The Spy Is Cast (16 page)

I walked around
cautiously and waved a hand in front of my face. Nothing. My heart
beat a little faster. This might work.

I created a mirror in
the sim and walked in front of it. Still nothing.

Grinning, I conjured
up a sofa and chair and sat down in the chair, watching the mirror.
The chair’s cushion compressed, but there was no sign of me. I got
up again and pushed the chair over a few feet. That worked fine.
Next test.

What would happen if I
also imagined myself insubstantial? I turned back to the chair and
passed my hand through it. Then I walked through it. No sensation
of contact at all. The chair remained stationary. I turned back to
it and gave it an intentional push. It moved cooperatively over a
few inches.

Ha! I could interact
with my own constructs any way I wanted.

What if…? I hovered
weightlessly about eight feet above the furniture and floated
effortlessly around the perimeter. Better and better. And it was
far easier to maintain. Being invisible was almost as easy as being
myself.

“Okay,” I spoke out
loud. “Spider, this is an audio test. I’ll be out in a minute.”

I floated through the
portal. Pain crashed through my head again, and I couldn’t even
summon up enough energy to swear. I wrapped my arms over my head
and groaned until it eased. When I opened my eyes, Spider was
squatting in front of my chair, gazing at me anxiously.

“Are you okay? What
was that?”

“Let me look at the
data record,” I croaked, dragging my chair over.

He gave me another
worried look before stepping over to run the record. A smile spread
across my face as the video progressed. Furniture moved of its own
accord. There was complete silence except for the scraping of the
furniture until the very end when my voice spoke out of
nothingness.

I pumped my fist.
“Yes!” I turned to meet Spider’s baffled gaze. “That was me, being
invisible!”

His jaw dropped. “Get
out of here. Really?” He ran the video again, scrutinizing the
monitor. “You were in there the whole time? How cool is that?”

“That is cooler than
cool, my friend,” I said smugly. Then I sobered. “One last test. I
need somebody to be in the network with me while I do that. I want
to be really, really sure. Because this could backfire in a really
bad way.”

He nodded slowly.
“Yeah. Okay, I’ll come in with you.”

“That would be good,
because now you know what to expect. But I also need somebody in
there who doesn’t suspect anything is going on. Just to see if
there’s any difference in what you observe. Is Mike Connor working
today?”

Spider hunched over
the keyboard to check his records. “No.”

“Shit. Who else could
we use?”

“John Smith is the
only other person with high enough security clearances.”

“Shit!” I scowled,
tried to think of an alternative, and came up empty. “Well, it
can’t be helped. I need this test. Can you call him?”

“Is that a good idea?
Didn’t he attack you the last time you were in the network
together?”

“Yes, but now he knows
which side I’m on. I don’t think that’ll happen again. And you’ll
be there.”

I was also reasonably
sure it wouldn’t happen again because I’d laid a pretty good
virtual beating on Smith after that last little episode. I really
didn’t think he’d take a chance on pissing me off again, inside or
outside the network.

“Okay.” Spider picked
up the phone. After several minutes of coaxing, he didn’t seem to
be making much progress. Finally he straightened and used an
authoritative tone I hadn’t heard before. “No. Not acceptable. This
is time-critical and mission-critical. Get down here. Now.” He hung
up the phone firmly. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Nicely done. Very
assertive.”

He raised a humorous
eyebrow. “It’s the beard.”

Smith duly arrived
about five minutes later. His unwashed stench preceded him as he
came through the door. God, lucky thing this place was
well-ventilated. I breathed shallowly.

Spider briefed him,
using the same decisive tones as before. “We’re conducting some
specialized testing. We need you to step inside the portal and
remain there. Observe and record every single thing. Sound, sight,
smell, sensation, everything. I’ll come in with you. Aydan will
conduct the tests.”

Smith shot me a look
of barely concealed alarm. “I… don’t know if I’m the right person
for this…”

“You’re the only
person available,” I growled. He didn’t look reassured at my tone,
and I relented and explained. “The session will be recorded. From
your standpoint, very little will happen. That’s why we need you to
be very focused on your observation.”

