“Who is his best friend?” I ask.
“Richard Hewman.”
The man’s image flashes in my mind. Impossible…
“The … inventor? The inventor?! He’s alive!?”
Yeshi fakes a yawn. “I’m ready to go to bed now.”
THIRTY-SIX∞
“They did what?” Sauria asked the next morning.
He was sitting on his veranda next to Heidi, his personal assistant. They had just finished having sex as the sun came up and she was still topless, her perfectly formed breasts gently washed with roseate hues by the first rays of the sun. From his vantage point, Sauria could see prickly gooseflesh covering her skin, a true feat in Humandroid bio-mimetic engineering.
“After killing all but one of Bleak’s security detail and erasing his memory, the three of them went to a nightclub, where things got out of hand.”
“How many are dead?” Sauria asked.
“One dead… bludgeoned to death with a pollution mask.”
“We can clean it up.”
“Already in the process of doing that. I think Keva was the ringleader. We may need to proceed with disciplinary actions.”
“What do you suggest? Confinement? Sensory Deprivation? Electro-Convulsive Aversion Therapy?” Sauria shook his head. “None of that ever seems to work with her. Other than putting a bullet in her head, there’s not a whole lot we can do. We may need to just accept the fact that she’s a loose cannon and go with it. We can deal with the nightclub incident later. Tell me what happened with Bleak. I’m sorry I was indisposed last night. As you know, I was the guest of honor at the Los Angeles Tomorrow dinner.”
“How was it?”
“The food was good, the entertainment … meh. They had a popular girl group playing named Autotune. I guess their shtick is that they don’t use autotune nor can they sing. They are all about the Equivocate for Clarity Movement.”
“Sounds horrible.”
“It was … until hologram Michael Jackson came out with Tupac rapping alongside him. Everyone likes a good throwback.”
Sauria said, “Well, the Beatlesholoshow with Nirvana as the opening act always sells out, and the Thunderdome Death Match between Yoko Ono and Courtney Love is always a crowd pleaser. I guess music a hundred years ago is just better than it is now. All the choons these days are heavily electronic or sampled so much that they sound like fifty people talking at once.” He sighed and he meant it. “Well, onto business. Bleak was found on the rooftop, zip tied and unconscious.”
Sauria smiled. He opened his eyes, watching as Heidi put on her bra. There was nothing, nothing, like hearing that your enemies have suffered. “Do we reach out to him or wait for him to reach out to us?”
“I think we reach out to Bleak,” Lorem said. “I want it to seem as if we are concerned about his well-being. Reaching out will do this. In fact, we may be able to pin this on Anonymous One and Two.”
“Clever… he just may buy it, especially after waking up on a rooftop covered in blood. Now is the time to pounce.” Sauria took a deep breath. He’d been having chest pains of late and he’d been planning to see a doctor.
“Agreed. Should we ask Connard to reach out to him or … ?”
“Let me do it.” Sauria turned to his assistant Heidi. “Honey, I’d like muesli and yogurt for breakfast today.”
“To drink?”
“A low-fat white mocha today, if you will. A little sugar would be nice, but not too much. Run along now.”
“No problem.” She bent forward and kissed him on the cheek. “You were great this morning,” she whispered in his ear.
“You too.”
He watched her perfectly-shaped ass sway as she took the steps that led to the sliding glass door.
“So you’ll reach out to him?” Lorem asked.
“Yes, in fact I’ll do it right now, while he’s still in recovery. Transfer me the information to his private line.”
“Done.”
Sauria placed a call over iNet to Bill Bleak. He wanted to see his bruised face but unfortunately, Bleak answered the call without video feed.
“Sauria,” the Tech Icon said instead of hello.
“My God, Bill, I heard what happened to you. Are you all right?”
“I’ll … I’ll be fine.”
Sauria couldn’t quite register if the man was furious, afraid or simply exhausted. “What happened?” He figured the answer to this question would tell him exactly how Bleak felt.
