Total System Failure

by James Hightower

  Live stickers pinioned one of the doors, tiny screens flashing various scenes from the Net. Little doubt whose door that was.

  A blue globe suspended from the ceiling washed the room in a faint light. Earth. On the far side of the wall, an old hunting rifle hung in a case. Dozens of silhouettes whizzed and clicked mechanically all around him. He went straight for the bed, sleep crashing into him before the pillow did.

  Grill meat tickled his nose hairs. Alec sat up, his mouth watering.

  A miniature version of the Milky Way slowly spun across the ceiling. Thousands and thousands of stars glowered down from their lofty perch. The blue globe dangling from the ceiling turned out to be Earth. Not exactly astrologically correct. What he wouldn’t give to be amongst those stars. Hundreds, no thousands of light years away in a system far, far away….

  Words drifted across him. You’ve been awake for five minutes. You better not be doing what I think you’re doing.

  Alec grinned at the darkness. The guilt and shame from his theft felt as distant as the stars overhead. He stretched his arms and yawned. No headache, one-hundred percent battery. No wonder Domo was always smiling. A fat bank account probably helped as well.

  The sizzling meat beckoned him. At the bottom of the staircase, a smartly dressed woman waited for him. The maid brushed flowing dark hair from her face, her hyper-symmetrical features marking her as an android instantly. She spoke in a crisp British accent. “The dining room is this way.”

  A thick Ribeye and a boiled potato steamed on a long oak table big enough for at least ten people. Domo sat at the head of the table, oblivious to the gluttony of space around him. An explosion erupted on a screen between them.

  “Did you see that?” His friend shifted in his seat. Preoccupied with the golden pyramid, he’d completely forgotten to figure out a way around Tara’s censorship. “Chow, then I’ll tell you the plan.”

  A knife and fork gleamed silver against the dull wood. He grabbed them and went to work. It melted in his mouth. The maid hovered at attention, just within his field of vision, hands clasped behind her back.

  “Is she new?” Alec asked, jerking a fork at the android. She glared at him in response.

  A bomb could’ve gone off and Domo would still be playing his game. “What makes you think she’s an android?”

  “It’s obvious right.” He pushed the now empty plate away. The maid appeared next to him and snatched it noiselessly from the table and exited.

  “Time to unveil the masterplan that will dictate your life Ad Infinitum.” Domo gave a diabolical laugh, winked and gestured for him to follow. Along the hallway, still-life paintings hung high on the ceiling: Rembrandt, Matisse, even Van Gogh. All very good replicas too. What did Domo’s parents do for a living again?

  “I heard about what happened in gym,” Domo continued. “You’re a legend, do you know that? If you were a public citizen, you would be a star.”

  They halted in front of a brown couch. He brushed the cracked leather. Genuine cow skin, very vintage. Two wooden crates on either side of the sofa. Vinyl disks stacked inside crates added to the antiquity. A British telephone booth stood in the corner.

  “Who’s Herbie Hancock?” Alec asked, reading from the top cover of the stacks.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Domo replied with a dismissive wave. “Father loves this place. When you get Marcia alone. Take her here. Go into the telephone booth and dial 0-0-7. A door will open up that leads to the gym. You’ll have her all alone.”

  “You want me to lure her here like a vampire?” Alec asked. It didn’t sound like much of a plan.

  “It’ll work,” his friend assured him, patting his shoulder. “Listen. Stevie is coming to the party. I know, I know. Listen, the guy is ginormous. He could be the next Babe Ruth or Michael Jordan depending on what sport he decides to play. Hell, he could be the next Michael Jackson if he wanted to. If he’s not here, the party’s a no show. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Alec answered. What would happen when they saw each other?

  Domo slapped his back. “Awesome. Papa D will protect you. Don’t worry! Yolanda? Yolanda?!? Get my friend a beer. And Yolanda, make it two!”

  A beer became two, then three as the first groups started to trickle in. Domo kept the party contained in the dining room at first, each clique claiming their own segment of the oak table. Eventually, as more and more people filtered in, the party began to colonize the living room, which had been fashioned into an expansive dance floor. Domo, ever the social butterfly, fluttered from group to group, laughing and joking and telling stories. Alec got cornered in a conversation with a red-haired girl. He must’ve been the first private citizen she’d ever met.

  The latest volley in the ongoing interrogation. “If you can’t sell your data for money, how do you make Coin? Are your parents rich or something? Do they work for the government?”

  In an act of mercy, her friends pulled her away. Suddenly emancipated, he was unsure what to do. The host, and the only person he knew in the entire room, posed at the center of a trio of girls. They were giggling into their cups at some joke. Alec turned to the dance floor. Domo was the only boy he knew that would be just fine talking with a trio of buzzed girls.

