Street Freaks

by Terry Brooks

  She gives him a look. “Well, that’s one way of putting it. And it’s true. Most of the time I get what I want. A very useful asset if you know how to exploit it properly. Men in particular, but some women, too, will do anything to get close to me. I trigger urges they can’t resist. I don’t have to try as hard as other pleasure synths because I’m not like them. I’m an advanced model. I turned out differently than they did. I turned out to be much more than they ever expected me to be. As a result, I’ve found better ways to take advantage of what I am.”

  He isn’t sure what to say—he isn’t even sure he understands—so he doesn’t say anything.

  “There’s something else you should know about being a Street Freak,” she continues after a moment’s pause. “We’re all one thing, but we’re another too. We’re one thing on the surface and much more underneath. Someday, if you stick around long enough, I’ll explain it to you. Or perhaps you’ll figure it out on your own, a smart boy like you.”

  Twenty minutes outside the Zone, she cuts the Flick sharply into a side street, drives perhaps a hundred yards, and comes to a smooth stop in front of a single-story building constructed of stucco composite and decorative stone. Heavy windows reinforced with steel mesh coverings dominate the front wall. If this isn’t enough to tell Ash they have arrived at their destination, he needs only glance up at the familiar mortar-and-pestle pharmacy symbol anchored to the stone front to be sure.

  “Remember,” Cay says. “You lost the prescription and all you have is the pill. Prescriptions don’t count for a lot in the Zone, so you will probably get what you want without it, so long as you can pay. And make sure you get your pill back afterward. I’ve seen some sticky fingers in these places. If things get tense, we turn around and go back outside and drive off. That probably won’t happen. Businesses in the Zone only care about your credits. Stay calm, no matter what. Ready?”

  She says it all quickly, a last-minute flurry of instructions. Ash nods. They open the doors, climb out of the Flick, and walk into the pharmacy. The service counter for prescription drugs and medications is at the rear of the store. Ash notices advertisements for Sparx hanging overhead, large and flashy, with lots of starbursts and printed confetti. They walk back and stand waiting for someone to notice them. An armed guard sits off to one side, looking them over. Especially Cay.

  The pharmacist appears, and right away things begin to get dicey. For one, the pharmacist is a standard-issue service bot, not a human. For another, it’s dressed as a woman.

  Ash is immediately unnerved. He is not prepared for this. He has trouble giving his speech about his medication and lack of a written prescription but somehow manages. When he is finished, he reluctantly hands over his pill and steps back.

  The bot doesn’t even look at the pill. Instead, it says in a decidedly mechanical singsong voice, I have no internal record of ProLx. I will need to check my computer files for information.

  The bot wheels away and disappears into a maze of shelves crammed with drugs and medical supplies. Ash exchanges a brief glance with Cay, who gives a small shrug. Off to the side, the armed guard continues to watch them.

  When the bot returns, it says, I have no computer record of ProLx. Please provide the name of the manufacturing company.

  Ash shakes his head. “I don’t know. You don’t have any record of it at all?” When the bot just stares at him, he adds, “Well, give me back my pill.”

  All drugs not registered in our system must be confiscated. Drug Enforcement Code, section 2122, paragraph 1: In the event any drug or medication lacks a recognizable reference in Calzonian databases or in-store data systems, representatives of L.A. drug enforcement shall be notified. All unregistered drugs and medications shall be seized and held.

  Ash stares. He feels Cay’s hand touch his arm lightly. “He needs that pill to combat an immune deficiency condition,” she tells the bot. “He only has two left. You have one of them. If you keep it, you are putting his health at risk.”

  All drugs not in our system must be confiscated. . . . The bot repeats the whole disclaimer once more. Ash watches his chances slip away.

  “But his life is in danger,” Cay continues. “Are you not programmed to save lives whenever they are threatened, under any circumstances? Isn’t that a pharmacist’s mandate?”

