Kill Switch: Chapter 18

So, Like, What Is This Place?

“So, like, what is this place?” I ask, turning down yet another server aisle.

“It’s an old server farm,” Bunnfield says. “Ancient data. Like, probably stuff before the revolution. Who knows? Vonn Industries is big on archiving data. All of it gets fed to the masterAlgo.”

A wire buzzes. Sparks fly.

“Looks like one big fire hazard to me,” X says.

“Hence the dripping pipes,” Claudette says. “And the misters.” She waves her hands above her head. “You’d have a hard time burning this place down, even if you wanted to. Which believe me, we do want to. Don’t think we haven’t tried.”

“Were y'all the ones involved in that whole server sabotage last year?” I ask. “The one that took down most of Pod 9? You know the one I’m talking about?”

Even though Claudette’s face is turned away from me, I can sense from the jangle in her voice that she’s smiling. “Sure, that might have been us. Problem we found though, you can take down an entire server farm, but it’s just a drop in the bucket. Hard to say how many servers are even in The Within. Millions, probably. And there’s more being built each day. The amount of data that pours into dNet each hour is astronomical. Nah, it’s too much effort taking down a server farm, and not nearly enough payoff. We learned that the hard way.”

“But why take down a server farm?” Yide asks. “It’s just dNet data. What’s the beef?”

Claudette crooks her neck. “You’ll see the beef soon enough.”

And then, after a long silence, Claudette says: “I thought you were anti-dNet, Yide. Why insist on coming along if you’re not? Are you a narc or something?”

Bunnfield glances back. We turn down another aisle. It’s hard to tell if Claudette is joking or not. Her laser gun swings loudly on her hip. An awkward silence hangs for what feels like forever.

“I’m not a narc,” Yide finally says. “But I don’t want to mislead you, Claudette: I’m not a rebel either. Not yet, at least.”

Claudette nods. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“I guess…” Yide tips her head, searching for the words. “I guess, well, I’m open to alternative perspectives. Quizzical. Curious is maybe the word.”

“What you’re about to gaze,” Claudette says, “cannot be unGazed.”

“You mean The Without?” X asks.

“Yes,” Claudette says. “I mean The Without.”

“I can’t wait,” X says. “Is it everything they say it is? You know, just a bunch of Withouters running around killing each other all the time? And everybody is starved and bored and ruthless and, like, patriarchal?”

Claudette snorts. “They’re still teaching that garbage in prep?” She asks.

“Well, yeah,” X says. “Which makes sense, you know, because without the abundance of resources and Middle Management and all that, it’s just straight up anarchy, dog-eat-dog. Like, totally brutal.”

“The thing I came to understand about The Without,” Bunnfield says, “is that it’s not one thing or another. It’s a plurality. A multiplicity. And it’s always changing, over time and space. The Without, well, for lack of a better word, The Without is unstuck.”

“Unstuck,” I say.

“Yes,” Bunnfield says. “unstuck.”

“So, in other words,” Claudette says, “what you’re about to see, it’s not the whole story. It’s just one iteration.”

“And what about you, Bunnfield?” X asks. “I take it Claudette is an original, judging by her build, but you, well, you strike me as a defector.”

“So what’s your question?” Bunnfield asks.

“Like, well, how’d you get in with the rebels?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for that story,” Bunnfield says.

“Why not?”

“Because we’re here.”

Bunnfield stops in front of a steel door covered in welding beads. Spiders crawl around the edges, coming in and out of the gaps. Bunnfield cranks the handwheel. The door opens with a groan. A fetid smell of wet earth wafts. We step into a small server room with cracks in the plastic walls. Water dripping from the ceiling. Bunnfield grabs a server rack and carts it across the room. Then he takes out some kind of power tool.

“Step back,” he says.

He turns on the tool. A circular blade starts spinning. He digs the blade into the plastic wall. Buzz, buzz. He makes a rectangular shape with his cuts, then he returns the power tool to his jumpsuit and takes a step back.

He kicks. The plastic gives a little, but not much. He kicks again.

“A little help would be nice,” he says.

We all take a segment of the plastic and push. I hear the plastic break, and then, with one final great heave, the whole cutout wall gives and I fall on my face, something sharp cutting through my jumpsuit and digging into my arm.

