Thank you.
Regards,
Naomi
Three days later, there’s a package from her. He gets another momentary lift.
It’s the necklace.
There’s no note.
He’s sitting in his desk. He has the necklace spread out. He reads the email again.
He runs his hands through his hair. Puts his head on his hands. He looks down at the hard shimmering diamonds.
He has a few tears.
Then his heart makes a loud crack.
That no one can hear.
Chapter 16:
Andron C. Varga, G.C.C.B.
Andron steps onto the hot tarmac at the private Las Pecado airfield in his black business suit and black leather briefcase. He breathes in the hot desert air and puts on his sunglasses. He’s half-cut from the twelve-year-old rum he drank on the private jet spooling down behind him.
A Rolls Royce is waiting a few yards away. Scott and Geoff are there as expected, smiling at him, leaning against the Rolls. Their holsters stick out from under their open suits. They’re not there for his personal protection as much as they are to make sure he doesn’t wander off the grid.
Andron thanks the pilots. The driver already has a hundred-dollar bill in his shirt pocket. He checks the time on his Patek-Phillipe. It’s just after one o’clock. His first meeting is in an hour. He shoots his sleeves and his cufflinks glitter in the sun.
He has legal papers in his briefcase and a corporate organizational chart showing a web of companies with Earthen Enterprises at its core.
The luggage is loaded and he’s soon on his way.
If only his classmates could see him now. Riding in the back of a Rolls.
Wearing cologne.
He’s at the head of a boardroom table at Alabaster & Co’s satellite branch in Las Pecado.
It’s much smaller than the one they have in San Fresco, but no less posh — a solid burnished ironwood slab with mother of pearl trim around the edge. They have been handling the legal work stateside for Earthen Enterprises.
No one tells Andron where to sit. He’s a legend among them.
He’s the one who wiped his ass with their check.
No one mentions it since no one is supposed to know. But they laughed pretty hard when he studied one at a meeting and asked if they’ve switched to two-ply.
He’s there to sign a deal for Earthen Systems, Inc. It’s with a software company for Cygnus’ next highly anticipated game, Pharaoh.
Compton flew off the shelves. They still can’t make them quick enough. A video game the likes of which no one has seen. A video game that drops you into 80s east LA as a gangbanger, rapper or a Ramparts cop. It’s at a hundred million and climbing.
These were stripped down games that didn’t involve a TACHY. That would require Quadra Code, which Cygnus wants to keep off the radar for now.
Andron is the only kid on the block with one of those.
He signs the contacts with a custom Montblanc.
Next is the office of a municipal inspector.
The county offices are a few miles out of town in a grimy strip mall. Andron came in person to close a county zoning approval for the Earthen Swan Genetics research facility.
He thinks his elegant missives written on his firm’s new embossed stationary must have brought them around.
The man is sweating the entire time and avoids eye contact. He tells him in his dumpy back office that he got the project approved.
The papers are signed.
The Montblanc is put to good use again.
“Do I get the thumb drive now?”
Andron has no idea what the man is talking about.
He supposes it makes him into a bigger monster.
“We’ll be in touch.”
Andron realizes that Cygnus duped him into a shakedown.
He wants to puke again.
He heads for the strip instead. In the Rolls with Scott and Geoff.
To see what fun can be found on the grid.
The next morning, the Rolls takes him to the jet. He’s still drunk. Cygnus will cover his gambling tab. He’ll need to book an appointment with his doctor for an STD check.
Debauchery and spreading it around didn’t fix anything. He still sees that man sweating. He still sees his frightened eyes.
He tries to think about money, the perks, high-living and Cygnus’ hints at immortality. But it doesn’t help either. It feels shitty being owned.
He can’t see a way out. The cards are stacked. The dice are loaded. There are no worse odds in this town.
Cygnus has everything screwed down. He has the cyber boots to stomp anyone out. His eyes and ears are as far and wide as the Internet. He can snack on any secure data that might be flying around.
Andron’s aces got a beat-down by the shitting man.
Everyone in this town has played that hand.
Still, he has ideas.
One is that Cygnus will be vulnerable as a fetus or a baby.
So he’s supposed to kill a baby or its mother?
Would he be justified?
Does Cygnus want to take over the world, or does he just want beer and babes?
He’d have to slip his collar first.
And how the fuck is he supposed to do that?
He’s got goons shadowing him on trips, Cygnus has him under constant observation at home, he would burn his plastic, the police would be involved, planes, trains, and buses would be watched.
He’d have to go completely underground and cloak himself in analog. He’d need cash for everything, and fake ID if anyone looked. He’d have to slip away unseen, get across a border, get to where Cygnus was being born, dodge brainwashed assassins, and murder a baby, or the mother and a baby.
All this to stop a space invader from hijacking Yeshua Christos’ DNA and taking over the world.
Yeah…for sure.
Andron boards the jet. He has them make him a Bloody Mary and bring him some pills. He gets on his cell with his secretary. He tells them to do up a bill.
To services rendered - $100,000.
Make that $150,000.
He’ll be there to sign the check.
If you can’t beat them, bill the shit out of them.
