by John Zakour
“Sexy can’t sing.”
“Newsflash.”
“No. She can’t sing, but teenagers think she can.”
“What?”
“It’s not a generational thing after all, young people having different tastes in music than older people. It’s a matter of susceptibility.”
“What?”
“They really think she can sing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sexy is tricking her audience. She’s making them believe that her music is good when in actuality it’s not.”
“How can she do that?”
“Simple,” HARA replied, her hologram reappearing beside me. “She’s a psi.”
28
Most people who know me (I mean really know me) will attest that I am an accepting and loving person. I judge people on their actions and on their character rather than by their classification. Clones, aliens, mutants, it makes no difference to me. My accountant is actually half undead (on his mother’s side). Hey, I’m a private investigator whose clothes are a hundred years out of style. I’m in no position to judge anyone.
That said, Carol being one very big aside, I have never met a psi that I liked (or that didn’t try to kill me, but I think one is sort of related to the other).
“Psis,” I sighed. “Why does it always have to be psis.”
“It’s not always psis,” HARA said, sitting her hologram beside me on the couch. “Sometimes it’s androids.”
“They’re easy.”
“Or robots.”
“Pieces of cake.”
“There have been mad scientists.”
“Cream puffs.”
“Mobsters, alien invaders, savage monsters long thought extinct?”
“Walks in the park.”
“Telemarketers?”
“Okay, I’ll give you that one. But it’s usually psis.”
“You do tend to come across more than your share of them,” HARA agreed.
“Okay,” I said, fighting off the headache that I knew was fast approaching, “explain to me how you know that Sexy is a psi.”
“Well, first of all,” HARA said. “She’s not a psi as one generally describes it. She’s what we call a niche psi.”
“Niche psi?”
“Right. She has very limited abilities. She can’t read minds, for instance. She has no telekinetic powers or anything like that. She has only limited telepathic powers.”
“Limited how?”
“She broadcasts feelings rather than actual thoughts.”
“Feelings?”
“Her powers can stimulate the amygdala and other brain stem structures, the ones that control emotion. She gives people good feelings. That mental stimulation, combined with her music …”
“Makes people think that they like her music.”
“Correct.”
“That’s sort of illegal, isn’t it?”
“Psionically manipulating people for profit? Yes, it’s outlawed in every province, even Jersey.”
“So how come I don’t like her music then?”
“Because you’re old.”
“Thanks.”
“No, it’s true,” HARA said. “Look, Sexy’s power is very limited. She can stimulate a person’s emotional centers but only if that person’s prefrontal cortex allows it. The PFC is the portion of the brain that controls things like judgment, organization, and impulse control. Anyone with a fully developed PFC is going to be immune to Sexy’s power. The thing about the PFC though is that it matures more slowly than the other areas of the brain. On average, it doesn’t fully develop until about age twenty-five.”
“Which is why Sexy’s fans are teenagers and the like.”
“Exactly. Once their prefrontal cortices reach maturity, her power no longer effects them so they no longer like her music.”
“They outgrow her.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“There are fifty thousand people in the arena right now,” I said. “How is she powerful enough to control that many people?”
“She’s not,” HARA replied. “That’s why Smiles is augmenting her.”
“With this?” I said, motioning to the meditation chamber.
“Among other things,” HARA said. “The meditation chamber uses radiation to artificially stimulate the areas of her brain that produce the psionic energy, augmenting her power. That would also explain the ambient radiation in her suite. She probably gets low level doses throughout the day and then a hefty jolt in the meditation chamber just before showtime. My guess is that there’s also some kind of similar augmentation technology built into the sound system. That would explain the odd microphone she uses.”
“And Sexy’s use of the radio airwaves, to broadcast her music,” I said. “Is it possible to transmit her kind of energy that way?”
“It’s never been tried but if you consider that, for instance, Carol can read your mind over the net, then I suppose that it’s possible that Sexy’s powers can be broadcast in that manner as well.”
“So Smiles could have developed the kind of technology years ago but couldn’t use it until he found a singer who fit the psionic profile,” I said.
“Which would explain why Sexy Sprockets is his one and only client.”
“Well, it makes sense in a sick, twisted, illegal sort of way.”
“Did you expect anything else from the music business?” HARA quipped.
“Unfortunately,” I said, “it’s not going to help us find the hit man that’s been hired to kill Sexy. One thing’s for sure though, I think I better start wearing a psi-blocker on this job.”
“That would be wise,” HARA said. “And I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think you’ll need to keep a close eye on Smiles.”
“Like I didn’t know that already.”
“I mean, keep a close eye on his relationship with Carol. After all, with Sexy retiring, he’s going to need a new psionic cash cow. And Carol is a much more powerful psi than Sexy.”
A sick feeling of dread washed over my body like a cesspool tsunami and this already bad case became decidedly worse (and more personal).
“You really know how to kill a moment, HARA.”
