Bald New World

by Peter Tieryas Liu

  “Keep moving!” Mardi demanded.

  I complied and kept on exerting force until my cuspids broke and my canines shattered. The rock had more space in my mouth. The pain gave me an adrenaline rush and surged my exhausted body awake. I cursed the sun and at the same time, begged my feet for the energy to get to the end of the path. Shine your beams elsewhere!

  I didn’t know why I fought with Linda so much when I never loved anyone as much as her. You and me were going to change the world. Instead, we became the butt of jokes, all the idiot friends who were secretly pleased that we’d become a car wreck just because their lives were the flotsam of selfish idiocies. Like any of them had such amazing relationships, like any of them knew what it meant to have family. I wished I could have been more patient. I wished I had a voice repressor that censored words that I’d program in beforehand. Any sentence starting with a but had to go. “Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up!!!”

  I walked because I loved Linda. I walked because I loved Larry. I walked because I should have been dead but I wasn’t so now I had to walk, walk until I died. Accept that there was no future. Accept that I had nothing to look forward to. This was a matter of dignity. Self-respect. To die a worthy death, not scared like prey hunted down by wolves. Death made cowards out of the most courageous of men. I was never a courageous man. Not even close. I was a born coward. If I’d have had guts, I wouldn’t have left my destiny up to other men, executives and corporations that dictated the measurements of my life. If I’d have had guts, I would have prevented Larry from going alone. If I’d have had guts, I wouldn’t have let Linda leave that last night by herself.

  “Mardi,” I heard. “He’s more than halfway.”

  “No one else has made it this far.”

  Mardi didn’t reply, or if he did, I didn’t hear it.

  There was no bright light at the end of a tunnel. I was seeking the darkness. I was yearning for death. I waddled, I straggled, I pressed on, feeling the rock split apart more teeth. Pain nerves fired up and forced my muscles to contract violently. Let it never be said I died an easy death.

  There were no more sounds. I saw figures walking ahead of me, translucent, white garbs. For a minute, I thought I saw Larry. He was flirting with some girl and I wanted to warn him to be careful, that the zealots might hang him up for it. He seemed amused. “Let em’ try.” Then went back to the cute girl with chubby cheeks.

  Mardi approached closely. “You think I don’t know what you’re going through? I do, brother. I know I’ve been harsh and that’s because I understand your obstinacy personally. This is a test to forge your heart. Don’t fight the way I did. Give in. Surrender yourself.”

  I ignored him and focused ahead. There were houses, I think. There were also intersecting roads. This was a village hidden inside a forest. But I didn’t recognize the architecture, and the streets were old. I noticed a river running rapidly through the village. I didn’t know how much further I had to go. But I had no delusions about them actually letting me go. At least with the river, I might die free. I’d heard drowning was the worst way to die. But whoever said that probably hadn’t been tortured to death—you know, skin being scalded off, bones torn off, sliced into thousands of pieces, and getting a hole drilled in his head.

  I tumbled into the river and felt it sweeping me away. It was cold but cleansing, even if the river was most likely full of toxic pollutants. Drowning, or having my flesh melt from poison. They didn’t seem like such bad options now. The water tossed me about and I took the stone out of my mouth, gripping it. That was until a rock hit me in the head and a series of waves pressed over me. I no longer fought inevitability.

  V.

  When I woke up, my teeth hurt like crazy. I was surprised to find myself head down on a river bank, the forest spanning ahead. Had I really escaped? I remembered what had happened and knew I had to run. I could barely stand up and my legs cramped after I forced myself up. There was a rustling sound that made me pause. It was Mardi.

  “You’re finally up,” he said.

  “What do you want?” I demanded. “Trying to take me back?”

  He raised up both his hands. “I honor my word. A man like you would rather die than turn away. If that is the will of God, there is nothing we can do. I figured you’d wash up somewhere along the shore.”

  I would have spat at him except I had to save every drop of water in my body.