Andron C. Varga, G.C.C.B.
General Counsel.
Cygnus’ Bitch.
Chapter 17:
Andi-o Goes Beastmode
Yo what up?
Epi in the house. Cyg’s hommi.
This is what went down with Andi-o.
He went full on beastmode.
As soon as he get home, he’d be up in Cyg’s VSM. He’d even peace out at work so that he could play 24/7. He didn’t want to go nowhere on vacay. He did enough hoppin’ when he was on the clock.
He camped at the same crib and rolled up in the same whip even though he was loaded. Yeah, he dressed to the nines, rolled in limos and flew private. To his neighbors, he was still the same ole Andi-o out there mowing his lawn or shoveling his driveway.
And, yeah, he was still Cyg’s bitch.
But he has a brainchild about Berlin.
He was splitting time between Jacko’s and KadeKo. Kadeko was Kabarett der Komiker’s nick. He’d get slizzard. Sometimes he’d hook up with a lady. He didn’t care if Cyg watched or vid-caped him beating off in his chair, wearing a bike lid with all sorts of wires stuck in it.
After a while, he got onto the gameplay in Club Jacko’s being looped and the sims not changing much. It was like the beastiest game ever, but only in demo mode.
Berlin was different.
The action there got more realz every time.
He wasn’t just playing Frank Manz, he was the man.
The action weren’t looped either. It went on where it left off like a book between readings.
Except sleep.
Andi-o didn’t have to sleep in role. He just got out the VSW and when he went back in, it was time to wake-up.
Whoa…mindfuck coming in.
> Did Frank dream he was Andi-o?
Okay there are a few things you need to know to be able to be a gamer in a Cyg world, so get your ear on.
First off, you have to clean yo-self up, pee, poop and eat just like a real peep when you’re in Berlin.
Forget and you’ll be hurtin. Just ask Andi-o what went down when the Nazi po-po found him crashed out on the street from hunger and all-niting, with piss and shit in his pants.
Cyg had to save his ass from a good ole Nazi ass-whuppin.
This ain’t so much a thang in Jacko’s, because it’s mainly about getting wasted and hooking up. But the sex is amaze-balls, like holy crap amaze-balls, even better than Berlin.
Cheat code coming in.
If you want to hook with someone in Jacko’s, you have to ask in the rudest way possible. Being Mr. Nice Guy will get you nowhere.
………boom.
Cyg gamin’ in tha house.
So Berlin was thorny for Andi-o, ‘cause he’d didn’t know when to have a leak, crap, drink, or eat. There are no levels like with some games because you are balls-deep in.
Then he lit into Frank’s needs like they were his own.
Wetware adaptation kicking in, y’all.
Even sex made less of a mess.
(Pssst…just make sure you wear a condom a-right, or it’s going to be clean up on aisle three.)
But you didn’t hear it from me.
Also, don’t make the same mistake Andi-o made and forget which game you is in.
!!!
The Fräuleins in 1938 Berlin are fairly understanding for their time, but your game has to be smooth-like. They’ve got to catch you looking and stuff. Try mackin on them and you’ll be choking your chicken every time.
So guess what went down when Frank rolled up on a sweetheart chillin’ with her hommies in his hotel lobby and forgot where he was?
“Hi, I’m Frank and I’d really love to shove my cock up your ass.”
WTF?
Cyg had to spring him out of that one with the Nazis too, before they shit-slapped him.
Mindfuck 2 on your six.
This one’s a melter.
Berlin is an AR game. No, not Assault Rifle hommi. Get yo gamer ass outta last year and into that next. Alternate Reality. Soon as that wetware do its thang, the brain can forget that it ain’t realz and get confuzzled about what is. Like dreaming.
That’s how it rolls up in Berlin. It puts your grape into Hypno-REM.
You buy a ticket. You take the full ride.
That’s why you gotta set yo timer so yo brain don’t get fried up in an AR. The only other way outs is for yo playa to pillow.
But you can bring yo meta in with yo gamer notes.
And these ain’t yo momma’s computer sims either in tha house. They is Quadra Code ballers. They is just like realz peeps. Check. They is realz.
So you don’t just up and smoke ‘em.
So Andi-o was spending more time in Berlin than he did in his own area code. He sprouted a bro-mo. He got hairless patches on his head from the TACHY lid. He took better care of Frank than himself. He didn’t even use timers. He’d only bounce when Frank caught zzzzz’s.
He almost spent his entire vacay in his gotch without showering or brushing his chicklets. He ate mostly junk. Sometimes he ordered up a wheel. He answered the door once forgetting that he hadn’t showered, shaved or put on his clothes. Luckily, when the 5-0 rolled up to check on him, Cyg gave him the heads-up.
Pssst…dude ---> ---> clean up on three.
When he was not in the game, all he did was meta it. He’d look things up that might help him in 1938 Berlin. He tried to learn himself German. Even though the game was set on English, the sims dug it if he tried.
Hallo wie geht es dir, ich stecke meinen Schwanz in deinen Arsch?
NOT!!!
He spent his nights at KadeKo and his days hanging in Berlin. He checked into Hotel Adlon, smack on the Unter den Linden Boulevard, right near the fuckin’ Brandenburg Gate.