“It was … crazy. One minute I was walking into my hotel room, the next minute I was on the rooftop surrounded by … by … dead bodies. My mouth was bloody, my jaw felt like it had been dislocated, my kidneys hurt, I’m pissing blood … ”
“What?” Sauria asked, feigning concern. “I just … I can’t believe this!”
“The police arrived minutes later. They checked the cameras, but everything had been disabled.”
“What about the dead bodies?”
“The dead bodies belonged to my security detail. Only the team leader of the detail, Max, is still alive. Someone shot him in the knees, blew off both his arms and cut off his … um … his … well, it wasn’t pretty.”
“Jesus H. Christ! I know we have different politics,” Sauria began, “but this is exactly what I am interested in stopping. It is horrible that you had to suffer this. Someone was obviously trying to send you a message. I feel guilty about it … ”
“Why do you feel guilty?”
“I’m fairly certain someone from Anonymous hacked into my personal data files. They probably saw that I met with you, CEO of BlurYou, and they likely came to the conclusion that I was trying to get the video feed de-encrypted by your engineers,” Sauria lied. “You know, the video feed from their break-in at our Shinagawa headquarters.”
“Crazy. You think … you think they’d go that far?”
“If Anonymous is who I think they are, I’ve already seen them go this far. They’ve killed several of our representatives, I’ve been personally assaulted by one of the members, and they’re likely planning more. I wouldn’t be surprised at all. These are real subversives here.”
“I see. What should I do?” Bleak asked.
“Well, Firstly, I think we should meet again. We need to discuss what I know thus far about these two.”
“I’m not leaving my hotel room,” he said. “I have six guards outside.”
“From which company?”
“Pinkerton Security.”
“Well, I’m not going to spend much time commenting on the Pinkerton Security Company, but you do know they are rated one of the least best security companies in the business, don’t you?”
“They are?”
“I’ll tell you what, Bill, I can send some MercSecure representatives to you if you’d like, free of charge. I want you to be protected.”
“You do? Why are you so concerned about me?” The man’s tone of voice changed and Sauria knew he needed to ease into what he was going to say next.
“I’m concerned because I’m a CEO too. I know what it feels like to have my life threatened. As I said before, we have different politics, but we are both American CEOs, which means we should have somewhat of an affinity for one another.”
“Don’t worry about sending MercSecure reps,” he said. “I have it covered.”
“Suit yourself.”
“But we should meet. I really would like to know what you know about all this, about Anonymous.”
Sauria said, “From what we know, Anonymous is a team of two people. However, there’s no limit to how many more there could be. Hundreds, maybe even thousands. We can discuss this in person.”
Bleak thought for a moment. “So you’ll come here?” he finally asked.
“Sure, I’ll be there this evening, to give you some time to rest. One thing though … ”
“What’s that?”
“I know you have sensitive information regarding my companies. What I am suggesting then is an information swap. You t
ell me what you know and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“No ocular feeds.”
“None needed,” Sauria said. “We are both at the top of our industries. There will always be someone vying for our positions, as you know.”
Bleak cleared his throat. “I know.”
“Good, then we can do an even exchange, information for information.”
“What about the video feed? Do you want that?”
Sauria nodded. “I would love to see the video feed, but I know your company’s policy and I realize now that I violated it by asking you to view the video yesterday. For now, we can just exchange verbal information. I won’t put pressure on you to actually give me the de-encrypted video feed. Information will do.”
“I’ll view the video myself,” Bleak finally said. “I can exercise this privilege as the CEO. I can’t share it, but I can tell you in detail what I see.”
“Good, I’ll transfer you a few pictures for you to compare with your video.”
“What time tonight?” he asked.
Sauria checked his watch. “How about seven-thirty? Have dinner first. We’ll get down to business and try to finish by nine.”
THIRTY-SEVEN∞
Richard Hewman.