  “Hey, what are you doing?” the guard asks, starting to rise from his chair and come toward them.

  “Sit down!” Cay snaps in a tone of voice Ash has not heard her use before.

  But the guard doesn’t sit. Instead, he keeps coming. He is a big, beefy guy, much larger than the slender girl he approaches. But Cay simply turns to greet him, her small, lithe form gliding smoothly as she does so, her dazzling smile in place. She reaches out with one hand as if to embrace him, touches him gently on the back of his neck and drops him like a stone.

  “You have an injured man,” Cay tells the bot. “You must help him.”

  I have no authorization, the bot says.

  “Prime Directive 32, threat to human life imminent. No authorization needed. Now help him, bot!”

  The bot does so, coming out from behind the counter to assist, but not before setting down the pill on the counter. Ash waits a moment and then swiftly snatches it up and pockets it once more.

  “Let’s go,” Cay says.

  They move quickly for the front door, leaving the bot to deal with the unconscious guard. Ash glances back and finds the machine just standing there, looking down at the unconscious man. It does not appear to know what to do.

  Cameras will have captured what’s happened, he thinks suddenly. They will be identified.

  “Bot pharmacists.” Cay spits out the words. “The companies have so much trouble with drug robberies and theft in the Zone they can’t get anyone else to work the counters. That one’s good enough at its job of filling and delivering prescriptions in its database, but out of its comfort zone when it comes to anything else. It will call for help.”

  “The security cameras . . .” Ash begins.

  “. . . aren’t working.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Taken out a while back and replaced with dummies.”

  “You can tell that?” Ash says.

  She grins at him, says nothing.

  Out on the walkway, they hurry to the Flick and climb inside. Cay powers up the vehicle, and in seconds they are swinging back onto the Straightaway.

  Ash leans back in his padded seat, breathing deeply. “That didn’t go so well,” he says.

  “No, it didn’t. We’ll need to try something else.”

  He looks over. “What did you do to that guard? You barely touched him.”

  “I told you. I’m not like other pleasure synths. I am an advanced prototype, and those who made me gave me every advantage over the humans I was built to service.” She sees him cringe but ignores it. “There is a certain amount of danger involved in what I do, so I was given tiny amounts of a very strong drug that secretes through the nails of two fingers when pressure is applied. If I am threatened, I just scratch the itch. Consciousness returns after twenty or thirty minutes, but by then I am gone.”

  “You knew how to override the programming of that bot too, didn’t you? All that stuff about standing down.”

  She just smiles and looks straight ahead.

  They don’t speak again after that. Cay drives and Ash stares out the window at the buildings they pass. He tries not to think about all the bad things she must come up against every day while performing the services she was created to fulfill. He is marginally grateful to discover she has some source of protection against harm, but mostly he wishes she didn’t need it.

  Life seems much more real, he thinks, when you become friends with those who live it differently than you do.

  They follow the Straightaway to within a mile of Street Freaks before she pulls over and turns to him.

  “You’re going to have to give me that pill,” she says.

  He gives her a questioning look. “I am?” />
  “ProLx doesn’t exist in pharmaceutical establishments. That means we have to find a substitute. To do that, I have to have the pill analyzed.” She pauses, seeing the look in his eyes. “It’s the only way.”

  Reluctantly, he reaches into his pocket, retrieves the pill, and hands it over.

  She tucks it in her pocket and drives on. But as they come within view of Street Freaks, Ash realizes something is happening. Armored assault vehicles sit at the curb. Black-clad police are visible everywhere on the grounds inside the fence and in the work bays as well.

  In spite of the exemption order, Achilles Pod has breached the gates.

  - 11 -

  Cay slams on the brakes, her voice a hiss of dismay. “How did this happen?”

  Without waiting for Ash to offer an answer, she wheels the Flick into a swift U-turn and heads back the way they came, thrusters powering them with a sudden burst of acceleration.

