Alvin Baylor Lives!_A 21st Century Pulp

by Maximilian Gray

  “No, I work every Friday.”

  He nodded. She seemed intent on driving and not much else.

  “Not religious, then? Neither am I. I’m an atheist.”

  She nodded. “I’m a lesbian,” she said.

  “Oh. Well—I hope your girlfriend has the night off, then.”

  She laughed. “No girlfriend.”

  They pulled to a stop in front of the gate. He slung his bag over his shoulder and looked over at a couple of attendants. The man and woman were perfect-looking, tall with alabaster skin and delicate features. They looked like Chinese high-fashion models.

  “Welcome, Mr. Baylor!” they said in unison.

  Good, they’re not security.

  “Keep all four wheels down, miss?” Alvin said to his driver.

  “Layla.” She smiled. “Have a good trip, Mr. Baylor.”

  He nodded and stepped off the vehicle toward the gate.

  “Is this where I report for vacation?” he said. The attendants both laughed like they were flirting with him. “I guess so,” he continued.

  “Right through here, Mr. Baylor. You will be escorted to your room,” said the man.

  Alvin walked past their outstretched arms through the circular doorway. It led down a sloping hallway lined with more dark rubber. At the end he saw another woman waiting for him. She looked as perfect as the two outside. Then he saw her shimmer and suddenly she was a blond Nordic type like in his last VR hookup.

  Almost had me.

  “Mr. Baylor, you are an esteemed guest. Allow me to show you to your room,” said the virtual girl.

  What a crock.

  He walked through her image and stepped onto a hotel carpet busy with patterns. Ahead of him he heard the ringing of slot machines. He looked out over the cavernous room and saw that it sloped upward at the far end. His eyes followed the wall as it rolled up and over. There were people on the ceiling.

  He felt dizzy.

  Suddenly the virtual girl was back in his Opti-Comp blocking the view. “We recommend you don’t look up at first. Acclimation to artificial gravity makes some people nauseous. Please follow me.” She walked ahead of him into a covered hallway. He chased after her, relieved to be under a ceiling rather than an upside-down casino.

  That’s better.

  He continued after her. The walls shouted in Cantonese and English as his Opti-Comp passed over AR projection frames. He didn’t think it was possible for an empty hallway to feel more crowded. His eyes bounced from the carpet pattern to the virtual girl’s ass to ads for restaurants and shows. Suddenly “Location: Hope: Room 237” appeared in his Opti-Comp.

  “Here you are, Mr. Baylor,” said the virtual girl.

  Alvin swiped his wrist past the door sensor and it slid open. He stepped into the dark room.

  “Enjoy your stay,” said the girl.

  He shut the door on her smiling face and plopped down on the bed.

  The walls came alive with virtual fireworks. “Welcome Esteemed Customer, Mr. Alvin Baylor!” leaped at his face in 3-D starbursts. He groaned and turned off his Opti-Comp. Silence reigned for a moment, and then the walls began playing back standard video. There were dozens of ads running over every square inch.

  He looked around the now illuminated room. There was no escape from the noise.

  At least the furniture is real. Time for that drink.

  Eight

  Alvin brought the cold glass to his lips and took a sip. “Very nice,” he said to the bartender as he placed the concoction down with a gentle clink. It was one of those overly priced mixed drinks that people order on vacation. Ordinarily he wouldn’t bother his wallet with more than a bourbon and cola, but everything was on the company tab now. The Nova Smash tasted great and he knew he’d have to pace himself. He could imagine the certain spiral into nausea if he looked up after one too many.

  He pressed his fingertips into the bar top and leaned back on his stool. Half of the casino rolled overhead. Centrifugal force pulled everything toward the rotating walls in an effort to fake gravity. The surface was covered with game machines and video floor tiles. At times enormous garish advertisements lit up the tiles. Visual noise had replaced the grandeur and beauty of the ship’s exterior. He found it loud and bereft of charm. It was like a cosmic Vegas. He watched the smattering of tourists drift from one empty card table to another. The greatest density was in front of the AR slots. The players yanked invisible lever arms and stared at spinning dials only they could see.

