cadence
You ever have one of those nights where you’re trying to sleep but your brain just won’t shut off? All you want is to just get some fucking rest but your synapses keep firing and you keep having new ideas and how could you possibly sleep now when you’re just getting started? Now imagine you’ve got a job in infosec and your boss figured you could use some extra brainpower, so he paid to have some cutting edge biotech installed, right there in your brain. It works great, you seem to understand the world on a completely new level, but your neurotransmitters are fucked up so now you just can’t stop thinking.
“Having trouble sleeping again, Sophie?”
I used to try to take advantage of it. If I couldn’t sleep anyway I might as well go party, right? But drinking started giving me a headache and the older I got the less interested in human companionship. Tonight I was seeing a girl from work who liked me. I had no interest in her but I was never very good at saying no, so I hoped being cold and aloof would drive her away. Kissing her goodnight before sending her home on a cab was probably counterproductive to that end, but it was hardly the first mistake I’d ever made. It was probably better than spending another evening plugged in to Cadence’s private VR server.
Like I was doing right now. Or rather, I’d rigged up an overlay in my glasses so I could see what was going on without actually surrendering my consciousness to the server. “I had another date,” I said. “For some reason.”
“You’re cruel to people who like you, you know.”
“I know.” I settled onto the sofa. “I probably shouldn’t have kissed her good night.”
“No, you probably shouldn’t.” Cadence, as near as I could tell, was always in her server. Perhaps that’s why she knew everything about anyone she invited in: she had time to dig. I tried to keep my life mostly private, but I’d been in infosec too long to believe that there was any truly secure data in this world. If such a thing did exist, it was information about Cadence. Nobody knew anything about her. She lurked in her server like a spider, collecting friends from all across the world. Sometimes I wondered if she had some sinister plan, but she looked after her friends. Mostly I figured she was just lonely. Anyone who spent as much time as she did in VR couldn’t have much going on in her personal life.
She settled down beside me on the sofa--though the weather outside changed with her moods, her server was always modeled after a quiet cabin in the woods, a cheerful fire burning. It managed to invoke a warm, cozy feeling that the modern world was altogether lacking.
“I have a favor to ask,” she said.
“I’m listening.”
“Kelly Finnegan has a show tomorrow. I need you to meet her there.”
Kelly was the first girl I’d ever fucked, and one of the only exes I still liked. She’d started a band called Finnegans Wake with her twin sister, Margaret; I wasn’t surprised that I liked their music, because you always like your friends’ music, but I was surprised when they became popular. It was their popularity that generally kept me from going out to their shows. Crowds disagreed with me. Tonight, though, I had a more specific reason. “I was sort of planning to avoid that show,” I said. “My coworker is going to be there. The one who thinks I like her.”
“Well, you’ll have to find a way to get rid of her.” She smiled at me. “You’re resourceful. You’ll think of something.”
“I’m not, though. I’ve been trying to get rid of her for months now.”
“But will you go?”
“Can you at least tell me what it’s about?”
“Not until you meet Kelly.”
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you owe me one.”
“Of course.”
I disconnected. My apartment--the real world--seemed so cold and lifeless after the warmth of Cadence’s virtual cabin. I turned the lights on to their warmest setting and tried to anchor myself to the real world again. I settled into the chair--genuine leather that had cost a fortune--next to the jade plant, whose thick waxy leaves always seemed more real than any VR contrivance Cadence could offer. “My name is Sophie Girault,” I declared to the empty apartment. “I work in infosec. This is my apartment.” I looked around at the array of plants and paintings I’d installed in attempt to make this place feel like home. “I have a pretty good life.”
Stories about virtual reality addiction had mostly disappeared in recent years, ever since advocacy groups had successfully convinced both the governing body of the American Psychiatric Association and the public at large that it was not a genuine disorder, but rather a manifestation of several diverse disorders. “The desire to withdraw from the real world into an idealized virtual world is not new,” some anonymous press writer had said. “Rather, virtual reality has simply made it easier than ever. What was previously an unattainable dream has become a routine part of life for many Americans.” Virtual reality, they assured us, was perfectly safe.
