You’re getting too complicated, Kate. Too introverted. A break from this cold, lifeless place will indeed do you good.
Making an effort to smile, she took his hand.
It was a fine, still day, a welcome interval between the storm systems that now habitually battered the Pacific coast.
Cradling beakers of latte, they walked through the garden areas Hiram had built around his Wormworks. There were low earthworks, ponds, bridges over streams, and unfeasibly large and old trees, all of it imported and installed in typical Hiram fashion, thought Kate, at great expense and with little discrimination or taste. But the sky was a clear, brilliant blue, the winter sun actually delivered a little heat to her face, and the two of them were leaving a trail of dark footsteps in the thick silver layer of lingering dew.
They found a bench. It was temperature-smart and had heated itself sufficiently to dry off the dew. They sat down, sipping coffee.
‘I still think you’ve been hiding from me,’ Bobby said mildly. She saw that his retinal implants had polarized in the sunlight, turning silvery, insectile. ‘It’s the WormCam, isn’t it? All the ethical implications you find so disturbing.’
With an eagerness that shamed her, she jumped on that lead. ‘Of course it’s disturbing. A technology of such power.’
‘But you were there when we came to our agreement with the FBI. An agreement that put the WormCam in the hands of the people.’
‘Oh, Bobby … The people don’t even know the damn thing exists, let alone that government agencies are using it against them. Look at all the tax defaulters that suddenly got caught, the parents cheating on child support, the Brady Law checks on gun buyers, the serial sex offenders.’
‘But that’s all for the good. Isn’t it? What are you saying-that you don’t trust the government? This isn’t the twentieth century.’
She grunted. ‘Remember what Jefferson said: ‘Every government degenerates when trusted to the rulers of the people alone. The people themselves therefore are its only safe depositories.’ … And what about the Republican burglary? How can that be in the people’s interest?’
‘You can’t know for sure that the White House used the WormCam for that.’
‘How else?’ Kate shook her head. ‘I wanted Hiram to let me dig into that. He threw me off the case immediately. We’ve made a Faustian bargain, Bobby. Those guys in the Administration and the government agencies aren’t necessarily crooks, but they’re only human. And by giving them such a powerful and secret weapon. Bobby, I wouldn’t trust myself with such power. The Republican spying incident is just the start of the Orwellian nightmare we’re about to endure.
‘And as for Hiram, have you any idea how Hiram treats his employees, here at OurWorld? Job applicants go through screening all the way to a DNA sequence. He profiles all his employees by searching credit databases, police records, even federal records. He already had a hundred ways to measure productivity and performance, and check up on his people. Now he has the WormCam, Hiram can keep us under surveillance twenty-four hours a day if he chooses. And there’s not a damn thing any of us can do about it. There have been a whole string of court cases that establish that employees don’t have constitutional protection against intrusive surveillance by their bosses.’
‘But he needs all that to keep the people working,’ Bobby said dryly. ‘Since you broke the Wormwood, absenteeism has rocketed, and the use of alcohol and other drugs at work, and … ‘
‘This has nothing to do with the Wormwood,’ she said severely. ‘This is a question of basic rights. Bobby, don’t you get it? OurWorld is a vision of the future for all of us, if monsters like Hiram get to keep the WormCam. And that’s why it’s important the technology is disseminated, as far and as fast as possible. Reciprocity: at least we’d be able to watch them watching us … ‘ She searched his insectile, silvery gaze.
He said evenly, ‘Thanks for the lecture. And is that why you’re dumping me?’
She looked away.
‘It’s nothing to do with the WormCam, is it?’ He leaned forward, challenging her. ‘There’s something you don’t want to tell me. You’ve been this way for days. Weeks, even. What is it, Kate? Don’t be afraid of hurting me. You won’t.’
Probably not, she thought. And that, poor, dear Bobby, is the whole trouble.
She turned to face him. ‘Bobby, the stud. The implant Hiram put in your head when you were a boy.’
