Into Neon

by Matthew A Goodwin

  Three posters adorned the wall now, appropriately ripped and faded, the corners wrinkled as though adhered to the wall with sticky globs. Moss wondered how long his friend had spent altering the images to get them looking that way. An ecstatic Bob Marley grinned, surrounded by smoke from a large marijuana cigarette held between two fingers. Between the windows, the naked backsides of six women with Pink Floyd album covers painted on their backs, sat lounging by a pool. Lastly, to the right, was a black and red poster of a bearded man’s face wearing a beret, the word “CHE” written in block letters.

  “Pretty great, huh?” Gibbs asked as he pulled a beer from the pocket of his sagging pants.

  “As ever,” Moss complimented. Gibbs beamed with pride. He, like many in the burbs, was obsessed with the period just before the Neo Dark Age. He watched old movies and television shows and looked on those days with a reverence which Moss did not understand. He preferred the time in which he lived, the technology and ease of hex living. He did not romanticize some unobtainable past and found engaging in that kind of hyperbole useless. The fact that he did the very same thing with superheroes and fantasy adventures was completely lost on him.

  Dresser, Gibbs thought, watching Moss’s face.

  “Yeah, I heard that,” Moss answered the unasked question as the wall opened and a rack of hanging clothes and drawers slid out.

  “So weird,” Gibbs said, and Moss agreed as he heard, Dress me for the city. Moss turned his back as the arms folded down. Gibbs snorted a laugh.

  “What?” Moss said over his shoulder.

  “I just tested to make sure you couldn’t hear my thoughts.” Gibbs chuckled as the arms from his ceiling pulled a shirt over his wide frame.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he answered easily. “Called you a massive prude for turning around so quickly.”

  “I’m just respecting your privacy,” Moss defended.

  “Whatever you say, prude,” he mocked and for a brief moment, this all felt normal to Moss. Hanging out with Gibbs, getting ready to go out. Feeling reluctant and nervous while Gibbs excitedly made fun of him. It just felt like a weekend evening where he had somehow been convinced by his friend to go to a nightclub. The comfort of normalcy. But the moment passed as he rubbed his thumb along the side of the chip.

  “What do you think it is?” Gibbs inquired.

  “What?” Moss asked.

  “The chip. What do you think it is? I mean, this company is so big, there are bound to be some bad apples, but I can’t imagine what would be on that which could be so damning as to take down a company like this,” he said.

  “I have no clue. I’m honestly not sure Ynna did either.”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” he observed, and Moss heard him rummage through one of the drawers. Before he had time to turn around, he felt heavy plastic on his shoulder. He turned to see a Kingfisher stun blaster sitting next to his face.

  “Why do you have this?” Moss asked, aghast, turning to see Gibbs holding one as well.

  “Because the world is not a safe place.” And while Moss knew the truth of his words, he had never experienced it. He reached for the weapon and held it in his palm, any sense of this being a normal moment evaporating entirely. It was unnatural in his hand as he put his finger on the trigger. The battery displayed five full, green bars.

  “Wow,” he uttered as he turned to watch Gibbs stash his in the waist of a pair of loose-fitting blue jeans. He wore a simple black T-shirt over another shirt with long yellow sleeves peeking from underneath and a brimmed cap on his head, red curls poking out. Moss tried to fit his weapon into a shallow pocket of his jacket, causing it to hang awkwardly to one side. Gibbs rolled his eyes and pulled the stunner from the pocket as he physically spun Moss back around and jammed the thing hard down the waist at his back. Moss let out a little shriek as the muzzle scraped his skin.

  He huffed. “You want to be seen with that the day of a security breach?”

  “I guess not,” Moss said.