  He went for his bag and I stepped back, wary of what he might get. If he tried to take me back, I’d have to jump into the water again. He took out a bottle of water and some rice porridge in sealed containers. “You’ll need these.”

  “I don’t want anything from you,” I said.

  “You won’t survive without these.”

  “I’d rather die than accept anything from you.”

  “You think I don’t understand your position?”

  “How could you?”

  He put his hand in his mouth and took his teeth out. They were dentures.

  “That’s why I’m still here,” he said and grabbed the water again. “Don’t think with your pride. Think with your head. You’ll need these to get to Gamble Town.”

  The name sounded familiar. “What’s Gamble Town?”

  “It’s twenty miles north of here, a terrible gathering of vice and sin. You’ll be able to find a phone there along with anything money can buy. But you won’t get anywhere without these.”

  I looked at him, a pensive glint in his eyes. “You were originally from Gamble Town?” I asked.

  “No one is from Gamble Town. But I was an addict. After I squandered everything I had—all my wealth, sold my wife and kids into slavery for my debts—I came here. They took me in. But not before they destroyed who I was. You could have had a home here, you know? We need more strong-willed men like you here.”

  “No thanks.”

  He left the water and porridge on the ground, took out a small bottle of pills. “Painkillers. Take it with lots of water.”

  “You expect me to thank you?”

  “No.”

  “What were you hoping to achieve?” I asked.

  “Redemption.”

  “You failed.”

  “No. You failed.” He looked at me again, took off his shoes and his poncho, placed them on the ground, then walked away. I waited a few minutes, making sure he was gone. Then I took the bottle and drank the whole thing down. I devoured the porridge, greedily chewing. Almost immediately, my stomach growled but I ignored it. I had to eat. I felt tears in my eyes as I felt so desperate. I fought them back and welcomed the temporary burst of rejuvenation. There were three more containers left. I grabbed them, put on the poncho. His shoes were a bit tight, though better than nothing. I made my way towards Gamble Town.

  6. Gamble Town

  I.

  The humming sound was the first thing that struck me as I approached the glitzy lights and tall buildings that reminded me of Las Vegas, albeit with a much grungier facade. Firecrackers were going off, music blasted, and women in lingerie danced in a troupe. Drunks were passed out in the corners while other drunks were dancing as hard as they could. As I got closer, I saw the source of the humming. It was a massive glass cage filled with flies. Insects were everywhere. There were spider fights between female orb-weavers, roach races in elaborate tracks, and caterpillar leaf-eating contests. Cricket fighting was also on display, and there were hundreds of simultaneous matches. The crickets were screeching like a war cry and obsessed crowds cheered for their favorites. Cricket pilots were at their booths, interfacing with their crickets through a neural feed, fighting with a degree of precision and endurance that would have been unthinkable decades ago. This was how I used to burn the long hours between shifts during the African Wars.

  There were five tall buildings around a central strip and I could tell from t
he faded logos that they used to be big casino hotels, targeting rich tourists and gamblers. Times had changed and it was the seedier elements that were welcomed now, the grated veneer discarded. 3D billboards for strip clubs and gambling saloons blasted gaudy advertisements. Workers making minimum wage passed out business cards for prostitutes that had naked pictures with little star graphics to cover the “secret” spots (standard 2D, no 3D, suggesting they had no budget to waste). Slot machines rang continuously with chimes that were addictively satisfying, although it was insect gambling that had the rapt attention of most of the patrons. I distantly recollected hearing about a place like this. It was subsidized by the government and became a booming casino town until the subsidies got pulled. Overnight, it turned into a ghost town. A few enterprising entrepreneurs decided to take a risk and rebrand it. Was this the result?

  I needed to make a phone call. My options were limited and when I asked a few people if I could borrow their phone, I was refused. While the river had wiped most of my smell away, I could see from the disgusted looks of those passing by that they assumed I was a waif. I didn’t get far before plainclothes guards grabbed me and warned, “Don’t make a fuss. It’ll be easier for both of us.”

