YOU BET YOUR SKIN
by
Floyd Flanagan
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Floyd Flanagan on Smashwords
You Bet Your Skin
Copyright © 2010 by Floyd Flanagan
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
This novel is also available in video format at YOUBETYOURSKIN.COM.
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YOU BET YOUR SKIN
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Prologue
Look, you can disregard what I'm telling you, but do so at your risk, because, believe me, the chips are in everything. Smaller than flyspecks. Beyond taken for granted. Chips inside you, that know you, help you, tell on you. Chips that talk to you, talk to everyone, right through your InVision.
It's all there. Every detail of every deed you've ever done. Every video, photo, chat, email, comment, scribble, letter, contract, confession, slander, rant, speech, plan, your prescriptions, drugs, and drug tests. It's all there. All public.
Do you doubt it? I'll show you. Pick up anything, there's a chip inside. Take that sock over there. Yes, that one, the one hanging out of the dumpster. Pick it up. Go on. It won't bite you. It's only a sock. Yes. There you go. Now, scan it and there you have it: price, style, size, maker, seller. It even has your consumer ID, your consumer preferences, favorite music, politics, your sexual preference, sex partners, even your sexual performance. It's all right there. You got it. In fact, everyone's got it. Right there on InVision. Everything, down to your last heartbeat. There's a life story in the chip in that sock. Are you curious? Yes? Well, just press continue.
Chapter 1
Sleeping in my snug little room, I am watched. And now awake, surveillance confirms that I'm here. There's security in a system that keeps tabs on you even while you're sleeping, and that's the good news. But the bad news is my status light is blinking yellow again.
Through my InVision I ask, Helper?
The oversaturated image of the avatar replies, what?
I say, recognize me.
He asks, who?
Me. Recognize me.
My status turns green.
Helper says, sorry Vinny.
I dismiss Helper.
I had that dream again, the one where they're pealing my skin. I asked them how much are you going to take?
They said, how much do you have?
Now, all day long I check to see if I'm still all here. It's ridiculous. People don't lose their skin. But they could. And if they could, I could. And who'd even know. What if it happened when I was alone? Like in the movies. But this isn't a horror story. It's just my life. And of course I can always count on surveillance. It's all around us. But what good is surveillance? Just because I'm being watched, that doesn't mean anyone is looking. And if no one is looking, what's the good of it? Someone should be looking, someone should be looking out for me. All the time.
I can surveil myself. I can use surveillance, like a diary. Why not? It must be good for something. I will. This way if anything actually happens… I'll just set this to
Recording…
For the record, my temp name is Vanilla, like ice cream. InVision recognizes me as Vanilla, Mr. Vanilla, Vinny, Vin, or whatever, as long as my bio-identity is recognized. That's what counts. My bio-ID, beyond that I can change my temp name whenever I want. After all, what's in a name? Vanilla casts me in the image of neither-this-or-that. And that feels just about right to me. Hey it's a dangerous world for people who don't blend in. Look too different talk too different, before you know it you're going to get noticed. To be seen, now that is OK, but to be noticed that is definitely not OK. The trick is to be recognized for who you're supposed to be, no-more-no-less. It's not easy, because really who am I anyway? Who is anyone? So here I am, Vanilla, your basic non-flavored kind of guy, plain as plain can be.
I'm a video game artist, and my work is all about splitting hairs, because in this line detail is everything. Hey, check this out.
Helper, show Hammerman.
The blast visor rises, the cold stare under the massive brow. Khaki shirtsleeves rolled tight to the armpits. Tattoo of a shrunken head on that ham hoc biceps. The tattoo? A cliché you say? Hardly. Examine her shriveled head, and keep in mind that once upon a time this was an honest to God for real woman. Zoom in on her dainty eyelashes; see how they form a fringe along the pits where her eyes used to be. The tiniest hair, even in death, each hair still growing. Whoa, that's reality if there ever was reality. I want you to know there's not one hair on her head I didn't put there personally. That's purpose. That's control. Oops, that eye hole winked again. I thought I fixed that.
Helper make a note: check skewing error. No, make that, check all skewing errors.
But this work is far deeper than just appearance. Because it's what's inside Hammerman - Blood Warrior that makes him this one-of-a-kind wonder man. Look in his eyes. Look deep. You can almost tell what he's thinking, but not quite. And that's the art of it, the ambiguity. To get down to that level I had to imagine his soul. Talk about a dark. I had to ask myself, what could possess a man to adorn himself with such an emblem as that tattoo? I knew if I could answer that question I'd have the key to a real killer hero. I thought long and hard on that and when it came to me it was so simple. Hey, this guy is evil. I mean, real evil.
And, you know, they proved me dead-nuts right. Because, that's exactly what they said, wow, he is really evil. And I don't just mean good evil, but evil in the very best sense of the word. How evil? Well let's just say he's a work in progress.
Now, let's go on to something else.
Helper, show my family album.
Notice how prettily the white silk bow releases the cover of the simulated leather-bound book. That's my family nestled in the decoration of rosewood and gold. Mom and Sis seated in front. Behind, poor short Dad and me with my arm on his shoulder. Why does Mom always sneer like that, casting a shadow wherever she looks? And mumbling Sis, forever chatting up her InVision girlfriends. Anyway, these are my people.
Hey Dad, say a few words for my surveillance diary.
Well yeah hey sure OK. So you know Vin, you're numero uno in my book. My main man.
Dad needs a lot of reassuring and I tell him, hey you bet.
And he says, yeah, me and Vin real buds. Best friends, huh Vinny?
The very best.
Share and share alike?
You bet.
He says, I know I can always count on you son. And about that loan, I've been meaning to… Like I tell everybody, you know I can always count on Vinny.
Thanks Dad. Now, Mom, say something for my diary.
