Chaos Theory Cosmic Lovely

by Fletcher, Penelope

  She flipped the knife and caught the tip on her forefinger, balancing it on the point. Grabbing the hilt, she hurled it at the chopping board on the other side of the room. It landed dead centre in the block of wood. The blade wobbled, rooted at an angle.

  Max swallowed hard and dropped this spoon into the mixing bowl he’d been using as breakfast crockery.

  Kali’s fists met her hips in satisfaction. “Do you know how to use the FeedMe? I need to make a dumpling.”

  5.

  Lara stood in the middle of her single-roomed dwelling and stared at the middle distance, grinding her back teeth together. She was jittery. Not only did she have to deal with everybody thinking she used all her credit for freaky enhancements, her body was going through something.

  At least the pressing need to learn about the weapons that lined her walls was gone now. The information she had on constructing weapons of mass destruction was tucked away in her memory banks, and her fingers no longer itched to test out the explosives she was able to create from substances as common as grain and bleach.

  Should she be relieved or afraid she no longer felt the urge to gather such information?

  She wasn’t stupid it was all connected. What she was, why she did the things she did, and why she needed to hide it from everyone. The question she had was why all of a sudden had everything either stopped or accelerated. She had noticed subtle changes in the last few months, as if her body geared up for something.

  Her hair was driving her crazy. She used to dye it bright pink, now the colour wouldn’t hold on her new hair growth. It was that horrible freakish white-blonde. Worse, her eyes kept changing hue. It was like a kaleidoscope behind her irises.

  Before it had been easy to lie about why she had fangs as enhancements, and why she had decided to dye her irises. Now the excuses were flimsy. She was a waiter for one of the slummiest strip bars in the quadrant. How was she making enough credit to keep altering herself? Nobody bought it. Even her boss was wary. He kept hinting that maybe it was time for her to pack up and move on.

  She dragged on a lightweight bodysuit and grabbed her rucksack. It was already packed with supplies to last weeks.

  Lara slipped her favourite laser knife into the secret compartment in her pocket. It stopped the weapon being picked up by the pesky BodyScan.

  It was time to stop hiding, time to reach out and discover what was wrong with her.

  She even had a place to start.

  Grabbing her TalkMe, she scrolled through the blog that grabbed her attention months ago. Lara sniffed at the encrypted data hiding the blogger’s BMID, and started hacking.

  6.

  The door slammed open, and a muscular body crowded the doorway. “I found something,” Max bellowed. He shut the door, waited, and then shook his head. “Your parental units are too understanding. If the A.I. in my house logged a male in Madeleine’s bedroom closing the door the alarms would go insane.”

  “Madeleine’s four years old,” Kali grumbled. Up to the chin in the bedcovers, she squinted at the time projected onto the wall. “I’d go nuts if some strange man was in her room.” She scooted over, and Max sprawled out on the bed beside her.

  He took out his TalkMe, fingers swiping lazily. The harsh glare of the artificial light had Kali tucking her face into his arm. She loved it when he let her snuggle, he was like a big teddy.

  He prodded her stomach. “I’m going to message you the blog I found.”

  “Read it aloud.” When Max started talking, she pinched him. “The last update, not the feed address.” She yawned, her jaw cracking. Jamming the heels of her palms into her eye sockets, Kali rubbed hard. “Do I have my ComUni in bed with me? And what does quadrant U stand for? Which quadrant is the blogger’s BeepMe ID registered?”

  “U stands for Untraceable. That’s what’s interesting about this feed. This citizen is blocking his BMID from the network making him anonymous. No one can trace the wave mark. You’re bounced a link to the address of an empty junkyard in Quadrant18.”

  “We know it’s a he because…?”

  “I can tell. Where’s your TalkMe?”

  Kali waved a hand toward the discarded clothes. Depression had knocked her flat after another rejected employment application. Sleeping off the hurt was more attractive than crying. Folding clothes, and removing the TalkMe hadn’t been high on the to-do-list when she tumbled into bed. “There somewhere. Wait, nobody knows who this citizen is?” That was strange. Privacy of that magnitude didn’t exist. Citizens of the Alliance were registered in the BeepMe network. Period. It was unifying. Knowing an identifying username was the only way you were able to communicate unless you stood face to face.

