Concrete Chaos

by Earle, Michael-Scott

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  End Notes

  Concrete Chaos Book 2 Excerpt

  Concrete Chaos

  Michael-Scott Earle

  Chapter 1

  It was one of those shitty dreams. The kind that has you running down a winding pathway of mixed cobblestone, dirt, and rock through a tall, dark forest. Real ol' timey Ichabod Crane-style shit. There was no sound in the dream, but I knew something assholeish was following me. The trees were too dense to go through, and the dusk light of the dream world was turning into dark-as-fuck night. I just kept running, and Dickbag kept gaining ground on me. Just as I was about to turn around, I startled awake like a fish pulled from its bowl.

  "Ugggghh.... What time is it?" I asked my empty room. My head felt as if I'd used it as a hammer to play whack-a-mole all night, and my mouth felt like I'd licked my own asshole.

  "It is eight thirty-two AM, Sue Zay." The voice was a man's and had an Australian accent that elongated all the vowel sounds in a way that I found unbelievably funny.

  But I wasn't laughing now.

  "What the fuck, Hogan? I'm going to be late for class! Why didn't you wake me up?" I kicked off the covers of my bed and gasped at my outfit. "What the hell is this?"

  "Last night you ordered me to let you sleep in or you would 'reformat my hard drive with your torque wrench and season my CPU in your toilet.'"

  "I don't believe you." I crawled out of bed with a moan and awkward slide across my nightmare-drenched sheets. The skirt I was wearing was bright pink, tight, and way, way, way, way too short. It was stupid hard to crawl in, and I gave up after a few attempts and just rolled off the bed like a lazy dog.

  "Hogan… If you… fucking… wake me up for class tomorrow… I'm going to… I'm going to… fucking take my torque wrench and beat the shit out of your drive. Then I'm gonnna… rip… rip… your fucking CPU out, piss in the toilet and fucking leave it the fuck in there to season for a week. Do you understand, asshole?" Hogan replayed the recording he took of my orders. Holy shit balls, I sounded drunker than I would have believed.

  "Okay, fine. I said that, but you should have known better. I've got midterms today." I had fluorescent green pasties taped over my nipples. They had little yellow smiley faces on them, and I tried to search my non-existent memories of last night to figure out what had happened, but all I remembered was the forest.

  "I'm sorry, Sue Zay. I'll do better next time," the Australian voice sighed.

  "Did I ride home in this?" I gingerly peeled off the tape from my nipples and staggered across the oil-stained concrete floor toward the side of the garage that housed Funakoshi and my bathroom. There were no walls or doors anywhere in my place, so I had nothing to lean against.

  "Yes. I did engage the autopilot on your motorcycle when you started vomiting," Hogan stated.

  "Goddamn it." I hit the water in the shower and attempted to shimmy out of my skirt. I might as well have tried to yank off my own skin. The thing wasn't budging. It was, like, glued to me. At least my watch was still on, and I used my shaking fingers to pry it off my wrist before I placed it on the sink next to the shower.

  "Should I have not engaged the autopilot?" The mirror blurred in the corner, and a good-looking, blond man with a leather vest and black cowboy hat appeared.

  "No. That was okay. I can't get this fucking skirt off. Fuck it." I jumped into the shower with it on and almost screamed at the cold water. I didn't have time to wait for it to get warm. If I wasn't at class by eight, I'd miss my first midterm, probably get kicked out of school, and have to tell Mom why she wasted three million dollars sending me to Musk Science University.

  The skirt peeled off with the aid of the ice water and my shivers, but I groaned again when I realized I wasn't wearing underwear.

  "Of course not, cause there would be lines under the thing."

  "I'm sorry, Sue Zay. I didn't understand your request," Hogan's voice filled the speaker above the shower.

  "I'm talking to myself. Who was I with last night?"

  "Xiu Mei, Stacy Jones, and Kate Tee." Hogan added an extra 'a' sound to Kate Tee's name so it sounded like Kate Taeee. Some of the memories began to return at the mention of my friends. We had gone clubbing, and then we were drinking, and then… I woke up in my bed hung over as fuck and wearing something a go-go dancer would be ashamed of. My guess was Stacy Jones had something to do with the night going all hazy.

