by A J McKeep
They both drank.
Murphy changed the subject. “So. According to the feeds, we’re making gains in the MidEast Fed. You’re doing good work.”
“Haven’t the feeds always said we’re ‘making gains’?”
“Some gains, some setbacks.” Murphy nodded. “Same as it ever was. Still, you haven’t missed much while you’ve been away. There was an outbreak last month.”
“rDNA? Man. How do people let it happen?”
“They came from a fringe, out on the edge of the delta. There was a cull but some are bound to have escaped. I heard they found people forty, forty-five. Some of them even older, was what I heard.”
Garrison shook his head.
Murphy asked him, “So, how’s the bleeding edge of the MidEastFed? I remember when I was first out there we were mostly in tents and armored vehicles, controlling bot warriors through VR. Man, that was clunky.”
“There’s still some of that, but it’s mostly used as training. Rookies out of Fort Bragg get headsets and little bot platoons to drive. Mostly just on the first couple of days, though. And it’s mainly to select out who’s going into a sweat hangar for simsuit control and who goes out in the exo bots.”
“You’re driving exos?”
“Of course.” Garrison puffed his chest. “Stompers, mainly. Forward command. Territorial acquisition.” He took a pull on the stick. “Stamping through firefights. Chasing down bad guys. Laying waste and slaying with ion pulse cannons and shoulder rockets.”
“So, you did get to have some fun.”
“If you call it fun when there are guys and machines everywhere throwing explosives right in your face, sure.”
“Well, hell yeah.”
“So, what’s with you, man? Why are you kicking back here?”
“You mean why haven’t I signed on for another tour? This much enhancement, man, by the time I got through enough hours to qualify my discharge, I’d be ninety percent cyber.”
“Could be worse. You see there’s a push starting up in GreatChina?”
“Sure, but if I get so much as one more joint enhanced or replaced, I’d be a full cyberplegic, man. I’d weigh more than I could carry, and I would never have the juice to power any of it up.” Garrison wondered if his buddy was leading up to something. He let it go for now.
“I’ve been thinking about taking iMortality.”
“You’re shitting me. You?” Garrison looked at his friend. Was it really so desperate, could he not see a way to ever juice up his enhancements? “Man. You’re only, what, twenty-nine?”
“Thirty-one, man.”
“Still, you’ve got another four years, plus the five discretionary for service.”
“You know they never actually give out those discretions. They’re only there as get-outs for kids from the enclaves. Kids who never serve in active units anyway. No, it’s the other kind of service I’m worried about. I’m pretty close to unserviceable already. Like I said, one more replacement and I’ll be way outside the juice I’ll ever be able to make.” The rain hammered on the sheet over the mesh. Garrison watched it dribble down the plastic covering outside. Murphy said, “My organs are in great shape so there would be some juice. It would get my sister out of a hole.”
Garrison remembered Murphy’s sister Juliet. He tugged slowly on his stick and thought. “Take another tour of combat? You’d be fully charged up, with a heavy multiplier if you joined the Great China push. Your skills, your experience, you could earn a few long-term credits easy.”
“And one little chunk of spinning shrapnel could have me face down permanently.”
“This isn’t like you, man. Don’t be downhearted, this sounds like fear talking.”
“That’s what I’m saying, Garrison. All the time, I’m afraid of running into a situation I can’t power up for.” Murphy took a long pull on his stick. “Hell, even saying it that way burns me. You know that last time I ran anywhere?”
“You really want to be melted down and replaced with a datastream, lurking on the infranet? Nothing but bits like The Gabriel, only without being able to even download? Never being able to breathe air or eat or fuck?”
Murphy smirked, “How did you enjoy the air on your way here? Was it as sweet and fragrant as you remember?”
“Okay. What about the fuck? No-one fucks in the datasphere.”
Murphy gestured at his legs. top-grade replacements, but without juice, they were nothing but two heavy loads.
Garrison knew better than to make a case either way. Grunts, guys who’d been in the Corps, they were accustomed to coming to their own conclusions. If Murphy wanted advice he’d make it plain and there would be no mistake.
