Shattered Minds Page 5

  This time, though, there’s no need of a Chair, no small dose of Zeal to lubricate the transfer. Yet again, Mark has found a way to do something she’d have said couldn’t happen. The information unfurls in her brain, opening and settling into her mind. The pain and pressure is so intense she feels as though her head will burst.

  It all centres around a group called the Trust. A small team of hackers – a little annoyance to Sudice, to be swatted away. Most of their stunts have done little apart from leaking some information, quickly superseded. A few things they found were useful – hurt the company’s stocks, led to some awkward, somewhat embarrassing questions from the government or shareholders. Their last attack went awry and they were meant to have scattered, but recent information from the inside suggests the Trust have reformed. Names: Charlie, Rafael, Dax and Tam. The information still slams into Carina’s cortex, like endless fireworks.

  ‘Carina,’ Kim says, insistently. ‘Carina?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she replies. ‘I’m here. I think.’

  Sitting up, she brings a shaking hand to her temple. ‘I feel like I’ve been hit by a hovercar.’

  ‘What happened? Are you OK, sweetpea?’

  ‘Mark’s first image. Encrypted information just . . . exploded into my head. I have a bitch of a headache.’

  ‘How did he manage that?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Must have developed a few tricks.’

  ‘Bastard. He could’ve at least shared.’ Kim’s face goes slack. ‘I’m a terrible person. He’s not even cold in the ground and I’m insulting him.’

  Carina is not sure what to say. Comforting people has not been her strong suit for a very long time. She settles for: ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. You called him a bastard enough times when he was alive.’

  A weak laugh. ‘So what is the plan now?’ Kim asks.

  Carina hates it, but her first thought is suspicion. She thought of Kim as her friend when she worked at Sudice. Kim still works for them.

  ‘I—’ Carina begins.

  ‘No. Actually, don’t tell me. I’m about 99.99 per cent sure this line is secure, but you never know. Is it useful?’

  ‘I think so.’ She sifts through the information, but Sudice doesn’t know where the Trust are located, where their headquarters are, and Mark has not provided that detail. How helpful.

  It’s difficult to concentrate. Carina had been plugged into the Zealscape for a few hours at the Vellocet Lounge, even though it felt like minutes. Time is strange in the Zealscape. It hasn’t been enough of a hit, and already her body is protesting at the lack of drugs in her system. It won’t be long until she’s in withdrawal again.

  She looks uneasily out the hovercar window. ‘Why aren’t they following us?’

  ‘I took the liberty of putting a temporary block on your VeriChip and your implants.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Won’t last long, though. They’ll be trying to find ways around it. Might even ask me to do it, which would be best. I can stall at least a little while that way.’

  ‘Should I go to the police? Ask to be put in protective custody?’ Carina already knows the answer to this question, but feels she should at least go through the motions.

  ‘Would be nice if you could, wouldn’t it?’ Kim sighs. ‘LA cops are just as much in Sudice’s pocket as the SF ones. I know a detective I’d trust to take you in, off the radar. He helped with the Ratel and Verve shit that went down.’ She looks sad. ‘I lied to him, when I told him SynMaps was over.’

  Gaining access to Verve a few months before Carina left had been a huge step in their research. Kim had watched the Ratel, San Francisco’s underground mob, go under, knowing she’d helped it happen. Her wife had been a detective in the SFPD, killed in the line of duty, probably thanks to the Ratel.

  ‘Sudice makes liars of us all,’ Carina says.

  ‘This is true,’ she concedes. ‘Unfortunately, we can’t use him. He’s fucked off to China again for a few months with his girlfriend. I can try to ping him, see if he’d come back, but he wouldn’t arrive for a few days.’

  ‘Don’t bother. One off-the-radar detective won’t be enough to protect me anyway. I think what Mark just gave me is the only safe place I can go. The problem is, he didn’t tell me where.’

  Kim’s wearing her problem-solving face. Carina knows it well. How many times did she see it in the lab during her time at Sudice? ‘Worry about that later. You’re going to need to get yourself down to a chop shop and get your VeriChip swapped.’