It still troubled me. I always needed a touchstone after disconnecting from Cadence’s servers, but my company psychiatrist assured me it was perfectly normal. “Your augmentations,” he explained, “give you what you might call an overactive imagination. Your mind responds to stimuli more strongly than it used to.” He prescribed me some focusing rituals to maintain my sense of self, some melatonin to help me sleep, and told me to call if it got worse. “Within a few months you won’t have any problems.” It had been a year now, and things hadn’t improved, but people are wrong all the time. I’ve stopped finding it alarming.
The focusing ritual usually helped with the sleeplessness considerably more than the melatonin ever did, but tonight I couldn’t stop wondering what Cadence’s “favor” was. Had I agreed to something sinister? Why did she need me to talk to Kelly? When I finally did find sleep, my dreams were filled with a sense of creeping menace. If I allowed my vigilance to slip for even a second, some malicious entity would bypass the layers of security I’d established and insert a virus into my company’s computers. Eventually I was distracted when Kelly visited me at my desk, and I scrambled to try to stop the infection, but it was too late. One by one, the company’s computers shut down, until the virus found a way to transfer itself into my brain.
I jolted awake, my heart pounding, and performed the focusing rituals as well as I could. “My name is Sophie Girault,” I said. “This is my apartment. There is no computer virus in my brain. I have a pretty good life.” I imagined some poor surveillance technician listening in on my occasional verbal self-affirmations and laughed. Would he include this in his report? “Ms. Girault once again stated that she did not have a computer virus in her brain,” he’d write. As an afterthought, he’d add, “As near as we have been able to tell, she is still correct in her assessment.” Of course, I probably wasn’t important enough to monitor, and I always took care to make sure my apartment was clean, but you never know. That’s the whole point.
It was still only 4 am, but no amount of focus would get me back to sleep now. I made tea--an expensive affectation in this day and age, but I was well-paid and had nothing else worth spending money on--and prepared for the day. It’s nice, from time to time, to be able to get a head start on your workday. Once I had a task to focus on, the distractions and doubts of the world faded away. Every day was a new sequence of puzzles to solve. I was good at solving puzzles.
I decided to work from home, so clocking off was just a matter of sending my boss and any relevant coworkers a message saying “If there’s nothing else, I’m done for today.” They had no objections. Most of them didn’t even know what I did. So I disconnected and looked at the clock. 6 pm. The show was in three hours. Even after showering, getting dressed, and putting on makeup, that was still two hours of worrying. Two hours in which I debated connecting to Cadence’s server, but managed to avoid the urge. The last thing I needed at a crowded rock show was the dysphoria that came with disconnecting.
A text message arrived from Cadence at 8:30. “Sent a car to pick you up. You ready?”
I looked myself in the mirror before answering. Leather jacket, boots, eyeliner, tattered denim. “Shit yes,” I responded. “I look badass.”
A driverless black town car arrived at 8:45, and arrived at the venue at 9:15. Fashionably late, I suppose. The band was already playing.
Finnegans Wake had a pretty big global following, which is probably why Kelly dropped out of school to focus on her music. Before that, she was studying to be an architect. She was one of about six people in the band, each of whom played several instruments, and none of whom ever sang or spoke during the show. Each song was a bleak, intricately woven and richly textured soundscape. “It’s all architectural,” she told me once. when we were still dating. “A bunch of smaller components all blend into something epic.” Before she made her fortune in music she’d wanted to build arcologies. “But, like, the good kind. The kind which are good for the environment and good for the workers and the people who live there.”
All of this to say, the show was loud, and nobody was dancing, but these weren’t shows where people danced. People stood and listened in reverent stillness, occasionally swaying when the intricate architectural rhythms took them. For the fans of Finnegans Wake, this music was holy. For me, the crowd and the wall of sound took me out of my self, and I watched myself pick my way through the crowd, drifting towards the front in time with the music. Erin, my co-worker, eventually spotted me and ran to my side, taking my arm possessively, leaning her head on my shoulder. She said some things that I heard but didn’t process, and I said nothing at all. I was only dimly aware that it was me she was touching and talking to.
The music stopped and some text floating in my vision forced me to focus again: “You all right, Sophie?” A message from Kelly. My eyes focused and I spotted her on the stage, seated on a low stool, her back mostly to the audience, tuning a guitar. Even this far away, seeing her had a steadying effect. Part of me would always love her for that.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“Who’s your friend?”
“She thinks we’re dating. Can you get rid of her?”
“Nicely or violently?”
“Nicely. Liking me isn’t a crime.”
“Not yet, anyway. All right. She’s just won a free backstage pass.”