  “Isn’t the A.I. synchronized into house functions?” Max asked. “Ask it to read it out to us.”

  “The A.I. has been programmed to speak in emergencies. Papa doesn’t like the intrusion into daily life.”

  Insults were mumbled.

  Kali shot him an evil look and nudged him with the heel of her foot.

  “Standard, listen to this.” Max cleared his throat. “There are others like me. I pass them in the street. We gather knowledge and store it away for some unknown purpose. I don’t think we’re all information hoarders. Some of us are fighters gifted with intelligence and superior physical ability. Combine unprecedented skills of reasoning you are left with a warrior more deadly than humankind could create. These clandestine soldiers are more deluded than the ones who seek information. At least we recognise what we’re doing is strange. They are being trained, conditioned, and regimented in ways I cannot begin to–”

  “Max,” Kali groaned. “What space crap is this?”

  “Some doomsday feed that’s getting millions of hits. This citizen believes a massive world event is going to happen. He says certain people around the planets feel it too, and are preparing without realising it.”

  “Stars, it’s just some moon mad conspiracy theory.”

  “It’s connected to you, to what you can do.”

  From the corner of her eye, she slanted a considering look at him. He sounded sincere. “Gut feelings?”

  He nodded, solemn. “Big gut feelings.”

  “Cosmic,” she grumbled. “I’ll tap the feed when I get up.”

  She was genuinely tired, and staying up until the wee hours logged on was taking its toll. Kali had played the night before until dawn peaked the horizon. Games no longer had such intricate and detailed storylines as they did in the twentieth, but VirtuaGames were still impressive. Submerged in the full experience of HoloSphere technology you were able to see, hear, feel and smell hooked into a game, but the storylines were bland in comparison to the way they used to be. The designers sacrificed quality scripts for complex action sequences.

  She complained, yet Kali had no desire for technology to regress. Old Generation tech was disconnected and fractured. There used to be hundreds of companies that produced the same products, and nothing was compatible or could communicate. With the introduction of globally interconnected networks things improved, but only optical devices with the capability to connect to the wireless network were of any use. With the introduction of genetic locking and BlueAtom8 the world’s technology began to function efficiently, and managed to remain within the development limitations of Treaty10.

  Kali was fascinated with how tech had evolved, and she’d researched why Blue Matter had been necessary. The BeepMe network, the fundamental structure that linked citizens of the Alliance together in a gigantic web of route pathways, was originally a social network used solely for recreation. They used ComUnis to log on that came in lots of chunky pieces sat on tables instead of hovering screen as thick as her baby finger. Baffling. Communications were done in live time with sound waves picked up by an audio device with a microphone called a telephone. How did one message more than one person at once, and why in live time, why no visual element in the transmission? The telephones weren’t even genetically locked to their owners. What if that person was b
usy and could not pick up the message?

  “Busy later?” Max asked.

  She cracked an eyelid. “Who wants to know?”

  “Come to Quad6’s range with me?”

  Shooting ranges were one of the venues protected under Treaty10 and offered to citizens free of charge. Falling under the physical activity section, it contributed to the general wellbeing of the population alongside construction, composing, performance art, and invention. Standard forms of recreation came from online gaming, but physical activity outside the virtual environment was considered fundamental to maintaining a healthy Human Condition. These pastimes were law, and were believed to keep the people of the Alliance from becoming dependent on technology and emotionally barren.

  “You’re coming right? Christabella finally agreed to go on a date. She’s got an amazing body, natural too, but I want you there to help stimulate conversation. You’re a girl.” He added that last part as if it explained everything.

  Kali grabbed his hair and yanked hard. “Stimulate conversation?”

  “Arrrh. You’ll have lots of stuff to talk about to keep the evening entertaining. Ow. Kal, that hurts.”

  Her suspicion was replaced by chagrin. With one last tug, she released his hair. “You want me to play third wheel in case your date is crap. Stars, aren’t we past this?”

  Max grinned wickedly. “You know you want to.”

