Page 137 of Coldwire
“You appeared out of thin air!” he bellows. “Mommy lied! She said no one can appear outside of landing stations.”
“Shh, shh,” I urge, hurrying to my feet. “I didn’t appear out of thin air. I, um, I’m a magician trainee. I can’t explain my tricks, okay? It would be betraying the league.”
The boy blinks. “Oh. I understand.”
“Good. Good.” I dust off my elbows. We’re at the intersection of a busy street, the signs readingH STREETone way and12TH AVENUEin the other. A public park stretches to the left. A group is throwing a Frisbee.
Disorientation doesn’t even begin to cover the feeling. I may still be hallucinating.
“Are you lost?” the boy asks now. “From your magic league?”
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “I’m looking for M Street. Can you take me there?”
The boy nods. He turns on his heel immediately, his small shoes squeaking on the pavement. On the leash, the cat is well behaved, hastening to walk too. “Mommy taught me the grid when I wasfive. I can’t believe you don’t know it.”
“I’m new.” There are birds flying overhead. The smell of spring rustles from the green trees lining the street side. Kunlun is soclean. It was designed entirely by scratch—its grid perfectly measured, each block aligned. Twenty-six streets across and thirty avenues long. The edges of Kunlun bleed off into forestry in every direction. If someone finds themselves trekking into the trees, they’ll walk for a mile and simply emerge at the opposite end of the city. A self-contained world, connected like a miniature globe. I can’t stop gawping. Smooth concrete under my feet. Blue skies above.
“Where’s your mom anyway?” I ask.
“At work,” the boy answers. “She gives us the news in our heads.”
I have to assume that means his mother is a newscaster he can watch on his display. During their first few years upcountry, children are given simplified versions of a full display, ones they can understand. It’s hard to remember how we used to see virtual before we even had a developmental grasp on the world itself. Watching the news really is having the image in our heads.
I assume my display was simplified too, during my childhood years. Perhaps I’m wrong to believe I was eventually given back all my controls.
“Here.” The boy stops a few blocks down, pointing at the sign.M STREET.
“Thank you,” I say. “It was lovely to meet you.”
The boy skips away without a response. His cat doesn’t complain about being tugged along, toddling quickly after him on its paws.
Left alone, I start making my way down the street, examining the numbers on each of the buildings. There are plenty of pedestrians who pass by on the pavement, some talking on an active call in their displays, others zoning out to finish typing a message, their arms pumping high in their exercise clothes.
I walk by a massage parlor at 180 M Street. Then several residences. Quaint town house buildings segmented for cafés and tutoring centers. There are far more children here than I would have expected. A preschool is letting out at 206 M Street, releasing new entrant five-year-olds to the arms of their waiting parents. I weave through the crowd, coming to a stop in front of the building directly beside it: 208 M Street.
It’s a small, nondescript house. There’s no signage that declares it to be the Mercy Labs, nothing that tells me I’ve landed at the right place except a circular fixture on the exterior wall that resembles a robotic eye. For all I know, this could be a family-owned optometry office.
Still, I walk up to the front door, my shoes kicking the small pebbles of the footpath. The gold knocker is worn. I forgo it entirely, using my knuckles on the blue-painted wood.
I listen to the footsteps inside. Even, steady echoes, coming closer and closer to the front atrium.
Chung Yin opens the door.
He stares at me. I scramble for something to say, for a way to explain myself, to offer enough that he’ll understand my desire for answers. But he beats me to it.
“Lia,” Chung says. “I’ve been waiting for you. Come in.”
39EIRALE
“Soldier, did you hear anything I said?”
I start to attention, whipping my gaze back to Nik.
“Sorry,” I say. “Again, please?”
Nik, shockingly, doesn’t show any displeasure at my absentmindedness. He makes no snide remark, does not shake his head to remind me that I’m working for him to save my own skin. He must know how much his answer has shaken me, and though hours have passed and we are rapidly nearing our destination, I am no closer to digesting the nature of our mission.
Sentient AI.
