Kill Switch: Chapter 20

Awake

I awake in a canvas tent, skin reeling.

My cot groans with the weight of me.

A realLifeCandle burns on a table at my elbow.

Voices circle the tent. Grunts. Moans.

A booming sound echoes in the distance.

I close my eyes and fall into darkness, once again.

The next time I awake, I stay awake.

A woman surfaces from the corner, dressed in a robe. She hands me a steaming hot cup of tea. I thank her. She nods, dissipates.

I bring the mug to my lips. My whole head is sore. My skin is sticky.

The warmth of the tea both stings and soothes.

I catch my reflection in a mirror across the room.

My jumpsuit has been removed. My cheeks are puffy. My lips are swollen.

I take another sip of tea and set down the mug.

The canvas tent flap swishes open.

Claudette steps inside.

She passes by a couple wooden beams holding up the tent. She kneels before a wood stove. She opens the door and stokes the fire and tosses in a piece of wood. She shuts the door, stands, walks over to my cot. She pulls up a wicker chair.

“You’re alive,” she says.

“Just barely.”

“You got lucky, that’s for sure. The bees were able to get into your jumpsuit through the tear in your sensor. Then they worked their way into your helmet. My guess, you got stung upwards of a hundred times. We’ve covered pretty much your entire body in a balm. But other than that, there’s nothing we can do. You’re going to have to wait for the swelling to go down.”

“Thanks,” I say. “You saved my life.”

“Don’t thank me,” Claudette says. “It was really Yide who saved you. When that rung broke, she caught your fall with her shoulders and hoisted you up through the hole. It was quite the spectacle.”

“Yeah, well.” I turn my head to the side. “Where is she?”

“She’s in her own tent. With X.”

“And Bunnfield?” I ask, wanting any excuse to stop thinking about Yide, who I’m still kind of pissed at, even if she did save my life.

“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Right,” I say. “So when do I get to meet Elijah Mitchell?”

And that’s when I remember that the device was in a pocket of my jumpsuit, and the jumpsuit is off my body, so I start scurrying off the bed, despite the pain, desperate to find the device.

“Take it easy,” Claudette says, scooting her chair back.

I stand, bones creaking. “Where’s my jumpsuit? I swear to Efficiency, if you took my device…”

“Now hold on,” Claudette says, raising her hands. “Nobody took your device, which, by the way, is actually our device.”

“Where is it then?” I’m whirling around all dervishly. Totally out of control.

“If you just chill and lay back down, then I’ll tell you.”

I stop spinning. I look hard and long at Claudette. Is this some kind of trick? I can’t tell. But my whole body feels like it’s on fire, and I’m tired as all get out, and I don’t see any other recourse, so I lay back down on the cot. “Where is it?”

A sly smile on her face, Claudette points at the table. “It’s right there, Waldo.”

“Waldo?”

“Forget it. It’s a reference to…Yeah, just forget it.”

I pick up the device. I examine its contours. Everything looks intact. I place the device back on the table.

“I want you to eat this,” Claudette says. “And then I’ll need you to follow me.”

She hands me a plate of very solid-looking food.

I eye the plate quizzically. “What the hell is this?”

“Vegetables,” Claudette says.

“Never heard of them.”

“They grow, like, in the ground. They’re good for you. Believe me, you’ll feel better if you eat some, and you’re going to need all the strength you can get. Your body is in recovery.”

I poke one of the so-called vegetables. “This came from the ground?” I ask, disgusted. “You mean, like, in dirt? Why the hell would I eat this filth?”

“It’s called broccoli,” Claudette says. “Go on, try it.”

I’m skeptical, but also starving, so I place the green thing in my mouth and bite down. I’ve never tasted anything so vile in my life. The texture is hard. There’s also these weird, like, stringy thingies that get caught on my tongue and make me want to gag. I swallow hard. Then I actually do gag, heaving up most of what I swallowed. The resulting green mass on my plate looks like clotted snot.

“What the hell,” I say. “Are you trying to poison me or something?”

“It’s not poison.” Claudette rolls her eyes. “You’re just not accustomed to real food.”

“If this is real food,” I say, “then give me the fake stuff, please. I’ll take whatever goo you got. Taco goo. Burger goo. Pizza goo. I don’t even care. I just need to get some goo on my stomach.”

“Try these,” Claudette says, pointing to a pile of brown T-shaped thingies on my plate. “They’re mushrooms. Sautéed.”

The mushrooms glisten in the candle light, reminding me of the gorgeous glisten of goo, so I decide to give the mushrooms a shot, and even though they’re objectively disgusting, I’m able to stomach a spoonful.

“Alright,” I say. “I ate my vegetables. Now can I have some goo?”