  Kali rubbed her nose to hide a smile and ended up sneezing. Lethargy made it difficult to concentrate. “Go alone and function like a normal adult.” She snuggled down and gave him her back. “I’ll be here. Sleeping.”

  “Move it.” He flipped the covers off and spanked her ass. “You shouldn’t lie here depressed because you’re undesirable.”

  “And look who’s talking.” She shoved back and pushed him out of the bed, immensely satisfied at the loud thump. Kali kicked out a leg and got comfortable. Bending the other at the knee, she curled her hands under her chin, the covers gripped in her fists.

  “Get up.”

  Kali put a pillow on her head and flipped him off.

  Max grabbed her ankle and heaved. Startled, Kali grabbed the headboard and held on for dear life. Her stomach lifted off the bed, and the rest of her body followed until she was taut, body swaying dangerously as they battled. Max grunted. Kali squealed when her nails scratched the bed frame leaving faint white marks. He yanked in bursts to jar her arms.

  Teeth clamped together, Kali held on, not entirely sure why she had not conceded defeat.

  “Bella is annoying. There is no brain to mouth filter. Having to suffer a prolonged period in her presence will be torture. She’s an embarrassment to my gender, a stereotypical HiCaste Flush. What’s with all that hair tossing and eyelash fluttering? Ugh. I am not going.”

  Max snorted. Going for the kill, he tickled the skin behind her knees. Kali screeched and let go of the headboard to protect the sensitive area.

  Her shrill laughter had him in convulsions. “That’s a seriously ugly laugh, Kal.” He dragged her off the bed, taking the blanket with her, which softened her fall some.

  “Go away. That hurt.”

  “What?” Rolling her over, he sat, and pinned her to the floor. He grabbed her foot and tickled. “Your ass really isn’t that skinny. You bounced right back.”

  She tried to push him off, and it might have worked if she wasn’t in hysterics.

  “Oi, where’s your scar?”

  The innocent question cut her laughter. She froze. “What?”

  “Your inoculation scar. I always thought you would have it on your ankle since it’s easier to hide. Did you get a graft?”

  Kali shoved him off her and sat up, crossing her legs. “Papa doesn’t like enhancements.”

  “Well yeah, but inoculation is basic. It’s not an enhancement, it’s just done.” He frowned. “You’ve been inoculated right?”

  No, she had not had her genes mutated, but she was under strict orders not to tell anybody that piece of information.

  Max had gotten his mother to agree to sense modifications though she had drawn the line at physical mutation. He already had enhanced eyesight, night vision, and was planning to get improvements to his hearing as soon as he had enough credit saved.

  Kali hadn’t had any genetic manipulation, including those considered standard practice. That was rare for a HiCaste. Her parents wanted no one messing with her DNA. Cosmetically was out of the question too. Kali understood their point, unlike a tattoo or piercing once your genetic markers were altered, there was no laser to erase the change. Kali was aware her adoption wasn’t normal and exactly legal. A number of prominent Alliance employees had been paid off by Rikard’s family to ensure her origins were kept a secret. It would also be shameful to admit you had adopted from poverty, but Kali was likely born an orphan from a dead tree LoCaste unit. For a while, she had wondered if Rikard suspected she was a pureblooded Delphi. Crazy to consider, but his near obsessive determination to keep her way from the shots had made her nervous. He swore she had a mixed heritage, but that the inoculation would not be compatible. His fears were not groundless. A small percentage of those who were given the shot did die; StarChildren had the highest failure rate, and her colouring was similar. Their bodies rejected the mutated strings and their immune systems went haywire and attacked their red blood cells.

  “Sure, I’m inoculated,” she lied.

  Max fought a grin by sucking in his lips when she rubbed the tender area he’d bruised. “You’re coming with me. Get dressed fast. I ordered from Pluto’s, and the food will be delivered at the range. We need to pick up Christabella at the shuttle point.”

  “Cosmic.” She pointed to the door. “Out.”

  He waved his TalkMe at her. “I’m going to bounce this feed to the FloVe. We need to speak to this citizen about what you do. He has answers.”

  7.

