Replika 2: Coherence: Replika, #2

By Hugo Bernard

"...continues at breakneck speed from start to finish, with a plot that keeps pulling the rug out from under you."
- Reviewed by Pikasho Deka for Readers' Favorite.

 

Reality is slipping away…

Coherence is the second novel in the REPLIKA trilogy and picks up from where Sky's Mission ended.

Discovering the secrets of his mother's research, Morgan sets out to defeat Henry and rescue Aviva from the Red Masks.

When Aviva suspects the Red Masks are not the only ones trying to control the Virt, she must make a tough decision that may spark a deadly conflict in the city streets.

 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hugo Bernard
• Release date: Jan 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781775236948

Book preview

REPLIKA

Book 2: Coherence

HUGO BERNARD

Cover art by Stéphane Bergeron

Copyright © 2023 Stéphane Bergeron

All rights reserved.

Quebec City, Canada

ISBN 978-1-7752369-4-8

CONTENT

1 – Meanings

2 – Double Sky

3 – On the Run

4 – Life Choices

5 – Terry’s Lounge #1

6 – Summer

7 – Gambino’s Guest

8 – Coherence

9 – Broken Knees

10 – Hospital Escape

11 – Not the Morgan I Knew

12 – Bad Idea

13 – Visiting Mother

14 – Terry’s Lounge #2

15– Summer’s past

16 – Jacques Duffy

17 – Sebastian Baker

18 – Guiding Sky to Catch

19 – Seb’s Call

20 – The History

21 – An Unfortunate Mistake.

22 – The Opera House

23 – Silence in the Mind

24 – Morgan Goes to NY.

25 – The Underground

26 – The Jurors

27 – News Update #1

28 – Saving Aviva

29 – News Update #2

30 – Terra Firma

EPILOGUE – Waiting for Morgan

Other Books by Hugo Bernard

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To my boys,

Cosmos, Ilan, and Zephyr

1 – Meanings

Lou’s Pizzeria was full, the room filled with a boisterous chatter that naturally occurred when friends gathered around pizza. Morgan scanned the room to make sure his tables had everything they needed. While scanning, he noticed a woman sitting alone at a booth. He hadn’t noticed her come in. She sat alone, her back to him, gray hair tied into a neat bun. He approached the booth where she sat. Her focus remained on the notebook in which she scribbled notes with a yellow pencil.

I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long, he said.

That’s fine, she said, her attention not drawn away from her notes. She added, I’m in no hurry.

Curious, he glanced over at what she was writing: mathematical formulas that looked strangely familiar.

Are you ready to order? he asked.

No, I’m not hungry at all.

Until you’re ready to eat, I’d ask if you could sit at the bar...if you don’t mind.

If it wasn’t such a busy night, he wouldn’t have said anything, but he couldn’t let her occupy a table when every table was already taken.

No, no, that’s fine. She raised her gaze and looked at him with calm and penetrating eyes. Let me finish this last thought, and I’ll be out of here.

As Morgan returned toward the kitchen, he paused halfway, considered the woman and her familiar notes. He searched his memory, trying to pinpoint from where he knew her. Unable to figure it out, he returned to her table.

I’m sorry... Do we know each other?

You know the answer to that, Morgan. She closed her notebook and smiled.

Mother... The reply unintentionally slipped out on its own. He didn’t even know her name, but he felt it slowly resurfacing—tickling his tongue. He slid into the booth across from her. Vi, what are you doing here?

You wanted to see me, to talk, didn’t you?

Morgan examined the restaurant around him, confused.

Is this real?

Real is a very nebulous concept. If I’m here, you should know this already. If you’re wondering if all this is your imagination, then yes, it is. Except me, of course, I’m more than merely imagination. Important changes have taken place in your life, haven’t they?