‘Yes?’
‘I found out what it’s for. What it’s really for.’
The moment stretched, and she felt the sunlight prickle on her face, laden with UV even so early in the year. ‘Tell me,’ he said quietly.
The Search Engine’s specialist routines had explained it all to her succinctly. It was a classic piece of early twenty-first-century neurobiological mind-tinkering.
And it had nothing to do with any dyslexia or hyperactivity, as Hiram had claimed.
First, Hiram had suppressed the neural stimulation of areas in the temporal lobe of Bobby’s brain that were related to feelings of spiritual transcendence and mystical presence. And his doctors tinkered with parts of the caudate region, trying to ensure that Bobby did not suffer from symptoms relating to obsessive-compulsive disorder which led some people to a need for excessive security, order, predictability and ritual, a need in some circumstances satisfied by the membership of religious communities.
Hiram had evidently intended to shield Bobby from the religious impulses that had so distracted his brother. Bobby’s world was to be mundane, earthy, bereft of the transcendent and the numinous. And he wouldn’t even know what he was missing. It was, Kate thought sourly, a Godectomy.
Hiram’s implant also tinkered with the elaborate interplay of hormones, neurotransmitters and brain regions which were stimulated when Bobby made love. For example, the implant suppressed the opiate-like hormone oxytocin, produced by the hypothalamus, which flooded the brain during orgasm, producing the warm, floating, bonding feelings that followed such acts.
Thanks to a series of high-profile liaisons – which Hiram had discreetly set up and encouraged and even publicized – Bobby had become something of a sexual athlete, and he derived great physical pleasure from the act itself. But his father had made him incapable of love and so, Hiram seemed to have planned, free of loyalties to anyone but his father.
There was more. For instance, a link to the deep portion of Bobby’s brain called the amygdala may have been an attempt to control his propensity for anger. A mysterious manipulation of Bobby’s orbito-frontal cortex might even have been a bid to reduce his free will. And so on.
Hiram had reacted to his disappointment with David by making Bobby a perfect son: that is, perfectly suited to Hiram’s goals. But by doing this Hiram had robbed his son of much that made him human.
Until Kate Manzoni found the switch in his head. She took Bobby back to the small apartment she’d rented in downtown Seattle. There they made love, for the first time in weeks.
Afterward, Bobby lay in her arms, hot, his skin moist under hers where they touched: as close as he could be, yet still remote. It was like trying to love a stranger. But at least, now, she understood why. She reached up and touched the back of his head, the hard edges of the implant under his skin. ‘You’re sure you want to do this?’
He hesitated. ‘What troubles me is that I don’t know how I’ll be feeling afterwards … Will I still be me?’
She whispered in his ear. ‘You’ll feel alive. You’ll feel human.’
He held his breath, then said, so quietly she could barely make it out: ‘Do it.’
She turned her head. ‘Search Engine.’
‘Yes, Kate.’
‘Turn it off.’
… and for Bobby, still warm with the afterglow of orgasm, it was as if the woman in his arms had suddenly turned three-dimensional, solid and whole, had come to life. Everything he could see, feel, smell – the warm ash scent of her hair, the exquisite line of her cheek where the low light caught it, the seamless smoothness of her belly – it was all just as it had been before. But it was as if he had reached through that surface texture into the warmth of Kate herself. He saw her eyes, watchful, full of concern-concern for him, ,he realized with a fresh jolt. He wasn’t alone anymore. And, before now, he hadn’t even known he had been.
He wanted to immerse himself in her oceanic warmth. She touched his cheek. He could see that her fingers came away wet.
And now he could feel the great shuddering sobs that racked his body, an uncontrollable storm of weeping. Love and pain coursed through him, exquisite, hot, unbearable.
Chapter 12 – SPACETIME
The inner chaos didn’t subside.
He tried to distract himself. He resumed activities he had relished before. But even the most extravagant virtual adventure seemed shallow, obviously artificial, predictable, unengaging.