by DeVere, Taya
To those who have made mistakes in life:
Those wrestling with regret, shame, or sorrow.
You are not your past. You are what you do today.
DVM Press
Vaakunatie 16 D 14
20780 Kaarina, Suomi-Finland
www.dvmpress.com
www.tayadevere.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Taya DeVere
All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by Suomi-Finland and United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at DVM Press. Vaakunatie 16 D 14, 20780 Kaarina, Suomi-Finland.
For information about special discounts available for bulk purchases, sales promotions, fund-raising and educational needs, contact [email protected]
ISBN 978-952-7404-20-1 First Ebook Edition
ISBN 978-952-7404-21-8 First Print Edition
Cover Design © 2020 by Deranged Doctor Design - www.derangeddoctordesign.com
Ebook formatting by Polgarus Studios – www.polgarusstudios.com
Editing by Christopher Scott Thompson and Lindsay Fara Kaplan
Contents
SHORT STORY — NYX BY KERES
CHAPTER 1 — THE ROOMS
CHAPTER 2 — MARIA’S CHAIR
CHAPTER 3 — 10 YEARS EARLIER
CHAPTER 4 — UP HIGH
CHAPTER 5 — IN THE PENTHOUSE
EPILOGUE
i — Dear Reader
ii — About the Author
iii — Final Thanks
iv — UNCHIPPED Series Release Schedule
NYX BY KERES
A short story in the world of the Unchipped series
The glowing green alleyway is filled with a crowd of dancing women. Jumping up and down, Jenny claps her hands together and then sways to the rhythm of the music. The line gets shorter by the minute, as the only man present checks for passes beside a thick rope, which he opens and closes after each legit permit is provided.
How she loves her days off. Loves escaping her luxury apartment and diving into the green city at night. The alley parties have been her favorite thing, ever since she scored her pass from a friend who goes by the name Keres. Nobody knows each other’s real names. Nobody’s allowed to bring in AR-glasses.
It’s an illicit treat for people who appreciate the old times. A new alley each night, far from downtown but still inside the fence that surrounds City of California. Old times, old drugs and drinks, and old goddesses. Jenny’s name is not Jenny here. Here she’s Nyx—primordial goddess of the night.
It’s a party for those who are tired of posing as men to spend time with women—on the tile roads or in the AR-dating rooms. Those who are sick of people and their stereotypes, shoving them in boxes and slapping labels on them.
It’s not that Jenny hates the AR life. Nothing back home is going wrong, nor is anyone treating her badly. No… she thinks. He would never let that happen. A need for romance, that’s not it either. Partying is nice, being around people who see you without the make-believe even nicer. But that’s not what draws Jenny back here, whenever she finds herself sneaking out and slipping into the night. What the need is exactly, the driving urge behind it all—she’s failed to name it.
Finally, Jenny gets to the rope and the bouncer. Everyone who has waited in line has gotten in. Party crashers are not common in the alley parties, but they do happen. Moles, too. The city frowns upon non-AR get-togethers. Non-AR anything, really.
“Name and pass?”
“Nyx by Keres,” she says and hands the bouncer her wrist. “How’s it going, Bacchus?”
The man wearing black coveralls and sunglasses scans the invisible ink tattoo on Jenny’s wrist. Once the scanner beeps three times, he opens the rope to let her in.
“Have a good one, Nyx.”
“Thanks, B.”
Still swaying to the rhythm of a slow beat, Jenny walks under the thousands of red, blue, and yellow lights. Around her, women wearing black clothes sit on colorful blankets in front of the brick walls on each side of the alleyway. Some dance, alone or together with another goddess, the music making them one.
A tap on her shoulder makes Jenny spin around and stumble on her heels. No matter how often she attends these alley parties, real-life high heels are still a challenge for her. In AR, you can wear comfortable thermo-shoes, no matter how many inches tall you’d prefer to be that day. Here, your feet get smushed and blistered.
