Interzone Science Fiction and Fantasy Magazine #213 Read online

  Inside the apartment a long hallway with pastel walls opens before Kyle. He waits here a moment. Maybe the men will come to greet him. They'll be worried. They always are when he comes unexpectedly. But no one appears and Kyle sets off down the hall, past the many doors, over the thick beige carpeting. Shelves of books and DVDs line the walls, all virtual, all connected to the system. It's a pleasant refuge that the underground has created, Kyle thinks, but it's still a prison.

  He passes David's door and knocks at Marty's. Marty may be there, working on his new novel. But there's no answer, not even the sound of Marty virtually tapping on the keyboard of his virtual computer.

  Next comes the observation room. The men won't be in there. They only go there when Kyle lets them. It's from there that they can see the outside world, experience what Kyle experiences—a hot shower, a good meal, an invigorating bicycle ride or workout at the gym—and they can hear what Kyle hears, see what he sees. They can't take any action, or read Kyle's mind, but if Kyle activates direct access, they can converse with him. That's dangerous though, Kyle knows, since to an outside observer he may appear to be talking to himself. For direct conversation he prefers to come up to the apartment himself.

  The hallway turns and there's the control room. Kyle never lets the men in there. He didn't want it installed, but Trevor had insisted on it as a safety feature. If a host were incapacitated for some reason, Trevor explained, a guest could take over temporarily.

  Kyle doesn't like the idea of someone else in control of his body.

  The hallway turns again. Kyle goes past the side corridor, with its red door at the far end, a door that doesn't open. Another safety feature, Trevor explained, an escape hatch. Kyle doesn't know where it leads, or even how to open it. Trevor has always dismissed his questions. Kyle doesn't need to know.

  Kyle finds the two men in the living room. So much the better. It will be easier if David's there. He's a good man, strong in adversity, and will be a support for Marty. And David, too, is in danger now.

  We are all in danger, thinks Kyle.

  * * * *

  Poor Marty is devastated. Kyle knew he would be, but not to this extent. Martin Anthony Wells, a prolific popular novelist. Not of great literature, but of fascinating stories of twisted politicians and power mongering on a planetary scale. His stories sound so true. That was his crime.

  But here, sitting on the couch opposite Kyle, Marty's a broken old man.

  David appears to sit next to him, appears to put an arm around Marty's shoulders. Appears, Kyle thinks, because it's just that. Like everything else in the attic. How important it is, he thinks, to physically feel things, to touch others. So much can be communicated by touch.

  David Kane is not broken. A bit younger than Kyle—about forty-five, Kyle would say—vigorous, energetic and enthusiastic, sometimes blunt but always reasonable. David's a reporter. He had been covering the strikes in the west when his arrest warrant went out. His dispatches were blunt and reasonable. He got in trouble for doing his job.

  David and Marty. It's a privilege to know them, Kyle thinks. Here inside his own brain, connected to the system that the underground has set up, Marty and David continue to live and write. Through the system they feed their works out to the clandestine media. It's dangerous, but it helps keep them sane.

  Work and family. That keeps Kyle sane too.

  Marty has a lot of questions. Is his body still in the same place? Are the police trying to bring it out of the sleep? What will happen to him here, if they awaken the body? What if the body dies? Were they betrayed by someone? What of the people at the house where his body was stored? What of his family, his wife and his grown sons, have they been harmed in any way? Tell me, Kyle, Marty pleads. Please tell me.

  Kyle doesn't know much, except that so far the police are maintaining the life support. Even Trevor probably couldn't say more. The underground is vast and compartmentalized. You only know what and who you need to know. Kyle knows only Trevor and, to a lesser extent, Gill, who does the technical work in a secret lab in his basement.

  That afternoon Kyle asked Trevor to connect, to give Marty the news himself, but Trevor refused. That was Kyle's job, Trevor said. You're the host, Kyle, their direct link to the outside. My job, Kyle thought. As if he didn't already have a heavy enough burden. Kyle respects Trevor, but he doesn't always like him.

