Jintao Read online

  “When I heard you were coming, I figured as much. You can see the files whenever you like, and I think there may be a rabbit hole, as well.”

  “A what?”

  “A rabbit hole, aye, that’s what our IT boys call it. It’s a security feature, sort of a data tunnel. I’m pretty sure your father socked away more info than what we’ve seen so far. I’ll show you whenever you like.”

  “Now . . . now is always the best time,” said Quan, setting down his cup.

  4.

  McGowen emptied his cup in a single gulp and rose from his chair. Within a few minutes his heavy footsteps were echoing down a polished corridor on the tenth floor. Quan walked briskly to keep up. Over his shoulder McGowen said, “All the files were encrypted.” Looking up as they passed a surveillance camera he continued, “Took a while but our code jockeys were able to open them.”

  When they arrived at the door of Master Jintao’s lab, a synthesized female voice declared, “Gregory McGowen—Quan Jintao—you are approved for entry.” The voice could have belonged to any cultured Mandarin lady, although some of its intonations were unmistakably those of Master Jintao, the program’s tutor.

  As they entered, a dim ambient glow lit the windowless lab. Racks of appliances were set against the walls and test instruments on wheels stood near a large workbench at the center.

  Stepping up to the black-topped antistatic bench, McGowen said, “I wish I could say we’ve seen all his files, but I want to show you something. View field—on.”

  A faint haze appeared from the benchtop to the ceiling. He tapped the field with the palm of his hand and dozens of folders appeared. “These are all decrypted: briefs on power transfer, some engineering department notes on various projects. Interestin’ but nothin’ to explain his disappearance.” He poked an icon at the edge of the field and a graphic emblem enlarged. The icon was an inverted pyramid, the Jintao corporate logo. “See anything unusual? Move your head side to side. See? It’s not just two-dimensional. It’s got depth. I think it might be an access point, maybe a link to an off-site database. The code jocks played with it, but they never got in. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

  “I had a puzzle like this when I was a child.”

  “Did you, now? Well, have a go.” McGowen turned away and began to root through a storage bin in one of the racks.

  Quan’s hand extended into the view field, his fingers stretching to press all three sides of the emblem. His other hand reached in and pressed the apex of the pyramid at the same time. The shape suddenly rotated end over end, presenting its hidden side. On the back of the pyramid was a rectangular recess outlined in neon blue. Above the pyramid, a dozen pale green kanji characters appeared, floating in grid formation, jiggling slightly as if asking to be chosen. Quan considered the number of blank spaces in the rectangle and he selected one after another from the available characters, dropping them into the recess. He constructed three words: Courage, Knowledge, Honor—his father’s personal motto. The recess closed and a female voice thanked him. “Shieh, shieh.” Then it added, “Bio ID, please.”

  “It wants my father’s bio.”

  “I was expecting that. It’s got autosensing.” McGowen handed over a thin plastic card he found in one of the bins. “Try this; it might work.”

  Quan held the card up to catch light from the view field. “A biotransmitter, I haven’t seen one of these for ages. But I need something of my father’s.”

  “No telling how sensitive the system is. You’re the same bloodline. Put your finger on it and let’s see what happens.”

  Quan placed his index finger in the outline on the card and in a few nanoseconds the card soaked up enough ambient RF energy to transmit. For a moment, the system did nothing, as if considering Quan’s place in the Jintao bloodline. Then bold magenta text popped into view:

  AUTHENTICATION FAILED

  The female voice came again. “Bio ID, please.”

  “It wants my father’s bio,” said Quan, looking around the room. “I could get something from home like a hair from a hairbrush.” Then Quan remembered, the brushes were immaculate and sterile.

  “This system probably needs something more substantial than a hair,” said McGowen.

  “I can’t think of anything,” said Quan, feeling around in his pockets. He felt the chain, and, pulling on it, the little white rabbit’s foot slid from his pocket.

  “Wait,” he said. “Let me try this.”

  He placed the furry object on the transmitter card. It fit perfectly.

  The voice came again. “Shieh, shieh. Bio ID accepted.”