“What’s your poison, my goddess?”
Her tray is filled with stickers showing different flowers and plants: rosebuds, palm trees, spruces, sunflowers, marigolds.…The selection is endless. Jenny stares at the stickers, biting her thumbnail.
“Or maybe you’re drinking tonight?” The woman with the tray smiles and nods at a narrow tent that stands thirty feet away. “Circe has some old-timers in the tent tonight. No CC’s needed.”
Jenny smiles and nods at the woman in relief. She’s never been much of a drug user. Whenever she tries something from the tray, she ends up having a sleepy night with no recollection the next morning. She’d rather have a beer or a cider, maybe a glass of wine.
The woman’s hips sway from side to side as she makes her way to a couple lying on a red-and-gold blanket on the ground. She kneels down and says something, the music muffling her words. They exchange hugs, the woman balancing the tray on her hand. Jenny watches as the two women make their pick, then stick the stickers on each other’s arms.
She turns around and hums; the music has no words for her to sing along with. Will she make it through the night? Without needing to pretend? It’s been seven alley parties since her first and only a single one-night stand with a woman. Keres. Someone Jenny adores but doesn’t desire. So far, she’s been able to fit in and not get booted out of the community. All she wants is to belong. She loves everyone here, just not the way she’s supposed to love them. She does crave them—but that craving is beyond skin-on-skin. It’s an emotional need, not a physical one.
A woman about her age steps out of the drink tent. Jenny flashes her a smile, places her palms together, thumbs against her chest, and then bows her head slightly. The woman—wearing a black ankle-length dress and matching flip flops—does the same. One of these days, Jenny needs to ask someone why they greet each other this way.
“Going in for a beer?” the woman asks, raising a silver can. When she takes a sip, her eyes beam cheerfully.
Jenny squirms under her gaze. She’s beautiful. And not just in the way everyone here is—simply because of the positivity and happiness everyone radiates at an alley party. No. This woman is something else. Something about her makes Jenny feel nervous and mesmerized at the same time.
“I’m sorry. What?” Jenny asks, after an awkwardly long pause.
“Beer.” She takes another sip from the can. “What’s your brand, lovely?”
“Oh, right.” Jenny knows she’s staring rudely as well, but can’t find a way to rip her gaze off of the woman. “I’m more of a cider kind of a gal.”
“You like that sugary apple stuff?” The beer-drinking goddess chuckles a bit and finishes what’s left in her can. “That gives me the worst headache.”
“You don’t take happy-and-pain-free-pills for that?” Jenny asks, then bites her tongue. She shouldn’t have said that.
These women are not like everyone else in the green city. AR technology is banned at parties like this one for a reason. Jenny may not fully know what that is, but she knows nobody at the alley parties will talk about it.
“Pills, huh?” Amusement on her face, she walks closer and stops near enough for Jenny to smell the beer on her breath. It smells like oatmeal and butterflies. “I’m Eileithyia,” she says, and doesn’t ask Jenny her name. Her fingers find invisible lint on Jenny’s black T-shirt, removing it with care.
“Pre—pretty name.”
“Isn’t it just?” Taking her time, she places her hand on Jenny’s shoulder, smiling at her while allowing her gaze travel over Jenny’s face. Suddenly, the awkwardness is gone. They stare into each other’s eyes for what seems like a small eternity until Eileithyia breaks the silence. “You want one?”
“Want… what?”
“A cider?”
Jenny swallows loudly, her throat dry. She finds herself unable to form words, so she nods.
The goddess takes her hand, and together they duck into the tent. A soft light illuminates their way inside. As they approach the small bar counter, the floor crunches underneath their steps. Jenny looks down and sees that the floor is covered with nutshells, making it hard for her to take steady steps on her high heels. She wants to know why—she hasn’t seen a single peanut here—but is afraid that asking questions may reveal her scam. Or is it a scam? She has love for these people. She adores all of them. Her being here is not a scam, not completely. Because, though it was very short-lived, she did have a romance with Keres that night.
