The client-side processing unit was an awkward beige metal box, crammed underneath the massive mahogany desk because it was too large to sit on top. Out of one side, a multitude of colored cables jutted, like party streamers celebrating Expensive and Possibly Illegal Hardware Day. A thick optical lead, the induction rig's data line, fed into the back of my computer. A second massive cable plugged into the surge protector with an unwieldy power brick labeled in Japanese and in just enough English to make me worry about “flaming hazard.” Finally, a collection of plastic rainbow-sheathed wires led up from the ugly tan cube to a flexible nylon helmet dotted with electromagnets along its inner wall and an integrated blindfold and earplugs to help block physical input. This last component hung nonchalantly across the back of my captain's chair, waiting for me to wear it.
It had taken me the better part of three hours to get the drivers for the induction rig installed and tested. I'd checked and double-checked the potential throughput of my system's network to make sure I wouldn't have to bypass my security and feed the output line directly into the router just to maintain a connection. I'd validated the integrity of the skullcap itself, reading and inducing a current through every magnet. I'd secured the power lines to ensure the total power drain wasn't going to brown out the building when I ran everything at once. I even ran a successful mock-connection to Tadashiissei's network, aborting the connection right before logging into Irokai. Piecewise and collectively, I'd done everything but actually turn out the lights, put on the helmet, and activate the connection protocols.
During the fourth dry run, I consciously realized that I was stalling. I could only validate things in a vacuum so many times before I started second-guessing myself and introducing errors, but something kept me from actually sitting down in the chair and launching. I'd checked and double-checked everything system-related, so it couldn't be the software. The hardware itself was a black box to me, but all the tests I had done against it suggested that it was what Fuki had promised it to be: a hardware component for reading neural impulses and inducing state changes in the brain through electromagnetic resonance. I was as ready for this as I was ever going to get. Why was I still hesitating?
I bowed my head, letting out the breath I caught myself holding, forcing air in and out of my lungs. I didn't trust Fuki. That was at least part of it. She'd contacted me out of nowhere, citing some vague mutual acquaintances and suggesting that we had a lot in common, but really, I didn't know anything about her. I shook my head. Scratch that, I thought. I knew she either worked for Tadashiissei or knew someone who did; that was the only explanation for the amount of detailed information she'd been able to provide. No casual hacker, no matter how good, could have reverse-engineered so much about the company's codebase in such a short time. Even a team as good as the one she claimed to have couldn't have done this much research this quickly without internal access. That meant she had an angle, a reason for taking down the company from within... or a reason to go looking for people who did and get them to reveal themselves.
In light of that, I couldn't trust the rig either. Sure, it had the Tadashiissei logo on it, and it did look remarkably like what I saw on every visit to the transit facility, back when I could get through the front doors. That didn't mean that it actually was what I requested, or even that it did anything at all. It passed the initial checks, but any clever programmer could set up a dummy device to respond however he or she wanted, to look like a perfectly valid piece of hardware and then do absolutely nothing. Worse, what if she was a company agent, and this was a trap? If the thing could do proper induction, I had no way to control in advance what it would put into my brain, short of tearing the thing open and studying its guts. If I did that, and I was wrong, I had no way to put it back together, and I doubted Fuki would be willing to send me a replacement, assuming of course that it worked.
I ground my teeth in frustration. “You're stalling again,” I said aloud, as though the words, given form, would somehow jar me into action. All it did was up my heart rate, as I realized I was running out of excuses. Either I trusted it, or I didn't. If I trusted it, it either worked or it didn't. If it worked, I wound up in Irokai. If it didn't... my mind conjured a myriad of scenarios, from brainwashing to a silent alarm going off in Tadashiissei's offices to impossibly lethal feedback.
I shook my head again as I stood and walked out of the room, grabbing my cigarettes from the kitchen counter. The equation was even simpler than that, really. Either I trusted Fuki, or I didn't. If I trusted her, and that trust wasn't misplaced, then I got to go back to Irokai with administrative access. If I didn't trust her, or my trust was misguided, then I stayed outside, in the “real” world. Everything followed from that premise, and that was the one part giving me the most trouble. Was she trustworthy, this pseudonymous person from the digital void?
The first draw of smoke hit my lungs in a frantic burst of heat and nicotine, soothing my rattled nerves. I leaned against the balcony, cigarette tucked between two fingers as I stared at the sky, the sodium glare from the streetlights washing out the night sky. Nothing Fuki had said to me yet had turned out to be wrong, but that could all be an act, an attempt to lure me into her web. I had no reason to doubt her, beyond the fact that I couldn't make sense of her actions. Why would someone inside the company work to destroy its greatest asset, unless she were trying to get people to incriminate themselves? She had to have a motive, a reason for her betrayal, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I just had no idea.
I took a second drag, holding it inside until my chest burned, then let it out in a rush of grey smoke. Did John understand why I left him? I wondered, watching the wisps dissipate in the ever-present breeze. For that matter, does Adam understand why John's leaving us both? I shook my head, flicking the half-finished cigarette into the empty space. Some things, I realized, couldn't make sense from the outside. Even if I knew Fuki's reasons for what she was doing—assuming she was really a “she” and not a “they” or something else entirely—I couldn't guarantee that they'd make any kind of sense. Knowing something and understanding it were two very different things, and all this twisting around trying to decipher someone else's inscrutable motives was getting me nowhere.
The leather of the captain's chair was cool against my butt as I dropped, naked, into the seat. I took a few minutes to whip together a timer, a little watcher-script to cut my outside connection in an hour in case anything went wrong with the system. The skullcap was tighter than I remembered, putting a faint pressure all around my head as I tugged it into place and tied the chin-fastener. “Lights, off,” I said, my voice muffled by the earplugs. The light seeping around the edges of the blindfold disappeared, leaving only the faint glow of the monitor. “Timer, execute.” I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and leaned backwards, lifting my feet off the ground as the chair tilted me to near-horizontal.
“Inductor, execute.”
An infrasonic thrum began pulsing through my head, and despite the absence of any light, my vision slowly filled with a field of grey. Faint rainbows rippled in the void, and then suddenly I was falling, but up and down refused to identify themselves. Bars of music resolved out of the background hum, chords coming together into a chorus of electronic pure tones, then diminishing into a digital hiss.
Swirls of color took shape and form, resolving like stereoscopic images into regular, asymmetric patterns. Gravity abruptly asserted itself, and I landed with a heavy thud onto my hinds, then staggered into the dart-tiled door . It gave way as my weight impacted it, and I tumbled out of the arrivals booth onto a concrete walkway. A collection of people stared as I struggled to my feet, and somebody in the crowd said, “Hey, buddy, you okay?”
Someone put a black-furred paw on my shoulder. I followed it back up the brown arm's length to the face of a raccoon, his brows furrowed in concern, an awkward mixture of sympathy and smugness at play in the set of his muzzle. Behind him, a group of his friends stood around twittering and watching their companion with admiration and annoyance. He extended his other paw to me and helped me awkwardly to my feet, offering a fraternal pat on the back. “First time through the transit system? That looked pretty rough.”
I blinked, snapping my head from the raccoon's face back the wall behind me; it was concrete, like the rest of the tram station, but set with a series of multicolored tiles like the floor of Tadashiissei's transit transit station. The patterns extended briefly up onto the walls, and overhead a sign in Japanese and English said Beni Prefecture Transit Point. Welcome Visitors to Irokai!
I grinned an impossible grin, tail wagging madly behind me; even if I could have stopped it, I wouldn't have. I wiped at my face with one paw, before a telltale streak of silver could reveal anything awkward. “Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat with a cough. “That last step's a long one.”
The raccoon grinned, obviously glad of his chance to show off his superior gravity-management experience. “You gonna be okay? You need some help?”
I waved offer the offer, shaking my head. “I'll manage; I'm meeting some friends at a club not far from here.”
“Yeah?” The raccoon's eyes lit up and a knowing smirk crossed his face. “Which one?”
I looked back at my erstwhile-assistant and made a point of visually giving him the once-over. Out of curiosity, I went for a hardline and tried not to look too shocked when I got one, complete with administrator options I wasn't expecting. A quick scan showed that he hadn't loaded a single mod or upgrade. His base model was one of the standard packages, even down to the coloration. His clothes were custom-tailored, but a fast follow-up on the labels showed that they came from a corporate partner, probably part of a package deal. Even his tail moved in recognizable idle-loops; the overall effect was random, but the individual segments of movement were pure Tadashiissei-baseline.
I smirked, giving my own tail an expressive wag. “I don't think you'll like it.”
The raccoon frowned at that and pulled his paw away. “Suit yourself,” he quipped with a shrug, then motioned back to the gaggle behind him. “We're gonna go have some fun now.” Then he was gone, rejoining his group of little friends, which slipped back into the moving throng.
“Yeah, fun,” I said to no-one. Then I was off at a dead run, sprinting past bodies as I exited the station.
The skies over Beni Prefecture perpetually drizzled, a light misting interrupted only by the occasional high wind or heavy storm. Even during the day the sun forever lurked behind the clouds, visible only by the stray streak of light that broke through the cover. Runoff gathered in haphazard puddles on the broad concrete sidewalks, reflecting iridescent rainbows from the street lamps. Away from the main strips lined with boutiques and cafés, the back roads and alleyways twisted and curved back on themselves, giving the whole district a strangely organic feel, as though it had started from some grand plan and then quickly outgrown its design.
The front of the FutureShock looked like most every building in the district: low to the ground, with concrete walls and a corrugated roof, faintly tinted red with rust. Flyers advertising various bands, upgrade shops, and other service-oriented businesses blanketed the steel double-doors marking the entrance. The only sign for the club itself hung in the single window: a constantly-evolving logo filling the glass, beneath which were the words, “Anything is possible.”
No bouncer stood at the doorway; instead, as I approached, the quick double-beep of an incoming message sounded in my ear. I opened the hardline and checked my queue; in it was a request for response from “The Association”:
Dear Prospective Member,
Please be aware that FutureShock and its participants do their utmost to live up to the organization's motto. Inside these sacred walls, anything is indeed possible. This venue is not for the faint of heart or the closed of mind. Anyone wishing to experience everything that Irokai not only can but should offer may enter the club after responding in the affirmative to this message, at which point The Association holds itself blameless for any loss of sanity, dignity, or innocence experienced within. In other words, don't say yes if you don't mean it, and don't try to hold us accountable later if you didn't really mean it.
If you understand everything you've read above and you're still interested, respond in the affirmative and someone inside will acknowledge your acknowledgment as soon as possible. Thanks.
The Association
I'd forgotten about the application, and more importantly I'd forgotten that I wasn't using my old account. I considered searching through the administration console to find my old records, but good sense stopped me for a change. The last thing I wanted right now was to advertise to anyone else in charge that I might still be around, and checking for my old access information would probably trip somebody's flag somewhere. Still, it couldn't hurt to see if my old hangout had changed much in the time since I'd been gone, and this was part of why I wanted to be back in the first place.
