"I got no plans on leaving, sweetheart."
"You recently found out that Maxine Winters is still alive. I don't even need to run behavior algorithms to know that nothing other than death will stop you from trying to find her again."
I blinked, surprised at how easily she predicted my thoughts. Then again, the best dames always could. "Back when we first met — did you know?"
"About Maxine Winters? No, but soon afterward I did. She and her newly-formed Nimrod Squad recently popped up on our radar in an explosive manner. After gathering all intel, it was easy to connect her to you."
"You could have given me a heads-up, Sinn."
"Information isn't free, Mike. You know how it is."
I glowered. "Yeah, I know exactly how it is. Shadowy agencies, manipulation, players and pieces."
She patted my hand. "Aw, don't be mad. I come bearing gifts. There's a pack of Lucky Strikes in the glove compartment."
My hand paused over the button. "Yeah, smoking's not exactly doing my lungs any favors these days."
"That's in the real world, Mike. Here, you're free of any of those physical constraints."
I wasted no time taking out a gasper and lighting it via the automotive cigarette lighter. A few seconds later, the poison hit my lungs and shot across my system. I heaved an appreciative sigh.
"Didn't know how much I missed these until right now."
"Technically, those are much worse. Way before scientists developed cloned tobacco products that eliminated most of the toxic chemicals. But like I said, they can't harm you here. Now for the real gift. It's a name: Merlin."
I looked at her expectantly.
She laughed at my expression. "That's all, Mike."
"Merlin? What kind of gift is that?"
"One that Kilgore invaded the Los Nuevos Haven to retrieve. He kidnapped a top-level General's family, used the leverage to force the General to gather a band of Red War veterans to take over the Haven. But Kilgore was really there for another purpose: to use the Haven's advanced computing systems to find a single person."
"Merlin."
"Exactly. He covered his tracks so that no one could recover the information, but I can access data that normal people can't."
"Of course you can, with your enhanced brain. But still … Merlin? That's all you were able to find?"
"That and a location."
"Where?"
"California. We're monitoring the situation, but the important thing is that Kilgore went through an immense amount of time and effort into finding Merlin. From what we've learned, it might be Kilgore's child."
"Kilgore has a kid?"
"The age fits: Merlin is around eighteen years old. That's valuable information."
I rubbed my chin. "Eighteen years. Running the numbers back, that would be around the time Kilgore quit the HSSC. Can't be a coincidence."
"There are no coincidences, Mike. If the math is good, there are only facts."
"I'll keep it in mind." I glanced at the homes and trees that blurred by. "So, this is Elysia. Unbelievable."
"Unbelievable? This is only a tiny section of Elysia, far more private and secure than the rest of the domain. Elysia is immeasurably vast, divided into millions of worlds and sectors, each as detailed and immersive as this one. Here, you can be anyone and do anything."
"So, all people have to do is just jack themselves into the system? How can you determine what's real and what's not?"
"The mind-jack you used was far more advanced than what most users experience. Elysia is visited by hundreds of millions every day, most requiring stasis in hibernation pods to fully immerse themselves. They are fed intravenously for the duration of their stay; their bodies stimulated artificially to avoid muscle atrophy."
"Are you serious? How long are these people in hibernation?"
"Anywhere from weeks to years, depending on their purpose and intent. Most are on vacation or seeking thrills. But for some, digital immersion has become the new frontier. For them, it's a lifestyle that they want to preserve for as long as possible."
I shook my head. "Sounds a lot like the stasis chambers created for the survivors of the Cataclysm. Drifting in a dreamworld for centuries, then awakened to this world. Lots of those folks lost their minds. They called them Defrosts. I met one — a kid named Petey, who thought he was immortal, living for ages. Well, he got on my bad side and found out he wasn't unkillable after all. Point is: if he got that messed up, how many more like him exist? This place is a lot more dangerous than it looks."
"Every new technology is dangerous in the wrong hands or with the wrong people, Mick. Elysia has proven highly addictive, affecting brain cells similarly to narcotics when used long-term. The dependency has led to activity also associated with narcotics: broken families, theft, robbery, violence, and murder."
"No surprises there. What does surprise me is that you'd approve of this digital wonderland nonsense. I thought you were on the side of the angels, sweetheart."
"Angels live in heaven, Mike. Our world is anything but. Surely someone like you would understand that you have to use the tools available to you to get a job done. Elysia is a tool like any other."
"And what's the job you're trying to get done?"
A smile touched her lips. "A brave new world, Mike. We're here."
She pulled onto the Yale University parking lot, where students crowded the grounds, celebrating the wartime victory. Streamers floated in the air, and flags waved back and forth. I paused for a second, watching with a sense of wistful regret. What they experienced was something I never had: youthful optimism. When I was their age, I had already killed dozens of people. Before that, there was only hunger, anger, and the animalistic need to survive. My grade school was the seedy underworld of Chicago streets, my university the Youth Program of the HSSC, where I was forced to kill fellow students to graduate.
Ms. Sinn studied my face. "Quite a sight, isn't it?"
I stuck a gasper between my teeth and lit it, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Yeah, you'd almost believe they're real people."
"Some of them are."
"You're jerking my chain."
"Not at all. Elysia is always a mix of Immersers and Interactives. Not unlike your Haven, when you think about the synoid population."
"Yeah, I try not to."
"Ignoring a situation won't make it go away, Mike. Come on — Dr. Faraday is this way."
"Hold on a sec."
She paused, studying my face. "The answer is yes."
"I haven't even asked a question."
"You want to know if you can tell the difference between this world and the real one."
I tilted my Bogart and scratched my head. "Well, the thought crossed my mind. I've only been here a short amount of time, and already it feels as natural as breathing."
"The difference between Elysia and reality comes down to one simple thing, really."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Pain."
"What about it?"
"Do you feel any?"
It hit me then — the fire in my lungs and guts was gone. Breathing wasn't an exhausting chore, and my body wasn't a battered sack of bruises.
She nodded. "Pain isn't popular in virtual worlds, Mick. People come here to escape it, unburden themselves of guilt, anxiety, and sorrow. You'll feel the difference when you return. For now, we have an appointment."
I followed her to an isolated part of the campus, around to a Roman-inspired, dome-roofed building marked Woolsey Hall. The interior was a massive auditorium with thousands of polished wooden seats, all empty save for one. I walked down the aisle and sat down next to Glen Faraday, who looked a helluva lot better than the dried-out version in his hidden lab.
He was the kind of old man whose wrinkles looked earned; every line carved as if to tell a story. White, thinning hair retreated from his brow, and his blue eyes were sharp, observant, and intelligent. He gave me a long, weighing look before speaking.