Twinmaker

“Oh no,” said Clair, standing. There was only one thing Dylan could be talking about. “How long has this been running?”

“It just started. I called you right away.”

“Has he mentioned anyone by name?”

“Not yet, but he might,” he said. “Maybe I can stop him. I’ll come as fast as I can.”

“All right.” She was already on her feet. “I’m on my way too.”

Zep had risen to his feet when she did, and when she went to leave, he pulled her back.

“What now?” he asked. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” she said, tugging free.

“Wait. I’ll lock up.”

“No time!”

She was out of his room and running across the dorm, sending him the link as she went. The facts would have to speak for themselves.

Libby’s popularity was higher than it had ever been, thanks to the crashlanders. But how long would that last if Dylan used Libby’s name? Her closest friends had refused to believe that Improvement was anything other than spam targeting the gullible. Even if it worked, the fact that she had used it would undermine Libby’s carefully maintained facade of cool. When Libby learned that Clair had passed on something that she had revealed only to her innermost circle, she was bound to feel embarrassed, betrayed, undermined . . . and in her current state, that might be the straw that broke their friendship’s back. It would certainly undo all the effort Clair was making to prove to Libby that she trusted her.

“A matter of life and death, you say, Mr. Linwood?” Principal Gordon was saying in the video. “Do explain.”

The principal’s office was furnished in mid-twentieth-century style, with wood paneling, leather armchairs, and a low desk that was pure ornamental ostentation. She had taken the seat farthest from the door, a magisterial perch with a coffee table beside it. Facing her were three less-imposing pieces. Dylan was in the center chair, scruffy but straight-backed in his work clothes. The video was being taken from a position high up on the wall opposite them, where a clock or bookcase concealed a camera. Hacking into its feed and releasing the data into the Air didn’t seem beyond Dylan’s capabilities, based on the little Clair knew about him.

“There’s a dangerous meme, called Improvement, and it’s here on your campus,” he said. “You need to stamp it out before it claims another victim.”

“Really, Mr. Linwood.” Principal Gordon arched an eyebrow. “I believe that once again you are overstating the case.”

“But you are aware of the phenomenon?”

“I have heard rumors.”

“Have you taken any provisions against it?”

“Not specifically.”

“So you admit that you allow your students to fend for themselves as an insidious threat spreads among them.”

“Please. We’re not talking about some deadly new virus—”

“In a very real sense, we might be. Improvement spreads in exactly the same fashion as a virulent disease. Outbreaks flare up and fade away, apparently at random. Each time, it disappears, only to reappear later and wreak further havoc.”

Clair reached the street and hurried for a d-mat booth.

“We’re talking about a meme much more sinister than any mere disease,” Dylan was saying, “and I’m not leaving until I am certain that this institution is capable of providing its students with the protection they deserve.”

Clair was at the booth. She dived in and called out the name of her usual station. The video feed died as the lights in the booth flared. She forced herself to stand still and not fidget too much—not that it made any difference to her or the way d-mat worked. The flight of a bullet fired across the booth at the exact moment of transit would have been unaltered in any way. That was the VIA guarantee.

The doors opened in Manteca and Clair began to run.

“Mr. Linwood,” Principal Gordon was saying over the video stream, “I completely agree with you that Manteca New Campus is obliged to protect its students to the fullest extent possible, but we cannot protect them from imaginary threats. I thought I had made this absolutely clear the last time you—”

“If there were evidence of harm, would you act?”

“Of course we would.”

From under his jacket, Dylan pulled a slim document folder.

“I have here pathology reports on the deaths of nine girls who, according to family testimonies, all used Improvement within six months of one another.” He proffered the folder to Principal Gordon. “Go on, take a look.”

The principal took the folder, opened it, and flipped through the pages with a tightening frown.

Clair wished she could see what the folder contained—a wish that was almost immediately answered. Appended to the video feed was a second stream of images and data that she glanced at but couldn’t interpret.

“When you’re done,” Dylan said, “we can discuss what measures you will introduce to protect the students of this school from the malevolent influences they have been exposed to via d-mat.”

The school gates were in view. Anger and the first hint of anxiety made Clair run faster. Was this really pure bluff on Dylan’s part, or was there something truly to worry about?

The principal abruptly closed the folder and placed it in her lap.

“I fail to see how these cases are related, to each other or to Improvement,” she said. “These poor young women committed suicide.”

“The manner of their deaths is irrelevant,” Dylan insisted. “Look at the brain scans. There’s clear evidence of damage to the prefrontal cortex, temporal lobes, and hippocampus. Such damage is not related to their medical histories.”

“So?”

“The only thing these poor girls had in common was Improvement. The connection cannot be disputed.”

“Where did you obtain these records, Mr. Linwood?” the principal asked. “If this data is real, why has it not come to light before now?”

“It’s very real,” he said, “and readily available to anyone who looks hard enough. Buried in the Air under a mountain of irrelevant information, as all important things are. Nothing is hidden, and everything is ignored. The surveillance state doesn’t need violence to perpetrate injustice. All it needs is our indifference.”

“Mr. Linwood, please, can we stick to the topic?”

Clair was on campus. A crowd had gathered in front of the principal’s office, watched over by a UFO-shaped eye-in-the-sky drone. Students in turn were staring at a two-wheeled silver electrobike parked on the slate quadrangle, all sweeping planes and fragile-looking lines. It listed slightly from vertical, supported by a kickstand protruding from its left-hand side. The engine was ticking like an old-fashioned clock. “I think that’s a Linwood,” Clair heard someone breathe in awe. “One of a kind—I mean literally!”

She hurried through the crowd, grateful for all the jogging Libby had made her do that summer. Her lungs were burning, but she would be able to talk when she got inside.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Dylan was saying.

“Nothing of the sort. Misled by your prejudices, possibly. I can’t conclude anything until you tell us more.”

“The onus is on you to ensure the safety of your students. I’ve given you cause to look deeper. Now I expect you to do it.”

“I see no cause at all. Just rumors and pictures.” Principal Gordon tossed the folder lightly in her hand as though to demonstrate how little it weighed, physically and symbolically. “These documents could easily have been falsified.”

Outside the office, the principal’s assistant, a slender young man with flickering lenses, tried to stop Clair