She adjusts herself like a lineman waiting for the snap and says, you know it's a miracle we're even here. If it wasn't for you, Vinny, there's no telling where we'd be. Looking around she says, I can't say I'm thrilled about this place you've got us living in, but beggars can't be choosers. If we had to depend on your father… Lord knows I've tried. Oh, how I've tried…
OK Mom, that's enough.
Now Sis. Sis likes feeling good, and nothing makes her feel better than having a bevy of star-framed sisters listening to her woes on InVision. I'll try to get her attention.
…hey and it's not like I hadn't already told him you can do that all you want and see if I even care but if he thinks I'm going to put up with that he better think again because that doesn't go down with me no way man when I can chat up another guy quicker than swatting a fly and not even give it a second thought as though I even care what he thinks anyhow and even if he wanted to make up I mean why should I the way he's been fooling around and everybody talking about me and all even to strangers who don't even know me and even if they did so what's the difference anyway, huh?
Sis, something for my diary? Sis, please? No? Are you feeling a little shy? Well, maybe later.
Well, that's my family. The only family I got.
And then there's Ice. Oh, Ice, my sig-one.
Helper, bring up that photo of Ice.
Whoa, just look at her. Oh man. Her face, her skin. Isn't she incredible? And smart? The smartest person I know. She has to be, the kind of work she does, with social diseases and all; chromosomes turning things off and on like Christmas lights, peptides, enzymes, gene markers, you name it. With what that woman knows she can turn an Ethiopian into an Eskimo quicker than you can say, how about that! Absolutely amazing. Ah, but she can be difficult. And sometimes I have to wonder. Take for example
Helper, run that video of us from the other night.
I mean, here we are, sitting down to dinner at the food slot. The BetterBurgers, piping hot, sliding onto the table. Then she starts with that look of disgust, just picking at her fries, so I know something's coming, and then she picks one up and says, there isn't even any potato in this French fry.
And I say, hey that's pretty remarkable when you come to think about it.
And she says, they make the potato stuff out of corn. Everything is made of corn.
Not wanting to be a partner in her negativity I tell her, hey, you know, I can't even tell the difference.
Oh, but now she's on a roll and tells me, that's the point, Vinny. That's the whole point.
So there's another dinner ruined. But it wasn't always like this. Not the first time, anyway.
Helper: play park surveillance of that first time.
So, there we are, nose to nose, not more than twenty minutes after we met. And you can see how I have her there, right up against the tree; and it's like she's going for it, you know -- but at the same time, she isn't. Anyway, I have her, with her big blue eyes wide open, like she's way off in the distance somewhere. And the feeling, I mean imagine the feeling, the woman is stone cold, outside and in. Her skin, pale and dry and perfect, like marble, and the way she's staring at me. Like I'm less than nothing, or maybe I'm everything. I don't know, I can't explain what that stare is doing to me. Anyway, she sure lit my fuse. So bang, I'm in total collapse, my head on her chest; and her, hardly even breathing, like a corpse or something. I raise my head to look at her. Oh, what a face. Alabaster, glacier-blue white. Frozen. Timeless. Not even virtual skin can compare. I couldn't get enough of just looking at her, and all the time she's looking right through me. Like she was staring all the way to the end of the universe.
So then she asks me, how do you feel about that, Vinny? Well, I gotta tell you, that really caught me off guard, because what kind of question was that supposed to be? I mean we hardly even knew each other.
So I tell her, OK. I feel OK.
And she says, and me, Vinny, how do you feel about me?
And I say, you? I don't know. You? You're kind of, well, wow, you know what I mean?
And she says, no, I don't know what you mean.
And I say, hey, well I guess, you're cool.
And she says, no, I'm not cool.
So now I don't know what to say. So I say, you're not?
And she says, no, I'm not cool.
And I say, you're not?
And then she doesn't say anything for what seems like forever, and I'm waiting, and we're just standing there, my heart still pounding like a jack hammer; and then, just her lips say, I'm frigid.
Well I got to tell you, the way she said that, that was really cold, I mean, knife in the kidneys cold. Whoa! And I say, yeah, you really are frigid. And then she takes my head in both hands, and she's covering my face with kisses like she just can't get enough of me, like I'm the first guy that ever got the point.
Next thing I know, she goes and changes her temp name to Ice. Go figure.
But it's not like that anymore. Things sure can change.
Helper, play that video from last night.
So there we are, sharing our bed, her feet to my head, each of us alone as alone can be. Me staring at the ceiling and her, I mean I'm watching her on surveillance, her head hanging off the foot of the bed, making that sigh she sighs all the time, as she selects a PorNovel from the InVision pick list.
The Quickest Lust of All
which brings up this hot Latin couple sitting in a restaurant across the table from one another. The woman in low cut scarlet unleashes her fury on this hairy-chested goon in a leather vest.
How dare you look at her like that, says the little hottie as Senior Macho raises one eyebrow. In a flash her nails fly across the table and slashing his cheek. Nearby diners gasp as he flings his chair away, now looming over her, he says, do you know what I'm going to do to you? I'm thinking, hey, this is getting pretty hot. But, Ice just yawns. Clearly she's not going for it, so I say, hey, remember that old favorite we used to do?
She shakes her head.
No, really, I tell her, I'll surprise you. You'll see.
Helper, pull up InYa.
The sex helper on InVision says, nice to see you again, Vinny. Who do you want to play with this evening? Let's see, your recent selections have been Ice, and Ice, and lets see, Ice. Now isn't that unusual, all of your recent play pals have been Ice. Wouldn't you like to play with someone else for a change?
I tell helper, no, just Ice. Just me and Ice.
Helper says, select a style.
