In a few seconds, we were finished with the details of the transaction.
Vince looked at me. “And be careful.”
“It doesn’t look like there will be any problems—”
“Not with that. I mean with whatever you have going on here.” He motioned at my office.
“There’s nothing going on here.”
He looked away. “Just be careful.”
“No problem, Mr. Indigo,” I replied, shrugging, and I offered my hand to shake. He shook it, smiling weakly, and then flitted off without another word.
Wally materialized facing me on the white couch in my apartment. A dense security blanket shimmered around us like a sparkling neon plastic wrap.
“What was that all about?” I asked.
Wally knew both as much and as little as I did. He shook his head.
“Listen, Wally, I’m feeling very nervous. We have a great thing going here, but we need to protect ourselves.”
Being splintered into a hundred pieces was great for business, but it was taking a toll on my mind. Focusing on the market all the time left me stunned when I returned to real space, and I was letting details slip.
On the other hand, I felt like I was approaching some new kind of state of being, a perfectly self-sufficient and self-contained human being. I spent all day talking with various parts of myself, and held forth on meetings of mind with dozens of my splinters at a time. The only distinctly different entity I spoke with was Wally, who was more or less a copy of me anyway. Vince and Bob were the first real humans I’d spoken to in days, perhaps even weeks.
“When I’m off in the cloud, I need you to protect us here. I need you to make sure we’re safe, okay?”
Wally looked at me steadily. “Sure thing, boss.”
With that, I flitted off to New York to get working on Vince’s project. If I didn’t need anyone else’s help anymore, I definitely didn’t want anyone interfering.
More than anything, though, I absolutely didn’t want to get caught.
10
Identity: Nancy Killiam
The last few weeks had been a compressed explosion of activity at Infinixx. Our hundred employees managed to output the workload of a thousand—and then two thousand—workers compared with levels of productivity in the outside world. We touted our accomplishments almost hourly as the launch date neared, and the world’s business community couldn’t wait to get their hands on it.
A bigger struggle than building the technology, however, was the Atopian politics. Since I was pushing to have my own launch before the Cognix release of pssi, we needed to embed some pssi technology into our systems, and this meant a messy cross-licensing arrangement. I had Aunt Patricia on my side, but it was still a fierce fight.
“Give me one good reason we should let this happen!” Dr. Baxter had fumed at the Cognix meeting when we were trying to get final approval. Infinixx was stealing some of his thunder as the first Atopian-platform product release.
“You’ve seen all the phutures Nancy presented. Every scenario pushes the Cognix stock higher as we establish Infinixx as early adopters,” countered Patricia. “You’re only annoyed because it’s not under your thumb.”
“That has nothing to do with it,” replied Dr. Baxter, and the arguing continued.
Kesselring had just sat quietly, watching, sighing.
We’d been at a stalemate when Jimmy magically produced the trump card.
“Everyone!” he’d called out, standing up and raising his hands. He winked at me. “I will give you one very good reason.”
Until recently, I hadn’t spoken to Jimmy in years, ever since the incident at my thirteenth birthday party. I felt responsible for what had happened, and it was too awkward to talk about. But since he’d been nominated to the Security Council, we were reintroduced on a professional level. It was as if nothing had ever happened. Jimmy and I had struck a close working relationship, and he was my biggest supporter—after Aunt Patty, of course.
I had no idea what he was going to say. We all waited in anticipation.
“I’ve managed to secure an agreement with both India and China to launch simultaneously with us.”
Gasps rose around the table.
Getting India and China to agree on anything was impossible with new Weather War skirmishes breaking out almost daily. Details of the negotiations sprang into everyone’s workspaces the moment Jimmy spoke. Everyone dropped a splinter to have a look. This wouldn’t just be a commercial coup, but a major political one for Atopia as well.
“How in the world…?” Dr. Baxter’s voice trailed off as his mind assimilated the backstory.
“Jimmy, why didn’t you tell me?” I asked breathlessly in a private world I opened to him.
This was it. This was what would make my dreams a reality.
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” replied one of Jimmy’s splinters. “It was a long shot, but hey, it worked.”
“You’re giving up a lot here,” said Kesselring, back in the conference space, speaking for the first time as he reviewed the details, “But the payoff is worth it, and it’ll keep the media’s attention off those damn storms.”
He looked toward Jimmy and smiled, nodding his approval.
11
Identity: William McIntyre
A dense gray fog hung around me. No dampness, though, no heaviness. In fact, I couldn’t feel anything. In the distance, a light approached and filled the space around me with a soft radiance that was growing and alive. Curious, I moved toward the light. It grew brighter and more intense, surrounding and enveloping me, and then swallowed me whole, painlessly and soundlessly.
I awoke with a start in my bed, blinking, breathing quickly, looking around and trying to calm myself down. The image of the fog was fading. What was that about? I must be dreaming again.
I tried pinging Bob, Sid, Brigitte, but nobody answered—weird. I felt lightheaded. Maybe I’d better get something to eat and shake out the cobwebs.
Getting out of bed, I walked to the fridge and pulled out an apple, some bread to toast, and after a moment of thought, reached into the adjacent cupboard for some instant oatmeal. I poured water over it and watched it begin to boil. This is your brain on oatmeal.
Within a few seconds, it was done and piping hot. Topping it off with some brown sugar, I sat down at my counter, shining the apple on my pajama pant leg. I smelled burned toast. Am I having a stroke? The toast popped. Oh right. Calm down.
I flicked on the Phuture News Network. Blank. Nothing was about to happen, apparently. All that was playing on Phuture News were images of me sitting and watching a blank display-space with my oatmeal in front of me. Must be some screwy trick of Sid’s again, but I wasn’t going to play along.
I returned my attention to my oatmeal.
A deep chill passed through me, sending goose bumps rising across my exposed arms. I got the feeling of watching myself through a pane of frosted glass.
I was there, but not there.
All the worries I had a second ago—work, Brigitte, money—everything went away, and I realized how small these worries really were. I was so calm, so cold, and there was that fog again, so familiar and yet so alien.
Where am I? And why do I want to know?
My brain snapped out of it, as if wrenched from a bear trap.