Chapter 12 – The Simulations
The transport came to a stop some 10 stories up the side of a cubed stack of dormitories. As it hovered there, it lowered its ramp onto the balcony of its own accord. Vincent started down the ramp, this time glancing back at Jessica to make sure she was steady on her feet. When they were on the balcony, the transport – as if bidding them farewell – waved its ramp upward, then zoomed off through the maze of neighboring dorms.
Vincent turned around so he faced the three doors the balcony was attached to. “I guess two of these are ours,” he said. Jessica nodded. The shaking had started to wear off.
As a test, Vincent stepped forward and pressed his eye up against the scanner of the door on the right. The locks clicked free. “This one must be mine,” he said. “Try the middle one.”
Jessica stepped forward. She had to brace herself against the door to stay steady for the scanner. A second later, the door slid open.
“Good,” said Vincent. “You should rest. How do you feel?”
Jessica made no answer as she stepped forward. She paused in the frame just long enough to glance back at Vincent, then she was gone. Sighing, and now with his stomach in more knots than before, Vincent entered through his own door. The dormitory was tiny, low ceilinged and incredibly compact, with only two rooms: one just large enough to fit a twin-sized bed, and another for a toilet and shower. Vincent suddenly found it difficult to breath. The room’s size, as well as its stifling white, had made his Lenses feel tighter. Slipping his shoes off at the door, he crossed the room – which amounted only to a few steps –and lay down on the bed. For the most part, the bleeding had stopped, but the throbbing pain had stayed with him. He knew without trying that sleep would be impossible. It wasn’t necessarily the pain that kept him awake; it was the memory of the leaden Lenses being slipped over his eyes, of the hair-width wires extending back into his skull, of the raw, relentless intrusion.
Exhaling, Vincent rolled over onto his side. He thought about getting up, going for a walk around the city to explore, but he knew that was out of the question. They were being watched now, and anything they did would be subject to review. They would look for Brian’s brother eventually, but to do that, they needed to remain undetected.
Vincent shifted his focus to his Lenses. If there was one thing in the city that everyone seemed to take for granted, that seemed sure not to raise suspicion, it was entering a sim. Vincent navigated to his stored simulations as the woman in the tight dress had instructed them, and was surprised to find an entire library. Well over a hundred thumbnail images scrolled across his vision. All of them were unique; some showed luxurious views of the city, others transports flying at high speeds, others unclothed human flesh. It took Vincent several seconds to reach the bottom of the collection where the most recent ones were. Just as the woman had promised, an unopened simulation had been added to the list. It had no thumbnail image, simply a label: newsim. Something about it made Vincent hesitate. He debated again whether he shouldn’t get up and walk around. Derek had said school was only halfway through; maybe he could try and find their building. Or maybe he could skip out of school altogether and wander into the working sector, try to find someone who knows a man named John.
Neither of these options moved beyond thought. Vincent stayed where he was. His eyes continued to hover over the black square labeled newsim. It was still a Newsight product, but it seemed an exception to the Newsight Vincent had come to know. And besides, he thought, Derek had said it would look bad if they didn’t enter the simulations. The things had been a gift, after all.
Closing his eyes, Vincent focused on the black square. A second later, his vision went dark.
“Welcome to newsim.”
A female voice, soft and sweet – like the woman’s from the office – rang out in Vincent’s head. Though it could very well have been coming from somewhere in the room; it sounded so real.
“Your simulation will begin shortly. We hope you enjoy.”
Vincent’s vision remained black a few seconds longer, then returned all at once. He was no longer in the dormitory. The white walls and low ceilings had been replaced by a more spacious room, cream-colored all the way around and sloped to a point at the top, and with a soft gray floor made of knit, hair-like threads. He was sitting at a table with three other people. The first two he recognized instantly: his parents, though both looked different. Their Seclusion-standard white jumpsuits with high collars had been replaced. Vincent’s father wore a shirt with buttons down the front, and his mother wore a light, flowing yellow dress. The third person at the table was a man with wrinkles sewn deep into his face, and with hair as white as the room Vincent had just left.
