Theres a dangerous meme, called Improvement, and its here on your campus, he said. You need to stamp it out before it claims another victim.
Really, Mr. Linwood. Principal Gordon arched an eyebrow. I believe that once again you are overstating the case.
But you are aware of the phenomenon?
I have heard rumors.
Have you taken any provisions against it?
Not specifically.
So you admit that you allow your students to fend for themselves as an insidious threat spreads among them.
Please. Were not talking about some deadly new virus
In a very real sense, we might be. Improvement spreads in exactly the same fashion as a virulent disease. Outbreaks flare up and fade away, apparently at random. Each time, it disappears, only to reappear later and wreak further havoc.
Clair reached the street and hurried for a d-mat booth.
Were talking about a meme much more sinister than any mere disease, Dylan was saying, and Im not leaving until I am certain that this institution is capable of providing its students with the protection they deserve.
Clair was at the booth. She dived in and called out the name of her usual station. The video feed died as the lights in the booth flared. She forced herself to stand still and not fidget too muchnot that it made any difference to her or the way d-mat worked. The flight of a bullet fired across the booth at the exact moment of transit would have been unaltered in any way. That was the VIA guarantee.
The doors opened in Manteca and Clair began to run.
Mr. Linwood, Principal Gordon was saying over the video stream, I completely agree with you that Manteca New Campus is obliged to protect its students to the fullest extent possible, but we cannot protect them from imaginary threats. I thought I had made this absolutely clear the last time you
If there were evidence of harm, would you act?
Of course we would.
From under his jacket, Dylan pulled a slim document folder.
I have here pathology reports on the deaths of nine girls who, according to family testimonies, all used Improvement within six months of one another. He proffered the folder to Principal Gordon. Go on, take a look.
The principal took the folder, opened it, and flipped through the pages with a tightening frown.
Clair wished she could see what the folder containeda wish that was almost immediately answered. Appended to the video feed was a second stream of images and data that she glanced at but couldnt interpret.
When youre done, Dylan said, we can discuss what measures you will introduce to protect the students of this school from the malevolent influences they have been exposed to via d-mat.
The school gates were in view. Anger and the first hint of anxiety made Clair run faster. Was this really pure bluff on Dylans part, or was there something truly to worry about?
The principal abruptly closed the folder and placed it in her lap.
I fail to see how these cases are related, to each other or to Improvement, she said. These poor young women committed suicide.
The manner of their deaths is irrelevant, Dylan insisted. Look at the brain scans. Theres clear evidence of damage to the prefrontal cortex, temporal lobes, and hippocampus. Such damage is not related to their medical histories.
So?
The only thing these poor girls had in common was Improvement. The connection cannot be disputed.
Where did you obtain these records, Mr. Linwood? the principal asked. If this data is real, why has it not come to light before now?
Its very real, he said, and readily available to anyone who looks hard enough. Buried in the Air under a mountain of irrelevant information, as all important things are. Nothing is hidden, and everything is ignored. The surveillance state doesnt need violence to perpetrate injustice. All it needs is our indifference.
Mr. Linwood, please, can we stick to the topic?
Clair was on campus. A crowd had gathered in front of the principals office, watched over by a UFO-shaped eye-in-the-sky drone. Students in turn were staring at a two-wheeled silver electrobike parked on the slate quadrangle, all sweeping planes and fragile-looking lines. It listed slightly from vertical, supported by a kickstand protruding from its left-hand side. The engine was ticking like an old-fashioned clock. I think thats a Linwood, Clair heard someone breathe in awe. One of a kindI mean literally!
She hurried through the crowd, grateful for all the jogging Libby had made her do that summer. Her lungs were burning, but she would be able to talk when she got inside.
Are you calling me a liar? Dylan was saying.
Nothing of the sort. Misled by your prejudices, possibly. I cant conclude anything until you tell us more.
The onus is on you to ensure the safety of your students. Ive given you cause to look deeper. Now I expect you to do it.
I see no cause at all. Just rumors and pictures. Principal Gordon tossed the folder lightly in her hand as though to demonstrate how little it weighed, physically and symbolically. These documents could easily have been falsified.
Outside the office, the principals assistant, a slender young man with flickering lenses, tried to stop Clair from going inside.
Im sorry, he said, but Principal Gordon is engaged at the moment.
I know, she said. The world knows it. Get out of my way.
She feinted left and slipped past him to the right, driven by a mixture of indignation and fear.