29
The concert went off without a hitch. Sexy psionically sang her heart out and the audience ate it up. She did three encores and the crowd didn’t start filing out until the management had turned the house lights on, turned the air conditioning off, and began blasting polka-tinged Doors muzak (with heavy accordion) over the PA system. Best of all there were no attempts on Sexy’s life and for a nano or two I actually allowed myself to think that I’d have an easy night of it. Then Sexy reminded me of the time-honored music industry tradition of the after-concert party and my thoughts of a good night’s sleep slipped away like spilled champagne down an open sewer.
“Under the circumstances, Sexy, I don’t think you should be going out tonight.”
“I know that, Zach,” she replied. “That’s why the party’s at the hotel!”
And thus, my troubles continued.
An hour later, Sexy’s suite was filled to bursting with partygoers: celebs, minor celebs, wannabe celebs, and-ones, hangers-on, parasites, bottom-feeders, leeches, and sub-leeches. It was like slogging through a designer-wear-clad mudhole. The music was too loud, the lights were too dim, and the alcohol (and Gates only knows what else) was flowing way too freely.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I whispered to HARA, who was outfitted for the occasion in a designer miniskirt and silver lamé blouse.
“Me too,” she said. “I can’t believe these people are drinking this trendy domestic champagne. The elite have palates like swine.”
“Big help there, HARA.”
I’d spent every nano since my arrival very conspicuously tailing Sexy as she worked the room, chatting up, dressing down, or reveling in the adoration of the partygoers. She was the very jingly belle of a very junglelike ball and was loving every n
ano of it. She was also a very tempting target for any chicly dressed assassin who may have slipped in under the velvet rope and that made me more nervous than I can accurately describe using overwrought pop-cult metaphors.
“Have you been able to scan the guests?”
“I’ve screened the scene, big guy,” HARA replied. “They may not be clean, but no one’s packing heat and no one fits the hired killer profile.”
“Yeah, backstabbing’s more this crowd’s speed.”
“Welcome to showbiz,” she replied.
Sexy, at the nano, was holding court with a pair of twin actors I half recognized from an HV action show. The three of them were laughing and flirting as they reminisced. Thanks to the directional microphone in my wrist interface, HARA and I could hear pretty much every word they were saying.
“No, no,” Sexy said, between giggles. “I dated Chad in January of that year. You, Brad, didn’t come until February.”
“Chad was in March,” Brad said. “January was when you were with our father, Thad.”
“That’s right. I’m glad he survived that heart attack.”
My head was starting to reel a bit from the crush of people (and the inane banter). It was all I could do to stay close to Sexy and let HARA scan the crowd.
“How many people are here?”
“Two hundred and eight currently. The problem is that there’s a steady flow coming and going so it’s a little difficult to keep track of them all. I’ve tapped in to all the security cams though, so I’ll let you know if anything or anyone looks suspicious.”
“What we need is another set of eyes on this room,” I said. “Where is Carol anyway?”
“She’s in the northwest corner of the room with Smiles, Sissy, and Misty,” HARA replied.
“I should talk to her. She has to get her head together and start helping us again. She also needs to know the truth about Smiles.”
“Well, if you want to speak with her, you better do it soon,” HARA replied, “because she and Smiles are about to leave together.”
“What?”
“They just excused themselves from the conversation with Misty and Sissy and are headed for the main door.”
“What is she thinking?”
“Beats me,” HARA said. “She’s the mind reader.”
“I have to stop them.”
I started pushing my way through the crowd toward the main entrance and accidentally spilled a drink on a few wannabe actors as I passed (none of whom took it well).
“Crazo!”
“Sorry.”
I caught sight of Carol and Smiles making their way toward the door. Smiles had his arm around her shoulder, shepherding her through the crowded room like a protector. The mere sight of it gave me chills.
“Carol!”
I pushed my way through the crowd a little farther, (disturbing a few more partiers—bodybuilders, I think) and was closing in on them when HARA’s hologram suddenly appeared in front of me.
“I think we have trouble,” she said pointing toward Sexy.
I spun around and saw Chad and Brad looming over Sexy. Their faces were red and their movements were threatening and anger fueled. I aimed the wrist interface their way to hear what they were saying.
“You mean you were with Brad that weekend?”
“He got me on the rebound, Chad,” Sexy said, with a shoulder shrug. “You had left me.”
“I was in the hospital!”
“Yeah, for elective surgery!”
“You told me that you’d break up with me if I didn’t get pec implants!”
“And you expected me to wait around forever?”
“Wait a nano,” Brad said. “You said that what we had meant something.”
“Well, it did, for that afternoon.”
“I can’t believe you two-timed me with my own brother!”
“I didn’t know he was your brother at the time.”
“We’re twins!”
“Well, I wasn’t looking at your faces.”
Brad and Chad, both relatively angry now, each grabbed Sexy by an arm.
“She’s in trouble,” HARA said.
“It’s just a misunderstanding with a couple of old flames,” I said, casting another glance at Carol and Smiles as they headed toward the door. “I’m sure Sexy will handle this delicately.”
“Don’t get all sentimental, guys,” she said. “What we had wasn’t that great. It turned out that your mother was the best of the whole bunch of you.”
“Our mother?”
