by Gary Ballard
THE BRIDGE CHRONICLES, TRILOGY
BOOK 1: UNDER THE AMORAL BRIDGE
BOOK 2: THE KNOW CIRCUIT
&
BOOK 3: if [tribe] =
by
Gary A. Ballard
*****
Copyright © 2008 - 2011 by Gary A. Ballard
All Rights Reserved
Books 1 & 2 originally published as a weekly serial novels on the World Wide Web at
http://amoralbridge.blogspot.com
January 2008 — August 2008
February 2009 — August 2009
Special Smashwords Edition 1.0 – July 2011
Cover photography and design by
Gary A. Ballard
Author Photography by
Gary A. Ballard
Copyright © 2011 Gary A. Ballard
Smashwords/Kindle/Nook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
*****
ABOUT THE BRIDGE CHRONICLES
About The Bridge Chronicles
The books you are reading make up The Bridge Chronicles series. The first two novels, Under the Amoral Bridge and The Know Circuit, were written and published in serial format online and are available in both paperback and a variety of eBook formats. You may purchase the paperback of Under the Amoral Bridge at https://www.createspace.com/3399306 for $8 plus shipping by using the coupon code S3M97LBV when you reach checkout. The eBook version of Under the Amoral Bridge is still available for only $.99 cents at the Amazon Kindle Store, Smashwords.com and Barnes & Noble.com as well as many other fine eBook vendors. I will keep the original eBook at that price indefinitely, and the coupon code will not expire. This is my way of saying thank you for your support. You may also get an eBook only compilation of the first two novels, known as The Bridge Chronicles, Books 1 & 2 for only $3.50, and all three novels are available in The Bridge Chronicles Trilogy eBook at the same vendors.
The Chronicles’ future beyond this novel is a bit nebulous. I have a mental outline for the next novel, and at some point in the future, I plan on moving the narrative timeline forward and publishing that original series of novels from which the world of Artemis Bridge springs. Barring some miraculous success, these books will be self-published in both paperback and eBook versions, and I hope you continue to follow them along with my career. Those of you on Twitter can find me at http://twitter.com/HaemishM for regular updates and pithy one-liners. The Bridge Chronicles, found at http://www.bridgechronicles.info will continue to have free content and updates on the status of the Bridge Chronicles future.
Gary A. Ballard
*****
Introduction
The book you hold in your hand is the unintended result of over 15 years of thinking, reading, and writing. The character of Artemis Bridge and his cast of supporting characters is a latecomer to the party. At first, he was meant to function as his namesake – a bridging character whose adventures set the stage for the novel I’ve been trying to publish since around 2005. That original series of novels which I started writingblied writ in 2001 was the main attraction. Bridge was a way for me to promote my writing online, to get my name out there to hopefully influential people who might one day want to pay me for that original series of novels. But in writing Under the Amoral Bridge, I found that I really dug the character of Artemis Bridge. He was a complete bastard, someone I could never sympathize with and could never like. But he was a great character to write. And before finishing this novel, two other novels started to write themselves in the back of my mind. Once I’d had some resting time, I began work on the second Bridge novel, which has just been completed and fully published online as The Know Circuit, found at http://amoralbridge.blogspot.com. The three novels, supporting short stories and GlobalPedia pieces all form the tapestry I call The Bridge Chronicles.
Publishing the novel serially on a blog was an idea I’d toyed with before, and it’s helped me tremendously. I write more because no matter how few or how many hits the site gets, I feel an obligation to get that piece out there because someone might actually want to read it. Though I missed a few deadlines with Under, I’m happy to say that I didn’t miss a day with The Know Circuit’s publishing schedule. Now that it’s done, I intend to write the third chapter in the sequence and publish it online in the same manner as the previous two. In the interim, I will be writing at least one other Bridge short story and some supporting pieces, most of which will go online at the aforementioned web site to keep people interested.
But if the contents of this book and the sequel are available for free online, why am I self-publishing a physical edition or selling an eBook version? The most obvious reason is that I’d like to get paid for my work. It was over six months of my life, after all. Secondly, my hope is that more people will read a story of this size in a physical (or eBook) version than they will in chopped up bits on a blog. To give the non-free versions some added value, I’ve included an unpublished Bridge short story as a bonus. The story Feeding Autonomy will not appear on the web site or in a free version for the foreseeable future. Shortly before the third novel is published online, I plan to release The Know Circuit in a similar physical edition, and it will also include an unpublished Bridge short story.
Regular viewers of the web site (amoralbridge.blogspot.com) will be treated to additional material that is not available in print, such as GlobalPedia 2028. These pieces are meant to give some additional history to the world. News related to the Bridge series will also be posted to that site, as well as my personal blog at gameangst.blogspot.com. It’s important to me that I give every channel something unique, my way of rewarding the people who become fans of The Bridge Chronicles.
And what about that original unpublished series? It’s still out there, waiting to be rewritten in light of changes to the setting I’ve made in The Bridge Chronicles. Many of the important historical events of that series are the central focus of the Bridge novels. At least two characters besides Bridge are integral to the second series. Whether that series will be published the same way as the Bridge novels is dependent on the success of this publishing model. Stay tuned to the web site in the future. When I know, you’ll know.