  I rubbed cheap bar soap all over my body and through my hair. Then I rinsed off with the now slightly-warmer-than-fucking-freezing water and leapt out of the shower.

  My towel was missing from the hanger, so I scanned the room with my pained eyes and saw it lying over the seat of Funakoshi. I snatched it from his saddle, wondered how it got there, and then partially dried myself off while I searched for my school uniform.

  "Where are my pants?"

  "They are in the dirty laundry pile." Hogan's image appeared on the screen of my fridge, and the AI nodded his head toward the three heaping piles of clothes on the other side of my shower.

  "Which pile?"

  "The middle one. They are in the second layer from the top. MSU school ordinance number four three five six claims that all female students must wear approved school skirts unless the exterior weather is under forty-five degrees Fahrenheit or raining. The temperature outside is currently fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit, and there is zero chance of rain."

  "Thanks for the reminder, Hogan, but I don't have time to change at school." I grabbed the wrinkled brown and green plaid pants and searched for underwear.

  "You do not have any clean underwear. If you'll recall, I asked you to do laundry four days-"

  "Oh for the love of- Shut up! I'm so fucking late." I slid into my pants, grabbed a thankfully clean white uniform dress shirt from my rack and then found my socks. In half a click, I'd put all the clothes on my wet body and ran to the sink to brush my teeth.

  "Time?" I asked around a mouthful of toothbrush and paste.

  "Seven forty-four AM." Hogan's face appeared on the screen of my watch, and I rebuckled the microcomputer to my wrist. Okay, this wasn't impossible. It normally took me twenty minutes to get to school, then another ten minutes to get to class. If I screamed there, I would make it in time.

  But it was also rush hour.

  I spotted my black and pink-heart-dotted riding leathers, and I shimmied them over my damp clothes while I reviewed the route to school in my head. Of course, Hogan could calculate the fastest time to get there given traffic conditions and display a map for me inside my helmet, but that took all the fun out of it.

  "Boots!" I screamed when my leathers were zipped.

  "They are on the opposite side of your bed. Also, you forgot your tie. There is one next to you on the couch," the Aussie robot informed me, and I grabbed the already knotted plaid neck tie and slipped my head through the noose. I didn't bother to tighten it because it would waste valuable seconds and my zipped-up riding leathers would keep the fabric from flying free, catching on a car's side mirror, and ripping my pretty little head off my shoulders.

  "Hogan, open the door please, and time?" I jumped over my bed like an Olympian and landed with one foot in the boot. It would have been all sorts of super awesome since they were eight-inch high black leather pieces of heavy motorcycle protection, but it was the wrong f
oot in the wrong shoe, and I promptly tumbled over when my fucked-up equilibrium tried to correct the situation.

  The door to my apartment/garage/slum living space opened with a screech that sent needles of pain through my dehydrated lizard brain. By the time the sound stopped torturing my ears, I'd gotten both boots on, grabbed my helmet, and thrown a leg over the saddle of Funakoshi.

  "Check. You there?" I said to Hogan as soon as I pulled my helmet over my head. The piece was painted black like the abyss except for the fluorescent pink kitty ears that protruded from the crown and the stylized nose and whiskers on the mouth guard.

  "I'm here, Sue Zay." Hogan's mug appeared on the inside screen of my helmet. He raised his right hand and pulled briefly on the lip of his black cowboy hat. It had a bunch of crocodile teeth tied around the crown of the hat. I'd designed him with the Down Under quirks after I watched a series of really old and terribly funny movies about an Australian bushman who made a trip to New York City in the 1980s. "Seven forty-nine AM. I'm afraid we will not make it to your first midterm on time."

  "Fuck that. Let's light the streets on fire." I pushed my thumb over Funakoshi's trigger and waited for the engine to roar into life.

  Nothing.

