And Artemis, or Viktoriya Marchenko the Olympic medalist, would definitely value those sponsorships. He could even imagine her voice in his mind and the words she’d use, ‘dreams of victory,’ ‘athletic excellence,’ ‘beating the world record.’
And, what was the next step ahead in athletic excellence? The Cybathlon, a place where disabled athletes pushed the limits of what a human body could do by using bleeding edge augmentations.
Artemis was publicly in league with Apollon Medical, which had a great deal invested in prosthetics and augmentations. By elbowing out the competitors and clearing the path for Apollon to take hold, Artemis could cash in the favour for something she truly desired.
He rushed to the workstation and started shifting through data in a different light. The Venn diagram finally overlapped. He set aside tens of cases of professional athletes that had contesting sponsorship contracts between the two corporations. He then sent a request analysis to the AI, to eat all those endless pages of legalese and spit out a small digest for him in plain words.
He waited, staring at sports clips and freeze frames of athletes.
Motherfucking athletes…
It’s always something new, isn’t it?
Chapter 11: Galene @ 0.7x nhs
Her phone screen said, ‘Gregoris Raptis is calling you,’ and she just stood there and stared at it.
She was in her flat, which was a complete and utter mess by the way. It was Friday night, she had nothing to snack on, her paycheck was gone already and she didn’t want to ask Nat for more lending money.
The phone rang and she placed it carefully on the coffee table. Why was he calling her? Did he need something urgent with his workstation? Then he should call IT like the rest of them and get whoever was on duty at that hour. It was Petros, Galene thought.
Yeah, he should take care of whatever they needed. Not her. Not on her off-duty hours.
The phone stopped.
Galene pulled her feet close to her body, hugging her knees. She kept staring at the phone. After a while, she glanced at her printout of her thesis. She needed to finish it to get her degree. But it was gathering dust at the same place for nearly a year now. She wouldn’t normally have it printed, but her professor had told her it would help her with revision. Or maybe he knew the physical object would taunt her in silence.
She kept saying she’d put in the time to finish it but something always came up.
She called Nat. “He keeps calling me.”
“Who, Greg?” her friend said over the phone.
“Yeah. What do I do?”
“Answer it, silly!” Nat chuckled.
“There he is, third time in ten minutes.”
“Galene, listen to me carefully. I’m going to hang up and you are going to move that finger and tap answer to his call, and talk to the guy. 3, 2, 1, go.” She hung up.
The phone kept ringing.
Galene didn’t pick up.
A message came. It said, “I called but you must be busy. I’m Greg by the way, you fixed my computer earlier.”
Another message. “I realise now that your day job is full of people that have computers fixed by you. So I’ll be more specific, I’m the guy at the penthouse.”
Galene smiled, but did not respond.
A third message. “I also realised, three messages in, that I haven’t said what I meant to. Do you want to go out with me tomorrow night?”
Galene called Nat, then immediately cancelled the call.
No, this was something she had to do alone.
A fourth message. “I am in no way pressuring you due to work. I just thought it would be nice.”
Galene left the phone on the table, pulling her fingers away as if it would somehow burn them.
Chapter 12: Gregoris @ 2.2x nhs
Greg went for a drive on his Ducati bike. It was his process, taking entire days to suck in the data about a project and then just taking his mind off of it, letting his subconscious shift through it all and come up with ideas.
It was a nice day, Saturday morning. He had gotten a good six hours of reset sleep and he felt great. He kept checking his phone, but Galene had not replied. He tried to fool himself that she simply hadn’t seen the messages yet, but he knew that girls her age couldn’t stay away from their phone for more than a few minutes.
He drove to the Kallimarmaro, the elongated marble stadium in the middle of Athens. Mel had phoned ahead and got him access to everything, he simply showed his ID at the guard and they let him in. He climbed on a couple of pews and simply walked along its curve. Lots of things happened here. Many showy events, lots of athletic competitions, the first modern Olympics and then two more, the handover of the Olympic flame. Even the original Marathon race ends up here.
Time.
It was all about time. Human bodies pushed to superhuman performances, jump higher, swim faster, run swifter, aim better, throw further.
It was no different that what he did, actually. He pushed himself to think faster, to absorb more, to see further.
Greg jumped down on the track and ran the Marathon finish line. He was no slob; he kept in good shape for his age. But even a Paralympics athlete could outrun him.
Scratch that, all of the Paralympic athletes could outrun him.
He ran the track anyway, getting hot in his leather jacket. He left his things on the side, staying with a t-shirt on. It was safe to do so, the stadium was guarded and he was the only one there. He left his sunglasses too, even though it was a sunny day. He wanted to sweat, to feel it all. The damn Kallimarmaro was very long, after running two laps he was wiped out.
He pushed himself to run one more, and then he really needed a break.
Sweating and panting, he sat down to rest for a bit.
Five laps. Okay, he could do better.
He thought about the Cybathlon. It was the next step in athletic competition. Augmentation was everywhere. Disabled people could walk and run better than the so called healthy ones. People used cosmetic augmentations for gadgets and sexual experiences.
He threw himself back, lying flat on the track.