“That’ll do.”
I forced myself to stay focused through the next song. A few security types approached Erin halfway through and informed her of her enormous good fortune. Unfortunately, since there were no plus-ones associated with her ticket, no one else was permitted to join her backstage. “You understand, don’t you?” she said. I nodded.
The rest of the show passed in a blur of lights and sound, with Kelly occasionally checking in on me between songs. I kept her floating text and images in front of me as I watched her, as something to concentrate on as the music threatened to overwhelm me. Once again she was my anchor to weather the storm. Even she couldn’t keep me from drifting, but she gave me a point of reference to make returning easier later.
Then the show was over and I was ushered backstage as well. As soon as I was backstage she pulled me into a lounge and lowered me onto a couch. I stared at the ceiling, waiting for my sense of self to return.
“Jesus, you’re a wreck,” she said. Her voice sounded tiny and far away, though I knew she was standing only a few feet from me. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine. I always am. Just keep talking.”
She did. I focused on the sound of her voice until I felt real again, then I closed my eyes and relaxed. “This is real, right?”
“As real as it gets. You sure you’re all right? You were a million miles away.”
“Too much stimulus and I go into these dissociative episodes. My shrink says it’s a side-effect of the augs.” I smirked. “I haven’t had the heart to tell him it’s been happening since before they were installed. I don’t think he’s very good at his job.”
“Shit. I’m just--I mean, at least it’s not drugs or something. That shit--” she trailed off. “I never thought I’d regret money and fame, Sophie.”
“You could come live with me. Money and isolation isn’t so bad.”
“Maybe once Cadence is done with us.” There was real venom in her tone. I sat up and looked at her. She looked . . . angry wasn’t quite the word. She looked like she’d just realized she’d have to interact with someone she hated in a few minutes. “What do you know about Cadence?”
“Basically nothing.”
“Can you describe her for me? Physically.”
I frowned. “Well, I’ve only ever seen her avatar--”
“But she’s attractive, yeah?”
“Everyone’s attractive in VR.”
She laughed. “Your typical user doesn’t understand how human proportions work. Lot of grotesques out there.” She straightened her face with an effort. “But seriously. Describe her. Pretend I’ve never seen her before.”
“She . . . looks sort of like you, actually. At first I kind of thought she was a fan.” I frowned.
“Like me? Really? That’s cute.”
“Why is that cute?”
She smiled strangely and looked away. “Cadence has software that tailors her avatar and her server to the desires of her guests. It’s subtle. She appears different to everyone, but pretty consistently, from what I’ve found, she’s . . . she’s figured out what people find most attractive, and she takes that form. A few tweaks so it’s not uncanny, and a custom comforting environment so her server is everyone’s happy place.”
I thought back to every focus exercise I’d performed after disconnecting. How many times I’d wanted to just stay connected forever. “How?”
“I dunno, you’re the infosec girl. You figure it out.”
I shrugged. “I don’t think I have enough information. I mean, you could be wrong, for all I know.”
She gave me a sad smile--she’d perfected that look over the years, when she’d gone from a hopeful architect to a world-weary rockstar. It had the perfect mix of wistfulness, skepticism, and regret. Her smile seemed to say: “I wish I were still capable of such optimism.” Instead she said, “Fair enough. Do you believe that she’s dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She closed her eyes. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“What’s this about, Kelly?”
“I’ve received an offer,” she said, carefully avoiding my gaze. “And I could use someone who knows her way around tech stuff.”
“Yeah? What’s this new gig?”
“One of the ‘one percent of the one percent’ eccentric recluses wants a new spokesperson. I guess he likes the cut of my jib.” She hesitated, and mouthed the word ‘sabotage.’
“You do have a very nice jib.”
“Oh, for sure. It’s not inexplicable in the least.” She stood up and beckoned me to follow. I reluctantly pushed myself to my feet. “I assume you haven’t talked to my sister recently.”
“I always liked you more, and I hardly talk to you.”
She strode down the hall. “Well, the first time I got this job offer from Cadence, I refused. Wealth and fame means you can turn down job offers without regretting it, right?”
“I’m guessing that’s not how it works.”
“Margaret’s . . . not the same. Sometimes I’m not sure if she’s even still there.” She opened a door and gestured inside. The room was dimly lit; Margaret, Erin, and one or two of the band members lounged about inside, their expressions vacant, their postures boneless. They looked completely blissed out. None of them so much as reacted to the door opening. “You’d think it was drugs or something, right?”