It took a few minutes for someone to process my acceptance, while the light rain slowly soaked into my white fur, turning it a slick silvery grey. Then the double doors creaked open, inviting me inside. Synthesizer tones spilled into the streets, while softly strobing lights beckoned from the bottom of an unlit stairwell. I crossed the threshold into the concrete antechamber, and the steel doors closed behind me, shrouding me in shadows. Moments later, a red light came on behind me, illuminating the stairwell, throbbing gently like a mother's heartbeat, coaxing me further inside.
The stairs had no handrail, but each step was more than wide enough to find, even in the reduced light. Gradually, the glow filtering up from the basement replaced the red behind me, as the concrete steps gave way to solid black strips, limned in yellow light. The edges of the stairs themselves lit the way further into the depths, their glow augmented gradually by a pattern of hexagonal panels that matched them, giving the appearance of a neon beehive. I paused and touched the wall, running my pads over the smooth surface; it wasn't glass, or plastic, or for that matter any material at all. It was an artifact of Irokai's nature, a wall defined solely as “wall,” absent any property indicating substance. Light bordered each hexagonal segment, suffusing the hallway with a golden glow.
At the base, the staircase gave way to a broad tiled floor, each step sending up a soft reverberation that no analog material could naturally make. The middle of the room was sunken, dominated in the center by someone's artistic reinterpretation of a tree, circular clear trunk rising from arcs of roots embedded directly in the floor, while angular branches spread out overhead, decorated in fractal holofoil leaves. Translucent “fruit” in an array of Pythagorean solids and the occasional exotic surface hung at intervals, inviting those standing beneath to reach up and pluck them. Benches surrounded the “tree,” free of any visible support yet easily carrying those who sat or sprawled across them. Instead of doors leading to other parts of the club, tinted pools of liquid mercury rippled at intervals around the edges of the room, and a long bar dominated one part of the wall, inverted cones balancing on their points serving as stools. Overhead, the walls rose in finer and finer tessellations, converging at the domed ceiling in a semi-spherical sundisk of impossibly pure yellow that filled the room with its light.
If the room itself defied conventional physics, then its inhabitants defied classification. On one of the benches beneath the tree, a glass statue of a domestic canine leaned against a liquid-metal rabbit, one transparent paw stroking along her silver thigh. At the bar, a holographic mouse drew lines of light through a cluster of violet rosettes floating in snow-leopard-shaped formation. Against one wall, a feline-shaped hazmat suit dripping with machine oil exchanged connector hoses with a blue-furred cat in a silver umbilisuit. As I watched, one of the portals began to ripple, then disgorged a butterfly-woman, her stained-glass wings coruscating rainbows behind her as they vibrated. Behind the counter, a topiary rabbit blooming with berries chatted amiably with a plush coyote, glowing wires stitched into its fur.
I smiled. It felt good to come home.
As soon as I stepped out of the tunnel leading down from the entrance, the rabbit-bush turned and waved. “Welcome to FutureShock!” she called, inviting some of the other inhabitants to turn in my direction.
I waved sheepishly with one paw, ears flat against my head and tail trying to curl between my legs. Of course they won't recognize me, even if they do, I remembered. New account, new identity. In a place in which anyone could be anything, nobody took appearance for granted. I strode over to the bar, making a show of nonchalance. “Hey, Briar,” I called out to the topiary, taking a seat on one of the conical stools. “What's blooming?”
The rabbit-bush's ears flicked upwards in surprise. “Sorry, have we met?” Suspicion tinged her voice.
“It's been a while,” I admitted, scratching at the back of my head with one paw. “It's Jules.”
The plush coyote huffed, its glass-bead eyes half-closed in a suspicious squint. “Nice try, officer.”
I smiled wanly, ears back against my head. “You never change, Sparks.” I motioned them forward and leaned over the bar, whispering, “I hacked my way back in.” I put a finger across my muzzle and grinned.
That got their attention. Both coyote and rabbit leaned in close, ears arching forward to catch every sound. “If you are who you say you are,” the rabbit challenged, her voice reedy and tight, “then prove it.” Then she dumped a mass of encrypted text into my communication queue.
I dragged up my hardline and rummaged through my settings, then pulled up my bank of private keys and started decoding. As the algorithms cranked, I recited. “Why, the fact is, Miss, this here ought to have been a red rose-tree, and we put a white one in by mistake; and if the queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off, you know. So you see, Miss, we're doing our best, afore she comes, to—“
The topiary rabbit held up a paw, ears arching forward and needles bristling in a smile. “Enough, Jules. Welcome back.” Then she gestured towards the staircase. “So how'd you get here?” She waved the fingers of her other paw, and a cluster of bright red berries rose out of her palm, which she proffered. “Last I heard, you'd gotten banished.”
“I was,” I agreed as I took the bunch. They were sweet, mostly raspberry-flavored with a faint metallic aftertaste. “What is this?” I asked after I'd eaten about half of what Briar had given me.
“Something new,” she replied with a shrug. “So how'd you get back in? And what's with the admin flag?”
Sparks nudged the rabbit with one paw and said to her, “I don't like this.”
I finished the cluster of berries and handed back the stems, which vanished into Briar's thickets. “It's a long story, and I don't have a lot of time to explain it, but... yeah, I'm on a hacked account.”
Briar grinned, her brambles rustling amusedly. “Tadashiissei's gonna be choleric if they catch you.”
I smirked at that, but then the bottom fell out of my stomach, forestalling my clever retort. I put a paw over my gut and kneaded at it. The muscles beneath my fingers moved in very un-muscular ways, wiggling loosely, as though not quite attached. “What was in those, anyway?”
“Something new,” Briar repeated with a giggle. “You'll see in a minute.”
It didn't take that long. Despite the slow wave that my vision seemed to be doing despite remaining still against the bar, I could definitely tell that my fur was changing color, shading from white to a deep red. I brought a paw up in front of my face and squinted, watching with detached interest as the hexagonal wall-pattern began to shine through not just my fingers, but my pads as well. I looked down at myself, observing the changes as they spread, my fur losing definition, then vanishing entirely into my new rubbery skin. I couldn't see any bones or organs when I looked at myself, just an expanse of translucent red all the way through. I looked back at my tail and tried to wag it; it felt like I was dragging it through molasses.
Sparks snickered, then leaned forward and gave my arm a lick with a velvet tongue. “Raspberry,” it pronounced with a smirk.
Carefully, I stretched out one leg and rested it on the ground, then the other. Everything felt so heavy all of a sudden. I slid forward, but somehow my legs wouldn't support me, and I slipped bonelessly to the floor, ending up in a heap of tangled limbs. “Hey!” Even my voice was heavy, coming out slowly and ponderously, played back at half-speed. “Warn a guy next time.” I stared up at the sundisk and brought my paws in front of my face, watching the way the colors before my eyes moved as I waggled my fingers.
Briar laughed. “That'd suck all the fun out of it.” She came out from around the bar and sat down beside me, dragging one leafy paw over my chest and neck, making me squirm in slow motion. “Now, tell me, how'd you get back in here?”
“Induction rig,” I responded immediately, though still on a heavy delay. “Hacked connection.”
“Mm-hm,” Briar agreed, “petting” me with her leaves. “So what's with the admin account?”
“Ask Fuki,” I replied, slowly waving my paws in front of my face, then in front of her. The topiary rabbit swam in sticky red when I waved at her.
“Who's Fuki?”
“Don't know,” I admitted with a slow shrug. Choleric. The thought of the word made me laugh.
Briar's ears twitched, and I saw her look up at Sparks, who shrugged in response. “You sure?”
“Yeah, sure.” I nodded, then tried to get a paw under me. I had legs, last I checked. Two of them, in fact, but they didn't really want to talk to each other. I contented myself with playing with the sun while they decided to be nice.
Again they looked at each other in silence, until Sparks said, “Is it really you, Jules?”
I nodded again. “Yeah.” Yellow and red made orange. Orange. “Yeah, that's right.”
The topiary frowned, and then berries were before my lips. “Here.” They were blue, and I snapped at them eagerly with gelatin-teeth. They popped in my mouth, and strands of purple suffused me as the juice spread. “This'll help.”
The weight slowly dissipated as the second batch of berries worked their magic, and I forced myself into sitting upright. “Whoa,” I looked down at myself; the change was still fully in effect, even if the mind-bender wasn't. “Real nice, Briar, Sparks.” I frowned at the two. “Nice way to say hello.”
Sparks threw up its cloth paws in frustration. “How were we to know? Somebody comes in here with an admin flag claiming to be you, and we'd heard you'd gotten zeroed.”
I held out a paw. “Okay, yeah, I understand. Do you believe me now, at least?”
Briar nodded. “Yeah, sorry.” She stood, then helped me back onto my hinds and onto the stool. “So, how're you back? And why?”
I rolled my shoulders and grinned. “A guy gets lonely?”
Sparks chuckled, but Briar scowled in response. “I'm not taking it. There's something going on here.”
I sighed and nodded. “Yeah, there is.”
“So spill.” The topiary folded her arms across her chest.
I looked at her, then at Sparks. “I can't say much. Mostly, I came to warn you. Some really heavy-duty disaster is on its way. Be ready to duck and cover.”
Sparks' ears flattened. “Are they shutting this place down?” It huffed again, paws balled into fists. “We didn't do anything wrong! Well, I mean—”
I held out a paw to forestall the protests. “Not you, not here. Irokai. Does Minshukakumei ring a bell? Democracy Revolution?”
Briar and Sparks exchanged a glance, then looked back at me. “Rumors, mostly,” Sparks admitted. “I've seen a few images of what looked like edits, but I thought they were fake.”
I shook my head. “They're not. Not all of them, anyway.”
The topiary rabbit frowned and leaned forward. “Jules, what's going on?”
I turned to the rabbit and smiled wanly again, showing translucent teeth. I leaned forward to rest my elbows on the bar—
—and pitched out of the captain's chair as the software timer expired, cutting my network connection. My knees hit the floor with a bang, my elbows following a moment later and only barely keeping my face from being next.
Unwelcome darkness and silence assaulted me, and for a moment I flailed in the void, until sense reasserted itself and I clawed at the straps of the skullcap, prying out the earplugs and then yanking the whole thing off of my head. It fell in a heap of nylon and cables beside me as my eyes snapped around the room, the sudden change of sensory inputs making my head reel.
I put a hand to my stomach, trying to still a sudden burst of nausea and to get my breathing back under control. So that explains the transit stations, I thought, in between bouts of disorientation. The world slowly came together, and I poked at my skin, scowling at the pink flesh that had so recently been raspberry gelatin. It felt real enough, even if it didn't match my memories.
I considered logging back into Irokai and trying to explain myself, the timer and everything else, but I decided against it. As much as I wanted to explain, I didn't have much more than I'd already said in the way of facts, and even that much was probably dangerous, for Fuki and for me, and maybe for them, too. They'd know what I meant as soon as it was relevant, and before then it wouldn't make any sense. They weren't stupid, any of them. They'd figure out what they needed to know and what to do about it.