  Trevor had come to the restaurant that afternoon, asking to see Mr Kyle Barrett, and posing as a wine salesman, Not a wise move. This man in his late sixties—a retired university professor, with long loose hair, a green silk tie and a tweed jacket—might have been noticed by the employees. Laura certainly noticed him.

  The lunch shift was over, the lights were down low, the place nearly deserted. They sat at a corner table in the air-conditioned bar and Kyle let him pretend to present his wines. Laura came by the table to ask something—Kyle can't remember what—she was getting ready for the dinner shift. Kyle introduced her, but Trevor didn't even have a phony visiting card to give her. Laura knows the names of all the wine distributing houses anyway.

  She threw Kyle one of those looks of hers as she walked away.

  Kyle accompanied Trevor out to the street, from cool dark to blinding heat. Standing in the afternoon sun, Trevor gave Kyle the news of Marty's body. With smiles and social niceties, they shook hands and said goodbye. As though they had just concluded a business deal.

  But, thinks Kyle, none of this is now of any help to Marty.

  Kyle talks with Marty and David for a while longer. But Laura is due home any minute, and he must leave. He tells them to go into the observation room if they like. They'll share a glass of wine when Laura comes in, direct contact de-activated, of course. They understand.

  The television is still on as Kyle surfaces. News analysts are talking about Carson Benney, a former member of the Assembly. The regime made sure he lost his last election, after his failed bid for his party's presidential nomination two years earlier. They had seen to it that a docile idiot got the nomination, someone sure to lose. So it was the incumbent, that raving crazy of the other party, who was elected yet again. A warrant has now been issued for Benney's arrest.

  Kyle gets up and, pretending to appear groggy, walks down the hall towards the kitchen. But there's no need for this ruse. Yolanda's door is still shut. He can hear her tapping on her keyboard, writing up some report or other. So early in her last year of secondary school and she's already so hard at work. Kyle has no doubt that she'll graduate with honors and be accepted by the university of her choice. He just wishes she weren't so serious all the time.

  He looks in on Randy. The ten-year-old boy is sound asleep. Little Randy, rough and tumble, in the boys soccer league this year. Always on the go, and so independent. Kyle knows he should spend more time with his son. But there's the restaurant, and now his work for the underground—all kinds of reasons why he can't. Why he doesn't.

  In the kitchen Kyle pours some wine. He briefly accesses the observation room directly. The men are there. Marty's spirits seem to have risen a little. He tells them they're going to drink a good cabernet. They smile and say goodnight. Kyle signs off.

  When Laura arrives they sit on the terrace. The night is still hot.

  "Who was that guy at the restaurant this afternoon?” she asks.

  "The professor-looking sort?” Kyle says, aware that the men in the attic will know he's talking about Trevor. “Somebody trying to find out who we do business with. I sent him on his way,” Kyle says.

  "Good,” says Laura.

  Lies, thinks Kyle.

  * * * *

  The next morning the news is bad too. Kyle is up at dawn. He'll soon leave for the restaurant, to open up for the employees, supervise deliveries and begin the lunch shift preparations. The newspaper has arrived and he quickly scans the headlines.

  He draws in his breath as he reads, but his anger soon takes over. It appears, says one article, that enemies of the Republic, sought by the police, ha
ve gone into hiding within the minds of traitorous individuals. Bodies in cryonic sleep have been discovered and accomplices arrested. The minds of these enemies may still be at large.

  Such drivel, Kyle thinks. But the minds are free. That much is true.

  The editorials are alarming. The population is called upon to be vigilant, to identify and denounce anyone suspected of harboring the mind of an enemy. Then come lists of characteristics and behavioral quirks to look for.

  The population? They must mean the mass movement that has brought us to dictatorship, Kyle rants silently. The human mass, he thinks. They can get that animal to do anything. But Kyle knows there is no point in spending energy on anger. You've got to be strong, or you don't get involved in underground activities in the first place.

