As we neared Ethan’s car, though, I heard the sound of wheels bouncing over uneven patches in the cement. I looked straight ahead for a few seconds, not wanting to draw any attention, then chanced a glance over to see a girl in a wagon on the opposite sidewalk. A boy I assumed to be her slightly older brother was pulling it with one hand and swinging the other in high, whimsical arcs while he whistled a children’s tune I couldn’t quite place. When I looked again, the girl was staring at me. I stopped walking for a second and then, realizing that it would look odd, resumed in reluctant, awkward steps.
Ethan, too, glanced over at the girl and then—looking back at me—his expression darkened into an alarmed disbelief. “Your face, dude.”
After a few moments I brought my hand up and felt the soft, scratchy wool of the ski mask, still pulled over my head.
As I stuffed it into my pocket, I turned back to the girl—and saw her arm stretched out in a hesitant wave.
Chapter 13
“Well shucks, I always had a hunch there was a nice guy in there somewhere, and all it took was a few Benjies in his pocket to set him loose,” said Ethan after I’d bought him a designer coffee at the Flavor Savor. It was a kind of hipster retro joint that still employed human baristas instead of botservs and had actually been pretty popular until a few months ago when the Feds stopped allowing confections, coffees, and sodas to draw on people’s BASIC allowances. Now just this little order was wiping out a third of my weekly all-purpose stipend.
“But does that look like caramel coffee to you? It’s too dark.” He stuck his spoon in his mouth, aggrieved.
A box with the nutritional information popped up on my film, followed by a coupon for a buy one, get one free if we came back in the next thirty days. “If you have to stick a spoon in it, it’s a milkshake.”
“Whatever. But this is chocolate. She screwed up my order.”
“Error’s part of the charm.” I tilted my head. “Or are you going to have your girlfriend up there make you another one?”
“No. It’s just . . . it’s just I was really in the mood for caramel.”
Ethan took the lid off the coffee he’d taken to go and grimaced. “Ah, this one’s fucked, too. Here you take it.”
“That’s all you, man,” I said, laughing.
He shook his head and scoffed. “Fuckin’ A. This just shows we’re doing the right thing. If ordinary humans can’t even get a coffee right, of course they’re not getting hired anymore.”
“Maybe she fucked it up on purpose ‘cuz you were being a jackass,” I said as I pulled up the score from last night’s Lawrence hybrid football game on my film, then eye clicked over to player stats. They’d won by thirty points and, given how many of them were scored by their robo players, it meant their tech detail was good. It meant Lena was probably a savage robotics engineer who’d laugh if she ever saw Syd.
“That’s why this place is going tits up, Dor. Machines are better at customer service. They’re better at everything, really.”
Including hybrid football. There were only seven starter slots for humans now—even Revised ones—instead of the traditional eleven.
“So of course we’re trying to be more like them,” said Ethan.
“But most people don’t have the choice.” I lowered my voice and turned off my film. “And neither did you until today, and just barely because we were this close to being caught again.”
“But I wasn’t caught,” he fired back. “Everyone’s gotta be responsible for their own shit and if they don’t like how things are going, they should do something about it.”
This was coming from the guy who’d say things like, “If my limbic system had more neurons I would’ve remembered what time practice was,” or, “I’d try harder if my basal forebrain was bigger.” Nothing but excuses and loathing and feeling sorry for himself for years. And I should know; sometimes I was the same way. But to just completely forget all that the second your circumstances changed and you had some workable path forward seemed oblivious. “If everyone did what we’re doing, Eth, the world would be a—”
“Maybe not what we’re doing, but something.”
“Obviously people should try their best, but what can they do if they don’t have the money to Revise in the first place? Isn’t it on the Feds to include Revisions in BASIC?”
The prospect of conspiracy seemed to animate Ethan and he rocked forward in his chair. “Well they’re not, probably because they think most people would squander it on big boobs and big dicks. Or maybe the real reason is that there aren’t many jobs, even for smart people. If you were a politician, would you rather have to deal with a lot of dumb unemployed people or a lot of smart unemployed people?”
“Still, it’s the way you gotta do it in order to give people any chance at all.”
“Who said they were in the chance-granting business?
I ran my hand through my hair, frustrated.
“And by the time they realize that maybe they should be, people’ll be even further behind. Are you willing to wait? Seriously? Well, clearly you’re not, ’cuz you’re out robbing houses with me—”
“Shhhh. Keep your fucking voice down.”
“Easy, partner. No one’s in here because no one wants a handmade, human-served coffee anymore, not even hipsters.” He sighed and took a deep breath. “It’s just a shitty situation; humans are being left in the dust, and we either get on the train or we don’t. And since when did you start babying everyone else anyways? That’s hardly what I’d expect from someone who always refused to take the last person when you were a captain, picking teams at recess.”
I blushed. “That happened once. And I felt so bad that I picked Max first for a whole month after.”
Ethan sniggered.
“But I’m not babying anybody.”
At least I didn’t think I was. In truth, this was the first time I’d thought about it and had to stop and consider. Maybe it was the sheer intensity of the burglaries. The frayed nerves. The ill feeling you got stuffing someone else’s possessions into your bag. It was hard to expect everyone to do that.