Gingerly, I got my legs back under me, checked that the bones were intact within, and then pushed myself upright. “Successful test,” I said to no-one in particular, and then I dropped back into the captain's chair and pulled it in front of the computer desk, scooting the skullcap out of the way with one foot. “Lights, on.” I grabbed the normal headset next to my keyboard. “Timer, close. Inductor, close. Editor, open. Debugger, open, load file 'voice-over.' Synthesizer, open.”
I had a lot of work to do to cover my advance payment.
Showing posts with label wolf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wolf. Show all posts
2009-07-16
Beautiful World 08: Warning
As soon as I opened the door to my apartment, I caught the soft, repetitive chime indicating a new message in my inbox. I groaned and half-walked, half-shuffled over to the card table in the living room. Ten hours on-site consulting, and work awaits me when I get home, I thought with a weary chuckle. I had more free time when I worked full-time. Leather flats, dress slacks, and knee-high stockings melted off of me as I walked, spilling in haphazard puddles of cloth across the carpet as I headed for my bedroom. The sweater I'd worn to complete the business ensemble I flung towards the laundry basket, not bothering to see where it actually landed, and I quickly replaced it with an oversized black T-shirt decorated in neo-tribal patterns. My stomach grumbled at me, reminding me of exactly how long it'd been since lunch, but I ignored it and dropped heavily into the overstuffed captain's chair behind my desk, grabbing my headset and fitting it in place.
"Computer, unlock," I said into the microphone, fingers reaching out and jumping across the keyboard. "E-mail, open, display new messages." The computer blew a raspberry at me and the screen flashed to match. A dialog box opened: Message encrypted; please provide pass phrase. At the bottom, a cursor blinked inside a text entry box, patiently awaiting my input.
I leaned back in my chair. The header of the message, visible at the top of a background window, indicated it was from Fuki, with a blank destination address, meaning a blind list. I spent a few moments wondering who else might have gotten it, then turned my attention back to the interposed window. She'd put no new passwords in her previous letter, or even any hint she was still interested in doing business. The deposit she'd made for the last job had cleared without any hint of fraud, and nobody had flagged my bank account for illegal activity, but she'd still gone silent as soon as she'd gotten the code drop from me. We'd exchanged public keys to allow for secure communication, but that obviously wasn't enough to open this new document. Whatever this was, it was important enough to go to a list of potentially unrelated people, and unwholesome enough to be worth keeping away from the uninitiated.
That still didn't tell me what the key was. Fuki, whoever she really was, seemed too cautious to make a mistake such as sending out an encrypted message to the wrong person. It was possible, but unlikely. So, it almost certainly wasn't an accident that I'd received this. That meant that I had to know what the pass phrase was, but not know that I knew it. That meant it had to be something she'd said to me before, something universal enough that everybody on that hidden distribution would've gotten it already.
“E-mail, cancel.” The dialog box disappeared, but the new-mail chime happily reminded me that I still had a fresh message waiting. “Disable new message alarm. Inbox, search.” As soon as the new screen opened, I typed in Fuki into the search bar and hit enter, eyes scanning the results as they displayed in the match window. “Stop. Select message two. Open.” The requested entry in the list blinked twice, then expanded to full-screen. Quickly I scanned the document, looking for... I didn't know what.
I paused on the last line of the message, right above her signature block. My eyes narrowed and I shifted in the captain's chair. “Display new messages,” I repeated into the mic, and again that same window snapped up, asking me for a pass phrase. Into the text field, I typed Democracy Revolution, then rapped the Enter key. Immediately, a progress bar opened, its color shifting from white to green as it unscrambled the message.
As soon as the bar filled, it vanished, and in its place opened the message that Fuki had sent:
Jules,
Thank you to help the future of Irokai, safe from dictatorial Tadashiissei. Our common goal is shared, and we did great everythings expanding our messages with just the tools of ours. Unfortunately, the response of Tadashiissei has not been to open Irokai, instead covering up in regard to our efforts. They do not accept the attack, therefore the time for increasing is now.
We must attack Irokai itself. Not destructively or permanently, but clearly. Noisy. Very brightly. As for the citizen of Irokai, they must see. As for Tadashiissei, it must not hide us now forever.
You, I know you may be who hesitates, but now is time for action. If the self-proclaimed owner of Irokai does not transfer control, those who believe freedom and democracy must take them for any power. John Adams who says "Liberty must at all dangerous be supported; we have a right to possess it.” Under Tadashiissei, all the “citizen" of Irokai are servants who must pay for the fact that their life is maintained. Tadashiissei is not a government.
We tried that our messages come to the people of Irokai and Tadashiissei knows that we are buried. We must forever not be silent. If you are not, say nothing. If this message is deleted, I do not send again ever. If you want to help, the key which is attached can encode your sent response. You will receive everything the equipment which is necessary to succeed this effort.
Democracy for Irokai.
Fuki
I scanned the screen several times, each time feeling the veins in my head throb a little harder. Finally I half-snarled, “E-mail, close,” under my breath, yanked the headset off of my ears and flung it irritably at the mahogany desk, wincing as it clattered against the wood. I shoved myself backwards from the desk and grabbed the lighter from its surface. The captain's chair tipped backwards when I stood, then thumped back down onto its coasters behind me as I struggled into a pair of discarded jeans, then stalked out of the bedroom in search of an open pack of cigarettes. I never lit up inside, as much to make sure I took regular breaks as to protect my health or my deposit; and right then, I really needed a smoke. At the glass sliding door, I paused only long enough to shove my feet into a pair of sneakers, then stepped out onto my balcony.
A thin metal railing enclosed the concrete slab that jutted out from the side of the building, and on it precariously balanced a small glass ashtray, already half-full with remnants of previous visits. Beyond the narrow ledge, the city spread in a jumble of narrow streets and crowded tenement buildings, a mish-mash of uninspired tans and stained greys. The sodium glow from the streetlights and windows obscured the stars with a beige haze of light pollution, washing out the sluggish clouds overhead in burnt sienna and umber. A petulant wind fluttered the hem of my shirt as it blew down the street, stirring up the ash in the ashtray and carrying it off into the distance.
Once the door to the apartment was closed behind me, I slowly and methodically went about getting the cigarette out of its package, putting it between my lips and lighting it, doing my best to focus on the process, to push away the knot of anger that Fuki's little “suggestion” had instilled. I drew in a slow, deep breath, glancing down at the orange embers, then tilted my head back, exhaling noisily and turning my gaze upward. For several minutes, I concentrated on bringing hand to mouth, on inhaling and exhaling, on tapping grey ash into eddies that landed on the matching concrete, and on trying to stare beyond the sky. The sting of a hot coal against my fingertips snapped my attention back down to earth with a wince. I steadied the ashtray with one hand and ground the butt into it with the other, then fished a replacement out of the pack.
Only after I had the second cigarette lit and firmly stuck between my lips did I turn my thoughts away from the washed-out skyscape to the message that the enigmatic Fuki had sent me. As soon as I did so, my mouth curled into a grimace. I leaned against one of the metal support poles holding my balcony to the one above and let out a stream of smoke, then sighed as it dissipated in the breeze. Even just her name made my stomach clench and my hands want to do the same. This was getting out of control, fast. I understood what she wanted, and even why she thought it was a good idea, but it wasn't going to work, and she had to know that. This wasn't a game any more. This wasn't a silent protest, or even a noisy one. This wasn't just vandalism any more; this was destroying something beautiful to try to protect it, and the idea put bile in my throat.
The sad truth was, at some level, I agreed with her. Tadashiissei possessed the money, the servers, and the ability to keep Irokai running. As long as they had all of those, they dictated the terms, and everyone else either played by their rules, or they didn't play. I'd played along for a while, until I realized just what they were asking, with their special charges and their access fees. Want to teleport from one place to another? That'll cost you. Want to fly? That's another fee. Want to create something out of thin air? The more complex it'd be in the real world, the higher the price tag. Never mind that everything in Irokai was digital, that gravity only existed because they'd coded a physics engine, and that you could literally be and do and have anything you wanted, if you were willing to take the time to design it. Tadashiissei made anything possible, and then made anyone with the vision and the desire to take advantage of it pay for it, step by costly step. It was hard enough having an impossible dream; endlessly paying someone to live it, knowing that one day the money could run out was infinitely worse.
I looked down at the remainder of the cigarette between my fingers, then brought it to my lips and finished it in a single deep breath, going slightly cross-eyed as I watched the coal burn red-hot. I held the hot, acrid smoke in my lungs, letting it burn along with my indignation, then let it all out in a grey-brown stream, my shoulders sagging. Then the stub joined the others in the ashtray, and I went back inside, kicking off my shoes next to the sliding door and shucking my jeans beside them. I'm not going to do this, I told myself firmly as I set down the pack of cigarettes on the kitchen counter. Whoever she is, she can play all the games she likes, but I don't have to be part of it.
Once back in front of my computer, I dropped back into my chair, sinking into the excessive cushions, and fumbled for the headset. Instead of fitting it back over my ears, though, I just held it, eyes fixed on the dancing anthropomorphic wolf on my screen. In each hand, he had a glowstick hanging from a black thread, the lights dancing around him in a hypnotic pattern, splashing blobs of color across his fur and glinting off of the piercings in his nipples. More hung from the belt-loops on his baggy cargo pants, reflecting off of a patchwork of zippers. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back and his muzzle open in a look of quiet ecstasy, listening to music that only he could hear. He looked happy, capable of snapping out of his self-imposed trance at a moment's notice, but otherwise completely blissed out in a world of his own creation.
I remembered that look; I'd worn it myself, when I'd been him.
My stomach still tight, I leaned back in my chair, eyes glued to the screen, as absorbed in my avatar's dancing as he was. I knew that using it as a screensaver was a mistake, but I'd told myself for years that it would've been rude not to do so; John had made it for me, after all. He'd given it to me, after I'd broken up with him, telling me not to give up so easily on Irokai, or on the company that had made it. It was an easy thing for him to say; he wasn't the one that had gotten kicked out for arguing with Tadashiissei's lawyers. No, he was the one about to move permanently to the digital world, to have the body and the life he'd always dreamed of having... the life that I'd wanted for years.
I dropped the headset into my lap and squeezed the arms of the chairs in a vice-grip, doing my best to ignore the tears, uninvited, that trickled down my cheeks. I'd been within a hair's breath of accepting, of signing my life away to Tadashiissei, and only Adam's pleading demand for sanity had shaken me. He'd been wrong about so much, but on that one point he'd been utterly right, more than he could understand. If I'd agreed to the terms of the upload, I'd have put myself at the company's mercy, wholly dependent on their survival. What if they went under? It seemed unlikely, given the size of Irokai's economy and how much they made off of the people who visited, but unlikely wasn't impossible, and it just wasn't worth the risk. It wasn't even worth the price I'd have had to pay every month just to keep my account in good standing and my mind out of backup storage. It didn't matter how desperately I craved it; I just couldn't afford it.
