COURT

of

DISCONTENT

Enter the Kingdom Book .5

––––––––

by

Kendrai Meeks

Table of Contents

Title Page

San Francisco | 2133

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San Francisco

2133

If the real world had been laid out as Omala Grover had designed her virtual one, it would be as beautiful in the day and as it was at night. One wouldn’t need to wait for the cover of darkness for the wastes to be blighted out.  Every light of the Oakland hills would glow from clean energy, not serve as another blip on a grid measuring mankind’s slow and steady fall into destruction.

She breathed deep, reminding herself that she shouldn’t linger out on the balcony too long. Today had been the third air quality advisory day in a row. The pollution wouldn’t do much damage during a few minutes, but a few minutes had come and gone already.

The goddess grant her prayers that GAIA continued to reverse this downward slide.

“Ma’am, she’s asking for you.”

Omala sealed off her prayer with a bow to the invisible forces that held the world together, knowing their concerns wouldn’t be with her tonight, leaving her fate to the good humor of bad mortals. She swept back into the flat, holding up the bottom hem of her silver sari and sliding the balcony door closed behind her.

“Is she already in bed?”

Asla Duncan, a woman with silvering hair and diminishing features, smiled, even as her eyes went to the floor. “In the most technical sense.”

“Did she say anything more about the gala?”

The nanny tried to balance deference to the woman who paid her salary and the tenderness she felt for her young charge. “Maybe she’s asking for you so she can apologize?”

No, that wouldn’t be the reason. Omala could guarantee that. Her eleven-year-old daughter had inherited many of her mother's flattering traits: a tact for high-level logic, a deep empathy for the less fortunate, an inventive spirit that always saw her designing her own bots or coding the type of projects Omala hadn’t learned how to do until college. Only time and the experience it allowed could be credited for the mother remaining her daughter’s superior when it came to coding, but how much longer would that be true? Even now, Cindira could hack into systems that challenged Tybor’s best hackers. Once Omala felt Cindira was ready to understand why its knowledge needed to be kept from her father, she’d teach her the full breadth of Purusha+, then she too could code vreal worlds to compete with this one.

Even the cleanest river carried silt, however. Yes, Cindira was a genius, but she was also inherently naïve about how ugly people could be. She trusted without justification, convinced of everyone’s better nature. The girl faltered when challenged at school. Cindira’s intellect dwarfed those of her classmates, yet hardly one knew. She was private, self-motivated, reserved. Some people took advantage of that. If you didn't use own your voice, others would speak for you.

––––––––

“Asla says you asked for me.” Omala aimed for indifference. After the dramatics at the dinner table earlier, she couldn’t allow any positive feedback without cause.

Cindira didn’t lift her gaze. She sat up in bed, her back to the headboard and blankets pulled up to her chin. A smaller, slightly lighter-skinned version of Omala at that age. “I wanted to say I was sorry.”

“Were...” Omala’s right eyebrow arched. “Or are?”

“Are. I mean, am,” the child said, a tiny tick in the corner of her mouth. “It was wrong of me to disagree with you.”

The child knew regret, but still couldn’t muster reason. Omala uncrossed her arms and settled herself on the edge of her daughter’s bed. “Listen to me well: I will never punish you over a disagreement. Is that why you think you were sent to your room?”

“No, it was because I wanted to go to the gala.”

Omala’s fingers traced the curve of Cindira’s chin, tilting up big green eyes to meet her own. “It would thrill me to have you beside me while the world celebrated GAIA tonight. It and you are the two things in the world I am most proud of. But I do not want you at the gala for reasons that have very little to do with your behavior.”

The consternation returned in the form of a pouty lip. “It’s because Johanna will be there, isn't it?”

If only adult truths could be as simple as a child’s understanding. Still, Omala had decided that she would not be the type of parent who lied in a misguided attempt to protect her child's feelings. One did no favors to the knife by keeping it dull.

“It's not the only reason, but yes, she will be.”

“I hate when she's around,” the young one admitted. “I hate her, and I hate Cade and Kaylie too.”

“Cade and Kaylie are children, pyaari beti.”

Cindira sat up and wove her arms over her chest. “They keep reminding me that they’re turning sixteen next week.”

“In the ways that really matter, they are children still.” Omala ran a hand over her daughter’s cheek. “Don’t hate them. They have not had the good fortune you have to tell right from wrong.”

Cindira’s tiny voice asked, “And Johanna?”

