44
Villa 6 swelled into the night sky, skin rippling and pulsing with lights that suffused the atmosphere around partygoers even blocks away where the crowds began. The light was selfish; it sucked the life from the stars overhead and made them invisible to the human eye underneath it. Above the celebrating throngs, the pinnacle of the building shone into space with an unwavering brilliance, and below, at the heart of things, phones lit the ground like candles. People had gather to celebrate this new accomplishment for their kind.
Blake weaved through the dense crowd, while just behind Rosie clutched the strap of his bag and let him shepherd her along. Around them a council of sights and sounds argued for attention but the two kept their heads down as much as possible. Blake heard the happiness of the revelers around him. He passed a group of elderly people talking in hushed amazement and caught, only moments after, the sound of young voices throwing drunken songs up for all to hear. A child yawned tiredly in her father’s arms. A man with a deep voice was commenting on a news story to his wife or girlfriend. Blake and Rosie kept their heads down and pressed on farther into the thick of the crowd.
Closer, music became audible and Blake at one point looked up just in time to avoid a group of about forty people dancing, almost in worship. He stopped short and skirted the group, but perceived as the music changed to a faster, louder sound and the dancers’ movements became more fluid, more violently earnest. The gravity of their passion drew others into their midst and the group burgeoned with new revenants. Blake felt Rosie tug him to the right and they jostled their way away from the display.
Smoke rose from pockets of the crowd, rising like fog and darting away on the wind like a swarm of drunken fireflies.
They were still blocks away from the base of the Villa but the going became more difficult as people packed closer toward the lights. Blake powered his way through the masses with rude determination, quite sure where they we’re going but not certain if they would make it through.
He looked back at Rosie momentarily and saw the disparrately focused expression that he so quickly had come to recognize. The look would come whenever she was using her brain—and not her eyes—to perceive the world around her. Whether that made her more or less conscious, he did not know or feel like guessing. He led her forward again slowly, dodging children, screaming drunks, placid elderly, wide-eyed students, groping technophiles, dogs on leashes, stony security, raucous little chavs, hooded figures muttering about tourist information, a man in a wheelchair, young ladies in tight pants, mohawked punks, vendors hawking, men with women and without, women with men or women, and others simply looking for love—the whole city was out tonight.
Dazzling lights of the people’s mobile devices were everywhere, bobbing in a massive dance with their masters, eyeing the world with a thousand new lenses. Blake could not escape them, couldn’t hate them, couldn’t love them. He stopped short and felt Rosie softly collide with him. He turned around and whispered into her ear. The ghost returned to her stare and she saw all the dancing lights briefly, and, seeing them, cracked a sly smile and nodded. Reading my mind. The fire disappeared again from her eyes as she went back.
The effect was almost instantaneous. With mechanical regularity each of the lights started to die and wink into blackness. After only a minute she had switched off all the devices within fifty feet while Blake watched—with almost sinister amusement—as the owners stopped their shuffles, dances, and celebrations and pawed ineffectually at the lifeless screens. People stood stock still, wondering what happened to their phones. Although his intention had been more flippant, the confusion in front of them did allow Rosie and himself to move much faster through the crowd. He kept moving as the little figure hiding behind him sowed discord in every direction.
Another city block passed them and another lay before them. With or without the faster pace, the crowds were massive, much larger than Blake had guessed, much the same with the superstructure itself; Villa 6 loomed powerfully, close but seemingly coming no closer the more they walked.
He knew they were coming nearer—they had to be—but the only visible signs were the ever denser throngs and the growing ratio of police vigilantly surveying the crowd. He thought he recognized one policeman, the man who had almost caught him in the alley a few weeks before. He was standing near the corner of a building among a group of officers. He hadn’t seen Blake. On his face an expression that might have been jealousy—directed at the writhing masses of celebrants. Blake put his head down and kept moving, but none of the police seemed to notice the playful interference surrounding Rosie, a fact for which he was supremely grateful.