Both Dylan Linwood and Principal Gordon stood as she burst into the room. Clair came to a halt between them, struck by the sudden vertigo of seeing herself in the streaming video. Her skin was shining and sweaty. Her hair was wild. She looked as crazy as Dylan did.
What are you doing here, Clair?
The principals eyes were very hard. All Clairs personal information had probably been uploaded into her lenses the moment Clair entered the room.
Im the one who told him about Improvement, she said, choosing her words with care. Only now did it occur to her to wonder what she was going to do to make Dylan shut up and go home. I went to Mr. Linwood for advice. I didnt want him to do anything like this . . . not at all.
Did you really think Id sit back and do nothing? Jesses father asked her.
The principal waved him silent.
Clair, do you know someone who has used Improvement?
She hesitated, then nodded. Do I have to say who she is?
Not unless you want to or you think she is in any danger. Do you think she would submit to a physical examination to see if she has suffered any ill effects?
Clair thought about Libbys headache and mood swings. These werent certain evidence of anythingalthough she was sure Dylan would claim they were. Clair might have been willing to put the suggestion to Libby but for one critical detail.
No one apart from Zep and her knew about the drugs Libby had taken the night before. Whatever they were, they obviously werent legal, or else she could have fabbed them herself. An examination would undoubtedly include a drug test.
No, she said, afraid now of damaging more than just Libbys reputation. Its no ones business but her own.
She glanced at Jesses father. He was glaring at her. What had he expectedthat she would sit back while he destroyed her best friends life?
This speaks volumes to me, Mr. Linwood, said the principal. Clairs friend could come forward if she wanted to, but she hasnt. Surely she would if there was something wrong with her. Improvement is a meaningless prank. Unless I have hard evidence to back up your allegations, Mr. Linwood, I can only, once again, follow the health and safety guidelines issued by the appropriate authorities
Thats not good enough, said Dylan, stepping forward. This is about more than just Improvement, and you know it. The whole deadly system is what we should be railing against. How many students of yours come to campus by d-mat every day? Do you know or care what dangers theyre exposing themselves to each time they use this technology? Dont you think its irresponsible to encourage them to take such risks when telepresence alternatives exist?
Gordon the Gorgon didnt back down. Every class is already posted to the Air for anyone who wants to use their lenses. How my students choose to engage with the educational resources we offer is entirely up to them.
Thats a cowards answer, Principal Gordon. Dylans face was red, his voice too loud. You sit here in your comfortable chair while your students are fried up and scrambled and scattered in pieces across the planet. How many deaths would it take to spur you into action? How many kids could you bear to lose? Perhaps youre so jaded already, so inured to this cult of disintegration, that you would cheerfully herd your wards into a slaughterhouse without losing a minutes sleep. You monster, you murderer
The door to the office burst in behind them again, revealing Jesse and the principals flustered assistant.
Stop it, Dad. Youre embarrassing yourself!
Im embarrassing you, you mean. His father rounded on him. Why does it matter what these people think? He waved an arm in front of him, as though sweeping the entire world away. Let them burn. Let them die if they want to. What do I care?
He pushed past Jesse into the antechamber and stalked off through the crowd.
17
JESSE CHASED AFTER his father. With a screech of tires, Dylan Linwood sped away on the electrobike, leaving his son behind.
Is that all, Ms. Hill? asked the principal, dragging Clairs attention back to the office.
Clair hesitated. The video stream had ended with Dylan Linwoods departure. There were no public eyes on her now.
What if I said that I had used Improvement and was willing to take the test?
Then Id say youve wasted time and energy better spent doing your homework. You look perfectly fine to me. And if youre thinking of killing yourself, I strongly urge you to talk to a counselor. Thats why we provide them.
Principal Gordon opened the folder Dylan Linwood had given her, removed the pages, and ripped them in half.
I have better ways to spend my mornings than with scaremongering students and difficult parents. Its time for class, Clair. Go.
Clair did as she was told, her face burning. The principals assistant ushered her outside, and she was happy enough to go. That scene couldnt have gone much worse for her.
The crowd was dispersing, staring at but not talking to her. Jesse was standing, looking lost, next to his own bicyclea human-powered one, with pedals at the front and a horizontal seating position. He was wearing the same jeans as yesterday but with an orange T-shirt this time. Maybe the yellow one was in the wash, Clair thought, distantly wondering how that worked.
Im sorry, he said to her. This is his way of helping, believe it or not.
Well, hes not. Was any of that real, or did he fake the whole thing?
He thinks its real, for what thats worth.