“Okay,” I mumbled. “She’s in trouble.”
I cast one last look at Carol and Smiles as they left together and started pushing my way back through the crowd toward Sexy, re-jostling the same people that I’d angered on the way over. By the time I reached the unhappy threesome, things were starting to get ugly.
“You’re a two-timer, Sexy,” Brad shouted. “A DOS-loving two-timer.”
“A three-timer actually,” Chad said. “No, wait, a four-timer, counting Mom.”
“Why don’t we take a nano and dial things back a notch, fellas?” I said, putting a firm hand on a shoulder of each brother.
Chad took umbrage at my hand and slapped it away without turning around.
“You never cared about either of us, did you?”
“Define care.” Sexy said, unperturbed.
“You’re heartless,” Brad said.
“And cold,” said Chad.
“And selfish!”
“Guys, this is not what I meant by dialing it back,” I said, putting my hand back (a little harder) on their shoulders.
Sexy, for her part, wasn’t bothered by the brothers’ ire. If she was feeling any emotion other than contempt and a tinge of boredom, it didn’t show on her face.
“And you know what else, Sexy? Your music stinks!”
A look of shock washed over Sexy’s face.
“Yeah,” said Brad. “I used to like it, but hearing you tonight, I realized that it sounds like DOS.”
“What did you say?” Sexy snarled, her look of shock quickly changing into anger.
“That’s it, guys,” I said, pulling them away from Sexy. “You’re out of here.”
“You heard us, Sexy,” Chad shouted. “You’re a no-talented hack of a singer. Your music hoovers, your songs hoover!”
“And your voice hoovers!” Brad yelled.
That was all Sexy needed to hear.
She let out a guttural roar and launched herself at the boys like a she-cat from a catapult, giving Brad a short, sharp kick to the groin with her pointy-toed designer shoe. Brad let out a high-pitched shriek and crumpled to the ground like a golfbag with no balls. Chad lunged at Sexy but I grabbed him before he reached her and pushed him hard to the ground. It could have ended there but Sexy was still angry and started stomping on his hands while I held him down.
“What did you say about my music?” she yelled. “What did you say about my voice?”
When the other partygoers (including the ones whom I’d jostled or bumped a few nanos earlier) heard Sexy screaming and saw me holding Chad to the ground, they all just assumed that I was the troublemaker (I get that a lot) and attacked me en masse. I was hit at once by a quarter-kiloton of pseudo-celebrity, male model and bodybuilder bulk. The force of the charge pushed me away from Sexy, Chad, and Brad and into a larger throng of startled guests where we were met by screams, gasps, and more than a few douses of domestic champagne.
Thankfully, I had the advantage over the attackers because I was sober and wearing computer enhanced body armor. I used a judo throw on the bodybuilder, tossing him over my shoulder and into a group of wannabe actresses (they caught him) and gave the male model an uppercut to the jaw that sent him unconscious into a small pack of film producers (they let him hit the ground and pretended not to notice). The actor sneered at me but then ran away when I made a move toward him.
Misty and Sissy had come to Sexy’s aid by then and were trying to pull her off Brad. Chad,
on the other hand was still looking for a fight. He grabbed an empty champagne bottle from a table and came at Sexy with it. I stepped in front of him and caught his swinging arm at the wrist and twisted it behind his back until he dropped the bottle and fell to the floor. I pinned him facedown on the floor with my shoe on the back of his neck, popped my gun into my hand, and sent a low powered blast into each and every speaker in the room. The shots echoed for a few long nanos afterward but all two hundred plus of the partygoers stopped dead in their tracks and fell silent.
“The party is over,” I growled. “And the last person to leave this room is going to get shot in their surgically improved ass.”
Needless to say, the room cleared out pretty quickly after that.
“I can’t stay here, Zach,” Sexy moaned between sobs. “I can’t bear it.”
She’d been crying since the end of the party half an hour before. Misty, Sissy, and Lusty had done their best to comfort her but it was no use.
“Where’s Smiles?” I asked Misty.
“We don’t know,” she said. “We tried netting him but he’s gone incommunicado.”
“Carol, too,” HARA added.
I didn’t want to think about what was going on with Smiles and Carol so I tried to focus on Sexy.
“You’re perfectly safe, Sexy. It’s just us here.”
“Did you hear those things they said to me? It was horrible.”
“They were crazo jealous, Sexy,” Sissy said. “You know how guys get.”
“But Zach went old school throwdown on their carcasses,” Misty added. “Ub-zeen!”
“He also went old school on the sound system,” HARA whispered.
“I have so many ex-boyfriends,” Sexy said. “What if they’re all like that now?”
“Sexy, you’re overreacting.”
“Actually,” Misty said. “She does have a lot of ex-boyfriends. I’ve lost count.”
“Girlfriends, too,” Sissy added.
“And there were a few that I’m not sure what they were.”
I knelt down beside Sexy, who was facedown on one of the couches, and gently touched her hair. It was softer than I expected and thick enough to hide my hand.
“It’s been a long day, Sexy. You’ve been through a lot. Let’s get some rest.”