The situation of the last few days suddenly returned to him. He must have fallen asleep in the house where he was hiding with his sister, Sky. She had come to warn him, and to, paradoxically, try to kill him. They were hiding from the government and from a man named Henry. Much of the situation remained obscure to him. But what had troubled him most was the knowledge that his sister—he couldn’t deny that it was her despite not remembering her at all—had come from another reality, revealing that his life was nothing other than fabrication. A continuous lie maintained by the Qintellect. That was the last he remembered, watching his sleeping sister while pondering the fragile essence of his own life. A life that didn’t follow laws of nature but rather predetermined rules from algorithms maintained by the limitless processing power of the Qintellect. It mattered little to him that this reality mirrored a reality that existed, perhaps, somewhere. What mattered was that the air was fake, his breath fake, his childhood memories fake, with a fake mother dying of a fake disease.

Yeah, my life has changed, he said. Everything has lost its meaning.

She considered him, concerned, and said, It’s unlike you to be so negative.

I could accept being fooled by The Virt, knowing that something real was beyond. But with Replika, the meaning of everything has been lost.

Oh, you’re mistaken. The important things remain real. She glanced at the family with a young boy and girl at the booth across from them. The young boy raised his plate for another slice of pizza, standing up in anticipation, eyeing the pizza with gluttonous eyes. The father served him a slice, the long strand of cheese stretching from the serving platter to the plate. The younger girl giggled as she watched the father pull, pull, and pull as he stretched out the endless string of cheese that he twirled around his fork. The mother watched the girl charmed by the moment.

You remember that family, over there? she asked.

He did. They came in regularly, the Browns. He remembered watching this very scene; it had charmed him. The pizza doesn’t exist, Vi said. The stretching cheese doesn’t exist, but those things don’t matter, do they? The joy of eating together is real, the girl’s giggles are real. The love of the mother for her daughter is real. It doesn’t matter if they are in The Virt, or in Replika, or only remain in your memory. Their feelings exist, and that’s what matters.

No. Morgan shook his head. The girl’s giggle was fake, created by the Qintellect, as an interpretation of an emotion.

She really thinks the endless cheese that her father is struggling with is funny. Her brain, the real one stored somewhere in another world, physical and material, sends the neurological information to trigger her body’s vocal cords. The Qintellect is the interpreter to turn this into a simulation for others to experience the humor she is living.

Morgan watched the girl covering her mouth as the father ate the lump of cheese he had wrapped on his fork.

Do you love someone?

Morgan considered the question, afraid even that had been an illusion. Her name is Aviva. I have to find her.

The Qintellect can create almost anything, but not meaning. That is the privilege of being human, and we must protect that ability, at all costs.

Is that what this is all about?

Vi examined Morgan with a cold, stern face. Not only that. She paused. This is about a mistake.

She opened her notebook to write symbols.

I’m part of the mistake. Isn’t that right? What you did to me was wrong. Vi ignored Morgan. That’s why you sent Sky to kill me, because—

Shouting from clients interrupted him. He glanced around to examine the dining room. The tables were all empty, as if the pizzas and drinks had never been served. The clients shouted at him.

Where is our food...

We’ve been waiting for hours...

The owner will hear from us...

Morgan fell back into his booth, hiding his face in his hands in despair, knowing this was a dream turning into a nightmare. He attempted to block out the complaints and ignore them. He wanted to speak with Vi, ask her his question. There was so much he wanted to clarify, understand what Vi had done to him and to Henry, and what she had meant by saying she wasn’t part of his imagination. Perhaps all this was a lie of his own making, a sort of denial. He could not trust anything anymore.

When he opened his eyes, the clients surrounded his booth like an angry mob. Vi was no longer sitting across from him.

2 – Double Sky

He was pulled out of his dream by a loud clattering. He turned to Sky, who was trying to get his attention by moving her chained legs against the marble coffee table. When he looked over, she directed his attention toward the news playing on the display.

...the building has recently appeared on Fifth Avenue of The Virt’s New York, across the road from Bryant Park. The impressive architecture extends as the highest building in the area...

Morgan increased the volume.

