Isonation Page 2

  “They couldn’t identify the virus, although it was believed the culprit was some mutated form of influenza AH3 or human herpes virus 6. One thing was clear: every exposed patient died of complete acute necrotizing encephalopathy. Cases so severe it was as if their brains had rotted from the inside out, which is how it came to be known as the Zombie Flu.”

  “Her head looks like a meat jack-o-lantern,” one student noted as he leaned close to Susan’s face. “She’s kinda cute, though!” Boos and laughter from his classmates filled the hospital room.

  “How could a tiny virus kill off everyone?” asked another student who was flipping through Susan’s chart searching for an answer. “All our technology. All our resources. Aren’t we smarter than some bug?”

  “Excellent question, Cynthia,” Belham said. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

  The professor tapped an invisible button at eye level in front of him with two fingers then used them to swipe the air to his left. At the same time, Susan and her deathbed suite blipped around the class before dissolving into thin air. In their place was the view of a warm Friday night in Manhattan’s Times Square set just after most of the early-evening shows had let out from the neighboring Theater District. The streets were filled with tourists, theatergoers in fine attire, families. There was a little boy in overalls and a girl wearing a pristine white dress.

  “Susan Miller was one of the first recorded cases of Zombie Flu confirmed in the United States but hardly ground zero. The virus was diabolical really. A wonder of nature. Once you were infected, once you were a carrier, you became contagious within hours without showing any outward signs of being sick for days, aside from maybe a dry throat or runny nose. No fever, no pain. Just enough to propagate the virus without incapacitating the host at all, allowing the disease to continue to walk, run, eat, touch, breathe in a target-rich environment for days without detection. Incubation overlapping communicability. Or hidden in plain sight, as it were.

  “Now consider a busy night in Manhattan, during a high-traffic period like this one. Suppose 10 people in this crowd of thousands had active virus in their systems… Even from the start we were looking at an epidemic. And that is what happened not only from our barista Susan Miller but also in a dozen cities across the country. We couldn’t get ahead of it. By the time the CDC had even acknowledged we were witnessing a critical biological event, it was already over. Ingenious little devil, wouldn’t you say, made so perfectly as to extinguish mankind in the blink of an eye?”

  Another tap and swipe, and the class now stood in an abandoned suburb. Blocks upon blocks of neglected houses, some with broken windows and doors, overgrown or dead yards—the entire scene littered with bodies everywhere in various levels of decay.

  The students parted as a thin woman, well into the late stages of the illness, shuffled through their group. The zombie stopped just short of walking into Zoah Lightsea, who stood unflinchingly close, now face to face with the sick woman.

  “You said ‘made,’ professor,” Zoah said, curling her brown hair over an ear as she spoke. “Don’t you mean engineered? This wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill influenza strain, it was an escape virus that rendered immune-system antibodies obsolete. Don’t you think that’s a little too perfect?”

  Belham chuckled. “Ah, the conspiracy! Zoah, you know as well as I do that this too was investigated without conclusive result. No, when I said ‘made’ I was referring to evolution. Mother Nature. Sometimes in the infinite possibility that is this reality in which we all are lucky enough to exist… shit happens.”

  The professor tapped the air again, then made a motion as if he were throwing a ball away, causing the class to return to their lecture hall—an empty room with nothing in it but a podium and chalkboard.

  “Okay, that’s it for today. Read chapter 6 in the big red book, and on Wednesday we’ll discuss what mankind did, and sacrificed, to save itself. In the coming weeks, you’ll gain a greater understanding and, I hope, appreciation of this brave new world we live in today.” Belham then reached behind the podium and tapped himself out—his body disappearing from the room leaving his students milling behind.

  “Hey, Zoah, maybe it was the aliens that did it!” said one of the other students, as his body morphed into a gray man—that iconic bald extraterrestrial with large black eyes and tall thin frame. “Take me to your leader!”

