Dark Doses Page 6

  DreamSpace became heaven.

  ***

  That had been four months ago, at the conclusion of a year–long virtual courtship during which Rachel had simply enjoyed her escape into the globe–trotting socialite she knew she’d never, ever be. Two years earlier as a confused, deluded seventeen–year–old, that kind of life had tempted her to quit home, family and school; though never in her imagination had she expected to find and actually live the dream. Not in any world, virtual or otherwise.

  Three months ago, against her better judgment, she’d caved: she met Edward for the first time in meatspace. The encounter, including sex that same night, was so far removed from what Tarabeth and Midknight shared, it rattled her. The brutal, ugly reality bitch–slapped her face.

  Edward was a freelance game designer, a ten–year veteran since dropping out of Stanford. He was the epitome of geekdom, right down to the loaf of bread and pop–top cans of ravioli in his pantry, the three T–shirts and two pairs of jeans that comprised his wardrobe, and the tiny apartment furnished with numerous computers and peripherals, one scuffed card table, three mismatched folding chairs, and ancient mattress and pillow tossed on the living room floor.

  Edward rated as a true wizard of his craft. He excelled within his work’s ecosystem like no one else could; he just wasn’t worth a rat’s ass otherwise.

  Rachel had her first taste of revulsion that initial night, but only fleeting jolts. Her denial suppressed, without mercy, every classic warning sign. Even lying in the gloom naked and cold atop the ratty mattress soaked by their sweat and other mingled fluids, her mind refused to accept any possibility of a relationship less ideal than the one shared by Tarabeth and Midknight.

  Over the weeks following their first flesh–meet, she knew the revulsion would peak and inevitably triumph. It did two weeks ago, when she broke it off. Everything. All worlds included.

  Edward just wasn’t prepared to accept her final decision.

  Rachel logged into Yahoo and found one e–mail of consequence waiting. It had arrived, no surprise to see, just before she’d left the cellular store, coming from Trykstr.

  THAT WAS RUDE. AGAIN. WHILE I MIGHT BE INCLINED TO FORGIVE YOU MAKING THIS ESPECIALLY DIFFICULT, JESSE CANT. SHES VERY UPSET WITH YOU. AND YOU KNOW HOW SHE GETS.

  Rachel knew.

  She clicked Delete, emptied the trash folder.

  Then, for good measure, she emptied it again.

  ***

  From her laptop, Jesse monitored progress of the hack. So far besides her, three different slugs, each demonstrating various levels of clearly inferior talent, pursued the grand prize, likely for the same Sino–Viet masters. They enjoyed doing that, those Sinos, spreading the one contract job across multiple parties to lock out competing interests, inspire creative efficiency, and ensure success. Others called it ‘saturation bombing.’

  The abandoned warehouse played perfect host for this caper. The building was the last, dilapidated structure scheduled for renovation at the heart of New Atlanta’s fastest–growing district. Peaceful. Totally undisturbed. No less than twelve wireless signals, surreptitiously donated by the surrounding hotels, afforded her near unconstrained net access along with the added protection of rapid access point hopping to avoid any tracebacks.

  Her lip curled at the thought. Not in their wildest, wettest dreams could any slug successfully trace her.

  This hack appeared simple enough. Global Biogenomics had grown lax within their corporate armor. The most auspicious penetration seemed to be by the slug attempting a break–in via trojan antivirus update, an oldie but goodie Jesse had long since bored of.

  Whenever Jesse hacked, pleasure abounded from deliberately triggering some security interlocks just to kick up the difficulty level and learn a new trick or two. Now she lurked, consigning the dirty grunt work to the slugs while she relaxed to the muted throb of electronica opera that emanated from one of the swank hotel clubs.

  The trojan slug succeeded. He actually burned a precious moment to trip lock–outs against the two other thieving parties.

  Which nagged her.

  Trojan slug must have known about the other slugs all along. So what else did he know?

  While trojan slug extracted the strategic roadmap and intellectual property portfolio from DarkSpace’s leading biogenetics R&D company, she intercepted the content using a preset phish tactic. Trojan slug never knew the repository into which he was copying the prized data was not his own.

  Or did he?