He had one powerful memory of an augmented person, a single image that was etched in his mind. A runner, Pistorius. Missing both his legs, augmented with those carbon-fibre-reinforced polymer prosthetic blades, he was an icon at the time, a symbol of human determination. Through his determination and persistence, he was the only person allowed to run in both Paralympic and Olympic races. Greg could remember that mixed race, he had seen it live. It was a milestone of the Summer Olympics of 2012. The other athletes outran Pistorius but at the finish line, the guy who came first walked up to the man and shook hands with him, then switched their numbers. All that so Pistorius could be the winner.
It was what Gregoris thought about when he thought of eugenis amilla, the concept of fighting for victory with fairness and morality. Fair game, in short, but those words did not cover it. Amilla was more than just being fair, it was about feeling the rush of competing with the best athletes in the world and just being happy to be there.
And then Pistorius shot and killed his wife and became miasma.
Shame really. It was the finishing blow in mixed athletics. Nobody spoke about that, but Greg knew it was time. Artemis knew it, Hermes knew it.
Some augmentations actually gave an advantage to the athlete over the rest. It was a fact, tested and true. That was the main pushback reason the Olympic committee had to deny Pistorius to compete in the Olympics. Of course when running against demigods who chewed World Records for breakfast it wasn’t enough, but at some point an augmented athlete would finally outperform even them.
The sport is about to change, and whichever corporation is at the front of it will reap major rewards. It was about being established when the fruit was ripe. The matter was taboo for now after the bitter scandal of Pistorius, but Greg’s research indicated that the current Olympic committee could and possibly would approve the change.
Greg could se
e it all now. The Cybathlon was about pushing the capabilities of the human body with no limits whatsoever, a perfect proving ground for technologies that could be sold to the masses or used in augmented soldiers. The PR angle was this: Be in place when the shift happens, so that millions of people around the world could see Olympic athletes breaking the records with either Apollo or Hermes augmentations.
Greg turned over, covering his face. He could feel the start of a sunburn coming up. He picked up his stuff and thanked the guard on his way out. He shook his head back at him.
Not many people understood his process.
Chapter 13: Natalie @ 1.1x nhs
“I have nothing to wear!” Galene shrieked on the phone. “Nothing!”
“Oh-kay. Emergency date time. I’m grabbing a few of my things and coming over.” Nat put her on speaker and moved around her place.
“Save me! I’ve got less than two hours and my hair is a mess and he’s cute and he’s rich and my nails are disgusting!” Galene almost broke down.
“Coming, coming,” her friend said over the phone, opening closets and drawers and shuffling around. “Just… Use the force Gal, or whatever. Calm down.”
“That’s for taking down Deathstars!” Gal cried over the phone.
“I got you, babe. Hold on.”
Nat showed up at the door, holding ten dresses and juggling a pink necessaire with shoe boxes on it.
Instead of greeting her, Gal just cried out, “I have nothing-”
“To wear, yes, got it the first time, dear,” Nat interrupted and threw the lot onto the couch. “So,” she teased, “He’s cute and rich?”
Gal just stood there while her friend tried out the different dresses over her body. “Yeah… I guess.”
“You guess, which one about?”
“I guess he’s cute, sure. And I think he’s rich. After all, the corp gave him the penthouse to our building,” Gal said, pulling down her hair with a stuck hairbrush.
Nat froze, and turned around. She pointed at the Hermes skyscraper, it peeked out of the row of buildings from Gal’s apartment. They weren’t that high above ground and the view wasn’t much, but Gal happened to live at the exact angle where the gap in the buildings gave her a perfect shot of her workplace. And the place where he worked. Did he live there? It sure sounded like he did, from what Gal had told her about him.
“I’m sorry, you meant that penthouse?” Nat asked, shocked, still pointing at the building downtown.
“Yeah…”
“Brazilian, now.” Nat pushed her into the bathroom.
“Hey! I’m not gonna fuck him on the first date!” Gal complained, pushing back.
“Why the hell not?” her friend asked, exasperated.
“Because…” Gal trailed off.
Nat stopped pushing. “Don’t tell me… This is about Ba-”
“Do not speak his name!” Gal shrieked.
“Okay, He-who-must-not-be-named was over a year ago. Fuck that guy! Fuck this guy. Right?” She winked, proud of her turn-of-phrase.
“Ugh-uh,” Gal refused like a child.
“Fine!” Nat spat out. “But if you happen to change your mind, I want you to be waxed and ready, Missy. Panties on the floor, now!”
Gal obeyed and then shuffled to the bathroom.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Nat said, picking up the orange panties with the cartoons. “Thank god I brought the red thong.”
“Thongs get up in my butt,” Gal complained from the bathroom. The faucet water made a nice, warm mist in there.
“That’s what they’re supposed to do,” Nat explained. She matched shoes with the dress she had picked up for her friend. Sandals, actually. She was a brunette, so she picked out a Navy blue dress with a deep decolletage. It would match Gal’s brunette tresses nicely. And, with a red-hot lipstick she’d be pretty and fuckable.
Nat took a moment to congratulate herself on being such a good friend.