  His Opti-Comp showed 6:00 p.m. Los Angeles time. It seemed to be a pointless metric out here.

  “Always this busy?” he asked the bartender sarcastically. The bar was empty of customers save for him.

  The bartender’s tiny mouth drew into a smile. He flopped his jet-black hair back and stepped closer, eyeing Alvin.

  “It’s Christmas Eve, folks are shopping. They gotta get those moon rocks, you know? It’ll get busier when we get out of port.”

  Alvin nodded.

  “This your first time out for the company?”

  “Yeah. That obvious?”

  The bartender nodded. “So who do you rep?”

  “Rep?”

  “Yeah, man. Whose products are you selling?”

  “Oh, nothing. I’m not a salesman.”

  “I thought you said it was your first company trip.”

  Better not discuss this.

  “I won a vacation is all—on the company dime.” He flashed a toothy smile.

  “Ah, all right, man. I thought you were chasing the big money,” he drawled as he pointed to a couple of retirees walking on the ceiling.

  Alvin chuckled. “Nope, just chasing this.” He lifted his glass.

  “Another Nova Smash?”

  Alvin nodded.

  “You got it. So, is it all expenses paid or what?”

  “Yep, pour ’em heavy.” Alvin’s voice drifted into melody as he sang, “’Cause I’m on vacation.”

  “All right, then,” said the bartender.

  Alvin leaned back and exhaled loud and slow. His buzz was on. “So what kind of trouble can I get up to on a ship like this?” he said.

  “Any kind. We got gambling, shows, a spa, boys, VR pods. We even have girls.”

  “You mean VR pods for gaming?” he asked.

  “Yeah, if that’s your pleasure.” The bartender paused and eyed him. “I’m guessing you’re a fan. Maybe combat games?”

  “Haven’t played in a while, but I used to enjoy them.” Alvin knew he’d been face-scanned.

  The younger man stopped for a moment before saying with a wink, “Well, let me know if you play so I can put some money down.”

  “I’m a little rusty,” Alvin said. He missed playing—wished it had been his career. Losing that still stung. The bartender laid another Nova Smash in front of him.

  Alvin sipped it, and the booze numbed him. “So tell me about the girls,” he said.

  “There are women on this corkscrew who aren’t billionaires and they work for a living,” he said with a lopsided smile.

  “They sanctioned or just . . . under the radar?”

  “Hell, man, this is a Chinese party in deep space—anything goes. No one is gonna ask questions as long as you have the credit.”

  Alvin finished a sip. “Don’t tell anybody, but the company gave me a bit-wallet and I’m gonna live it up.”

  “You got the right attitude. You won’t have any trouble spending it here. Hey—I’m Ryan,” he said as he stuck out his hand.

  “Alvin.”

  “Don’t you mean Zeus?”

  Alvin let go of the bartender’s hand and gulped down the last of his drink. He hadn’t been called by his gaming handle in years.

  “I used to be Zeus, not anymore.” He hated being recognized, but this guy was different—respectful. “Ancient history,” he said through a forced smile.

  “I’m a true fan of the Olympians, Mr. Baylor. LA born and raised.” The man flashed a small tattoo on the underside
of his wrist—the initials “LA” in a stylized font that resembled lightning bolts. It looked faded and hastily drawn. “I did it myself. I was in junior high.”

  “Dedication,” said Alvin.

  Ryan paused and cocked his head. “Wow, man! Fuckin’ Alvin ‘Zeus’ Baylor! So where you been? After ’05 you just disappeared.”

  “There weren’t a lot of options for me.”

  “Because you overclocked your feed? Shit, everyone does it now.”

  “Yeah, well, they didn’t then.”

  “Oh, no judgments. You were the fucking man. No one could tolerate that many frames per second. Faster than real time! You changed the game.”

  “Didn’t exactly pay off,” said Alvin.

  Ryan made a face, like he expected more enthusiasm. “You know Rick Zuck is here on his retirement tour. Bet the two of you could bring some real heat to the tournament.”