Truth didn't require cruelty. “She is still your father’s wife, as well as a mother. Treat her with respect, until such time as she demands less.”

“Miss Grover.”

Omala turned back over her shoulder to find Asla lingering in the doorway.

“The driver from Tybor is waiting for you downstairs.”

She nodded in acknowledgment and went about tucking Cindira down back into her blankets. “Go to sleep, my dove. Tomorrow we’ll try running the new simulation you were working on this afternoon. Oh, what is...”

A bump at the base of the bed shifted. Suddenly, the little girl’s eyes narrowed, then her weary eyes grew mischievous.

Even the strongest wall could fall from the power of a child’s smile. Omala pinched her daughter's chin and grinned. “I think you have bed bugs.”

“No, not bed bugs!” Cindira threw back the covers, pushing a hand down and curling her body to reach the squirming being hidden below. “Bed mice!”

To anyone else, the wee, wiggling creature scuttling in the palm of Cindira’s upstretched hand may appear to be just that: a white mouse. In fact, Laporte was not a mouse at all. The fact that her daughter treated the artifact of eight years of research and millions of dollars of investor funds, as nothing more than a plaything should upset her. It didn’t. What did was how Cindira anthropomorphized the botic. She knew the child had had a hard time trusting the humans in her life; too many had let her down at a very young age. Omala didn't want her daughter turning to replicated AI and near-sentient beings as a substitute. When the time came for Cindira to learn the truth, her sympathies and connections needed to be very much anchored in the real world.

“Laporte, why are you hiding in my daughter’s bed?”

The faux mouse sat back on its haunches, cleaning itself. Her programming of unconscious rituals into the rodent’s protocols was so realistic, it was sometimes easy to forget the device wasn’t actually alive.

“My apologies, madam, but Cindira put me down there and made me promise not to make any noise.”

Omala held out her hand. The mouse scrambled on without being told. “You’re supposed to be charging.”

“I was charging, madam,” the device assured in a chipper British tone. “Cindira only claimed me a few minutes ago.”

At the mention of her name, the child threw her hands up in supplication. “Please, please, please! Let Laporte stay with me. If you’re not going to let me come to the ball, I’ll be mad with jealousy the whole time not knowing what I’m missing. He can distract me.”

“First, it’s not a ball, it’s a gala. And secondly, he is an it. No matter how many stories it tells or games you play with it, Laporte is not a toy, and he has work to do with me tonight. Now, it is time for you to go to sleep. I’ll be home late, so don’t try to wait up for me.”

“I never wait up. I have far too many dreams to waste time awake.”

Even when Omala tried to be the straight guy, Cindira could force her to smile. “I hear there might be rain tomorrow. Perhaps the air will clear long enough for us to walk down by the piers in the morning.”

The mouse, still on all fours on Omala’s hand, twitched its nose. “I’m pleased to confirm that there’s an 80% chance of showers between the hours of seven and ten in the morning. Air quality is projected to be tolerable until approximately twelve-thirty. A walk before that time would be lovely.”

Omala raised the mouse to eye level. “Say goodnight to Cindira, Laporte.”

“Goodnight, Miss Grover. Pleasant dreams.”

––––––––

the botic

AS OMALA SLIPPED INTO the back of the towncar, the botic wiggled in the fold of her sash.

“Trouble, Laporte?”

“Some concerning activity inside GAIA, madam,” the mouse said.

The botic had a dual purpose. In the real world, it served as a device which kept Omala’s calendar, screened her comques, and served as a virtual assistant. Laporte’s primary purpose, however, was to monitor activity inside GAIA. Laporte could be inside the virtual reality platform observing, directly or indirectly, while simultaneously outside it in a physical manifestation. Like a saint, she had thought when she first contemplated his design. It can intercede on behalf of humanity and have the ear of God in Heaven.

Not that Omala considered herself a god, but in a very real way, she was a creator trying to save its people from the consequences of their actions.

“Precisely what concerns you?”

The robotic mouse stilled as it surveyed the live stream of reports from Tybor’s servers. “A dramatic uptick in users coming online. New accounts. New players.”

The tiny curl of anxiety in her stomach loosened. “Rex told me this morning they’d be creating a few hundred temporary accounts for the gala. He wants dignitaries and journalists to see GAIA from the inside.”

The mouse squared this new information provided by its maker against its own data. “That scenario does not necessarily conflict with the observed activity, madam. Only, the new accounts aren’t deploying into GAIA.”

