Neurotopia

by Tony Mohorovich

  ‘Fuck me, Earth ticker’s tight.’ Gregos ground into her, wincing in pain. He looked down and his face emptied of color.

  He had not entered Sky. Instead, he had penetrated an artificial black mass which now gripped his crotch like a vise.

  Despite Sky’s stim-induced lust, she had retained enough of her wits to connect with her luggage and discover that it was, in reality, a swarm.

  This fact had somehow been hidden from Uncle Jesse. But at that moment, the whys and hows of it all were irrelevant. And though her body had not responded to her will, her swarm had. It had extended in an instant, from maroon travel-luggage to black flesh-gripper in one smooth stroke. The others in the room had leapt back at the sight of it.

  Sky paused long enough to see the look on Gregos’ face, and although a good part of her wanted desperately for him to take her, she knew that she was not the one doing the wanting. It was frustrating, nonetheless, so she channeled her annoyance into something more productive—the swarm flung the man across the room with such force that he bounced off the wall.

  The others reached for their weapons. The men who had dropped their trousers fumbled for their guns. The swarm flung their bodies across the room as if they were toys. Blonde-wig managed to pull out a gun but the swarm knocked it away, breaking her fingers. She screamed.

  In a few seconds her captors were in various degrees of unconsciousness.

  The Gregos man was still awake, huddling semi-naked in one corner. The swarm rose like a cobra then grabbed him by the throat.

  While the swarm held him, Sky bounded to her clothes, doing her best to stay upright. She dressed herself.

  Her heart pounded as it always had, but this time it was different. It was the first time since her mother’s infection that she had felt in control. She was invigorated by it. Uncle Jesse said she was experiencing the effects of euphoria-inducing endorphins, < And they’re all natural, ma’am. >

  Sky stood over Gregos. ‘Now, do I have your respect?’

  Gregos nodded, his hands raised in defense.

  Sky leaned against the wall in a casual manner which belied the rage that had engulfed her senses. ‘This is inconvenient,’ she whispered through her teeth. ‘If I let you go, you’ll do the same thing to someone else. Someone who can’t defend herself.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Yes, you will. This isn’t your first time, is it?’

  So much tension there in that face of his, the beads of sweat soaking his brow, nostrils pumping air like a galloping horse.

  ‘And I thought I was socially challenged,’ she said, wondering what to do with him and his cronies. She could not report them to the insurer because they were the insurer. What other option was there? Puncture his cold heart with a swarm spike?

  That was not Sky Marion. That was far from Sky Marion. The fact that she had even considered it made her shudder. Is this what Apollo did to a person? It was as if the VOL had a virus of its own, seeping into her brain, turning her into one of its own.

  She told herself to walk away. To leave him to his squalid existence.

  But if this had been a sim, she wouldn’t just walk away. That was not Sky Marion, either. Gregos had played his game and lost, but even games had consequences.

  Sky thordered the swarm to do two things: first, to rearrange Gregos’ tocker—as he had called it—to prevent future victims. And second, to render him unconscious. In that order.

  The swarm shuddered. Blood sprayed. Gregos squealed in a way Sky had thought impossible for a man.

  He writhed on the floor with all three hands gripping the now empty, and bleeding, space between his legs. He rocked back and forth as if in prayer, one that would go unanswered.

  Sky felt a pity for the man, but when she imagined the countless others who had suffered at his hands, those who had not been able to escape, the pity all but dried up.

  Sky wrapped the swarm around his mouth to muffle his screams. She knelt down and leaned in while his nostrils struggled to take in oxygen. ‘I guess buying that fourth hand to scratch your ass isn’t such a priority anymore,’ she said.

  The swarm estimated the minimum amount of force it would take to render him unconscious, then socked him in the jaw, putting an end to his shrieking. He collapsed.

  The few items of clothing that Sky had packed on the trip lay strewn on the floor; when the swarm had lost its luggage shape, it had dropped its contents. She picked them up and thordered the swarm to carry them as it moved about.

