by Baron Sord
“What?” Jason gasped.
“They sent this!” Scowling, I handed my phone to him. “We just wasted $40,000! Damn it!”
“What the fuck?!”
“Lemme see,” Dad demanded, nearly falling off his bed when he tried to tear the phone out of Jason’s hands.
“Careful, Dad,” I said as I lunged forward to prevent him from rolling off.
Jason dropped the phone on the carpet while trying to help.
“Ahhh! Shit! My back!” Dad winced as we pushed him onto the bed.
I picked up my phone and held it so Dad could see it while I played the video.
The camera showed Emily lying on the same random bed. A NeuraLink blinked on her head. She was out, still mind-locked with a nasogastric feeding tube going up her nose. Not smiling and crying. Not telling us she was okay or where Mr. Wiggles was buried. The camera moved around the room, showing Emily from several angles, but it didn’t show anything else. Just her on the bed. It was definitely Emily, but I was dying to climb through the phone so I could look out a window or walk out a door, anything that might give a hint about where she was. The camera zoomed in on Emily’s face. A gloved hand came into frame holding a small makeup mirror to her mouth. It fogged rhythmically.
“She’s breathing!” Dad gasped. “She’s alive!”
I grumbled, “Yeah, but when did they film this?”
The camera pulled back. Something rustled off camera and something else blurred into the frame.
“Wait!” Jason said. “What’s that?”
“Is it a newspaper?” Dad said.
“Do they even make newspapers anymore?” I asked.
“Of course they do,” Dad said.
The video suddenly ended.
“Play it again,” Dad insisted. “What’s the name of that paper?”
I backed up the video and paused it when the newspaper came into frame.
“What language is that?” Jason asked.
“I think it’s Thai,” Dad said. “But I can’t read it.”
“Me neither,” I said.
“Do a Google Image search of the name,” Jason suggested.
I grabbed a frame from the video and searched it. “It’s Kom Chad Luek.”
“What’s that?” Jason said.
I searched the name. “It’s a newspaper based in Bangkok!” High excitement rushed through me. “Emily’s somewhere in Bangkok!”
“What’s the date?” Dad asked.
“I have no idea,” I said, unable to find one.
Jason had his own phone in hand and was busy thumbing through websites. “I’m at the Kom Chad Luek website now. But I don’t see a date anywhere—wait. This says something 19 something 2580. 2580?” He looked at me, confused.
“Don’t look at me.”
“What’s it say in the video?”
I played it again and paused it when the newspaper came into frame. “There it is. 13 and 2580. Same numbers. But is that even a date? Or is it a street address? I have no idea.”
Jason jumped back on the web and searched. “Okay, here it is. Thailand is on the Buddhist calendar. It’s 543 years ahead of ours. So 2037 is 2580. The paper’s dated the 13th. But what month? Wait, hold on.” He did some more searching.
“Find anything?”
“Hold on. I’m doing a crash course in the Thai alphabet on Wikipedia. Okay, these squiggles spell Friday and those squiggles spell March. So the newspaper is dated Friday, March 13, 2037.”
Dad chuckled, “How’d you figure that out so quick?”
Jason shrugged.
“Friday the 13th?” I sighed. “That’s the day they sent the first email. That’s not today’s paper. And that means we still don’t know if she’s alive or not. Fuck!” I shouted, ready to punch the nearest wall. “We just paid them 40 grand and they sent us a week old video? FUCK!!”
“Lemme see your phone,” Dad said. He watched the video several times. “Look at that newspaper. It’s not new. It’s wrinkled, like somebody read it. Or maybe they pulled it out of the trash. Do you know what this means?”
“What?” I barked.
Dad smiled, “Don’t you see? We know where she is! She’s in Bangkok, like you said! We know where Emily is!” He started weeping.
