Kill Switch: Chapter 45
The Blue Server
I weave my way through the aisles of the warehouse, searching for the blue server.
“It’s kind of like a pastel blue,” Elijah said. “You’ll see it. Toward the back. Can’t miss it. It’s the only one painted blue.”
“Over here,” Yide says.
Sure enough, stuck between two non-descript servers on the back wall, is a server covered in blue paint.
I take off The Tank, unwind the cord, and plug it into an outlet on the back of the blue server.
Nothing happens. No blinking lights. No whirring fans. I stand, check the power switch. It’s in the on position.
I look at Yide. “Fuck,” I say. “It’s not working.”
She strokes her chin. “Did you try unplugging it and plugging it back in?”
“Wasn’t it unplugged to begin with?”
“Just try it,” she says.
I shrug. Unplug the cord. Then plug it back in. Still nothing.
I flip the switch on and off. Still nothing.
I look down at the pack.
“Is there, like, a power button or something on this?”
I examine the big black box. No buttons. Just a cord running out the back like a snake.
“Cosmo tested it. He said it was fine. I think either he or Orson would have told me if there was some special trick.”
Yide runs her hand down the side of the server, as if trying to coax it into compliance.
I look down at the pack, gutted. After everything – the escape from The Within, the battle with The Withouter Hunter, the daring trek up to Orson’s Cabin, the showdown with Mama Bear, the confrontation with the guards, the confrontation with the other guards – and this is how we fail. A technological malfunction. I am absolutely livid.
“It must have gotten hit by a laser or something,” I say.
My fists clinch. Tears well in my eyes.
“After everything we went through!” I kick the generator. “Bunnfield is dead! X is dead!” Another kick. “And soon, we’re going to be dead, and for what?!?!!?” I kick the shit out of the generator several more times before collapsing into the fetal position, rolling into a ball of despair, sobbing uncontrollably.
And I’m down there for I don’t know how long, just totally wailing, before Yide gets my attention by shaking my shoulder and yelling my name.
Her face surfaces through the blur of my tears. She’s smiling, Efficiency knows why.
“Vonn,” she says. “Stop crying.”
I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I can’t, it’s just too tragic.”
“It’s not,” she says. “It’s really not.”
Her eyes dance with joy.
“Yide, I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but objectively, how is this not, like, the worst thing ever? We got this far just to have this damn generator break down.”
“But it’s not,” she says.
“It is,” I say. “It’s absolutely…tragic.”
“No, I mean, look.” She points, and I follow her finger upward.
At first, I can’t believe my eyes.
I stand. Take a step back.
Pixel by pixel, the image of the blue server comes into focus as my tears dissipate.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Lights are blinking on the front of the console.
“But…how?” I ask.
“It was your last kick,” Yide says, “before you fell to the ground. Your last kick fixed it, I guess, because I heard it boot up, and then the server turned on.”
My eyes widen. “Which means that dNet is back up.”
“Exactly,” Yide says.
I reach inside my pocket, step toward the server, and find the slot.
I stick the device inside.
The server groans, the blinking lights turn from red to yellow and then back again to red.
“I think that means it’s working,” I say.
“How can we know for sure?”
“Cosmo said there would probably be a feed helmet somewhere.”
I look around, then see a tableful in the corner. I grab two, hand one to Yide, and then strap on mine.
I haven’t glassed for several days. Probably the longest time I’ve ever gone unGlassed. Even babies are glassed for most of their infancy.
A jolt of light overtakes me as dNet boots up, and I’m brought to the universal feed, where I’m greeted by a vid of myself, and I’m amazed that it’s working, that the entire Within is watching what I’m watching.
I glance at the comments rushing down the sidebar. I see the word vibekill several times. My stomach drops.
“It’s not working,” I say.
“You don’t know that,” Yide says, but her voice isn’t convincing. I know she sees what I’m seeing.
“Just give it time,” she says. “The video just started.”
I watch myself talking, explaining what happened when I killed The Withouter Hunter, absolving any of the other Withouters from guilt, taking full responsibility for the murder. Then I tell the audience what they’re about to see: footage that shows what’s really going on in The Within and The Without. I tell them that the footage will likely be disturbing. That, in fact, it should be disturbing, and that’s ok. I explain that the algo has been spliced in such a way as to show the footage that’s most relevant to each individual, which means that most of the audience will see footage of themselves. I encourage them to keep an open mind.
And then the real show begins.