and when she did, Tom stabbed her in the stomach with a four-inch kitchen knife. That pain — on a physical level, anyway — easily trumped the torment from her rape. It was as if every nerve in her body had sparked to life and was suddenly screaming. She could barely breathe, every molecule focused on her center of agony. Tom ran off, thinking her finished as Kai crumpled onto the ancient Formica floor in a ball. Her bleeding wasn’t critical, though, so she’d simply laid where she was for a long while, unable to activate her low-end apartment’s canvas because it had no voice interface. It had taken Kai hours to drag herself to the door and yell — hours filled with the most excruciating pain she could imagine. The rape had been beyond agonizing, but those hours spent on the floor of the kitchen were so much worse — and this time, thanks to Tom’s connections, she knew she’d never be able to fight back. The physical agony was torturous. The mental feeling of helplessness, for a girl who’d always been able to handle whatever came at her — was torturous. Even looking back years later on those hours, Kai didn’t think there existed more pain in the whole world.