Shifting gears, Murphy asked, “You hear that story about The Gabriel?”
“What now? He’s eating babies without cooking them properly? Is anyone really sure he exists at all?”
“I have no clue, man. He could just be the perfect tabloid distraction, right?”
“You know all the news we get at the combat zones is happy babble. So what’s the story?”
“He sponsors young champion athletes. Only the ones who live at high altitude.”
“Okay. Doesn’t sound like the usual Gabriel frightmare. Does he take their firstborn in return for the sponsorship?”
“Blood.”
“You’re fucking shitting me.” Garrison spluttered. “The Gabriel is a digital Dracula?” He shook his head, “Man that’s fucked up.”
“Apparently, people who live at high altitude, their blood processes oxygen better. Makes them stronger, smarter, they have more stamina.”
“Turn into bats…”
They both chuckled as they chugged.
They were mellowing onto their third sticks before Murphy said. “It’s good to see you, man. Something’s chewing on you, though.” He drained stick and pulled off another. “Spit, bro.”
Garrison knew nobody better to ask. He only put it off because he knew it was going to involve Murphy having a pretty good time at his expense. He sat deep into the old couch and nursed the very welcome beer. It would be another bumpy ride. Not as bad as the one he just took, though.
“You came here right off the bounce? You didn’t stop to find a bottle and a woman or two first? Man, you’re in a bad way. Your head’s on wrong, good buddy. Still, find a bottle, a woman or two, and you’ll be fine.”
“That’s what I want. But right off the tour, I don’t want to trust myself with a woman. Kinds of things we saw, things we did? I don’t trust myself yet. I want to go a couple rounds with a Virtu. At least the first time.”
“Sure, man. That’s what I’m talking about. That’s what they’re for. Why do you think so many guys right off the bounce head straight for the Service Station or Super Lube?”
“I’ve never been with,” Garrison hesitated. “You know…”
“A whore?”
“A bot.”
“Oh, wait, you want a juice Jenny? You? Garrison?” Murphy sat back and stared. “You want a squeeze-bot?” He looked around. He laughed. “Now I’ve seen everything. The proto-stud, the pussy-whisperer, the walking catnip wants a wind-up Ivanka? Man, you made my fucking day. Have another beer.”
“I don’t trust myself. I’m so fucking wired. I never felt charged up like this and I don’t know what I might do to a breakable woman.”
“Hardcore tour? Happens to all of us. It’s usually the first tour that hits everyone that way. You were a rock, man. You were granite. Gotta say, my whole platoon heard about you packing up, cool as ice. There were men there thought you were a bot. Truth. Thought you had to be a USMilCorp spy of some kind.”
“You going to help me out or what?”
“I don’t get a lot of laughs these days, Garrison. You not man enough to take a few jibes? To entertain your old cyberplegic buddy?”
“No, man, I’m just jumpy. You’re good.” Garrison’s eyes half closed. “Have your fun.”
Murphy grinned. “You’ve got nothing to
worry about.”
“Maybe. But can you point me in the direction of a place, somewhere that’s reasonably clean. Somewhere decent?”
“Sure. What you need is the All Saints Wholesome and Hygienic Brothel for Good Boys and Girls.”
“I’m serious, man.”
“I know, I know. It’s OK, I’m just jerking your chain. I know the place for you, don’t worry. I can take care of you, good buddy. And, look, I want you to do something for me.” He took out his phone, flipped up the holoscreen and then swiped Garrison a contact card. “Here’s a place. Clean. Well kept. Caters for the military man, you know what I’m saying?”
“Thanks man.”
“Come back after, okay? There’s something I need from you.”
“Sure,” that was something he didn’t expect. “You got it.” If he had the chance to do something for Murphy, He’d be only too pleased and proud, whatever it was.
“Wait up.” Murphy lifted his hand, “Before you go, I got some meds you might need.”
Garrison’s eyes crinkled.