I'd written letters, handwritten notes on real paper, asking for a change in the terms. I'd called for clarifications, I'd posted on the forums, and I'd organized petitions, begging for a change to the upload account maintenance terms. The harder I'd tried, the stricter Tadashiissei's lawyers had gotten. They'd made no concessions, offered no apologies, and in the end they decided that the path of least resistance ran directly through my account on the way to the bit-bucket. One day, John and I had gone to spend a weekend together in Irokai, and they refused my entry at the door, saying my account had been suspended. When I'd tried for an explanation, the clerk at the counter said only that I'd been flagged as a troublemaker, and there was nothing he could do. I'd tried to protest, but corporate security escorted us out of the building and asked me politely not to return. They'd won. I couldn't fight them any more.
I wiped ineffectually at my eyes with the palms of my hands, trying to snort my sinuses clear, then settled the headset back over my ears. Maybe I can't beat them on their terms, I thought, but this isn't their game any more. “Computer, unlock. E-mail, open, open latest message, reply.” As soon as the window was on the screen, I began typing, fingers trembling only slightly.
Fuki,
I'm in. Tell me what to do.
Jules
“E-mail, encrypt,” I said, pasting the key from Fuki's last message into the text field the computer gave me in response. “Send.” Then I slumped backwards in my chair, arms folded across my chest, hands balled into fists to keep them from shivering. I felt sick to my stomach, but at the same time my head felt light, almost giddy, as though I had jumped off of the safe and confining balcony and was now falling free and unprotected towards the cold and unyielding pavement.
In under a minute, I had a flashing light on my console and a pop-up window telling me, “Fuki has sent you a message.” With turnaround speeds like that, she had to be watching her e-mail like a paranoid with fiber-optic connectivity. I smirked and pulled my chair up against the desk until the edge pressed uncomfortably into my stomach. “E-mail, go to latest, open.” The screen obliged, popping up what little text there was: Jules, I desire to speak to you in time current. Please send 'Hello from Jules' to niji_fuki. Other than the timestamp, that was it.
That sick, giddy feeling spread down from my head out into my arms, and my stomach twisted. I fought down the craving for another cigarette and leaned back in my chair. “E-mail, close. Messenger, open. New message.” I typed the handle Fuki gave me and the message she wanted, then hit the send button.
Seconds later, I received my reply: Thank you for you saying yes, Jules. How soon time can you offer project completion?
I considered the question, then shrugged, even though she couldn't see it. That depends on how much information you can give me on Irokai's security structure. Something this invasive is going to have to look like it's native if it's going to survive.
Fuki's message window remained empty for some time after that, but then the e-mail indicator light flashed again, and then her message followed. In your inbox please find security protocol for all of Irokai access, encrypted with passphrase this name. It is not the administrator of all system but will work as local administrator on all everywhere for safety program.
I didn't bother to open the message; everything else she'd given me had turned out to be uncannily accurate. If this was entrapment, it was the most elaborate sting I'd ever seen. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen, unblinking. Fuki must have taken my silence for hesitation; soon after her last message, she asked, Is there elsewise that I can give in accord? How soon time?
Will those codes get through Tadashiissei's firewall as well, or will these have to run locally? I asked, fingers drumming on the mahogany desk as I waited for a response.
Fuki's window blanked, followed by, As to the outside I think yes but I cannot prove. Why?
I bit my lip, then typed, You can get me an induction rig and the adapters to run it.
Fuki's response was near-instant. You ask impossibly. Where do you think I could get to you such an equipment? I could imagine the sneer of indignation in her text.
I smirked, despite my trembling hands. The same place you got the data dictionary and the security protocols.
Both of us were quiet for a time after that, me because I was still shaking from my latest feint, and Fuki... I couldn't imagine what she had to be thinking. I forced myself to keep breathing, to count every breath as it left my lungs. At seventeen, her window flashed again. I maybe can appear something, but you must make a guarantee. How soon time?
I grinned and replied, Three months, tops.
It is too soon, three months, she replied. You cannot so greatly affect Irokai in so small. Be true to real.
I am, I shot back. You've given me excellent motivation. What's the timeframe for the protest?
Fuki hesitated again, then replied, Sadly, most are saying two times, so six. I will wait for all to be ready, and then at random. You accept?
I accept, I returned. In that time, I can get you two, or one big and a bunch of littles. A nice toolbox of tricks, to make your efforts worthwhile. Agreed?
Agree, Fuki replied. Then the window's titlebar announced, anti-climatically, that she had disconnected.
“Messenger, close,” I said, eyes half-closed. Six months meant that John would either have just moved to Irokai as a permanent resident, or would be just about to do so. Either way, he was in for a shock when he got there. I didn't like it, but with the right equipment and passwords, both supplied by the enigmatic Fuki, I might be able to help shield him and Mitsuko from the worst of it. I thought about trying to warn him, then shook my head against it. If he thought I was trying to talk him out of it, he'd treat me the way he treated Adam on the subject, and for good reason.
Mitsuko, though, was another matter. “E-mail, open. New letter to Ikanobari Mitsuko, title brace yourself.” I took off the headset and set it down, typing with one hand.
Mitsuko,
John's welcome-home party is going to have unexpected visitors. I can't say much, but be ready for anything. If I can help, I will. I know this doesn't make any sense, but trust me when I say it will. Please take care of him, and please don't say anything to John. I'm not trying to talk him out of this; anything but. I just know some big things are afoot, and I don't want him caught in the middle. I wish I could say more, but I've probably already said too much. I know what you're capable of doing. Don't be afraid of using it, when the time comes.
All my best for you both.
Jules.
As soon as I sent it, pushed back from the desk and stumbled out into the living room. At that moment, I'd had enough of anything to do with the digital world, and I really, really needed another cigarette. My phone sat where I'd left it, on the card table in what passed for my living room, next to a small pile of mail and my keys. I grabbed it, thumbing through the contacts menu until the cursor was on Adam's name, then hit the dial button.
Adam picked up on the second ring. “Hello, Julia.”
I grimaced at the phone but decided it wasn't worth arguing over the name. “Hey, Adam. Sorry about last time. Want to grab a bite to eat? My treat.”
Adam chuckled. “I'm shocked. I can't imagine you wanting to go out with a neo-Luddite like me.”
I laughed in response. “You help keep me grounded. Besides, I still owe you one. Want to hit the diner again, or something fancy?”
“Now that you suggest fancy,” Adam replied after a moment's consideration, “we haven't been to Café Aquarius in a while. Do you actually own anything other than jeans any more?”
I blew a raspberry into the phone. “I do work for business clients. I can dress like a professional. Seriously, now. I spent all day on-site and I just landed a pretty long-term project, so before I hole up like a troglodyte I'd like some face-time, and John's busy getting his act together for the move.”
“One way trip to oblivion,” Adam muttered.
It was soft enough that he probably thought I didn't hear it, and for once I didn't feel like arguing with him about it. Maybe it was because I knew what was coming. “Sorry, couldn't hear you,” I said, saccharine-sweet. “Was that a yes or a no?”
Adam chuckled again. “I said that's fine. Meet you at Aquarius in an hour?”
“In an hour,” I agreed. “See you there.” I thumbed the phone's off-button, then set it down with a sigh. Back into the suit, I silently groused, then set about picking up the scattered pieces of the upscale professional persona that I'd strewn around the room when I'd gotten home. Back in the bedroom, I retrieved my discarded sweater from the pile near the laundry basket and squirmed into it. I retrieved the lighter from my desk, but my eyes went instinctively to the screensaver that had activated in my absense, and I stood for a few moments, watching myself dance with a smile on my face.
“See you soon, I hope,” I said to the wolf as I walked out of the room. “Lights, out,” I said to the apartment, and everything went dark, leaving myself to dance in the darkness while I went to get a last meal.
"Computer, unlock," I said into the microphone, fingers reaching out and jumping across the keyboard. "E-mail, open, display new messages." The computer blew a raspberry at me and the screen flashed to match. A dialog box opened: Message encrypted; please provide pass phrase. At the bottom, a cursor blinked inside a text entry box, patiently awaiting my input.
I leaned back in my chair. The header of the message, visible at the top of a background window, indicated it was from Fuki, with a blank destination address, meaning a blind list. I spent a few moments wondering who else might have gotten it, then turned my attention back to the interposed window. She'd put no new passwords in her previous letter, or even any hint she was still interested in doing business. The deposit she'd made for the last job had cleared without any hint of fraud, and nobody had flagged my bank account for illegal activity, but she'd still gone silent as soon as she'd gotten the code drop from me. We'd exchanged public keys to allow for secure communication, but that obviously wasn't enough to open this new document. Whatever this was, it was important enough to go to a list of potentially unrelated people, and unwholesome enough to be worth keeping away from the uninitiated.
That still didn't tell me what the key was. Fuki, whoever she really was, seemed too cautious to make a mistake such as sending out an encrypted message to the wrong person. It was possible, but unlikely. So, it almost certainly wasn't an accident that I'd received this. That meant that I had to know what the pass phrase was, but not know that I knew it. That meant it had to be something she'd said to me before, something universal enough that everybody on that hidden distribution would've gotten it already.
“E-mail, cancel.” The dialog box disappeared, but the new-mail chime happily reminded me that I still had a fresh message waiting. “Disable new message alarm. Inbox, search.” As soon as the new screen opened, I typed in Fuki into the search bar and hit enter, eyes scanning the results as they displayed in the match window. “Stop. Select message two. Open.” The requested entry in the list blinked twice, then expanded to full-screen. Quickly I scanned the document, looking for... I didn't know what.
I paused on the last line of the message, right above her signature block. My eyes narrowed and I shifted in the captain's chair. “Display new messages,” I repeated into the mic, and again that same window snapped up, asking me for a pass phrase. Into the text field, I typed Democracy Revolution, then rapped the Enter key. Immediately, a progress bar opened, its color shifting from white to green as it unscrambled the message.
As soon as the bar filled, it vanished, and in its place opened the message that Fuki had sent:
Jules,
Thank you to help the future of Irokai, safe from dictatorial Tadashiissei. Our common goal is shared, and we did great everythings expanding our messages with just the tools of ours. Unfortunately, the response of Tadashiissei has not been to open Irokai, instead covering up in regard to our efforts. They do not accept the attack, therefore the time for increasing is now.
We must attack Irokai itself. Not destructively or permanently, but clearly. Noisy. Very brightly. As for the citizen of Irokai, they must see. As for Tadashiissei, it must not hide us now forever.
You, I know you may be who hesitates, but now is time for action. If the self-proclaimed owner of Irokai does not transfer control, those who believe freedom and democracy must take them for any power. John Adams who says "Liberty must at all dangerous be supported; we have a right to possess it.” Under Tadashiissei, all the “citizen" of Irokai are servants who must pay for the fact that their life is maintained. Tadashiissei is not a government.
