Shizoko rolled up to the window, the soft tap, tap, tap of his rubber treads slapping the concrete floor. “What is clear to you is still nebulous to me. It’s unlikely your human intuition is more accurate than my nonlinear statistical modeling, but I would be honored to assist the founders of artificial intelligence. I will arrange transport, and we will leave in fifteen minutes.”
29
The Phenominol wore off quickly, leaving Cat in a lethargic post-coital bliss. Alex, on the other hand, wasn’t keen about being turned into a human puppet and stormed out, calling her a crazy bitch as he dressed.
Cat watched him leave, thinking it wasn’t quite fair, considering that she’d been more than willing to be tied up and at his mercy. After he’d left, she felt herself spiraling downward and decided it was too depressing to stay in the hotel room. She dressed and made her way home, crashing hard, neurotransmitters depleted.
When she woke, images from last night flashed through her mind like an out-of-order slide show.
She tried to focus on what she knew. Linking during sex was accomplished by connecting to each other’s low-level interfaces, creating a sensory feedback loop that turned the most minor event into rapture. She’d finally experienced linking as it was intended, and damn, it was good, but the experience paled in comparison to her control over Alex.
Was it the drug or the weeks of practice using her implant that had helped her do it? She wouldn’t know unless she tried again. She had to know, it was all she could think of.
She threw off the blanket and stood by the window, watching white collar workers walk by. Reaching out with her implant, she spoofed packet headers subconsciously, disguising her tracks, as she requested their info feeds. Bubbles appeared above people’s heads showing their name, occupation, status, whatever they shared publicly.
Cat queried their diagnostics and the bubbles updated, layering in people’s IDs, implant version, and supported interfaces. Maybe a quarter had their medical feeds open, so she pulled basic health, and dense infographics appeared showing blood types, nutrient and hormone levels, and sleep history.
She’d put it off long enough. Now it was time for the experiment.
She broadcasted this time, sending data to open implants instead of receiving, imagining the act of waving her left arm.
Simultaneously, up and down the street, dozens of people’s left arms rose into the air and waved.
She stared in shock, covering her mouth as she let out a surprised scream. People stopped and stared at themselves, wiggled their arms, then shrugged it off and continued on. One man cursed at the cup he’d dropped, splattering coffee on his clothes.
“Sorry,” Cat whispered. But she felt a broad smile cross her face. She’d never been so powerful before.
She found her boots and rushed outside. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, the morning commuters flowed around her like water around a rock.
She emptied her mind with a meditative mantra, then felt around in the net: these implants were open, these others closed. Some were anonymous, and some public. The more she did it, the easier it became. She was shocked to see how many people had their interfaces wide open, completely unaware of their privacy settings.
On impulse, she picked a man coming toward her. If she could control someone, could she also see what he saw?
She reached inside his implant, found the data connection to his visual cortex, and with a lurch, snapped to the man’s vision. Stunned at first by the perspective change, she saw a girl in black hair and jeans, then realized she was seeing herself.
She felt disoriented almost as soon as she’d made the connection. Struggling to assimilate the man’s vision, his sense of balance and self, she fought nausea and dizziness. Still looking through the man’s eyes, she saw her own body sway and start to fall.
She rushed forward to catch herself, inducing another wave of motion-sickness. With a final wrenching dislocation, she cut the connection and snapped back to her own body, finding herself looking up at the man who’d caught her.
“Thank you.” Her voice sounded weak, even to herself.
“Are you all right?” he asked, looking around, clearly wondering what had happened. “You seemed like you were gonna pass out.”
“Yeah, fine, I guess.” She took a deep breath. “Just lost in my implant.”
“You might wanna sit down next time.”
“Good idea. Thanks again.” She looked down at his hands, still wrapped around her body. “You can probably let go.”
He laughed awkwardly. “Right. Well, hope your day gets better.”
After he walked away, she looked around self-consciously. She glimpsed a fat man staring at her from the noodle shop across the street. She turned to a mirrored store window, and pretended to fix her clothes. He kept studying her, so she reached through the net, but he was blank, totally without an implant.
Hairs raised on the back of her neck as she fought to stay calm. Down a few doors was a coffee shop, so she bought a drink and sat on a stool, taking the bystander’s advice.
Closing her eyes, she reached through the net, looking around in the Vietnamese restaurant. She found the owner had an implant, and explored it, looking for an opening, some way to use his vision without controlling his body.
She felt something, an edge. Whatever she was doing, it was intuitive, not conscious, so she went deeper into a meditative state. She felt the edge again, exploring it until she flicked open the man’s root interface, giving her access to everything. She went straight for his eyes and ears. As her vision swapped out for his, she felt her real body begin to sway. She grabbed firmly onto the counter, but the transition was less disorienting this time.
She was inside the noodle shop, seeing and hearing from the perspective of the owner. He spoke in a language Cat didn’t understand, presumably Vietnamese, to his wife. He glanced out at the fat man she’d seen and walked over.
“You want anything else?” he asked, in English.
“Tea. Green tea.” The man answered without looking away from the window.
The owner glanced down. A handheld computer sitting on the table displayed a photo of Cat with blonde hair and her real name. The owner went back to the kitchen, and she carefully cut the connection.
The fat man knew who she was, and was watching her. He must know she lived here. She had to abandon the apartment, and leave now for Mexico.
But she’d come downstairs with nothing, and the siren call of her backpack and money was strong. How much time did she have? Was he by himself? Why hadn’t he tried to grab her?
Cat started to perspire, every nerve coming alive and screaming to run. But she forced herself to think. She’d beat that gang in Portland, and evaded police and security in both San Francisco and LA. Anyone after her would know this, and attack in force. Ergo, if he wasn’t coming after her now, then he was alone, and she could go up to her room and get her stuff.
She walked back to her apartment slowly to avoid tipping him off. Upstairs, she stuffed clothes and dozens of payment cards into her backpack. She snapped the necklace into three parts, spreading them among the pack and her pants, and taping the last piece inside her boot.
Pulling the backpack over her shoulders, she took a last look. Her hot plate and a dozen cans of food lined up like soldiers on the dresser. She’d forgotten her toiletries, so she grabbed them and struggled to fit them in the backpack. In a short time, she’d gone from nothing to more possessions than she could bring.