  < Your father found a way to sneak in his farewell gift, ma’am, > Uncle Jesse said.

  ‘He must have switched it at the tetherport.’ The swarm had even mimicked the black tape she had placed on the original luggage.

  < Sorry, ma’am. I wish I had picked it up earlier, but looks like he encrypted it so that you had to analyze it yourself. Otherwise I woulda told you as soon as I linked with it. >

  ‘It’s not your fault, Uncle Jesse.’ Sky peeked into the corridor. It was empty.

  Sky transformed the swarm back into luggage, closed the door behind her, and walked down the hallway in a lustful haze, fighting the desire to enter a random room to fulfil her urges.

  She turned a corner, but was unsure which way to go. She passed by a room with the door ajar. Inside, a young man with blond wavy hair was tied to a bed, just as she had been, except that he was naked. His glazed expression and strained phallus suggested he had received a hit of erostim too. Another victim. The man writhed as if he was trying to make love to the surrounding air. When he caught sight of Sky, his eyes bulged and he pulled at his restraints like an animal.

  It was too much for Sky.

  Under the sway of her erostim, she entered the room… leave… she sealed the door with her swarm… leave… she undressed… leave… the man yanked at his bonds with such fervor that she worried his wrists would bleed… leave… her swarm pulled apart his leg restraints…

  Sky retreated into a corner, her back to the wild man. She thordered the swarm to unclasp his remaining wrist restraints, to cut him loose.

  He was on her in an instant. He took her on the floor and they moaned in mutual relief, the sort of relief only an addict could understand; one that soothed and made you want to cry at the same time.

  Sky let out a guttural growl at her peak. He continued his urgent grinding even as her body convulsed, the erostim keeping him on the cusp.

  The sound of clodding footsteps echoed in the corridor outside.

  Sky saw her opportunity. Partially satiated, she reclaimed control over herself. She urged her lover away, even as he caressed her, calling her back to pleasure. She dressed as fast as she could.

  ‘We need each other, but not here,’ she told him.

  The young man seemed to come to his senses—he nodded, then dressed.

  They stepped into the corridor, hand in hand. Two guards turned the corner and spotted Sky. They opened fire.

  Sky’s swarm flared and blocked the projectiles. The shots hit it with a pat-pat-pat. Here and there, small pinprick fissures appeared in the shield, only to be covered by remaining swarm-bots.

  She spotted a barred window at the other end of the corridor. They ran toward it while the swarm covered their retreat. A swarm tentacle wrenched the bars from the pane and smashed the window. They jumped into the alley below, her swarm bracing their fall.

  Gunfire chased them, scattering the alley’s denizens like startled rats.

  Sky and her new companion turned a corner into a main strip, out of the line of fire. She morphed her swarm back into luggage and they disappeared into the crowd.

  Chapter 7

  Nostalgica

  ​7:1

  Sky and the young man crossed into an adjacent underground district which, according to Uncle Jesse, was managed by a different “organization”. She spotted a hotel with tubed compartments, lined one against the other like honeycomb. She paid for a tube which was barely large enough for the task ahead. Before the door slid shut, they h
ad disrobed and begun their mutual relieving. Over the next couple of hours, they worked off their erostim high.

  He was her first. Their hurried union at the brothel had been her first time in the real. Her previous sexual experiences had either been of the vicarious variety (freescanning unsuspecting citizens during lovemaking), or mechanized self-pleasuring… or both at the same time. Though her body had been accustomed to the physical demands of coitus, Sky had never imagined she would be capable of having an intimate encounter with a real human being. In the presence of the erostim, her phobias had dissolved. She finally understood how junkies were born.

  Physical lovemaking was better, in some ways, to the virtual. The shared neediness. The casual exposure. Sky had never felt so vulnerable in front of another.

  In other ways, lovemaking was flawed. At times comically so. It took patience for two bodies and minds to sync, to truly sync. But once they did…

  It had been her only light since arriving on the Moon.