  That slight screech just now… a bad mezzo–soprano sample or tires on asphalt?

  Trojan slug’s copy into the repository proceeded; time–to–completion reflected tens of minutes. She didn’t have that luxury.

  Jesse launched a parallel background task to duplicate the repository to its ultimate Sino–owned destination, which would wipe the original upon successful completion. She killed the laptop’s wireless transmitter and ran a script that defeated all laptop safety circuits and stalled its fans.

  Scraping noises came from the front of the warehouse: unexpected guests, seeking amusement. And here she was without any party favors. A shame.

  Have to create some then.

  Jesse slid the laptop over to the half–rotted wall and ran one last script to trigger an overcurrent feedback loop. She piled yellowed newspapers on top of the case and ducked into the back shadows.

  Modern laptops, when properly inspired, were power–hungry beasts. Hers proved no exception. It sizzled nicely, popped, and ignited the added tinder, which didn’t take long to spread. Black smoke billowed and displaced the warehouse’s dust and gloom.

  Hope the party guests didn’t mind the stench; noxious enough to suffocate a grizzly.

  Jesse slipped out a grimy window, brushed herself off, and headed for a packed club across the street. Soon some buff firemen would come perform their jobs—a devilishly pleasant thought. What girl could resist beefcake at its prime?

  ***

  EDWARD: U LIKE HER?

  Rache: Dunno yet. She’s different.

  EDWARD: ??

  Rache: She’s… cocky.

  EDWARD: HAS 2 B 4 DARKSPACE. W/O CONFIDENCE YOURE DEAD.

  Rache: Dunno.

  EDWARD: MADE HER JUST 4 U. SO PLAY HER. AS U DO, SHELL LEARN. WILL BECOME U. MAYBE U LEARN FROM HER.

  Rache: But she’s dark. Evil.

  EDWARD: SO NOTHING 2 LEARN FROM EVIL, IS THAT IT?? PLAY HER. PROMIS U WILL?

  Rache: ..

  EDWARD: PROMIS????

  Rache: K

  ***

  Rachel tried.

  She played Jesse from the week after the wedding to the week before the breakup, with mind wide open and spirit suitably darkened, the latter becoming easier as her distaste for Edward grew. Interestingly, Jesse not only adopted Rachel’s personal idiosyncrasies, she also became frustrated with Rachel’s inability to fully immerse into character. In turn, Rachel’s initial shock at DarkSpace’s survival–necessitating violence, depravity, and antisocial behavior soon abated to grudging resignation.

  Try as she might, though, she couldn’t put her heart into it.

  When Jesse’s not–so–subtle disdain segued into blatant criticisms spewing from the ava, Rachel stopped logging in. By then, Jesse’s frequent scowl looked too much like Mom’s.

  Now Daysee had joined Jesse and Tarabeth in Edward’s clutches. She’d lost them all. She felt like he’d ripped out three chunks of her flesh and left behind festering wounds. Including, Rachel had to admit, Jesse, the one character she thought she’d never bond with; not unlike some foster child, unwanted initially but quickly come to fondness.

  The corner Starbucks opened at 6:30. Rachel got in at 6:15 because the kid working the drive–through had a crush on her. He waited on her personally. She rewarded him with some protracted flirting before she placed her usual order.

  “How’s your husband?” love–struck kid asked over the roar of milk frothing.

  “Fine,” Rachel said. W
eeks ago she’d claimed being married just to stop the kid pestering her for an IM address. It wasn’t a total lie, technically.

  “Why doesn’t he come in with you? Some kinda coffee allergy or something?”

  “He… travels. A lot. He doesn’t like going anywhere when he’s actually here in town.”

  “Oh. Guess not. Well, if you’re ever bored… want someone to do lunch with—”

  “I know where you work.” She winked at him, keeping his hopes alive.

  In return, he granted her his customary, generous discount. It always paid dividends to be the object of someone’s affection.

  Still, Rachel held her breath until her debit card transaction cleared. Her meager balance was due to the fact she hadn’t picked up and deposited her recent paycheck—one of several items she’d neglected over the last two weeks of being out ‘sick’ due to the breakup.