He had a front row to all the Nazi shit that was about to go down.
It was intense, y’all.
But KadeKo stayed chill.
There was jokers, playas, strippas and hot singers. He got his mingle on with artists, eggheads, lefties and pleasure playas. Even the Nazis chilled. All except Cyg, who wouldn’t go up in there.
When Andi-o get his metta on he make brainchilds about Cyg.
Andi-o metta out that the more the peeps in KadeKo got their hate on for all the Seig Heiling goin’ down, the more Cyg got his hate on.
Mindfuck 3 coming in.
KadeKo represents glimmers of decency and rationality in Cygnus’ psyche rebelling at the monster he is becoming, or perhaps the key to what is corrupting his coding.
………mic drop.
Andi-o thinks he’s on to something.
Dude, thinks he’s the man
Strapping on that helmet
And going down a wormhole.
In his undies.
;-)
Chapter 18:
The Devil
Frank is enjoying an espresso and some apple strudel with Eva Sommer.
He fell in love with her at the KadeKo. She sang a smoldering Sing Nachtingall, Sing and that was it for him. He caught her eye, too. He was the doughy cute American glancing at her with kind eyes.
Her golden blonde hair is in tight curls. Her eyes are sky blue. She has small breasts and is somewhat angular. She’s wearing a turquois dress, pearls and a black wraparound sweater for the cool autumn afternoon.
“You simply have to go, Frankie. You have to.”
“To Italy?”
“Yes to Italy. Really, Frankie, you should have your daydreaming disorder looked into.”
“I was merely lost in your beautiful eyes, Liebling.”
“Ha…accepted, but ha.
“Anyway Frankie, when we were there, we took a trip to Turin and saw the most amazing thing. Amazing. They have the burial shroud of Jesus on display. The actual shroud.”
“How do they…”
“From the image on it, Frankie. The image. It looks just like him, especially when you look at it as a negative image, like from a photograph.”
“How were you able to look at it as a negative image?”
“Oh Frankie, you’re impossibly literal. You know I meant that they had negative images to look at to go along with the real thing. It was as though I was standing there looking at Jesus himself. It makes you think, Frankie.”
“Of?”
“Hope, Frankie. It makes you think that there is hope.”
“An image of a man crucified gives us hope?”
“Oh, Frankie, you really are hopeless. His love endures, long after he left us. With love, Frankie lieber, one can endure anything.”
“Except he didn’t really endure…”
While Frank and Eve are debating crucifixion and love, a commotion breaks out in the street near their outdoor beer garden café. A gang of Brownshirts are haranguing a decrepit old man. They kick out his cane and are shouting Juden Schweine at him.
Andron recognizes one of the Brownshirts as a friendly and helpful bellhop that works at his hotel. They both look away.
After the Bellhop-Brownshirts move on, a few of the café patrons, including Frank, go to the man’s aid. Frank and another help the man to his feet while a third brings him his cane. When Frank returns, Eva has her head in her hands and is sobbing. Frank reaches across the table for her hands.
“Oh, Frankie, you must hate Germans.”
“You’re a German, I don’t hate you. In fact, the opposite. I just think it’s some kind of virus that is turning bellhops into monsters.”
“Then what is the cure, Frankie, what?”
“I don’t know, Liebling. I don’t know.”
Frank settles the account. They leave the café and catch a taxi to her flat.
It is afternoon and the dying sun casts a shadow across her poster bed. He enters her and she
seems so tiny beneath him, yet so full of being. He’s inside her warmth and sadness. She looks at him with half-opened blue eyes and moans like a song. He runs his fingers lightly over her collar bone and over her small breast.
He’s inside her and moving.
And wonders if love is ever the cure.
Dr. Herman Schweisser and Frank are drinking schnapps at the KadeKo and talking about the Nazis.
“A virus is certainly a good way to describe it, Frank. It is as though the German people are infected just as they are affected by Hitler.
“It does seem that way, especially to an outsider.”
“Dr. Jung certainly has some insightful ideas about Hitler. I met with Carl last month in Prague. Carl says that there are two types of leaders in primitive society. One is the strong aggressive chief, whose power comes from his physical domination, and the other is the medicine man whose power derives from his magic.
“Jung thinks Hitler is the medicine man.
“So how did the medicine man become so powerful?”
“Jung thinks it’s a German inferiority complex from being beaten to empirehood by the British and French, as well losing the War. Hitler is their Messiah, their Savior. We outsiders cannot relate to him because it’s not our gods he’s invoking.”
“I suppose the man would appear to be less crazy to someone born into the mythology.”
“The symbols, too, Carl says, play into this. The swastika is like a pinwheel that spins in a negative direction. Wind forms part of their symbolism, as does lightening and storms. Their Fuhrer controls the elements. He’s the medicine man, the seer, that has them all spellbound by his charms.”
“So how do we break the spell and stop all this madness?”
“I am afraid only by radical therapy.”
Herman gulps down the rest of his schnapps. He wipes his mouth. He looks up and down at Frank.
The Cygnus Virus Page 10