  ‘I could do it myself. If I could get another chip.’

  Kim looks at her with a critical eye. ‘No, you can’t. Not with the shakes you’re having.’

  Carina looks away, ashamed.

  ‘I don’t blame you, Carina. You’ve been dealt a rough hand.’

  How much does Kim know? It’s a horrible feeling, to suspect Carina’s secrets are not her own. If Mark wasn’t already dead, she’d kill him herself. She sighs. ‘You’re a rotten liar, Kim. It’s only easy to get addicted if you crave violence.’

  ‘Well, fine. But I still don’t blame you. We’ve all got our issues.’

  Carina gives something akin to a laugh, though it sounds more like a cough and a hiccup mixed into one.

  ‘OK, I’m going to drop you off at a chop shop I know down there. I’ve just messaged my contact on a secure line. He’ll take your chip and refresh your implants. When that’s over, you should go to this flesh parlour –’ Kim sends her the location – ‘and get your face changed. That together will buy you some time. I know Mark. Knew Mark.’ She falters. ‘He’ll have put this together elegantly. I have faith in you.’

  Her earnestness is difficult for Carina to take. She doesn’t know what to do in the face of naked emotion. Usually she reacts inappropriately, offending people. She tries to make the correct response. ‘Thank you, Kim. For all of your help. I appreciate it and hope your faith in me isn’t misplaced.’ There. Carina sounds like a robot, but Kim beams in response, her eyes watery.

  The hovercar begins to descend. Carina stares at her wrist, the VeriChip hidden beneath her skin.

  ‘The chop shop guy looks like a mean bastard, but he’s good. If a little illegal.’

  ‘More than a little,’ Carina says, looking at the chop shop disguised as a Chinese-Greek fusion restaurant. She takes a moment to wonder how exactly that would work. Dolmas or egg rolls? Not that anyone ever ate there, anyway. The CLOSED sign across the front looks permanent; one of many restaurants that couldn’t compete with replicators in every home.

  ‘I’ve credited him more than enough money, so if he tries to charge you up-front, don’t give the greedy bastard another credit, but offer him a bonus after as some extra incentive,’ Kim says.

  ‘Yeah, I will.’ Carina has some money, but a bonus will probably take up most of what she has left. Foreboding rises within her. Some illegal backwater chop-shop surgeon is about to cut into her, to buy her enough time so Sudice doesn’t find and kill her for the information locked away in her head.

  ‘OK. I’ll leave you for now, but I’ll see what I can do from up here. But don’t tell me anything, right? I don’t want to be any more culpable than I already am. And I wouldn’t put it past them to send you a dummy version of me.’ Kim takes a deep breath. ‘I’ve missed you, you know. Worried about you.’

  Carina can’t bring herself to tell her that Kim and the others haven’t crossed her mind much at all. She doesn’t have to say it. Kim knows – it’s written all over her body and face.

  ‘Good luck, sweetpea,’ Kim says with a sad smile.

  She tolerates the endearment. ‘I’ll need it. Thanks again, Kim. I owe you about half a million favours now.’

  ‘Take down Sudice and we’ll call it even.’ How has it been for Kim, Carina wonders, forced to keep working for a company she knows has committed every crime in the book?

  ‘Everyone seems to think I can do that except me.’ The hovercar door slides open just as
the door to the shop does. A hand waves, beckoning her closer.

  Carina jumps out and runs inside.

  SEVEN

  CARINA

  The chop shop, Los Angeles, California, Pacifica

  Kim is right. The man looks pretty terrifying.

  In a world where people pride themselves on looking as perfect as possible – erasing scars and moles, re-proportioning their bodies as desired – plenty of people push themselves in the other direction. Some deliberately scar themselves, keep a blemish or later recreate it in open defiance of flesh-parlour and gene therapy culture. Others see just how far they can take their appearances away from the naturally human look.

  This man is one of the latter.

