Versim (8 page)

When bleedover began to be noticed in the twentieth century, the world of narrative pushed into reality, changing texts, altering them, shouting to humanity to pay attention. Pioneers who risked everything learned how to take these altered texts and work miracles. They opened doorways into the world of narrative and traveled back and forth. They became known as Spinners. And she was one of them.

Krista fingered the prayer spell. It was tied with a tiny vermillion ribbon. She pulled it tighter. What she could do now as a Spinner, though, made those early attempts look like child’s play.
 

She was responsible for an entire archive of in-V-created objects like literature, visual art, music, etc. These pieces were created by constructed characters—persons without true legal representation. But their artifacts were electric with bleedover potential. An entire covert industry developed from a heated arm-race attempting to create new technologies for real-world service. And Krista was at the forefront. Everything she did, she did for the good of humanity. She had never sold a piece of lore for personal gain. What she handed over to her superiors she did so because she believed in their mission. That’s what she told herself to sleep at night.

She closed her fist around the roll as three figures emerged out of the darkness. They were dressed in the ceremonial outfits of a Voxyprog soldier: armored bodysuits, pressure helmets, goggles around their necks. Each one carried a wicked sidearm on the hip. They also were enhanced physically to tower over people like Krista.

“Inspector Cole,” the center soldier said. She was a broad-shouldered woman, thick in the neck—sure sign of a physio package. She looked like she could crush stones with those hands. “A word.”

Another figure emerged from behind her, this one dressed in a flowing crimson robe brocaded in gold at the neck and sleeves. An older man, shriveled up like a raisin, but spry. His head was bald, his eye sockets sunken, his cheek bones prominent peaks in his face.

Krista recognized, Pizer Dauk, now a senior Voxyprog intelligence officer by the medallion he wore on a chain around his neck. She was staring at the very man Tripp had verified was running a secret operation to insert Ervé Wrighter into
Collides
.
 

All of Krista’s intel had warned her that the host was in jeopardy. She hadn’t known from whom, and when Hark said he had to enter
Collides
for reasons he wouldn’t tell, she knew Pizer was involved. Tripp had just confirmed it, and verified that Miesha Preston was involved. Now that Ervé was involved, she feared she was dealing with something much larger than some minor bleedover between Rend-Vs. Hark had defeated Ervé in a prior narrative, and Ervé held a grudge.

“I had a feeling you’d be coming,” he said

“Here I am.” Krista led him back into shadow, leaving the guards behind. She slipped the prayer roll into a pocket. “
Collides
is doing well, no?”

Pizer nodded. “I’m guessing you’re part of the unauthorized intrusions.”

“We’re trying to help.”

Pizer’s head cocked. “You Spinners … do more than help.”

“This time, it’s straight up protection of the V, and our assets inside. Hark has his own reasons. But don’t pretend you aren’t aware of why I’m involved.”
 

“You know,” he asked, “why your brother has risked everything to find the host?”

“Intelligence is still coming in. We found your own unauthorized insertions. I wonder what your bosses would think of your little project to flip the V?” Pizer tilted his head in the perennial sign of
touché
. She said, “We know Miesha’s involved. And Ervé.”

“She’s brilliant. And he’s deep as we speak. He moves fast, that one.”

“And he’s going after the host. Why would you encourage that?”

Krista watched a subtle touch of emotion ripple across Pizer’s face. The old Sersavant had been a Voxyprog for too long, his initiation into the techno mysteries happening decades ago, if the rumors were true. Krista had met him when she was still being recruited across the Consortium branches for her interfacing skills. She had a top-notch intellect package, and the EA Intelligence Office had won the contest for Krista Cole. She could have been a specialist like Hark, a repo like Tripp, or any other of the top jobs. She could have been a Sersavant cognohacker and dipped her mind into the boggling science of how the Vs were generated. Krista and Pizer weren’t that different. They had even shared a few drinks once, before she’d become a bleedover inspector and fell among the Spinners.

Now they were on opposite ends of things. Pizer’s life was dedicated to unleashing the impossible in the rendered Mindworlds, Krista’s to reigning it in when it bled over into reality. But today they both had the same desire: making sure
Collides
was under their control.