Who would have thought that the man was still alive? (If Yeshi or more appropriately, Tim7, wasn’t lying about his existence.) After all, Yeshi has never actually seen the man nor has he ever sent a message to the Humandroids through Tim7. More importantly – if Hewman is alive, and he has power through Tim7, or they share power or whatever, they could lead an uprising against the humans. They could eradicate humankind.
Better stay on the right side, Meme. Shatter the emerald tablet!
The possibilities and the outcomes are endless; they boil inside my brittle brain cavity long after the hour I should have been asleep. By the time two in the morning rolls around like an angry ex, I’m up, sitting on the ground with my back against the bed. A spoonful of pollutes helps the cranium slow down, the nightmares slow down, the insomnia turn ‘round – I think that’s how the song from Mary Poppins goes.
I’m in luck! This is a hotel and all late twenty-first century hotels come equipped with a pollution mask. I just have to get it without turning on the lights, not that it will wake Yeshi – she sleeps like a rock. Still, common courtesy goes a long way in any relationship.
The mask is easy to find, hooked on the wall next to the bed, and I take it down and strap it to my face like a good little laddie. I miss the fresh pollutes of LA, made by the grimy dreadlocked bartenders who are famous for their special pollute toppers, prepared fresh daily. Love my organic in-your-face hometown, where wack is cool and cool is celebutard. Oh LA – how I miss thee.
Regardless, the automatic system will do the trick. I place the mask on my head, not quite sure of how to select a pollute. I don’t want anything twisted, just something to get me to sleep, something to anvil my eyelids.
“How do I select a pollute?” I whisper to myself.
Pollute choices appear on the polypropylene eye lenses. Apparently, the same company that makes the Japanese pollute selector screen makes the ones for the hotel. Instead of a rabbit or frog, I’m greeted by a little anime-looking mariachi.
“Ingles,” I whisper. The little figure does a Mexican hat dance and the list appears in English (I don’t know if I should be offended by the cartoon, but I decide to voice my complaints later):
Mugato Insomnia Thrasher
Tom Ford Khat Chow
BHS Bummer Bum
Diesel Dichotomy Drum Circle
I stick to the top of the list. Got to get my sleep on before morning rears her tear-stained face (or tears her rear-stained face). A hiss indicates the pollutes are being fed through the system, pumped into me. Glorious.
(Inhale, exhale.)
I’m not an addict. I know what you’re thinking, Reader, but come on, don’t judge me for once. Clearly, I’m in over my head. Clearly, I’ve bitten off more than I can chew when I’ve essentially decided to take on the American Government (or more appropriately, the corporate entity that it has essentially become).
So the pollutes help, as does your morning coffee or your nightcap before hitting the sheets. It seems as if we’ll do anything to smooth and obfuscate the passing of time. Nothing wrong with that I suppose. Read: don’t judge me.
Sleepy time, Meme and Reader. Yawn only to inhale more, only to cough. Tonight is a night that we won’t take the mask off. Just relax with me, cross thy legs and lean against the bedframe alongside me. Inhale and let us begin. It’s not the first time I’ve fallen asleep with the mask on next to you; it definitely won’t be the last.
Time passes and morning comes.
Yeshi’s delicate hand reaches me before the morning light can, flopping over my chest. I feel her nuzzle her head on my shoulder, her morning hair messy and untamed.
“You fell asleep with the mask on.” She does me the honor of taking the mask off, returning it to its place above the bed.
“Sorry … ” I want to pinch my nose to avoid smelling my own morning breath.
“You know you are addicted to pollutes, right?” she asks in a moment of morning candor that I was hoping to avoid.
“Addicted? Come on, there are people in this world who do way more than me. Way more.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean you don’t have a problem,” she says.
Is she nagging me?
“I’m not nagging you … ”
Is she reading my mind!?
“I just want you to know that you do exhibit the traits of an addict, whether you care to admit it or not.”
I press myself off the floor with nothing to say aside from, “I’m under a lot of pressure.”