So, I kept the introduction to less than 1,000 words, and you’re probably ready for that Bridge fellow to take over. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for you aneart for purchase of this book. I hope you enjoy it.
*****
Dedicated to my beloved wife for all the support and understanding.
*****
FEEDING AUTONOMY
The following is a short story that takes place months before the event depicted in this novel.
*****
December 27, 2027
12:13 a.m.
“They said you were the guy to talk to about special requests.” Bridge put on as devious a grin as he could, but the revulsion he felt when listening to this weedy frat boy talk was difficult to tamp down. Bridge had done his usual due diligence on potential clients. The little douche sitting across the circular booth was named
Conner Archer, eldest son of some upper middle manager at Chronosoft, Inc. His daddy made good bank in software, and as a result, the kid got to fuck off at UCLA with as much beer, weed, Trip and whatever else he could shove down his rapacious gullet without fear of expulsion. Bridge hated e
verything about the kid; his spiky blond hair, his weasel grin, the erratic way he waved his hands around as he ran his mouth. The two kids to either side were just as irritating. One was a muscular jock type, a track and field kid whose father was an account executive at Chronosoft’s local news division. The third kid was a wannabe. His parents were struggling middle class, and the only way he’d managed to make it into both UCLA and the frat was because his daddy was an alumnus. He seemed to be trying way too hard to impress his more well-heeled brothers.
Bridge went through the usual routine. He asked if they were cops, or if they were wired, even though his white noise generator would have killed any attempts to eavesdrop on the conversation. Then he explained his services. “You need something, I know somebody got that something. You stand over here looking for something and the guy with that something is across the river over there. I’m the Bridge between you.”
“your="#000What river?” asked the middle-class kid, Brett.
“It’s metaphorical. Try to keep up. For a nominal fee, I will find you that guy and hook you up. I don’t make judgements and I don’t ask questions. I don’t touch nothing and I don’t know nothing. I’m all about the connection, the circuit. You tell me, I tell him and nobody else. Now, what is this special request?”
“We want some Sluv,” Archer said with a devious grin. “A whole bunch.”
Bridge nodded. Sluv, the new nanotech designer date rape drug. Forget Roofies, or Spanish fly or any of that other shit, Sluv was the new hotness. Spanish fly was dangerous in the hands of complete imbeciles like these and results couldn’t be guaranteed. Roofies made the girls comatose. The old standby of getting chicks drunk too often led to passed out broads or Woo Girls throwing up all over the intended rapist. Sluv, though, Sluv were a sure thing. It messed with both the decision-making and memory centers of the brain. The victim became almost hypnotically suggestible; tell the chicks to blow an entire football team and they would do it without resistance. The drug altered their memories of the events, making them believe every act they’d taken had been their choice. It even played well with alcohol and other drugs, almost eliminating the danger of an adverse reaction. It flushed itself from the system in 24-hours, making it untraceable. If the rapist could afford the premium, he could have his way with whomever he wanted and get away clean.
The chestnut-haired twerp next to Archer, Sal Pearson, explained their request. “We got this big-time New Year’s Eve Party coming up,” he rubbed his hands together, “and we got some major hottie action invited. We want to make sure the brothers get their pick of the litter, know what I mean?”
Bridge kept that smile on his face, tossing the kid a conspiratorial wink. “Say no more.” He stopped as the punks giggled like schoolgirls. “No, really, say no more. I don’t need nor want to know what you use the product for. You never knew me and I never knew you, got it? I know a guy. You give me 24 hours and I’ll have you a meeting set up. My cut is $3,000 in advance. You pay in cash, five-year, deposited in a locker at this address. We meet tomorrow night and I’ll give you the details.”
“You could tell us some bullshit and leave us hanging!” the middle-class kid, Brett Wolf, said. “Uh uh, you get paid after we get our stuff.”
Bridge got serious. He could see the gigantic form of his bodyguard, Aristotle, hovering over him in the mirrored wall behind his clients. He gave the bodyguard a subtle hand signal to keep the giant from interfering. “That isn’t how it works. You may not know me, but you know of me, right? And do you really think anybody would have given you my name if I was the kind to fuck over a client? No, they wouldn’t because I’m not. My word is bond. I tell you you’ll get the meet, get it you will. Whether you can work out a deal is your problem, not mine. People use my services because I know people they don’t, and I don’t give a fuck what it is you want or how you are going to use it because it never touches my hands. I do nothing illegal. Now if you want to go wandering around asking people for highly illegal drugs because you’re too cheap or paranoid to use me, we’ll see where thd asee wheat gets you. But if you want your drugs, I can save you the trouble of getting guns stuck in your face for asking very dangerous people very dangerous questions. We clear?”
The three exchanged nervous glances. Archer tossed an angry bug-eyed stare at Wolf, which seemed to silence him. “No, it’s cool, man. You’re the guy we want to deal with. Here’s my card.” He handed Bridge a flashy bizchip. “Call me when you have things set up. You’ll get your money.” Bridge chuckled inside at the uselessness of a college kid with a bizchip, but took it without comment.