  “What are you doing?” Ash exclaims, his eyes wide in disbelief. “We have to help them!”

  She doesn’t bother to look at him. “We are helping them. We’re getting away before we get caught up in whatever trouble they’re in. By staying free, maybe we can do something useful later.”

  They are already so far down the Straightaway he can no longer see the black-clads or their vehicles. Everything they’ve left behind has vanished that quickly. He glances at the speedometer. They are going well over a hundred miles an hour.

  He glances over and guesses she might have done something like this once or twice before. He takes a deep breath and exhales, calming himself. “Where will we go?”

  “Somewhere safe. Safer than Street Freaks, anyway.”

  She seems totally unruffled, and he marvels at her composure. He feels immediately satisfied that wherever she is taking them, it is the right place. He watches her hands on the wheel, her rapid shifts from one gear to the next, and her control over the street machine, so steady and sure that it never wavers.

  “Does T.J. know you can drive like this?” he asks.

  She shakes her head. “You shouldn’t tell him either. This isn’t something he needs to know. He and the others have fully formed opinions about what I can and can’t do. I don’t want to give them reason to reconsider those opinions.”

  Yet you are telling me, he thinks, and he cannot help wondering why.

  Almost before he knows it, they have driven right out of the Zone and are headed south through the Metro toward the ocean. She is taking back streets now, staying clear of the freeways with their elevated flight lanes and flying vehicles. He is relieved when she drops their speed in half and turns on the sensors that detect obstructions, both human and otherwise, that might interfere with the vehicle’s progress. Most of the new models have such sensors, but he is surprised momentarily to find them on the Flick. Still, even if it’s been modified into a street racer from a bygone era, there’s no reason sensors couldn’t have been added. The kids at Street Freaks would have had little trouble doing so.

  He glances out the windows and notices the neighborhood they have entered. Huge mansions with iron gates and long driveways line the street. There are security system signs and cameras everywhere. In homes like these, there will be direct lines to security headquarters and local divisions of L.A. Preventatives. Any breach, and armed support will arrive within minutes. That’s what people who live here pay for. Intruders with half a brain would know what to expect and stay away.

  “What are we doing here?” he asks, wondering suddenly what she intends.

  “For now, hiding out. Later, we’ll make inquires and hopefully learn a few things.” She points ahead. “That’s our destination.”

  He looks and somehow manages to avoid gasping. The mansion sits on acres of manicured lawn surrounded by carefully trimmed hedges and iron fencing. There are flower beds everywhere, banks of them meticulously laid out in intricate patterns. A tiered gazebo sits off to one side and overlooks what seems to be a stream.

  We can’t be going here, he thinks.

  But that is exactly where they are going. Cay steers the Flick, turning into the gated entrance and pulling even with an identipad. The pad is blank, but when she presses the flat of her hand against it and holds steady for about three seconds, the ten-foot tall gates swing open for her.

  “Welcome, Cay Dumont,” a mechanical voice intones from a speaker set into the stone gate supports.

  She steers through the entry and up the drive, her speed now reduced to almost nothing. She smiles at the look on Ash’s face as he stares from one side to the other, taking it all in. Are those peacocks? Is that a lake? Look at that incredible tree, all crooked branches and peeling bark, an ancient thing. He knows she can see it registering in his eyes, and it seems to give her deep satisfaction.

  They do not go up to the front door. Instead, at a gravel cutoff, they drive around to the back of the mansion and down a hill into a vale in which a smaller, much less ostentatious cottage sits. The cottage is a single-story structure with window boxes, a shake roof, a veranda with a porch swing, and flowers encircling the foundation.

  “You live here?” Ash asks.

  “Sometimes,” she answers vaguely, pulling up to the door and climbing out. From across the roof of the car, she says, “Want to come inside?”

  She unlocks the door by pressing her palm on another identipad and leads him into the cottage. It is bright and cheerful inside, everything new and gleaming.