  Behind her, the front door popped as the lock engaged.

  Rachel took her latte over and pushed on the handle. The door banged but did not open.

  “Lemme get that,” love–struck kid said.

  He bounded over and slid in a key from the jingling mass on his belt. The mechanism wouldn’t budge.

  “Weird. Like it’s stuck or something.”

  Lights winked out across the shop. They plunged into the predawn gloom.

  The kid glanced up. “What the—”

  Rachel shrieked as several alarms split the air with deafening horn blasts and howling wails. Her cup thudded off her foot.

  “Back door,” the kid said, screaming over the din. But it, too, stubbornly resisted the key. “What’s going on? Stupid security system’s gone nuts.”

  Rachel pressed her hands hard against her ears. In the back of her mind, Edward’s voice droned his warning.

  SHES VERY UPSET WITH YOU. AND YOU KNOW HOW SHE GETS.

  “This is crazy.” In the kid’s squeaky voice, panic overrode the alarm racket. “Let’s break glass and get the hell outta here. Come on!”

  “Do you have a server?” Rachel bellowed at his retreating back.

  “Am I a what?” He paused, shook his head.

  “Have a server? A store computer.”

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “With a broadband connection for wireless and security monitoring?”

  “Right. In the storage closet. What—”

  “Go shut it down.” When his expression reflected a preference for doing anything but, she yelled, “All of it. Hurry!” He fumbled for another key.

  Rachel went and stood by the front door with the other morning shift employee, a lanky girl so terrified she looked about to piss herself. Off in the distance, red–blue strobes danced across building facades, marking the rapid approach of the police response. Just about the time Rachel decided she should raise her hands to avoid getting shot by some trigger–happy cop, the alarms silenced and the overhead lights blinked on.

  Half an hour later, fresh latte in hand, she trudged back to her apartment. The store manager had been so grateful, she bestowed free drinks for the next three months, whatever Rachel craved. The kid had been absolutely starry–eyed; his puppy–love crush super–sizing to full idolization. Rachel felt like an arsonist, rewarded for helping extinguish her own blaze.

  As she feared, another new message lurked in her Yahoo account. She choked on seeing the sender name.

  Jesse@everywhere.net.

  Even worse, a snapvid accompanied the e–mail. With a hesitant finger, she clicked on the message first.

  Rough morning? Too much excitement for you? So sorry. Thought you’d gotten used to such things. Oh, I forgot. You quit. Turned your back. Tucked your tail and retreated to your little fantasy world where none of this shit ever happens.

  Surprise!

  Take a long snort of that coffee, girl, and open those eyes wide. It’s all real and you have to face it. You have to face ME! Like you promised. Like you really should do.

  You can’t run. Can’t hide. I can go anywhere, do anything to make you keep that promise.

  Don’t believe me yet? Watch the vid.

  Though dragging the mouse pointer over the snapvid felt like striking a match into an open gas can, Rachel had to know. She had to see the damage she’d caused.

  She sucked a deep breath and clicked.

  Toykyo nightlife jostled across every inch of street space, all bathed in rainbow hues of neon accented by the occasional silvery strobe. The quest for revelry was on, with a dizzying array of temptations and no time to waste.

  None of the avas looked familiar until the view slowly panned around. When it halted, Jesse’s face glared back from the immaculate expanse of an FAO Schwarz display window.

  Rachel chewed her lip. How the hell did Jesse leap from DarkSpace into PlaySpace?

  None of the worlds intersected, and avas were supposed to be encoded to prevent crossovers. Yet there she stood, fronting the world’s largest display of Hello Kitty merchandise like some malevolent circus barker.

  Jesse’s reflection raised two fingers in a reverse peace sign. She jabbed them back at her ava eyes. Watch me!

  The view shifted again to the street. Avas parted before her as Jesse forded her way along the packed sidewalk. Though her pace was deliberate, she seemed in no particular hurry—a mixture of window browsing and casual sight–seeing masked the foulest of intent. Rachel slid to the edge of her chair and strained to look ahead through the crowd, fearful of whom she might spot.

