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In just about any other situation, if someone had forced me into a manufactured dream, I would have gone ballistic. But Thom was behind this one; that was clear. A mixture of bliss and utter calm washed over me, better than any drug experience I’d ever known.
A small aircraft carried me through the night across ocean waves, drawing ever closer to an oval saucer of light. It emanated from below the water’s surface. By the time the aircraft was almost on top of it, the luminescent area seemed several miles long. My eyes teared at the brightness.
The ocean washed away, and in place of the light, a long, narrow landmass came into view—an artificial island. I realized that the section of sea that had just parted was a hologram, not real water. Long black squiggles shot across my line of sight for an instant. A ruffling effect emerged along the island’s shoreline, glitches in the dreamisode transmission. They soon disappeared. Thom was good at creating dreams, but he sure wasn’t perfect.
The aircraft rocked gently back and forth like a leaf as it descended, landing on a blanket of plush grass. The sound of pounding waves on the island’s shore nearly covered up a faint hum—hidden machines that controlled the island’s biosphere, I assumed. Hardly anything was visible, other than an expansive lawn, reminiscent of a soccer field illuminated for a night game.
A glittering compound of interlocking buildings rose up from below the Earth. I climbed out of the plane and walked toward the structures. My heart was deliriously beating as a wide door sparkled into nothing, and my old friend emerged looking astoundingly healthy, not a wound insight. He was wearing a black silk robe and pajama bottoms with white high-top sneakers poking out, reggae hairstyle big as ever.
“Viz man!” he cried, walking towards me.
“FG! What happened to all your gruesome wounds?”
Thom quirked a smile. “No reason to turn this dreamisode into a nightmare. Just showing you a holo version of me. I’m back in there.” He nodded at the compound, and we started walking toward the building he’d emerged from.
“So, how’s the real you doing?”
“Alive to tell the bloody tale. Best not see me right now.”
“Shit. Is there anything I can do, you know, when I get out of this dream?”
“Nah. I got robo nurses up the wah-zoo.”
“Didn’t even know you made dreamisodes.”
He blew an exasperated stream of air out one side of his mouth. “Obviously not my forte, with all that fuzzy stuff. Sorry I didn’t get to this sooner. I’ve wanted to give you this dreamisode for days. But it’s more complicated than just sending you those holos.”
The front door sparkled open again, and we walked down a hallway pulsing with rosy light. It opened into a large, hexagonal room. Eight doorways led to long corridors, like wheel spokes. I wondered if Thom’s real body was down one of them. From the enigmatic expression on his hologram’s face, I doubted that I’d get a straight answer to a question about that.
“Does this place actually exist?”
“Yeah.”
There were several sticks of exquisite Chinese furniture in the center room. They couldn’t be a day under 250 years old, except for two cushy settees done up in silk brocade splotched with fat chrysanthemum blossoms.
“Your taste has changed,” I said. He’d always gone for ultra-sleek minimalist furnishings back in Cambridge.
“A little nostalgia from my childhood home in Beijing.” Thom sat down on a sofa. Just behind him, there was a huge carved jade Buddha. I took a seat opposite as he continued, “I imagine it might seem odd that I built an artificial island when I have so many real ones to choose from.”
“Well, someone just tried to crack open your skull and extract your brain, after stealing a secret substance. Does sound like an added layer of protection might be in order these days.”
“I knew I needed to guard against unwanted visitors ever since I left Cambridge and started building this place. Took ages to get it right—and the whole island.” A large opal ring on one of Thom’s fingers glowed in the lamplight as he gripped an old Blue Willow-patterned teapot and poured out a steaming brew into two cups. Flowery jasmine steam wafted into the air.
“Besides, there was too much nature on the other islands for me to conduct my experiments. Might have killed some of it off with all the chems I’ve been emitting.” He shot some humor my way. “I should have invited you to visit long ago. I wouldn’t have griped about your masseur business. I swear.”
So he knew. “I kind of doubt that. But in any event, I’m here now. Sort of.” The tea was so weak it looked pissy. Under normal circumstances, that would have irritated me a little. But even that slight negative feeling was pressed out of me, like a blade of grass under a bulldozer. “You’re manipulating my emotions, aren’t you?”
Thom gave me a teasing smile. “That’s what dreamisodes do. And the good vibes they manufacture can be made to stick around once people wake up.”