Claudette grins. “We don’t have goo in The Without. But tonight, we’ll be slaughtering a goat, so there’s that to look forward to.”

I squint. “A real goat?” I ask, idiotically.

“Yes,” Claudette says. “A real goat. Now, finish your tea. You’ll feel better. It has some natural pain killers. Turmeric. Ginger. Devil’s claw.”

It sounds like she’s speaking in tongues, but I do as I’m told, because I really am starting to feel a little better.

After downing the dregs of the tea, I eat, to my surprise, another spoonful of mushrooms.

“Alright,” I say, “get me some xTonic, and then I’ll be good to go.”

“We don’t have xTonic in The Without,” Claudette says.

“Ok….” I look around the tent. “How about some opeADope?”

Claudette shakes her head.

“Liquid Nirvana?” My voice rises in pitch, desperate.

“We don’t have any pharmas,” Claudette says. “Just what comes from the land. Or, at least, what’s left of it.”

I’m looking around, wide-eyed, disbelieving. “How am I supposed to function?”

“You’ll be surprised,” Claudette says. “The body is a miraculous machine. It’s built to withstand a lot of discomfort. Now come on.” She taps me on the knee before standing up. She picks something off the ground. “Put on this robe. It’s what we wear around here.” She hands me the robe and dissipates.

With great effort, I get to my feet. My whole body aches, but somehow the shooting pain wakes me up, like a rude alarm clock. I slip into the robe. Compared to a jumpsuit, it’s hella light. I have to admit, I could get used to these robes.

Claudette sticks her head inside the tent. “Your sandals are by the bed. I had Cosmo fashion you a pair.”

I glance down. These grey mousy-looking-things look up at me. I slip my feet inside. They’re snug. I walk toward the tent opening, amazed at how fucking tough I am to be walking after such a dreadful ordeal with real life bees, and I’m almost at the opening when I remember that I forgot something.

I return to the cot, pocket the device, and then meet Claudette outside.

The sky above is blood red.

And it’s so striking, the sky I mean, that I just stand there, at the mouth of the tent, staring up at the red streaking through the foggy twilight. A burning smell fills the air. The sound of feet rustling. Voices talking. A fire crackling. Metal clanging.

“It’s not like any simulSunset I’ve ever seen,” I say. “It’s so…streaky.”

“You mean it’s not a clear sky?”

“Right, yeah, it’s not a clear sky.”

“Get used to it. Clear skies are a thing of the past. The Without is covered in smoke and ash and cloud now. Follow me.”

Claudette leads me through an encampment that reminds me of a game I used to play, Medieval Knight 2. The tents look like the kind of dumb pointy hats that the olden time popes used to wear. And there are all these real fires burning, and ragged looking men and women standing around the flames, talking. My presence draws attention as I walk through the camp. People stop talking as I pass. They stare. I hear them whispering my name as I walk away.

We pass by a smithy with metal hissing. A man in a mask turns, lifts the mask, his face all hardened and stained black. He nods, returns the mask, then starts fidgeting with some olden time machinery.

“This way,” Claudette says, turning down an alley between two tents. “We’re almost there.”

Blasts echo in the distance. Someone screams. The wind blows cold and relentless.

Claudette lifts a tent flap and holds it open for me.

I step inside.

The tent is full of mainframes. Server racks. Long tables with jumpsuit pieces and sensors and cameras.

A guy stands in the corner, decked out in this makeshift jumpsuit all duct-taped and welded. He’s waving his arms. “I’ll get you those partner reports ASAP,” he says. “Like, yesterday, I mean. I will find a way to travel back in time if that’s what makes you happy, Zed. I will do anything you tell me, immediately, without question. I am your slave. You own my soul and spirit. My mind is, like, goo in your hand. Please, tell me how to do better. How to be better. I want to be like you. But I’m not worthy.” The guy lifts his visor. His eyes are blue and playful. He smirks at Claudette.

“Vonn’s daily performance review,” he mouths.

Then he swings the visor down. “Yes, sorry, some kind of glitch going on. My connection has been sus ever since I got back from the malWard. I think I need to reboot or something.”

Claudette grabs my arm. “Over here.” She drags me over to a corner. We stand in front of a beeping mainframe.

I lean into her. “What the hell is going on?” I ask. “Who is that?”

Claudette digs inside her pocket and then brings some odd-looking wooden thing up to her mouth. “That’s you.” She nods at the man, who is waving his arms again.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

She takes a bite on the wooden thing. Then offers me one.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s a walnut. Try it.”

I put it in my mouth and bite down. It’s hard. And tastes like practically nothing. But it fills my hollow stomach, so I ask for another.

