Root Two - Part 3/9
Bao Freaking Lee
This is Part 3 of “Root Two,” a serialized novella I wrote when I was pretending to know something about math and coding.
If you need to catch up or refresh, find:
[Est. reading time: 8 minutes]
Bao Lee's office, when we finally reached it, was a chaotic repository of VR equipment of every era and variety. A big squarish space in the middle had been hastily cleared, expensive junk threatening to puncture the perimeter on pretty much every side.
"Put this on," Bao said as he handed me a headset, forgoing any introductions.
He was a diminutive man, wearing a long-sleeve white shirt and white slacks. I noticed little reflective patches on the fabric, and doubted they were there for style.
Bert frowned at the square of floor while I turned the headset over in my hands. It was the real deal -- lightweight, with whisper-thin filaments strategically placed for maximum cranial coverage. They would work in tandem with an array of exorbitantly expensive sensors in order to triangulate where and how hard to poke with electrical impulses to simulate...everything.
I felt my hands shaking. I'd read about these. They hadn't made it to market, because no one could figure out how to produce them cheap enough for even regular rich people to buy.
Bao was tapping away at something on a screen nearby. I glanced at Bert, who raised his eyebrows.
"OK," Bao said, not without some impatience.
I slipped the headset on.
And there I was, right back in the bar.
"Is this the candle?" boomed the very voice of God.
I startled and turned to see a bright beam from heaven spotlight a candle on a table.
"Oh, sorry--" God said as the pillar of light shifted to a different candle. "This one. Got turned around."
"--uh--" I gurgled. It was hard to think straight with the voice filter Bao was using. Likely he didn't even realize it was on, but it felt rude to say anything. I squared my focus and got my bearings. I imagined KrisLove walking away. Through that door. And...yep. That was the candle.
"Yeah, that's it."
"OK. Do you notice anything?"
"Like what?"
"Anything. Anything weird, or not weird. Or anything. Simple question."
God's voice was giving me a migraine. I tried to shake it off as I paced around.
"Um..."
No. I didn't notice anything. No weird flickering, no unaccountable patterns. Nothing. The candle melted into background scenery, just like it was supposed to.
"No," I said. "It seems normal."
"OK, you can take it off," God said.
The fidelity of that simulation had been unmatched by anything I had ever experienced. Taking the headset off felt like teleportation, and made me dizzy. I looked around and found Bao sitting in a big armchair thirty feet away. Bert was still standing at the perimeter, frowning at me.
"I brought you in because someone showed me that recording you made," Bao said, casually, as though I were standing right next to him. But I WASN'T standing right next to him, which made it hard to hear, so I briskly closed the distance.
"I wanted to tell you in person that it isn't possible," he continued, and then explained why. It turns out the candle was part of a larger decor set that was -- get this -- generated entirely by a batch-programming AI. In other words, a bot built it.
Pieces like that candle did not interact with anything around them. They were treated like clay bricks, and they liked it that way. There wasn't much more sophistication to one of those votives than you'd find in a thumbtack off an assembly line.
When he was done, I took a breath and tried to come up with a response, because he clearly expected one. But what was I supposed to do? Defend myself? Offer an alternative theory? Admit that I had been fleecing him this whole time?
I settled on, "I don't know what to tell you."
"I'm familiar with PokkoDev, you know," he said as he picked up an old joystick to tinker with.
I most certainly did not know that.
He pointed at Bert. "This guy is a legend. Bert, what's 89 over 91?
Bert's shoulders rose and fell with a short sigh, then he rattled it off like he was reciting a children's mnemonic. "Point nine seven eight oh two one repeating."
Bao smiled wide, giddy like a kid, then looked back at me. "I haven't offered to buy you guys because either you'd turn me down, or I'd ruin what you've got going. You're too good for the ecosystem to take that risk."
"...thanks," I mustered.
"So, Cyn, why are you punking me?"