Odd, but still not unexplainable. “Perhaps he’s letting the guest accounts design their own avatars instead of using one of the stock profiles. Giving them the authentic experience. In that case, they'd need to go into sandboxing first.”

“Isn’t that a huge expenditure of time and resources for a temporary account, madam?”

She looked out the window as the car rolled past a woman standing on the corner, dressed in one of the leather monstrosity getups today’s young people clamored to get their hands on. Never mind that beef and consequently, leather production, was so prohibitive now a single jacket could cost more than a month’s wages.

“Never underestimate the vanity of men, or how seeing yourself represented as an idealized version can result in very favorable PR.”

“Then I am satisfied with the proposed resolution to the report. Shall I update you if I detect any further anomalies?”

“Yes, of course.”

The mouse twitched its nose and made its way back into the folds of the white sash with gold trimming draped across Omala’s chest.

“Oh, and Laporte?”

It paused, turning its black eyes up to her. “Yes?”

“Do try to stay out of sight once we reach the gala. Most people won’t understand you’re a botic. A talking mouse might cause a panic.”

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll be as quiet as a... Well, a mouse, I suppose.”

Surely San Francisco could offer venues more sumptuous in their appointments or conveniently located. Omala hated to think how much Tybor had spent to put together this event. Almost everything had to be ferried in, from the portable VR jackpods to ice to chill the champagne. Because so little of the developed areas remained reliable above sea level, there were also a great number of platforms to erect. On top of that, the amount the company was paying for three ferries to run on a constant loop between the piers and Angel Island must be staggering. Hadn’t she just heard complaints about how much it cost Tybor to host and maintain the de facto world congress?  Apparently rumors about the company’s financial strains had been exaggerated.

Dislike her ex-husband as she may, Omala would admit Rex Tieg had a certain genius for setting. In fact, most of the landscapes used inside of GAIA bore his signature, whether through frameworks or in later aesthetic enhancements. For tonight’s celebration of the tenth anniversary of GAIA’s launching, he wanted a reflection of the virtual world itself, a place that served as both a literal and metaphorical conduit. The least famous of San Francisco’s islands behind Alcatraz and Treasure Island, Angel Island had once been used as a port of entry for immigrants arriving from locations east. To the south, the lights of the towering city glittered, and in its heart and south of its seawalls lay a fervent crop of technology havens.

Yes, Rex had chosen the location well.

The small private vessel on which Omala sat rocked as one of the ferries passed, bearing passengers to a dock transformed to look like the entry to one of the royal residences of old Europe. Iron gates mounted to the edge of the dock reminded her of facades she’d occasionally ride past in her youth in the days before the Great London attack.

“Aren’t we docking over there?” Omala asked the captain, pointing over the bow at the impressive if temporary edifice.

The captain shook her head. “My directions are to drop you at the service dock. Company staff and senior dignitaries are being screened privately there.”

“And when I’m ready to go?”

She pointed at Omala’s wrist wearable. “You’ll find my number bumped into your comque. I’ll appear as ‘The Royal Coach.’ We’ll be anchored around the backside of the island to avoid causing any problems for the ferries, so give us five to ten minutes to make our way about.”

“Thank you, Captain. Please keep an eye open for my message. I won’t stay long. I’m planning to leave soon after the formal presentations are done.”

Laporte’s tiny body squirmed. Omala knew it wanted to alert her to a discrepancy. She’d told Rex earlier in the day that she would stay until the party died down. She’d designed her robot to understand metaphor and idioms, but it still had a hard time reconciling intentional lies. She snuck her hand inside her sash, petting the creature for a moment. Laporte’s programming signaled to him to remain silent.

She wished that move worked on people too.

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REX WAS THE MOST HANDSOME vulture that ever had lived. He waited for her on the dock, offering a hand the moment her boat pushed its gangplank down to the landing. It would be rude of her not to take it. It would be ruder still to use it to pull him down, hoping he fell into the water.

She opted for the lesser of two evils.

“Omala, you’re looking radiant.”

He pulled the back of her hand to his mouth and planted a kiss. Once, such paltry attempts to placate her worked all too well. Experience had taught her this man only baited with sugar when he wanted the taste of sweetness returned.

“Don’t you worry that your wife will overhear you say such things?”

A nervous laugh took his frame straight. “Johanna is already inside.” He looked past Omala, into the boat on which she’d come. “Where’s Cindira?”

