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CHAPTER 12: The New Golden Gate
I emerged from the belly of a sunken container ship with the Bay Area’s greatest detective and the pop star tech genius who was going to save the world.
“Of COURSE we don’t have to build a machine,” Annabel Scheme muttered, mostly to herself. “How could I have been so stupid? Too many machines already. Instead, we have to tell a story.”
Given the power of the technology we were up against, I thought I might prefer a machine.
“That’s what I thought, too, Will… but what IS the Bay Area? A story we tell each other. A lie.”
We sprinted back to the surface of the Yerba Buena Zone, Scheme leading the way, me bringing up the rear, Quintessandra between us. Emerging, she shielded her eyes, blinked in the glare. She’d been hiding underground for months.
What kind of lie was Scheme talking about?
“You know perfectly well, Mr. Portacio. The lie that says it was better before. The lie that says there was ever a perfect balance, a perfect moment. We’re all so protective of the Bay Area we arrived into… That’s the lie, but somehow it’s also what makes it WORK.”
Quintessandra fished in her poncho and drew out a pair of sunglasses. The lenses were mirrored, each approximately the size of a dinner plate.
“You’re right, it is a lie,” she said, looking suddenly very much like a pop star tech genius. “And I’m the best liar you’ve ever met.”
Scheme led us hustling up Barbara Lee Boulevard to the boardwalk, where the urban sprawl of the YBZ faced the salty remnant of the bay. We looked out toward the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Those people in that other world, just because they have a big, empty bay… they’re still us,” Scheme said. “Versions of us, anyway. That means the lie will work there as well as it works here. They need to hear it from you, Quintessandra.”
The pop star tech genius made a loud tsk. “We don’t have access to that world. They can send people here, but we don’t have the technology to go the other way.”
Scheme waved a hand. “Stella Pajunas is getting blueprints for her giant science project from, what’s his name? Their genius. Chander. She must be communicating with Bay One somehow. ”
“I remember him,” Quintessandra said. “Total creep.”
Scheme smacked a fist into her palm. “So we’ll commandeer their transmitter. Easy.”
That sounded incredibly not easy.
Soon, we were speeding south in Scheme’s pickup, Quintessandra in the passenger seat, me in the middle. Quintessandra leaned out the window.
“This is nice,” she said over the roar of the wind. “I forgot how nice it was.”
Alta Bay City Development’s vast New Golden Gate facility rose on the horizon. The whole wealth of the Bay Area was being poured into this project, and not only its wealth: Google had been enlisted, its whole quantum computing division stripped for parts, and Intel, too. Their chip designers were salivating over the new designs provided, without explanation, by the ABCD.
At the South Barrier, we turned east and barreled through Salt City, headed for —
“Where… is… FREMONT?” Scheme howled.
The city had been selected as the site of Alta Bay City Development’s grand science project, an event the city’s leadership had greeted with jubilation. But now, mere weeks later, the BART station, the mall, the Bollywood theater — all of them were gone, replaced by a sprawling facility sprouting a skeletal tower, the new highest point in the Bay Area.
“THAT?” Quintessandra sputtered. “THAT’S what you want to beat with a song?”
“I’ll admit,” Scheme said, “I’m slightly less sure of this now. But we have to try.”
Scheme brought the pickup to a rattling halt in front of No Boba No Life, a café in the shadow of the New Golden Gate. Quintessandra and I stationed ourselves around a table facing the front window while Scheme reconnoitered the facility. An hour later, she returned, said nothing, purchased a boba and left again.
Listening to scraps of conversation, I quickly determined that the cafe’s other customers were all scientists and engineers who had been conscripted to work on the ABCD’s project. Their talk was all quantum resonance, plasma confinement, high-dimensional space. They were young and they were smart and they frothed with excitement.
Two young scientists failed to disguise their interest in the woman sitting across from me, scribbling lyrics in her notebook.
They rose, carrying their bobas, and shyly approached. “Excuse me,” one of the scientists said. Her name badge read MONICA. “Are you…? You’re not…?”
Quintessandra looked up, her expression absolutely flat. “Yes. It’s me.”
The scientist giggled awkwardly. “Ha, right,” she said. “I’m sorry. You look like her. You must get sick of that. Sorry!”
After they left, Quintessandra smiled a faraway kind of smile. “Nobody can quite believe it’s me without the headdress.”
An hour later, Scheme returned. Her expression had changed. She took a final, rattling slurp from her plastic cup and slammed it triumphantly into the recycling bin. “Two things,” she declared. “First, I’m going to need another boba. Second… I found the way in.”
Tomorrow, Part 13: One of the Good Ones (June 19)