Het-Male(s) Het-Fem(s) Bisexual(s) Gay male(s) Lesbian(s) Trans-Male(s)
Trans-Fem(s) Geek(s) Creep(s) Freak(s) Animal(s) Mix & match
Or Other
I select other.
How do you like it? Traditional, Oral, Anal, Equipped, Tortured, Snuff, Mix and Match, or Invent your own?
I tell helper, we're feeling inventive.
Our InVisions are linked andI morph into a vampire. Fangs emerge. I press my cheek to the nape of her neck and I'm wondering, why is it always so difficult for her to get into this? I try to reassure her, I'll be gentle. Then ever so lovingly, I slip a fang into her jugular. A chain of crimson beads yields to the pull of gravity. This is so sexy.
Then she asks me, how do you feel about this, Vinny?
And I say, what?
I mean what we're doing here.
What are we doing?
You're sticking a fang in my neck. How do you feel about that?
I don't know. Your neck is soft, your flesh is soft.
Not on the outside, Vinny, how do you feel inside? Oh man, this is getting difficult.
I tell her, I don't know.
What do you mean, you don’t' know?
Oh man, she has this way of exhaling, it's how you would spell the word exasperated without an alphabet. Then she says, look, Vinny, if sex is too difficult to talk about, tell me how you feel about anything. There must be something you feel something about.
I tell her, I have trouble sleeping.
I know that, she says.
I have dreams.
Everybody has dreams. Boy, she just won't let it alone. I confess to her, I'm afraid.
She wants to know, what are you afraid of?
You really want to know?
Yes, I do.
Well there are lots of things, they're just not the kinds of things people talk about. Not the kinds of things a sig-one can be proud of. It's just that I'm afraid… I could disappear… from you, from everything, from my life. Half the time my InVision is iffy. Helper doesn't recognize me. I mean, suppose, just suppose, what if I lose my InVision? It happens. Wthout InVision who am I? Who is anybody? And lose you're bio-ID and there goes your InVision. What if I have BID poison? You know what happens to people when they get BID poison, they're nobody, they're trash. We see people like that all over the place, but you know what, no one ever talks about it.
Don't be ridiculous, she says. BID poison is history. It was eradicated before you were born.
Well maybe it was and maybe it wasn't. You know, people still talk about BID poison. You hear rumors. For all I know people still get infected. In fact, I could be infected right now. I can hear my voice pleading: But you can help me. Diseases are your business. You can find out. I know you can. Will you? Will you look into it for me? I'm begging you. Will you? Please?
You know, there's a soft side to Ice. Sometimes she can even be sympathetic. She puts her fingers to my cheek and says, yes, I will.
I tell her, you asked me how I feel, well I'll tell you, right now, just knowing you'll do this, I feel a whole lot better. So now, can I count on that? I can count on you?
Oh oh, I shouldn't have said that.
She smears the drops of blood on her neck with her thumb and with the same distain she had for the French fry and says, you're asking if you can count on me?
I tell her, well, sure, I mean if it was the other way around…
And she just laughs. Oh, I hate it when she laughs like that. Me count on you? You've got to be kidding.
Anyway, that's my Ice.
Chapter 2
This is my habi. Standard condo. Clothes scattered, food wrappers here and there that didn't quite make it into the trash slot, Ice's half-packed or half unpacked bags, like my backpack, always waiting and ready for the imminent breakup. It's all emblematic of a lifestyle that boldly states, hey, you know, we really value our freedom. We can leave, just like that.
The good life is a simple life. It doesn't take much to make a habi a happy home: living room, bedroom, food room, bath. That's it. Each room 8x8 and ready to reconfigure on the fly. What more can you ask for? Everything else you might desire is just a click away on InVision: SnatchDeals, InfoFun, GlamFest, FastFriends, PubBuddies. The choices are endless. For example, if I feel the need for friendship,
Helper, bring up my PubBuddies.
There's one, Flamer man, Johnny on the spot, ready for action in barbecuing hat and apron. Sometimes, when I'm feeling kind of down, I know I can always count on Flamer. After all, that's what friends are for. Flamer's always glad to see me, saying, hey Bud, grab yourself a Bud; and bingo, here comes a cold one rolling right out of my wall slot. And here come my other buddies, Balls Up! and Cockers Rock, sidling up in their baseball caps.
Yo Vin!
Well say hey!
It's hard to feel out of it with friends like these.
Who's playing?
Balls and Cockers.
Incredible. What's the spread?
Balls by five.
Cocker laughs, Balls will choke and croak.
Flamer says, hey Vin, there's gonna be some heavy grilling after the game. And hey, check out this cooker. Self-cleaning. Self-serving. This scorcher will torch a side of beef faster than you can say black and twitching. I'm talking prime, primo, rare and crispy critters, done to a T.
How much? I ask.
Hey, get this, sold separately it'd be a grand per view for the game on top of $1,299 for the Flamer and $699 for the ribs and beer. But for you, Vinny, right now, the whole package is only $1,999.
The others chime in. Hey, that's a savings of a whole grand. I'm getting one of those for my dad right now.
Flamer says, so, Vin, what do you say? Ship it?
And then, from out of nowhere, Ice butts into the picture, right in the middle of my buddy fest she says, Vinny, are these guys even real?
Don't spoil this Ice. We were getting set for a great game.
Flamer is miffed. OK Vinny, bottom line, are you buying in with us, or what?
I don't know guys, I'd really like to… They turn their backs on me, I mean, my best friends, just like that, they click me off.
I ask Ice, tell me why? But she's gone too.
Feeling angry and disappointed, I click around for something to distract me.
Crime Report.
Over a montage of bullet-riddled bodies, flashing cop car lights, and live action bad guy take downs, a pair of male and a female news things say:
You've been talking.
And we've been listening.
So many killings.
So very many killings.