“In bed, where a child who has school in the morning belongs. I told you this afternoon she wasn’t coming. And yet, you went behind my back to ask her what she was wearing tonight, setting her all atwitter. Please stop forcing me into being the bad guy who always has to tell her no.”

“You wouldn’t need to be the bad guy if you stopped being so overly protective.” 

Rex dropped her hand and his endearing act as they started their way up the dock, toward the security checkpoint. So that had been the reason for the show. He’d thought their daughter would be dawdling off the ship after her. No Cindira, no kind Rex. Now, her ex would be all business.

“I don’t understand why you shield her. Don’t you want our daughter to understand what her parents built? Someday this company will be hers, you know. She needs to be up to speed with our products so she’s ready to assume the reins when the time comes.”

“I don’t know how you can compare my creation with the other rigmarole Tybor produces, as though MMOs and a virtual reality platform that’s reduced environmental destruction and armed conflict so dramatically are interchangeable. Besides, I am not shielding her from GAIA. I am shielding her from being paraded around like some prized puppy by your wife.”

“Johanna loves Cindira.”

“What Johanna loves is netting up all the compliments our daughter receives, as though that snake has anything to be proud where Cindira is concerned. Perhaps if she took half the effort to raise her own children, she could gallivant them around instead.”

“It was harder for her than it was for you, you know,” Rex admonished. “The twins’ father died when they were two. Johanna had to raise them on her own, and run JiJi Ann all single-handedly. What could she do? Quit the company she built from scratch while it was still massively in debt from start-up costs?”

“Yes!” Omala stopped and rounded on her ex. “It was more critical that her children have her than a big house or fancy cars. Then again, I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. You sacrificed your family for your company easily enough.”

His cheeks reddened as a line formed between his eyes. “I sacrificed time with my daughter while I built our company. Our company, Omala. The one that made GAIA possible. Which, by the way, I continue to support despite the great financial losses it incurs.”

She pushed past the security guards. Unplanned as it may be, being engaged in verbal fisticuffs with the CEO of the company provided enough of a distraction for Laporte to move about inside her sash, avoiding alerting the metal detector wands.

“You think war-torn nations can reboot their economies overnight. It will take years, decades maybe. Once they’re back on solid footing, the members will pay.”

“Very few members have paid,” Rex returned. “Not enough of them, for sure. If it wasn’t for those MMOs you detest, GAIA would sink us. Even with them...”

For the first time, something Rex said made her pause. She turned, looking back at him, perplexed by the sadness on his face. “Yes?”

His anger simmered down into frustration. “Tybor is bleeding money on GAIA’s altar. Hemorrhaging, actually. Don’t look like that; you know I believe in GAIA. I know the good it’s done. But it’s put me—put us, in a difficult position. It’s left us with no choice; we have to take some drastic measures.”

What did he want from her? To give up her interest in the company again? She’d already allowed him to buy out her share when they’d divorced. Resign her position on the board? She’d done that out of protest when he’d merged the company they’d built together with one built by the woman with whom he’d had an affair.

“What kind of drastic measures?”

Rex’s face flatlined. “You know what kind.”

No. No, he wouldn’t. “You promised me that would never happen.”

“I promised I would never do it unless I absolutely had to. Omala—” He reached for her. Perhaps because of shock, or perhaps because she felt like she was suddenly having an out-of-body experience, Omala let him embrace her. “Baby, I had to. If I hadn’t, we would have had to take GAIA offline six months ago.”

“Had to?” She pulled, heat flaring in her cheeks. “You’re speaking in the past tense.”

The expense, the glamor, the hoopla that Tybor and Rex as its head had orchestrated under the auspices of celebrating GAIA’s anniversary... Suddenly, it all made sense.

“This is a PR event. You're launching something here tonight.”

At least he had the balls not to deny it. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

“What way precisely did you want me to find out?” Omala shouted. She never shouted. “Broadsided in the middle of a crowded room, surrounded by industry titans and world leaders? Made to look the clueless fool when I was just as surprised that the platform I built to save mankind from itself was turned into some kind of high-priced video game?”

“No, of course not. That’s why I was waiting on the dock for you.” He shifted in place. “That’s what Johanna wanted to do, but I couldn’t bring myself to betray you that way.”

Two hands to his chest, she pushed him away. “You already have.”