I didn’t want to tell him it was wishful thinking. Emily may have been in Bangkok 5 days ago, but where was she now? For all we knew, you could buy Bangkok newspapers in Laos or Vietnam or Malaysia or who knew where. I had no idea. No, no. I couldn’t go there. I had to believe she was in Bangkok, or I’d crack right then and there. I needed to believe it, just like Dad.
“Sooooo,” Jason said. “Do we send them the other $35K like they asked?”
“Hell no!” I barked. “This isn’t what we asked for!”
Dad asked, “What did the email say?”
“It said to send the $35K.”
We all looked at each other.
Jason said, “How do we know they’re not stringing us along?” Once again, he was implying what none of us wanted to say: how did we know they hadn’t killed Emily?
We didn’t.
Dad looked at me and Jason.
Jason looked at me.
“Fuck it,” I growled. “I’m flying to Bangkok.”
Jason said, “The next flight is at midnight. You’ve got 5 hours to pack your bags and get to the airport. Plenty of time.” Then he sighed heavily and said, “I’d offer to go with you, but I don’t know what good I’d be.” He looked down at his frail body with obvious embarrassment.
“Me too,” Dad said with obvious frustration. 20 hours on a plane would be torture on his back.
“Don’t worry about it, you two. That’s what you got me for. I’ll take care of it. I’ll find Emily.”
“Thanks, Low,” Jason said, his voice shaking. “I mean it.”
“No worries, bro. I got this.”
I secretly prayed this wasn’t a wild goose chase.
If it was, I’d never forgive myself.
—: o o o :—
“You’re late, Logan.” The man barking at me was my boss Paulie Preacher, co-owner of Opal. Paulie was a good looking guy in his 40s who spent too much time on his hair, at the gym, and the tanning salon.
The club had only been open an hour, but was already crowded. The DJ was spinning retro dubstep and the music was bumping loud enough I had to holler to be heard.
“Sorry, Paulie.” I stood behind the bar in a T-shirt and jeans.
“Why aren’t you dressed for work?”
“I need the night off.”
“You took the last five nights off.”
“Three.”
He didn’t hear me because he was busy shaking a drink in a stainless steel cocktail shaker with both hands. Rattle, rattle, rattle. “I had to cover your ass for three of them myself. You have any idea how busy we were last night?”
I shrugged.
He glared at me, “The 17th? Saint Paddy’s day?”
“Oh, shit. I totally forgot.”
“You forgot,” he said sarcastically. “He forgot,” Paulie said to nobody, looking around like he had an audience, which he didn’t. “We were slammed, Logan. Same as every year. This place was packed to the gills. And where were you?”
“I’m really sorry, Paulie.”
“Sorry my ass,” he snorted. “And here I am pouring drinks for you yet again. You think I’m some kinda chump?”
“No, Paulie.”
He scowled, “I hope you’re here to work.”
“About that…”
He glared at me while pouring a martini from the shaker into a glass before adding olives. He set the glass on the electro-polymer bar top, which emitted a soft white light. Paulie pressed a button and the electro-polymer swelled in a ring around the base of the glass and shuttled it down the bar before stopping halfway to the woman who’d ordered it. Exasperated, Paulie grabbed the glass and carried it over to the woman and apologized, then walked back toward me, his face sour.
/> “Would you believe I paid a hundred grand for this whore of a fancy bar top? Doesn’t even work. Sal said it was worth it.” Sal was his brother, the other co-owner of Opal. “Sal said it was futuristic. Sal said it was high tech. Sal said the customers would love it. Fuck Sal, you know what I mean?” He was being rhetorical, but I had to answer. Paulie needed an audience at all times.
“Yeah.”
Right then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and found a new email from the kidnappers. It said:
=============
You have video.
Send $35,000.
Time almost out.
Last chance.
=============
My guts dropped into my feet. The pounding dubstep went silent and my ears started to ring. I became vaguely aware that Paulie was talking to me, but I couldn’t hear him. Just stared at his jabbering jaw while I tried to calm myself. Eventually, the world returned.