Clair didnt know what to do. She didnt really think that Improvement was causing anyone brain damage, but the thought was out there now. Who knew how Libby would react? She was bound to get wind of it. Would she understand that Clair had been trying to protect her? Would she see that Clair had put her own reputation at risk in order to undo the damage she had already done to their friendship?
I want to talk to him again, she said, coming to an instant decision. I want your father to tell me everything he thinks he knows.
Uh . . . I dont think hes going to like that idea
I dont care. Can you call him?
I tried. Hes not responding.
Try again. If hes lying, he needs to take it back. And if hes right, against all the odds, Libby might be in real danger.
I know, said Jesse, Libby and everyone else who used Improvement, but what can I do? What can you do? It was her choice to do it. Whether it works the way its supposed to or not, its on her, right?
Clair was about to deny that she would ever abandon Libby like that when it truly struck her that she, too, was one of Improvements potential victims. If Dylan Linwood was right, she and Libby were in exactly the same boat.
You look like hell, Clarabelle, said Zep from behind her. And no wonder.
She turned, wondering if he was reading her mind. What?
The video. I saw all of it except for when I was in transit. Fifty people have sent me the link since then. Thats the most popular Gordon the Gorgon has ever been. You too. Its popping in the wake of the crashlander thing.
Oh, great, said Clair.
Soon youll be famouser than famousuntil some cat meme takes your place, anyway. He actually looked jealous.
Dont. Its not helping. She pressed her palms hard into her temples, wishing she could squeeze out a solution. Her infield was full of bumps, distracting her.
Do you think its real? Zep asked in quieter tones. Nine girls in six months?
It cant be, can it? said Jesse. Thered be no missing that kind of correlation.
Not if no ones looking. . . . Hey, youre the Stainer kid. Son of the lunatic himself.
Zep held out his hand, and Jesse warily shook it.
Nice entrance back there, by the way, Zep said. Bet youre looking forward to going home and facing the music.
Im going there now, said Jesse. He was speaking more to Clair than Zep. Im really sorry it went like this.
Its not over yet, she said. Im going with you.
What? Zep looked from Clair to Jesse and back again. Are you crazy?
Maybe, and maybe he is too. But I cant leave it here. Fury and frustration were making her hands shake. Hes going to talk to me properly, and Im not leaving until he does.
All right, said Jesse, looking resigned to an awkward replay of the previous nights confrontation. Ill leave the bike here. Well walk together.
You dont have to do that, said Clair.
Dont worry about the bike, he said, misunderstanding her concern. Ive got a spare if this is stolen. Thats the trouble with Dads plan to reeducate the world. He can only make so many things, which makes them valuable, which makes people copy and fab them so anyone can have their own. Its stupid. Hes stupid.
Jesse stopped himself. He had wrapped a chain through the front wheel and fastened it to a water fountain.
Screw school, said Zep. Im going too. This is for Libby, right?
Relieved, Clair could only nod.
18
SHE SCANNED HER infield as they headed for the school gate. The small crowd had completely dispersed, and the drone had gone with it. There was no physical sign that anything untoward had happened at school that day. The aftershocks were all semantic, with Clairs lenses still full of strangers bumping her, her news grabs filling up with related topics and caption updates, and nags from both of her parents. They had seen the video, like everyone else. She expected another nag the moment they noticed her leaving school.
She sent them a quick note telling them she was all right and would explain later. She said the same thing to Ronnie and Tash and deleted everything else, including the blinking call path from her string-of-qs stalker. She concentrated on matching Jesse long pace for long pace as they left school and headed up Woodward. His head was down, so she couldnt see his eyes through his hair, just his mouth and the unhappy shape it made.
You think Dad is some kind of mad bigot, Jesse said, but he wasnt always that way. Mom used d-mat, and they were married for ages before they had me. She came from Australia. Her family still lives there, but we dont have anything to do with them now.
So he used to be cool, said Zep. That doesnt help us now, does it?
I just mean theres a reason why hes the way he is. One night when I was very young, there was an outage all down the west coast, as far inland as Utah. It was the tail end of a run of errors that stretched from the superconductor grid right back to a particular powersat, where some astronaut had messed up the routine maintenance a week earlier. There are safeguards against this kind of thing, of course, buffers, backups, blah-blah, but in this case they all failed. Tens of thousands of transits were interrupted. I have the exact number somewhere. The outage lasted less than a second, but that was long enough.
Long enough for what? asked Zep.
