Soul Bound

1        Soul Bound

1.1      Finding her Feet

1.1.1    An Unexpected Reunion

1.1.1.5  Message sent

A delicate tracery of thin silver lines etched itself along the edges of the major objects around her, as the crown scanned her field of vision and overlaid data from architectural and other sources. She tried turning fast, and was surprised to see the overlay stayed perfectly attached.

“How do you do that?”

No response.

“Minion, how do you keep the overlay so steady?”

[Nadine, your intention to turn lights up specific parts of your brain. I can react to this faster than your body can.]

“Minion, having to call you by name each time is a bit clunky. Can you learn brain-cues that indicate when my intention is to address you? If not, then when I’m in orglife, if there’s nobody else about, please assume my comments are addressed to you unless I say otherwise. Oh, and I guess confirm with me if it is something major and you’re not sure. Explain stuff to me if my cues tell you I am wondering about something. Be proactive and let me know about your abilities, if you can do something useful and important that I don’t seem to be aware of. Basically, if you’re going to invade my privacy by reading my fragging mind, then make sure you’re doing it for my benefit. Can do?”

[I will try, Nadine. You have a nice clear anger signal. I will use it as an indicator to let me know when I am getting it wrong.]

[Nadine, you have a message from Wellington. Would you like to see it?]

“Yes.”

A short, dark-haired man in his late 20s appeared before her, wearing a well-tailored western-style suit and tie, with a bronze ‘Goddess of Democracy’ pin on the lapel. He was no longer the child from her memory, but there were still traces there in the features of his face and the stillness with which he held himself. The figure started speaking:

“Hey Kafana. Quick briefing. Three things to remember.”

“Firstly: security. This tiara is non-standard. Alderney assembled the hardware, and I set up the software from scratch. Governments and companies can’t listen in to your activities, or trace them back to your arlife identity. Unless you give it away. That separation may well be important later, so don’t give it away. I’ve set the tiara up to warn you if that’s likely, so please listen to it on this point.”

“Secondly: finance. Don’t worry about the cost of this tiara or the computing resources behind it. I have been quite successful in life and, like I say, we made it rather than buying it. To help you keep your identities separate, I have put some digital money for you in an account tied to this tiara. Spend it freely on digital purchases, but please avoid transfers to your arlife identity, or having deliveries made directly to anywhere near you physically."

“Thirdly: reunion. Tomsk wants a meeting online. I think he has something to propose to us. His secure identity is on your trust network. Please contact him soon. It would be nice to see you again. Wellington out.”

Oh yes, that communication style was definitely the Wellington she remembered. She’d have to play the message again, and ask Minion about security and finances when she wasn’t dead tired. But now, before she crashed out, one last thing to do. ‘Tomsk’ was the Womble alias used by Alex.

“Minion, can you record a message from me to Tomsk, and then check with me before sending it?”

[Yes, Nadine. Just start talking as you like. I’ll map it to your avatar, clip out the segment you seem to intend as the message, and then show it to you like he will receive it.]

“Good.”

“Alex! Wonderful to hear from you, and what a surprise! I love the idea of having a reunion, and seeing some of my old friends. I’ll be available online this evening at about 11pm UTC. If you’re able, give me a call and tell me all about it.”

[Replaying message. Would you like me to send it?]

She watched her red-robed avatar smiling warmly as it trilled the message.

“Yes.”

She could barely remember the enthusiastic optimistic person she’d been at university, back in the days before the world turned so dark, with the plagues and bombings, and wholesale bonfire of individual liberties. She felt so powerless now, so alone, so trapped and out of options. Something in her body remembered, as she’d babbled that message with a light tone of voice, almost on automatic, but now, taking the crown off, her shoulders slumped. She turned out the lights, and trudged off to bed carrying the box.

*bang* *bang* *bang*

A few hours later, an impatient Bahrudin banged on the door, wanting his morning coffee. Her tragic scream was a work of art, starting at her lowest register and steadily rising in pitch and volume until even the turtle doves perched on the eves of the roof flapped their wings in alarm.

Options. She needed more options. What should a Womble do? There were never just two options. What could she do that didn’t involve getting up and didn’t involve turning her customer away? She put on her most pathetic voice:

“Bahrudin, Bahrudin, please! I was awake half the night helping someone in need. If you have any pity in you, let me throw you down the keys and run the kafana for me this morning. You always claim you can brew better than I can, so I’m sure the other customers will greatly respect you for doing this, and out of my gratitude, any coffee you drink will be free of charge!”

“Miss Sabanagic, my prowess is no idle boast. Throw down the keys and I shall prove this to you.”

She lobbed the key out of her window, directly down into the courtyard below.

“Thank you Elder. It is a thing of greatness that you do. If I came down now as I am, surely I would set the whole place on fire by accident. I will see you at lunchtime.”

And with a happy expression she turned over, and fell straight back to sleep.