Interface Shadow |
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Bren
MacDibble is a Melbourne-based writer who spends her weekends at her
'writing retreat', an old van in the bush, where she spends more time
battling the elements and wildlife than writing. She prefers to write
short stories for children as her adult short stories tend to be er...unsettling.
An example of this is 'Empty Spaces' in September's Scifidimensions.
http://scifidimensions.fanhosts.com/Sep01/emptyspaces.htm
You can find out more about her work at her website:
http://members.optushome.com.au/brenmacd/
"Human brains are meant to stay in human skulls, not roam all over the place. It’s dangerous." "But, Jon, it’s used by thousands of pilots. I use it." Taz sighed. Jon was good, the best. He had the neuro-implant the same as everyone else but once basic training finished, he refused to use it. "If you don’t interface they’ll bounce you so hard you’ll need a ticket to fly." "I’m not comfortable using it." "Why, ferchristsake?" "The shadow… it makes me nervous." "Lots of people see a shadow when they’re hooked up. Your mind projects a physical presence as a reference." Jon took a deep breath and stared at Taz. "Can I say something off the record, between friends?" "Of course." "In the academy, I swear it tried to kill me." "What?!" Jon looked down. "My shadow is evil." "My God, you don’t need a pep talk, you need a psych. Your shadow can’t act alone." "That was off the record so drop it." "What if I came in with you? If I see anything weird, I’ll pull you out." Jon looked up. "You can do that?" "I have the perfect program." *** Jon entered the training program with Taz tethered. Whatever he saw, Taz saw too. Jon’s shadow manifested immediately. Taz immediately understood Jon’s fear. His own shadow was insubstantial -- the fuzziest of outlines -- but Jon’s was perfectly formed down to flight suit details, yet its face was a blank grey oval. "OK, Jon, run through a simple ascent and we’ll see what your shadow does." Jon maneuvered his mind through the maze of data that streamed across his mental screen. He flicked a dozen functions to auto and his shadow copied every command. Its hands worked the mock cockpit at the bottom of the screen. Taz felt odd watching a faceless shadow mimic Jon. The shadow spun its head left, alerting Taz to a tiny smear among the stars that might be a cloaked vessel. Its arms blurred as it simultaneously sent the ship into a defensive roll, logged a new flight path, an alert and dispatched a probe. Jon maintained optimum concentration for two hours. He was the best interface-cadet Taz had seen. "You’re one helluva pilot, Jon. How do you feel about your shadow now?" "It seems harmless. Maybe it was too many hard nights at the academy after all." "The good old days. How about a beer?" Taz ran the exit sequence and Jon vanished from the program. Taz began his own sequence. Something moved beside him. He turned. Steely hands gripped his throat. He stared into a featureless grey face. Shock and repulsion made panic surge. He scrabbled at the icy fingers, but they remained rock solid, obeying the laws of an unknown dimension. Blackness crept around the edge of his vision. In his last coherent second, Taz shoved his mind back into the exit sequence. He gasped. Jon thumped his back. "Thanks! That was awesome! Afraid of a shadow! Ha! The beer’s on me."
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