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EARLY IN HER YOUTH, Omala had developed a coping strategy for when events outside her control overwhelmed her. It had first come in handy as a child, when attacks in London were as common as summer sausage. It stayed with her at Cornell, when the Dean had announced the institution would be selling off the last of its physical buildings and becoming an entirely virtual campus, the last of the American Ivy League Schools to do so. It had saved her the night she’d walked into her husband’s office and found Rex sweating atop another woman. The world became external, an alternate reality with which she didn’t need to bother, because it wasn’t real. She was just an avatar among digital corpses. Perhaps that’s why she had taken to designing and programming virtual reality environments so well. For years, she had used herself as a guinea pig.

The gala was simultaneously full and completely empty, and everywhere she looked, the signs were all too obvious. Rolled up banners on the walls that would unfurl when someone gave the signal. Party favors passed about that were whimsical and brightly colored, more fantasy than fanfare. Publicly, the event had been billed as “Celebrating success and a toast to the things to come.” Foolishly, Omala had thought that had meant the things to come for GAIA. More real-world international relations being conducted in the virtual world, or vreal world, as it was coming to be called... Peace where possible, and where it wasn’t, war contained in a platform that wouldn’t wreak further havoc on the Earth. All around her, bejeweled women wore plastic tiara party favors, while men donned faux metal crowns. What did it all mean? What had Rex done?

It would, of course, be this moment that Johanna would find her in the crowd. The woman – and Omala used that term in only the biological sense – must have smelled blood in the water.

“Dr. Grover, there you are!”

If Omala had designed an avatar to capture the archetype of the sexy, evil mistress, Johanna would have been her inspiration. From her face engineered by the finest of Beijing’s plastic surgeons, to the red, parasitic dress that clung to her body, to the long legs that would walk right up to you, then all over you, she fumigated the room with the scents of a lower class of primate.

Johanna took both of Omala’s hands and splayed her arms out wide, surveying. “Don’t you look lovely. Why it’s called a sorry, I’ll never know.”

Omala shook off enough nerves to muster a response. “It’s sari, actually.”

Johanna’s fingers fanned the air as she withdrew. “Yes, well, it’s lovely. Ethnic clothing is just so popular these days, isn’t it?” She snatched two flutes of champagne from a passing server, handing one to Omala. “Did Rex get a chance to chat with you?”

“He did.” She sipped the drink. “He was vague on details.”

“Not to worry. All will be revealed. Ah, I think that’s him now, on the stage.”

Whatever lights there were in the space dimmed as Rex strutted out on stage, peacocking before a cheering crowd. This must have been how the gladiators felt, Omala thought, when the emperor declared the games open. For a moment, she swore their eyes met, but she also knew how the spotlight blinded. Once, they had stood on a similar stage together, holding hands and holding out hope, announcing the launch of the platform that would bring an end to real-world war and the destruction it caused. Little did she know that shortly thereafter, her own world would lay in ruin. Their marriage would be over. The Board of Directors would authorize a buyback of all her shares, which she’d give up willingly to save face. Her husband’s mistress would soon become his new wife.

Rex unbuttoned his jacket, a nervous tick Omala recognized. Either his confidence in what he was about to announce was shaky, or he felt honest to goodness guilt over this last step in destroying her pride. Probably the former. The latter would assume that Rex considered pride something to be honored.

“Friends, investors, honored dignitaries, members of the press, and the other two people in the audience who are none of the above...”

A bubble of laughter failed to include her own.

“Ten years ago today, I stood on this stage to announce the launch of the Global Alliance for Intelligent Arbitration, better known as GAIA, the brainchild of one of the most inspiring programmers and visionaries of our time, Omala Grover. She recognized that, while peace is the ideal state for humanity, it is not always the one which allows us to act in accordance with our inherent natures. Omala believed that the best way to avoid the death, environmental destruction, and the economic hardships of war was not to imagine that it didn’t have a purpose. Mankind’s greatest advancements often germinate under the shadows of its basest nature. Instead, Omala’s vision called for a resurrection of the art of the virtual reality platforms developed during the first half of the last century. By reclaiming this archaic coding art and overlaying it with modern advancements in neuropathology and immersive mindjacking, Omala and I created a virtual platform that combined both the legacy of the defunct United Nations and the Hague. A place where the world community could resolve their disputes, be it through dialogue or through virtual warfare. Now, while Omala reminded us–specifically reminded me–”

Another ebb of chuckling. Rex’s abilities to work a crowd were positively evangelistic.