  He runs a shower and steps into the comfort of the warm water. As usual when he takes a shower, he accesses the observation room. At first he felt strange, knowing he was taking a shower with two other men, but it's an ideal time to converse. Laura and the children aren't up yet, and in the noise of the falling water Kyle can talk with David and Marty with no fear. He tries not to speak out loud, but sometimes he forgets himself.

  It's important to let the men participate in daily rituals, Kyle knows. It helps them to organize their day, to stay on track and to feel that they're a part of normal existence. It's the closest thing to tactile sensations they have.

  David likes to tease Kyle. “When are you going to let us in while you're making love with Laura?” he says now and again. Marty is too reserved to joke like this, but he always laughs along.

  This morning no one feels like laughing.

  Kyle sums up the news for them. The advice to the population is worrying, he says. Be on the lookout for traitors hiding enemies. Absent looks, or looks of intense focus, distraction, talking to oneself, frequent fatigue or headaches, secretiveness.

  He'll have to be especially careful, even at home. He thinks of all the people he sees daily. Laura and the children, the neighbors, and the employees and customers at the restaurant. Their friends, too, though they don't see them much anymore. Their parents and their other relatives whom they only see a few times a year.

  Marty is depressed this morning. He's certain that it's the discovery of his body that has led to these articles. But Marty is good. He's concerned for Laura, Yolanda and Randy. “Surely you don't have to put up a front for them, Kyle?” he asks.

  Kyle hesitates before answering. No, he says, though he thinks that he should take care for Yolanda, with the things they tell the young people in the schools these days. Who knew what kind of pressure she might feel? And she has to worry about getting into university next year.

  After the shower David and Marty are still with Kyle. They have coffee and go over the newspaper again so the guys can read it first hand. They can't believe the events of the last few years. The president—the raving crazy as many call him—surely he can't last. Reasonable people will take things in hand, responsible government must return. It has to. But the years go by and the crazy is still there, re-elected. His faction shows no sign of relinquishing power.

  Later that morning, with Marty and David on their own again, Kyle walks to work in the warm morning. He's very careful about crossing the street. You don't want to get run over by a bus, Trevor had warned. And try to stay in reasonably good health, too.

  As he walks Kyle thinks about his work for the underground. Why did he agree to hide anyone? It's for freedom, he has told himself time and again. Real freedom. Not some blurry ideology, that myth that so many people speak of. Or is it because that raving crazy is just too offensive to tolerate? That guy will lead us to tragedy, Kyle has always thought. Hiding Marty and David is one small thing that a little person like Kyle can do.

  Kyle arrives at the restaurant and looks at the newspaper again, a final glance over the front page. In all the excitement this morning, one story has escaped him. Only now does he notice it.

  Carson Benney has disappeared.

  * * * *

  It's evening now, and Kyle has seen Trevor again today. Late this afternoon, at the gym where they both work out three times a week. The usual time and place for them to meet. Kyle has known Trevor for years. They were friends at the gym long before the troubles began. There they don't need to be afraid of being seen together.

  But they're still careful of what they say and of who might be listening.

  Recently a new face appeared at the gym. Russ, a big strapping guy, with a square, tanned face, and reddish-blond hair. He's about Kyle's age, and does the same kind of workout Trevor and Kyle do. Abs, back, abs, shoulders, abs, biceps, and more abs. The exercise seems to do Russ a lot more good than it does Kyle, Kyle thinks. Russ smiles and talks a lot, obviously wants to be friends with Kyle and Trevor. But he's got a look in his eye, Kyle thinks. As if he's got a plan and is waiting to play it out. But Kyle catches himself whenever thoughts like this cross his mind. It may be only his imagination. This constant suspicion is killing.

  Yet Russ always seems to know when he and Trevor will be there.

  "A bike ride this weekend?” Trevor asks when Russ is out of earshot.

  "Sunday morning,” Kyle agrees. The restaurant is closed Sundays.

  To talk seriously Kyle and Trevor take bike rides in the country. That's how Trevor first approached Kyle about the underground a few months back.