“You’re involving yourself because you have to,” Pizer said. “You Spinners always have an ulterior motive. I know about yours.”

Krista paused to consider how much to tell him. The currency that kept order in a world where humans could turn narrative into reality was clandestine intelligence over the technologies that made it happen. The Coles were as deep in the industry as any family, and Hark had mucked things up a few weeks ago and put her most important operation in jeopardy.

Pizer must have seen the look of annoyance. “Does your brother know about the library in
Collides
?”

“No, of course not.”

“You should tell him to get out before it’s too late.”

“Too late?”

Pizer moved in close. And for the first time, she could see how he’d aged. The anti-senescence treatments usually worked wonders, but Sersavants always aged faster than they should. “It’s bigger than you think. EA has been manipulating him from the beginning for this big show.”

“EA? I know you’re running Miesha. That means the Voxyprog’s involved. But EA? I would have heard something.”

“Miesha’s talented, and bold,” he said. “She’s been behind the project from the start. Miesha came up with the idea of snagging Hark for her own reasons, convinced EA to snare him with that silly contract, and then waited years for her plans to come to fruition. She wants Hark for her big plans, and now she’s got him.”

“That means you’re directly allowing Ervé Wrighter to taint the entire V.”

“Taint?” He smiled wickedly because he obviously wanted her to know they both considered that a silly concept. “Would it matter to you if it flipped?”

She knew it wouldn’t matter. They could turn it into a flaming hellhole, so long as her operation was protected. “Not at all.”

“I didn’t think so. Tell Harken to get out. Ervé will still have his twisted world. The personal vendetta narrative doesn’t have to play. Tell him. Before it’s too late. My gift to you. Miesha will have to accept it.”

“I will.”

Two other high-ranking Voxyprog officials walked by. Pizer stiffened.

“Have you enjoyed your time, Inspector Cole?” he asked, his voice now formal and critical. His eyes roamed everywhere but to Krista.

“Almost done here.”

He stood still, while his eyes moved, almost as if they were unconsciously scanning the room. The other officials paused, pretending not to be interested, then continued on their way.

Krista edged closer to the shrine. “One thing to do.” She brandished the piece of paper, then tossed it as far as she could. It hit the shrine, fell, and landed among the hundreds that had been dropped there today. “I’m done.”

She grinned.
 

Pizer turned his head, as if he could melt the paper by just looking at it.
 

The soldiers glared. But none of them intervened.
 

“Ballsy,” Pizer said.

“Shrine prayers are sacrosanct,” she reminded him.

“No one will remove that request before it’s been scanned and processed. Our host is traditional. She listens to all prayers in the quiet of her dreams. Some she even answers.”

“I hope she listens to mine.”

“Care to share?”

“A heretic, Pizer? Really”

“I think for myself.”

“Good for you.” She waited, eyebrows raised. “Eaten lunch?”

“You dropped some Spinner lore on the shrine, didn’t you?”

Krista smiled. “And no fiery hand of the Artificers has smitten me, has it?”

Pizer returned the smile. “I’m a heretic just for listening to you. Lunch can’t hurt.”

“Not usually.”

“Tell me what you asked of our host.”

“Asked?” She waited as Pizer paused, the familiar look crossing his face of someone standing before a Spinner and realizing the truth of what she does. Pizer’s eyes flickered with fear. “I’m sure you’re aware of the importance of the New York Public Library in
Collides
.”

“It’s unofficial policy to leave it alone.”

“I want it protected, no matter what.”

“Of course you would.”

12

“It’s worse than we thought,” Tripp said. He sat on his cot, hands behind his head, legs straight. Around him, the equipment blinked and hummed.

Krista had just walked in. She looked flustered. “I know.”

Tripp righted himself, placing his feet on the floor. “What do you mean you know? I thought you were just dropping off one of your magical pieces of paper.”

Sammy was in the other room, peering into Garce’s vat. He had on headphones, listening to whatever data the unenhanced listened to for information.

Krista stood with arms crossed in a warning sign that everyone knew meant she might go ballistic.
 