“–that GAIA would not solve every armed conflict, looking back at the last decade, we cannot deny its benefits. In 2122, the year before its launch, environmentalists evaluated Earth’s rank on the Lathrop-Vishnu Scale as an eighty-one out of a hundred. Nearly sixty-three percent of global deaths were attributed to armed conflict, be it direct or consequential. Now, only ten years later, those numbers have been reduced to fifty-eight and twenty-four percent, respectively, and I think we all should take a moment to thank Dr. Grover for being a big part of that turnaround. Omala, where are you? Come on up here!”

So, he would put her on a pedestal before he made her a whore, prostituting out her creation for his company’s economic gain.

Omala had no desire to be Rex’s propaganda tool. As soon as the spotlight scrapped the audience, however, landing on her within moments, she had no choice. Focus on what benefits GAIA, she thought. Disgusted as she was, he had put her on the spot. Sometimes you didn't get to choose your field of battle...

Rex pulled the seething woman under his arm and into the wing of his embrace. The crowd erupted into applause, though from those, she couldn’t squeeze any bitterness. Many of the foreign dignitaries in this room owed the countless lives of their citizens to her creation. Skimming the grace off the top of the gaudy, she mouthed her thanks and waved.

Laporte scrambled in the folds of her sash. In a moment, Omala crossed an arm over her stomach to quell him. Hopefully whatever it was that he had it scurrying up to her ear could wait a few more minutes. Rex’s grin cracked for a moment, his eyes shifted left. He had noticed. But did that mean he understood she’d snuck in an ally?

Her fears ebbed when Rex lowered his lips to her ears. “Are you okay? You look flushed.”

Her plastered-on smile never faltered. “Just thinking about what I’ll do after this.”

A neutral statement. A true statement. A hint of a warning.

The spotlight was as much his prison as it was hers, however, and in the crowd dozens of security guards kept singular watch. Whether he had or hadn’t picked up on the subtle clue was a moot subject. He had to press on.

“Omala,” Rex said, his voice again amplified by the sound system, bringing a hush over the crowd. “I think I speak on behalf of everyone here, when I say your vision has not only been inspiring, it’s been revolutionary. But a revolution is only the first, bold strike in a society’s desire to remake itself. In the early days of GAIA’s design process, you and I talked about the potential for the platform’s diversification. There are many, many other ills of mankind with devastating effects that can be remedied through virtual world platforms. Containing war was just the start. Your insights into human nature told us that to only embrace half our vices in a virtual world would be to doom it to failure. And so, I’m pleased to announce tonight, that as of–” He looked to the wearable on his wrist. “–ninety seconds ago, our second immersive world is ready for its first users.”

A whole new vworld? It would have to be a copy of GAIA. Rex and his designers were smart, but not so intelligent as to have built their own source code from scratch and maintain stability, security, and integrity.

A fanfare of brass bellows put her heart into her throat. The banners she'd noticed before unfurled, scrolling down the walls. On each, a character that looked like it stepped out of a history book on Bavarian fashion of the seventeenth century. Six banners in all, three on each side of the room. As Omala squinted through the glare of the limelight, she felt nauseous. Two banners in particular caught her eye. To her left, Rex, adorned with a golden crown and a purple fur cape, grinned. On her right, Johanna, her already hefty real-world bosoms pushed nearly up to her chin, donned the silver diadem and a cocky grin.

“We call it the Kingdom,” Rex said. “A virtual environment in which participants can come to both live out the golden age of kings and queens, knights and nobles, and where they can, with some limitations, of course, partake of any activity they so desire. The Kingdom will allow us to exercise our internal demons in a safe environment that recreates the romanticism of a fairy tale.”

This wasn’t happening. This really could not be happening. He’d taken her logic and her creation and twisted it into a heathen’s plaything.

Still the light shone, and to call him out on this bastardization could lead to those questioning her own purpose for GAIA. Omala leaned into Rex, covering her mouth with the backside of her hand. “You will not get away with this. I promise.”

He took advantage of the proximity to kiss her on the cheek and weave together their fingers. To the audience, he played up the image of their amicable breakup and continued friendship.

“As you said earlier, I already have.”

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THEY HAD MADE OF MOCKERY of her life’s work. The Kingdom was GAIA’s antithesis. Instead of pursuing the advancement of society by acknowledging leeway for a small amount of violence, it put the negative aspects of humanity up on the block and slapped on a price tag. Worst of all, the media lapped it up. Vanity, promiscuity, materialism, decadence – all would thrive in the Kingdom. Founding memberships were prohibitive; the full-service packages Tybor would offer, including in-home jackpods for logging into the platform, would make the top tiers of access strictly for the richest of the rich. Forget the haves and have-nots. The Kingdom would divide the haves from the have-nevers.