“That was delicious, Sarah,” said Vincent’s father. “Thank you.”
Vincent’s mother nodded in thanks, glowing.
“Just like your mother used to make it,” said the old man. “Marvelous.”
Sarah – Vincent still hadn’t gotten used to the name – glowed brighter still. “I’m glad you liked it,” she said, then turned to Vincent. “What did you think?”
Vincent looked up at her, then at his father and the old man. When he turned his head, there was no curtain of black chased away by his gaze, no trace of the rendering pixels. This was real. He felt himself in the chair. He tasted the air from the room. He felt full from whatever meal they had just eaten.
“It was really good,” said Vincent, automatically. “Thank you.”
Sarah’s smile grew even broader; she seemed more thrilled than ever. “I can’t believe one of my experiments finally worked!” she said.
“Neither can we,” said Vincent’s father, grinning.
Sarah rolled her eyes and flung her napkin at him. “Either way,” she said, “you still have dishes.”
Vincent’s father groaned through a smile. “You’re a slave driver, woman,” he said, standing.
“Gets it from her mother,” said the old man. “I’ve been there, Tom.”
The name was as unfamiliar to Vincent as his mother’s.
Sarah stood as well. “I think I’ll sit on the back porch for a while,” she said. “While you’re slaving away.”
Tom shook his head. “You better join her,” he said to Vincent. “She’ll put you to work if you don’t.”
The white-haired man stood as well. “I’m too old for that,” he said, “but not for sitting with my favorite daughter.”
Sarah smiled at him, then turned to Vincent. “There’s an open seat,” she said. “Are you done with your homework?”
The answer seemed to have been preloaded in Vincent’s mind. “I finished it at school,” he said. The words tasted foreign to him as they left his lips, but true.
“Well come on Vince don’t keep an old man waiting,” said the white-haired man in mock impatience.
Confused, but not really caring, Vincent stood from his seat. The old man draped an arm over his shoulders as they started for the sliding glass door with Sarah. Vincent didn’t shy away.
“Tom,” said the old man, “why don’t you entertain us while we’re out here?”
“I can probably think of something,” said Vincent’s father.
“Oh my,” said Sarah. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Maybe we’ll close the door behind us.”
“I heard that!” said Tom. He was at the sink now, his hands wet with soap.
Sarah only grinned in response. She led them out the sliding glass door into a wave of warm, natural-smelling air. They were standing next to a small round table, on a wooden platform of boards pushed together at the edges and lifted from the rest of the lawn.
“Tom we need to mow tomorrow,” Sarah called back into the house. She was looking at the overgrown grass that covered the fenced in area they had just walked into.
“If by we you mean Vincent,” returned Tom.
Sarah turned to Vincent. “Can you take care of it tomorrow?”
Vincent looked at his mother, then at th
e lawn. “Sure,” he said. The answer seemed only natural.
Sarah squeezed his arm, still smiling, then pulled two chairs out from the table next to them. The old man sat down in the first one and Vincent sat down in the second. Sarah took her seat by the table. From the kitchen, a hummed, light-hearted melody floated out to them, one Vincent knew for certain he had heard before. When the intro was finished, Tom began to sing.
“Here it comes,” said Sarah. “You just had to ask didn’t you, Dad?”
The old man leaned back and closed his eyes. “Let him go,” he said. “The man has to entertain himself somehow.”
Sarah laughed and shook her head. She leaned back in her chair like her father had, but she kept her eyes open. She stared straight forward, through the foliage of the trees growing just outside their fence, at the pink-shaded sky beyond. Vincent mimicked her pose. He felt a warmth in him that had nothing to do with the heat of the air. It came from his mother and father and grandfather, from the short brown house with the angled roof, from the sounds of a song sung just out of tune.
Vincent continued to sit.