  Actually glad for their presence, I went along. Perhaps they would allow me to use a phone and get out of this mess. The prospect of home gave me a glimmer of hope. I longed for my apartment, would have done anything to lie in my bed, smell my favorite pillow, sleep for a week straight, and eat Chinese food. But the hum of the insects was making me queasy. I hated bugs. When I was growing up as a kid, I slept with a mat on the floor. Big roaches would crawl up my leg and I’d wake up, feeling them run along my thighs. I’d sweep them away, turn on the light, and see them dashing madly for cover. It made me squeamish to see their wet black shells and their multiple limbs.

  We went into an alley full of trash. One of the guards, a stocky fellow with menacing eyes and a chin that resembled an ass, asked, “Do you have any money on you?”

  “It’s a long story,” I started. “If you can let me use your phone, I’ll have—”

  “Do you have any money on you right now?” the ass-chin asked me.

  “Not this minute, but—”

  “We don’t take kindly to vagrants here.”

  Seven of them swarmed me like locust on corn and were getting ready to strike. Here we go again. I shut my eyes, wondering how much more my body could endure, when someone asked, “Nick?”

  I looked up and saw a man in the raggedy uniform of a two-bit security guard. He had a belly, was unshaven, and his hair was an oily mess. I almost didn’t recognize Dan. We served in the African Wars together and I helped him a couple times while he was shooting American Murder, a popular documentary filming real-life murders sanctioned by the government for popularity ratings.

  “It is you,” he confirmed.

  “You know this guy?” ass-chin wanted to know.

  “Yeah. We served in Africa together,” Dan answered. “He was one of the best damn cricket fighters we had. Ain’t that right?”

  “I was all right.”

  “Don’t be modest. What the hell happened to you?”

  “Like I was saying earlier, it’s a long story.”

  “Can you still fight with crickets?” he asked.

  His teeth were a yellow mess and his breath reeked of garlic. Even though he was smiling, I realized if I didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear, he’d let the goons eat me alive. “Been a while, but I can manage.” I’d won my fair share of fights through the neural interface. Crickets were in many ways simplified versions of us: born, fed gruel, mated with a lover, fighting for their survival, then left to die.

  There was a greedy glint in his eyes. “If I got you some healthy crickets, you think you can win a few fights?”

  “I can try. It’s been a while. I’ll need some practice.”

  Dan huddled with his guards and I heard them whispering to one another.

  He came back after a few minutes and inquired, “How would you like to make a deal?”

  “What kind of deal?”

  Dan took out a capsule from his jacket. “A lucrative one.”

  I heard a chirp and recognized a cricket. I hated crickets—not as much as roaches, but they were still a visually disgusting lot. Which is probably the reason I fought so well as one.

  II.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Dan asked.

  He’d taken me up to his place, a hotel room with a king-sized bed and a single bathroom. The room smelled of tar and nicotine. There were tons of hooker cards scattered next to the bed stands as well as empty beer bottles. Eleven different knives hung on the wall.

  I was about to answer, but he stopped me. “It doesn’t matter. All I care about is the fights. The favorite this season is a brutish little bastard we all call Zhou because of his short master. The pilot is a kid who calls himself Tolstoy.”

  “Does he like Tolstoy’s books?”

  Dan ignored my question and explained, “His little bugger has gone undefeated in fifty fights so far, favored to win every match a hundred to one odds. He’s just a kid and he’s beating everyone. But he ain’t ever fought a soldier before.”

  Kid fighters worried me. They had less mental clutter, more focus that allowed them a purity in their connection that adults struggled with. Still, he was right. I represented the army in cricket battles. With practice, I could fight against the best.

  I had to be honest with him. “I’m not in the best condition right now. I—”

  “I called a nurse for you. I see those scars. Don’t know where you’ve been, but we’ll get you patched up. I have the night shift anyways so I gotta get back. Get some sleep and we’ll start tomorrow.”

  “I need a few days of practice.” More like a few months.

  “We set up a match for you against the kid. Not a real one, just a warm up. He’ll probably kick your ass, but it’s a feint.”