  Blue killed the purring engine on his FloBi. Booted feet hit oily concrete with a solid thump as the hover bike set down. He sighed and swung a leg off the bike. Swiping a thumb over the underside of the handlebar brushed his OmniLock against the scanner to genetically lock the ignition and stop another rider boosting his property.

  Blue strode into Pluto’s with a heavy footfall that only those with real distracting shit to worry about understood.

  The spicy tang of cooking dumplings sat heavy in the air, a smell that would be delicious had he been in his right frame of mind. Golden baked dough around bubbling cheese and succulent meat fillings wasn’t the sweet fragrance his nostrils flared to. It wasn’t why his tongue swelled and stuck to the roof of his parched mouth.

  He should have replenished before he left for work, but he’d forgotten, a stupid and irresponsible thing to do.

  Dangerous.

  His stomach clenched in panic, and saliva slicked the walls of his cheeks until he had to swallow repeatedly. He breathed heavily in the confines of the helmet. His leathers seemed to shrink on his body until the fabric sucked at his skin in parody of what he imagined doing to the next available throat.

  “You’re late,” Dod noted. “Next time I’ll dock your pay.”

  His meaty fists pounded the creamy dough used to make his legendary dumplings, rattling the work surface and the pots underneath.

  Pluto’s was unique. It was the only restaurant on ContinentOne that made dumplings from scratch with real cheese instead of the substitute. It took longer, cost more, but customers raved about the taste.

  Blue walked straight to the order board to pick up the next delivery. He grabbed the boxes and turned on his heel, grabbing a CredMac to read the receipt for the address.

  He needed fresh air to clear his head. That helped when he was breathless and sick.

  Nodding jerkily to the people he passed, Blue sighed in relief when the door slid open, and he stumbled out into the night.

  Minors loitered around his FloBi. They edged closer to the vehicle, drumming up the courage to boost it. They scattered when he strode over with an
expression he’d been told was ‘freaky’.

  He inhaled deeply and regained his calm.

  The delivery was easy, the addresses minutes away. Too soon, he was back at Pluto’s not knowing if he was calm enough to go back inside. Blue pushed through another three orders before he was sweating, and gritting his teeth each time he came within three feet of a warm body. When his shift break came up, he dashed outside and rounded the corner, seeking a place to take the stifling helmet off, too shaken to check nobody was within his immediate vicinity.

  He was lightheaded, panting hard as his body fought to drag in enough oxygen to breathe.

  He was suffocating.

  A minor turned into the alleyway. He paused when he saw Blue leaning up against the dirty wall. There was a rustling of clothes and a tinny click before the minor was moving again. His walk canted to one side, and one hand sunk deep in his trouser pocket. Stopping in front of Blue, the minor hovered a laser knife at his damp neck. “Take out your TalkMe and transfer eight hundred credits to username Jak113,” he hissed. His low voice trembled only once. When Blue didn’t react, he hardened. “Do it now.”

  Blue shook his head weakly, dragging in another rasping breath. He made a shooing motion with his hand, giving the boy a chance to flee.

  The minor hesitated before stepping closer. The knife burned a strip of Blue’s top. “Are you dumb. I’ll cut you.”

  Blue groaned. He moved and in a blur of bodies, the minor was pressed against the wall, the knife falling from lax fingertips. Blue’s hand darted into his pocket and pulled out his emergency syringe. He stabbed the needle into the minor’s jugular vein before pulling the plunger.

  Dark red blood filled the vial.

  The minor was terrified, thinking his life was about to end. Blue pushed at his mind, urged him to be calm, so he could finish.

  Nanoseconds passed as another vial filled, and Blue’s tense shoulders relaxed. He’d get better as soon as he got this into his system.

  He once again dipped into the minor’s mind and sent a strong compulsion for him to sleep. Holding the boy erect by pinning him to the wall with his forearm, Blue reached into his pocket to take out a pack of SkinAids. He placed a patch of the translucent skin cells over the needle marks and watched as it adhered to the clammy skin and closed the breaches. The wounds would have taken a few days to heal naturally, but the skin graft would prevent infections and troublesome questions.