  At a busy intersection, triple–decker buses swooshed by; their exteriors gleamed with non–stop anime and side–scrolling movie scenes. Throngs waited on both sides of the street for the safe–crossing indicator to illuminate. Jesse perched on the curb and stared ahead, unmoving. Waiting. Playing her twisted game.

  Deliberately, so Rachel could watch, Jesse brought up her cell phone and tapped in digits. City noises shushed to the background. The call dialed.

  The view leapt over the darting buses, crossed the packed boulevard and focused on smoked–glass double doors of a nondescript nightclub squatting at street–level of some soaring Toykyo hotel.

  Daysee backed through the club doors, laughing, gyrating, apparently for the benefit of five leather–clad hoods trailing her. She wore stiletto boots and fishnet that slid underneath her doubly–split microskirt. Obscene tattoos adorned every inch of her arms and torso not covered by her chainmail halter top. The number of piercings Daysee now sported, Rachel couldn’t count.

  Apparently, a stiff breeze had whisked the delicate cherry blossom quite far from the mother tree.

  The call completed. A cell phone trilled.

  Daysee whirled, dug her phone out of her waistband, snapped it up, and spoke. All sound in the vid muted except for a slow, soft beep that repeated.

  The view zoomed downward to glance over Daysee’s shoulder. Her cherry–red Motorola VYPR slid into perspective. Its display bore only a cartoonish timer; the second hand lurched backward on each progressively–louder beep.

  Three seconds… two… one….

  When the countdown reached zero, Rachel shut her eyes at the lightning flash that saturated her computer’s flat panel.

  She opened them again on a scene of utter chaos as wounded avas darted in every direction, dodging chunks of metal, burning wrecks, and shattered ava bodies—total panic in the heart of a senseless disaster. Except for one ava, who strolled away from the carnage as if headed to a picnic. Jesse paused long enough to glance back. She pointed one finger at her nose followed by two unwaveringly at Rachel before she set off again.

  The vid finished.

  Rachel got the message: now, I’m watching you.

  She couldn’t help but glance over to the end table where, resting beside her mom’s 5x7 Glamour Shots portrait, sat car keys and a cell phone, her latest, a black Motorola VYPR.

  Coincidence?

  Hardly. Nothing escaped Jesse.

  DarkSpace yielded no new clues. Upon logging in, all Rachel could do was create
a new character since her account currently controlled none. PlaySpace she avoided entirely. DreamSpace was no different than DarkSpace: no available characters.

  Somehow, she had to find and yank her characters back from Edward, return them to her control. Put a stop to this.

  But how?

  The helpwiki produced reams of entries in response to a search for ‘lost characters.’ Useless crap. Page after page of results failed to address her particular situation. On the eighth page she breezed past, caught herself, and then scrolled back to a short entry.

  Stolen character or lost control of one? Want it back? Leave word and contact info at The Maltese Falcon. Be serious and no bullshitting.

  She reread the entry. Was it was some kind of perverse joke or a tenuous hope? She voted for the latter.

  An hour later, she sat back and rubbed her eyes. DreamSpace had nearly 450 establishments or locales somehow related to or called The Maltese Falcon. How the hell was she supposed to figure out which was the correct one? Google and IMDB regurgitated plenty of information about a movie she’d never seen—never once was even tempted to watch—but nothing resolved the mystery.

  The afternoon waned. Rachel’s throbbing skull neared surrender. It had to be one of them. But which?

  What about something related, like other places or other films? Wasn’t Humphrey Bogart, star of The Maltese Falcon, more famous for a different movie?

  She remembered, searched and, yes, there was a bar named The Maltese Falcon in Casablanca, DreamSpace. Score one for the classic–challenged.

  Ten minutes later, as a newly–created character sporting a fresh ava, she delivered her message to Sam, the bartender and resident crooner at The Maltese Falcon.

  The follow–up e–mail came at 9:30 PM from RickB@DreamSpace.com.

  Ilsa? Nice. You’ve got some savvy. Anyway, lost 2 huh? Just so you know, it’s called ‘simnapping’ in the virtual worlds. Nasty business, too, since your case doesn’t sound like a dumb prank. Happy to do an initial search and report back. If located, I assume you want them returned? Let me know. And send their setup profiles.