Before their arrival, they had seen the beginnings of their story on the news, about Bellick and his many company ties all the way to a brief exposition of the SEEDS program, none of it mentioning their names. Because it had only confirmed Tinker’s hypothesis, the story had come more as an aftershock for Rosie and himself than an actual earthquake, a shock through detail, every detail of her life catalogued, every step training in the understanding of the next. Machine meets human learning. Funny that she should feel empowered now, she had told him, when she had always considered herself free before. They had wondered whether they shouldn’t have just laid low for the rest of the night, giving the story time to proliferate and ensure their safety, but in the end they had decided to come to this event of the decade, if only to see it, or perhaps steal attention from it.
After three more crossroads they entered the enormous plaza that was the epicenter of the party. Villa 6 rose above them like an idol. No god worshiping ancestor could imagine this, Blake thought. Rivers of spirit blue flowed on astral red and lightning white struct the cheeks of the multitudes in the plaza. People might never acknowledge their blasphemy, but they would come to pay their respects.
We’re going in,” said Rosie in his ear.
She knew there was no need to wait for his answer. She swung her body lithely across his and weaved her way through the crowd. He was hard-pressed to keep up and found himself bumping and jostling with the masses where she had simply slipped through. The air was sticky with the heat of so many bodies and thick with the techno fog of lights. His senses were confused. Rosie would disappear from view and he would rush on aggressively until he could see her again.
Rosie stopped and waited for him near the center of the plaza. As he caught up to her she pointed toward the Villa. It seemed that only residents were allowed inside—a long tall fence bordered the building on all sides, completely barring access to the grounds within. Blake followed her finger closely, but couldn’t see anything. There were entry points along the length of the wall, all staffed with serious security or police, but there was no visible way of getting past them. Rosie was not pointing to any of these security checkpoints. Her finger, sure and unwavering, was directed at the empty section of wall right in front of them.
There’s a door there,” she whispered. “I think I can open it.”
Her fingers weaved their way slyly into his, and she drew him closer to her. Blake let his fingers caress her fingernails, smooth like polished stones, calming, like sitting near a riverbank. Rosie put her head on his shoulder and swayed through the crowd to the wall and he followed her like a inexperienced dancer, wondering how much of this affection was real, wondering just who was clinging to whom. Finally, Rosie’s back hit the wall and he decided he didn’t care, and pressed close and lowered his head and kissed her on the corner of her mouth. She kissed him back, square. The lights faded from his vision, all sound mute under the gravity of the moment. When it seemed both of them had stolen each other’s breath, he brought up his head. He saw her there, dark even in the spinning lights of the moment, in the shadow of the wall—white teeth through still parted lips, smiling happily. She closed her eyes a moment and Blake heard a small click. She pressed her hand to the wall and the door swung open.
They were quickly through. The Villa lit the grounds around them in urgent pulse. They closed the door softly behind them.
In front was a great lawn, perhaps one hundred meters from the wall to the building itself, and a great number of people were doing much the same as those outside. No one seemed to notice their entry; many were staring up to the beautiful visualizer, and many others spoke loudly with half-empty drinks firmly in hand. Far to their right the entrance to the Villa was filled with security, but they seemed too preoccupied with the spectacle outside to notice the couple.
Leaving the wall behind Rosie and Blake threaded their way through the many tables and chairs. Already the sense that they were breaking and entering had lessened in Blake’s mind, as if they were just leaving one party in favor of another.
The people in this new party looked much the same as those on the street, except with nicer clothes, and, Blake noticed, slightly more refined bearings. These must be the international elite, he thought, seeing skin tones to match nearly every shade of the visualizers. He could only suppose at the origins of every Villan, but he saw many people who he thought he could place: the Xinde Chinese, serious men and thin brightly dressed women; European exchange money, harsh eastern accents and rolling southern cadences; confident Americans, men with boyish faces and women casually refined. Some Japanese, quiet, with pale, introspective faces, drinking whiskey and smoking cigarettes; Middle-easterners, dressed long in the garb of wealth; new African wealth, tall and deep-voiced; Indian intelligentsia, small powerful smiles and melodic speech; and a few English, attentive and conversational as hosts should be. Blake and Rosie walked through the middle of them. They tried not to look out of place or too interested in their surroundings, meaning to adopt the unimpressed expressions they saw on the faces of people all around them.
Rosie seemed to know just where she was going. She turned away from the main entrance and led them around the building in the opposite direction, flanking the many tables on the lawn and continuing down the side. She walked slowly, holding hands with Blake and allowing him to guide her while, he knew, she governed their general direction. The structure was massive, and though they walked on without stopping they still seemed far from the back of it.