  Her lover had a coarseness to him. He would not have looked out of place on Earth, unless you got up close, this close. Many of the men here shared this quality. Was it the texture of their skin? Or their sinewy features? She could not tell. Her mind turned to Okiro—he was bulkier than this man, and more polished. He had a boyish quality in comparison, despite his age.

  The women, too, were different. Even in this harsh environment they had an elegance. It was not that they were dainty or frail; they were graceful. Perhaps it was the lower gravity, the propensity for clothes and hair to sway rather than fall. In comparison, the women on Earth had a more androgynous sensibility, as did the men for that matter.

  Sky and her lover held each other. His name was Nathaniel. She told him her name was Peta. With the erostim wearing off, the memories of the last hours returned. The thought of Gregos made her feel numb, as if she had been emptied of emotion. She may as well have been remembering a blank wall.

  Sky and Nathaniel showered (at extra cost), then left the hotel and shared a meal. She was famished. He said he had already informed his security insurer about his ordeal and that his insurer would, in turn, contact Gregos’ insurer to negotiate compensation, assuming it was worth his insurer’s time. Nathaniel thought it would be, given that sex slavery was a significant breach of the Law of Consent. Sky told him about criminal law on Earth (which had been unnecessary since the scanners came in), and Nathaniel could not understand how that sort of system could work.

  When their discussion turned to her purpose for coming to Apollo, she told him she was looking for a rumormonger, but not why. He recommended one without hesitation: Mym Mento.

  ‘Mym knows who’s who,’ he said.

  Nathaniel wanted to see Sky again. She took his details. They kissed a goodbye on the street and Sky forced herself to part. She told herself they would meet again once this was all over.

  Sky’s neural-health had suffered, the result of someone forcing their will upon her. Uncle Jesse did what he could to dampen the trauma, but he could only do so much. She would need clinical work, he said.

  Sky decided to bear it, for she had neither the time nor the money for anti-trauma work. She would tend to herself once she had found the cure, and once her mother was safe. That was all that mattered now.

  She had been right to fear people, she had been right all along. Here in the VOL, free from a guiding hand, humans revealed their true colors. At least on Earth their ape natures had been civilized with technology.

  Mym Mento.

  Sky’s maya map traced the path to the rumormonger. She pushed her way through the claustrophobic corridors of the underground Old Quarter, with its clamor and smells. She stumbled again in that damned low gravity.

  She checked her messages. Okiro had called, asking whether she was safe.

  If only he knew.

  There were messages from her father too. She responded to both men with the text: I’m safe. Talk soon.

  The map led her through the underground maze to a dead-end corridor populated with air purifier stalls. At the far end was a store whose sign read: Mym Mento’s Memorium. A holo advertisement played, ‘On your deathbed?’ the toothy actor smiled, ‘Want to save your most treasured memories and programs for your children? Mym Mento can help.’

  Small screen-frames littered the shop window, replaying memories of the dead, as if someone had stuck a camera between their eyes from birth and recorded every waking moment.

  Sky stepped inside the store. Similar frames lined the shelves. The store was a hall of ghosts. Watching the memories of these strangers reminded Sky of freescanning back home.

  One frame caught her attention. It was a birthday party. The owner of the memories was young, with bangles on her arm and surrounded by other children. A woman with a round face brought a cake to the table. Blow out the candles. Hip-hip-hooray.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

  Sky turned to see an android approaching. It looked as haggard as everything else in the Old Quarter. Its head was an androgynous oval, the color of stained teeth. The machine’s humanness ended at its waist, below which were six mismatched insectoid legs.

  ‘Retrieved her memories right after the accident, just in time,’ the android said with an echo. It had a mature female voice, gentle and assured. ‘Are you here for a loved one, girlie?’ It smiled; first the mouth curved, then its mismatched eyebrows rose. The face was out of sync.

  ‘Yes,’ Sky replied.

  ‘Have they passed away?’

  ‘Actually, I’m trying to prevent that.’

  The android cocked its head. ‘You mean postpone.’

  ‘No, prevent.’