“You won’t be disappointed, young gents,” Bridge said with the biggest shit-eating grin he could muster.
*****
“You’re going to do what?”
Angela’s tone was bitingly chilly, malicious anger bleeding through her voice despite the crèche’s tinny speaker. Bridge’s live-in girlfriend, Angela Powell, was jacked into the GlobalNet, an architect of a number of massive virtual worlds and full-time information broker for a stable of hackers domestic and international. Bridge used to be one of them, before the riots last August. The experiences the two of them had shared during those awful days had affected them both in different ways. While Bridge had given up the hacker life and become the know-to, go-to guy, the amoral fixer with the slick patter, Angela had retreated deeper into the GlobalNet. Their apartment, never the most well-kept joint, had become an absolute shithole. Used food containers and dirty dishes were left everywhere, dust accumulated on every surface, dirty clothes piled up in the closets and hallways, towels mildewed on the bathroom floor when Bridge neglected to pick them up. Angela didn’t see the mess most days anyway. She spent hours and days at a stretch buried in the coffin-like crèche. The layer of dust coating its exterior dulled the shiny black surface, but it was the only thing Bridge ever saw of her anymore.
“I gotta get some Sluv for a bunch of fratboys,” he repeated flatly. “What’s Doc Cramer’s number, babe?”
“What am I, your fucking yellow pages? Look it up yourself, asshole.”
Bridge raised an eyebrow. “I take it you don’t approve.”
The speaker was silent for long, tense moments. The silent treatment then. Bridge sighed and went to his own abandoned crèche, similarly dusty. He brought up the exterior console and began a search for Cramer’s number. “You’re just going to ignore me?” Bridge sighed again.
“Ignore what? You didn’t say anything.”
“You shouldn’t even have ghtt even to ask me if I approve. You’re getting a date rape drug for a bunch of leg-humping rich boy cocksuckers.”
“Of course. The leg-humping poor boy cocksuckers aren’t profitable.”
“How can you even look at yourself in the mirror? They are going to rape some drunk college bow bitch and you’re going to give them the stuff so they can get away with it. You might as well be raping them yourself!”
Bridge had found Cramer’s number and transferred it to his internal HUD. “Don’t be so fucking dramatic. You know as well as I do these fuckheads would rape a lamppost if they could get it drunk enough. It isn’t like they need the drug to bang some sorority chick against her will. They could get her drunk, or just beat her into submission. At least with this shit, the chick isn’t likely to get a beatdown.”
“Wow, you miserable fuck. That’s the most sickening rationalization I’ve ever heard in my life. What the fuck happened to you?”
The old argument had cycled back around again like some ravenous beast, never satisfied with tiny nibbles at their relationship. The same arguments, the same justifications, the same insults, they always returned, each time with more anger, more venom and more hurtful words that couldn’t be taken back. Angela had resented his choices, had resented his leaving behind the hacking life. Though she had been in charge of the illegal information brokering business, as their relationship had grown closer, he had taken a good deal of the responsibility from her shoulders, and h
e was a fantastic organizer. His absence had hurt her professionally, but she took it personally, as if he had repudiated her entirely.
At her best, Angela was not a social person, at least not in the flesh. She was not the most attractive person. Her gangly arms, small breasts and crooked teeth hardly matched the accepted version of good-looking. Bridge knew her self-image was terrible, but when she tried, she was much prettier than she believed herself to be. The fact that Bridge had been able to shift from the virtual to the meat world with very little adjustment must have stirred a jealousy she didn’t even want to acknowledge.
Bridge had earned the nickname the Amoral Bridge by being exactly that. He didn’t care what his clients wanted him to find, what depravity they requested, what immoral acts they wished to perform. The client wanted it and he got it, no questions asked. His only request was that whatever illegal service or product got exchanged never touch him. All he did was connect the buyer with the seller. That couldn’t be illegal, or at least not illegal enough to get him much heat. That amorality was another sticking point with Angela, despite her chosen profession.
“How do you help these shitheels do these things without throwing up? Don’t they disgust you?”
Bridge exploded. He’d heard it all so many times by now that he was sick to the death of it all. “They all disgust me, every fucking one of them! All of them! EVERYBODY! You think I go out of my way to find these people, that I have to look hard for clients? Shit. I have to turn people away some days, not because I give two flying fucks what tog fucks they want, but because I just don’t have the time. You think there’s normal people out there that don’t want nasty shit like virtual videos of their friends getting tortured, or hired killers, or kidnappers, or date rape drugs but there ain’t. Everybody wants to do something nasty and vile to somebody else. Everybody! They’re all fucking shitheels with disgusting, immoral, vicious desires buried in their tiny, miserable souls just waiting for an excuse to get out. The sooner it gets out and they all burn themselves up in a fiery orgy of self-destructive gluttony, the happier I’ll be. Humanity as a whole is a miserable gaggle of self-pleasuring apes ready to crack you over the head and steal your fucking bananas.”