"I'm--not, I--"
"I'm kidding!" He pointed at me. "If you were, I'd know."
"But you said it was impossible."
"It's a figure of speech. I want you to figure out why you saw what you saw. It's interesting. Like a puzzle. Do you have any ideas?" he asked suddenly, turning his attention back to Bert.
Bert stepped backward. "I don't know. I don't know." He lifted his hands, like he was waving off a street fundraiser from Greenpeace.
"Of course you don't! You're the math guy! I'm the money guy." He pointed at me again. "You're the bug-finder. So go find my bug."
He got up and wandered over to a different corner of the room. It took me a beat to realize the conversation might be over. I tested the theory.
"So are you wanting to, uh, hire us--me--to...uh--"
"Hm? Oh, right. If you need some cash, I'm sure I can find a rock to squeeze. How much do you need?"
"Oh, I--"
"Our project minimum is five a day," Bert said, like a ninja.
"Great! I'll put someone in touch with you." Then he looked at me one last time, tapped his head and pointed at Bert. "Math guy."
In the Uber on the way back to our small office, I found myself staring at Bert. "Shit, man."
He shrugged, frown unbroken.
Then, after a few seconds of dead air, he said, "I want to see that video."
It turned out Bao was good for the contract. We saw the first payment land in our account before the day was out. Hemmy was beside himself.
"For WHAT!? For--for finding--for WHAT?"
"Bert," I said, "Will you just try hammering those digits? See if anything interesting turns up? Let me know either way."
Bert nodded without looking away from his screen. He was probably already working on it. After all, we were getting paid.
"What am I supposed to do?" Hemmy asked.
"Try to be helpful. I'm going home to grab that video."
"It's not backed up? How did Bao see it?"
"I sent it secure. It's gone by now."
"You're so paranoid!"
"Habit," I said.
But that wasn't totally true. Yes, I worked security encryptions into my workflow years ago, but the self-destruct code I'd baked into that message didn't happen by what someone might call muscle memory. I might not have thought hard about it, but some part of me did wonder. That kind of anomaly felt like it should be dangerous.
Or maybe that was just my own lizard brain, seeing threats in the unfamiliar.
Anyway, all it meant was that the video, as far as I knew, only existed in one place anymore -- on my personal, off-network, encrypted drive at home.
As I sat in the car on the way, I caught myself wishing I was behind the wheel, that I could push this machine to go a little faster. I can't believe people used to drive cars. Distracted, anxious, impatient -- I would have killed someone that day. Instead, I drummed my fingers on the seat like a maniac. Which was better than killing someone.
When I got home, I forced myself to make a cup of something before I sat down to copy the file. I tore open a packet, dumped it in the hot water, and watched it dissolve for a few seconds before I expedited the process with a spoon.
Am I a happy person?
I set it down. It was too hot anyway.
I flicked on a screen and called up the drive that video was saved onto.
You might suspect where this is going.
It wasn't there. Not a trace. Poof. Gone. Vanished.
Amazing.
My best guess in the moment was that I accidentally infected the original file with my magical self-destruct code.
Could I have been that careless? Me? The savant-grade bug finder?
Goddamn.
I started to freak out. Which, for me, meant staring straight ahead, at the screen, utterly motionless. Like maybe my bad fortune wouldn't be able to see me if I just held still long enough. Like maybe if I could stop time first, I might be able to work out a way to turn it backward.
With my first twitch of reanimation, I searched for the file again.
Nope.
Then I laughed. Because HEY, did it really matter THAT much? Really?
I mean sure, I had no other proof that I'd seen what I saw. And yes, as far as I knew, there was no other recording -- anywhere -- of the anomaly that Bao Freaking Lee was now paying me to solve.
I crop dusted my apartment with a big payload of angry profanity, then slammed the door on my way out.
If you’re having yourself a good time, I’ve got a great idea: invite a friend to join you!
Fav installment so far - Bao Freaking Lee is such a fun character, and the energy of this is exciting!