It is not yet known who owns the building, but it is believed to be part of the Red Masks...

The image showed the unique structure of the new tower, the sides like giant and uninterrupted dark mirrors. Across the surface, red lights appeared and washed away in a gradual motion that swept upward, like the gentle rolling of whitecaps on a windy lake. Dozens or so feet from street level, an illuminated banner scrolled horizontally around the building’s walls with the words, The Red Tower, repeated every several feet.  

A crowd has formed outside, waiting in anticipation for the first person to exit the new building, as it is believed that inside are held the individuals in the Red Masks’ captivity...

Morgan was on his feet.

We’ve got to get in there, now.

To avoid unchaining her legs, he rolled Sky on an office chair to the room with the simulation portals. He didn’t like holding her in restraint, but he couldn’t risk her trying to kill him again. He didn’t doubt her sincerity about not wanting to kill him, but they both agreed that her desire wasn’t enough to stop her. Morgan assumed they had trained her basal ganglia to instinctively try to kill him. This part of the brain was responsible for automatic instincts that could creep up on her when she didn’t expect it. Once aware of the instinct, she could, in theory, control it but only in ideal situations. The problem was that her situation was not ideal. She was deeply troubled, not only by accidentally shooting her own son, but also for being used as a tool to try to kill the brother she loved.

I don’t understand why we need to do this together, said Sky. She shifted herself from the office chair to the portal chair.

I want to see if I can join you.

Join me, how?

There is nothing happening in this headset now, he said, holding up the cashmere cap with electrical sensors. Without your brain, it is a useless scrap of wires.

Too many people were after him to risk connecting himself and uploading his own biomarkers to The Virt, letting whoever was after him trace him back to their hideout. He could only hope they wouldn’t yet be scanning The Virt for Sky. He had already explained to Sky his unique ability to take control of electrical processes, to reprogram them however he wanted. The problem of trying to enter The Virt was, the process only existed as an immediate biofeedback on the frontier of the brain. To get in without connecting, he needed to infiltrate that brain-process barrier. He didn’t really know what to expect, or how it would work, but with Sky he would soon find out.

Is it going to work?

I’m not sure, he said. Vi didn’t provide a guide to how to use this ability...

Sky was startled by his mention of Vi. It had a positive affect on her, as it created another acknowledgement of their shared past.

I’m sorry I must do this to you, but we cannot take any unnecessary risk.

She didn’t argue with him as he tied her wrist to the portal’s chair.

We’ll start in an alley near Fifth Avenue, he said. To see exactly how this works out.

She relaxed in the chair with her eyes closed, the cap on her head, and let herself be carried into The Virt.

All right, let’s do this, he said to himself, setting himself up across from her. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself infiltrating the complex gateway that connected machine to the brain. The simulation technology created nothing. It didn’t create visual pixels or sounds through speakers. No, all senses were directly provoked in the neural network of the brain.

The task was daunting.

He wasn’t only attempting to control a linear process, like overriding the control of a drone or reprogramming a robotic dog; he was inserting himself between a human brain and the power of the Qintellect. He had reprogrammed the Qintellect before, when he had entered Fred, a Fake used to interrogate him. The experience felt very different than when he took over lesser objects. Fred had felt alive and real—an extension of himself. Of course, it should feel real, he now realized. Everything he experienced was the Qintellect. The Qintellect was the fabric of his existence.

You with me? Sky asked.

Her question reached him not as audible sound, but rather as frequency of information. He grasped its meaning clearly.

I’m working on it, he said inaudibly, as a message sent directly to her. I’m trying to form an avatar.

He traveled in the electrical current, unable to determine the limit between Sky and the Qintellect. He reminded himself that he didn’t need to understand it, he only needed to trust his ability to control the flux of information.

There, I see you, said Sky. Another me!

The two Skys in the alley examined each other.