  The whites of his eyes are tattooed bright green, and he’s brightened the irises a brilliant cobalt and purple. His skin is a medium brown, but the texture is pebbled like a lizard’s. Horns sprout from his forehead, and more mini horns line where his eyebrows used to be. His hair has been swapped for tentacle-like strings that move softly of their own accord, like Medusa’s snakes. His lips are dark blue, his body large and muscled, tattoos of swirling designs dancing beneath the textured skin.

  But none of that is the strangest change he’s made to his body.

  That would be the third arm.

  It erupts from the middle of his chest, a perfect match to the others, the elbow double-jointed. The nails on all three hands are black, pointed talons.

  Carina blinks at his appearance, but otherwise she does not let her surprise show on her face. ‘You know why I’m here,’ she says.

  She doesn’t introduce herself, and he likewise doesn’t supply his name. She decides she’ll call him Chopper in her head. Not creative, but it’ll do.

  ‘Twenty K credits.’ His voice is low and gruff.

  ‘You’ve already been paid. Don’t pretend otherwise.’

  He grunts.

  ‘I’ll give you a bonus if I’m happy with your work. After.’

  He considers her. She stands tall, staring him down. A ghost of a smile flits across his lizard-like features and then he motions her to come deeper into the store. No one else is here. Carina is jumpy, and not just from the withdrawal. This man is a total stranger. She’s reasonably sure she can trust Kim, but not entirely. She’d mentioned a dummy – what if Roz has already killed Kim, and sent a virtual simulacrum to sniff information from her? They could be on their way now. And what’s to stop Chopper from bashing her over the head, taking Kim’s money and turning her over to the authorities anyway? He’s not an idiot; he knows she’s wanted for something.

  Carina likes to control everything. She is not spontaneous. Even becoming addicted to Zeal was not an accident but a calculated decision. At the moment, with no plan and a VeriChip that will soon broadcast her location to Sudice, she has no choice but to try and believe in the goodness of people, which almost makes her choke with laughter. She’s never had much faith in humanity. They’re all too selfish to be good.

  The room at the back looks a lot nicer and more modern than she’d anticipated, compared to the dingy exterior. It’s not a patch on her old lab at Sudice, but everything is clean and the equipment seems to be in good condition. One of the wallscreens is entirely made up of feeds from the microscopic security cameras positioned in dozens of places around the building. It would be hard to sneak up on the man in front of her.

  ‘So who do you wanna be?’ the lizard man asks, motioning her to a Chair with his extra arm.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I can give you plenty of identities. Got a preference?’

  ‘Uh.’ She didn’t expect to be given a choice. She thought he’d just stick a chip in her arm and she’d be whoever he thought fit. ‘I guess I don’t really know.’

  He shrugs. ‘OK.’ He starts rifling through a drawer.

  She wants to ask him about the extra arm, but everyone must, so she squashes the urge. But then, how many people do the same thing – afraid to anger him by pointing out the obvious? The question rests on the tip of her tongue before she abandons it. She can’t really find it in herself to care. She has bigger concerns than a lizard man with a third arm.

  He reaches out and takes her wrist, running the pebbly pad of his finger over the skin, finding the little hard spot of the chip. Strange. That chip has been in her arm almost since birth, and now it’s about to be removed. It has everything – her biometric data since she was a newborn, records of food eaten and health levels, steps taken, hours slept, miles run in brief attempts at fitness before she caved like every other person and got muscle mods. Her mods stopped working once she became underweight. So much data about her life is hidden in that tiny chip. He’ll have to destroy it to keep his nose clean. She assumes it must all be backed up somewhere, to be picked over by algorithms for advertising or some such. Will she ever be in a position to wear her own identity on her wrist again, or will she die being whoever she’s about to become?

  Shaking her head, she banishes the useless questions.

  He considers her again, a long, searching look made more unnerving by his green, blue and purple eyes. ‘I’ve decided you’re going to be a teacher. You look like you could be one. Though you’re probably gonna go change your face after this, huh?’

  She nods, guardedly.

  ‘Choose a face that looks like a teacher.’ He smiles. His teeth are pointed and serrated, like a shark’s.