“Meme … ” Yeshi rolls over and looks up at me. “You realize I don’t care if you’re a pollute-addict, don’t you? I am simply stating a very obvious fact. You can do what you want, really you can. I am aware that many adults now are dependent upon pollutes to function, even with the studies coming out about the ill effects on a person’s health.”
“Those are just studies.” I turn my back to her.
“True, but there is merit in those studies. You know I monitor your vitals … ”
“Yes? And? Remember, I’m trapped in the body of a fat Mexican right now, so my vitals might not be all they’re cracked up to be.”
“Come here,” she says, patting her hand on the bed. I return to the bed like a freshly groomed poodle with his tail tucked between his legs. She runs her hand through my hair. “There’s no need to get offended or embarrassed. When the time comes, I think you will change your ways.”
I look up at her, past her bangs, her perfect skin, her dark eyes. Homo Machina. Her eyes hold a knowledge I’ll never truly grasp, an objective sense of reality I’ll never have.
One day, I want to say, one day I will change for you, Yeshi.
THIRTY-EIGHT∞
Breakfast is served in our room (chorizo and runny eggs, flour tortillas and fresh salsa bandera) and after I’ve finished, Yeshi and I are escorted to Manuel’s private suite. We are again checked at the door by some thugs, and after a gropy little pat-down, we are let inside. Lo and behold there is a Japanese man standing in the room.
Manuel (black suit, shaved head, dark gray shirt, reeking of cologne) smiles. “Good morning, Meme, meet your new body.”
Yeshi sits as I examine the body in the way one would examine a mannequin. I walk around the Japanese man, taking in his size and features. His hair is neatly cut, his features chiseled and his skin the color of bleached wood. He’s thin but tall, and his arms are slightly muscled. He looks good in his dark suit with an open collar – I’m feeling better about this switch already.
“Let’s get the switch out of the way,” Manuel says, “then we can watch the video of Nelly’s prison escape together.”
“It already happened?”
“No,” he says, “we’ll be viewing it live. Switch and then you’ll
need to contact Noah. Today is the day. We need to make sure he’s received the package I sent him – he should have it within the hour – and he needs to take the necessary actions to meet Nelly and her getaway driver near the border.”
The Japanese man turns to me. Remember, Manuel had one of his men switch with a Yakuza guy, so the man standing in front of me is actually not Japanese, he’s one of Manuel’s henchmen.
“I have a switcher.” I take off my guitar pick necklace and hold it in front of my body. Both of us touch one side of the guitar pick with our finger sensors.
A message appears on my iNet screen asking me if I’d like to make the transfer. Yes please!
BOOM.
Seriously, boom is the only word that adequately describes my joy in knowing that I am finally, FINALLY, out of Carloza’s body. Hell, as soon as the nausea passes (all of two minutes), I nearly do a jump kick right there in the middle of Manuel’s office. I’m turning Japanese I think I’m turning Japanese I really think so! I really am Japanese now!
Damn it feels good to be a gangsta – actually appropriate considering I am now in the body of a member of the Yakuza. The man in Carloza’s body smiles. Manuel turns to him and says, “Okay José, it’s time to pay the Noriegas a visit. Check in with me later when you’ve finished. Remember, kill them all. Take our Andromeda Comsuits for back-up.”
“No problemo.”
“Where’s he going?” I ask as soon as he steps out. I stretch my fingers again, growing used to my new body.
“People have been fucking with us in the border territories since the rumors of Carloza’s death started. Now it’s our turn to fuck back.”
“I see.”
Me: I keep forgetting we’re basically in bed with a powerful Mexican drug cartel.
Yeshi: What else did you expect them to do with Carloza’s body? Messages will be sent. Still, your new body is nice, handsome.
Me: I told you it would be best for me to switch.
Yeshi: I stand corrected.
Life is a Beautiful Thing (4-Book Box Set) Page 43