  “You guess not?” Gibbs exclaimed. “Moss, you gotta screw your head on. I know you think you have this all figured out, but this is some major stuff we are engaged in here. We could be arrested or worse if we get caught. That chip in your pocket is tantamount to corporate treason. Following the trail of your parents may mean this is the last time you see your hex. The last day working with Two. The last time you see Issy. This is no small potatoes. The full weight of ThutoCo may come crashing down on you and you need to be ready. I can’t imagine what would have come of you if you hadn’t told me—if I hadn’t offered to come along,” he said, passion and pity making a cocktail which Moss could hardly stomach.

  “I know, man. This is all just so much,” Moss said, as deflated as he had ever heard his own voice.

  “I don’t mean to bust your chops, it’s just that you don’t seem to fully appreciate the magnitude of the situation,” his friend said and put a reassuring hand on Moss’s shoulder.

  “I do, it’s all just so new to me,” he said, wishing he had stopped drinking after one beer. His already confused mind now drenched in a heavy fog.

  “It’s about to get a lot newer,” Gibbs said and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

  “Are we crazy?” Moss asked.

  “Oh, yes.” Gibbs nodded with a wicked smile. “So, let’s go be crazy.”

  Gibbs threw on a backpack and ushered Moss out of the hex before he had time to doubt himself again. They made their way to the elevators and down to the first floor, trying not to stumble as they passed company shops full of people buying clothes, electronic toys and upgrades for their hexes. Employees sat around in coffee shops, bars and restaurants, most of the overheard conversations were about the security lockdown. Every person had their own theories as to what happened. The place was abuzz with nervous gossip. Moss felt superior to everyone, knowing the grand secret that was on everyone’s lips. Gibbs watched all the idle chatter, making his peace with the idea of never stepping foot in the burb again.

  Digital maps and projected arrows pointed the way toward the terminal and Moss couldn’t help but smirk at the posters of smiling employees sitting on the white sand beach in SeaDome. The terminal walls were covered with alternating advertisements for the various Dome options: mountain climbing, winter wonderland, ancient ruins, and steamy jungles. All places Moss had heard mentioned and never been.

  Light rail trains came and went with dizzying speed, hurrying employees and their luggage to the exotic destinations. The two followed the paths to the platform to Shuttle Bay Six, the nearest departure point. A train pulled in mere moments after they arrived, and they stepped aboard, found seats and lowered the safety bars over their shoulders. As the bars clicked into place, Moss was confined in a way he had never experienced and as the train pulled away from the station, the force of the movement made him instantly nauseated. As it glided silently forward, he felt as though his organs were being pressed against the inside of his skin, trying to force their way out of his body. He could feel his face flush and the tips of his fingers tingle. Looking around, no one else seemed the slightest bit bothered, mostly chatting with one another or watching the screens at the front and back of the compartment.

  “I’m Marisol Mae and these are some of the vacation trends this season,” the unreal woman said and, despite himself, Moss tried to picture her life off camera. It did not work anymore, and he just watched the display and tried to keep from vomiting.

  “If you are in the mood for adventure, ThutoCo has you covered. Hop on a train to CastleDome. There you will be transported to a magical world where you can live out your fantasy of being a knight, maiden or even a King or Queen. Ride real horses, camp out under the stars or learn to fight with swords. You might even meet a dragon. You can have it all in CastleDome. Spots are limited so book your room now. Your adventure awaits.

  “If you are more in the mood to relax this season, may I recommend—” and the screen paused as the train pulled slowly into the next
station. Gibbs nudged Moss, who stood slowly on uneasy feet.

  “You all right? Is it like the elevators?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I don’t know how you all stand it,” he remarked.

  “I suppose you just get used to it,” he said, leading Moss off the train. “I have to stop here,” he said, pointing at a restroom, and as the beer had caught up with Moss as well, he nodded his agreement. After a quick stop, Gibbs led Moss out of the tunnel up some stairs. The air turned cold as they ascended into the massive port with one open-air mall. Rain pounded the circular glass roof which reflected the light from the many screens indicating directions toward the hover-cabs. Moss followed his friend as a child follows their parent to the line for cabs and they cued behind a family. One kid lay slung upon his mom’s shoulder while another kept slapping the tags on an upright luggage bag.