Every day.
Each and every day.
Facts.
You're drowning in facts.
Killers.
Oh so many killers.
And victims.
Way too many victims.
You've been talking.
And we've been listening.
We know your mind.
And we're doing something about it.
Crime Reporting.
Crime at its very best.
Star Killing.
Star quality.
Killer entertainment.
A news chopper circles a dump. Scavenger gulls take flight. An autocop zips a body bag closed on the bruised face of a corpse. An on-the-scene news thing reports, fans were stunned to learn of the discovery of Show Queen's mutilated body, found, only minutes ago, in this New Jersey landfill. More on the death of Show Queen after the break.
Another news thing says, three hundred and fifty-eight pound woman loses two hundred and thirty-six pounds on the pill. Here's her story.
I never could have done it without Foodpass. Now, I can party and binge all I want, whenever I want. So, whatever you do, don't pass up Foodpass. To order Foodpass, just say Foodpass. Use only under supervision of an autodoc.
Another news thing says, medical alert: ASD (Acquired Skin Disorder) is on the rise. Infection rates are at double digits in marginal countries. World Health officials warn that loss of melanin pigmentation in tropical populations is tied to increased rates of skin cancer. This news is brought to you courtesy of Bodyblock. Bodyblock is the only sun block that automatically adjusts to changes in your skin color. To order Bodyblock, just say Bodyblock.
Another news thing says, News Now, as it happens.
A montage of urban bomb damage shows carnage on sidewalks, tube trains, sports stadiums, shopping malls. Close ups of people in shock. Helicopters fly in low over the city.
Another news thing says, with reports of growing evilest penetration in slum areas authorities warn that things could get much worse. Men running down a street disappear around a corner. Rockets streak from a lurking drone.
An autocop says, we hunt them and we nail them. Rest assured we're taking care of business.
Another news thing says, rumors of the disappearances of thousands of people commonly known as goners continue to circulate the buzz zone. A distraught woman says, he just went out to walk the dog, and that was three weeks ago. Where are people going?
Another news thing says, and reports of dognappings are on the rise. Citizens have complained that trash are cooking pets for food.
Another news story: You know what they say about the weather, everyone talks about it but it just keeps right on cooking. This year's record temperatures are sending people without air conditioning to the morgues in droves…
My news is interrupted by a call from my boss, Vita.. I hear my recorded voice say, I'm unable to take your call right now… but she overrides the message.
She asks, what are you doing about Hammerman?
I remind her, he's still nearly at the top of the charts.
Yes, he was at the top.
I come back, yeah, just last week. He's barely slipped at all.
I can't take my eyes off the woman's mouth. The crack between her lips looks a twisted hairpin. She says, Blood Warrior, that broken down brute is on a fast track to the dudyard. Am I making myself clear?
I start to say, you know, I've been thinking… but she changes the subject…and about Stickman.
What about President Stickman?
Just watch the news. Keep your eye on him. And that Bull guy, too. When the Bull Man talks people listen. And he's been talking way too much for our comfort level.
Well, sure, I start to say, but she's clicked me off. I'm thinking, it was, what? just one, two weeks ago, when he was climbing the charts. She was crazy about Hammerman.
I turn to helper.
Open Hammerman.
Looking at my war-torn fighter, I consider, just what do I have to work with here?
Show Hammerman's weapons of choice.
Anthrax B-1 Ball & chain Blowtorch Boning knife Cyanide Ice pick Plutonium Piano wire Pickaxe Pliers Roadside bomb Razor RPG Scimitar Scythe Syringe
Standard mayhem accoutrements . Tried and true. I mean, these things are good, they're all perfectly good.
Perhaps, I should consider Hammerman, the character, himself.
Show Hammerman's traits.
I go down the list: Aggressive Barbaric Bellicose Belligerent Dangerous Deadly Dogged Deceitful Evil
I consider Evil. I can definitely tweak his evilness. Add depth. Finesse it. Look at evil in a paradoxical light. Shades of evil. Accentuate the extremes. How about bad evil verse good evil? Yes, work the moral tension angle. I'm sure the consumers can handle that. They're getting more sophisticated every day.
I replace simple evil with bad evil and good evil. The program returns the message
Skewing error.
Oh man.
So, just what am I trying to accomplish here? I tell Helper to
List Hammerman's goals.
Oh, he only has one goal,
Winning.
I should broaden his goals, flesh out what winning really means. Ah, victory. Everyone knows what victory is. I add victory to the list. OK, moving along -- I don't have all day for this, besides, I need to rework the whole evilist thing. I tell helper to
Open a design space for new bad guys.
OK now, just imagining here. Letting my mind wander. Seeking a muse for world-class baddies. Imagining. I see something. Yes. It's coming into focus. Oh yeah. A seven-foot cyborg. Three arms. Four legs. A real macho machine, with feminine accents. Insect eyes, mascara, eyeliner. A real flesh and blood nose and mouth. Succulent lips. Sweet! Fingers, long, strong, and supple, polished pearl nails matching her lip-gloss. I like it. Oh yes I do. A rival fit for my Hammerman. Let's make that rivals. Helper,
Clone three more.
Filename: Fearsome 4Pack.
No. Change that.
Rename file: Eenie, Meanie, Miney, Moe
Ah, even better yet,
Rename file: Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum
Yes.
Save it.
Oops. The program doesn't like that. System message says,
File lost.
Note: Check for skewing error, in fact, check ALL skewing errors.
I'm interrupted by an InVision prompt from Vita.
News Now: breaking story on Stickman.
A news thing says, no matter how hard the President tries to sidestep questions the talk guys won't leave him alone.
One of them says, Mr. President, the public insecurity readings are rising. Do you know that the fear factor is eighty-seven?
