Neurotopia

by Tony Mohorovich

  Next to the big toe was a once-grand archway with faded letters in various languages: Shackleton Moon Colony.

  People passed Sky like a stream around a boulder, descending and ascending the discolored steps that led underground to the Old Quarter, where the first colonists had lived before the radiation-proof domes.

  Sky merged with the human stream and she too descended. The scant natural light that seeped in from the upper levels soon disappeared, replaced by an artificial wan. The structures underground were smaller but just as misshapen. The streets—or corridors—narrowed and Sky found it difficult to avoid bumping shoulders with the natives.

  The air was even thicker here. Every so often Sky stopped to draw breath. She came across a stall that sold air filters, so she purchased one and sucked at the nozzle. This eased her breathing somewhat.

  Here and there the Old Quarter would open up and she would catch a glimpse of the levels below, inside what was once Shackleton’s Crater. It was a city unto itself.

  ‘Become a star. The fastest way to move up the domes,’ a holo advertisement boomed, with images of scantily clad young women and men in the lap of upper-level luxury. A line of young people stretched down the corridor and ended at the recruitment booths.

  All manner of pornographic footage swirled around Sky, including one of a woman with enough orifices to accommodate her five co-stars who—

  Someone tapped her shoulder. She spun to find milky white pupils and a chiselled jaw. ‘You can hide under that veil all you like, but I can still tell you’re stunning.’ He had high-styled flash white hair. Handsome. His grip was tight. Sky noticed three others hovering in the vicinity, doing their best to look otherwise.

  She turned away from him but he persisted. ‘I can make you a star. Our studio pays a premium for Earth figures.’

  Sky ignored him and continued following her map toward the rumormongers. Less than a block later she realized the man with the white pupils was walking beside her. His three associates trailed like hyenas.

  ‘You look a little lost, maybe I can help?’ he said.

  She swayed in the gravity and would sometimes accidentally brush up against his shoulder.

  ‘My name’s Gregos. How come you don’t have a public profile? What’s your name?’

  Sky tried to walk faster but she was no match for him. She kept silent behind her face veil and tried to push through the crowd. She stumbled and Gregos caught her.

  ‘You lookin’ for neurostim? I have contacts; best trips you’ll ever have at any level. I’ve got vicaries that will blow your mind; just got one where the actor chews his own arm off.’ He tapped his chest with a fist. ‘Didn’t even have to drop the pain levels. Experienced the whole thing,’ he said with pride. ‘That’s why you’re down here, isn’t it? It’s okay; lots of Earth folks come down for that.’

  She did not respond.

  ‘A beautiful woman such as yourself shouldn’t be walking alone,’ he added.

  She turned into a corridor, hoping to stretch him far enough from his business that he would eventually slingshot back and leave her in peace. After a couple of more such detours, she lost sight of him, hopefully for good. To avoid bumping into him again, Sky decided to follow an alternate route to the rumormongers. She wound her way along the corridors, eventually coming to what appeared to be a market, but not the ordinary kind.

  Auctioneers danced across stages like frenzied butterflies, praising their stock’s strength, vitality, attractiveness, reproductive capability, talents in reading or writing or serving or cooking or fellatio. Some “stock” were clothed, others naked. Humans of all ages who, according to the auctioneers, had consented to indentured servitude for a defined or even undefined period. There appeared to be no shortage of consenting stock.

  Sky stood mute, incredulous among the furtive bidders. She had heard of such markets, but to see them out in the open, with people being auctioned like furniture.

  ‘I said you were beautiful, and you ignored me. That ain’t nice,’ someone said, grabbing her arm. It was the Gregos man. He had followed her.

  Sky yanked at her arm, but he held it tight.

  ‘Where are my manners?’ she said. ‘I am so very grateful for your compliment.’

  Gregos frowned. ‘You’re being sarcastic,’ he said, as if it took a genius to figure that out. He spun her until they were face-to-face. Something prodded into her stomach. It was a gun, held by a third hand that had appeared out of the man’s gut.