  "Fucking shit. What is going on?" I looked down at the black, purple, and pink-trimmed bike. He was four hundred pounds of gasoline-injected anger, but if the terminal wasn't going to work, then the super bike might as well have been a bird shit-covered park bench.

  "I may have forgotten to turn off the autopilot last night…" Hogan's face almost looked human as the AI grimaced on my helmet screen.

  "Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck. Ugh. Mom is gonna kill me!" I leaned Funakoshi off his stand and flipped the lever back against the undercarriage. Then I felt around with the toe of my boot and found the kick starter. My father had put it on the motorcycle when he built the first version. He'd never trusted onboard motorcycle computers or the fiber wire systems that eventually came to control them. When I'd added my own customizations to Funakoshi, I'd left the device on for sentimental purposes. I never thought that I'd actually need it.

  "This isn't going to work." I kicked on the starter, and Funakoshi's ancient engine turned over lazily.

  "Come on, you fat fucker. Wake up!" I slammed my leg down again with the combined strength of desperation and hung-over rage.

  The engine caught instantly with the second strike, and I rolled my ankle to flip the starter back into place.

  "Thank God!" I cried out with joy. Black smoke sprayed out of Funakoshi's exhaust, and my apartment quickly filled with the beautiful-smelling mixture of fuel, air, and oil. I slammed my ass back into the saddle, relished the vibration of his engine through my crotch for half a second, and then cranked the throttle as far open as it could go. Funakoshi obeyed my command and sent three hundred and sixty-five snarling horses to the rear wheel. The tire warped, spun, and screeched, sending me out of my apartment like a thousand eagles diving.

  My body braced for the first immediate turn, and I leaned the bike hard left to avoid smashing into the brick corner of the cardboard mill that sat one hundred yards from my garage. There was a familiar mark of rubber on the street, and I just followed the line that guided the bike through its peel like I had hundreds of times before this morning. Once I was free of the alleyway, I tapped on the shifter twice with my left foot to bring Funakoshi to second gear while I eased off the throttle. The rear wheel hiccupped, and the bike swung around straight towards the end of the street and into San Jose.

  "CO2 in our domicile is at a healthy level now. I am closing the garage door," Hogan informed me through my helmet. I grunted at his words and checked my left side before I turned into the next street. Then I punched the throttle again, and Funakoshi howled an ancient scream of road dominance.

  "The speed limit on Tully Road is forty-five miles per hour, Sue Zay. You are currently traveling at one hundred and twenty miles per hour."

  "You know I can see my speed on my helmet display? I'm in a fucking hurry!" Self-driving cars whizzed past me like they were parked, and I weaved through them like a hummingbird.

  "An accident at this speed could result in your death. Motorbike fatalities are-"

  "Oh fucking God. Shut up already. If I wanted you to be my mother I would have used her voice codes and her imagery. Fuck, I would have just let her program you!"

  "Note taken, Sue Zay. I will no longer care about your safety." Hogan seemed to mope on my screen.

  "Stop being such a drama queen. Should I stay on Tully or take the 101 to 280?"

  "The probability that you will not have to deal with any stoplights increases with the use of highway-"

  "You know how I hate long-winded answers!" There were two self-driving pods abreast up ahead, and I threaded through them with a few inches to spare on either side.

  "I'd advise the freeway, but it will make you more likely to be noticed by the local law enforcement agency or highway patrol."

  "Thanks. I'll take my chances." I risked taking my hand off the clutch and thumbed the button to turn on Funakoshi's display. The battery had enough power now, and the screen kicked to life. It would still take a half a minute for the software to load, test my gyro stabilizers, and streamline the engine intake. But once it was live, I could play the beast like a goddamn fiddle.

  "Onramp up ahead," Hogan reminded me, and I leaned the bike through the thick of the stopped traffic. My back tire broke loose a bit, but I was leaning so hard to my right that I just needed to point my handlebars left a tiny amount to keep upright.