  “Your new home,” she says. “For tonight, at least.”

  “The owner gave you this?” he asks, gesturing at the cottage.

  “Gave me the use of it,” she corrects. “For when I need a place to get away. He lives in the main house; he is very old and not in particularly good health. Which reminds me. I need to let him know I am in residence.”

  She takes a red shingle from where it sits just inside the door and hangs it outside where it can be seen from the mansion. “There we go. Now sit while I see what I can find out about the others.”

  She uses a portable vidview to try to make contact. She powers up the screen, presses keys on a touchpad, and waits. No one responds. She tries again. Nothing.

  From there, she moves over to a much larger unit attached to the wall and tries again. Still no response.

  “Can’t use my private vidview,” she mutters. “Too easy to trace.” She looks at him. “I have to go out. I need you to wait here. You’ll be safe enough. No one will bother you. But I want you to promise me you won’t try to leave.”

  “Maybe I should go with you?”

  “Maybe I should go alone. If they’re looking for you, the less you expose yourself the better, disguise or no. Can I count on you to wait for me?”

  Only forever, he thinks. “I’ll wait.”

  She goes out the door and closes it behind her. Seconds later the Flick powers up and she drives off. He resists the urge to look out the window to watch her go. He is already far too caught up in his feelings for her; he needs to regain some perspective. Mostly, he needs to rein himself in, even if it’s only by denying this one small urge.

  He spends the time she is away mulling over an unpleasant truth. If anything bad happens to his friends at Street Freaks, it is his fault. Achilles Pod was looking for him the first time they tried to enter; there is little doubt in his mind they were still looking for him when they finally got in. It is fortunate he wasn’t there to be found, or they would all be in a lot more trouble than they already are.

  He tries to think if anything he left behind will reveal his presence, but he doesn’t think so. He brought almost nothing with him save his backpack, and that was emptied and stored away days ago. Even if it is found, there is no reason for anyone to think it belongs to him.

  None of this makes him feel any better about what has happened. It only emphasizes how dangerous his continuing presence is to his friends. Has someone told them he is staying at Street Freaks? Was he seen and identified at some point? One thing is certain: he nee
ds to consider that it might not be possible for him to stay there any longer.

  When Cay returns several hours later, she does not look happy. “Communications at Street Freaks are still down. Worse, a couple of assault machines are parked out front. I couldn’t get inside without being seen. The gates are still open, but the bay doors are down and the building is closed. I didn’t see any sign of the others. So I decided to stay away. Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow.”

  She sits down next to him on the couch. “Something is very wrong here, Ash,” she says. “That pill you gave me? ProLx? I had it tested while I was out. The testing agency told me it is definitely not designed to protect the immune system. There’s nothing in it that would do so. They think it is intended for another purpose, but they have no idea what. They’ve never seen or heard of it before. They recommend you have some tests performed.”

  “What? No. No tests.”

  “If you don’t agree to the tests, they won’t give you any more of the pills. They have to know what the pills do or they are in violation of the law.”

  “No tests,” he repeats.

  “Why not? Are you hiding something?”

  “No. It doesn’t . . .” He breaks off. “It’s just too risky. Someone might recognize me. They might report me.”

  “Stop right there.” She gives him a long, searching look. “I know you’ve been through a lot. I understand you’re frightened. I would be too. But take a moment to consider. You’re safe for the moment. What happens tomorrow? Or the next day? What about your health? You’ve been taking this drug for years, and apparently it isn’t what you thought. So is your immune system compromised or not? Is this pill doing something other than what you believe? Don’t you have to try to find out?”

  Her argument is reasonable, and he knows she is right about him. But something about the idea of being tested is troubling. He can’t explain it, but he feels a deep-seated reluctance to allow himself to submit to a physical examination.

  “I don’t know what the problem is,” he says finally.

  She reaches over and touches his cheek. “You need to find out, Ash. You need to know the truth. The sooner, the better.”