This Connect

By Gil Liane

Set in various versions of the future, these short stories examine emotions and connections in changing worlds.
A clone with body hacking, befriended by a woman on the genetic blacklist. Bio-engineered plant tattoos, veterans and griefbots. A city living on sound. Artists who graffiti online using code. Time travel, and manufactured rebellion.
Artificial intelligence based on a person’s social media history. “Sleeping Beauty” tech for those weary of living. A dancer considering a biotech implant. Human companions working as emergency body part spares. Virtual stories that integrate sensory experiences.
Colorful energy streams capturing a city’s information, and emotions. A grieving twin entranced by a game of data. Musicians in an era where words and beats have copyright fees. A society shaped by the science of personalized Internet filters. An online simulation game featuring real people.
Lots to imagine. Think big, with heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gil Liane
• Release date: Sep 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463175910

Gil Liane

Gil Liane works as a writer. On the fiction front her novels are usually futuristic in setting, and surreal in tone. Fast-paced and cinematic, she loves imaginative worlds peopled with complex characters. Currently working on scripts and more novels.

Book preview

This Connect

Gil Liane

Copyright © 2019 Gil Liane

2023 Ebook Edition

Cover artwork and typographical layout: Diren Yardimli at bookcoverzone.com

*Please be aware this book contains references to sex, drug use, and various forms of violence

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without prior permission from the author.

Dedicated to the memory

of my uncle

Murray Bogunovich.

For his kindness,

and his strength.

Foreword

The following stories offer fifteen different versions of the future.

In a dystopian setting science and technology often contribute to a character’s alienation, and that sense of disconnect can have a powerful impact on the reader.

But the prevalence of hope is also one of science fiction’s most noted and appealing traits. I like the idea people will always find ways to connect, whether with another person, or a concept.

I hope you find a connection with at least one of these stories.

Contents

Foreword

You Seem Familiar

The Truth Is In The Data

Download Chapter

Lily Flower

The Spare

Copyright For This Track Includes Lyric And Beat Fees

Emotional Graffiti

Mark Me Remind Me

The Memory Key

He Dances With Heart, He Dances With Tech

Are You Listening To (The AI Versions Of) Me

Toffee And The Concept Tower

Game On

The Filterers

Made

Acknowledgments

You Seem Familiar

(Written as an outline for a film script because I’d always wanted to write at least one time travel story.)

The rebels grabbed her while she was crossing the street. No force necessary: a car pulled up, and she got in.

The driver probably looked like an acquaintance. Maybe a classmate from high school who moved a few years back and happened to be passing through town. A person she won’t expect to see again.

Whatever the play, it worked. By the time she reaches her destination, a pivotal point in history will be lost—all because a young woman didn’t ride the bus.

* * *

I start walking. The sun is too hot, and the shoes of this era hurt.

We can’t panic. We can’t afford to panic.

Adam falls into step. His hand brushes my arm, and the unexpected touch clears a corner of my mind, giving me room to think.

He says, Which contingency?

The question is for the unit commander. Yet meeting his eyes, it seems as if the words are directed at me—with a different meaning. My heart pounds. A part of me wants to pull out the earpiece and run. But our era can’t send a full team to the same point twice. The threat of temporal flux is too great.

We have to do this.

Holo Eve up, instructs Zee.

Yes sir. Holly sounds as sick as I feel. Mateo, is she clear to transform?"

People ahead, nobody behind.

Mateo’s tone is agitated. I glance back. He’s cycling slowly up the street like someone without a care in the world.

Adam moves ahead, blocking me from the view of commuters waiting at the bus stop. As we pick up the pace, the appearance of my clothes shifts to resemble the outfit worn by the focus. My features blur into a carbon copy of her face.

I hope I don’t die today.

* * *

The subject is already on the bus.

We wait while the people ahead of us pay the fee. I wish I could turn my earpiece off. The team’s voices amp up my stress levels.

Don’t forget, you have to sit at the back, says Holly. It’s the law.

This period is barbaric, mutters Mateo.

Stay focused kid, says Zee.

He worries about the youngest member of our team. I don’t blame him. Who volunteers to serve early?