We tried that our messages come to the people of Irokai and Tadashiissei knows that we are buried. We must forever not be silent. If you are not, say nothing. If this message is deleted, I do not send again ever. If you want to help, the key which is attached can encode your sent response. You will receive everything the equipment which is necessary to succeed this effort.
Democracy for Irokai.
Fuki
I scanned the screen several times, each time feeling the veins in my head throb a little harder. Finally I half-snarled, “E-mail, close,” under my breath, yanked the headset off of my ears and flung it irritably at the mahogany desk, wincing as it clattered against the wood. I shoved myself backwards from the desk and grabbed the lighter from its surface. The captain's chair tipped backwards when I stood, then thumped back down onto its coasters behind me as I struggled into a pair of discarded jeans, then stalked out of the bedroom in search of an open pack of cigarettes. I never lit up inside, as much to make sure I took regular breaks as to protect my health or my deposit; and right then, I really needed a smoke. At the glass sliding door, I paused only long enough to shove my feet into a pair of sneakers, then stepped out onto my balcony.
A thin metal railing enclosed the concrete slab that jutted out from the side of the building, and on it precariously balanced a small glass ashtray, already half-full with remnants of previous visits. Beyond the narrow ledge, the city spread in a jumble of narrow streets and crowded tenement buildings, a mish-mash of uninspired tans and stained greys. The sodium glow from the streetlights and windows obscured the stars with a beige haze of light pollution, washing out the sluggish clouds overhead in burnt sienna and umber. A petulant wind fluttered the hem of my shirt as it blew down the street, stirring up the ash in the ashtray and carrying it off into the distance.
Once the door to the apartment was closed behind me, I slowly and methodically went about getting the cigarette out of its package, putting it between my lips and lighting it, doing my best to focus on the process, to push away the knot of anger that Fuki's little “suggestion” had instilled. I drew in a slow, deep breath, glancing down at the orange embers, then tilted my head back, exhaling noisily and turning my gaze upward. For several minutes, I concentrated on bringing hand to mouth, on inhaling and exhaling, on tapping grey ash into eddies that landed on the matching concrete, and on trying to stare beyond the sky. The sting of a hot coal against my fingertips snapped my attention back down to earth with a wince. I steadied the ashtray with one hand and ground the butt into it with the other, then fished a replacement out of the pack.
Only after I had the second cigarette lit and firmly stuck between my lips did I turn my thoughts away from the washed-out skyscape to the message that the enigmatic Fuki had sent me. As soon as I did so, my mouth curled into a grimace. I leaned against one of the metal support poles holding my balcony to the one above and let out a stream of smoke, then sighed as it dissipated in the breeze. Even just her name made my stomach clench and my hands want to do the same. This was getting out of control, fast. I understood what she wanted, and even why she thought it was a good idea, but it wasn't going to work, and she had to know that. This wasn't a game any more. This wasn't a silent protest, or even a noisy one. This wasn't just vandalism any more; this was destroying something beautiful to try to protect it, and the idea put bile in my throat.
The sad truth was, at some level, I agreed with her. Tadashiissei possessed the money, the servers, and the ability to keep Irokai running. As long as they had all of those, they dictated the terms, and everyone else either played by their rules, or they didn't play. I'd played along for a while, until I realized just what they were asking, with their special charges and their access fees. Want to teleport from one place to another? That'll cost you. Want to fly? That's another fee. Want to create something out of thin air? The more complex it'd be in the real world, the higher the price tag. Never mind that everything in Irokai was digital, that gravity only existed because they'd coded a physics engine, and that you could literally be and do and have anything you wanted, if you were willing to take the time to design it. Tadashiissei made anything possible, and then made anyone with the vision and the desire to take advantage of it pay for it, step by costly step. It was hard enough having an impossible dream; endlessly paying someone to live it, knowing that one day the money could run out was infinitely worse.
I looked down at the remainder of the cigarette between my fingers, then brought it to my lips and finished it in a single deep breath, going slightly cross-eyed as I watched the coal burn red-hot. I held the hot, acrid smoke in my lungs, letting it burn along with my indignation, then let it all out in a grey-brown stream, my shoulders sagging. Then the stub joined the others in the ashtray, and I went back inside, kicking off my shoes next to the sliding door and shucking my jeans beside them. I'm not going to do this, I told myself firmly as I set down the pack of cigarettes on the kitchen counter. Whoever she is, she can play all the games she likes, but I don't have to be part of it.
Once back in front of my computer, I dropped back into my chair, sinking into the excessive cushions, and fumbled for the headset. Instead of fitting it back over my ears, though, I just held it, eyes fixed on the dancing anthropomorphic wolf on my screen. In each hand, he had a glowstick hanging from a black thread, the lights dancing around him in a hypnotic pattern, splashing blobs of color across his fur and glinting off of the piercings in his nipples. More hung from the belt-loops on his baggy cargo pants, reflecting off of a patchwork of zippers. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back and his muzzle open in a look of quiet ecstasy, listening to music that only he could hear. He looked happy, capable of snapping out of his self-imposed trance at a moment's notice, but otherwise completely blissed out in a world of his own creation.
I remembered that look; I'd worn it myself, when I'd been him.
My stomach still tight, I leaned back in my chair, eyes glued to the screen, as absorbed in my avatar's dancing as he was. I knew that using it as a screensaver was a mistake, but I'd told myself for years that it would've been rude not to do so; John had made it for me, after all. He'd given it to me, after I'd broken up with him, telling me not to give up so easily on Irokai, or on the company that had made it. It was an easy thing for him to say; he wasn't the one that had gotten kicked out for arguing with Tadashiissei's lawyers. No, he was the one about to move permanently to the digital world, to have the body and the life he'd always dreamed of having... the life that I'd wanted for years.
I dropped the headset into my lap and squeezed the arms of the chairs in a vice-grip, doing my best to ignore the tears, uninvited, that trickled down my cheeks. I'd been within a hair's breath of accepting, of signing my life away to Tadashiissei, and only Adam's pleading demand for sanity had shaken me. He'd been wrong about so much, but on that one point he'd been utterly right, more than he could understand. If I'd agreed to the terms of the upload, I'd have put myself at the company's mercy, wholly dependent on their survival. What if they went under? It seemed unlikely, given the size of Irokai's economy and how much they made off of the people who visited, but unlikely wasn't impossible, and it just wasn't worth the risk. It wasn't even worth the price I'd have had to pay every month just to keep my account in good standing and my mind out of backup storage. It didn't matter how desperately I craved it; I just couldn't afford it.
I'd written letters, handwritten notes on real paper, asking for a change in the terms. I'd called for clarifications, I'd posted on the forums, and I'd organized petitions, begging for a change to the upload account maintenance terms. The harder I'd tried, the stricter Tadashiissei's lawyers had gotten. They'd made no concessions, offered no apologies, and in the end they decided that the path of least resistance ran directly through my account on the way to the bit-bucket. One day, John and I had gone to spend a weekend together in Irokai, and they refused my entry at the door, saying my account had been suspended. When I'd tried for an explanation, the clerk at the counter said only that I'd been flagged as a troublemaker, and there was nothing he could do. I'd tried to protest, but corporate security escorted us out of the building and asked me politely not to return. They'd won. I couldn't fight them any more.
I wiped ineffectually at my eyes with the palms of my hands, trying to snort my sinuses clear, then settled the headset back over my ears. Maybe I can't beat them on their terms, I thought, but this isn't their game any more. “Computer, unlock. E-mail, open, open latest message, reply.” As soon as the window was on the screen, I began typing, fingers trembling only slightly.
Fuki,
I'm in. Tell me what to do.
Jules
“E-mail, encrypt,” I said, pasting the key from Fuki's last message into the text field the computer gave me in response. “Send.” Then I slumped backwards in my chair, arms folded across my chest, hands balled into fists to keep them from shivering. I felt sick to my stomach, but at the same time my head felt light, almost giddy, as though I had jumped off of the safe and confining balcony and was now falling free and unprotected towards the cold and unyielding pavement.
In under a minute, I had a flashing light on my console and a pop-up window telling me, “Fuki has sent you a message.” With turnaround speeds like that, she had to be watching her e-mail like a paranoid with fiber-optic connectivity. I smirked and pulled my chair up against the desk until the edge pressed uncomfortably into my stomach. “E-mail, go to latest, open.” The screen obliged, popping up what little text there was: Jules, I desire to speak to you in time current. Please send 'Hello from Jules' to niji_fuki. Other than the timestamp, that was it.
That sick, giddy feeling spread down from my head out into my arms, and my stomach twisted. I fought down the craving for another cigarette and leaned back in my chair. “E-mail, close. Messenger, open. New message.” I typed the handle Fuki gave me and the message she wanted, then hit the send button.
Seconds later, I received my reply: Thank you for you saying yes, Jules. How soon time can you offer project completion?
I considered the question, then shrugged, even though she couldn't see it. That depends on how much information you can give me on Irokai's security structure. Something this invasive is going to have to look like it's native if it's going to survive.
Fuki's message window remained empty for some time after that, but then the e-mail indicator light flashed again, and then her message followed. In your inbox please find security protocol for all of Irokai access, encrypted with passphrase this name. It is not the administrator of all system but will work as local administrator on all everywhere for safety program.
I didn't bother to open the message; everything else she'd given me had turned out to be uncannily accurate. If this was entrapment, it was the most elaborate sting I'd ever seen. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen, unblinking. Fuki must have taken my silence for hesitation; soon after her last message, she asked, Is there elsewise that I can give in accord? How soon time?
Will those codes get through Tadashiissei's firewall as well, or will these have to run locally? I asked, fingers drumming on the mahogany desk as I waited for a response.
Fuki's window blanked, followed by, As to the outside I think yes but I cannot prove. Why?
I bit my lip, then typed, You can get me an induction rig and the adapters to run it.
Fuki's response was near-instant. You ask impossibly. Where do you think I could get to you such an equipment? I could imagine the sneer of indignation in her text.
I smirked, despite my trembling hands. The same place you got the data dictionary and the security protocols.
Both of us were quiet for a time after that, me because I was still shaking from my latest feint, and Fuki... I couldn't imagine what she had to be thinking. I forced myself to keep breathing, to count every breath as it left my lungs. At seventeen, her window flashed again. I maybe can appear something, but you must make a guarantee. How soon time?
I grinned and replied, Three months, tops.
It is too soon, three months, she replied. You cannot so greatly affect Irokai in so small. Be true to real.
I am, I shot back. You've given me excellent motivation. What's the timeframe for the protest?
Fuki hesitated again, then replied, Sadly, most are saying two times, so six. I will wait for all to be ready, and then at random. You accept?
I accept, I returned. In that time, I can get you two, or one big and a bunch of littles. A nice toolbox of tricks, to make your efforts worthwhile. Agreed?