“Hey, Logan! Anybody home?!”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Are you ready to work already, or do I have to mix drinks for you all night?” He untied his waist apron and handed it to me.
“Paulie, I need a week off starting tonight. Maybe two.”
“Two weeks?” He scowled, “I knew you only came in here so you could step all over my balls.”
“They’re big balls,” I joked, trying to relax him. If Paulie lost his temper at me, I would become the enemy.
He snorted a laugh, “You gonna talk to me like that, you gotta buy me dinner first.”
“This is important, Paulie.”
“More important than your job?”
I couldn’t tell if he was serious or testing me or what. “It might be.”
“Logan, make up your mind. You work for me or you don’t.”
I was getting angry. “I’m here for you seven days a week, week in, week out. I need you to back me up for once.”
“Hold on. My phone’s ringing.” He pulled a smart phone out of his back pocket and held it up to his ear. He plugged his other ear with his pinky finger. “Yeah? No kidding. What? You’re crazy. I’m crazy? You’re fucking crazy! You tell him I said no fucking way! I don’t care what he says! Tell him it’s six or nothing! If he doesn’t like it, he can kiss my ass!” He ended the call and stuffed his phone back in his pocket and glared at me. “Some people, huh? You work with them twenty years and they turn right around and stab you in the back.” He shook his head, his face red. “Some friend. Tries to take advantage of my good graces? No way, pal. No fucking way. Geesh.” Lost in thought, he shook his head again before looking at me. “What were we talking about?”
I heaved a sigh. When Paulie’s temper was up like this, he tended to get pissed at everyone at hand, and I was the closest target. Choosing my words carefully, I said, “It’s my sister, Paulie. She’s in trouble.”
He scowled and waved his hand. “Your sister’s in trouble? My sister’s in trouble. That mamaluke she’s married to bought her a house he can’t afford, now he lost his job and he’s asking me to help pay his mortgage? Che palle! The nerve of that guy!”
He wasn’t listening and I was out of patience. My problem was ten times bigger than a mortgage payment. Emily’s life was on the line.
“Here.” Paulie waved the apron at me. “Take it. I need to go to my office and make some calls.” He waved the apron again. “Take it already.”
I lost it. This self-centered prick couldn’t see past his own petty problems. I wasn’t telling him again just so he could tell me how much bigger his problems were than mine. “I gotta go, Paulie.” I turned and started walking.
“Hey! Get back here!”
I kept going.
“I got a list a bartender’s a mile long who’ll gladly take your job! Come back here! Logan! Come back or you’re fired!” The wadded up apron hit me in the back.
I ignored it.
“Ahhhhh! Don’t come back, you stinking chooch! I don’t need you! You no good son of a…” His words faded into the dubstep noise of the club.
I shouldered past patrons as I worked my way toward the front doors. While I was walking up the long hallway that led from the floor to the main entrance, I nearly stumbled over a sexy brunette in a skin-tight red dress. I couldn’t help but look.
She was gorgeous.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
She flashed a wicked smile, the kind that made all men do dumb things.
I ducked my head and kept going.
She grabbed my elbow. “The least you can do after groping me like that is tell me your name.”
“I didn’t grope you,” I said defensively. I hadn’t.
She was still holding my elbow. Women as hot as her were only this forward with me when I was behind the bar, so I was surprised she was flirting so hard. Any other night, I would’ve talked to her and tried to pry her number out of her. But I needed to get home and pack my bags for Thailand.
“What’s your name, blue eyes?” She wasn’t letting go.
“Logan,” I sighed, wishing this conversation was done and hating I felt that way. I really needed to go.
“Candice.”
No way. I smirked at her. “Really?”
“What?” She was flirting hard, giving me the bedroom eyes.
“Your name’s Candice?”
“Yes it is.”
I shook my head, chuckling to myself.
“What’s so funny, blue eyes?”
I felt like I was being played by the entire fricking internet. Still smirking, I said, “You know, my SuperUber chauffeur is named Candice.”