  “Please stop that,” the mother admonished, looking exhausted. “I want you to be good when we see your father.”

  It occurred to Moss for the first time that not everyone lived a life contained within the burb. His life had been so thoroughly contained, it surprised him that others lived differently, and once again, he wondered if he was too foolish to do what he was about to do.

  Several green lights turned on near shuttles and they made their way toward an empty one, the doors opened and a screen with options lay in front of the seats. The shuttle was off yellow, with a red cherry light on top, a long bright light at its front and boosters all along its base. The heat coming off it was jarring, and Moss was uneasy stepping aboard the hovering vehicle. They seated themselves and entered the destination.

  “This is not a recommended locale; may we suggest the shops at the Embarcadero?” a voice came through the speakers. Gibbs hit CANCEL and entered Long-Legged Spinners again.

  “This is not a recommended locale; may we suggest the bars at Nueva Stonestown?”

  Gibbs grumbled and went through the motions again.

  “This is not a recommended locale; would you like to continue?” He pressed YES.

  “Any damage taken by this vehicle will be added to your bill. Do you accept?”

  ACCEPT and the cab jolted as it lifted further from the ground.

  Moss and Gibbs left their fluorescent and white world for one of neon and black.

  PART 2

  Chapter 6

  The cab cleared the rim of the terminal and darkness filled the vehicle as thudding water hammered the roof and coated the windows. For as sickening as the train had been, the smooth glide of the hover-cab didn’t bother Moss at all. He looked out the window as the glistening white stacked circles of the burbs grew smaller. He was awestruck by how many there were, all connected by the light rail to one another as well as the terminals and domes.

  “It’s so big,” Moss said, almost as though the thought just wanted to jump from his lips.

  “That’s what she said,” Gibbs joked, and Moss groaned audibly as the cab banked and the complex disappeared from view.

  “I had no idea,” he said.

  “The complex is massive. There are over one hundred burbs in the headlands. ThutoCo owns this entire district of the city, and there are complexes like this in almost every city around the world.”

  “How many cities are there?” Moss asked, never having thought about it before. B.A. City was all he had ever heard mentioned except when reading about the wars.

  “No idea. I know there are three along the coast and a couple more to the east. I’ve never thought to ask,” Gibbs explained. “Each city has its own local government but from what I hear, they are all pretty powerless. Intercontinental companies like ThutoCo pretty much make the rules.”

  “I guess if you feed all the voters, you can pretty well control the people they vote for,” Moss observed.

  “Exactly,” Gibbs agreed as the cab turned, and the city came into view.

  “Woah,” Moss said, astonished. Through the rain streamed window, he saw towers of stacked lights stretching over hills into the distance. An eerie glow of light pressed against the black night. Spotlight beams swayed back and forth over the seemingly endless series of rectangular skyscrapers. The orbital billboards shone ads down upon the inhabitants. Moss stared as the lights of the city grew closer and he saw most of the lights were coming from individual windows in the buildings. “How… how many people live here?” he asked in disbelief.

  “This is only the tip of the iceberg. The city keeps going for fifty miles, with a population of fifty or one hundred million or something like that. Most people live in massive apartment buildings or just on the streets. The few elites left on this planet live at the tops of these buildings or massive compounds all their own,” he said, sounding to Moss as though he was repeating what some tour guide had told him.

  “That’s incredible, the sheer size of it” Moss noted. He was astounded that so many people, so many lives existed so close to him and he had no idea of it.

  “Why do you think we have to grow so much p-root?” Gibbs asked a note of mockery in his voice.

  “It’s unbelievable,” he said, not paying Gibbs much mind. They flew over a massive, open-air night market. Seemingly endless rows of neon-lit, tarp-covered stalls with racks of clothes, smoking food stalls and cheap electronics stretched into the night. People milled about, unbothered by the rain. Moss watched their small forms move between stalls like the termites around the panels his drudge repaired. In an instant, it was behind them as they floated into the city itself. Towers rose all around them as the cab moved between tunnels which connected the buildings and into a land of slow-moving traffic. HoloAds the size of the skyscrapers moved and flashed products.