He knew he’d just dropped a major rock of information into my head. In fact, I was pretty sure he was enjoying it. My voice was far more angelic than intended as I said, “You couldn’t have told me about this before? Shit, Thom. People need to know about this.”
“Sorry, ole chap. But this dreamisode tech is pretty new for me, and I didn’t know that until I started playing around. I’ve rigged it so you won’t have any of the emotional after-effects when you get back to New York. You can get as bloody pissed as you’d like.”
“Why, thank you. But why put me on a leash now?”
“Dreamisodes only last so long. Emotions could lengthen things out.”
“Okay. I can’t blow my stack – or whatever it is you think I’ll do – so give me some answers.”
“Fire away.”
“Well, for starters, what happened after you placed that call to me through KickingBird?”
“I knew I had to leave Mt. Sinai fast. As you know, the attacker didn’t get everything he wanted from me. He wanted the formula for the Juice. Of course, even without it, he could figure out how to duplicate the vial of Juice through chemical analysis. But I’d created too many ‘locks’ for him to do that easily. It was much easier to just attack me at Mt. Sinai, steal my brain, and download some files.”
“So, how did you escape?”
“A nurse pumped me up with enough painkillers and adrenaline so that I could halfway function. And the computers in my brain transmitted some instructions for a few bots that were under my bodyguard Li’s command. Li used the most menacing bots for the guard duty at The Pinnacle. But there were others with different talents.”
“I have no doubt.”
Thom blew the surface of his tea. “One of my more creative bots made that KickingBird graffiti for you. The others that Li and I activated for my escape were medical technicians. They didn’t look exactly like the bots the hospital uses, but they were close enough. Nobody raised any alarms when they made a little expedition to the morgue and located a newly deceased person to serve as a ‘stand-in’ for me. In no time flat, they tore up the left side of the poor guy’s face, applied some chemical effects for the wounds, and – Bob’s your uncle – I had a duplicate. Once the stiff was tucked into my bed, and the nurses were busy with a shift change, the bots helped me escape.”
“Hmmm. Seems a little too pat.”
Thom nearly spit out his tea. “All that seems pat?”
“How were you able to slip past all the surveillance cams and bot guards?”
He grinned, then pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to me. “Something I swiped from Tseng Corp. Remember this?”
“Yeah.” It was the same little device I’d seen him play with before. It looked even more like a plastic pencil sharpener up close.
“I finally got it to work. Makes me transparent. And I can move through walls.”
“A ghost-making machine.”
“You could say that. Tseng Corp. couldn’t make the damned thing operate properly. But it’s turned out to be one of my best inventions—or reinvention, I should say.”
“Maybe you should sell it back to your dad.”
“Ha! No, I’ve shipped one to you instead.”
“Really?” I looked it over again. So unremarkable in appearance.
“Bit of a slow-boat-from-China delivery method: one source will hand it off to another, to another, until someone finally ships it to you from Denver. The package is labeled Colorado Office Supplies. Seemed the safest method, under the circumstances.”
“That’s very generous of you.” Thom smiled, obviously pleased to block the cynicism out of my voice. Sharing a top-secret gizmo was certainly not Thom’s style. “What are you up to?” I wanted to ask. But something told me he wasn’t going to give me a straight answer, at least not now. It was so fucking like him. I changed the subject. “Why were you with those ladies in Astoria?”
Thom sat back on the settee. “I came to New York to speak at Columbia’s business school. Hate that sort of thing. But my father was twisting my arm. No more funds unless I represented the family by doing this one thing. And yes, I know I didn’t let you know I was in town, but there wasn’t much time, and I wasn’t in the best of moods.”
“It’s okay.”
“The Columbia people wanted to hear about the Tseng automotive division’s latest innovations. The new car models make that Ducati you’re driving look ancient as dinosaur claws.”
“Don’t you insult my little sweetheart.”
Thom stifled a laugh at that, then went on to describe how the sudden crush of humanity in Manhattan was suffocating to him at first. Which seemed kind of ironic, given what his hometown, Beijing, was like. His discomfort was all but forgotten as he delivered his speech. People had flown in from all over to hear it, and their adulation was electrifying.
“Were you on the Juice at that point?” I asked.
“Not when I gave the talk, no. In fact, I had promised myself not to take any on the trip. There were certain distractions to deal with.”
“Like what?”
“Africa.”
“Africa?”
Thom explained that 10 days before the Columbia speech, he had flown to Nairobi. Pumped with Juice, he insinuated himself past a series of guards stationed around the periphery of the city’s premier restaurant. He’d received a tip that the renowned Kenyan warlord Said Kimani was dining there.
