Canada in the Cloud

"This is not a negotiation."

Ira reclined at the head of the massive boardroom table, light glaring off the polished oak. His gaze penetrated the man seated before him: Tom Kennewick, the recently-elected Canadian Prime Minister. Kennewick squirmed and sweated under the intensity.

Ira inwardly grinned. "Tom, I repeat, this is not a negotiation – do you hear me?"

Ira smirked as Kennewick glanced nervously around the room. The support for the man was pathetic; less than a dozen members of Parliament had even bothered to make the trip with him.

"Quite a boardroom," Kennewick grumbled, "for The Neuromancer Group and its CEO."

Ira snorted. "Tom, you're stalling." He straightened in his huge, calfskin chair. "I've repeated myself once. Do not make me do so again."

Kennewick mopped his forehead, glaring. "Yes, Mr. Steinbeck," Kennewick spat through clenched teeth. "Now, what do you want?"

Ira leaned forward. The veins in Kennewick's temples bulged as he writhed in his seat, powerless against the psychokinetic attack on his brain. In his peripheral vision, Ira saw the members of Parliament squirming in their seats. He let a full minute pass. Kennewick's struggle began to lessen as Ira felt the fat, ridiculous, little man teeter on the verge of unconsciousness. Ira relented, and Kennewick slumped backwards in his chair.

"What do I want? Canada, Tom. I'm taking Canada."

Kennewick was covered in sweat, his eyes glazed over in evident confusion. "Canada? What do you mean 'I'm taking Canada'?"

Ira leaned back again, the high-backed chair creaking in protest. His grin broadened, revealing conspicuously white teeth, perfectly ordered. Ira enjoyed the man's expression of panic: Ira was a shark, circling his prey, and this fool knew it was his blood that was in the water.

"What I mean, Tom, is that I'm repurposing Canada for TNG's new global headquarters. The transition will take place in six months, so you'll need to familiarize yourself with our plan of acquisition. We've sent your office the briefing."

Kennewick's face contorted in rage. "Are you insane? You can't 'acquire'...what are you about?" Kennewick eyed his meager contingent of supporters. "I think you'll find," he insisted, "that Canada doesn't want you there!" There were murmurs around the table, voicing - quietly, impotently - their agreement.

"Then," Ira stated icily, “the Canadians will have to go."

The room erupted. The sparse number of Canadians jumped to their feet, pounding the table and shouting defiantly.

Their opposition was laughable. A mass of Neuromancers, looking virtually identical in their expensive suits and trademark expressions of apathy, converged on the insubordinates and employed the tools of their terror. With a simple touch from the Neuromancers to the neck or temples, the Canadians collapsed. Some slumped into their chairs, others fell to the thickly-carpeted floor. In less than thirty seconds, the boardroom was enveloped in silence.

Ira stood and walked to a podium in the corner of the room. "It appears you're right, Tom. Canada does not seem to want us." He shrugged. "So, you're going to have to go. All of you."

Kennewick looked at him, horrified. "What? You can't...What do you mean go? Where do you expect 35 million people to go, exactly? There's no room anywhere else in the world for that many people. This is madness! You've lost your mind!" He began to laugh, a harsh barking noise somewhere between desperation and lunacy. "This is ludicrous. You can't be serious!" His entourage was beginning to stir. "Get up!" he yelled at them. "Say something!"

They struggled to their seats in cowardly silence.

Kennewick finally put steel in his voice. "You overstep yourself this time, Steinbeck. Even you don't have that much power!"

Ira didn't bother to hide his amusement. "Tom, you know, you're right - there is nowhere on this planet for your people to go. So, we're not keeping you on this planet. We're putting Canada in the Cloud."

Kennewick deflated, tension replaced by stark bewilderment. "Wh-what? What are you saying?" Kennewick stuttered.

Ira pointed at one of the TNG clones a few chairs away. "Daniel?"

Ira relinquished the room's attention as Daniel came forward, a tall young man with dark hair and horn-rimmed glasses.

"The science of it will be quite complicated for you," Daniel began. "For the sake of your understanding, imagine a three-dimensional scanner. Using a complex neuro-mapping interface, TNG Neuromancers have developed the ability to create a digital reproduction of the human brain, enhanced for optimum efficiency. It will exist in a dedicated server known as the Global Consciousness Collective, which is powered autonomously by solar fusion and set on a low quanta expulsion algorithm."