Tables of partiers lined the entire length of the Villa, but no one seemed to notice the slow walking young couple. Sometimes Rosie would stop for reasons Blake could only guess at, but even if residents did turn in their direction it was only to look at the lights, never to focus on them. And anyway, who were they now, now that they were inside?
After walking another five minutes Rosie held up and pointed to a door about twenty paces in front of them.
I think we need to go in there.”
Blake followed her gesture. The door was no bigger than that of a normal house. It was made of clear plastic and to one side neared a guardroom window.
There’s security at that door,” he said.
She nodded and said uncertainly, “But the door opens with a key card.”
And you can open it?”
Maybe. I’ve never actually . . . You know, actually done it before.”
Something else occurred to him.
What about my bag?” He patted the shoulder bag, in which he had several cans of paint. “Suppose they decide to search it?”
She frowned, “I don’t know, then we run away?”
He laughed loudly and looked at her, shaking with laughter.
What an idea . . .”
She punched him roughly in the stomach.
Stop making a scene. Let’s go!”
She pulled him along but as they neared the door Blake still couldn’t stop laughing; somehow this made him feel less like an intruder. Whoever heard of a catburglar who laughs at the door of his victim’s house? The guard behind the glass was a middle-aged black woman with voluminous curly hair. She smiled seeing Blake’s happy face and gave a polite, conciliatory nod to Rosie, who made a small motion to the card reader. The device made a quiet beep in welcome and the door opened. They hurried through, past the guard station and into a long white corridor lined with a set of eight mirrored elevator doors.
For reasons he could only guess at, Rosie walked past them without a second thought. Her eyes half-open, head tilted back strangely, she looked very much like a bloodhound pursuing a confused trail, or a Wiccan divining for lines of power. She searched in a trance, not speaking a word, nor ever turning to him, only leading him from corridor to corridor. Several times she stopped in front of a closed door and remained motionless. Blake would ask her where she was going, or what she was looking for, but each time she seemed only to hear his voice from a distance. His words hovered around her head for a minute until she shook them off and was drawn back into her trance. Before long he simply stopped trying and resigned himself to following, hoping that she knew what she was doing.
This weird vision quest lasted for over an hour, as she led him in and out of different rooms, up to the eighth floor, down to the third, and finally up to one hundred and one. It was now nearly 10 o’clock and, though Blake felt his feet aching under his own weight, Rosie never slowed except during her mysterious halting scans.
When his frustration was nearing its peak, when he thought perhaps he should simply grab her and shake her back to the world of the living, they reached a dead end corridor. It started thin and ballooned into a circular room with a high ceiling. On either side there were three doors, all closed and colored an unreal white that was even brighter than the rest of the Villa. Rosie walked to the middle of the room and turned to face him.
This is where the lights are,” she said dreamily.
You can see lights?”
No, of course not,” she said as if it were the most simple fact. “The lights on the outside of the building, they’re coming from in there.” She pointed at one of the doors, the one just to the left of the entrance.
The computer is in there?” he floundered.
Rosie said nothing for a minute and instead went over to the door, unlocked it the same way she had done before and let herself inside. He moved over, staying in the doorframe without entering, and marveled at what he saw inside.
The room looked much like a city unto itself; computer towers lined the walls with lights blinking on every surface and, in the center, a model of the Villa itself. The thing was just shorter than Blake and one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Seeing it smaller like this allowed him to see the delicate intricacies of design that were lost when looking at the monolith from the ground. The two wings soared like those of angels, weaving into the main tower with flawless continuity. It had obviously been built as an emulator for the lights that were so mesmerizing the masses outside, shimmering with the ghostly shapes and colors, projecting them onto the ceiling, walls, towers, himself and Rosie.
She was kneeling to one side, deep in a concentrated trance, the dancing lights imparting on her an otherworldly glimmer. The scene overtook him and for a while all he could do was stared unfocused as Rosie knelt there. A minute passed, then two minutes, until finally she stood up, motioning to his bag.
I think here is the best place.”
No one will see here.”
She shook her head and smiled.
They will see. Everyone will see what I see.”