Kimani was the leader of the United Africa Front, otherwise known as the UAF, which ruled Kenya, Uganda, Ethiopia, and Somalia. It was one of the most significant political forces battling for control of the continent. Africa was the only vast area of the world that had not yet coalesced into one governing body (for the most part). Kimani was a huge, imposing man given to imperious sneers when dealing with his challengers. But with the general public, he had a gentle way of reasoning, which earned him a formidable power base.
When Thom arrived in the dining room, the warlord was in a heated conversation with his chief attaché about a certain plot. They wanted to capture Raisa Machar, a grandmotherly looking woman who was quite deadly. Machar ran a terrorist group called Defenders of the Horn, which had bombed three UAF military bases in Ethiopia the week before.
The two groups were warring for control of the city of Addis Ababa. Its beauty and prestigious institutions had once been the rose of the continent. That was now ancient history. A million people had fled the city since the battle began over two years before. And the remaining 3 million were cut off from the outside world and in a state of starvation. Some 100,000 children were among those who had already perished.
In the restaurant, Kimani was on the verge of firing the attaché for his objections to his ruthless battle plan. Just then, the maître d’ walked by with a slender, young Asian man whose luminous appearance was arresting—all the more so because he was wearing a bolero jacket identical to the one Kimani’s former girlfriend had worn all through school.
Thom’s research had unearthed all sorts of information about the rakish woman of Masai warrior ancestry. The lover had died 10 years earlier. Kimani walked over to Thom’s table and asked him where he had managed to find the bolero; no one wore those anymore.
One story led to another. Kimani sat with Thom drinking wine for a whole hour, talking about the complicated girl who’d driven him half-mad. And he had lots of questions about the Tseng family empire, which he admired. Before they parted, the warlord asked his support staff to order a large fleet of Tseng vehicles, including one for the attaché, who was forgiven. (The man was, after all, an old friend and was clearly in a worried sweat as he waited for Kimani to return to his table.)
After the restaurant had emptied of other guests and they were preparing to leave, Thom invited Kimani to dine with him at his hotel a week later. When the warlord arrived on Thom’s doorstep at the appointed hour, he was surprised to find Raisa Machar out on the balcony, sipping some scotch. As with Kimani, Thom had found ways to introduce himself to her.
“Come on. Don’t tell me that they suddenly decided to smoke the peace pipe—or whatever they do in Nairobi,” I said.
“No, nothing so dramatic. But the Juice definitely influenced their behavior.”
There were some self-righteous verbal jabs in the conversation at first. But as Thom’s aura took a greater hold on them, a wary exploration of personal histories was shared. Machar gave a touching account of what she’d learned from her father. He was a humble shoe repairman who had a great passion for German opera. And as they savored their dessert wine, Kimani stood up and sang a few bars from Wagner’s Ring Cycle—although he did it so badly that everyone laughed. In fact, Kimani laughed harder than anyone else.
The two warlords departed the dinner with a diplomatic, albeit guarded, exchange about seeking a way toward peace.
“I think they all found the whole evening both confusing and delightful when they thought back on it,” Thom said.
“You mean after a certain Charismite was no longer around?”
“Precisely.”
By the time Thom gave his speech in New York, three days had passed since the hotel dinner. He was losing hope that some little pebble would loosen in the wall of hostility between the two factions. In the Edison Hotel, he waded through a parade of bland news stories about Africa on the news channels. Nothing.
He supped on tepid soupe de poisson, listlessly stirring around the little pieces of toast smeared with garlicky rouille sauce. Finally, he got rid of the food and was just about to turn in when the hushed voice of a newsreader announced: “The battle in Addis Ababa ended abruptly this morning. The troops on either side laid down their weapons. Negotiations for a peace agreement are rumored to be at hand.”
Thom was beside himself. He paced the room, trying to control his burst of adrenalin. What if he, Thomas Tseng, could actually become so adept at mediating between warring factions that he could stop entire conflicts? What if he could take what he’d experimented with in Africa and apply it to the leaders of the Asian Commonwealth, United America, and even the rebels in Antarctica, deactivating hostility and war? This was just the beginning, the start of what the Juice was truly capable of! He was sure of it.