Stickman turns to the camera, and with that serious look he does so well he says, I have a simple message for the evilists out there: you better start digging, and you better dig deep, because, believe me, we're taking care of business.
I'm thinking to myself: the old prez is still pretty studly. Kind of reminds me of Hammerman. This gives me an idea and I make myself a note:
Look into co-branding opportunity for Hammerman with the president.
Chapter 3
There is nothing I like better than putting in some time in TheBox. It's hard to imagine, but some people have never done it. Going through life like that, that would be tough. Like right now, I'm feeling kind of down and I'm thinking, TheBox is just the fix I need. I could take an autocab, but the rain has cut back to a drizzle, almost like it was dry, which is pretty amazing in itself, so I think I'll walk on over there.
It's comforting to know surveillance is tracking me as I cut across the junk strewn lot in the failing light. The mongrel trash are out in force this evening. Red, white, brown, yellow, black, some of them dyed blue, green, purple, tattooed head-to-toe, pierced top-to-bottom. Funny thing, the more people try to look different the more they're all the same, because when you get right down to it, there are really only two kinds of people, regulars and trash; and you can always tell the difference. It only takes a glance. A look in their eyes and I know instantly. And they know that I know. How do I know? I'll tell you how, because you just can't fake quality.
Walking through the park, the lap organs are running wild. If it wasn't for the autonannies, no telling how these kids would turn out. But even with proper supervision I still have to wonder. Will they turn out like me, a real gold guy? Or will they sink to the bottom of the heap. Money, money, money, it's always about money. Ain't that the truth?
Picking up on the keyword, money, a helper pops up on my InVision asking if I need a loan.
No thanks. I got plenty.
You sure?
Oh yeah. And I take real pride in confirming that fact. Yes I do.
Now, crossing into the improvement zone, there are big changes going on. They're bringing this old-shot to-hell-neighborhood back to life fast. Not many blocks of these old tenements remain. Built back when actual people did the building. Can you imagine doing that kind physical labor, with bricks and concrete, with your own hands? No wonder these wrecks weren't built to last. The trash around here are getting squeezed closer to the riverfront every day. Pretty soon they'll have no place to live but in the water. You have to wonder, what then? All I can say is I'm glad it's not my problem. Anyway this area is getting fixed up real good.
Look at that demo crew getting ready for a block-size take down. These autowreckers really get the job done. Pull up in a demo transport, wrap the four story, cinch it, crunch it, drag it, and drop it into the compactor trailer. Going, going, gone. A whole block in half an hour.
At the same time, a new ten high habi complex is going up across the street. A stack of walls fork-lifted from the autotruck. Autoworkers snap on cables, and zip, up it goes to the top of the framework. Every wall is identical and chock-a-block with power, light, food prep, sanitation, and wrap-around surveillance. Like they say, it's all in the wall.
Look at that, another gas-jam. Autocars backed up block after block. Sometimes the wait is so long they run out of gas before they even get to the pump, just sitting there idling. Let them burn the gas. Let them burn all the gas. This just reinforces why I don't drive.
Uptown now, the crowd is prosperous. My InVision ads change with the style of consumers.
A fashion helper pops on my InVision: How's that Ice tonight?
Real personal attention. I tell the helper, she's fine.
That's great, Vinny, but you can't be too sure. Hey, looky here, this diamond is guaranteed to keep her fire burning, year after year after year.
I pass on the offer, but it makes a man feel good to know the system is looking out for his happiness.
I get a
Call from autobroker.
Vinny, Saudi, even Dubai has stopped pumping. Going dry everywhere you look.
That's fantastic.
It's all about price.
More bucks chasing fewer dribbles.
Last ditch extraction. That's where EnerJetics shines.
And when that oil's all gone…
Hey, with the lock those guys have on methane.
And in the meantime…
Boy, it doesn't get much sweeter than this.
Autobroker starts to ask, did you… and then he's gone. My InVision's gone flakey again and the lights of the city are off as far as I can see.
Now, autobroker's back again. He says, did you see that power spike?
Yeah, I tell him. Give me more leverage on EnerJetics.
Vinny, of course you know you've already borrowed…
Hey, I interrupt him, just do whatever it takes.
I'll tell you this, when the lights of the city go off, they're really off, but when they come back on, it's clear why they call this Emerald City.
My InVision is back, and up pops a reminder.
It's time for Dr. Bull.
I'm thinking, man, this guy, he's a real piece of work. He does all of his shows from Tahiti or Molokai or some such tropical place. Knows how to live the good life, the perfect mix of work and pleasure. Sunglasses, hibiscus print shirt, white slacks, sandals, getting served tropical drinks with a parasol, kicking back in that beach chair like that's all there is to it. And attitude, he's got an attitude to envy. I guess that's why everybody watches him. He's got his act down, the way he raises his sunglasses and leans in when he talks. Like he's talking right to you.
He says, bull man here. So what do you say we quit fooling around and get down to it, because Dr. Bull is all Bull, pure Bull, and believe me, there is no bull about it. Whatever the story, one thing is sure, I'm gonna ride that pony, wherever it takes me, right to the bitter end.
Now, with my hotline to the president -- Mr. President, can you hear me?
Yes, Dr. Bull, loud and clear.
President Stickman, let me just cut to the chase. With acquired skin disease changing the colors of the races around the world, what do you say to people who fear this plague could turn our idea of civilization right on its head?
First of all, there's still no proof that ASD even exists. A few people get a little too much sun. Maybe some other folks look a little peeked. The next thing you know, the news things are screaming racial pandemic. In my opinion, it's all news hype, you guys stirring the pot in order to have something to talk about.
So, Mr. President, you really think that's all there is to it?