Claudette gives me a handful before putting another in her mouth. “The thing about dNet,” she says, “is that it’s all fake, which means that it’s easy to manipulate.” She nods toward the man. “We were able to patch together your jumpsuit and link it with a simulBot, which we sent down to The Within. Cosmo has been manning the operation. Doing his best impersonation of you.”

A screen flashes in my peripheral. I turn. A row of holograms rotate on the screen. It’s me, X, Yide.

“Those are your molds,” Claudette says. “We constructed them in CAD before 3-D printing them over here.” She points to a tubePlinth. “Here, I’ll show you.” She clicks on my hologram. Then presses a flashing button that says deploySimulBot.

I hear the printer hiss in the tube. Then, like a doppelganger rising from the fog, an exact replica of my body appears atop the plinth. I walk toward the replica. I run a hand over the rubbery form.

“So, like…” I’m searching helplessly for words.

“It’s like this,” Claudette says. “Right now, there’s a simulBot in your persyPod, decked out in a jumpsuit, but the simulBot’s jumpsuit is offline. It’s that jumpsuit” – she points to Cosmo – “which is plugged into dNet.”

My head is spinning. “So what you’re telling me is that Cosmo is controlling a simulBot of me?”

“That’s correct.”

“Which means, as far as Middle Management is concerned, I’m glassed inside my persyPod, because they can’t tell the difference between a bot and a person?”

“Correct,” Claudette says. “Believe me, it was a close call, but we were able to get your bot down to The Within through another entry point, maneuver you to a fixer shop on The Outskirts, where we paid a dissenter to type up a false report about your jumpsuit, claiming that your gaze had gotten jumbled after you slipped during a viral dance.”

“But what about the copBots?”

“You mean the ones who shot at us? It was dark enough that they didn’t get a good gaze. Bunnfield was able to check on that. Like I said, it was a close call, but we appear to be in the clear. At least for now.”

I wander back to the hologram screen and start flicking through the models, until I come to the one I was looking for, the one I suspected would be there.

“I knew it,” I say. “The hobo on the line, the one who bumped into me. It was a bot. That’s how y'all were able to pass along the note with the address to Room 11.”

“Correct,” Claudette says. “Of course, Middle Management realized it was a bot during the interrogation, but by then, the note had been passed, and they never made the connection, because we jumbled all the microData.”

“Impressive,” I say. “So, like, how many bots do y'all have down there, in The Within?”

“Not many. The rubber is hard to source. I probably shouldn’t have created that duplicate of you, but you deserve to see how it works. You’re risking a lot for us, Vonn 19.”

The emotion in Claudette’s voice sounds rusty, as if from disuse. But it’s real, the emotion is, and the realness touches me.

I’m searching for my own real emotions when I hear footsteps approaching. I turn.

Cosmo steps between Claudette and I. “Where is Leigh?”

“She’s…” Claudette looks around. “I don’t know.”

“Alright, I’ll take over her station. Go find her though. Vonn’s lunch ends in thirty.”

Cosmo strips off his jumpsuit, plugs it into a mainframe, and hangs it up on a hook before taking yet another jumpsuit off another hook and putting it on. He unplugs the new jumpsuit from a mainframe and pushes down the visor.

“This is X,” he says. “Sorry, my clock must be glitching. I should probably reboot it. I didn’t realize the meeting had already started.”

A screen mounted to a wooden beam shows X’s gaze. Or, rather, X’s bot’s gaze.

It’s surreal, watching Cosmo navigate the meeting as X, while X is off in a tent with Yide…

Claudette returns with Leigh, a short Withouter woman with long dark hair and tan skin. Cosmo turns to the pair. “Just keep an eye on Vonn’s gaze,” he says. “We’ll make the switch after Vonn’s lunch break. This meeting is pure filler.” He turns back to the monitor of X’s gaze. A screen of bobbing avatars talk over one another about goo sales. Cosmo says, “Q3 numbers were, admittedly, a little down, but I’ve been pounding the pavement with some very promising leads. I’m optimistic that I can close some big business this quarter.” X’s synth crackles on the monitor, a lo-fi pitch-altered echo of Cosmo’s IRL voice.

I sense commotion over by my monitor and turn.

“Um,” Leigh says. “I think we might have a problem.”

I walk over to the monitor.

“Your boss is asking for a meeting,” she says, “but you’re on lunch break. What should I do?”

“You have to join,” I say. “It would be out of character for me to turn down a last-minute impromptu meeting during my lunch break.”

And then it hits me. Why don’t I join as myself? I suggest as much to Leigh and Claudette. They look at Cosmo. He nods.

I put on the jumpsuit and start doing my best impersonation of myself.