  “A feint?”

  “Throw everyone off their guard and dismiss you when you lose.”

  And then when I came back for a rematch a few days later, naturally, everyone would bet against me. It was one of the oldest cons around.

  “Heidi will be here in a few minutes,” Dan said.

  “The nurse?”

  He grinned. “She’ll treat you.”

  I wanted to understand the terms that we were arranging. “What’s the deal?” I asked outright.

  “You beat him, we make a boatload of money. You take 5% and go wherever you want.”

  “If I fail?”

  His eyes tightened. “Don’t,” he answered, and left. I followed behind him and tried to open the door. It was locked to prevent both entry and exit. All I needed was a phone call, and now, I couldn’t get out of the room.

  As a natural habit, I checked the mattress. There were blood stains everywhere and legions of moving critters. Bed bugs. An infestation of them. I was tired and I knew they would have welcomed my presence. Try some fresh meat, suck on new blood. There was an armchair next to the bed that appeared safer on inspection. I was about to take a seat when I heard a knock.

  “Who is it?”

  “Heidi.”

  A redhead in a tight nurse’s outfit awaited. She had enormous breasts that were accentuated by the revealing low cut of her uniform. She had puffy lips and fake brows. Makeup was all over her face, but not enough to cover the wrinkles on her neck. Even with the powder, or maybe because of it and the dark purple lipstick, she reminded me of a clown. It always depressed me when I saw someone try so hard to look beautiful and fail. “Heard you need some healing,” she said lasciviously.

  Was this Dan’s idea of R&R?

  “Do you have salve?” I asked her.

  “What do you mean?”

  I took off my shirt and turned around. I think the sight of my whip-lash scars shocked her.

  “Do I want to know who did this to you?” she asked. “Because Dan didn’t pay for this kind of
thing.”

  “It doesn’t matter who did it.”

  “I can make another part of you feel better,” she said, forcing herself to act professional.

  I stopped her and said, “Not right now. Could you give me a few minutes to nap? I’m really tired.”

  “Sure,” she answered. “Do you mind if I watch TV?” Before I could answer, she plopped herself down and turned on Jesus the General. “I love this show. Don’t wanna miss any episodes. Last week, Jesus went back in time and caused a temporal anomaly so he could beat the Mongolians before they invaded Europe. You like the show?”

  “Haven’t seen much of it.”

  “Are you serious? You need to. Jesus is my hero.”

  She watched raptly for a few minutes. My back was aching and I tried to sleep but she started crying.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked her.

  “Sorry. I get really emotional when I watch the show,” she answered.

  “Can I use your phone to call a hospital?” I asked her.

  “Dan said no phones.”

  I knew she’d have one on her. The only question was, how to get it from her? I approached and she had enough instincts to sense what I wanted.

  “I can watch Jesus later,” she said. “I think we’ll call it a day, sugar.” She stood up. I grabbed her, lunging for her bag. She karate-chopped me in the shoulder, forcing me to stumble back. “Don’t touch me!” she warned. “I’ve been trained to deal with assholes like you!”

  “I just need a doctor.”

  “That’s not my problem,” she said, then rushed out the door.

  I felt stupid and craven. She was most certainly going to report this to Dan. For now, the best I could do was rest. I sat down in the armed chair and dozed off.

  III.

  Dan didn’t mention Heidi. He brought me my first cricket to test. The cricket was in a glass cage with a removable top. The interface was a small square chip I placed on my right temple. It translated my thoughts into electrical impulses the cricket could understand and gave feedback of his own senses into my brain. Dan fired the chip gun with its needle point near what little brain the cricket had. I always gave them nicknames and this one I called Crick for lack of imagination. In my first plunge (interlink was the official word), I had a hard time remembering how to move his six legs and felt gross being inside the body of a cricket. The world seemed alien through his eyes and I could barely make sense of my surroundings. I had to vomit, and brain fatigue hit within two minutes. I jumped out, ran to the toilet, and barfed.