Yes, and if there actually is anything more, you can rest assured that we'll get to the bottom of it. But for now, let's just let the autoexperts gather their data, do their studies, and make their reports. Then we'll see what we see. You have to have patient.
For how long, Sir?
All in good time.
Speaking about time, the buzz on the street is that you want to be president for life.
Well according to law, Dr. Bull, no one can be president for life in this country. It's against the Constitution.
The bull man asks, how about president for eternity?
The president laughs. Now that would be a whole-nother thing, wouldn't it?
It certainly would, Mr. President. Thank you for your time.
Dr. Bull takes off his sunglasses and tells us: all in good time, that's what the man said. Leaning forward he says, and just remember that you heard it here first, straight from the Bull Man, Dr. Bull, pure Bull, and believe you-me, there is no bull about it. He replaces his shades, leans back, yawns, and says, now if you folks will excuse me, it's time for my nap.
I get a
Call from Vita.
Did you see that, Vinny? We're concerned, we are very concerned.
TheBox is just around the corner now. Whoa, there it is. It knocks me down every time I see it. Get a crook in my neck just looking up. Wrap around mega ads. It's so bright you have to shade your eyes. You'd never know we had power problems looking at that behemoth. Glowing like a cube on fire. I get in line to a portal. You know, I could just stay home and shop on InVision. That would be a whole lot more convenient, but there's nothing like an authentic experience in TheBox. I can honestly tell people, I'm proud to shop in TheBox. I come every chance I get. Look at that trash loitering across the street. You won't find any trash inside TheBox, that's for sure. Takes good credit to get in there.
The lines are long, but moving. The woman in front of me looks kind of iffy.
The autoguard challenges her, what you shopping for?
She tells him, just looking for stuff.
He scans her bio-ID. Status red.
No way lady, he tells her.
She protests.
He asks her, do you see this taser? and she slinks off to loiter with her trash friends across the street. Man, some people.
My scan is clean and green. I enter TheBox. Inside the lines are shorter and it won't be long now. In the meantime the pecs, abs, tits, and asses of the models on the hundred yard long screen just take your breath away. But this is only a taste of what's coming.
OK, I'm the next one in. Helper reminds me to turn off my InVision and asks for my password. I say, paradise. The slip door opens and I enter the tiny chamber. The door closes with a vacuum hiss. I love laying back in the big recliner, the way it remembers my shape and adjusts to me perfectly. The lights dim into evening. The stars come out. The confined space isn't little any more. In a word, it's vast. Look at those constellations, super novas, myriad galaxies portending the universe of possibilities that await me. The blue-green arc of earth rotating beneath my feet. I feel like God himself.
The shopping helper says, long time no see, Vinny. Remember, whatever you want, you know we got it. He shows me the familiar three item menu.
Fun Service Stuff
I select stuff.
OK, and that would be…
You know what I like, I tell him, the Suzuki one.
It's sunrise and the cosmos dissolves into a picture-perfect morning in the park. Pigeons trace an oval in the sky. Swans glide along the lakeshore. Families picnic on the lawn. A toddler chases a ball. If this isn't paradise, then I don't know what paradise is. Laying back like this, man, now this is relaxation.
And then, God what a roar! The onslaught of the hoard of mega-mono-cycles, coming at me every which-way. Rooster tails of sod fly through the air. Killer machines, threatening the life and limb of every living creature in their way. Quail explode into the air. People and dogs dive for cover. Not likely that anyone will survive. The leader of the pack pops figure eights and brodies. He leans back and tears wheelies on the lawn, all ripped to hell, finally skidding to a halt, that close to running right over me; and the rest of them pulling up military style, in a line behind him. The road honcho dismounts and -- Lord I love this part -- he removes his helmet, and… Yes! He is virtually me, wiping road gore from the visor. Me! This show is all about me. I mean, my heart is pounding and I feel like I'm going to explode.
Helper says, you know you can roll that WheeleHog right out of here this minute. Now. What do you say, Vinny? Just say I want it.
Overwhelmed as I am, I tell him, man, that is one bad road hogger, but, thanks, not today.
Something else then? Some other stuff?
Yeah, MochaMunch.
I try to calm down, but I know what's coming. There it is. Yosemite Valley, laid out before me. I'm sure glad they preserved that place in software. It's even more real than before. The air so fresh. Waterfalls springing from the monumental cliffs. The lazy river, snaking through the woodland, along the valley floor. I actually brings a tear to my eye. It's so incredibly beautiful. I hate to spoil it, but I can't hold myself back. I say, chocolate.
Then there's a space, an instant of time out of time, an eerie stillness when every waterfall goes dry. Then a gush, as melted chocolate cascades from every cliff top. The river is engulfed with a torrent of richest brown. And in the middle of the glistening shadowy confluence, again, it is virtual me, up to my waist in the scrumptious confection, licking succulent darkness from the neck of a mocha maiden, just now emerging from beneath the waves of heavenly sweetness.
Helper says, Mocha Madness. I can deliver a case of it to your habi right now. How about two cases, how about three?
No thanks.
Sure? How about three cases for the price of two?
Not today, but you can check out my credit status.
OK, Vinny, just a sec… and there you have it, just like always, you're one solid guy.
And my debt? Would you check that?
There you have it, plenty of debt. So, you're fine on that score.
My credit threshold?
The system confirms it: you are one real gold guy. So whatever you want, just say deliver, any time, any place. Now, what else can I show you? You know, Vinny, that shirt on your back looks older than this morning's news. Check out this Hawaiian casual, just like the bull man wears.
I say, no thanks.
Are you sure? Your credit line is itching to be scratched.
No, I'm just here for an in TheBox experience. Maybe next time.
Speaking confidentially, Vinny, how's it going with Ice? I hear things have been a little rocky lately?
Sometimes I think these helpers go a little too far. But I realize that he's only joshing. Besides, that's his job.