  “Ha, funny, Bryan,” she replied. Suddenly one of Zoah’s girlfriends transformed into a black woman with a scarf tied around her head who announced, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!” Another student turned into a very large grumpy cat and crossed his arms while throwing out a surly look. Then during conversations and ribbing, classmates would turn into memes and back when they felt it was an appropriate response, which was all very natural in the Virt—the artificially amplified virtual world Zoah lived in outside of her home.

  Zoah hadn’t seen the need for memes. She never felt at a loss for words, although that was often to her own dismay. Of course, that didn’t mean she thought they weren’t funny. When she saw Cynthia in the middle of an exchange with her friend turn into Frye from Futurama and shout, “Shut up and take my money!” Zoah had to laugh. Most of these digital artifacts were ancient but held up well, even if she didn’t always recognize where they came from.

  A ping caught Zoah’s attention, and she turned from her friends and tapped the air in front of her revealing her home screen, invisible to others. From here she could get messages, access apps, change her settings—it was her direct interface to the Virt.

  Right now, she was receiving a meeting request from an unspecified chat room, something that under normal circumstances she would ignore or block out of hand, but Zoah was anticipating an invitation today and was excited to see it. Butterflies flittered inside her stomach, and a sparkle glinted in her green eyes as she smiled.

  “I’ve got to tap out,” she told her friends. “See you guys at group later.”

  Zoah swiped herself into the chat room and made a beeline for the person waiting there for her.

  “I did it. I went,” he announced. Milton Lee took Zoah’s hands and squeezed them tightly. “We have to make this quick though. They’ve been trying to trace me all day.”

  “You went? Are you crazy?”

  Milton shrugged. “Maybe. Just a little. But that’s not important right now. What’s important is you were right. Look, I know this may not be what you want to hear, but I think it’s time.”

  “Now? Are you sure?” Zoah asked. “We can’t go back if you’re wrong.”

  “When you hear what I have to say, you’ll understand. For now, be careful. The Virt’s not safe anymore. Wait for a file from me. Be ready. I’ll see you soon.” A kiss ended the conversation, then they both logged out of the system and disappeared.

  # # #

  It wasn’t the haptic suit technology that allowed the Virt to thrive in the ersatz society mankind had, out of necessity, created after the devastation brought about by the Zombie Flu. But it was a key component in creating a believable, well-rounded and therefore more comfortable experience for users who wore one. Somatosensory fabric that mimicked touch, temperature and pain offered realistic modalities that the nervous system interpreted as real, or real enough as the engineers would say.

  Nor was it the spatial harness system that fooled the body into thinking it was running long distances, hiking up hillsides, jumping or even sitting; nor the sHD sense helmet that provided multi-dimensional visual, auditory or olfactory inputs; nor the environmental chamber that controlled a user’s surrounding atmospheric pressure, humidity, ambient temperature or wind speed.

  It wasn’t even the development of the intimacy protocols that allowed users the ability to experience real-enough sex with other users (or even without them for that matter, if you’re into that sort of thing).

  No, the reason the Virt flourished in the new world was humanity didn’t have a choice. It was either virtual reality, or the harsh reality of be
ing entombed, alone within the same four walls forever. The virus forced this decision.

  It was persistent, hardy, possessed an inordinately long lifecycle. The birds carried it. The mosquitos transmitted it. It hibernated. It mutated. It was intelligent. The devil sent it. God delivered it to smite us… The truth was they didn’t know.

  Long after the initial plague almost wiped the world clean of humankind, the virus still confounded them. What was certain was that every time someone ventured out into the world thinking that the danger had passed, the Zombie Flu would resurface. For decades, people continued succumbing to the illness with the most devastating results occurring when large groups or even entire communities were struck down, as those events left fewer and fewer lives to spare. Millions continued to die, enough that scientists and leaders feared our extinction. So, of course they did something only desperate people do when their backs are up against the wall, faced with the end of their beloved species. They did something drastic.

  They divided to conquer.