Then she rushed into the bathroom to perform, what some people might call torture, on her bestie’s lady parts.
Chapter 14: Galene @ 0.9x nhs
He was on time. Dammit! How was she to get the upper hand now? Being cross all night with her date cause he was late was the extent of her bag of tricks.
Oh well. She sent a quick message, ‘Gtng rdy,’ and the emojis: sky, dress, train. She had no clue what they meant, but decoding them would occupy him for some time. She finished getting ready.
She hurried off to the door.
“Hey! Shoes,” Nat cried after her.
“Right.” Gal wobbled on her feet, balancing as her friend slipped the shoes on.
“I’m gonna clean up here and lock behind me, don’t worry. Go. Go!” Nat shooed her out.
“Thanks Nat, bye!”
“Tell me everything!” her friend called after her as she shut the door.
Greg was there. Greg was there waiting, and he was on a bike. He was there waiting, on a bike, holding another helmet. Greg was waiting with another helmet for her. On a bike.
Oh, crap.
“Hiii!” she squeaked like a girly idiot.
“Hello there. You look gorgeous,” he said glancing at her.
“Thank you very much.” Thank you very much? What the hell?
“Hop on.” He pointed at the back seat of his bike. It looked expensive. Red, and expensive. It said Ducati on the side. Powerful and red and extremely tall for something that required you to hop on.
She couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Okay, it’s not my fault if I crap myself on the first date. You never told me you rode a bike,” she blurted out, holding a finger up.
“I’ll drive slowly,” he reassured her. “Come on, place your left foot there, and just hop on over.”
She gulped. This is not the time to fall on your face, Galene. She put her foot carefully, and hopped on over as Greg instructed.
Okay, so far so good. Why was this seat so high?
“Here, put the helmet on. And tuck your dress underneath you, don’t let it go to the exhaust.”
Spontaneous combustion. Skull fractures. Yup, this date was going great. She obeyed, of course. She’s not a vlaka.
“Put your arms around me.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she complained as she did exactly that.
“Only the clever ones,” he said and revved the bike.
Gal forced down a squeal and held on for dear life.
After a while, Galene forgot about the myriad ways she could die and simply enjoyed the ride. The tingling sensation that kept you on edge and perhaps warned you that you were going to pee yourself was still there, but it felt good now.
She played with the helmet. It had intercom, paired for easy riding. Activated by a nudge of the chin. “This helmet is so cool!”
“I know, right? Full veil capabilities, intercom, self-healing plastic, GPS of course. Here, let me share the ride info.”
Two screens showed up in her field of view, the one to the side, a map and route of the vehicle with traffic citation, and a secondary with gauges and stats about the bike, speed, battery, etc.
“I bet you share your bike’s data with all the girls,” she teased.
“Only the ones who can compile them.”
Good answer. Damn, old guys were smooth. Why had she wasted all that time with immature boys?
She held on to his leather jacket. It wasn’t cold, they were driving slowly and the warm day had just gotten cool for the evening.
“We’re going to Romvis street, do you know it?” he asked.
“No. Is it nice?”
“It’s right at the centre of Athens, two streets over Ermou. I like it cause there’s a great selection of restaurants there, Italian, Greek, Mexican, Chinese, whatever pleases you, take your pick.”
“Something non-spicy. I’m okay with trying something new, but not spicy.” She shook her head but he couldn’t see her. The intercom carried his breathing, and it felt so intimate. Galene found herself lovi
ng it.
“Non-spicy it is then,” he pointed ahead with his hand.
“Hands on the wheel, please!” she yelped.
“You know it’s self-driving, right? I can surrender control to the Hermes AI and it can take us there by itself.”
“Yes, I get it. Men. Toys. Now: Hands. On the wheel.”
“Sheesh,” he complained without really meaning it.
She could feel the bastard laughing by his body tension.
“Did you just mute me and laughed your ass off?” she said flatly.
“I did. You caught me.”
“We’ll get back to that as soon as I’m on solid ground.”
They had reached a red light. Greg swerved through the front cars and waited first in line, propping the bike with his feet. Gal heard a massive noise, a bunch of bikes revving behind them. She turned and saw a group of bikes weaving through the cars.
They were women, and they were noisy.
Their bikes were varied, different makes, different horsepower. Garish and colourful, with mods and side-pockets, they looked lived-in, well worn. The women riders were varied as well, some muscular and powerful, others simply slim and athletic. One of them bumped her shoulder on an SUV’s mirror, so she promptly smashed it with an aluminium bat. The driver didn’t roll the window down and complain. He did nothing, he just held both hands on the wheel and waited for the green light, like a good Citizen.
Gal shook her head. She knew the guy, his public profile showed up in her field of view and she saw he was an exec at Hermes tower. She remembered the guy swearing at a fellow IT staff because he didn’t fix his computer quick enough. He’d never sit back idly and put his ego aside. But it seems he did just that.
“Amazons,” Greg whispered. “Don’t stare at them, just stand still and look ahead.”
“Wha-” Gal complained, but she obeyed. She felt more tingling between her legs, alerting her to more danger than the one of a bike running.
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