“All right,” he agreed
reluctantly. “How long will this take?”

“Not more than ten
minutes.” I looked from him to Spider. “Let’s go.”

I watched the monitors
until the two men appeared in the portal. The fixed stares on their
real-world bodies in the lab reassured me all was going according
to plan thus far. Time to rock and roll.

I stepped invisibly
into their network simulation, going for silent and insubstantial.
Just to be on the safe side, I drifted above their heads while they
stood scanning the void.

“What are we looking
for?” Smith whispered.

Spider shushed him
impatiently. “Just watch. And listen.”

I drifted over to
place my lips right next to Spider’s ear. “Spider,” I breathed as
quietly as possible. He jerked in shock, his head snapping around
to search for the source of the sound. The side of his face
connected solidly with my invisible nose. He let out a yelp and
jerked back while I did my best to muffle my involuntary grunt of
pain.

Smith stared at him.
“What?”

“Shhh,” Spider shushed
him again.

I floated up ten feet
or so and spoke. “This is an audio test. If you can hear me, point
toward the source of the sound.” Both men’s heads swivelled, and
both of them pointed upward at me. Hmmm. I concentrated on putting
my voice somewhere else. “Where is the sound source now?” They both
wheeled around, pointing across the void at shoulder height.

Excellent. And safer
than whispering in someone’s ear.

I created two chairs.
“Sit down.”

Smith glanced over at
Spider. “Did you do that?”

Spider shook his head,
frowning, and motioned to Smith to sit.

One more test. I
drifted reluctantly toward Smith’s smelly avatar. Focusing on one
of the lank strands of hair draped over his collar, I carefully
reached out my invisible fingers. This was harder than I thought. I
couldn’t see how close I was.

Concentrating on being
insubstantial, I inched my hand forward. The problem was I wouldn’t
know whether it was working until my virtual hand was halfway
through his virtual head. I nobly resisted the urge to just slap
him upside the head and see if my hand went through. If it didn’t,
oh well.

I muffled a snicker
and refocused. And touched the lock of hair with my fingertips. It
moved slightly and Smith absently scratched his head, still staring
around the void.

Shit. I’d been afraid
that might happen. Despite my efforts at being insubstantial, I was
still physically interacting with other avatars.

I drew back. “Spider,
could you please create a chair?” Both men jerked around in their
chairs to look behind them, but they obviously couldn’t see me.
After a second, another chair appeared in the void. I drifted over
to it and tentatively reached out my hand. It passed through the
chair like vapour. Good. Then I gave it a push, and it slid over
several inches. Perfect. I could control my interactions with all
constructs, regardless of who created them.

I threw my voice over
beside Spider’s ear again. “Spider,” I whispered. “I’m going to
touch your shoulder. Try not to react.” He stared tensely straight
ahead. I tried one more time for insubstantial. I misjudged the
distance, and my hand dropped heavily on his shoulder.

He jumped. “Sorry,” he
said immediately.

“What?” Smith regarded
him with unease.

I moved quickly away.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” I projected from in front of them. “That’s
all I need. Please wait here for two minutes, and then exit the
network.” They both nodded understanding, and I stepped through the
portal.

Knowing I wouldn’t
have an audience, I let it all hang out, groaning and swearing and
pounding my fist on the table. As the pain subsided, I straightened
slowly, trying to look nonchalant. A few seconds later, Spider and
Smith blinked and sat up, too, as they left the network and came
back to the real world.

“What was that about?”
Smith demanded.

“Just some tests.
Let’s run the data record back, and you can tell me what you
observed.”

Spider brought up the
record and we reviewed it in slow-motion. Smith had little to add
to what was visible on the monitor. He apparently hadn’t heard or
seen me except when I spoke aloud. He hadn’t even consciously
noticed me touching his hair.

When the record ended,
I turned to Smith. “Thank you. That’s all I needed.”

“Are you going to
share your findings?”

“Not at the moment. I
need to do some more analysis,” I lied.

Smith looked
frustrated, but he got up and left without further comment.