Omala clutched her stomach as she walked out to the end of the service dock and hailed the boat with her comque.

“It’ll be at least ten minutes until we can get there,” the captain apologized. “The marine layer tonight is thick enough to slice as pie and serve with a spoon.”

She uttered a curse under her breath, but to the captain, only asked for her to come as soon as possible. She should go inside to wait. So much exposure to the air mightn’t be good. Somehow, though, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

The botic mouse emerged from her sash to crawl up to her shoulder, where it could speak to her more easily. “At least it solved the issue of finding revenue streams for the continued support of GAIA, madam.”

Omala kept silent.

“I did upload myself into the environment to have a look around. It is a very impressive package of coding.”

That stirred her. “You were able to get in?”

“Of course, madam. The landscapes and social protocols may be newly developed, but the source code is all ripped from GAIA, including the backdoors you wrote for me to access the network. Only...”

“Yes?”

Even though the botic wasn’t a cognizant being, it somehow managed to display sheepishness. “I think Mr. Tieg has set time limits. The security AI, Yuchi, has been instructed to scan profiles at the strike of midnight, San Francisco time. I had disguised myself as the King of Iran to blend in with the other dignitaries. However, when the clock tower over the castle struck twelve, I turned back into a default avatar.”

“You mean a mouse?” Omala asked.

Laporte’s whiskers twitched. “Yes, madam. When I could sneak away, I was able to regenerate in a human form, but it did leave me scrambling for a few moments. If I can ask, why didn’t you want to take a look at it? Mr. Tieg seemed very eager that you should.”

“Because, Laporte, he’s already shamed my legacy. I will not allow him to shame my face.”

“Did he have permission to use your codes in a new environment?”

Yes. No. “I’m not certain.” She’d agreed to far too much when they’d divorced hastily, eager to sever as many ties to Rex as she could.

“Surely Tybor will still owe you extensive royalties at the very least.”

“I don’t care about the money.” She thought about what exactly she did care about, becoming very conscious of the unusual transparent shoes she wore under her sari. “Are the slippers compatible with the new system?”

“Yes, madam. That was one of the first diagnostics I ran.”

“Good, I have a task for you then. Drill me a hole into the Kingdom.”

The mouse, normally able to follow Omala’s train of thought, found itself stranded on the platform. “Madam?”

“The magic pumpkin,” she continued. “The apartment I keep down below GAIA’s interface? I want a door from that into the Kingdom as well.”

“Ah, I understand. You’d like a method by which to slip in and out undetected.” The mouse nodded, scratched behind its ear, then lifted its head again. “I have the task queued for my next system check, madam.”

“Don’t queue it. Do it now, and also backup all my memory files from the GAIA platform and from local files into my avatar.”

Laporte blinked twice, confused again. “Local files, madam? Are you suggesting I copy your brain and implant it in your VR avatar?”

“You heard me correctly. I signed away my rights to control what Tybor does with my technology, but I didn’t grant it rights to control what I do with theirs. Can you do it or not?”

“Of course. I can link up to the scan portal remotely, but a human mind holds a massive amount of data. It will take me several minutes to download and send the copy, during which I’ll be unable to dedicate computing power to anything else. Are you certain you want me to perform this task now, and not wait until later tonight when you’re asleep?”

“My upload will just look like another to the system with all those temporary accounts. If we wait until I go to bed, the transfers will have ceased and all their security protocols will be raised. We must act before the party ends.” Omala lifted her sash. “Don’t worry about the pain. It only feels like an injection. I can take it.”

“Very well, madam. My botic body will be in stasis for approximately twelve minutes. Going dark in three, two...”

Teeth ripped into Omala’s skin, exposing the hidden port over her heart that, in turn, wired straight into her brain. A moment later, Laporte’s front paw docked. She’d been lying to herself more than to the botic when she said it wouldn’t hurt much, and the pain wasn’t the worst part. The energy surging through the line wired into the base of her brain made standing difficult. Her head buzzed, and the blurry vision didn’t help much either.

Was the weather really this foggy, or was that merely an effect of mapping and copying her cerebral cortex whilst she was still conscious? She leaned against the railing, focusing on the gentle swish-swash of waves hitting the dock pylons in the foreground. Somewhere on the far side of the island, the mooing foghorn punctuated the air every three minutes, overpowering all other sounds. At first, Omala thought the footfalls approaching might be one of the security guards, or perhaps even one of the prominent guests of the party. She readied an excuse for her condition. She... had had one too many to drink. Yes, that was it! And now she was going to go home and sleep it off.