  She might not ask about the arm, but she has to ask about the teeth. ‘Don’t those cut the inside of your mouth?’

  He shakes his head, grins wider. ‘Look closer.’

  She does. The little serrated edges retreat back and forth. ‘Automatically fold down when I close my mouth.’

  ‘Ah. Clever.’ This is a surreal conversation. It’s been a very strange day.

  ‘OK, we’re ready to go.’

  He smooths a local anaesthetic over her wrist.

  ‘You gonna look away? Most people do. Don’t like blood, you know.’

  ‘I don’t mind the sight of blood.’ A flash of a memory from the Zealscape, her knife slicing through live flesh, blood welling then dripping down the sides of the torso.

  He takes up the scalpel and makes a little incision. His two hands press down the skin and his third arm does the actual surgery. He finds the little chip easily, drawing it out. A relief – Carina didn’t particularly want him digging around her wrist to find it. VeriChips can be cleared and wiped remotely, with a new personality added in, but that won’t change the serial number on the chip. She could still be tracked if someone was truly determined. So now she’ll have a new one, a VeriChip of a fake, virtual girl, every detail of her life constructed from the moment of her false birth. But the actual chip, with its serial number and make, probably belongs to a dead person.

  Waste not, want not.

  Taking away one of his hands, the Chopper opens up the code of the chip, projecting it from his implants onto a white screen, letting her see it. He activates the files, scrolling through all her new history. Her new fake name is Althea Bryant. She oversees the brainloading of seven-year-olds, and then coordinates their activities during downtime. That’s really all teachers do these days.

  ‘The chip’s good, yeah.’ He sprays some Amrital on the wound, which stops bleeding and scabs over immediately. Within a few hours, it’ll be like it never happened.

  Time for the next step. ‘This is probably unorthodox, but I’d like to amend the implants myself.’ She really doesn’t want anyone else poking around in her head.

  ‘You got the knowledge?’ he asks, sceptical, taking in her malnourished body, her stringy hair, her shaking hands.

  ‘I’m a neuroprogrammer. Or I was.’ She probably shouldn’t tell him that. But she doesn’t like the thought of someone else writing the code for her implants, doesn’t trust anyone else to do it just right. ‘I have something on my implants I have to back up physically, too.’

  She needs to keep the code she’s been working on for
months. The implications of it hit her. It could possibly hold, and Chopper has the equipment she needs.

  If it weren’t for Mark’s booby trap, she could run the code right here – hope that even though it’s not finished, it helps her piece herself together again.

  Reality kicks in, harsh and heavy. Even if Mark hadn’t said messing with her neuroprogramming would likely short her brain, the code is raw, and could kill her as easily as cure her. Mark’s dying wish was for her to help him finish what he started. She’s trapped on this path and has to see it through. She doesn’t have to like it.

  He pauses. ‘How ’bout you get everything started, prep it all, but I do the actual last bit, look it over and activate the code. Hard enough to operate on yourself at the best of times, and your health is bad, girl.’

  Carina gives an embarrassed cough. It’s been weeks since she’s had to stay for any length of time in this crumbling body, acknowledge how it’s beginning to fail, face the fact that everyone can see she’s a Zealot.

  ‘OK. That’s a good compromise. I appreciate it.’ She’s warming to Chopper. His no-nonsense attitude, the fact that he so obviously doesn’t give a flying fuck what other people think, that he’ll give himself an extra appendage just because he wants to and it’s more convenient for his work.

  He backs away from the screen, gestures for her to come forward. It’s difficult to concentrate – the Zeal withdrawal has turned up from a low hum of physical annoyance to a constant throbbing of need.

  Chopper’s interface is a bit different to what she’s used to. The whole shop has been shielded, her implants cut off from external data. At least neuron dust doesn’t have serial numbers, and as far as she knows, they can’t track her from the actual nanobots themselves. The extra security should be enough. Should. Another thing out of her control that she has to hope doesn’t come back to bite her in the ass.

  Another tremor shakes her muscles.