At the bar, another goddess—with another fascinating name, impossible to pronounce or remember—pours Jenny a bubbly drink. When she takes a thirsty gulp, the taste is more divine than anything she’s ever put in her mouth. But it’s the same apple cider she always drinks. Same glass, same bubbles. Yet this time, the drink has an unexpected twist of magic mixed in with it.
“How’s all that sugar treating you?”
Taking her time, Jenny drinks her cider. What should she say? Come and have a taste? Would you like a taste? Or should she just straight on kiss her?
“It’s sweet.”
Eileithyia laughs, a sound so musical it makes her seem even more like magic—if that’s even possible.
“Here,” Eileithyia says, and moves so close that her breath tickles Jenny’s face. Closing her eyes, Jenny waits for the kiss. But instead, she feels how the weight of the glass disappears from her hand. She opens her eyes and stares at Eileithyia, who is tasting the cider and licking her lips. Then she shakes her head. “Yeah, no.” She hands the glass back to Jenny. “I’ll stick with my beer.”
Without a word, Jenny holds the glass against her lips. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop staring at the woman. She’s nothing like anyone she’s ever seen. To her own surprise, Jenny realizes she’s disappointed that this creature hasn’t kissed her.
“You’re not really gay, are you?”
The question startles Jenny. Her heart races against her chest.
“What?”
Where is this coming from? Can’t she tell how much Jenny wants to feel those red lips on hers?
“This isn’t really your scene. I can tell.”
It takes Jenny by surprise. Then panic washes away the disbelief.
“You can?”
“Why are you here?”
Jenny opens her mouth, looking for the right-sounding lie. Anything to save her from being cast out of the community she’s grown to love. “I don’t…” She looks into Eileithyia’s brown eyes and all lies vanish from her mind. All excuses disappear. Just the truth remains. “I don’t know why, exactly.”
If they find out, they’ll wipe out the tattoo and her alley party permit quicker than she can finish her drink. Eileithyia just nods. The warm and tempting smile has never left her gorgeous face.
Jenny looks around to see if someone is listening in. The bartender chats quietly with two women by the other end of the horseshoe-shaped counter.
“It’s not that I’m…”
“What?” She sips her drink and gives Jenny a teasing smile. “Straight?”
How can she ever explain? Would Eileithyia be insulted?
“I guess I’m not really sure what I am.”
Her touch is soft—too brief—on Jenny’s shoulder. “And who is?”
“Right… right. But I mean, I just really like what you… what these people… Shit, that’s not how I meant it.”
“Go on.” She gives Jenny an encouraging smile. “I have thick skin. I don’t get offended easily.”
“I just like how people here feel. How they all belong together.” Jenny’s eyes flicker to the woman and then back to her drink. “I know. Stupid.”
“Not stupid.” She shrugs a shoulder and pauses. “Just honest. It sounds like you just haven’t found a place of your own in this new world.”
“Yes,” Jenny says and nods enthusiastically. “Exactly.”
“Haven’t you found anything to stand up for? Are you a part of any movements?”
“Movements? Like, politics?” She thinks for a while, then adds, “But politics died with religion. When the cities first lit up.”
A brief laugh. “You’re too cute. Really. Just because there are no politicians left, it doesn’t change anything. As long as there are humans on this planet, there’ll be politics.”
She considers this. Then shrugs. “I guess I’m not really into that sort of thing.”
“Not into politics?”
“Right.”
“Yet you want to find a cause? A community?”
“So badly.”
“So…” Eileithyia tilts her head, a dimple appearing on her left cheek. “Here you are. You got yourself a pass and joined the alley parties.”
“I did.”
“Let me guess. You hooked up with Keres?”
Jenny’s head nudges back in surprise. How would she know about her clumsy, embarrassing one-night stand?
“Are you, umm…” Jenny fights the urge to touch her face. “Are you a mind reader of some sort?”