“People have got to help themselves, man. There aren’t any activists out there making our case. No one’s in the streets. No one cares. And why would they? If full immersion virtual reality can make you a God in a fake world that you wish was real, who cares about improving yourself in a real world you wish was fake?”
My coffee was still scalding hot, but I took a small sip. “It’s a problem.”
Ethan raised his voice, even more confident in his argument now that we were kind of agreeing. “Of course it is. I read somewhere that these losers only poke their heads out of their burrows for a few hours a day to eat and poop, spending like half their waking time in VR. So look out when intravenous feeding gets cheaper. They’ll frickin’ never leave.”
He shook his head and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “There’s barely even a stigma anymore since it’s so normal.”
I shrugged.
“But, you do think we have to try and Revise ourselves to be better, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So why the doubt all of a sudden?”
“Well, I don’t know . . . it’s not doubt.” I wasn’t sure what it was honestly. “I’m just . . . well . . .”
“Let’s do it tomorrow.” Ethan’s eyes burned with something I hadn’t seen in them before. “PLACE retakes are right around the corner, so it’s kind of now or never. And I’ve been sniffing around and found this clinic on the west side that won’t ask any questions. Good reviews. Decent prices.”
“I still can’t decide whether to go heavier on gene therapy or nanobots. Nanobots are more flexible, but . . .”
Ethan rolled his eyes as he got up and pushed in his chair. “Come on, you know exactly what you want. You’ve been thinking about this forever.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’ve got a few letters that still need to get postmarked,” he said, openi
ng up his bag just enough for me to see stamp solution he’d separated out into little eight millimeter bottles.
“You don’t have to keep selling that shit, dude. Its nickels next to the last haul.”
“I’m done, obviously. I’m not an idiot. But I can’t have quarts of this stuff sitting around my room, either,” he said, lowering his voice. “Besides, there’re a few accounts I still have to close out. You don’t want people pissed at you, starting shit.”
“I thought you did cold drops with burners so they won’t know it’s you,” I said, a little agitated.
“They don’t. And that’s why we don’t want to give them a reason to try and find out.”
Chapter 14
There was a certain lightness the next day as I walked through the school halls. I felt buoyant and dreamy, like I’d just taken my first step after waking from a coma. Awake, while everyone else was still asleep. Lonely, but euphoric in the same kind of way as when you get out of a traffic jam.
I fidgeted in class, keeping the clock constantly visible in my film as Mrs. Randall droned on about Apollo 11 and the Cold War. Her lips moved like she had some sort of dystrophy, being unable to sculpt or shape the syllables; they just kind of tumbled out of her mouth. More robotic than Mr. Jefferson. Every once and again a wave of sentiment would splash over her as if recollecting a distant memory, but it would pass by so fast that I wasn’t sure whether it was real, or just some random facial tic.
I ran the hardest I’d ever run at track practice that afternoon, not out of any innate desire to strive or achieve, but because I was worried I might accidentally run faster than I meant to after I Revised, and I wanted to have the highest baseline possible. Revision in public school sporting was banned, after all, to make it fair for everybody, but I still needed to stay on the team to preserve my after-school alibi and keep the ’rents happy. That, and I didn’t want any eyebrows raised about how I got the money to Revise in the first place. The monitoring algorithms would turn a blind eye as long as everything was normal.
After practice, I headed home. I’d wanted to go straight to the clinic, but I couldn’t risk bringing the Revision gold to school, and it would be good to make an appearance in front of Mom and Dad. All I needed to do was feign the flu and say I was going to bed early, which would get me out of supper and prevent any knocking on the door. And if I nailed the routine just right, they’d even feel sorry for me. However, when I stepped inside I heard young voices, and when I went to the kitchen I found my brother, Spencer, and a couple junior classmen I vaguely recognized eating snacks around the bar.
“Spencer, what are you doing here?” I asked.
Surprised, he looked up—avoiding eye contact—then sheepishly turned to Jaden. “Your brother invited me . . . didn’t you know we’re friends?”
“I didn’t think he had any,” I said.
Jaden’s lips stretched, but the rest of his face was like a gargoyle. “You know I occasionally like to get out and mingle with the commoners.”
My eyes passed back and forth over Spencer and the other three. At first I couldn’t believe it since I hadn’t seen them together before, but then I remembered Michael had, mentioning that he’d spotted Jaden and Spencer talking in the hallway last week. I suppose there was a kind of sense to it because, unlike Tony, who would do stupid things to entertain the people he was trying to impress, Spencer’s manner was one of quiet subservience. Like a pen lying across a tabletop, he could only really express himself through someone else, and maybe Jaden’s discontent was the closest approximation he could find to the things he was feeling. “Yeah, I guess I’m more surprised that they’d want to mingle with you.”
“I suppose they find my candor refreshing, having heard so much crap from their parents and counselors over the years, who all have their own catchy, disingenuous ways of dandying up the same lie. They don’t want to acknowledge that the rules have been altered mid-roll, and since they can’t square that with their own jobs, they say it’s our fault that we’re losing. You’re not applying yourself. You need to study more. Blame the victims; it’s the oldest trick there is.” Jaden turned from me to them. “But that’s their problem.”