I watch myself on surveillance as I leave TheBox, thinking how lucky I am to have such a fantastic experience.
I get a
Call from Ice.
Vinny, remember what you asked me about, your bio-ID? Well, I've been checking…
There goes the power again. Looks like the whole city's out this time. All I can see is my InVision and the lights of the traffic.
A news thing says, just a little gridlock folks. Ice is reconnected.
I ask, about my bio-ID?
Vinny, listen to me, whatever you do, do not…
Her image freezes with her mouth wide open. That's strange, even the headlights have gone out.
Actually, I feel it more than I hear it, concussive, hollow, round. The sound of the earth giving way, in its own good time. I feel it in my chest, like coughing up deep phlegm. But there is no phlegm. I'm flat on my back. A piece of something big enough to kill a cow punches a hole in the wall right next to me. I look at my shirt. It's spotted with blood. Whose blood? I lift myself on an elbow and look in the direction of TheBox. Nothing but dust. People come running out of the cloud. People dragging people, parts of people seem to be moving. A woman crawls toward me. I move away from her. Everyone is bloody and filthy. Looking at the tattered red stained something or other lying next to me I wonder what it was five minutes ago. Sirens. Funny, I still have InVision. Scanning the area with surveillance. TheBox is gone.
A news thing says, simultaneous autodial whammies in Karachi, Montreal, Sao Paulo, Johannesburg, Santa Barbara, Macao, Jakarta… Twenty-four of TheBoxes. All gone. Hold on, here's a feed from someone claiming responsibility.
A man in a black ski mask says ...until nothing is left. Other windows open on my InVision. Blood stained zombies wander blasted moonscapes, some in a dusty gray haze, others the mint green color of night vision. An Asian woman is screaming at nothing. A crowd picks through rubble. A dirty-faced boy holds up a pair of mismatched shoes and smiles like he's won the lottery.
Sitting on the curb I call Ice. Her recorded image says, please leave a message.
I hear myself screaming at her, call me!
Ambulances rush by. An autocop is chasing a man. Yells for him to stop. The guy keeps on running. He's shot dead.
After several false starts, I manage to get to my feet, falter, go down on a knee, get up, make my way to the end of the block and take off running. Running where?
Finally, almost home. There's Ice at the end of the block with her bags. I try to yell, but I have no voice. With her back to me, she hails an autocab coming from the other direction. She gets in and is gone.
Standing in the hallway outside my habi, I'm afraid to open the door. A passing neighbor stares at me, my shaking hands and filthy clothes.
I go in and find what I feared. She really has gone. I slump on the couch and call her.
Her image says, I'm sorry I missed your call…
I go in the bathroom, undress, throw my clothes in the washer, and shower. Wiping the steam from the mirror I see my face peppered with tiny nicks. I think: to be seen is OK, but to be noticed is not OK.
Our red and blue toothbrushes regard me from their wall holder like a happy couple. She forgot to take hers; must have left in a hurry. I put toothpaste on the blue one, brush my teeth, dry it, and wrap it in tissue. Her red toothbrush stands solitary guard duty in the holder, waiting for her return. I take it from the holder, wrap it in tissue, and stuff it along with mine in my backpack. I tell helper to call me an autocab.
I pick up my raincoat and leave. In the elevator I
Call Centers for Disease Control.
A CDC helper asks, how can I help you?
I'm looking for information on BID poison.
The CDC helper informs me, BID poison was eradicated in the 20's. All victims were subsequently cured. BID poison no longer exists.
I ask for more information and am told that the cause of the disease was a software virus. The infection vector was InVision. The primary symptom was paranoia of the victim.
I ask about treatment.
A number of therapies had been suggested.
And?
The last entry says, research program awaiting funding.
Anything else?
For more information call the Centers for Disease Control.
Who do I ask for?
Ask for a CDC helper.
You are a CDC helper.
Yes. How can I help you?
I'm standing under an awning out front waiting for my taxi. On InVision a news thing is interviewing a woman. She's standing in front of a hole in the ground, hugging herself. The woman says, will somebody tell me what we did to deserve this? I notice my hands are still shaking. I wonder, what did I do?
My taxi pulls up and the autocabbie asks, where to?
Just drive.
The rain streams down the window. I divert myself with a
Star Killing update.
A news thing says, medical examiner saves the life of Show Queen's unborn child. The image of a fetus in a bottle is shown, its umbilical attached to tubing. The news thing continues, the first trimester baby was snatched from the jaws of death when it was discovered in the transplanted womb of the murdered trans-star during autopsy. In spite of the macabre circumstances, the fetus is in stable condition. The identity of the father, or mother, or other gamete donor, or donors is not known as yet, however investigating reporters have let it be known that authorities may have a suspect.
A pair of news things say:
Star Killing, News Now, or before it even happens.
Star Killing, crime worth watching.
The cab is stuck in traffic. It's really raining now.
I tell helper, look, I need a special helper.
Special, how?
Get me a helper who knows about bio-ID. Find me a BID helper.
Helper says, I'm not finding any specialist BID helpers.
I say, look harder.
Sorry, I can't find anything but duds.
I tell him, then, search the duds.
The supposedly competent helper says, dud helpers are beyond InVision terms and conditions. Any duds you encounter may not be good for anything whatsoever.
Show them anyway.
The helper says, I'm not authorized or allowed to provide any help with duds. If you proceed, you're on your own. If you agree to this, say I agree.
I agree.
A lineup of thousands of thumbnail faces scroll down my InVision. I tell the helper to narrow the search to dud and bio-ID.
The list shrinks to a handful. I pick one randomly and the candidate fills my InVision, displayed in the super saturated colors of a helper. His face is stamped with a dudmark, a circle bisected by a diagonal line (\), the universal symbol for all things to be avoided.