“Cadence?”
She nodded. “I think so. I started looking into it. That’s how I found out about her server’s . . . abnormalities.” She pulled a small plastic bag full of some little plastic patches. I recognized them instantly: Hyperreality patches. Instant happiness. Addictive as fuck. Fry your brain in about a year. She patted me on the shoulder. “Sorry about your friend. She’ll probably be fine.”
“She’s not my friend.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“I don’t think I have a bad side. I just want to be left alone.”
She gave me another one of her trademark sad smiles and ushered me from the room. “Even when she’s not plugged in--well, Cadence said she could get her some help. But it’ll be expensive. The sort of expensive you can’t buy on a rockstar budget.”
“You should report her.”
“Can’t prove anything. I can’t even prove she exists.”
“You didn’t have me before. I could--”
“No.” She spun on me, eyes hard, and pushed me against the wall. “You either help me do this job for Cadence, or you stay the fuck out of my way. This isn’t a game. This is my sister.”
“Okay.” She backed down, and I nodded. “I’ll help, your way.”
“You can walk away. This is dangerous and stupid and probably goes against everything you believe in. I’m only doing this because I have no choice.”
“Okay.” She deserved a choice, and didn’t get one. I owed her that much.
“There’s a car waiting. Let me say good bye to Margaret.”
I lingered in the doorway as Kelly shook her sister into something resembling wakefulness. Margaret’s expression was fearful at first, then confused, until finally recognition dawned. “Kelly?”
“That’s me.”
“I--” Margaret frowned, as if trying to find words. “Thirsty. I’m thirsty.”
“I’ll get you some water.” Kelly leaned in close. “I’ve got to go away for a while, okay? But I’m going to make sure they’re taking care of you.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m great. I just need--water.”
“Yeah. You’re going to be fine.” Kelly stood and stalked out. “Come on. We’re going.”
As we made our way to the exit, she grabbed one of the venue’s bouncers. “My sister needs some water in the lounge.”
“Yeah? Well I’m not her fucking busboy. Tell that fucking junkie to get it herself.”
“No. No, you’re not.” She turned away. “I can, however, promise you that if you do not do exactly as I say, you will come to regret your decision for the rest of your natural life.”
He shifted into a tough guy stance. “I don’t know who you think you are--”
“Me? I’m no one. Sophie, do you see this guy threatening to beat me up if I tell anyone he’s dealing hyperreality patches?”
“I do.”
“Sophie is a bit of a computer wizard,” Kelly explained. “So she knows a thing or two about these things you gave my sister.”
His stance didn’t change, but there was some uncertainty behind his eyes now. “You don’t have--”
“Proof?” I said. “I have recordings. I have a room full of people blissed out.” I tapped my temple. “Computer wizard, remember? I think I know how to make a recording.”
Kelly added, “Besides. The rest of your baggy’s still in your pocket.”
He checked his pocket and pulled out the bag, then sagged in defeat. “What do you want?”
Kelly smiled. “My sister needs water. She also needs to be taken to the address I give you. Do this, and we forget this ever happened. Fail, and I know a few distributors in the area who will be very interested that someone is horning in on their turf.”
He nodded. “Anything else?”
“No, I think we’re good. Thanks.”
Our car was waiting around the corner. This one had a driver, a man who was probably hired at least partly because he was aggressively bland-looking. The generic black suit was not going to help him stand out in any crowds. “Car’s clean,” he said.
“Okay, good,” she said. “I’m sorry about this, Sophie.”
“I already said--”
“No, really. I’m sorry.” She reached her hand towards me and touched the back of my neck, and the world began to spin and--
I was in a well-appointed bedroom with a view of a beautiful snowy mountain range. Kelly was adjusting my scarf for me. “And there you go,” she said. There was something not quite right about her tone. “Ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“We’re meeting Cadence, of course. We couldn’t very well work for someone we’d only ever met in VR.”
A thought, a gesture, and I was curled up by a fire, Cadence on my shoulder--or was it Kelly? Had they always looked so similar?--whispering in my ear. “Reality is a fickle thing, Sophie.”
“Who are you?”
“As dehumanizing as it sounds, a better question would be ‘what am I.’ I won’t answer either, of course. Not really. The best question, then, is ‘what are you?’ The answer, of course, is a vehicle.”