“I didn’t know you cared so much about school,” I said, taking some almond milk out of the fridge.
“Probably ‘cause you’ve got more important things going on, brah. Bustin’ moves. Earning those As. Which I think Spencer gets and just wants to hang out with someone who treats him like he’s worth the time. Isn’t that right, Spence?”
“I suppose so,” said Spencer, slightly louder and clearer but still in his stilted, anemic tremble. No wonder my brother had picked him as a mark.
Jaden and I used to play this game we dubbed “Total Recall” where we’d get a point every time we filmed someone at school talking shit about someone else behind their back, and another three if we filmed the same person saying the opposite thing to the other person’s face. The one of us with the least points at the end of the week had to steal an item off Mr. Keppler’s desk in plain sight.
Jaden became a fantastic cataloguer, not because he was interested in knowing the person, but because he was interested in knowing about them. Because each word was another brush stroke, another contour to him, and he knew that if he made enough of them, he’d be able to map out exactly where to strike. With someone like Spencer, it was open season.
Their “friendship” was clearly meant to send me a message about Jaden’s frustration with being kept in the dark about things—I would be frustrated, too, but I felt all my years of looking out for him, teaching him how to act like he wasn’t in the B cluster of the DSM, had earned me a little more than a couple weeks of slack. Maybe I hadn’t been as attentive as I wanted to lately, but I’d always been there. I’d always been his advocate. And hearing this sudden bullshit about me “not caring” was really starting to piss me off.
“Right, Jaden, telling people what they want to hear’ll make them like you. Let me know how long that makes you feel better about yourself.”
Spencer’s eyes squinted in confusion while Jaden’s face soured further.
“I know you like manga and anime, Spence. And Kishihara and those little AR projections you design. And I bet Jaden’s told you he likes all that stuff, too, hasn’t he?” I asked.
Spencer looked at me and then at Jaden.
“Well, he doesn’t. He makes fun of it. And he makes fun of Gemsword and Outer Rings and a bunch of other things you like, too. I don’t know what he’s been feeding you, man, but he’s not your friend.”
Jaden smiled, turning to the other kids. “Ladies and gentlemen, my wonderful older brother, Dorian. Real mature, right? A real class act. But coming from someone who’s hemorrhaging friends as fast as he is, the shade just slides off.”
But it hadn’t slid off, and for the first time I detected contempt in his voice that stretched beyond our normal banter. He hated to be called out. And he hated secrets and being excluded, even when he pushed people away. Once upon a time back in grade school he’d had more friends, but their parents eventually stopped bringing them over to play because of how they started acting afterward. Mom said one time that Mrs. Wheeler called asking if anything had happened because her son Jon or Jack or something hadn’t spoken a word for two days and was afraid to go to sleep.
Jaden would never tell me specifically what he did with his “friends,” and I suppose I didn’t want to know, but one time he bragged to me that, “Torturing neighborhood animals was cliché,” and he was far too much of an artist to “debase himself with such peasant-grade sadism”.
Trying to sound as ambivalent as I could, I asked, “So what was it you were talking about when I came in?”
They exchanged glances. “Tactics,” Jaden said finally.
“For what?”
“Counter-Insurgency 5.”
And then Spencer chimed in, “It’s as real as it gets. Army Rangers and Navy Seals use it as training, and we actually get to pl
ay with some of them sometimes—like the game we’re in now. That’s why we’re doing all this strategizing and stuff. The next map is insane with this crazy terrain, so we’re thinking of all these possible ambushes, but we know they will be, too, so we figure we’ll use these things called fractal robots to tunnel in behind. You can have them assemble into anything you want so if we turn them into an excavator or a drill—”
“He knows the game,” said Jaden, holding up a hand to stop him rambling.
“Yeah, I know he’s been wasting his time on it for a while,” I said, still unable to calm myself down. I’d never been that fond of Spencer and knew he was being worked, yet somehow the defection still cut.
Spencer, turning back to me, continued through a sniffle. “But Dor, his skill rank is, like, freakishly high. People actually know him—well, his screen name, anyway. It’s lit as hell that he’s letting us work with him. Pretty nuts, really.”
He blew his nose with a Kleenex and then wiped moisture out of his eyes. They were red and milky. His face was pale. I knew Spencer was on stamps, but this was a new high-water mark for him.
“You knew that, didn’t you?” asked Spencer.
“He never told me.” I couldn’t say it was a surprise, though; Jaden spent most nights in his room with the door locked. “Not that I care what his sim scores are.”
“It’s not just a sim, it’s the sim,” said one of the other ones standing behind the counter.
And then another, “It’s freakin’ legit.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But think, Jaden, if you put a tenth of the time you spend on that toward something practical, just imagine about how good at it you’d be,” I said.
“It’s funny,” responded Jaden matter-of-factly, cocking his head in his characteristic, seventy-five-degree angle. How you assume it’s not practical.”
I was a little taken aback. “Shooting people?”
“Yes.”
“Wha . . . why would you need to be able to do that?”
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