Glancing over my shoulder I meet Adam’s gaze, and then wish I hadn’t. Facing forward I take a deep breath, and board the bus—only to freeze.

Pretend it’s a training scenario. Adam’s whisper seeps through the panic.

I can do that. Treat the people around you as characters in a story. The past has already happened. The soothing tone of the lecturer at the Academy propels me forward. Each moment is pivotal.

I pay the driver, and wait while Adam pays.

Everyone is in place. From the back of the bus the little girl in the red dress smiles at me, and I force myself to smile back. The subject’s attention has been engaged.

The bus lurches forward. Just a few steps…

When the driver slams on the brakes, I trip and let myself fall. My head hits the steel arm of chair, hard. It hurts more than expected. Dazed, I rest on the floor for a second.

Then I get up and finish the mission, collapsing into the lap of a passenger. He swears. His breath smells like liquor.

In a rage, he shoves me off and staggers to his feet, yelling. The words sound far away, like they’re coming from the other end of a tunnel. The first kick is brutal. I want to curl up into a ball, but I don’t.

Your mission is to maintain the narrative at all costs.

* * *

My bio-alarm pulls me from unconsciousness.

You held her hand for too long, says Holly.

Adam lets go of my fingers. Even with my eyes closed I know it’s him. We’re not compatible—according to timeline predictors—but he holds my hand for a few seconds sometimes.

Opening my eyes, I smile, and he smiles back.

You’re okay, he whispers.

The nanos had to work hard. Holly looks tired.

Did the mission clear?

She nods. When they got her in the car it dropped to 20%. By the time Adam carried you off the bus, timeline preservation was 92%.

Rolling over, I groan. Hurts.

Remind me again why we let this happen. Adam’s voice is full of suppressed rage.

Holly pats his shoulder. The child is traumatized and a decade later, writes a book. After her death her great-granddaughter finds the manuscript. The novel becomes a bestseller. The first female Earth President cites the story as inspiration for her entry into civil service. She proves a key player in crushing the human trafficking industry. Thanks to Eve those events are secure. Do you both feel better now?

The words barely register. The sight of Holly’s hand on Adam’s shoulder makes me feel sick in a different way. Closing my eyes, I drift off to sleep.

* * *

When I wake it’s dark, and Adam is asleep beside my bed.

Getting up, my body is stiff but undamaged. I visit the bathroom and then head for the garden. The others aren’t here.

Passing through the kitchen, I take a cookie from the table. Our neighbor Mrs. Jones must have visited again. So far her friendliness isn’t a problem. The interactions carry less than ten per cent incursion threat.

In this era the population is so low people have nature spaces attached to their homes. Sitting on grass is such a luxury; green life, purely for pleasure.

In a few bites the cookie is gone. This age has strange food. Nutritionally deficient, but tasty.

I didn’t hear you leave. Adam sits beside me. The others went to collect new orders. How are you feeling?

Fine. The physical injuries are gone, but in my head the panic and fear, the terror at the lack of power, refuses to go away. I feel okay now.

Telling me or convincing yourself? Before I can answer he adds, Was it worth it?

You heard what Holly said.

He leans forward. The President would have gone into office with or without reading that book.

Too close. I can smell his skin. You sound like a rebel.

He turns his head away. The bio-alarms went off when you were in my arms, your blood soaking through my clothes. Laying you on the ground, waiting for back up, I began to see where Kairos is coming from.

The front door bangs. The others are back.

* * *

They sent a Guard.

This is Jean, says Zee. She’s part of a special task force focused on Kairos.

The tension in the room is palpable. The dark uniform has that effect. Smoke and shadows, they call the Guard.

Is he or she here? Mateo glances around as if the rebel leader is likely to leap through a window.

Right now is a pivotal time and place for the rebellion. That’s all we know.

An AI known as the Allocator sends information from the future to the Council. But the reports are more complex data than clear instructions, and arrive fragmented.

What about pinpointing the time period Kairos originates from? asks Zee. Any insights?

Jean shakes her head. Only guesswork. Her gaze locks on my face. You did a good job for your first tour.

‘Thanks," I say.

Have we met?

I don’t think so.