When the being coming through the darkness took shape, however, Omala wished she’d never shared the fact that she didn’t drink alcohol with Johanna, an excuse that seemed best at the Tieg-Fife wedding when she’d refused to toast the happy couple.

Johanna sneered. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Omala played off the vixen’s taunt. “Yes, I’ve always liked the fog. Reminds me of London when I was a child.”

“Not the fog, Omala. I mean the way I have taken everything from you. Your husband. Your fortune. Your career. And now, I’m taking your legacy. Just like I said I would all those years ago.”

Omala wished she could see straight enough to watch the reaction on Johana’s face when she spoke.  “What you have that once was mine, I have given willfully, if with pain. You’ll never succeed, Johanna. I still have my pride, I still have my daughter, and I have my life. Turn me to the streets and strip my legacy bare, and I still have all I need.”

The corners of Johanna’s mouth rose. “Oh, don’t worry. I'm going to get those too.”

Water filled Omala’s mouth before the question could even form on her lips. Had she slipped? She didn’t remember tripping over anything. How was she...

Overhead, Johanna glared down from the dock, a demonic entity gleeful in its sin. Suddenly, Omala understood. She stretched toward the dock, determined to save herself, refusing to ask for help she was certain Johanna wouldn’t offer. The lip of the decking grew more distant by the moment, the wrapping of her sari binding about her arms. The cement moorings and wood pylons gave nothing to hold onto. Currents yanked at her, deadening her nerves and dragging her. Omala’s muscles spasmed, pushed by adrenaline and the instinct to survive, subdued by near-freezing waters and unforgiving tides.

“You’ll never get away with this!” She shouted, swallowing more of the Bay with the effort.

Johanna only waved her fingers in a snide goodbye, before turning on heel and walking away.

The purr of an approaching boat’s motor was a godsend.

The boat was coming closer, closer, closer...

The foghorn blared...

––––––––

INSIDE THE KINGDOM, LAPORTE took on his human iteration, relieved to have two legs in place of four. Not being an inch tall was also refreshing. To a human observer, he’d look to be standing in the living room of a home. It wasn’t too far off. Few knew that this very room was where GAIA had actually been born, the first Omala had designed and deployed on to servers in her final years at university. It had grown since then. Oh, not the room itself, but the number of doors. First, there had been one: even virtual rooms needed a way in and out. Omala decided the easiest way to transition the mind to leaving this hyperreal environment was with a familiar act. The second had come online more than ten years ago, that one a portal both into and out of GAIA. On the wall, the last pixels were rearranging themselves, giving birth to the third: one that would allow Omala—and Cindira, he supposed—to access the Kingdom.

“If I had known there would be so many, I would have made the wall larger.”

Laporte spun, finding his master standing next to him. Looking back over his shoulder, however, he could see in the bedroom from where he stood. The avatars of both mother and child remained right where they had left them a few days before when they’d been visiting GAIA’s capital: on the bed, laying down.

“It appears there are two copies of you, but you only have one avatar of which I’m aware. I’m unable to reconcile this experience.”

Omala grinned, her eyes trained on the new portal. “That makes two of us.”

“Madam?”

Finally, she turned. “When you return to the real world, you may discover the slippers have fallen off my feet. Activate the homing beacons, if you need to, but you must recover them.”

“Are you saying you’re no longer wearing the glass slippers?” More data that didn’t mesh. “Then how are you here? How are you jacked in?”

She ignored his question. “You must get them to Cindira, but not yet. Not until she’s older and is ready to fight for this world. If she wants to fight for it. Now that Rex will be...” Her voice died.

“Now the Rex will be...” His voice trailed off as hers had done.

But Omala only smiled. “Thank you for everything, Laporte. I hope someday I’ll be able to express the depth of my gratitude. The slippers... Keep them safe. Keep her safe.”

And with that, Omala Grover logged out for the last time.

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Meeksology

Red Hood Chronicles

Requited Hood

Reluctant Hood

Relinquished Hood

Ravening Hood

Rebellious Hood

Righteous Hood

Red Hood Origins

Beauty & the Betrayer

The Wolf & the Watcher

Red & the Restorer

Enter the Kingdom

Court of Discontent

City of Cinders

Freebird: An Enter the Kingdom side story novella

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