Around 1 AM, he stopped resisting the urge to go on a Charismite prowl. He was just too excited to stay put. “I wasn’t interested in testing anybody,” Thom said, shooting me a look. “Just wanted to celebrate and have a little fun.” The Pinnacle in Astoria seemed like just the place to be. If he brought along Li and an entourage of bot guards, surely he would be okay. Or so his thinking went. “Never was I more wrong,” he said gravely.
“Did any of the women you were with survive?”
He shook his head “no.” It took him a minute to control his anguish. “What the fuck did that accomplish, killing those innocent lovelies? I was an arrogant jackass, putting those women in danger. And the worst part is, the peace in Ethiopia only lasted a day. I could have gone back to Africa! I could have made the truce las—” His eyes went distant. Somewhere in the building’s recesses, the real Thom who was controlling the holo had put it on pause.
“What?”
“This dream is about to end.”
“Why?”
“Li has been murdered. My friend was on his way here. The killers have decoded his navigational records. And I’m about to receive some visitors.”
It was strange, not to feel frightened at that. “I take it this island is fully armed against a potential attack?”
“Of course. But as you’ve seen, that may not be enough. It’s time for our good-byes.”
I was suddenly grateful that I couldn’t see Thom’s mutilated body. If this turned out to be the last time we ever spoke, it was better to remember him this way. One of his hands reached out to my own. It was so strange to actually touch him. Even though this Thom was only a holo, something was curling from him into me. I felt such warmth, a sense of such love, and almost a childlike, intoxicating trust. The feeling of a Charismite.
It was an impossible, naïve request, but I couldn’t help saying, “Please stay alive.”
His sadness reached out to me. “I really didn’t think I’d last this long. Listen, I know you don’t think of yourself as anyone who will ever amount to anything, but you’re wrong. I’ve always known that. And all those expeditions, tracking me all over the Upper North, proved that you’re a pretty damned good sleuth. You’re the only person I can trust with all of this knowledge of what’s happened.”
“But your family—”
He looked at me fiercely. “Don’t contact them again. They can’t know about the Juice. They’ll claim hereditary rights, and who knows who they’ll sell it to. Promise me that.”
“Okay. Absolutely.”
“You might have a bit of a rough landing when you wake up. But you’ll be okay. Just remember, the ghost device is coming. Use it. It’s yours. Find the Juice.” His urgency was mesmerizing.
There was a faint buzz. Thom smiled. “Military aircraft. I’d know that sound anywhere.”
“They can’t even see the island, right?” I asked. “Those artificial waves ...”
“That won’t stop them. I know that now.” He picked up a little wafer on the side of his tea saucer. It had been there all along, and I’d barely noticed it. “I am about to give new meaning to the term ‘a mind-blowing experience.’”
“A bomb?”
He nodded yes. “Goes on the tongue. The real version of me is holding it right now. So I’m sending you home. Adieu, my friend.”
Before I could say anything more, the world went white. I fell through freezing air, feet flying over my head, spinning down and down.
“Just remember,” Thom’s disembodied voice whispered in my ear. “A Charismite can be used for heavenly purposes, or it can be used to destroy everything you hold dear. I won’t let them have my brain, but eventually, whoever controls my Juice will find a way around the chemical locks. They’ll figure out how to make Charismites. I think we can pretty much count on it—unless you stop them.”
I awoke in my underground room, arms and legs flailing wildly. “Bloody hell!” I yelled as the emotional controls lifted. Fury, howling grief, and overwhelming confusion swirled through my system as if making up for lost time. I couldn’t stop shivering. I put on a sweater, followed by a coat, then wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. My fingers trembled as I configured my mobile so it would alert me if there was any news about Thom. Then I waited in dread.
It took about half an hour for the word “Tseng” to appear on my mobile screen. I swiped it, and a Victory Star commentator sprang up.
“Thomas Tseng, a young member of the Tseng Enterprises family, passed away early this morning,” the quiet woman intoned. “His grandfather has confirmed that the private Asian Commonwealth island where he lived was blown up. Everything inside his compound was destroyed.”
It was stunning to hear the truth even though I knew it was coming. A steely fury overpowered me. I wanted to annihilate whoever had taken the Juice and pushed my friend to suicide. But more needed to be done, as well. Thom had discovered what dreamisodes could really do. They didn’t just transmit blatant promotions, but subliminal messages and emotions. I’d sensed that about the Chav, and now I knew it was true for them and maybe other people too.
I needed to live for three people, now: Thom, Jewles, and myself. All of our desires and dreams were coalescing into one super-motivated being, me.