Agree, Fuki replied. Then the window's titlebar announced, anti-climatically, that she had disconnected.
“Messenger, close,” I said, eyes half-closed. Six months meant that John would either have just moved to Irokai as a permanent resident, or would be just about to do so. Either way, he was in for a shock when he got there. I didn't like it, but with the right equipment and passwords, both supplied by the enigmatic Fuki, I might be able to help shield him and Mitsuko from the worst of it. I thought about trying to warn him, then shook my head against it. If he thought I was trying to talk him out of it, he'd treat me the way he treated Adam on the subject, and for good reason.
Mitsuko, though, was another matter. “E-mail, open. New letter to Ikanobari Mitsuko, title brace yourself.” I took off the headset and set it down, typing with one hand.
Mitsuko,
John's welcome-home party is going to have unexpected visitors. I can't say much, but be ready for anything. If I can help, I will. I know this doesn't make any sense, but trust me when I say it will. Please take care of him, and please don't say anything to John. I'm not trying to talk him out of this; anything but. I just know some big things are afoot, and I don't want him caught in the middle. I wish I could say more, but I've probably already said too much. I know what you're capable of doing. Don't be afraid of using it, when the time comes.
All my best for you both.
Jules.
As soon as I sent it, pushed back from the desk and stumbled out into the living room. At that moment, I'd had enough of anything to do with the digital world, and I really, really needed another cigarette. My phone sat where I'd left it, on the card table in what passed for my living room, next to a small pile of mail and my keys. I grabbed it, thumbing through the contacts menu until the cursor was on Adam's name, then hit the dial button.
Adam picked up on the second ring. “Hello, Julia.”
I grimaced at the phone but decided it wasn't worth arguing over the name. “Hey, Adam. Sorry about last time. Want to grab a bite to eat? My treat.”
Adam chuckled. “I'm shocked. I can't imagine you wanting to go out with a neo-Luddite like me.”
I laughed in response. “You help keep me grounded. Besides, I still owe you one. Want to hit the diner again, or something fancy?”
“Now that you suggest fancy,” Adam replied after a moment's consideration, “we haven't been to Café Aquarius in a while. Do you actually own anything other than jeans any more?”
I blew a raspberry into the phone. “I do work for business clients. I can dress like a professional. Seriously, now. I spent all day on-site and I just landed a pretty long-term project, so before I hole up like a troglodyte I'd like some face-time, and John's busy getting his act together for the move.”
“One way trip to oblivion,” Adam muttered.
It was soft enough that he probably thought I didn't hear it, and for once I didn't feel like arguing with him about it. Maybe it was because I knew what was coming. “Sorry, couldn't hear you,” I said, saccharine-sweet. “Was that a yes or a no?”
Adam chuckled again. “I said that's fine. Meet you at Aquarius in an hour?”
“In an hour,” I agreed. “See you there.” I thumbed the phone's off-button, then set it down with a sigh. Back into the suit, I silently groused, then set about picking up the scattered pieces of the upscale professional persona that I'd strewn around the room when I'd gotten home. Back in the bedroom, I retrieved my discarded sweater from the pile near the laundry basket and squirmed into it. I retrieved the lighter from my desk, but my eyes went instinctively to the screensaver that had activated in my absense, and I stood for a few moments, watching myself dance with a smile on my face.
“See you soon, I hope,” I said to the wolf as I walked out of the room. “Lights, out,” I said to the apartment, and everything went dark, leaving myself to dance in the darkness while I went to get a last meal.
2008-12-28
Beautiful World 04: Disturbance
By the time I made it back to the apartment, the last of the sunlight had fled the sky, leaving only the grey and silver streaks of moonlight across the carpet from the open windowblinds. I shoved the door closed behind me with one foot, waiting for the soft chirp of the electronic lock and the thunk of the deadbolt it controlled before stepping out of the short entryway, past the kitchenette and into the dining area beyond. "Bedroom, light dim," I called out ahead of me, pausing next to the card table that served as my maildrop and mealspace to drop my keycard and pocketbook, followed moments later by the windbreaker, waiting for the fluorescent panels in my room to come to life, illuminating the rest of the hallway ahead.
I paused at the doorway to my bedroom to kick off my shoes and socks, not bothering to bend down to untie the laces. As I shifted my weight, my eyes jumped around the room, my home and office ever since graduation. Printouts of data and code diagrams still covered the walls, most from projects long past, covered in various colors of ink. Interspersed with those hung the occasional art print or poster, most of fantasy or futuristic settings. Directly in front of the entryway, a massive computer desk―brought into the room piece by piece and assembled in place―dominated the floor, turned to obscure the view of anyone just entering from what transpired on the monitors. Behind it was the same captain's chair I had acquired years ago, reupholstered and restuffed multiple times since its purchase. Beside that, instead of a bed sat an unfolded futon, the mattress wrapped in an oversized sheet and topped with a jumble of blankets. Next to the futon on the opposite wall was a small bureau, one drawer perpetually stuck half-open, followed by a half-full laundry basket. Finally, on the wall beside me sat a well-abused entertainment center, loaded with an old television, various classic console systems lovingly restored, and the occasional lost computer component covered in dust.
Thinking of Adam's first words at dinner brought a rueful grin to my lips. I really haven't changed much since college, have I? I thought with a dry chuckle, stepping into the half-lit room and shucking off my jeans, tossing them half-heartedly towards the laundry basket and muttering as they fell short of their target, landing with one leg splayed on the floor. It wasn't that I hadn't grown since then, to be sure; I'd learned a lot about myself since those days, and I'd gotten better at what I wanted to do with my time, good enough that I could afford to go into consulting and self-employment, designing self-teaching software solutions and system architecture for companies too small to justify an information management department and too dependent on IM to go without. However, telecommuting and online negotiations had meant that I'd never really had to become part of the working world, and that meant that I'd really just become more of what I already was, back when I was still in school.
Maybe that was part of what was splitting Adam away from the group, I mused as I dropped the dinner box on the desk next to my keyboard and then dropped into the captain's chair in front of it. Of the three of us at the center of our circle of friends, he'd been the only one who had had to go out and get a real job, at least for some definition of real. John had gone into professional design before he'd even graduated, and his models and landscapes commanded more than enough money to make rent. I'd stepped into the working world, doing the business-casual thing, but as soon as I'd built up a decent portfolio I slid right back out again, going freelance and never looking back. Only Adam, shifting from graduate student to teaching assistant and then launching into the teaching and tenure tracks as fast as the options made themselves available, really had to worry about interfacing with the outside world on a regular basis, and that forced him into a mindset that, while not bad by any measure, just wasn't like ours once we'd found our respective niches away from the prying eyes of others.
I took a big bite of turkey club, but a thought struck that made me laugh, nearly choking on a wad of bread in the process. Maybe it wasn't Adam that was the outsider after all. He was the one dealing with regular people day in and day out, while John and I had been free to isolate and insulate oursevlves against others' opinions. Freed from the responsibility of actually interfacing with normal people except under laboratory conditions like the shops or the next contract review, maybe we'd allowed ourselves to grow inward, twisting back on our own ideas of what constituted reality, while Adam was the only one who'd managed to keep himself evolving at a pace and in a direction to match the rest of the so-called real world. Maybe he really was the normal one of the bunch, and John and I were the freaks.
I set down the sandwich and reached over with one hand to grab for my headset, trying to grin and swallow at the same time. On the screen in front of me, an arctic wolf-morph swayed in time with a silent song. His fur was shock-white, so much so that it seemed to glow against the near-black of the digital display. Hints of gold glinted at the tips of his ears and from the fur at his chest, as well as from one of his fingers. Around his neck was a gold chain that bounced as he moved, mutely jingling as the li nks jostled against each other in response to his motions. His only attire besides the body jewelry was a pair of oversized black bondage pants littered with zippers. Multicolored glowsticks hung from short chains hooked into belt loops and pulls that lit up parts of the screen in splashes of color as he danced.
Freaks indeed, I thought as I cleared my throat into the microphone, making the idlescreen freeze. "Computer, unlock," I said once I had the headset in place. A prompt-box popped up on the monitor, asking for my password, and my fingers rapped sharply against the keyboard. Moments later, the wolfmorph vanished, and in his place were a myriad of windows. Some held code segments, some contained flowcharts or data diagrams, and still others were blank, waiting for input of some kind. The one that dominated the display held a program debugger, paused in mid-execution, a small yellow arrow pointing to the line of code on which I had left it to go get dinner.
"Debugger, resume," I said, fingers already at work on the keyboard, bringing up other windows as the program resumed its execution. I flipped over to a database monitor, watching values set and reset themselves as lines of code crunched in the background. "Debugger, stop, restore to breakpoint. Editor, open weather, open terrain. Switch to weather." My hands moved even as the computer rewound the simulation, changing values, adjusting commands. "Debugger, resume." Again I swapped back to the data tracker, then back to the code, muting the microphone to grab another bite of my now-warm sandwich.
The hours cranked past as I continued my editing, until well past the time when any sane person would have crawled into bed and collapsed. Finally, as sun began making itself known through the slats in the window blind, I saw the codes I needed to see show up in the database. "Debugger, pause," I grumbled, then switched over to a fresh screen, calling up an expanse of digitally-generated meadow, light and dark patches highlighting the rise and fall of the ground beneath. A few dandelions grew among the grasses, and an impossibly yellow sun hung in the unnaturally clear blue sky.
"Debugger, resume." With a spreading grin, I watched as black storm clouds rolled in from nowhere, blotting out the sun. Lighting flashed between the cloudbanks, followed moments later by thunder rumbling in my headset. Seconds passed, stretching ominously out to nearly a minute before a searing blast of white burst from the center of the storm front, arcing towards the ground and setting fire where it touched. Another bolt followed the first, then another and another, until the space between earth and sky was filled with a virtual sheet of electricity spattering the ground. The memory of the scent of ozone filled my nostrils as I watched.
Then, a minute later, the lightning was gone. The clouds broke apart, then dissipated, leaving behind only the sun and the pristine sky. However, on the ground, where before there had been only flowers and grass, there was now a patchwork of embers and soot, clearly spelling out "JULES WAS HERE" in bold, black letters against the sea of green.
Looking at the results of my handiwork, my stomach briefly clenched, threatening to give me the chance to revisit my turkey club in all its glory, but the moment passed, and with a few deep breaths I was feeling level again. I'd made it no secret on the Irokai fan-forums that I wasn't happy with Tadashiissei's brand management or trademark prosecutions, and I definitely hadn't been quiet about my dissatisfaction with their autocratic approach in-world, but that was all civil disobedience. This... this was vandalism at best. I didn't want to think about what it could be at worst.