Murphy reached behind his chair for a cotton shoulder bag. In the bag was a folder. In the folder were pill packs, patches and epitubes. “Chemdrive for your VuSharp so you don’t go stumbling into doors. SynapSnap. AdrenoDriv. All the needs of a modern warrior out of range from of the quartermaster’s care.” Garrison’s head tilted. “Don’t worry. They’re genuine, no pattern or generic.” True, too. Every label had a cert glow on. “I wouldn’t give you pattern or fake med. All guaranteed legit stolen.” He lobbed a package. Garrison caught it. “All from the most dependable sources.”
He sent Garrison another contact card. “You need more, go there. Anything you need, you’re likely to find it there. Tech, mech, meds, favors. Anything. Cert or unCert.”
“I hope I won’t need anything UnCert.”
Murphy gave him a look. “Good luck with that.”
Weaponized hair
THERE WAS ALMOST NO light outside. Only the moon and the blueish spill from inside the cabin of his Cab-U lit the vertical rain and picked out the jagged silhouettes of the skyline. The location that Murphy gave him for Friends Electric was in an old sector on the far edge of LubArc. Probably industrial, Garrison guessed by the roofless shells of looming walls, perforated with high, arched gaps where windows had been. Most of the deserted remains had only two or three walls standing. When the Cab-U made the turn into the street, red and blue light spilled from a box on stilts, inside three high, broken walls.
The sign above the door read ‘Friends Electric.’ When Garrison presented his keycard, he selected a ‘check-on-me’ time. The Cab-U docked another ten percent of juice on top of the fare. And he knew, there was a better than even chance it wouldn’t come back for him anyway. This world was so fucked up.
A biggish black goon stood with folded arms in front of the door at the top of the metal steps. When Garrison got up the steps the goon held the lens of his phone up to take a retinal scan. His right hand, still flesh, was the size of a ham. The other arm was mech and oversized with tubes sticking out and red lights on all his knuckles. He wore a one-eye headset. There was no way to tell if the lens was a replacement or an addition. On the phone’s screen, he checked Garrison’s credit rating and deployment status.
As the goon’s head turned he shook waist-length dreadlocks. The ends were tied with silver bows. Garrison’s re-upped lenses detected them as razor-sharp.
“Weaponized hair.” Garrison observed, raising an eyebrow in approval.
The doorman’s voice thinned. “You looking for service discount?”
“No.”
“Good. We don’t got none.” He moved aside as he opened the door. He told Garrison, “You break a bot, you bought it.”
Garrison paused. Was there an edge in the guy’s voice? Was he trying to provoke him? The doorman was big, but Garrison was hyped enough that he was pretty sure he could pitch him down the metal stairs if he needed to. Murphy’s meds kicked in on the Cab-U ride, so he felt pumped and combat-ready. The bouncer looked Garrison up and down before he closed the door.
“No worry,” he said, “You not break a bot. Our bots are tough. Any breaking to be done, they break you.” And he laughed as he slammed the door shut.
The darkness inside reverberated with the thudding, aggressive kind of music Garrison hated. Light was low and colored. Indistinct figures in the artificial glow seemed to watch his arrival warily. Faces turned. Eyes followed him with suspicion. Men slid their narrowed eyes at him as he walked by. They could all have been thugs, or they may have been servicemen like himself.
Garrison made his way to the elaborately lit bar. When he got there, he didn’t feel like perching on a stool. He hadn’t seen any women yet. The oversized barman wore a white shirt with a butterfly bowtie, a black vest and black wraparound shades. In front of Garrison he leaned across the bar on both sets of knuckles.
“What will it be?”
His stance was threatening but his balance was wrong. Tough but not professional. Garrison considered how a straight punch would spread the barman’s nose. It was a tempting idea. Fighting wasn’t what he came here for. But it could run well as a second choice. The barman’s weight would shove him forward. Onto Garrison’s balled fist. It would make it hard for him to pull back and recover. The weight pressing on his arms would slow him responding.
After the one strong punch, Garrison would be able to grab him by his pretty collar. Pummel his face as hard and as many times as he wanted. While he pulled the barman’s neck downward, if the man moved either hand, his chin would slam down on the copper bar top.