  ‘Handy, isn’t it?’ he laughed. ‘Just got it installed. It works so well I think I’ll get me another one, maybe on my back, so I can scratch my ass.’

  The gun whined, for emphasis.

  Sky looked around at the crowd, hoping someone would notice her predicament and intervene.

  ‘I see you’re afraid.’ Gregos smiled. ‘Good. Your body is giving me the respect I deserve, even though your mouth does not. But that will change.’

  She did not resist when he threw her luggage aside and pushed her against a wall. She should have—and later she would scold herself for not doing so—but at that moment, resistance did not enter her mind. Nothing did.

  He pinned her against the wall and Sky let out an involuntary cry. It seemed to please him. ‘Not your average puny loony, eh? Impressed?’ He tensed and released his muscles, playing with fabric around his torso with his two free hands, ‘Top of the range resistance suit; muscle and bone mass is no problem for me.’

  His breath was warm on her face. ‘The body always desires what the mind fears,’ he grinned. ‘Do you know the difference between Apollan and Earth men?’ He pushed his hips against hers and smiled. ‘Gravity.’

  Sky felt as if something had lodged in her throat and she couldn’t speak.

  Uncle Jesse, where are you?

  When Gregos brushed his mouth against her face, she withdrew inside herself, as if it were possible to watch the attack from inside a cocoon.

  Why couldn’t she fight back? Was he using a hack? In the simulations she would have hammered his nose and run for her life.

  She looked past her assailant to a women’s clothing stall. A customer glanced at her but returned to browsing the dresses. A couple of urchins milled about, watching Sky’s predicament with interest.

  Somewhere deep in Sky’s mind was a voice that told her she had weapons… a taser… and a bolter she had purchased from a child. The voice told her she could use them. But that was all it did—talk. It did not reconnect her with her body. It did not link her with the weapons. It was just a tiny voice, like a lost memory, trying to find its way back into her consciousness.

  Even if she could muster the courage to use her weapons, what good would they do when there was a gun to her gut? A single shot would be enough to finish her. Nobody would care.

  Perhaps what awaited her was not as bad as death? She was no good to her mother dead. Perhaps she would find a better opportunity to escape at a later time? Perhaps someone would help her? Perhaps his intent was not as malicious as it appeared?

  The Gregos man’s clawing fingers found her two weapons.

  ‘Cheap,’ he said, and threw the taser to the floor where the urchins fought for its possession. He pocketed the bolter and leaned in.

  ‘You might be from Earth, but you’re not like other dirties I’ve met. You’ve got that look, like you’ve been on Ground too long.’ There was almost sympathy in his tone. Then he cocked his head, nonchalant, as if everything was water off a duck’s back to him. ‘Life’s like being fucked and choked at the same time, yeah? As long as the fucking’s good, you stick around.’

  Something stung the left side of Sky’s neck. Everything went dark and she was grateful for it.

  ​6:6

  Okiro sat in his cubicle at the Detroit Neuroprogramming Precinct. He had just left another message for Sky. Her network ID would not ping. The system did not even recognize that she was in a network. Her last recorded location was on board the beanstalk elevator, and her brain scans h
ad ceased once the elevator left Earth-space. Sky Marion, the woman who could hardly leave her apartment for fear of other humans, had somehow managed to go to the Moon. She made no sense.

  The precinct was abuzz with programmers notifying citizens of scanner infractions and scheduling programming sessions: ‘Neuroscanners confirm you are developing a pattern of aggressive thoughts… antisocial urges… intention to underpay your employees… refusal to accept your brown privilege…’

  I should get back to work, Okiro thought.

  Yet he pulled up Sky’s entire file; a lifetime’s worth of scanning and programming.

  As a young girl she had excelled at school, friendships, and general life satisfaction. Then came the hack of ’36, when the VOL’s telepaths rained neural terror on Earth’s citizens. Sky was hit with an “Unknown” intrusion that turned out to be a sleeper hack; she only started developing symptoms months after the initial intrusion. Her limbic system had spiked with fear and worsened with each passing week. The subsequent genetic and neural programming had made a dent, but not much of a difference. Until now.