  The emblem faded from view and was replaced by eleven equally spaced folders.

  Astonished, McGowen asked, “What was that?”

  Turning the rabbit’s foot over in his hand, Quan said, “I wasn’t sure what it was for, or who sent it. Father must have made it. It must be infused with his gene code somehow.”

  “My oh my. Good luck you had that.”

  Quan opened the first folder—instrument readings from the malfunctioning power station and notes from the survey crew. He X-ed out and skipped to the last folder. It contained several documents arranged by date. Tapping the last page of the last document, he whisked down to the last entry.

  12.13.2088 09.15.22 MUST SEE WITH MY OWN EYES

  “What does that mean? What did he need to see?”

  “A dinna ken, lad,” said McGowen. “I don’t know. The answer is probably in one of these files.”

  “I’m going to read all of this,” said Quan. “I have to.” He spun around to see McGowen, who was down on one knee next to him, looking at the view field.

  “That’s going to take a while,” said McGowen, standing up. “I should probably get back to what I was doing. Com me when you’re done.”

  5.

  Inside the penthouse, Sealy felt light-headed each time she stood up and the Dramamine didn’t help. Even though it was irrational to think the massive South Point structure could collapse, her fear persisted. The room seemed to sway and the floor seemed to tilt and the fathomless sea yawned below.

  The last thing Sealy wanted to do was to add to Quan’s stress, yet her acrophobia required treatment and so she went searching for a cure in an unexpected place.

  Between the stone balusters surrounding the terrace, she could see gray-green hills leading down to a small cove partially obscured by mist. Surging waters lapped against the rocky shoal and the air was laden with briny coolness.

  “Do you like this one?” asked a voice coming from all around her.

  Her black eyes swept to the right, gazing at the gently rolling hills dotted with oak and manzanita. “Yes,” she said, pausing to check with herself, then adding, “Maybe we could be a little closer to the water.”

  Her forearm came to rest on the rounded edge of an onyx table. The surface felt neither warm nor cool to the touch. Sunlight striking its smooth surface refracted off of crystals inside, blazing with amber light. A gentle breeze wafted scents of sage and sea from the valley below and the voice, busy at some distant task, came again. “There, that should do it.”

  Earth and sky quivered and the hillsides contracted. The rhythmic rumbling of waves reverberated up the canyon as the cove moved closer.

  “Better?” asked the voice.

  “Yes, much better.”

  “I’ll put in a pathway leading to the cove . . .” the voice said, turning away again.

  Violet wisteria materialized above her, dangling from a wooden arbor. The leaves blocked out sunlight except for small bright dots that stippled her navy blue suit. There was a rustling sound overhead. In the foliage, a bright green lizard stared at her through yellow eyes, then disappeared beneath the leaves.

  Sealy smiled and turned her face into the breeze, her thick black hair fluttering. “This is perfect. I love it.”

  “I’ll sync it up,” said the voice. “I think your partner will love it.”

  She hoped he would.

  H
er thoughts returned to the days leading up to their union. She was perturbed when her parents insisted on talking to Quan’s father. She thought perhaps the request was an excuse for her father to meet the renowned Master Jintao and she rebuked her father for meddling in their plans. Partnership agreements were the norm and lovers were permitted to contract without parental consent. Her father let the chiding go, but went on to remind her that family approval was still considered proper in polite society. Changing the subject, he added, “Men and women are different. They have different qualities and the difference is their strength. You must understand your partner’s maleness and help him to understand how different women are. Young people experiment with roles that blur the distinction and it often leads to confusion.

  Sealy never doubted her father’s wisdom and she thought he was right—about the difference. Women are different, and in some ways women are superior: more insightful, more expressive, more nurturing, and in some ways stronger—certainly more complex.

  She felt safe with Quan. He was a decent man and she was looking forward to having a family of her own—but first they would finish their education and enjoy her life together. They would travel and have adventures and make memories and . . .

  The voice came again. “Okay, thank you. Show him in. Sealy, your partner is here.”

  Hearing Quan’s footsteps coming up behind her, her eyes closed. She slowly inhaled as his hand touched her shoulder.