  Rings of condensation formed around the hands which Moss had pressed against the window as he looked. He could not see the ground; the base of the city was so far from their elevated position. People were everywhere, in every window, smoking on balconies, having poolside drinks on partially roofed plazas connecting buildings.

  The cab stopped, red brake lights from the car in front flooding the space, moving with the rain. Moss watched as a drudge, dressed in a tuxedo, walked over to a group of people and offered them a plate of some food he did not recognize but which looked fancy. One man picked something off the tray and popped it in his mouth before instantly spitting it back into his hand and throwing it at the drudge. The other people all laughed as he said something.

  The red emptied from the car and they moved forward, both their heads snapping toward the front windshield as they pulled up to a stoplight which illuminated a green arrow pointing down and the cab dropped. Moss’s stomach lurched and he felt all its contents sear the back of his throat. He cupped his hands over his mouth and swallowed hard as the cab slammed to a stop above the ground, sending the garbage which littered the street flying in every direction. Gibbs was in no better shape as an electronic voice came through the speakers.

  “You have reached your destination, please exit the vehicle quickly, and have a nice day,” it said as the two fumbled for their buckles. Gibbs stumbled from the cab like a drunk and Moss attempted to stand but struck the slick concrete, lights flashing up at him from the puddles. The sound of laughter, loud talking, and electric pounding music flooded his ears as rain pounded his back. He shivered as he vomited into the street. Gibbs came around to pull him up as the heat of the cab lifting skyward scorched his soaking body. They both looked around to take in the scene and get their bearings.

  “This way,” Gibbs said, gesturing to a web of lights which Moss could barely make out through the rain dripping down his face. He had never in his life been happier to have his friend by his side. He wiped his face and looked across the street to see the Long-Legged Spinner. The name was projected in moving letters on the façade above a huge spiderweb of neon red lights. Projected black widows skittered about the web. Windows faced the street, in which men and woman danced in suggestive lethargy.

  “See the breasts on her?” Gibbs pointed as they crossed the street, bu
t Moss had already noticed them. But the people in the windows were unnatural creatures. The women had massive, augmented breasts with waists so thin as to hardly contain a spine, legs so long as to be half their height and cartoonish eyes which stared into nothingness. The men were taller than any Moss had ever seen with long torsos containing too many abdominal muscles leading to humongous pecs and broad, strong shoulders.

  “Relief Aides?” Moss asked as they gawked from under an awning.

  “No,” Gibbs answered. “They are genetically and surgically altered to meet the needs of a specific clientele.”

  “Oh,” Moss replied as he watched a woman absently gyrate in a glowing thong and pasties. “What are we doing?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Gibbs answered, though the question had been rhetorical. They turned to walk toward the door but were stopped by a group of people who had been smoking nearby. Three men and a woman, all dressed in leather pants with military style jackets adorned with fearsome looking patches formed a wall before them.

  “What do we have here?” The tall, broad leader of the crew asked threateningly. The woman (on whose vest was written “prospect” rather than a name) wasted no time in excitedly answering.

  “Looks like a couple of fucking bubs,” she snarled.

  “Well, I’ll be,” the leader said as he moved toward them, fists clenched. He stared at the two of them unblinking, like a snake about to strike. A man on his right pulled a short length of chain from a pocket and began wrapping it around his knuckles as the woman slid a dirty length of pipe from her belt.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Gibbs said, holding up hands still dripping from the rain. Moss was rooted to the spot, too terrified even to run. Every question he had about the decision to leave the burb was answered at that moment. Wet, sick and scared for his life, he was as miserable as he had ever been.

  “Now, see, that was rude,” the leader said to his crew. “He just implied that we was trouble.”