Page 128 of Tapeworld Induction

“Because he’s an artist. A damn good artist. He’s still around, you know.”

“I know. And only ’cause you tell me every time.”

Jeff took another puff on the synthtube, the cloud of smoke a mix of electric colours. “I wonder what he’s up to these days.”

“NWR?”

“Yeah, man. I would love to see some premium new piece of his. Go even slower this time.”

Isaak frowned. “Probably in a home by now. Isn’t he eighty-something?”

Jeff scowled and moved away from Isaak. “Don’t diss the Renn. Nigel Windermere Renn is one of the greatest directors ever! Who would ever put him in a home?!”

Isaak agreed, but his face betrayed his diminishing patience for these antics. Jeff loved an audience. So every time Isaak came to him for help with something technical – and illegal – Jeff would see it as a chance to indulge his guest in some movie-watching, some mild theorisation on the meaning of certain flicks.

“Mind having a peek at his brain now?” Dylan said, raising her voice. Seeing her fully embody the role of the enforcer, the muscle, was doing something to him. He tried to hide the way he stared at her from Jeff. He definitely didn’t need to know.

“You guys are a pain in the ass,” Jeff huffed. “Come on.”

He took them to the other room in the flat. What was supposed to be cramped bedroom had been turned into a hacker’s dream, an assortment of computers, chipboards, peripherals, VR headsets, and game controllers, all lining the walls in stacked rows. You couldn’t tell if the wall was painted or wallpapered with all the hardware filling the space like tech sprayed from a garden hose. Nostalgia for a past Jeff hadn’t even lived, just read about and watched on the tube archives.

In the middle of the room was a recliner chair, and next to it a smaller chair and a lowered black desk. There was a screen on the desk.

Isaak would have to tape in for the procedure. The reality of making himself defenceless in a room with Jeff raised his heartbeat. His eyes sought Dylan, who looked back at him calmly.

“If you do anything to him while he’s under,” she told Jeff, like she could read Isaak’s mind, “if he’s in pain in any way – then you’ll be in pain. Understood?”

Jeff glared at her like a cornered rat. “It should… It should be painless. Come on, lie down there, man.”

Part of him wondered if Jeff was even to be trusted at this point. This seemed like a giant gamble. But despite all of the gear at the car wash, Elo didn’t have the tech to peer into his tape strides herself. Not yet anyway, he corrected himself.

Jeff sat and shifted uncomfortably in the small chair by the black desk. He placed his synthtube down, then grabbed a cassette tape from a tower next to the desk. After inspecting it and making sure it was the right one, he loaded the cassette into a piece of overly complicated machinery that sat on the desk. The miniaturisation of the CPU had little impact on Jeff’s workmanship. Next, he held up a blue roll of tape, glossy and thick.

“Slap this on.”

“Won’t taping in erase my previous records or something? I thought this was gonna be a VR-type deal, a brain scanner dance of some kind?”

Jeff smacked his lips. “Just stick it on. Let me worry about the scrying.”

Isaak’s heart beat faster. He shot another glance at Dylan, who stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She nodded, leaning into the role she’d created for herself here.

“Before you do that, champ, explain what’s going to happen to him, and why Elodie sent us here instead of doing it herself.”

“Ah… sure.” Jeff was getting used to having to justify himself to Dylan. “This machine is very new. I built it based on her research into the chemistry and science of the tape. The small percentages she’s been able to crack. Encoded in these proteins left behind in your blood are the photograms from your eyeballs. The tape makes these, in whatever way the tape works. This thing can grab them before you sweat them away in a few days’ time. We’ll be able to accompany his trip on this screen. So you see how it’s not safe for me to go out there with this under my arm, or for other people to even know about it, right?” He smacked his lips. “Can I do my job now?”

She acquiesced.

Isaak sat in the chair, not in any way reassured by the explanation. He carefully peeled a bit of the blue tape, and ripped it off the roll with some effort. It was thick, like builder’s tape.

Dylan leaned down and planted a kiss on his lips, catching him by surprise. He gave her a smile. Anxiety gripped him, but he knew he had to do this if they we going to find the warehouse and hopefully save Talia. He’d wracked his brains for hours, and knew he couldn’t do this on his own.

Jeff looked unfazed, either because he didn’t care or because he didn’t want to incur any more of Dylan’s wrath.

Isaak put the tape to his right temple, head leaning back on the recliner chair, legs raised up on the footrest.

For a moment there was peace, empty blackness.

But soon the Tapeworld’s kaleidoscopic blur of colours appeared. He was inside a tape-tube, rather than in his tape-space or the Boulevard. A familiar low hum emanated from the walls of the tube. Isaak reached out for the wall automatically, the light and shapes sliding through his fingers, the sensation wet.