Lydia returns to the residence, passing the cop on the porch. She remembers him—he’s the one who had the dispute with Madison the other day. He nods as she enters and Lydia nods back. Now the next part is going to be awkward because before she left for the veebar, Madison told her she’d need her for those calls very soon and Lydia told her Just a second and then walked out of the front door, so—
Lydia? Madison’s voice is like a firework going off inside Lydia’s head. At school they said the Logi can make one another pass out if an argument is forceful enough, though she’s never seen it happen. Can they do it to humans? No one’s sure but there’s no record of it happening. Some of the other pupils told stories about how the ambassador to Brazil once made a kid’s head explode—that sort of shit. Lydia didn’t believe them of course, but it’s funny how those stories suddenly come back to her as she turns and sees Madison standing in the doorway of the study.
Yes, says Lydia, it’s me. Hello.
What happened to you?
I went out for a walk.
But I told you I needed you.
Yes, I heard you. But I wanted to go out for a walk.
You didn’t tell me.
Why do I have to tell you? I don’t work for you. I’m suspended from service. You can’t have it both ways.
But while you’re living here—
I’m living here because the police said I had to! And it’s clear you want me out when all this is over, so what’s the point in my helping you? What am I going to get from it?
That’s a very selfish attitude.
You’re the one who expects me to drop everything to deal with your crap and never even says thank you. And Lydia heads up the stairs.
Why would it make a difference if I said thank you?
You’re right, it wouldn’t, says Lydia without turning around, because I’d know you didn’t mean it. She expects Madison to demand she come back, but she doesn’t.
This is not the frame of mind Lydia wanted to be in when she confronted Fitz, but unfortunately it’s the frame of mind she’s stuck with. She closes the door behind herself and ponders where to sit and then decides to stand.
Fitz? she says. She no longer cares if Madison overhears any of this. If she wants to disapprove or report her or whatever, fuck it.
Where did you go? he replies.
Fitz, I played the game that was on the inkouts Jene had.
Right. Anything useful?
You said you’d never heard of this game when I found those inkouts. But you’re in it.
How do you mean?
I mean I played it and I heard your voice. And Jene wouldn’t have been obsessed with it if it had nothing to do with the Logi and she said she was going to kill the voice in the game, and now she’s dead. And so are you and your voice is in that game. Tell me this is all a coincidence.
He doesn’t reply for a while.
I didn’t have close involvement with it, he says.
Lydia was expecting this but that doesn’t make it easier to hear. Why did Jene think it was dangerous? What was going on with all those developers who got fired or quit? What did they know?
I had nothing to do with that side of things.
Then why were you the voice? And why didn’t Mum hear it?
It wasn’t dangerous. Jene was wrong about that. It’s all about communication. It could have been revolutionary—it still could be. The process just needs more work, that’s why the game was delayed.
What was it for? To send us messages, like posthypnotic suggestion?
No—nothing like that. Humans are still suspicious of us, Lydia—you know that, and it’s because most of you don’t hear us. So we asked the programmers to insert something into the game that would start training your brains so everyone would be able to communicate with us. We’re very interested in the potential of games to reshape thought patterns. This was just a first step.
Towards what?
Opening your minds. Not yours obviously, you don’t need it, but—
But this was being done secretly. You’re talking about rewiring people’s brains without their consent.
Sometimes you need to just do things before people really appreciate the benefits.
Oh god, says Lydia, the benefit of the doubt evaporating. But why you?
The embassy instructed me to study human culture and find a route to do this. I concluded a game would be best, and as we lacked the ability to make such a thing ourselves, we found a suitable project in development and took it over via a proxy company.
But you must have realized, when I turned up the stuff about the game, that I was getting close—why let me keep looking?
I wanted to know how much had got out there about the project, how much Jene knew, who she told. Fortunately it seems most of it died with her.
But you didn’t tell me the truth, that you were involved in it—because you knew I wouldn’t like it.
No, I just didn’t want you to be implicated—you could get into trouble too.
Does Madison know about this? Is this why she’s so hostile towards you?
She wants to take over the project. She disagreed with my direction for it. I expect that’s why she’s here—she’s probably on to you already. You must get rid of all the evidence.
Lydia glances at the boxes of inkouts in the corner of her room. All that paper, you mean?
Yes, and delete the game. I’m glad it was you who found it—someone I can trust.
But it won’t be over, says Lydia. They’ll start again, without you—there must be other copies—
This is for your own safety. Just destroy everything, please.
Don’t fucking tell me what to do, says Lydia. She needs to leave and she can’t take all the inkout with her but she still has the game in her niche and she can take the box containing the press release and the chat, so she grabs that.
Where are you taking it? says Fitz.
I don’t have to tell you anything.
To the police?
Maybe.
You won’t make it. Madison will stop you.
You’re just bullshitting to manipulate me—why hasn’t she done something sooner, if she already knows?
She’s been waiting for you to find the evidence, like I did. What she’ll do with it is another question.
So you’re saying I’ve got a choice between destroying this stuff and letting her take it from me?
She’ll destroy you too, discredit you—she may go further than that. She’s always seen you as a risk factor.