  I’m behind in my files…

  Were his nascent feelings for Sky intruding on his duties? If they were, it would come up on his monthly employee scanner report. ‘If you’re concerned about your report,’ his captain would say, ‘then it’s a sign to stop your current thought pattern and switch gears.’

  Sky’s neurals had always given him a discomfort. An unease which grew and screamed for attention as he watched her life flicker around him. He had examined countless scanner case files in his career and they all had a certain rhythm to them; an ebb and flow of neural talent, data, growth, and expertise.

  But Sky Marion was different. Looking at her data as a whole, he struggled to see any consistency, any rhythm. An ordinary scanner history was like a rollercoaster: a single set of rails, up and down, side to side. Whereas Sky had hundreds of intersections and rail switches. How could her mind cope?

  This, he thought, would be the moment on his scanner report where the captain would say, ‘There, you lapsed there. You should have moved on.’

  ‘Too much dopamine will make you go blind.’ His colleague Trinh leant against the cubicle wall on the other side of Sky’s data. ‘Had your trauma ramming yet?’ she asked. ‘You look like you could use it.’

  ‘I’ve got a session this afternoon. You?’

  ‘Just had one and my head is still spinning. Sometimes I don’t know what’s worse: the problem or the ramming. Speaking of problems…’ she looked at Sky’s data and shook her head, tut-tutting. She smirked and walked off.

  Trinh was right. He should close Sky’s file. He would do it in a few minutes.

  A few minutes turned into more than a few. He kept following his unease like a Geiger counter that lead him to the most radioactive area.

  What was he looking for? An answer? To what? Perhaps he needed to make sense of Sky. But why?

  The neurotech assigned to handle his trauma programming called to tell Okiro he had missed his appointment. Okiro explained he had been busy at work and had lost track of time. Technically, that was true, but it was the first time he had missed a session. The neurotech rescheduled the appointment.

  When Okiro returned to Sky’s data, he spotted something unusual. She had a spike in her neural growth the day after the brainbender incident. It was not a natural growth but the sort of sudden spike you might get after a lengthy programming session.

  The curious thing was, there were no official records that she had received any programming on that day.

  ​6:7

  Sky woke, strapped to a bed. Her clothes lay in one corner, piled on top of her luggage. She lay exposed in her loose shorts and bra.

  Her wrists were shackled with synthetic twine. Her ankles too, though she was able to bend her knees a little. The room had a single red lamp with a dull light. A sheath dispenser hung on the wall; evidently there were still venereal diseases here. The place stank of sweat, or something like it. The last thing she recalled was a stinging in her neck.

  What happened, Uncle Jesse? Was I hacked?

  < No ma’am. You were in shock. You couldn’t hear me. I was tryin’ to get to you but they stuck you with a sedative. >

  She heard a woman’s scream. An obscenity. A man’s groan. Things creaked.

  Sky yanked at her restraints, but the more she pulled the more they tightened.

  ‘Uncle Jesse, call my insurers. Call anyone. Call my father.’

  < Can’t do it, ma’am; you’re in a dead zone. No networks available, at least none you have security clearance for. The lamp is the only thing you can thorder. >

  The door sprang open and Sky’s heart with it. Exposed and vulnerable, she thordered the light off.

  A figure walked in, a silhouette with tall hair. Others followed. The light came on again despite her thorders. Five men and two women stood around her bed, fully clothed. She recognized one of them as Gregos. She had initially found the lamp dim, but she now felt as if she were in the middle of a packed stadium under floodlights.

  ‘So they do wear brassieres. Ugly things,’ a woman in a blonde wig pointed at Sky’s bra. ‘And those shorts,’ the woman grimaced as if she had just tasted something rotten, ‘Even my gran wouldn’t be caught dead in those.’

  They laughed.

  ‘Still, not bad for a dirty of her vintage,’ the other woman said in a voice more youthful than her appearance.

  The bed creaked as Gregos kneeled over Sky. He ran the fingers of his third hand along her abdomen. It felt like a tarantula crawling over her body.