  # # #

  Zoah hated this part. Sure, the ergonomic incline of her body’s position, the low color temperature lighting, even the tonal pulses being played over white noise were all meant to soothe while transitioning out of the Virt. But none of it ever worked for her. It always felt like waking up in the middle of a bad nightmare or getting out of a hot bath and being led straight inside a walk-in freezer.

  The Virt’s myriad systems utilized neuro-transceivers to facilitate and to some degree anticipate input responses to and from the virtual environment, but that meant cycling down these interfaces from the user’s brain and nervous systems whenever someone left the virtual world to return to the real one.

  For some this was an unpleasant experience. For Zoah the changeover was always brutal, and to top everything off it also meant having to come back home to her family.

  She loved her parents and adored her little brother, but Zoah had spent the past 20 years of her life in close quarters with them. They were always in her business like nobody’s business. Privacy was a big issue, even more so when you had something to hide.

  Once fully aware, she uncoupled from the harness, peeled off her haptic suit and threw it in the laundry then grabbed a quick shower. If she hurried, Zoah knew she might beat the rest of her family home and could barricade herself in her room. She needed time to think. Her conversation with Milton was short, but plenty was said.

  Zoah dressed and went to grab an apple but was so preoccupied replaying their exchange over and over in her mind she almost knocked her father over as she was rounding into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Z, watch where you’re going!” Dr. Lightsea said while straightening his glasses.

  “Head on a swivel, Dad. Isn’t that what you say?”

  “But I say so many interesting things, how am I supposed to remember them all? Oh, speaking of which, don’t forget it’s family night.”

  Ugh. “I’ve got group,” Zoah said.

  “As much as I admire your dedication to your studies, and in fact encourage them as you well know, we can’t postpone again. Your mother will have my head on a swivel.”

  “Well, I tried to convince Professor Chandra that my quantum theory midterm existed as an A+ until she observed it, but she didn’t think that was funny. If I want to keep up my GPA, I’m actually going to have to do some studying.”

  Dr. Lightsea laughed. “Chandra wouldn’t know a boson from a dead cat if it hit her in the head. Look, Zoah, I get it. You’re practically an adult now. You’re at the age when hanging out with the old parental units isn’t a top priority, but who knows how much longer we’ll all be together?”

  “Long enough to inflict some real, lasting psychological scarring?” she joked, which her father quickly ignored.

  “That Air Force captain, what was his name?”

  “Air Force?! They fly virtual jets! And his name was Eugene. I can’t be with a Eugene…”

  “Arranged marriages have long been accepted by many different cultures and continue to be now as a matter of practicality. As a father, you don’t know how much it seriously pains me to say all of this,” said Dr. Lightsea, “but as a scientist and member of the species, need I remind you about your responsibility to repopulate the planet?”

  “Like I have to be married to repopulate the planet…”

  He sighed. This was life in the post-apocalyptic 21st Century.

  “Irrespective that Eugene was tested to be your optimal genetic match, know that I do sympathize. So, we’re tabling this discussion for the sake of family night and more importantly my sanity. Besides, I cancelled a meeting, your mother shuffled some social thing and Thomas already picked the movie, so just accept that this is what’s happening tonight. It’ll be fun…or else!”

  “Yes sir, sir!” Zoah said and snapped a salute.

  “Save it for the captain,” Dr. Lightsea responded. “I’m going for a run. See you later.” He kissed her on the forehead, then left for the Virt.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Check inbox,” Zoah said aloud, now secure in her bedroom alone.

  The active application on her computer desktop reached into the global network and retrieved a dozen emails, stacking them onscreen. Zoah ran to her chair and skimmed the subject lines—three from her university, two from friends, four from retailers and several pieces of junk mail. She closed all the regular messages and expanded the spam.

  “Heelo,” Zoah called out. A small Frisbee-shaped object came to life on Zoah’s nightstand, its shell disassembled into several mechanical arms while a pair of lenses blinked, then lifted from their sockets. Propellers on its underside spun up, giving its body lift, and the object flew over to her.