Lydia nods. I’ve got one other option, she says, unfurling her scroll and putting it on her desk. She sits down and angles it towards her face. I can do what Jene should’ve done. She didn’t think it’d do any good to tell the world—maybe she was right. But it’s the only option I’ve got.
This is a bad idea, Lydia.
Covertly altering people’s brains without their consent was a bad idea, says Lydia, gathering the inkouts and setting up a stream. I’m going to expose it. Way I see it, I’ve not got much to lose at this point. She tries to work out what she’s going to say—usually when she does a stream she writes out some key points first, and she edits before uploading instead of going live, but this one really has to go out immediately.
Don’t do this—please. You’ve got this all wrong.
Shut up, I’m concentrating—
Lydia? Madison’s voice comes to her distantly. Are you talking to someone up there?
Shit. Lydia listens out: she can hear Madison’s footsteps on the stairs.
Don’t let her find you doing this, says Fitz.
I won’t. Lydia rises from the desk and locks her door. Madison is still approaching. How long will this stream take to get all the necessary information in? Well, if there’s someone in the background trying to batter the door down, that can only add weight to it. She returns to the desk, starts a twenty-second countdown for the stream and writes down a set of bullet points she needs to hit.
There’s a knock at the door. Lydia ignores it.
Lydia, says Madison from the other side of the door, who were you talking to?
No one, says Lydia.
I can tell you’re lying. I need to speak to you.
I’m not feeling well. I’ll talk to you later.
Lydia—what’s going on? If you’ve gone behind my back—
I haven’t. Go away. Lydia glances at the screen: the stream is about to start.
Who’s in there with you?
No one. Honestly. Please, just leave—
The lock clicks, the door opens and Madison enters.
How did you do that? says Lydia, now casting.
Madison looks around, expecting to see another Logi. I can override any lock in this house—didn’t you know that?
Lydia did not, though she feels she should have guessed.
Where are they? says Madison, looking in the bathroom.
There’s no one else here—could you leave me alone please?
Madison walks over to Lydia. I came up here to discuss your position after your remarks downstairs—
I bet you did.
But now I’m rather more interested in who you were talking to and why you’re lying to me about it.
Lydia stares Madison full in the face. I was talking to Fitz.
Madison stares back. Knows Lydia isn’t lying. What on earth are you talking about?
He talks to me. I know you think it’s sacrilege or whatever for someone who isn’t Logi to talk to the dead but he told me everything about the game and about what you want to do with it—
I have no idea what you mean—how can you talk to him?
I know you talk to the dead.
I assure you I don’t.
I didn’t just mean you, I mean your people, you—But as Lydia listens, she realizes Madison isn’t lying either. She genuinely has no clue what Lydia means. I’ve been talking to him for days, he’s still here in the house.
I can see you believe it, says Madison, her voice taking on a patronizing tone. Lydia, are you sure you’re quite sane?
Yes, Lydia replies as if this isn’t exactly what she’s feared all along, I’m perfectly—
Because this sort of thing is not unknown. We often hear the voices of the dead for a while after they’re gone. But it’s not real, you know.
I know all that but this is—
I expect you’ve meshed what’s happening to you with your own culture’s mythology around death, ghosts and so on—it’s a normal reaction to something you don’t understand.
Lydia laughs. Fuck off. I don’t believe in ghosts—or at least I never used to before all this kicked off.
This is so interesting, says Madison, I’ve never come across this phenomenon before in human translators—
He speaks to me! And don’t tell me I’m imagining it—
But you must realize that’s the rational explanation.
Lydia sways, holds on to the desk for support. Of course I realize that! Don’t you think my first thought was “Bloody hell, I’m going mad here”? But then he started telling me stuff I couldn’t possibly know, that couldn’t possibly have come from inside my own head.
What makes you say that?
Because he told me where to find things—things I didn’t know about, like a document that was in his room, and he led me to this guy who’d been sending him threats, and then this academic who we apparently met the night he died and who I didn’t remember, but she remembered me—
But if you were there, and you forgot, perhaps these things you think Fitzwilliam is telling you are just your own memories resurfacing?
Lydia hesitates. That sounds annoyingly plausible. But she hasn’t just made all this up. Ondine is real, Marius is real. This pile of paper is real, so’s the game—this isn’t her fantasy, not unless she’s having some very, very lucid and fairly coherent hallucinations. And then there’s the drunkenness she’s been feeling when talking to him. Fitz asked me to track down who killed him and I found her. Or rather I found out who it was, she’s dead.
Who?
This woman called Jene Connor killed him because he’s the one behind this game and I know you know about it and don’t try to stop me exposing it, by the way, because we’re casting right now. It strikes her that she should say something out loud very soon, or anyone who’s watching will just swipe on.
Madison glances at Lydia’s scroll. I’ve no idea what this game is, but why haven’t you told the police, if you know who killed Fitzwilliam?
I only just worked it out now, and first I had to … Lydia also looks at her scroll, then back at Madison. Tell me honestly—do you know anything about a veearr game developed with Logi involvement aimed at reshaping the brains of humans?
It sounds absurd.
Please just give me a direct answer.