  ‘Such fine skin,’ he commented. ‘You’d think it was vat-grown.’ He grabbed her jaw to inspect her. ‘Matured but not spoiled.’

  ‘Yet,’ added the older woman to chuckles.

  ‘Please,’ Sky muttered, ‘let me go. I can pay you.’

  Gregos unbuckled his pants. The other men did the same.

  The blonde-wig said, ‘Don’t worry, sweetie. After having a gang of fresh meat inside you, a single customer will be a walk in the lunes. Sex will be nothing more than a handshake. And when you’ve earned your keep, you’ll get your chance to be free too, just like us. It’s the way of the world, nothing personal.’

  Gregos’ icy fingertips prickled her thighs. ‘Everyone’s gotta make a living. We all answer to somebody, don’t we?’

  ‘This is illegal,’ Sky said. ‘I know the law; no compulsion, right? This is compulsion. I do not consent to this.’

  Her audience seemed unmoved.

  ‘Sweetie,’ Blonde-wig purred, ‘if you could afford lawyers and court fees, you wouldn’t be on Ground.’

  ‘I’m insured,’ Sky said.

  Gregos raised an eyebrow, ‘AAAA Protection Co, yes?’

  Sky nodded.

  ‘Honey, we are your insurer,’ he said to more laughter.

  Sky looked around the room at the cackling faces; rows of discolored teeth, convulsing in mocking grins.

  Mercifully, the sound of their laughter began to fade. Sky could not feel her legs. A wave of sleep washed over her and she had to fight to keep her eyes open. Gregos’ face took up her entire vision. He smiled, almost compassionate, ‘I know you’re afraid. That’s okay. We all were when we started out. I’ll take your fear away.’ He nodded to a crony and something pricked Sky’s right arm. The woman in the wig injected her with a syringe full of red fluid.

  ‘This’ll help,’ Gregos said. ‘It’ll make you like it. Ero-stim will make you like anything. Consider yourself lucky; most of us didn’t get this royal treatment. Enjoy it while it lasts, and don’t forget what I’ve done for you.’

  Sky lay there, mute.

  ‘Cheer up,’ Gregos quipped, ‘at least you’re not a backup, or worse; on a menu.’ He looked down at his crotch, ‘What did I tell you about our gravity?’

  Sky’s vision whirled. The sound of Gregos’ voice seesawed between distant and deafening. She followed his line of sight down his torso, past the third
hand which protruded from his navel, until she arrived at his rigid penis.

  She had not expected it to arouse her. She tried to make herself feel otherwise, but it made little difference. Bit by bit, the small arousal grew and grew. She had lost sovereignty over her own body. They had forced sensations on her and there was nothing she could think or do to stop it.

  Someone dropped a sheath onto her belly, but Gregos flicked it away. He looked into her eyes. ‘There you go. You’re there, aren’t you? Now you’re consenting. No breach of the insurance policy now, yeah?’

  Sky’s restraints unclipped. With her hands free, she clawed at Gregos’ chest.

  ‘Her ticker better be easier to pry open than her luggage,’ Blonde-wig said, ‘or you’re about to lose your tocker.’

  They laughed again.

  ‘Easy,’ Gregos chuckled, ‘I’m settin’ the mood here. This is all natural, stim-free, you know.’ They might as well have been at a restaurant, how cool they were.

  A part of Sky thought I should resist, but the cocktail of lust was overwhelming and her legs enveloped his body.

  ​6:8

  Why couldn’t they open my luggage?

  The thought occurred to Sky as Gregos positioned himself.

  Her luggage sat in the corner, not a scratch on it as far as she could tell. Sky recalled she had accidentally torn a part of it trying to prevent her mother from leaving the apartment. Gregos and his band would have been unable to connect to the case because it was locked to Sky’s neurals, but surely they could have pried it open with tools?

  His hand stretched her shorts. She wished he would rip them off entirely. She squirmed, arched her back and raised her hips in anticipation. She wanted him. She wondered how she had got here but she could not recall. What did it matter, now, moments from satisfaction? All-consuming lust was liberating; her fears were now a distant memory. This was freedom.