  Music blared from an indeterminable source. A thin ring of people encircled the room. At the center, more adventurous partygoers danced. No longer restrained by the university’s draconian dress code, many sported skins and modifications. A kid danced in the center with a giant hand large enough to crush a man’s skull. He flipped and twisted, hand on the ground like a five-legged octopus. The entire room writhed with the melody.

  He couldn’t spot Marcia’s auburn hair and lithe figure in the crowd. Unless she wore a skin, she hadn’t arrived yet. He sipped his mixed drink and skirted the circle, the floor swaying beneath his soles. A mod was the only way to improve his dancing.

  “Paris is so old fashioned,” a chubby girl said somewhere in the crowd. “Arctic City is so more modern.”

  “Pacific colonies were amazing—”

  “Did you hear about the girl who cut her arm off for the data?”

  And so on. The litany of gossip washed over him, duller than a sheet of paper. That is, until he heard his own name.

  “Did you hear what Alec did to Stevie today?” a boy asked.

  Alec froze. The voice came from another room just beyond the living room. He started to turn around, but then a girl said, “Doesn’t matter. Still don’t like him.”

  “Yeah me either,” the same boy agreed.

  A different girl spoke next. “Did you hear why he moved here?”

  Alec’s stomach twisted at the question. He wanted to leave, but like at the Conspiracy Informer, his feet refused to obey. Everyone else faced the circle formed at the center of the dance floor, and the trio didn’t appear to recognize the subject of their conversation stood around the corner.

  The second girl continued, “I heard that his mother died in some freak accident. They were run out of town by the rest of the locals. The boy even attacked some kid in a fit of rage. A kid or a teacher, I forget.”

  Two shocked gasps. The girl continued in excited, scandalized tones.

  “He’s dangerous. The only reason why he wasn’t sent to prison is because he’s from some important family. Probably government.”

  “That’s why he’s such a loner,” the other girl said thoughtfully.

  “So I was right not to like the guy,” the boy declared.

  Alec drained his mixed drink. His head swam, and not from the alcohol. What right did they have to say such things? How dare they? He stepped forward.

  Promise me you’ll always do the right thing. His mother’s last words. In the hospital bed. Stinking of rot and disease. And his inadequate final farewell, “Okay.” How dare they?

  A hand at his shoulder turned him around. Marcia stood there, wide eyes on his. How much had she heard? “Screw them,” she snarled, snatching his hand and pulling him
away.

  For one startled breath, he thought she was leading him to the dance floor. Instead, they crossed the sea of dancing, twisting bodies and through a series of smaller rooms. He found himself standing in front of a red telephone booth.

  Humiliation rose like bile in his throat. How much had Domo helped him with Marcia?

  “We don’t have all night,” she snapped, punching his arm. “Are you going to show me the secret room or not?”

  Alec rubbed his nose. He was such a fool. They filed into a telephone booth together. Crammed in the tiny compartment, her curves pressed against him. She smelled of honeysuckle and blueberries. Heat burgeoned in the small space.

  Her eyes glittered up at him. He bent down and kiss her. Time blurred between her lips, and the small confines of the telephone booth vanished in her embrace. Suddenly, none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the present. The now. In a frenzy, he dialed 0-0-7.

  There was a click and the booth unfolded to reveal a staircase. Marcia yanked at his sleeve. They half stumbled in their descent.

  At bottom of the steps, the floor felt smooth and polished beneath his shoes. A massive opening fanned out like an airplane hangar. The weight room was a tangle of geometrical shapes in the distance. A basketball court was sandwiched between the weight room and a longue. Closest to him, several boys slouched in white and mahogany loveseats. Football players. His eyes were drawn to a pair draped on one of the sofas, well mostly drawn to one kid in particular.

  “What are you doing here?” McCray spat.

  Chapter 6

  How—

  McCray extracted himself from a brunette beauty from his lap. “That little video of our basketball game went viral.” He tilted back a beer can, Adam’s apple bobbing. The boy crumbled the can against his thigh. It clinked on the floor.

  Alec could only watch on in horror. This couldn’t be part of Domo’s plan. Behind him, the staircase was dark and empty. Not even the throbbing music reached them here.

  “Who cares about a bugging basketball game,” Marcia said, stepping between them.

  “You’re having your girl fight your battles now?” The boy stalked forward. “You aren’t man enough to face me alone?”

  Alec balled his hands into a fist, hoping for Super Strength to come again. His heart thumped in his ears. Nothing happened.

  “Stop,” Marcia cried out again, raising her hands. “Stevie, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Are you his girlfriend?” McCray’s laugh sounded like a failing hard drive. “You don’t want a real man?”

  A boy, the size of a small drone, swooped in to intercept Marcia. She kicked and spit and clawed, but the boy lifted her out of the way with ease.

  “Get off me!” she squawked.

  Alec growled. “What do you think—”

  “Hold him,” McCray ordered.

  Hands clamped down on each limb. Alec thrashed with all the effectiveness of Marcia’s resistance. Now would be a good time for Super Strength.