  The machine chuckled. ‘We all pass someday, girlie. Postpone is all we have, unless you can afford indefinite replacement parts.’

  Postpone.

  The word bothered Sky, like running an unwinnable race. ‘I’m told you trade in more than memories of the dead.’

  The android froze as only androids can. It turned its back and began to crawl away to the rear of the store. ‘You must be thinking of someone else,’ it said.

  ‘You’re a rumormonger, right?’ Sky called out.

  ‘You can’t afford my premium services.’

  ‘If you provide the information I need, I’ll pay.’

  ‘My prices start at 10,000 lunes.’

  Sky’s heart dropped. That was five times the amount she had available. ‘That’s a bit steep for Ground Level, isn’t it?’

  ‘My services have high overheads; the technology don’t come cheap and my security premiums are through the dome. What you want is costly on any level, assumin’ you want a quality service.’

  Sky recalled the words of the urchin, Bolt-head, who had urged her to haggle. ‘I won’t pay more than one thousand lunes, take it or leave it.’

  ‘Ha,’ the machine scoffed. ‘Nice try.’

  Sky marched to the exit.

  ‘I won’t accept less than 5,000,’ the android called out, ‘I’m not a charity.’

  Sky stopped. ‘I can’t afford that.’

  ‘Then you can’t afford my services.’ The android disappeared into a back room. Sky stood there, waiting for it to return.

  When it did not, she said, ‘I’ll find the money.’

  ‘I can’t pay my bills on credit, so I don’t work for credit,’ the android’s voice echoed from the rear of the store, ‘Money upfront or no contract.’

  Sky’s fingers squeezed the handle of her luggage. Her swarm would make short work of the android… but how would that help?

  ‘Please, my mother’s infected with the Tellinii virus. I’m looking for a cure. I need your help.’

  Sky heard the android’s legs tapping on the floor, then it reemerged from the back room. The android sighed. ‘Another knight in shining armor after the Holy Grail. I’ll save you time and lunes, girlie; go home, wherever you’re from. There’s no cure, not for Tellinii, not for a dozen other viruses out there. You’re all the same, begging for your mo
ther, father, sister, brother, lover, pet. Listen, girlie, if there was a cure, someone would have already put it on the market. You’ll end up the same as the rest of them; penniless if you’re lucky, rotting outside the domes if you’re not. You’re welcome.’

  The android’s words stung. ‘Whoever created the virus can cure it,’ Sky said. ‘I need to find the creator.’

  ‘Listen, you can make a thing without knowing how to stop it. I’ve heard of trillionaires infected and their fortunes never helped them none, except to keep them in stasis for a time. Death isn’t the great equalizer anymore, girlie; the virus is.’

  ‘No. There is a cure. There’s always a cure.’

  The android stood mute.

  It didn’t matter, Sky thought. Mym Mento did not have to believe in a cure. She just had to find a couple of brainbenders. ‘I’m looking for a telepath named Geppetto,’ Sky said.

  ‘Go home, girlie. Use your money to keep your mom in stasis for as long as her life allows.’

  ‘I can’t afford stasis.’

  ‘We don’t have stasis where I’m from. We can’t afford the tech patents.’

  Sky stood there, unable to leave yet unable to persuade the machine. ‘Family doesn’t mean much to you people, does it?’

  Several compartments opened in the walls and gun barrels protruded, their muzzles turned in Sky’s direction.

  ‘False hope is like a bad debtor, girlie; it promises and promises until one day you realize that’s all it does and all it ever will do. Your mother will die, there’s no reason for you to.’ The voice was cold with certainty. ‘Now go home before I decide it’s worth compensating your insurer.’

  ​7:2

  Sky left Mym Mento’s Memorium dejected but without incident. She waited outside the store for a time. Waited for nothing and no one in particular. She would have to find another rumormonger, but which one could she trust? She felt as if she were about to collapse; the lack of sleep had caught up with her. She located the nearest tube apartment block.

  Uncle Jesse woke Sky after five hours of sleep, as instructed.