Daniel spread his hands, casting his eyes about for effect. "Basically, your brains will exist on a server - independent of your bodies - that will never run out of power and is completely self-sustaining." He opened a briefcase on the table in front of him and produced a small metal cylinder roughly the size of soda can, made of a smooth steel alloy. He held it up, slowly turning it as the light reflected off the perfectly-lathed surface. "The entire Canadian population," he continued, "will reside in this one unit." He clanged the cylinder down on the table beside the briefcase, and Ira chuckled as Kennewick nearly jumped out of his skin.

"My God," Kennewick breathed. "You're a monster, Steinbeck."

Ira rose from his chair. "No, Tom, I'm an opportunist." He circled slowly around the table, talking as he went. "Tom, are you familiar with the idea of neurogenesis?"

Kennewick opened and closed his mouth several times but said nothing.

"No, I didn't think so," Ira derided. "Neurogenesis is the brain's ability to continuously generate new neurons. This means that, while the brain continues to grow older, it also continues to adapt. To learn. To grow." He shuddered, and his voice became reverent. "Thanks to the miracle of neuroplasticity, your brains – while in the Global Consciousness Collective – will continue to grow, unhindered by the restrictions of old age." He stopped where Daniel was seated and picked up the cylinder. Circling back to stand before Kennewick, he held the unit in front of the man's face.

"This is the most advanced development in neuroscience ever recorded, Tom." He shook the cylinder slightly, practically under Kennewick's nose. "It's the first device of its kind. You and your countrymen will be making history. You should be flattered." Ira narrowed his eyes, lowering his voice. "No...you should be honored."

Kennewick practically whispered. "You're going to...scan our brains. Put us in a machine. Make an entire country...disappear?" The words drifted in the air like a kite spooling on a very long string. "You're...insane."

"Sanity is a matter of perspective, Tom."

Kennewick sat in stunned silence for several moments, and Ira could see him trembling. Then, Kennewick lowered his face into his hands, and began to weep.

Ira watched this with great delight.

#

Back in the Overlook, Ira was enjoying himself.

Only three hours had passed, but so far, everything was on schedule. About three quarters of the transfer stations were in operation, with the last group launching in about fifteen minutes. Ira's eyes roved over the screens, taking in the repetitive sequence. Prince George, Calgary, Edmonton, Winnipeg - it was the same, everywhere.

Ira knew exactly how the process worked - he'd designed it. Armed Neuromancers stood in front of the EVAP units - short for Enhanced Virtual Ascendancy Processor. The machines stood about seven feet tall and were rectangular steel boxes with a single, opaque glass window set into a retractable door on the front. The guard would punch a button on his digipad, and a family name and serial number combination popped up on a display built into the EVAP. The guard verified their registration information, the retractable door opened up, and the family stepped in. (Those who were single were placed in pairs.)

The guard would then punch a series of buttons on the EVAP, the door would close, and about 45 seconds later, a bright flash of light emanated from behind the door. Every hour or so, a small vent on the top of the machine would pop open, dispelling any lingering ashes - though there were rarely any. Then, the cycle would repeat itself.

Ira looked at Kennewick slumped in his chair. His eyes were open, but he appeared to be in a daze, transfixed by the scene before him.

Ira's voice dripped. "Tom, what you are witnessing is the birth of new scientific breakthroughs. We're making history, and you're falling asleep?"

Kennewick didn't budge. Ira leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear. "Let me tell you how it works."

Kennewick strained to get away, but couldn't move. Ira wheeled his chair around from behind his desk, sliding over next to Tom like they were the best of friends.

"The transfer process...well, now this is something." Ira adopted a confidential tone. "Inside each EVAP unit are ten headset harnesses. Each family member slips one on - and it's a little tricky, because the neuro-scanners have to be more or less aligned - and the brain scan is initiated. It only takes about fifteen seconds, and we've got it - a three-dimensional, fully-functioning brain image.

"The data is automatically updated to the GCC server and stored for activation." Ira paused for a moment, watching the flicker in Kennewick's eyes. He continued. "So the EVAP science is nothing new, you know that. Once the scans are complete, we initiate the actual vaporizing process, and...well, you know the rest."

The phone on Ira's desk buzzed, and a voice came over the intercom. "Mr. Steinbeck? You were asked to be notified when..."

"Excellent, thank you." He turned to Kennewick once more. "Tom, let me show you something." He pulled a device from his pocket, punched a series of buttons, and a video feed appeared on the rear wall, for all to see.

#

"Mommy! Mommy!" A little boy tugged on the woman's hand, trying to stop her. She skidded to a halt, clasping his little fingers tightly.

"Yes, baby? What is it?" She knelt close to him, and the camera zoomed in to capture the moment.