  “Wow. So, this is the sim,” said Quan. “Very realistic,”

  Reaching up, she touched his hand. “We’ve been working on this all morning. It’s a scene from central California. We tried so many: Ko Samui, the Maldives and the Cinque Terre. All nice, but I like this one the best. What do you think?”

  Another complication to deal with. The view from the penthouse had never bothered Quan, but Sealy’s vertigo was real and making her comfortable was worth the effort. It was her idea to create a panoramic projection that would camouflage the glass wall at the penthouse. Concealing the immense height was clever and a way for them to stay in the penthouse—if it worked.

  “Well done. So realistic,” he said, turning to watch the receptionist walking away in the dimly lit studio. “I like it.”

  Leaves rustled above and a yellow eye looked at him.

  Sealy pressed his hand to her shoulder and turned to see his eyes. She loved those eyes, so distinctive, the color of green grapes.

  “It’s beautiful. It relaxes me,” she said. “Thank you for understanding.” From the corner of her eye she could see the archi-tech approaching.

  Armando Ballaster was dark and smarmy, dressed in a tightly tailored bronze suit, cut with waist and cuff vents. Moving with the grace of a ballet dancer, the toes of his shoes seemed to point the way. He strode into the light; a gold necklace beneath his orange silk shirt glinting in the light. His smile displayed a modest glimpse of his perfect, ultrawhite implants. His hair was brushed back like strands of black vinyl ending in ringlets at the base of his neck. Beneath his flashy exterior, Armando was known to be a consummate professional. He was an archi-tech: a combination of artist, architect, engineer, and programmer with a reputation for creating extraordinary sim-scapes.

  “Mister Jintao, it’s an honor to meet you.” His baritone voice was smooth and relaxed—Mandarin with a hint of Cuban. “So glad you could make it. Your partner has added some nice features this morning and, with your approval, we can schedule the installation.”

  “What does the installation entail?”

  “This is a SensoReal system. Are you familiar with it?”

  In contrast to the archi-tech’s flamboyant manner, Quan’s demeanor was reserved. His smooth face displayed the most subtle expressions.

  “It’s the result of interference projection. Isn’t it?” asked Quan.

  “That’s correct, and with covalent boundary dynamics we’re able to constitute tangible objects.”

  Quan searched the archi-tech’s face for the slightest hint of condescension but found none. Confidence without arrogance—that added a plus next to Armando’s name.

  “Come, we’ll show you the other spaces,” said Armando, leading them away with his hand trailing behind. Quan eyed the hand. Other spaces?

  Walking a few steps in the dimly lit studio, they came to an orange bollard lit with a pinpoint of white light. “Your penthouse was constructed with an open floor plan, making it easy to implement almost anything. Let me show you.” Turning slightly, he spoke into his cupped hand. “Jintao E3.”

  In a blink, the entry area appeared. Quan recognized the marble floor a moment before it changed to hand-hewn rosewood. Behind them a wall of burnished gold materialized. In place of the bollard, a large clear vessel—waist high, filled with water. Inside, wide-bodied carp swam in circles, light reflecting off their orange and silver scales.

  What? Quan wondered. He’s done more than just the great room? Curious, he ran his hand along the rim of the fish tank. “It feels solid. You said boundary effects . . . some sort of osmoid immobilization?”

  “That may be part of it. I’m not an expert on the science behind it but they’ve made the programing as easy as working in CAD.”

  “Interesting,” said Quan, dipping two fingers into the water. Neither warm nor cool to the touch, his fingers came out dry.

  With hands flourishing and explicatives flowing, Armando crisscrossed the studio, making one room vanish and another appear, as if by magic. He led them through the dining area into a drawing room with ceiling-to-floor wine storage.

  “Virtual wine,” said Quan with a smirk.

  At last they returned to the great front room with its terrace and misty cove.

  “You’ve been busy,” said Quan with a glance to Sealy. “So, what’s the plan?”

  The archi-tech flashed his ultrawhites. “We can implement the refinements tonight and have it ready for another viewing tomorrow.”