Nineteen people died that night, Jesse said. My mother was one of them.
Dude, that sucks.
It does, Clair agreed, feeling a modicum of understanding, then, perhaps even sympathy for Jesses father. But the bulk of her feelings were for Jesse. She couldnt begin to imagine what it would be like to lose her mother that way, literally in the blink of an eye.
Im sorry, she said.
You dont have to be sorry. Jesse was emerging from his shell of hair as he talked, first his nose, then his eyes, which gleamed in the afternoon light. You just have to understand. VIA was keen to pin the blame on someone else. It was a terrorist action, they said. WHOLE, specifically. They never revealed how WHOLE had done itfor fear of copycats, they said. It didnt change what happened, and thats why Dad would say that d-mat can never be trusted. Because you cant trust the people who are supposed to make it safe.
You might think hes nothing but an asshole, Jesse concluded, but Moms death is at the heart of everything he does. All he really wants is for everyone to be safe. He wants to protect me like he couldnt protect her.
You make him sound like a saint, said Zep.
Oh, hes definitely not one of those. You saw the video, right?
Clairs attention was tugged away by two new notifications that had appeared in her infield. One was the qs again. The other was a bump from Libby.
You just cant help yourself, can you? the latter said. You just wont leave well enough alone.
So, thought Clair, she had seen the video too.
Im sorry, Clair sent back. I was worried.
The return bump was almost instantaneous. You dont trust me.
I do, I swear. I tried Improvement like you told me to, but it didnt do anything.
I dont believe you. Youre jealous. You want to ruin it for everyone, just like Dylan Linwood.
What if hes right? Clair bumped back, acknowledging the risk she was taking by even raising the possibility with Libby. What if Improvement has hurt you somehow?
Youre the one whos brain damaged. Improvement is a good thing. Why would anyone want to hurt me? Apart from you and Zep, I mean.
We dont want to hurt you, I swear. Were trying to help.
Who says I need your help?
We just want to do whats right.
Too late for that.
Clair wrote half a reply, then deleted it. She would get nowhere by responding to Libbys barbs. Instead, she thought through everything she had learned in the previous twenty-four hours in the hope of finding another tack.
What if someones hacking the system, and thats interfering with d-mat somehow? Changing peoples patterns by accident. What harm is there in having yourself checked out, just in case? Ill do it too. Well do it together when the drugs have cleared your system. You and me.
What happened to keeping Improvement a secret, like the note says?
Before Clair could reply, she was blinded by a bright emergency flash, the kind she only ever saw in stories, never in real life. Only peacekeepers had the authority to override someones vision. She stopped momentarily, stood blinking until her lenses cleared. When they did, a single red patch was glowing like an afterimage of the sun in the center of her vision.
qqqqq . . . qqqqq
Furious, she hurried to catch up with Zep and Jesse and took the call.
That flash was you, wasnt it? she said, mouthing the words so she wouldnt interrupt Jesses story. How the hell did you hack my lenses?
That is what Im good at, said the eerily childlike voice. There is nothing I cant get into. Nothing I have come across yet, anyway.
Why wont you leave me alone?
I just want to clarify the connection between you and Dylan Linwood. This is something else I dont understand.
Hes nothing to me. A pain in the neck. I thought he might help me understand something, but hes only made everything worse.
He broadcast you against your will, the voice said. Is that correct?
Of course it is. Why are you so interested?
I could help you, if you wanted.
Like you helped Libby? No thanks. I want you to leave me alone.
But
I mean it. If youre not going to tell me whats going on, stay away from me and stay away from my friends.
There was another empty silence, until finally the voice said, in a tone that was almost reproachful, Beauty is a terrible and awful thing where boundaries meet and all contradictions exist side by side.
Another quote, one Clair recognized. It was Dostoevsky this time, but there was a missing piece: God sets us nothing but riddles, something like that.
She agreed wholeheartedly.
The call closed from the other end, and Clairs infield returned to normal. The last message from Libby was still in view. Clair felt no loyalty to the secrecy Improvement demanded of its users, only to Libbys privacy and well-being.
Zep was saying, Ive heard that Stainer meetings are where WHOLE recruits hard-liners. Is that true?
I dont know, Zep. No ones ever tried to recruit me.
What about your father?
He never came out and said he was in WHOLE.
But he never said he wasnt, either.