"S'that it? Is those the brain machines?" He pointed a chubby finger at the EVAP unit, just a few feet away. They were next in line. She nodded, though she didn't speak.

"Oohhh," he breathed, innocence spreading across his face. The woman looked at her son, bright blue eyes filled with wonder. A spasm of pain crossed her face, and she looked like she was biting back tears.

"Mommy...can I try one?"

His face was flushed with obvious excitement. She turned his shoulders and cupped his face in her hands. He smiled widely.

"Yes, Ian, you can try it," she responded quietly. "You, me, and Daddy. We all will, ok?"

He beamed at her. "Ok, Mommy!" He kissed her on the cheek and flung his arms around her neck. She wrapped him tightly in her arms, sobbing.

#

Ira punched a button, and his voice went over the intercom. "Cut the feed. Notify me when the family enters the unit."

Black shot a thumbs-up that Ira could see, and the video was gone, replaced by the previous feeds.

Ira looked at Kennewick, whose eyes were glazed over.

"Oh, Tom, it gets better. Believe me." Ira took a heavy pull on his cigar and blew the smoke down into Kennewick's face.

The intercom buzzed again. "Mr. Steinbeck, the Tremblays have entered the EVAP."

"Excellent. Bring the video feed up, and put me on speaker." He cast a sideways glance at Kennewick, who looked distraught. "Oh, and set the vape sequence to manual. I have something special in mind."

The image of a young family appeared on the monitors. The woman and the child they had just seen were seated with another man, presumably the boy's father. The mother and son, sitting next to each other, shared the same short, curly dark hair, with a small divot in their chins. Ira stared hard at them, noting the similarity.

It was a family resemblance.

The three of them had finished fitting their headsets on when Ira spoke. "Becky Tremblay?"

The woman on screen practically jumped in fright, then spoke. "Yes? Who...who are you? Where are you?"

"You are speaking with Ira Steinbeck, directly from TNG headquarters in New York."

The woman's face went livid, and she started yelling. "Why are you doing this? Why do you want to hurt us? What-"

"Becky," Ira's voice cut in, "tell me - where did you grow up?"

"Where did I?...Vancouver. What the hell does that-"

"Who raised you?"

"My mother," she fumed.

"And what about your father? Where was he?"

Becky looked to her husband, who had taken their son onto his lap. He stroked the boy's hair, looking perplexed. "He left when I was young," Becky replied. "He left us, me and mom. It was just the two of us."

"He left when you were seven, Becky. Right after your brother Ian died."

Becky's eyes went wide. She nodded.

"Last question, Becky - what was your mother's name?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why - why do you need to know?"

"Her name," Ira repeated.

"Lilly Williams," Becky snapped.

"Her full married name," Ira pushed.

Becky looked at her husband again, who just shrugged.

"Lilith Anne Steinbeck," she said.

Fifty sets of eyes swiveled from the monitors on the wall to the glass window of the Overlook.

"And your father?"

"James Steinbeck, may he rot in hell forever."

"On that point, Becky, I think we can agree. Thank you for your time."

Ira pulled another device from his pocket and punched a series of keys. The video feed stayed open, but the audio was gone. Becky and her family looked alarmed, then angry. Becky was yelling to the open air. Their young son started to cry.

Ira watched them comfort the boy, and his lip curled in derision. He turned to face Kennewick, who stared at Ira with abject horror.

Ira watched the recognition dawn fearfully in Kennewick's eyes. "Yes, we're related." Ira took a pull from his cigar with trembling hands, then pointed at Kennewick. "She's my half-sister, Tom, and you're going to send her to hell."

Ira waved a hand, and the shackles fell from Kennewick's plump wrists. Ira held the control in front of him. By now he was shaking all over, anger coursing through him as he fought to steady himself.

"Push the button, Tom."

Kennewick shook his head furiously, trying to lean as far back as his chair would allow.

Ira's gaze penetrated the man, pinning him down. His words dripped with acidity. "Tom, you have two choices: push the button, and put them out of their misery. Or, I push the button, and inflict unspeakable misery on you. Which will it be?" The force of Ira's will pounded mercilessly against the barricades of Kennewick's mind. The Prime Minister's face turned purple; veins popped from his neck as he struggled out labored breaths.

His resolve didn't last long.

His face a mask of shame, tears poured down Kennewick's cheeks as he reached for the control. He pressed the button that Ira pointed to, and the audio link was restored. A low roar filled the air as the EVAP interior glowed with a red light. It reached a painful crescendo, as the boy's voice filled their ears.

"Mommy, I'm scared! Mommy, Mommy, what..."

A dazzling flash of light. Silence.

The Tremblays were gone.