  That asshole. Alvin remembered reading about Zuck in yesterday’s news.

  “What tournament?” he asked.

  “The VR Gaming Tournament, man—first year. Zuck’s here to christen it. There are ads everywhere. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

  “Lucky guy, that Zuck.” Alvin wasn’t hasty to return to public view or to get reacquainted with his old rival. Besides, Alteris expected him to keep his head down. “Lemme get another,” he said.

  “Sure,” said Ryan.

  Alvin looked around the casino in a daze. It was getting busier. An alcoholic fog dulled his thoughts, and his focus shifted overhead as he heard a crowd shriek in delight. Pivoting on the chair, he looked up to see a large swath of the ceiling illuminate. An advertisement for Privacy Guard lit a path on the vid-screen-paneled surface. A backscatter scanner in the illuminated area undressed the patrons in Alvin’s Opti-Comp. The more demure customers dashed away and created a ruckus. Ryan looked up and guffawed.

  Alvin found his eyes drawn to a moving figure. A tall woman dressed in white took graceful strides down the ad’s path. Most of the customers were elderly and out of shape and wore undergarments that preserved their dignity. This woman shared no such concern and proudly bared all as the ad worked its magic. She was stunning even upside down.

  “Wow,” Alvin muttered.

  “I see that,” said Ryan as she walked overhead.

  She looked up at them and her blond locks fell back toward her shoulders, revealing the bounce of her breasts as she walked. Alvin felt the giddy excitement of an ogling schoolboy. As she passed directly overhead, she made eye contact and smiled seductively.

  “Here’s that cocktail,” said the bartender.

  “Here’s to Privacy Guard,” said Alvin.

  He raised his glass then took a gulp.

  “You might wanna slow it down if you wanna get your money’s worth,” said Ryan.

  “You think she’s . . . ?”

  “Man, I told you. The Chinese don’t care about female prostitution, but you’ll pay through the nose.”

  “Got it,” said Alvin.

  Excess was not an indulgence on The Hope, it was an expectation. He just needed to warm up to it.

  Nine

  Rouja stepped along the lighted path, following its slope downward toward the bar. The tracker had brought her to a nearly empty bar in the middle of the casino floor. She’d followed the smart-band’s serial number through Alteris launch records, finding it very suspicious that a shuttle would send a single employee out to the Moon on Christmas Eve. Now she was face-scanning the man who owned that band.

  “Alvin Baylor,” she read off her Opti-Comp. Disgraced cyber-athlete. Interesting.

  If the guy hadn’t boarded so late, she might have been able to get the job done while still in dock. Instead she was stuck onboard for six months. He looked drunk and alone. An easy target. She gave him her best I want to fuck you look and let the hair fall back from her face as she walked beneath him. His almond eyes popped open.

  Sold.

  By the time the bar was at her feet, he looked even more inebriated. She walked past him toward empty stools.

  “This seat taken?” she said.

  Ryan’s eyes perked up before Alvin turned to look at her.

  “Uh, no,” Alvin said.

  He looks like a frightened boy.

  She sat down. “Vodka with lime. Make sure it’s the good stuff, none of that Chinese shit.”

  Ryan nodded and got to it.

  Rouja waited for Alvin to hit on her, but he didn’t.

  “So, you staff too?” she said.

  “No. On a business trip.”

  The bartender returned with the drink. “Two hundred fifty, please.”

  “I’ll get it,” said Alvin.

  She nodded and saw the bartender give a wink to the man.

  “Thank you,” she said. “What kind of business are you in?”

  “Shipping. Long haul, deep-space stuff—obviously,” said Alvin.

  She caught him eyeing her figure while she took a sip of her drink.

  “Well, aren’t you gonna ask me what I do?” she said.

  “I think I know.” He chuckled and went back to his drink.

  God, he’s a weirdo.

  “Oh really?” she said.

  “Well, I saw you coming from all the way up there,” said Alvin.

  “That’s because I wanted you to. A person should never be shy about what they want.”

  “People don’t generally get what they want,” he said.