  When Zoah saw Heelo hovering next to her face, she smiled. The tiny smart drone had been a gift from her father, who had built it for Zoah years ago. She’d considered it a neat toy until she discovered it was capable of much more.

  “Hey there,” she said. “Keep a lookout.” The drone beeped an affirmative response, then took up position by the door. A tiny parabolic dish opened at the end of one arm while a radar array popped up and began turning circles on its back. Zoah focused her attention back on the screen.

  Junk mail sometimes displayed wildly random sentences or even gibberish somewhere in the message—lazy code, as Milton liked to call it—so they used this to flag their correspondence with their own predetermined pattern of Arabic and Greek numerals. Zoah skimmed through several emails until she found the sequence, then clicked on the hyperlink in the message asking her to apply for a new credit card.

  The sHD visor on her desk began glowing, which meant Milton hadn’t just sent a text message. The lens, much like the ones on a ski mask, crossed the bridge of Zoah’s nose and continued past her peripheral vision. It flashed white, then turned opaque when she put the mask on.

  “Zoah,” Milton began as the image faded in, his tall, thin frame sitting on a couch in a cluttered living room, which she knew was his, hands extended outward as if in a mea culpa. “I know I dumped a bunch on you without any details, but it’s like I said: I’m on the watch list now. I’ve been avoiding their efforts to find me since I got back from my trip, and I didn’t want them to start looking at you, too.”

  Milton brushed back his straight, black hair. Zoah knew he did this whenever he was about to say something he thought was important, plus she also thought it was cute.

  “Zoah, I went outside. Outside! Not only that, I took in a breath of real air! It was amazing,” he exclaimed before turning serious. “Don’t look at me like that. I mean, I’m imagining you looking at me all judgey, and it’s totally unwarranted. I didn’t just rip off my mask and gamble that my brain wouldn’t turn to mush. It didn’t happen like that.”

  Course it didn’t, she thought.

  “Don’t worry, I took an antigen test when I got back that came up negative, so yay!” Milton offered. Zoah bit her lip. Had the control measures worked? Could the virus have finally be
en eradicated? Too many variables…

  “Your idea to follow the shipment panned out. I ended up in an outdoor warehouse somewhere near Busan I think. It was massive. I wasn’t able to stay long, but I got this.” Milton held up a portable drive.

  “I’ve only glanced at the data, but I’m pretty sure it’s the missing manifest information. We’ll need your skill to mine it though. If we’re lucky, it might open some access and provide enough clues to maybe break this thing open. We could get places, inventories and be able to name names.”

  He brushed his hair again. “Um, speaking of names, I came across one while I was running for my life. Now don’t freak out, okay? I, uh, saw your dad having a video chat with the warehouse manager there. Facial rec confirmed it…Dr. Charles Lightsea.”

  What did he just say? Did he--?

  “Look, I know. You’re freaking out. But we don’t know how your dad is involved. We don’t know how much he knows. It could just be part of his normal, everyday boring job and not some evil plan for worldwide domination,” Milton said. “I’m sure he has no idea. He can’t know what we know.”

  Zoah’s eyes twittered as she tried to process the new information. Right now, all they knew was that someone was subverting the global system to gather equipment or build something that wasn’t on the books. And some of the items they’d identified—genetic sequencers, colloidal systems, electron microscopes—taken alone were harmless, but put together painted a more ominous picture. A laboratory outfitted with them could do a lot of good work, but it could also do a lot of bad. How could her dad be involved in something like that?

  “That’s why you need to get your hands on this data so we can find out the truth about what’s going on with these shipments and with your dad,” said Milton. “But I can’t transmit them to you. It’s too risky. I’m going to have to bug out of here soon because I think they’re closing in. In fact, this’ll be my last message for a while. Don’t bother sending one back. I won’t get it. Not right away, anyway.