  Kyle would be a good host, Trevor had said when he first leveled with him about his underground activities. Why? Because you're a small businessman, Kyle, not some big-mouthed intellectual. Nobody would suspect you. As for the download, well, we use only a small part of your brain. There's plenty of room up there. No danger at all.

  Unless one day a sleeping body is found, Kyle now thinks.

  They talked about the risks. What if he is caught, Kyle asked. Surely they can probe the brain, discover the hideout. Only if you're inside, or if you access the observation room during the probe, said Trevor. And you have a procedure to follow if you're ever arrested, things to say, or not. They would talk about it.

  "And if worse comes to worst,” Trevor said, “your guests have the red door. After that, look after yourself."

  "But how will I know when and how to let them out?"

  "You'll know,” said Trevor. “And so will they."

  At the time Kyle hadn't noticed Trevor's subtle use of the plural.

  This evening Kyle and the children have dinner together, as usual. Randy finishes quickly and runs out to play with his friends in the warm twilight. He has a new buddy, Bobby McCord, newly arrived in town. Yolanda sits with Kyle a moment. Yolanda, dark and beautiful, like her mother, but tall like Kyle. He hopes she doesn't catch his waistline as she grows older. Kyle wants to talk to her about school, about going away to university next year, about anything, in fact, but he can't think of how to begin. She's become so distant.

  He looks at her and feels a sudden chill. She has a look in her eye. That same suspicious look as Laura, Kyle thinks. Or is it that same look as Russ has? Does she have a plan? She has to think of her future, Kyle knows. He feels sick at himself for being so suspicious.

  "You look so troubled these days, Daddy,” Yolanda says.

  "Troubled?” Kyle says and tries to smile. He thinks he succeeds in looking surprised, and interested.

  "You're so quiet. Last night at dinner, and tonight too. Is everything okay at the restaurant?"

  "Fine, I'm just tired,” he says. “I'll take a nap after dinner."

  With Yolanda gone to her room Kyle slips into the bedroom and turns on the television. He's soon inside the attic, in the living room where he tells David and Marty about Trevor's request for a meeting. He hopes this will reassure Marty. Perhaps Trevor will have some news by then. Marty still looks worried, though. Kyle wishes he could stay longer. The attic is peaceful, the company of Marty and David pleasant.

  Now Kyle's coming out. He's on the bed, the noise of the television in the background. Yolanda is standing ove
r him.

  "Are you sure you're all right, Daddy?” she says.

  Kyle nods and smiles and does his best to appear groggy.

  "You're taking these evening naps more and more,” she says.

  "Just so I can stay up with your mother when she gets home,” he says.

  "You look like you're in a trance when you sleep in the evening like this,” Yolanda says. “As if something's bothering you."

  That look in her eye. Kyle feels roasted under the scrutiny.

  Later, when Laura gets home, she and Kyle sip wine on the terrace.

  "A customer asked about you tonight,” she says. “A guy named Russ."

  "Oh,” Kyle says. “Russ, from the gym.” Kyle says this calmly, but his heartbeat quickens. So Russ knows where he works. “What did he want?"

  "Just to say hi. Or so he said."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I got a strange feeling from him,” Laura says.

  "What kind of feeling?"

  "You know,” says Laura.

  And she gives him another one of those looks.

  * * * *

  Sunday morning comes and Kyle meets Trevor. They ride side by side on a small country road. The morning quickly grows hot.

  "The men are listening,” Kyle says. “So what about Marty?"

  "The body is still in custody,” Trevor says. “The police are stepping up operations, but I doubt this can lead to you."

  But this isn't why Trevor wanted to see him.

  "We need you to hide someone else,” Trevor says.

  Kyle feels a stab in the gut.

  "Carson Benney?” he asks, though he's sure that's who it is.

  Trevor nods.

  "It'd be better to spread the risk around,” Kyle says. “And when are you going to find a permanent place for Marty and David? I'm supposed to be only the half-way house. Remember? And first it was to be only Marty, and—"

  "You're a good host,” Trevor says. “They're hard to come by."

  Kyle activates direct access. “Did you get all that?” he asks.