“Fuck,” I say.

“You alright?”

I roll over, look up at my colleagues. I’m the only one on the ground.

“Nice work, simul,” X says.

Bunnfield helps me to my feet. He brushes off my jumpsuit. Examines the cut.

“This might be a problem,” he says.

“Why?”

“Your sensor is fucked. It’s gonna ding Vonn Industries. My guess, there’s already a repair bot on the way to your pod.”

“But I’m not in my pod,” I say.

“Obviously,” X says. “Hence, the problem.”

“Well.” I look around desperately. “What happens when the repair bot arrives and I’m not in my pod?”

“Anything could happen,” Bunnfield says. “That’s part of the problem. My guess, the repair bot dings Upper Management, a human gets sent to your pod, finds you’re not there, reports back to Middle Management, and then you’re on a missing persons list, and the entire bureau is out looking for you, which is the exact opposite of what we want.”

“They’ll realize my gaze is overhauled,” I say, “and then they’ll know something is up.”

“Fuck,” Yide says. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“This was your idea!” I scream.

“Not all of it!”

“Yes it was,” I say. “You convinced me to follow you to The Outskirts. And now look where we are!”

“Ugh,” Yide says, rolling her eyes. “Typical, Vonn.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…” Yide takes a step forward. “It means you never take any responsibility. It’s…nauseating.”

“You’re one to talk!”

“Hey, hey,” Claudette says, stepping between us. “That’s enough. Arguing isn’t getting us anywhere.” She spins around, looks at Bunnfield. “Why doesn’t Vonn go back to his persy?”

Bunnfield shakes his head. “It’s too late. The repair bot is probably already on its way. No way Vonn gets there in time.”

“Fuck,” Claudette says.

“That’s what I was saying,” Yide says.

“I’ve got an idea,” X says. “Why don’t we repair the sensor before the bot gets there?”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Claudette asks.

“I don’t know,” X says. “Aren’t you some kind of mainframe wizard or something?”

“I prefer witch. And yes, while I am a mainframe witch, hardware is notoriously hard to hack. Still…” She brings her hand up to her chin. “It’s not impossible.” She looks at Bunnfield. “I’ll need my gear though. And I’ll need it fast.”

“How fast?”

“Like, now.”

Bunnfield nods. “Then let’s get going.” He takes out a walkie-talkie. “Breaker, breaker, this is hawkeye. We’re ready for lift off.”

“Copy that,” a voice says, crackling on the walkie-talkie.

Bunnfield puts the walkie-talkie back in his jumpsuit. Then he looks up, squinting, and for the first time since landing on my ass, I survey my surroundings. Muddy walls. Muddy ground. Bugs crawling everywhere. Worms and such.

“Any second now,” Bunnfield says.

I look at Yide, who avoids eye contact, choosing instead to look at the ground. A red fury fills my insides. Her wishy-washiness is rubbing me the wrong way. Her hypocrisy is rubbing me the wrong way. I don’t take responsibility? Give me a break. Gaze yourself for a change.

I should have never sent her that vacuum link.

A swishing sound fills the air above.

I lift my head.

Bunnfield’s hand grabs my shoulder, tugs me back.

But it’s too little, too late.

The rope ladder clunks me on my helmet.

I stumble back, run into Claudette.

“Abzu,” she says. “Now I’ll probably have to repair your helmet too.”

She examines the plastic. “Well,” she says, “maybe not. Hopefully all it did was knock some sense into you.”

I’m feeling a little dizzy. But otherwise, I’m fine. Thanks for asking, guys.

“Alright,” Bunnfield says. “Let’s go. We don’t have any time to waste.”

He mounts the first rung of the rope ladder. He begins to climb.

Claudette follows.

And then it’s X, who has apparently forgotten his desire for me to see The Without before him.

I look at Yide.

“Lady’s first,” I say.

She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t move.

“Fine,” I say. “I guess I’ll be the one to take responsibility, as usual…”

Yide scoffs.

And I think she might say something too, but whatever it is, I don’t hear, because I’m already ten feet up the ladder, and there’s a hella loud buzzing sound coming from above.