  The onramp from Tully to the 101 was on a down slope, and I got a clear view of the traffic conditions ahead of me. I had expected the freeway to be a parking lot, but there were only a moderate number of pods on the road. I smiled at my luck, threw open the throttle, leaned forward to keep Funakoshi's front on the ground, and then shot onto the freeway like a pinkish-black bullet.

  "You have an incoming message from Xiu Mei," Hogan informed me with a tip of his crocodile-tooth hat.

  "Read it."

  "Where you at, Zay? Class is about to start. Did you sleep in? Doctor Leetee is eye fucking your chair. He'll start without you." The AI changed his voice to almost match Xiu Mei's pitch and tonality.

  "Fucking eight AM class. Damn it to fuck! Why did you let me take such an early class, Hogan?"

  "You needed the credits to graduate next year. This was the only class. I am confused by your question," Hogan's cheery Australian accent made me even angrier at myself.

  "How are we on time?"

  "Seven fifty-two AM. You are making excellent progress. You are approaching two hundred miles per hour though, and your motorbike's suspension cannot handle roads safely in these conditions at that speed. Also, the 280 freeway is ahead."

  I let off the gas and angled the bike to take the 280 westward into Cupertino. I didn't see any other bikers on the road, and it was probably a good thing. A freeway full of self-driving pods meant that I could really cut loose without fearing that someone would make a dumbass lane change. Within half a minute, I passed the 64 exit, and I felt my body begin to relax a little.

  "What time should I be there by?" I asked Hogan.

  "I estimate you will arrive in two more minutes. You'll have five minutes to get to class. Wait."

  "Wait what?" I seethed into my helmet.

  "The California Highway Patrol band has been alerted to a speeding motorbike rider on the 280 freeway. They are dispatching patrols and drones."

  "Ahh fuck!" As soon as the words left my mouth, I heard the muffled sounds of sirens on the on-ramp ahead of me. My helmet display said I was moving at one hundred and ten miles an hour, though. So they were gone from my presence almost as soon as I heard them.

  The drones would be a problem. There was a possibility that I could get to class before they locked on me. But if the CHP got a visual, they might barge into class, pull me from the university, and put a world of hurt on me through the grueling legal process.


  "Call Over Zipf," I asked Hogan.

  "It is ringing," he informed me; I heard the dial tone and then a noisy pickup.

  "Well hello, beautiful." His face appeared on my helmet screen next to Hogan's. Over Zipf had graduated from Berkeley a few years ago and often frequented my Moto Gymkhana events. He was a master drone builder and designer, and he often dealt with the seedier parts of the industry.

  "Hey, Over Zipf," I snorted and wished he'd let me call him by "Z" or "Over" or even just "Zipf." He was temperamental though, and I didn't want to piss him off when I need his help.

  "You riding?"

  "Yeah. I need your help."

  "Of course, you do. That is the only reason you ever call me. It hurts my poor heart to know that you don't value me for any of my other… talents."

  "I'm about to have some CHP drones on my ass. I'm heading west on the 280 into Cupertino. Do you want them?" I tried to make my voice sound sweet, but the stress of the doomsday midterm, combined with my horrible hangover, was limiting my ability to be charming.

  "Ahh shiiiiittttt. Is that you? I just picked it up on the police band. They said a black and pink bike, but I thought you had class."

  "I'm running late, and I have a fucking midterm. Do you want the drones or not?" I may have been a little too nasty because I saw him bring a pasty, white hand up to his soft, chubby chin.

  "I guess I could scrap and resell them. But I'm gonna want something in return."

  "Oh come. The. Fuck. On. They have to be worth ten gees each!"

  "Naw. More like twenty, if we are talking CHP. They put weapon ports on those puppies now."

  "So even better for you. Just get rid of them for me."

  "Go out to dinner with me." He smiled and adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses. Over Zipf wasn't ugly, he would even have been a bit sexy if he lost thirty pounds and maybe did a few push-ups. Still, he wasn't my type, and I preferred to keep our friendship where it was.

  "Ugh. You are kidding me."

  "I'm buying. Anywhere you want to go. You don't even have to fuck me afterward."

  "Ewww. You are an asshole."