Of course I don’t know anything—no such project exists.
That you know of.
No such project exists, Madison repeats.
Fitz? Lydia says. She says she doesn’t know anything about it. Maybe you should talk to her?
There’s no reply.
Fitz, says Lydia, please—tell her you’ve been talking to me. I know I was angry but you can’t just abandon me—
Lydia, says Madison calmly, if you genuinely have been hearing from him, there’s only one explanation. He’s still alive, and he’s talking to you from … Madison looks around. Somewhere very close, but not inside the residence, otherwise we’d have seen him …
Lydia’s infuriated by Madison’s refusal to accept what she says—but then she looks at the wall that adjoins the house next door. The one with the apartment at the top that’s empty over the summer. The one she assumed the police had bugged.
Before she can even process the thought, her feet are racing down the stairs while her mind flails around, looking for possible explanations of how Fitz can be alive after she saw him dead. Madison’s following and talking to her but Lydia’s not listening, she’s thinking about how she saw Fitz’s body and the Logi don’t all look alike to her, or at least Fitz certainly doesn’t, and it was definitely him lying dead on the sofa in the study, and the police ideed him too. But has he somehow fooled everyone, including her? How, and why? As she steps out of the front door she vaguely registers there’s no cop on the porch now (When did that happen?) but her mind is far too occupied to process this information.
She’s walking out into the street, giving no thought as to how she’s going to get into the apartment next door: her need to know is so powerful now she assumes it will punch through any obstacles. There’s a gate that leads to a passage through to the back of the building where the steps are, but it’s locked and too high to climb. Lydia rattles it fruitlessly, then walks up the house’s front steps, waves her hand in front of the bell and hears it ring through the door, decides it doesn’t convey her urgency and hammers her fist on the door instead. If no one answers she has no doubt she will try to kick it down, and she’s vaguely aware there’ll be consequences to this but can’t bring herself to care anymore—
The door is opened by Mrs. Kloves, entirely bewildered by the appearance of her neighbor in such an agitated state. “Can I help you?” she asks.
“How do I get to the apartment upstairs? Can I get there through your house?”
“Yes, but—”
Lydia doesn’t wait for a response, just marches in, ignoring Mrs. Kloves’ protests. She can see straight down the hall to the back door, which is open—
There’s a clatter coming from the metal steps at the back. Someone’s coming down from the apartment—
And they jump the last two meters, land on the tiny lawn, stumble and run on. Lydia catches a glimpse of someone—a man?—in a tracksuit and what looks like a veearr hood as he pelts across the lawn. Whoever it is, it’s certainly not Fitz. By now Lydia has also reached the garden—but her quarry is already scrambling up the fence.
“Stop!” shouts Lydia—but the guy is very keen not to stop, it seems. She reaches the fence herself and makes a vain grab for his foot as he disappears over the fence. Lydia knows there’s no way she can scale the fence so she doesn’t even try, and as she hears the guy dashing down the alley on the other side she puts in a call to the police—saying what, though? What’s he done? Suspected burglar? That’ll do.
She turns back to the house and finds Madison and Mrs. Kloves facing her.
Lydia, what are you doing? says Madison.
Lydia ignores her for now and addresses Mrs. Kloves. “Did you know that guy was up there?”
A bewildered Mrs. Kloves looks up at the apartment, then back to Lydia. “Who … who was he?”
“I don’t bloody know—you mean don’t know either?”
“It’s been empty for weeks—I thought it was empty…”
Lydia looks up to the top of the metal steps, where the door to the apartment swings open. Lydia marches over there and ascends. She can hear the police arriving and wonders if she might get into trouble for going into the apartment, but if Fitz is there she has to talk to him—and if she waits for permission from the police they might not give it to her.
Fitz? she calls. A theory is brewing—perhaps that guy she saw running away was holding Fitz hostage, and making Fitz say those things? She doesn’t know how he could be sure Fitz was doing as he was told, but maybe that’ll become clear?
Then she arrives at the door to the apartment and it becomes clear and she wishes it hadn’t.
The apartment is very tastefully decorated in a minimalist style, and the door opens directly onto the living room. On a glass-topped coffee table stands a fish tank with no fish inside. Instead it’s filled with a sickly yellow liquid; various pipes and tubes feed into it, and bits of makeshift-looking electrical equipment are hooked to the side.
In the center of the tank is the severed head of a Logi.
The distorting effect of the liquid means Lydia can’t immediately tell whose head it is, but she doesn’t have to work hard to guess. Part of its cranium has been removed and cables have been patched into it, and over all this it’s wearing a messy sort of framework helmet. She recognizes the helmet: Back when she was at LSTL she watched a video about this object multiple times, the thing she thought was going to end her career before it even began. It’s the translation device, the one the Logi ordered all development on to be stopped.
Lydia walks to the wall that adjoins her bedroom and raps on it with her fist. The wall isn’t that thick. An inch or so of board and plaster were all that separated her from this absolute horror while she slept.
Lydia finds she can’t turn around, can’t tear herself away from the wall and face what’s inside the fish tank. She stays there, leaning against the wall, until the police come up and remove her.