Looking in the man’s face, studying his eyes, Garrison wondered whether some friendly advice on posture and dominating space would be welcome. He decided to save it.
He asked the man, “Are there women here?”
“Maybe you want a drink. While you wait.”
Garrison smiled amiably. He moved his face closer. Looked at the man’s nose. It would look fine with a dent on the bridge. It could add character. When Garrison got tired of punching his face he could sling him backward. The lines of bottles behind him would tumble and shatter. It was an attractive option.
“I didn’t come here to drink.” He smiled. “Or to wait.”
A woman appeared at his elbow. Broad, dark and husky-voiced. She was what Garrison imagined people meant when they said, ‘a handsome woman.’
“The gentleman knows what he wants, Guido.” Her eyes stayed on Garrison. “I’ll take care of him.”
She touched his arm before she turned. The look she threw him over her shoulder let him know she meant him to follow her.
He left an empty smile for the bartender.
The woman led him into a quieter room. Thick, soft couches lined the walls. Girls lounged in deep chairs around low tables. Two girls looked up sulkily. A blonde arched her back. An Asian girl smoothed the lace and silk draped over her tightly wrapped breasts. He stopped at the door.
The woman stood by his arm. Quietly he asked her, “Are they all bots?”
“Friends. We call them friends.” She moved nearer. “Was it a human companion you were looking for?”
A big blonde and a lean brunette looked up lazily. A redhead raised her eyes from the corner and cocked an eyebrow at him.
Were they bots, really? In this light it was hard to tell.
“No,” he said, “I wanted a bot… Sorry, a ‘friend.’ A friend was what I came for.”
The Madame gave him a thin smile.
She told him about rates and prices, using terms he didn’t understand. He guessed maybe that was the idea. When she told him the juice for an ‘all-round satisfaction appointment,’ he figured that was the idea. A complicated range of options, then an attractively simple-sounding proposition with a high enough price to take our breath, but not enough to make you run.
He looked in her face. “Do you base that price on the look of the…” he wanted ‘mark,’ or ‘stooge,’ but she fille
d in for him.
“The service is tailored to the needs of the client. Perhaps that’s what you mean.”
“I think you know what I mean. You set the price at what you think the punter will bear.”
His tone was amiable, but he could see that she didn’t like him taking her off her script.
He said, “It’s okay. I’ll take your ‘all round’ price, but don’t think about charging any mysterious extras.”
She looked like she was thinking about it.
“I’m here to fuck.” He told her, “If you want me to spend the night haggling, I’ll do it, but things might break. I have a short temper and I’m highly trained in using it.”
She smiled. “You’ll be happy with our service. The price will be fixed, and I’ll comp you drinks if you want them.” She touched his arm. “I’m sorry it’s only a Virtu you’re looking for.” Her eyes twinkled. “Is there any way that I might change your mind?”
Another time he might well have said yes. She was serious, experienced and the sound of her voice sank into him. He was already considering a return visit with her in mind. The way she looked at him as she lifted her chin, the steady swell of her breasts, he was thinking about it.
Over the Madame’s shoulder a well-built girl caught his eye as she strode out of the darkness toward him with a purpose. Her high cheekbones were fine and almost delicate. Her eyes were serious and tough. She held his gaze as she told the Madame, “Clara, this one’s mine,” then, to him, “Get the payment done, soldier. Let’s get moving on to the good stuff.” Her eyes closed, and she licked her lips as they drifted open again.
That wasn’t a kind of talk he heard from any bot he’d ever dealt with before. Then, he’d never been to a place like Friends Electric before. Her hand reached for his. Her fingertips were warm against his palm. As he lifted his hand, he felt the vibrations of liquid pulses as well as soft, smooth whirrs. Her eyes were still on his.
“Mm. You’re strong,” the girl said, “But tense.”
Obediently, he nodded to the Madame. Her eyebrows rose, and her mouth tightened. She shrugged and produced a phone. The price glowed above it, and rotated, alternating with a pay card logo. He wiped his keycard over the image.