  “No, they settle before it comes, but I’m here now. So why not settle for me, baby?” She batted her eyelashes.

  He looked her in the eye and she saw his nostrils flare before he looked away.

  Too strong.

  “Money, money, money,” he sang, then finished his drink and waved off the bartender before he could bring a replacement. “Nice talkin’ to ya,” he said. He wobbled for a moment as he got off the stool, then walked away without looking back.

  He still thinks he’s hot shit.

  An approach developed in Rouja’s mind. She would coax him out of his solitude and learn what he knew about Padre’s mysterious device, but she would take her time. Ending it quickly would leave her too poor to enjoy the cruise. He obviously had some cash flow, why not empty his bit-wallet before disposing of him?

  “Hey, barkeep, where can I find the gaming pods?” she said.

  Ten

  What was the word she used? Settle? thought Alvin.

  It ticked him off. He staggered away from the bar in a fog. He was over his limit—a talking zombie in the blackout zone. He wouldn’t be able to get it up now, anyway. Best to leave before he committed himself to embarrassment.

  He needed food.

  He stumbled down the hallway with his eyes on the floor below. If he looked up at the rolled ceiling, he’d retch. An AR ad for women’s shoes enveloped his feet with virtual pairs as he walked the floor tiles. A pair of red heels popped onto his feet.

  “Woo-hoo! Nice stems!” said a voice.

  Alvin looked up. A couple of young men dressed in translucent blouses catcalled him.

  “You look fierce, Papi,” said one of them.

  The other one stuck his tongue out and wiggled it.

  I guess those are the boys.

  Alvin laughed and kept walking. A short while later, he came to a row of finely dressed waiters. They stood at attention like Buckingham Palace guards in front of a red restaurant with laurel wreaths in the windows.

  What the hell are they doing?

  It looked like an establishment he could not afford on Earth. He could smell the wafting scent of food. Real food.

  He stumbled up to the hostess outside. “Hi, you serve steak here?”

  She looked taken aback by the question. “Sir, all of our dining establishments offer a full range of cuisine. Perhaps the Soweto Grill, would suit you better.”

  Sir?

  “No. I’m interested in eating here. Never had a steak at a swanky restaurant before. And I want that guy.” He poin
ted to the tallest waiter. The man looked back at him curiously, and Alvin’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t—” the hostess began.

  She froze when he turned his dagger eyes on her. “Do I look like the kinda guy who isn’t sure?”

  “No. Follow me.”

  She led him from the walkway and up to the restaurant doors.

  “Do you work?” he said to the tall waiter as he walked by.

  The man’s name tag said, “Frederick.” He didn’t answer and instead gave a snooty, irritated look.

  The hostess hurried ahead and Alvin stared at the back of her shoes as their click-clack picked up tempo.

  “Can I get a window seat?” he asked as he followed her inside.

  “We have no window seats,” she said.

  “I was told there were window seats in this joint,” he said loudly.

  They passed by a table with an elderly couple, who stared at him as he went by bleary-eyed and disheveled. Alvin managed a crooked smile at them.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not sure who would have told you such a thing.”

  “The company, lady. The company told me this was a nice trip. Nice trips have windows.”

  After passing a series of dining rooms, they arrived at a tiny table in the back room. She pulled out his chair and stepped aside quickly.

  “The display panels in your stateroom can switch to exterior views,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. The front desk can assist you with them.”

  “Of course, just pushin’ buttons, I imagine.”

  She crinkled her brow, then walked off. The tall waiter had followed behind them and Alvin overheard her say to him, “Another Alteris comp.”

  Another?

  Alvin looked away and swiped his finger through the air, spinning the AR menu display for a few revolutions—long enough to realize he didn’t recognize any of the names. His waiter arrived.

  “Good afternoon, sir. May I answer any questions about our courses?”

  “Well, Fred, I’m not much into goose or pate or whatever these things are. I’d like a steak.”

  The waiter’s eyebrow arched. “Sir, our holiday menu is served without substitution. I think you may find the Soweto—”