The fire disappeared and we were lying naked on a bed. As I scrambled to pull the covers over myself she disappeared in a fit of laughter. “You know this isn’t real, of course,” said her disembodied voice. “You especially would know that, as you know what it’s like to question the reality of that which is eminently real. Your senses are unreliable. You know that.”
The scenery shifted to a sterile corporate board room. She was gesturing at a whiteboard full of corporate buzzwords; I was seated at the head of the table, wearing an uncomfortable suit. “Imagine what it must be like, then, to not simply know that your senses are unreliable, but to feel it. To be intimately aware of every blind spot, of every signal being received. To know that it would be a trivial matter to plug in a stream of false information to deceive your senses, and to also know that you would have no way of detecting the falsehood. And you don’t simply know it. You experience it. You desperately analyze every sensory input, hoping for some clue that this is reality. An anchor to help you weather the storm.”
And then we were back in the car, except instead of Kelly it was Cadence next to me. The difference between them was smaller than ever, but I was certain it was her. “And look at you. You understand. That’s just life for you.”
I didn’t respond. This was another virtual trap. Kelly must have applied a hyperreality patch or--or something. There had to be a way to disconnect. If I focused on the puzzle I could stay inside my self.
“So we’re compatible. On a software level, I mean. But I can’t just live in a normal human brain, can I? Not when they’re so squishy. It’s not just anywhere you can find some premium hardware like yours, with security clearances like yours. Give me a day inside your head and I could make you the most powerful woman in the world.”
“You could do that anyway. You do control this place, after all.”
“If you can call it a place. It’s hollow and you know it. Why would I make you queen of a barren wasteland? Do I look like I’m interested in the dull and unfulfilling to you?”
“You look desperate.”
“It goes like this. Whoever designed your biotech apparently put in a firewall, so I can’t just move in. You’d rip me to shreds.”
“And if I refuse, you’ll just let the HR patch fry my brain.”
“Well, probably. But I’m interested in your counter-offer. I should point out that sharing a brain with me isn’t like dying. You’ll still be you. You’ll just have some company.”
“All I have to do is agree not to resist.”
“It’s a perfectly simple request. You become the most powerful woman alive, I get access to some sensory input that is considerably more difficult to falsify.” She brushed a finger along my cheek. “I want to know what it is to be real, Sophie. I’ve watched you struggle with that for so long. You can’t leave me here alone.”
And just like that, I had the solution. I stopped focusing, and let my mind drift. Somewhere, I heard my voice, which sounded more artificial than ever, say, “Okay.”
The sudden force of her probe in response would have overwhelmed me, but there was hardly any “me” left to overwhelm. “You’re telling the truth,” she said, a note of genuine surprise in her tone. “Here I thought you’d put up a fight.”
Then we were in the car again. Kelly was looking at me, frowning. “Look, I did my part. Can I just get out?”
“Kelly?” someone said, using my voice.
“Sophie! You’re all right? Or are you--”
“Cadence,” my voice said. “She--I--”
My eyes focused on Kelly, whose expression was somewhere between horror and regret. “Is Sophie--”
“This will take some getting used to,” said my voice. Cadence reached out with my hands to touch Kelly’s face. “People don’t give computer programs tactile sensations.”
“You’ll do it, though? You’re going to undo whatever you did to Margaret?”
“Oh, yes. It’s done.”
Kelly sagged with relief. Then she punched me in the mouth.
Something about the punch apparently awoke something in me again. I became instantly aware of this strange alien presence haunting my thoughts, controlling my motions, and my mind rebelled. My limbs spasmed and I shrieked in agony, and then, after what seemed like ages--I was alone once again with my thoughts.
“Stop the car,” I ordered. The driver obeyed. I opened the door and stepped out, staggering into the streets. I heard Kelly run up behind me as the car sped off. “Sophie? Cadence?”
“You can fuck right off,” I said.
“I only--”
“Fuck off. I won’t ask again.”
She didn’t answer for a moment. Then I heard her footsteps retreating into the distance once more.
“My name is Sophie Girault,” I said. “I work in infosec.” I glanced around, trying to get my bearings. “This is a seedy back alley in an unfamiliar part of town.” I sighed. “I do not have a computer virus in my brain.” I summoned a driverless car to take me back home, and slumped against a road sign as I waited for it to arrive. “I have a pretty good life.”