I address the branded creature, helper?
He replies, I was a helper.
And now?
Well that depends on what you want.
What's your name?
That's up to you too.
I'll call you Dud.
Listen, there are more duds in the dudyard than there are stars in the midnight sky.
I'm thinking, why is that names and passwords are always off the table just when I need one. I tell him, what I was looking for, that is, I was hoping to meet…ah…
Meat? he says. I'll check the name, meat, for availability. Sorry, meat is already taken. Maybe if we build on that… He tries Badmeat. That's taken. Deadmeat. Nope.
Listen dud, I say…
And he comes back with, how about Dudmeat?
This is tiresome. I tell him, Dudmeat, sure, whatever.
The autocabbie asks if I want to keep riding around. We're going nowhere. I need to think and tell him, yes, but can you go where there's less traffic? He heads toward the riverfront, where the buildings are fewer and darker and look like shadowy veils behind the torrent on the window.
Dudmeat says, you were wanting something?
Tell me about BID poison.
Why?
That's private.
I see him smirk behind the dudmark. He turns his back on me and says, call me when you climb down off that high horse.
I say, OK, the reason I need to know about BID poison is because I think I might be infected.
The autocabbie jams on the brakes and the cab swerves to a stop. The robot driver yells at me, get out of my taxi you sick piece of trash.
Now, alone on the riverfront the sidewalk is broken and pocked with puddles and I have to be careful of my step. This is no place to be stranded in the rain. Ahead, some trash are loitering around a makeshift fire. I head back in the direction I came from.
I ask Dudmeat to tell me about BID poison.
He makes a demand, what's in it for me?
This is ridiculous and I know that it's time to set him right. I say, helpers don't get anything. Helpers help because they are helpers, and I expect you to do your job.
He turns his back on me again. I figure this is the wrong place to be having this conversation. I say, OK, what do you want?
Let's just say you owe me. A lot.
What for?
My advice.
This really ticks me off and I demand to know, just what advice are you talking about?
He says, duck! I jerk my head just in time to dodge the swinging club. I take off running in the dark, hearing footfalls behind me. Both of us are tripping on the busted up walkway. My foot goes into a hole and I go down on the concrete on my funny bone. It's like a five hundred volt shot in my arm. I hear him splash down behind me. He curses. We're both up and running. I'm getting winded. He's gaining.
On InVision I hear Dudmeat's calm measured voice. Security please. I would like to report an assault that's under way.
My attacker is slowing down. Now I can't hear him any more. I figure he has given up as I hear Dudmeat tell security, yes, that's right, the victim is running in the wrong direction.
I approach the men around the fire warily. One of them is cooking a skewered animal. No telling what it is. My assailant comes up behind me and strikes a glancing blow to my head, knocking me on my knees. A second man is rummaging in my backpack. I feel a shoe in my back and I'm thrust onto my face in the mud. Two of them sit on me, pinning my arms. Another opens a switchblade, grabs my hair, and jerks my head back as if to scalp me. I see the flicker of firelight reflected in the silver stiletto. I hear my words strangle in my throat, so this is it. I feel the cut of the knifepoint on my jawbone, below my ear. I go limp and await the inevitable. He'll slit my carotid artery and I'll be dead in less than a minute, but maybe not yet.
The one with his foot on my back tells the one with the knife, don't damage the hardware. I feel the blade begin to cut.
Wind peppers my face with mud. The beam from a copchopper floods the scene with blinding light. My attackers flee.
The white recovery room is not much larger than the bed I'm lying on. I feel a bone-deep ach in my jaw and I touch the bulging bandage. My vitals, displayed on my InVision, confirm that I'm still alive. This is the seismological record of my human geography after the big quake, graphing terrified peaks and valleys of my breathing, heartbeat and brain activity. What am I to these lines that go up and down and up and down, for now, a little while longer. Eventually, when they stop I will stop. When I stop they will stop. Which comes first the person or the graph? This is something a living person can ponder. A living person. Who is still living.
On my InVision an autodoc informs me, there's no damage to the chip itself aside from minor scraping of the encapsulation. He assures me, after all, it's what's inside the chip the counts. Right?
I ask, what is inside the chip?
Just the whole shooting match, that's all.
I must have doze off. I hear a beeping and roll over. My status light is blinking yellow.
I call, helper? Recognize me.
Helper asks, who?
Me. Recognize me!
Helper says, yes, I can see it's you, Vinny. Your ID is iffy. I'm trying to verify you. It seems like you're on-again-off-again. Are you sure you are…
Sure I am what?
That you are…
Of course I am.
Of course you are. That's not the problem. It's what you are that's the puzzlement, here.
Oh, here it is. I seems that there's an outstanding repair order.
I never asked for a repair.
It says that you complained about dreaming. Did you know that you talk when you dream? Well you do. Do you know what you say when you're asleep? Well, anyway, it got noticed.
I was asleep.
Maybe so, but it seems that you complained in your dream; and when you complain you get noticed, that's all. It raised a flag, something to be looked into.
So, everything is OK, then?
Probably.
Then check me out of here.
A drawer opens under my bed. I remove my backpack and put on my clothes. I look around. There's no door opener.
Helper says, we're still checking on your request for checkout. Who do we bill?
I tell him, Insurance.
There's a cloud on your insurance. It seems you have a credit issue.
But, can I go now.
The door opens by itself.
Of course, says helper, this is a hospital not a prison.
Out on the sidewalk it's raining hard as ever as the crowd of pedestrians hurries by me.
I call for Dudmeat on InVision and tell him, I demand to get some answers: Where is Ice? What's wrong with my credit? And why am I being treated like trash?
Dudmeat says, a word to the wise. Try not to get noticed.