“Why didn’t you tell
him?” Spider demanded when we were alone again.

“Mostly sheer
bloody-mindedness,” I admitted. “But also partly because there’s a
chance I might need an uninformed test participant later.” I looked
at my watch. “Crap! We’ve spent far too long here. I’ve got to get
going.”

Spider handed me the
small EMI generator. “Here’s your warning system. If for some
reason you need to increase the intensity, give this screw a
quarter-turn.” He indicated a tiny screw on the side.

“I hope this
works.”

“I hope so, too.”

It was eight-thirty
A.M. by the time I dragged my aching self back into my car. Tension
wound up in my shoulders. I was still at least three hours away
from any productive action. If Harchman was torturing some poor
soul in his network, help was a long way away.

Nightmare memories
shrieked at the edges of my mind and I pushed them away, steering
my car to the Melted Spoon with shaking hands. I grabbed a toasted
bagel to go and bolted it down while I drove home.

Back at the farm, I
hurriedly packed several days’ changes of clothes into my backpack
and excavated my riding leathers from the depths of my hall closet.
The pants and jacket fit a lot more snugly than they had ten years
earlier but I could still squeeze into them, and the high-quality
leather would protect me from some road rash if worse came to
worst.

Glancing at my watch,
I threw some snacks, orange juice boxes, and my water bottle into
the backpack as well. Then I locked up the house and hit the road
worrying.

By the time I parked
at the motorcycle dealership at the south end of Calgary over two
hours later, I was exhausted. My head and shoulders ached with
stress. Something large and anxious flapped spiky wings in my
stomach.

I got stiffly out of
the car and stretched, shaking out the kinks before I squared my
shoulders and walked in.

I had no idea what
arrangements Kane had made, but apparently everything was well in
hand. A helpful man fitted me with a top-quality full-face helmet
and ushered me to the parking lot where a Honda Shadow lounged
beside the building. He handed over the key and showed me a space
in their fenced compound where I could leave my car. Then he
mercifully left me to my own devices.

I jittered beside the
motorcycle for a few minutes, looking it over. I’d ridden my dirt
bike quite a bit in the past couple of months, so I was confident
in my riding skills. I was just afraid of everybody else’s driving
skills.

Finally, I sighed and
took my backpack into the washroom, where I changed into my
thinnest gym shorts and a tank top. I wriggled into my leathers and
creaked my way back out to the bike.

The sun burned down on
my black-clad body and sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. I
sighed again. Dawdling wasn’t going to help anything.

I buckled on my helmet
and slung my pack on my back. With a quick prayer to the god of
bikers, if there was one, I fired up the Honda and pulled out into
traffic, my rigid body fighting the corners, my trembling hands
clenched on the handgrips.

On the edge of town, I
turned off into the vacant end of a mall parking lot and stopped,
peeling my aching fingers loose and letting my head hang while I
breathed slowly and deeply. Calm. Just do a few manoeuvrability
tests. Get comfortable. Relax.

I took a deep breath
and kicked the bike into gear again to run up to a reasonable
speed, braking and cornering hard to get a feel for the extra
weight and bulk. I didn’t want to waste any more time, so I called
Spider to let him know I was on my way before pulling out onto the
highway to head west.

I hadn’t ridden at
highway speed for years, and the ache in my hands and shoulders
reminded me once more to breathe and relax. At first I stared at
the oncoming traffic, hyper-alert, but after a while I began to
remember how much I used to enjoy riding. By the time I spotted
Kane at the side of the road a half-hour later, the hot sun had
relaxed my tense shoulders and I was smiling with the sheer joy of
the open road.

There was no mistaking
the tall, broad-shouldered figure leaning against a mean-looking
black BMW K1300R. When I pulled up beside him, I took a few seconds
to appreciate the view.

Like me, Kane was clad
in a black leather jacket, which he’d unzipped in the heat. He wore
black leather riding chaps over faded blue jeans, and I swallowed
hard at the sight. Riding chaps for men are like cut-out lingerie.
They just beg you to look at the good stuff.