By default, the portal generated avatars from the personal appearance of the connected user—based on their own mental image. The avatar could be changed simply; the user only needed to reimagine themselves as the desired avatar or with specific bodily changes. Morgan was satisfied appearing as Sky. It was better than using his own avatar, an image that was broadcasted on all the news outlets as a dangerous fugitive.

I feel nothing, said the second Sky through which Morgan spoke audibly in The Virt. It’s strange. I know what’s happening but don’t feel anything physically. Everything is no more real than what I might feel when fully immersed in a novel’s description. He walked over to the other Sky. This makes sense as the neural stimulus is only in your mind. I can’t feel these things.

Morgan examined the space around him—not with sight but through the flowing information that passed through him and that he fully understood. He could clearly imagine the aged brick wall, the pile of trash in the corner, the emergency staircase hanging above, the iron black landing with a black cat examining them with its glowing yellow eyes.

I feel for both of us, said Sky. She pushed against Morgan’s Sky. I felt the touch of my push as well as me pushing me. It’s all very confusing. Can you control me?

No, I’m limited to this avatar, said Morgan, but he lied. He didn’t try to control her. If he understood how this worked correctly, he should be able to control the sensory stimulus sent to her brain to control her experience. There was no point in him trying it. It would only make Sky feel powerless and could jeopardize her cooperation.

––––––––

The Virt’s Fifth Avenue was like the one in the real New York, with some differences. The shops along the iconic streets had been claimed by most of the famous brands of clothing, jewelry, and technological wearables. The streets were wider and reserved exclusively for pedestrians, who walked with less haste compared to the real world.

It wasn’t the type of place where Morgan spent his spare time, but he had been there on several occasions, always to accompany Aviva. The last time had been just last year, when Aviva needed something special for the Journalist Gala held in The Virt. She could have customized her outfit without spending a dime, but she wanted something with a designer signature.

He hurried toward the Red Tower, visible above the other buildings. The crowd outside had grown larger than the one he had seen on the news. In front of the tower, a podium had been set up with mics marked with the biggest networks’ names. Useless gimmicks in The Virt—the sound could be streamed directly—they wanted this to look official.

You think she’s in there? asked Sky.

I’m going to find out. He worked his way through the crowd toward the podium where the journalists were gathered. The people gathered weren’t curious spectators but rather people like Morgan, hoping to find their loved ones safely inside. They had tired faces and slouched shoulders.

The journalists were a fidgety and irritated bunch, not talking to each other—that phase had long passed. They were each complaining, in private communication with whomever had sent them there, trying to find out if new information confirmed it was still worth their time to be there. Morgan had been around their type enough to know that there was nothing they despised more than waiting for what might be a letdown, which it always was for them. In their initial excitement, the journalists imagined some unlikely scenario that would make this a sensational event. Aviva didn’t fall into this trap, keeping her expectations in check, she focused on seeing the situation without prejudice. This gave her the edge to ask the right question and reveal a deeper truth that the others missed.

Morgan noticed Tracy, from 24WRLD streaming news. The same Tracy who was friends with Aviva and had come over for dinner and wine with them. The same Tracy who claimed on live television that he was a dangerous fugitive.

Hi, Tracy, Morgan said in Sky’s voice. Tracy turned, examined Sky with an annoyed expression.

Do I know you?

Name’s Sky, Aviva’s friend. We went out together.

Sorry, I don’t—

It was a few years ago. Can’t blame you for forgetting. We didn’t spare the wine. Morgan was aware of Tracy’s little vice. He leaned in closer. What’s happening here? Who are you waiting for?

Rumor has it that the people crazy enough to trust the Red Masks and enter their secure locations have been connected to simulation portals and have been uploaded in this Tower.

Morgan’s disdain for Tracy intensified. Aviva was no crazy person, and neither were the thousands of others who sought safety when facing serious threats.

Rumors or fact? he asked.

"I don’t think it makes much sense. Why would terrorists want to capture citizens to upload them here? But the boss seems convinced. Told me to stay here until the Red Masks send out a