"E-mail, title, quote offer of business proposition unquote, open," I said, and the scorched earth disappeared behind a text window. The text had obviously been passed through some kind of low-quality translator, but the meaning was unmistakable:
Jules:
I desire that your service is hired in order to write the program which writes message on landscape in Irokai. The method of this I leave for you, but behavior should as lively as possible for pulling much interest. I need this which is ended next month. Protocol everything which we decipher until present, and Irokai data dictionary, is in this e-mail; is this sufficient? If you accept, to this you should answer; at the bottom of this message the key is to encode your response one time. Attach your program to the e-mail of the reply. The payment will be by the method of your suggestion.
We wanted none of this, and you too, coming to this especially. However, Tadashiissei will not to us listen until we prove it is serious. All of us love Irokai, and you too, but with us, you agree that we cannot love Irokai without its freedom.
You are welcome to Democracy Revolution.
Fuki
Several compressed files remained attached to the document, each encrypted with the same key that trailed across the bottom of the e-mail, down in the signature block. Inside them were the connection protocols that Tadashiissei used to send data around inside the game world, as well as database models that would let me create just about any static object in the game. It wasn't enough to hack directly into anyone's head, but with this and enough time and effort, I could probably rewrite most of Irokai by hand.
Whoever Fuki and the Democracy Revolution were, they were skilled enough to crack Irokai's database and dedicated enough to take on the company that owned it. Ever since I'd gotten the message, I'd wondered why they'd contacted me, given what they obviously already had going for them. Were they looking for a fall guy? Would any of this work on the real systems? I'd heard of pranks like this being pulled before, but I'd always assumed that they were people inside the system setting off jokescripts on each other; this was the first time I'd ever seen a suggestion that outside forces could be at work. Did I really want to be associated with this sort of thing?
Did I really believe in freedom for Irokai?
Lost in my thoughts, the computer snapped up the idlescreen as a safeguard against abandonment. Within a few moments of the monitor going dark, the wolfmorph from before was once more gyrating hypnotically to unheard music, lightsticks a-go-go. I watched him move for several seconds, then spoke into the headset. "Computer, unlock." The image froze once more, covered by the dialog box, and I again entered my password.
"E-mail, reply." My fingers jumped across the keyboard, hooking up source code, data dumps, configuration scripts, build instructions and a quick intro file to the response. "Encrypt." A quick cut-and-paste dumped the key provided into the input box, and a progress bar flashed up on the screen for a few seconds while the computer locked the files. "Send." The screen flashed once, and then the message disappeared.
With a groan, I peeled the headset off of my ears and dropped it onto the keyboard with a clatter of plastic, then stumbled out from behind the desk and onto the futon mattress with a heavy sigh, not bothering to finish getting undressed. With a bit of thrashing, I managed to arrange pillow and blankets to cover my head from the encroaching sun, then pressed the palms of my hands into my eyes, rubbing away the headache I knew would try to settle in my brain.
Sorry, John, but I'm not letting you jump into this naked and alone. You may be blinded by love... but maybe so am I. "Bedroom, light off," I said, then rolled over, waiting for sleep to drag me into the darkness.
I paused at the doorway to my bedroom to kick off my shoes and socks, not bothering to bend down to untie the laces. As I shifted my weight, my eyes jumped around the room, my home and office ever since graduation. Printouts of data and code diagrams still covered the walls, most from projects long past, covered in various colors of ink. Interspersed with those hung the occasional art print or poster, most of fantasy or futuristic settings. Directly in front of the entryway, a massive computer desk―brought into the room piece by piece and assembled in place―dominated the floor, turned to obscure the view of anyone just entering from what transpired on the monitors. Behind it was the same captain's chair I had acquired years ago, reupholstered and restuffed multiple times since its purchase. Beside that, instead of a bed sat an unfolded futon, the mattress wrapped in an oversized sheet and topped with a jumble of blankets. Next to the futon on the opposite wall was a small bureau, one drawer perpetually stuck half-open, followed by a half-full laundry basket. Finally, on the wall beside me sat a well-abused entertainment center, loaded with an old television, various classic console systems lovingly restored, and the occasional lost computer component covered in dust.
Thinking of Adam's first words at dinner brought a rueful grin to my lips. I really haven't changed much since college, have I? I thought with a dry chuckle, stepping into the half-lit room and shucking off my jeans, tossing them half-heartedly towards the laundry basket and muttering as they fell short of their target, landing with one leg splayed on the floor. It wasn't that I hadn't grown since then, to be sure; I'd learned a lot about myself since those days, and I'd gotten better at what I wanted to do with my time, good enough that I could afford to go into consulting and self-employment, designing self-teaching software solutions and system architecture for companies too small to justify an information management department and too dependent on IM to go without. However, telecommuting and online negotiations had meant that I'd never really had to become part of the working world, and that meant that I'd really just become more of what I already was, back when I was still in school.
Maybe that was part of what was splitting Adam away from the group, I mused as I dropped the dinner box on the desk next to my keyboard and then dropped into the captain's chair in front of it. Of the three of us at the center of our circle of friends, he'd been the only one who had had to go out and get a real job, at least for some definition of real. John had gone into professional design before he'd even graduated, and his models and landscapes commanded more than enough money to make rent. I'd stepped into the working world, doing the business-casual thing, but as soon as I'd built up a decent portfolio I slid right back out again, going freelance and never looking back. Only Adam, shifting from graduate student to teaching assistant and then launching into the teaching and tenure tracks as fast as the options made themselves available, really had to worry about interfacing with the outside world on a regular basis, and that forced him into a mindset that, while not bad by any measure, just wasn't like ours once we'd found our respective niches away from the prying eyes of others.
I took a big bite of turkey club, but a thought struck that made me laugh, nearly choking on a wad of bread in the process. Maybe it wasn't Adam that was the outsider after all. He was the one dealing with regular people day in and day out, while John and I had been free to isolate and insulate oursevlves against others' opinions. Freed from the responsibility of actually interfacing with normal people except under laboratory conditions like the shops or the next contract review, maybe we'd allowed ourselves to grow inward, twisting back on our own ideas of what constituted reality, while Adam was the only one who'd managed to keep himself evolving at a pace and in a direction to match the rest of the so-called real world. Maybe he really was the normal one of the bunch, and John and I were the freaks.
I set down the sandwich and reached over with one hand to grab for my headset, trying to grin and swallow at the same time. On the screen in front of me, an arctic wolf-morph swayed in time with a silent song. His fur was shock-white, so much so that it seemed to glow against the near-black of the digital display. Hints of gold glinted at the tips of his ears and from the fur at his chest, as well as from one of his fingers. Around his neck was a gold chain that bounced as he moved, mutely jingling as the li nks jostled against each other in response to his motions. His only attire besides the body jewelry was a pair of oversized black bondage pants littered with zippers. Multicolored glowsticks hung from short chains hooked into belt loops and pulls that lit up parts of the screen in splashes of color as he danced.
Freaks indeed, I thought as I cleared my throat into the microphone, making the idlescreen freeze. "Computer, unlock," I said once I had the headset in place. A prompt-box popped up on the monitor, asking for my password, and my fingers rapped sharply against the keyboard. Moments later, the wolfmorph vanished, and in his place were a myriad of windows. Some held code segments, some contained flowcharts or data diagrams, and still others were blank, waiting for input of some kind. The one that dominated the display held a program debugger, paused in mid-execution, a small yellow arrow pointing to the line of code on which I had left it to go get dinner.
"Debugger, resume," I said, fingers already at work on the keyboard, bringing up other windows as the program resumed its execution. I flipped over to a database monitor, watching values set and reset themselves as lines of code crunched in the background. "Debugger, stop, restore to breakpoint. Editor, open weather, open terrain. Switch to weather." My hands moved even as the computer rewound the simulation, changing values, adjusting commands. "Debugger, resume." Again I swapped back to the data tracker, then back to the code, muting the microphone to grab another bite of my now-warm sandwich.
The hours cranked past as I continued my editing, until well past the time when any sane person would have crawled into bed and collapsed. Finally, as sun began making itself known through the slats in the window blind, I saw the codes I needed to see show up in the database. "Debugger, pause," I grumbled, then switched over to a fresh screen, calling up an expanse of digitally-generated meadow, light and dark patches highlighting the rise and fall of the ground beneath. A few dandelions grew among the grasses, and an impossibly yellow sun hung in the unnaturally clear blue sky.
"Debugger, resume." With a spreading grin, I watched as black storm clouds rolled in from nowhere, blotting out the sun. Lighting flashed between the cloudbanks, followed moments later by thunder rumbling in my headset. Seconds passed, stretching ominously out to nearly a minute before a searing blast of white burst from the center of the storm front, arcing towards the ground and setting fire where it touched. Another bolt followed the first, then another and another, until the space between earth and sky was filled with a virtual sheet of electricity spattering the ground. The memory of the scent of ozone filled my nostrils as I watched.
Then, a minute later, the lightning was gone. The clouds broke apart, then dissipated, leaving behind only the sun and the pristine sky. However, on the ground, where before there had been only flowers and grass, there was now a patchwork of embers and soot, clearly spelling out "JULES WAS HERE" in bold, black letters against the sea of green.
Looking at the results of my handiwork, my stomach briefly clenched, threatening to give me the chance to revisit my turkey club in all its glory, but the moment passed, and with a few deep breaths I was feeling level again. I'd made it no secret on the Irokai fan-forums that I wasn't happy with Tadashiissei's brand management or trademark prosecutions, and I definitely hadn't been quiet about my dissatisfaction with their autocratic approach in-world, but that was all civil disobedience. This... this was vandalism at best. I didn't want to think about what it could be at worst.
"E-mail, title, quote offer of business proposition unquote, open," I said, and the scorched earth disappeared behind a text window. The text had obviously been passed through some kind of low-quality translator, but the meaning was unmistakable:
Jules:
I desire that your service is hired in order to write the program which writes message on landscape in Irokai. The method of this I leave for you, but behavior should as lively as possible for pulling much interest. I need this which is ended next month. Protocol everything which we decipher until present, and Irokai data dictionary, is in this e-mail; is this sufficient? If you accept, to this you should answer; at the bottom of this message the key is to encode your response one time. Attach your program to the e-mail of the reply. The payment will be by the method of your suggestion.
We wanted none of this, and you too, coming to this especially. However, Tadashiissei will not to us listen until we prove it is serious. All of us love Irokai, and you too, but with us, you agree that we cannot love Irokai without its freedom.
You are welcome to Democracy Revolution.
Fuki
Several compressed files remained attached to the document, each encrypted with the same key that trailed across the bottom of the e-mail, down in the signature block. Inside them were the connection protocols that Tadashiissei used to send data around inside the game world, as well as database models that would let me create just about any static object in the game. It wasn't enough to hack directly into anyone's head, but with this and enough time and effort, I could probably rewrite most of Irokai by hand.