She giggled, “That’s weird.”
“Is yours named Logan?”
“No,” she laughed. “He’s named Chase.”
“But your name is really Candice?”
“It is. I’m named after my grandmother. Do I need to show you my ID, tough guy?” She was teasing.
“Nah.” Why didn’t I believe her name was really Candice? “You’re not an ape, are you?” I cringed as soon as the words left my mouth.
She smirked, “A what?”
“Sorry. I meant, it’s a… an ape is a… never mind.” How was I going to explain I thought she might be an AI? How crazy did that sound? Was I unable to separate reality from Reternity after only one week of playing? That sounded pathetic. More importantly, what were the chances that some company like NeuraSoft had secretly released 100% lifelike synthetic humans into the ecosystem without every major news agency in the world knowing about it? Sure, the H+ Transhumanist conspiracy theorists and Ray Kurzweil acolytes all said it had happened in 2031, but there was no proof. The entire idea of stealth robots infiltrating human society seemed highly unlikely in 2037. AIPCs living inside of FIVR was one thing. In the real world, believable human skin was still a pipe dream for the biotech companies. The lack of progress with burn victims was proof. So was the fact they still called sex robots “rubbers.” They also called them that because they couldn’t get or transmit STDs, or get pregnant, not that I knew from experience.
Anyway, yeah, I was just jumpy.
“Look, Candice, you seem really nice. But I’ve got a lot on my mind and—”
“I get it,” she grumbled, disappointed. “You don’t have to pretend to be nice. If you’re not interested, just say it.”
I sighed.
What was I going to do? Explain I was hopping on a plane to Bangkok to search for my kidnapped sister? Who would believe that? It sounded like a bogus reverse-psychology pickup story designed to impress gullible women. Candice was clearly not that.
“I’m really sorry,” I said earnestly. “I don’t have time right now. I need to catch a plane to Asia in 2 hours and I haven’t even packed.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you just say that?”
“Because it sounded douchey?”
She smiled at that. “Is it true?”
“Yeah.”
She grinned and swatted my arm. “You should’ve told me. Let’s touch brac
elets and you can call me when you get back.”
More and more people had switched over to bracelet or watch phones in the last few years. All of the new models had a feature where you could just touch watches or bracelets together and instantly exchange contact info, pictures, data, etc. The newer smart phones could do it, but mine was too old and too cheap. “Sorry, my phone doesn’t do that.”
She narrowed her eyes shrewdly.
“I’m serious.” I didn’t want to be a dick. She seemed nice. “Tell me your number and I’ll call you so you’ll have mine.”
She did and I did.
When her bracelet lit up, I said, “You got it?”
She nodded, “I do.” She held up her bracelet and touched the top to snap a pic of me. The tiny LED on the side flashed several times. “So I’ll know it’s you, blue eyes.”
I forced a smile for the camera. “I’ll call you when I get back.”
“I would like that, Logan,” she smiled, her pupils totally dilated. Was she high? Or just into me? Hard to say.
“It could be a couple weeks.”
“I can wait,” she smiled. She really was beautiful and had the kind of sexy lips that gave me all kinds of ideas…
“Hey, uh, this may sound strange, but you don’t play Reternity Online, do you?”
“Re-what?” She shook her head.
“Never mind.” I smiled big. “I’ll call you when I get back from my trip.”
“I look forward to it.”
I meant it, assuming everything went well with Emily.
Candice was definitely my type.
Unlike everything about Reternity Online, she was real.
And she was hot.
Man, was she ever.
—: o o o :—
Back at my apartment, I threw clothes into a travel bag while talking to Jason on Skype3D.
Jason asked, “Have they sent you another video of Emily yet?”
“Nope. All I have is the one you saw from a week ago. And guess what? The kidnappers sent another email asking for another $35K now. They said time is almost out and it’s our last chance.”
“But they didn’t send a new video?”
I scowled. “Nope.”
“I can’t believe this,” he groaned.