Jesse nodded. He and I argued all the time. When I was a kid, I used to talk about turning fifteen and getting into a booth and visiting my grandmother in Melbourne. Dad had cut me off from her, pretty much. He didnt want me influenced by her. So it was exciting to imaginebecause it was a little bit terrifying, too. My mother died in one of those things. Whos to say it wasnt going to kill me, too? When it came down to it, though, I couldnt make myself go through.
Thats what you were doing yesterday, Clair said. When the PKs hassled you.
He looked surprised that she was listening. Yes. Thinking about it but never doing anything about it. The story of my life.
A new bump from Libby appeared in Clairs infield. She opened it, hoping.
You cant stand that Im perfect, Libby said. Get over it or stay away from me forever.
19
CLAIR DIDNT HEAR much of the conversation between Zep and Jesse after that. They passed the station, and Jesse led them onto the side streets of the suburb he lived in. All Clair could think about was the people stepping into and out of the rows of shining booths, remembering games she and Libby had played when they were younger. Guess involved one taking the other blindfolded to a destination that they then had to determine without using the Air. Cram or Crap scoured the strangest corners of a fabbers memory to find the most revolting food officially designated as edible. They had attended performances advertised in the Air just moments before the acts went onstage, braving traffic jams and instant crowds just to be there in that moment.
Libby had always been the one to push Clair into something new, and Clair the one to pick up the pieces afterward. Now, it looked like there would be no putting the pieces back together, no matter what Clair did. It wasnt even about Zep and Improvement anymore. Clair was caught between the uncompromising extremes of competing with Libby or trying to unravel her new sense of self-worth. It was a lose-lose situation.
Clair felt a terrible hollowness in her chest, as though Libby had already vacated from her life, leaving nothing behind but the echoing sense that it was all her fault.
If Libby would only come forward, Jesse was saying, if we could prove that her birthmark has really gone, then wed have all the evidence we need to make someone act.
If it really has, Zep said.
Dont talk about her like that, Clair said. Libbys not a courtroom exhibit. Shes a person.
Jesses face disappeared behind his bangs again.
Im sorryI know that.
They turned onto Jesses friendly neighborhood street and walked along the opposite side, sticking to the shade. No sign of the kids, but the dog droppings were still there, turning white in the heat.
Thats my place, said Jesse to Zep, pointing two houses along. Dont expect muchoh, hey, theres Dad.
Dylan Linwood walked through the front door of his house and stood there with his hands on his hips. He had changed since Clair had seen him. He was wearing a shirt that was even more crumpled than the one before, and there was a bruise on his forehead. One of his eyes, the left, was red where it should have been white. He looked as though he had been beaten up. But he didnt look beaten. His expression was anything other than cowed.
Jesse raised his hand in greeting.
Dylan Linwood vanished into a giant ball of flame.
The flash, the bang, and the physical impact of the explosion werent simultaneous. They came in that order, spaced out over tiny slices of time that the human mind couldnt individually distinguish. All of them outraced alarm. The electrical impulses in Clairs nerves might have traveled much faster than the ball of flame radiating outward from the structure that had once been Jesses home, but the shocked tissues of her brain needed time to catch up. A second wasnt long enough. Two seconds wasnt long enough.
After three seconds, she found herself on her hands and knees in some bushes, coughing her lungs out. The air was full of soot and smoke. There was ash in her eyes, making her lenses sting. Her ears were ringing so loudly she could barely think, and her skin felt hot and raw, as though she had been rubbed all over with sandpaper. Her headband had come off, and she had no idea where it was. Next to her right knee, a tiny flame burned a black hole into the grass.
Rough hands grabbed her around the waist and pulled her upright. She lurched to her feet and threw up. The bile was acid and foul and seared her already aching throat. Distantly, through the whining in her ears, she heard a voice urging her to hurry. She didnt recognize it, but she did her best to obey, fleeing the fire.
The street was transformed. Where Jesses home had been was now a shattered, skeletal frame issuing thick black gouts of smoke. There was almost nothing left. The apartments on either side were burning too, along with the gardens and trees lining the sidewalk. Broken glass crunched underfoot. There was debris everywhere. Bits of Jesses life. Bits of his dad, too, probably.
That made Clair feel sick again, but this time she kept her gorge down.
Clair blinked grit from her eyes and discovered that the hands tugging her away from the blast zone belonged to a solid woman with close-cut brown curls. She was wearing a dark-purple sweater and black jeans that, like everything around them, were now gray with ash. Her eyes were noticeably out of alignment, giving her face a lopsided cast.
Clair could see the womans mouth moving, but her words were indistinct. Take your own weight. I cant carry you.