  Quan placed one hand behind him at the small of his back and held up two fingers on the other hand, as if to say, Not so fast. “What about power consumption? What does this require?”

  “The great room requires forty kilowatt-hours a month. For everything you saw, it’s bordering on a hundred and forty.”

  “And how long to implement?” asked Quan, slightly raising his chin.

  “A day to get the SensoReal components . . . they’re available locally… another day for assembly and test.”

  Quan reasoned that they should go ahead with converting the great room and leave the other areas for a later date. That would solve the immediate problem.

  “You won’t be disappointed,” said Armando. “I’ll also include a complimentary copy of ‘Armandorama.’ If you ever need a quick getaway, it will turn your great room into a Sumatran rainforest, a moonscape, or a dozen other exotic destinations.”

  “Very well, then,” said Quan, regarding Armando with a mixture of amusement and concern. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Outside the archi-tech’s studio, on the rooftop aeropad, a shiny black autoglide silently descended with its flashers strobing. Its synthesized voice announced the standard cautions. “Stand clear. Stand clear.”

  “You’re amazing, Seal. What a smart solution. The penthouse will feel more comfortable while we’re there and, when father returns, the sim can be switched off if he chooses. No harm done.”

  “Thank you for being so understanding. I’ll feel more comfortable and you might enjoy it, too.”

  “It’s a fine idea. I’m glad we’re staying at South Point.” Placing his hands on her waist. “You go on ahead now. I’m going to walk to the office from here.”

  “The glide could drop you off.”

  “I need to get out and walk.”

  Her gloved hands surrounded his wrists and lifted his hands to her lips. She kissed his fingers.

  Once inside the glide, a voice announced, “Please place hands and feet and all belongings inside the vehicle. Door is closing. Door is closing.”

>   Quan watched the glide quietly levitate, turn, and autonavigate into sky traffic. A few moments later he was exiting the building at street level, merging with the crowd, striding down Victoria Road.

  It felt good to stretch his legs. During his stay in England he had grown accustomed to walking for hours, exploring the lanes, fields, and streams of the nearby countryside. Now he was back on the streets of New Hong Kong, packed with pedestrians, merchants, and street vendors, all dwarfed by canyons of gigantic buildings made of xynite, steel, and glass. Delivery vehicles were only allowed after midnight, and during the day the flow of humanity was constant—as though all six billion Chinese were out on the street at the same time.

  A full head taller than most, Quan looked out over what appeared to be a sea of black hair. Settling into a synchronized pace with the crowd, he felt absorbed into the living stream. Through subtle cooperation, they moved as one.

  At the heart of this is the Tao, he thought, the center path—the way. Chi flowing through meridians of least resistance.

  Moving through the shadowed canyons, the last moments with Sealy replayed behind his eyes. In a whisper, she said, “I adore you.” She looked so incredibly beautiful, her skin so smooth and flawless and the daylight glinting off her hair. The memory made his heart quicken. Ever since their union, a new reality had grown within him. He felt as though she had always been with him and would always be with him. He was more bonded with her than he had been with anyone else.

  Quan looked up to see a ten-story projection of a tiger on the face of a building across the street. The tiger growled, dissolved, and a bottle of Tiger Tonic appeared in its place.

  6.

  By midafternoon Quan had walked four kilometers and he could see the communications tower of Jintao headquarters above the other buildings. A row of street merchants lined his route. Virtual menus floated above the food vendors’ tables, and pungent aromas reminded him of his childhood. Through the crowd he caught a glimpse of a plump hand tossing what looked like chunks of chicken into a blackened wok. Chopped greens and water chestnuts followed. The cook’s stout arm racked the pan against the grill, sending the contents arching through the air, landing back in the center of the sizzling pan. Quan turned his head back to the direction he was headed and almost stumbled over a wizened old woman. She was very short, standing directly in his path with a paper bag in her outstretched hands. Peeking out from the wrapper, a blue plastic cat with gold-tipped ears grinned at him. The old woman’s face contorted in a stained-tooth grin and she said, “Lucky cat. Fifty yuan.”