Tripp loved it when she got like this. Hark was the clown everyone adored and who always came up glowing because he also had a “heart of gold,” as Mom liked to say. Krista was their older sister who would stomp the lilies in a brand new garden just to kill the bugs. Tripp, he was the realist who never looked away from what was before him. And Krista appeared troubled. Someone’s garden was about to be messed up.

“What happened?”

Krista moved to her cot. “I dropped the prayer. It’ll do its job. It’s a little warning that if my library isn’t protected, Celia Preston in her immersion vat might start having some headaches. I hate twisting a cogno’s arm that way. But it had to be done. Also, I ran into Pizer. Must have known I was coming.”

“He have information?”

“Not much, but the Voxyprog know, and they’ve got their hacker corps onto us.”

“Shit.”

“We have to be careful. Like you said, Pizer’s got Miesha Preston on the payroll as a director, for sure. He’s backing her and allowing her to run Ervé for her own ends. Miesha’s got a green light with some elements in the Vox. I think they want to rewrite versim rules. That means the entire V could flip. I’ve got to protect it.” Krista nodded her head, another sure sign she was going to that scary place.

Tripp edged knee to knee with her. He grabbed her hands. “I know what you do. I know who you are. We both have the same goals. But Hark’s involved.”

Her hands gripped his, and she looked into his eyes. She was his big sister, and she’d backed him so many times. But now it was his turn. He couldn’t turn away from the fact she was a Spinner, even if it was off the books. Her clandestine organization’s existence was denied by every official branch of the Pan Allied Consortium. She claimed she wanted to protect society from the ravages of bleedover. But, some whispered, Spinners used bleedover for their own agendas. Something about all this made him think Krista was involved. But she wasn’t telling.

None of that mattered now that Hark’s life was on the line. Not for Tripp and, he knew, not for his sister.

“Whatever you need, from me, Krista,” he said, “you got it.”

“My bet is they want to flip
Collides
to prove a point. It’s about political power between factions in EA and the Voxyprog. Pizer’s in it for his own unknown reasons. Miesha wants to further her radical aims. And Ervé wants to hurt Hark. I have to dig because I fear they’re immersing in
Collides
for more than a Rend-V catastrophe.”

“We have to be careful,” Tripp said.

“It’s bigger than we thought.” She lay down on a cot. “Sammy, let’s go.”

Tripp laid himself down as well. “See you inside.”

13

Miesha Preston sat in her old Upper Deck bedroom watching the staid Rend-V for which her mother had left her. She sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor in a thick, cotton bathrobe, her head wrapped in a towel. Around her, she’d lined every inch of her room with digital imagery from popular Rend-Vs. This was the room she’d grown up in. And it hadn’t changed in years. Her mother’s image dominated. She’d once thought of it as her gilded cage, this bedroom she rarely now visited.

A wide holovid projected a paused 3D image from the wall. It showed a wide shot of Times Square from
Collides
. In it, Specialist Harken Cole stands on a sidewalk, getting ready to cross a street. She was watching it live as a regular viewer, just to check up on the narrative.
 

Miesha ran her fingers through the image to douse it. Specialist Cole was at this minute right where she wanted him. Yes he was.
 

Her Voxyprog contact, Pizer Dauk, had promised her they wouldn’t interfere in her illegal insertions beyond a cursory attempt to thwart Hark—just to look like they had tried. EA would soon send a specialist to stop him, but only one. In fact, Pizer and a small faction in EA was secretly green lighting the project for her. They wanted to see her flip it, and she planned to do it with style.

She tossed her towel aside. Her shaved head was dry, of course. The sub-dermal plating and nodes under her skin gave her the requisite posthuman look she affected. She also wore permanent ash-colored eye makeup that ran from her lids around the side of her face.

She walked to a long desk, atop which sat painted figurines taken from her favorite productions. In the center stood a character that was taller than the rest. The most famous villain in narrative history, she’d tell you. He was tall, handsome, dressed casually, almost as if he’d take a young girl to dinner. Devastating good looks. Made super tough-guy Harken Cole look like a backwoods hillbilly.