She frowns. You seem familiar.

* * *

Lying in bed I stare at the roof, the moment in the garden on repeat in my head.

I should have warned him about unsanctioned emotional connections. Reminded him we’re expendable; that feelings are irrelevant, and the purity of the timeline comes first.

Remembering what happened on the bus stopped the words. In-between each kick, time stretched. Inside each moment, a lifetime.

My beliefs placed me at the mercy of a violent person. Letting a stranger hurt me might stop others from being hurt in the future, but in that moment motivation and ideology didn’t matter.

I mattered.

And I wanted to see Adam again.

* * *

Jean disappears for a few days. We relax and try to act like we’re on vacation, not in the middle of a tour gone dark.

* * *

Strolling is a relaxing way to patrol the neighborhood, although the air is thick with heat, and sweat drips from my face. Hard to adjust when you’ve only lived in cooler climes.

Mrs. Jones is gardening as we walk by.

Your yard looks lovely, says Adam.

She beams. The pruning pays off.

I don’t know much about plants. Holly said cutting helps them grow stronger. The technique seems cruel. Breaking skin and bones didn’t strengthen me.

Mrs. Jones snips off a few flowers. Here, take them.

I don’t want to. The red petals remind me of blood. Thank you.

What type of flower are they? asks Adam.

Mrs. Jones smiles. They’re called dahlias, dear. Her eyes flit between us. You two make a lovely couple. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

* * *

Adam holds my hand as we walk away, letting go just as the bio-alarm warning spark hits.

Sorry, he murmurs.

The apology stings in another way.

Mateo is waiting at the corner to take over our shift.

Isn’t it against protocol for you two to pose as a couple?

I manage to keep my tone light. The designations came through on mission briefs. Holly couldn’t figure out why.

Must be a glitch. Your pairing doesn’t match the social norms for either era.

His words hurt.

Zee said to run with it. This is a conservative period, says Adam, so we don’t have to touch much.

Those words hurt more.

* * *

Jean returns with information on the rebel’s latest moves. Zee doesn’t ask how she got it; probably doesn’t want to know. Guards have given themselves to time. They’re prone to crossing lines.

Our mission is reconnaissance. Turns out the ripples begin at the main street in town. Whatever Kairos plans has the potential to instigate a lot of change.

Jean partners me with Mateo. Something tells me she’s not a fan of Adam and I working together.

Since the beating on the bus the strangest sensation haunts me. Like I’m not quite here. Not in this time, not in my own head. Some part of my perspective has shifted in a way I don’t understand.

* * *

The sun is hot as we pretend to window shop. The street is relatively quiet.

A man staggers by, knocking into Mateo, and the smell of alcohol reminds me of the man on the bus. My mind latches onto the thought, and won’t let go.

Traumatic experiences imitate glitches in time, pushing the past to become the present.

This person has red hair, not brown. There are no seats. The sun is much brighter.

Pulling down the brim of my hat, I catch Mateo watching me. When he reaches to take my hand I notice I’m shaking.

His fingers are cool. We can hold hands because he’s compatible, according to genetic potential and the mysteries of linear management.

I don’t feel anything at all.

* * *

We’re still browsing an hour later when Jean yells through the earpiece.

We’ve got an ID on one of the rebels. Mateo and Eve, blue dress, white hat.

My gaze locks on the woman hurrying toward us. The hat obscures her face. Mateo steps into her path—only to freeze as she walks by. What is he doing?

Before she can get away, I grab her arm. Under the brim, I catch sight of her face. We stare at each other in shock.

Ainah, who disappeared on her second tour. Ainah, whose family thinks she died in active duty. Ainah, my childhood best friend.

Ainah is a rebel.

She wrenches her arm free. I let her go.

* * *

Growing up, my mother adored Ainah.

When I was sent home for questioning linear allocations in class, she said, Of course my daughter is the one who has no trust in time. Why can’t you be more like Ainah?

* * *

Mateo is still frozen.

If he’d been the one to catch Ainah I wouldn’t have had to make a choice.

Ignoring Jean’s voice in my earpiece, I grab his arm. You okay?

He points to a nearby alley.