  “Hit ‘em in the stomach,” one of the guy’s holding him breathed. His voice stunk of honey-flavored whiskey. “Can’t leave marks on his face ‘cuz he’s Domo’s buddy.”

  “Help!” Marcia shouted. “Domo!”

  McCray’s henchman slapped a hand over her mouth. She squirmed but couldn’t break free. Humiliation burned in his chest. Fingernails stabbed into his shoulders. The star quarterback was in front of him. Over his shoulder, the brunette watched with bored eyes. Then his vision blurred with tears as the wind promptly shot from his mouth in a wet cough. He sagged, but their grasps did not waver.

  McCray leaned so that their noses touched. The other boy’s eyes were bright and streaked with red. “My reputation is everything,” McCray said. “I won’t let anyone ruin it. Hold him up again.”

  Alec pulled with all his weight, but McCray’s henchmen, all seasoned athletes, held him with ease. He braced himself. Ready—

  White lights wheeled across his vision. Spit wet his shirt.

  “You know the best part about all this?” McCray was back in his face, his breath heavy with beer and sausage. Alec gasped for air as the other boy continued, “No one’s going to know a thing about this. We’ve turned our systems off. Isn’t that right, Eddie?”

  One of the kid’s holding him rumbled a response.

  “I’ll make more money in my sleep than you’ll ever make working for a company. If you can even find a job after this, loser.” Another pause, then, “I want him taste the bottom of my shoes.”

  Enough. His hands trembled with the effort to break free. Super Strength: Activated.

  His hands broke free easily now. Strange, he didn’t feel any different. He bounded forward, fists raised.

  “Get ‘em, Stevie!” one of the henchmen said.

  McCray cracked his neck and met his advance like a tiger on the hunt. “I got him.”

  They collided. The star quarterback tried to push him to the ground. Alec shoved the boy back. His eyes widened. They met again. The boy sent a flurry of punches that should’ve dotted his face.

  He twisted and ducked as one after another of the other boy’s punches sailed past. Alec sidestepped and countered. McCray’s neck snapped back at the impact, his eyes going wide as he stumbled to the floor.

  Not to be embarrassed twice, McCray shot to his feet. He roared. Before Alec could react, the boy tackled him to the ground, their backs sliding across the smooth hardwood of the basketball court.

  “Dodge this,” the boy huffed. McCray caught him on his temple, his head rebounding off the hardwood.

  Alec bucked and shifted McCray out of position. Now, it was him that saddled the boy. Rage bubbled. He raised his fist. Always do the right thing. His ear stung as another punch sailed wide. He hit McCray with all his strength.

  He didn’t feel his fist connect. Not truly. McCray did his best to fend him off. Each blow was punctuated by a dull, meaty slap that reached his ears as though from a great distance. One after another after another.

  It took a moment to realize the other boy no longer traded blows with him. His head swam and his ears with blood. He leaned back, huffing for breath. Alec could tell by the silence that he’d gone too far.

  One of McCray’s henchmen spoke in frantic tones. “He’s hurt really bad. Come now. The attacker was Alejandro August. Yes, that’s right. Come before he attacks someone else!”

  Everyone stood around like pallbearers who’d just dropped the casket. Even Marcia face was gray and ashen. Beside him, the bloody pulp of McCray’s face bubbled. The boy said something. A threat? Well, at least the boy was alive. He sighed and pushed himself to his feet.

  “Idiots!”

  Domo’s maid descended the staircase. The clinking of her heels echoed through the large room. She elbowed him out of the way. Yolanda was generous with her glaring, but the android saved her most intense one for him. Even though she was an android, a twinge of guilt pricked his chest.

  “You.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “Is this how you repay my master’s hospitality?”

  He blinked at the finger. Domo’s maid huffed and went to work, her finger splitting open to reveal slender, silver needles that danced across McCray’s face.

  “What are you doing?” one of the henchmen demanded, springing forward. The same boy who’d called the ambulance, Alec noted. A look from Yolanda pinned the boy where he stood.

  Alec tried to catch Marcia’s eyes, but she stared at the maid, arms crossed with a sour look. Those from McCray’s camp remained at a cautious distance.

  “Seven stitches,” the maid hissed. “I’ve already given him a sedative.”

  Alec sighed again. Blood stained his palms. He went in search of a bathroom. McCray would be stitched up and out hitting home runs and throwing footballs in no time. It was his life that was ruined.

  What now? With the ambulance, the police would surely follow. He imagined the sharp ache of his arms being twisted back and the cold plastic cuffs bin
ding his wrists. How much time would he get for assault? Five years minimum. The information floated helpfully across from him. And if they discovered his abilities? What would happen to him then? Skipping detention and failing the semester were the least of his worries at this point.

  No, he didn’t have time for a bathroom. He backed away. Towards the staircase. Everyone’s attention was on Yolanda healing McCray. Marcia tracked him with a frown, but no one else appeared to notice him easing away.