Whoever Fuki and the Democracy Revolution were, they were skilled enough to crack Irokai's database and dedicated enough to take on the company that owned it. Ever since I'd gotten the message, I'd wondered why they'd contacted me, given what they obviously already had going for them. Were they looking for a fall guy? Would any of this work on the real systems? I'd heard of pranks like this being pulled before, but I'd always assumed that they were people inside the system setting off jokescripts on each other; this was the first time I'd ever seen a suggestion that outside forces could be at work. Did I really want to be associated with this sort of thing?
Did I really believe in freedom for Irokai?
Lost in my thoughts, the computer snapped up the idlescreen as a safeguard against abandonment. Within a few moments of the monitor going dark, the wolfmorph from before was once more gyrating hypnotically to unheard music, lightsticks a-go-go. I watched him move for several seconds, then spoke into the headset. "Computer, unlock." The image froze once more, covered by the dialog box, and I again entered my password.
"E-mail, reply." My fingers jumped across the keyboard, hooking up source code, data dumps, configuration scripts, build instructions and a quick intro file to the response. "Encrypt." A quick cut-and-paste dumped the key provided into the input box, and a progress bar flashed up on the screen for a few seconds while the computer locked the files. "Send." The screen flashed once, and then the message disappeared.
With a groan, I peeled the headset off of my ears and dropped it onto the keyboard with a clatter of plastic, then stumbled out from behind the desk and onto the futon mattress with a heavy sigh, not bothering to finish getting undressed. With a bit of thrashing, I managed to arrange pillow and blankets to cover my head from the encroaching sun, then pressed the palms of my hands into my eyes, rubbing away the headache I knew would try to settle in my brain.
Sorry, John, but I'm not letting you jump into this naked and alone. You may be blinded by love... but maybe so am I. "Bedroom, light off," I said, then rolled over, waiting for sleep to drag me into the darkness.
2008-10-06
Bonds of Silver, Bonds of Gold 01: Sale
The sign that hung over the large wooden door needed no explanation: five oversized golden chain links entwined in a loop. The face of the squat, stone structure was empty besides, absent even a window to let in the sun. Everyone else walking past gave the entrance a wide berth, as though standing too close invited the attention of the occupants. A few passers-by stopped to stare at me as I paced in front of the building, then hurried on their way, averting their gaze. Not my concern, their actions said. Nothing I can do.
Turning my back on the city square, I tensed my paws into fists, then raised one arm and knocked, rapping my white knuckles against the wood. As soon as I did so, it swung open to reveal a grey-furred wolf standing within. Aside from a collar made of polished steel chain locked around his neck, he was nude. Despite his exposure, he stood tall, his ears erect and unashamed. A metal tag dangled beside the lock at the hollow of this throat, glinting in the sunlight. He rested one paw on the edge of the door, then cocked his head at me, his silver eyes boring into mine in an unasked question.
My eyes darted to the paw holding the door open; he'd been declawed, his fingers ending only in soft fur. My attention snapped back to his face, I opened my muzzle to speak, but my throat had suddenly run dry. "I... I need... I mean...." I stammered, one paw rising shakily to gesture overhead, towards the sign, hoping to explain without saying a word.
"Milos, down," called a thin but stern voice from behind the wolf. "Take the boy's cloak."
The wolf's reaction to his name was instantaneous. He dropped to his knees, his head bowed and his tail tucked. The door, now free of his grasp, begun to swing closed of its own accord, until I propped it open with one hind. Milos raised his arms to me, and I awkwardly slipped the rough-spun woolen cloak from my shoulders and into his paws. As soon as he had it, he shuffled to the side, out of the doorway, never rising from his awkward crouch as he approached the wooden coat rack beside the door. He stood just long enough to hang my cloak, then returned to his previous posture, resting his paws on the floor beside him.
I stared for several seconds, watching the whole proceeding, until the voice that had spoken before cut through the jumble of my thoughts. "So, come to observe my pet, or was there something else?"
I tore my eyes away from the wolf, towards the speaker. Behind the desk that dominated the room sat a tall , middle-aged raccoon. Her eyes were yellow-flecked violet, shining like chips of amethyst shot with gold. She kept her teeth hidden behind a thin smile, and her black-furred ears stood relaxed and erect, but there was no masking the feral glint in her gaze. She wore a loose cotton robe dyed in a range of greens, cinched at her waist by a broad, brass chain-link belt. Her wrists, her ankles, and the end of her tail were similarly adorned, the metal gleaming against her dark fur.
She beckoned me within, and I hesitantly crossed the threshold into the front office. Witchlights illuminated the interior, soft yellow lights that floated around the edges of room. Woven tapestries hung on the walls and insulated the stone floor. A pair of solid wooden chairs sat to one side of the desk, the raccoon's lavishly stuffed seat on the other. The coat rack holding my cloak hovered near the door leading back to the city square and safety. Behind the desk, a second door, this one sealed with a heavy bolt and a lock, led further into the depths of the Slavers' Guild.
The door swung closed behind me as I released it, and I stiffened as it closed. The raccoon's smile tightened, her ears flicking back against her head briefly. "Come to see the wares?" she asked, stepping out from behind her desk. She clicked her claws twice, and Milos hurried over to her side, kneeling again behind her. She reached down and lightly combed her fingers through the wolf's fur. "Looking for a servant, perhaps?"
I shook my head rapidly, my ears flat back against my skull. My cheeks felt hot, but my fingers were numb. "No, that's not it, I—"
The raccoon tilted her head to the side. "Oh, I see." She nodded knowingly. "Looking to become a man, are you? Young strapping buck like you? We can rent for an hour or a night, if you like." She cupped her paw beneath Milos' muzzle and stroked the fur of his throat, eliciting a pleasant growl out of the wolf. He shifted in place, spreading his legs, revealing his plumping sheath. "This one's personal, but I'm sure we could find—"
"No!" I blurted quickly, tensing. "Not to buy, not to rent. To—" I cut myself off quickly, tearing my gaze away. My breath came in short bursts, and I forced myself to take a deep breath, then let it out in a noisy rush. "To sell," I finally mumbled, unable to pick my eyes up off of the floor.
"Oh?" The slaver dragged out the syllable. "And just... what... would you be selling?"
I turned towards the door leading outside. It might have only been a few paces behind me, but it was an uncrossable gulf away. I struggled for the words to explain and found only fear, pride, shame. I tried to put these into words, but none would come forth. My heart pounded in my chest, and I looked up, shivering, into the raccoon's hungry violet eyes.
She licked her lips, a reflexive flick of her tongue as her eyes bored into mine. "Oh, my," she murmured. The thick rug absorbed her hindfalls as she glided across the floor, and then suddenly she was beside me. I caught the faint scent of hazel from her fur as she loomed over me. "And just why would a young thing like you be on the market?"
I shrugged and pulled away from her. "It's none of your concern."
I'd taken half a step when her paw was at the back of my neck, claws grabbing the collar of my shirt. "Not an attitude you should take, child," she hissed, her breath warm against my ear, her voice low and harsh. "If I were the one holding your leash, I could order you to tell me, beat you to within a hair of your life if I didn't like the answer, and then ask again." One arm thrust out in front of me, one claw pointing to the locked door at the far end of the room, behind her desk. "This is no game, child. Once you're through there, there's no return short of release from your master." Her voice tightened on the last word, as did the cotton around my neck, catching my breath.
Instinctively, my paws went to my throat, pulling against my own shirt to breathe clearly. "My... my mother!" I shouted between gasps. "Please—" My voice broke, a shudder running through me. "I—I'll tell!"
Instantly, her grip relaxed and she stepped away, but the first sob was already starting. "My father... the plow and the winter broke him." I tugged uselessly at the collar of my shirt. "My mother can't... couldn't feed us all. Somebody... I had to do something!" The damage was done, the truth exposed. I shuddered, biting my lip to stifle the sobs welling up in my chest, breathing shallowly through my muzzle. I wiped at my eyes with one paw. "This way... this way it's one less to feed, and more coin in her purse."
Something warm brushed my leg, and I looked down to see Milos pressed against me. His fur was thick, slightly coarse but well-groomed. His silver eyes met mine, and a fleeting smile crossed his muzzle before fading back to the carefully neutral expression he wore when I first saw him. I reached down and stroked the back of the wolf's head, fingers gliding over his ears. He let out a low rumble of pleasure, pressing back against my fingers, and his clawless pads kneaded the ground.
The slaver cleared her throat quietly, and I looked up to see her standing beside her desk, arms folded across her chest, wearing a slightly bemused smile. "Milos, heel," she said quietly, all trace of hostility gone. The wolf crawled back over to her and curled up at her side, and she petted him lightly as she watched me. "Everything I said before is true, lad," she chided. "Once you belong to another, only your master can set you free. You could be killed and no-one would care."
I blew my nose heavily on my sleeve, then threw up my arms in a helpless shrug. "What does it matter?" I sighed. "A quick death from some noble's sword or a slow one in his fields. Either way it's the same fate; one's just faster and less brutal."
The slaver shook her head at that. "You'll live a lot longer if you can still your tongue. Still, I admire your attitude." She sat quietly on the edge of her desk for several seconds, then nodded. " Very well, I accept your offer. Have you any skills besides leading a dray and counting seed?"
I shrugged again. "I've sung in the local choir, and I know all the holes on a recorder."
"Singing and playing?" The raccoon tilted her head to the side. "And can you read?"
"Some," I admitted. "I've led my row in hymnal before."
The raccoon's smile widened, her violet eyes shining against her fur. Her striped tail bobbed behind her as she mused aloud. "There's a sale on domestics in a week in Barony Deterikh that fetches a high price; you'd pull ten times the coin there that you would locally." She squinted at me, considering, then nodded. "If you can make learn what I have to teach you in eight days, I'll send a hundred, sovereign, to your mother, and I'll sign a contract to that. If not, she gets your sale price on the bid less travel and ten percent. Have we a deal?"
My eyes blossomed at the figure. That kind of coin would feed her, and the rest of my family, for a year or more. "It's... yes." I swallowed heavily, eyes fixed on the door behind her desk. "Yes, I accept."
She nodded and clapped her paws together, then sat at her desk and began rummaging through drawers, pulling out a thick ledger and some additional papers. She carefully opened it and began leafing through pages. "Your name?"
I closed my eyes. "Stannis, son of Jedrick, of Barony Jazinsk."
She meticulously inked my name into the ledger, then again onto one of the forms. The tip of her quill scratched against the durable paper, uncomfortably loud in the still air. Then, she carefully blotted the ink and set the book aside, rolling the pages of the contract. She slid them into a capped leather tube, which she passed to Milos. "Take these to Stannis' mother, then return," she said to the wolf. Then, to me, she said, "Give Milos your mother's address."
I did so, and the wolf nodded to me, bowed to her, and then rose and padded over to the front door, stepping through it silently. I watched it as it fell closed behind him, then turned back to the slaver, who rose from her desk.
"Follow me," she said, motioning towards the other exit from the room, the one into the depth's of the Slaver's Guild building.
My head bowed, I fell in step behind her. My heart pounded in my chest, but my head was clear. I had done everything I could.
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