Four people stand in a line, so still they seem outside of time. Overlaid with a gray cast, it’s as if I’m seeing them through a filter.

Watchers.

What do you think they want? whispers Mateo.

I don’t know.

The Watchers stare at us for a few seconds, and then disappear.

* * *

Everyone is afraid of the Watchers.

They come from the future. Not our future, or the Allocator’s. Nobody knows the Watchers origin point. It could be ten centuries or more down the timeline.

Their tech is inconceivable. The strange gray way they appear, as if here, but not here. A quantum movement system making them not solid, yet solid, as if they’re only projections, while also being people, mass, sent through time. Theorists believe Watchers operate beyond concepts of the temporal and the physical in ways we can’t understand.

Bordering on myth, Watchers rarely appear. They never interfere or communicate, merely watch. Nobody knows whose side they’re on.

Timeline science challenges even the most brilliant minds. We serve three tours in the field to secure or manipulate the past, in protection of our present and future, using information sent from what we perceive as the currently active future. That’s how we make the math of history add up.

The Watchers are a wild variable in an otherwise neat equation. They have the potential to threaten our society, hence the fear.

But I wasn’t afraid. The way they looked at me… It made me feel safe.

* * *

Why are the Watchers here? muses Zee.

This point in history is obviously more important than we understand. Jean taps her nail on the table.

The steady sound brings a toy Holly found to mind, except the object turned out not to be a toy. Zee called it a metronome, designed to help students learning an instrument maintain the beat.

Whenever someone switches the thing on for fun, I turn it off. Watching the arm swing back and forward reminds me of the rhythm of time; of trying to maintain a tune I’m beginning to hate.

Why do we fear them? When everyone stares, I add, They don’t do anything.

The fear comes from the fact they could treat us the way we treat people of the past, says Adam. Like game pieces you can move without conscience, for the greater good.

Silence follows his words.

* * *

Where’s Holly?

Jean’s voice is scratchy. She’s been sifting through intel all night, trying to work out why the Watchers are here, and what the rebels are planning. So far time isn’t giving up any secrets.

On the patio with Mrs. Jones, say Adam.

I need her.

With a nod he gets up and leaves the room.

That neighbor is a problem, says Jean.

Not really, her incursion level is low. Zee taps a chip on the tabletop.

We’re playing a board game from this era, So Long Sucker.

She comes by with cookies because she thinks we’re motherless, says Mateo.

Maybe she likes Zee, offers Adam from the doorway.

Behind him, Holly carries a plate of food.

Jean frowns. Holly why is Zee a widow this mission? It’s problematic for the period.

Holly shrugs. I just follow orders and create the holos.

You’re a cute old man Zee, says Mateo, making him laugh.

Adam sits down again. Whose turn is it?

Still mine. Analyzing the board, I consider my next move.

Victory in the game relies on a strategy of betrayal. Adam pointed out winning seems a lot like losing.

* * *

Why is this happening?

Are we clear on the mission?

My mind can’t process Jean’s words. Mateo looks as sick as I feel. Holly’s eyes are locked on the ground. Adam is too still.

It’ll come down to hand-to-hand combat, says Zee. We should call in the Guards.

When active in the past, a mission mandate of minimal tech is the only thing both sides agree on. Nobody knows what will anger the Watchers.

The Council says you’re the team on site. From Jean’s tone it’s clear she’s not open to negotiation. Her gaze skims us, steely and determined. Isn’t this why you’re all here?

She’s right. Society relies on us to maintain the timeline. Refusing a Guard’s order is a one-way ticket to prison.

My stomach flips. This mission is unavoidable.

* * *

The subject is, of course, on time.

She’s still a distance away. Intoxicated, weaving down the road, keeping a tight grip on the stroller.

This heat. My throat is dry. The words barely make it out. I miss the snow.

Adam’s fingers brush my hand. Glancing up, I squint. The angle of the sun turns his face into a shadow, reminding me of Jean and the Guard.

This mission is strange. Adam says what we’re all thinking.

Let’s just get through it, mutters Holly.

Why are you here? You’re never in the field. Mateo’s voice is thick with tension. I pat his shoulder, and discover