She laughs again. “Hardly. I just happen to know Keres pretty well.”
What is that supposed to mean? Jenny feels as if she should be insulted somehow, but all she can do is smile back at this hypnotic being.
“She has a thing for straight chicks,” Eileithyia explains.
Jenny swallows hard, and she shifts her weight from one foot to another. Is she just playing with me?
“Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re gorgeous.” Jenny’s cheeks feel hot. She wishes she had another drink, but she’s too unsure of herself to move. “But it’s pretty easy to spot a wannabe at an alley party.”
“It is?”
Is that what she is? A wannabe? Nobody wants to be labeled in such harsh way, she wants to say to her. But instead, she stays quiet, feeling embarrassed and guilty. Jenny keeps biting her lower lip and staring into the eyes of a woman who could crush her façade by simply snapping her fingers.
“For me, it is. But don’t worry. We can still be friends. I won’t snitch on you to Bacchus or anything.” She reaches for a lock of hair and tucks it behind Jenny’s ear. “Would you like another cider?”
A sigh of relief escapes her lips. Maybe I am a wannabe. Maybe I’m not. Maybe I don’t have a single clue what I am. She tries to push aside her worries. Because there is one thing she does know: Going home and never coming back is the last thing she wants to do.
Once Eileithyia turns away to order refills, Jenny breathes easier. Whatever Jenny is or isn’t, she doesn’t want to leave this place or this magical person. Those deep brown eyes flicker in her mind; the smell of Eileithyia still tickles her nose.
“Here,” Eileithyia hands her the cider. “You never told me your name.”
“Nyx,” Jenny says, after taking a mouthful of bubbly cider. “Nyx by Keres. But you knew that part already.”
Ro
lling her eyes, Eileithyia grabs Jenny by the arm and leads her out of the tent. “I think I deserve better than that. Now that I’m protecting your secret.”
“Better?”
They walk toward the front of the alley, arms linked, steps matching.
“Fine. I’ll go first.” They stop a few feet away from Bacchus. She leans in and whispers in Jenny’s ear. “My name is Samantha.” Then she steps back and empties her beer can with two long gulps. Jenny follows her example. Once her glass is empty, she places it by the brick wall.
“Nice to meet you, Samantha,” she says and smiles. Despite the alcohol in her system, she feels more clearheaded than she’s felt since the days before The Great Affliction. “My name is Jenny.”
***
Four days, fifteen hours, and thirty-eight minutes. That’s how long it’s been since she first stared into Samantha’s deep brown eyes. Just when Jenny had given up on hearing from her magical new friend, the short message and a pin had appeared on the screen of her AR-glasses. “Meet me here,” was all Samantha had said. But it was enough for Jenny to jump up on her bed, then happy-dance, and then scream into her pillow for five straight minutes.
She sits in her self-driving car, gliding along the green tiles. Outside, a line of cars passes by—including vehicles similar to hers, black limos, and city vans with drivers. AR-glasses on her eyes, she reads the status descriptions that hover above the vehicles.
“HAPPINESS IS THE BEST MAKEUP.”
Jenny taps her glasses and rates the status five stars. Another car with tinted glass slides by.
“THE HAPPINESS OF YOUR LIFE DEPENDS UPON THE QUALITY OF YOUR THOUGHTS.”
Tap, tap. Five stars. Is there a new status trend she hasn’t heard of?
The limo stops by the Vertical-Farm-Center, and a woman wearing a coat made of feathers walks out. Jenny reads the status just in time before the vehicle turns itself off.
“LIFE IS SO MUCH BETTER WITH HAPPINESS-PILL 5.8.”
Ahh, she thinks. It’s a happiness-pill campaign. These things are started by city-employed influencers, but they spread rapidly as normal citizens try to improve their social scores. By the end of the day, everyone in the city would have a status similar to these—and a box of the newest pills waiting for them by their apartment door.
