Revenge for Lychee

by Aies Jay

  -We’ve had the diagnosis confirmed. And it’s all true. There are some assholes out there, planting an extinct bacteria to earn mils. Killing babies to do it, without a second thought.

  She nods.

  -If you have the evidence you need, then what are you sweating about? What’s the problem?

  I sigh angrily.

  -The problem now is that I’m stomped. We have the evidence in the form of two infants with planted diphtheria and the mail I found on Axorpa, but that’s it. We don’t know the next step to take because we don’t know who it is or where they are. I’ve tried, believe me, and I’m no noob either, but no go. I’d need a much better hacker than me to get the info on who these fuckers are and where the guy who’s still here is hiding, to track the dropper of the mail or the damn mail itself. I’d need the fucking President for this. And I’m not even good enough to get to him.

  She chews down the last nigiri on her plate and takes a sip of her lemon water before answering me.

  -Wait for the Tournament, then. President always shows up there.

  -I’m too old. I can’t enter.

  -Oh, right.

  We sit quietly for a while when a vague memory brushes me from being banned from Axorpa and wondering if the people who got my mails wonder where I went to. Hackers lost in time and cyberspace. The best burn, so the saying goes. J1nxer was one of them. I remember another one distinctly I only ever heard of.

  -The only person I know that would know or at least know by proxy, was a hacker named Geisha. She knew everyone, the finest, the ancients, maybe even the Pres. She was the hostess of a Portal called TipoftheBclackIceberg, an elite place, only the best needed apply. But I haven’t heard of her being active in like, forever, and that Portal went down just before I almost joined… I’m not much of a Community man and I wanted to be faithful to Axorpa. Word was she got hit by black ice bad. It burned her, she fried, she died.

  Nicla looks into the boo-yonder, nodding.

  -I heard the same… from a customer of mine. She was connected, man.

  -Say it with me.

  -But it’s not true, at least not the “died” bit. She’s still around. I know how to get her.

  I get up on one elbow, surprised.

  -I thought you didn’t hack?

  -I don’t but I know where to get her none the less. Her Avatar platforms sometimes at the Shojo-Gogo.

  -You know the time for her next session?

  My heart takes a leap as she nods.

  -Yes. But I’m not going. I hate that place. But you go, and after the show, they clear the showroom if you slip a few creds into the right hands for some alone time with her, if she agrees. You’ll have to arrange it with the bartender first.

  A sliver of hope reaches my still beating heart. Keeping her by my side wasn’t just sentimental good, this girl has resources. I nod frantically, reminding myself to thank her properly once this is all over. And apologize again.

  -I’ll do that, then. I just have to find the place and the guy to bribe if you’re not coming.

  I say poignantly. She makes a small sigh.

  -I’ll come then, but only as far as the front bar, okay? I’m not going into that show room.

  -Totally okay, Nicla.

  She’s obviously not comfortable with this place and for a second I ask myself what could have happened to her there. My guess is plenty. I’m shoving myself onto her after the whole don’t-get-too-close outburst of mine. Shit, this really is no cakewalk. All the lines feel so blurry. Now almost more than before. I return to business as usual, which means that hers is none of mine. I soften my voice before I speak.

  -I’m sorry. You don’t have to come.

  She smiles. It’s an odd smile.

  -Thanks. But I will. This story of ours, it won’t last. I want to stay close to you for as long as it does. And it will be a lot smoother if I guide you. You’re more than “big and awkward”, sure, but not much.

  I snort half a laugh at her joke on my expense. I haven’t done anything for anyone else in almost two years and now I’m what? Avenging my son and wife, while entertaining a prostitute and befriending a body mod? Oh, the glory of it all. But fine. I suppose no one else bothers with making her happy so why should I be the same as all the other assholes she caters to? She’s helped me, a lot. Plus, like she just said, it won’t last. Maybe when this is all over, I can convince Seizer to hire her as a nurse and get her off the street at least. I nod at her and try to give her a sincere smile. I almost think I succeed.

  -Okay.

  her highness

  The “Shojo-Gogo” is less seedy than I expected it to be and I’m glad I took Nicla’s advice to clean myself up a bit before we came here. The crowd are people with money and I would have stuck out like a sore nail in my usual kit of sweatshirts and broken chinos among the expensive suits and the bioware equipment attached and grafted to the customers like others would wear expensive jewellery. The place is darkened, the only lights are muted neon light tubes running along the walls, ceiling and partitions of the place. The music is an ethereal mix of ancient instruments hopped up on tec and a Japanese sex neutral voice is prompting the listener to various things such as relax, breathe, unfold, reach and begin. The dancers move in slow motion on little platforms and the clientele are seated on cushions on the floor around them, drinking sake and wordlessly admiring the young women as well as the young men in equal amounts, who are craning their bodies and changing their facial expressions by a minimum. It’s not like a strippers joint, it’s more of an odd art museum with living exhibitions, serving booze. Nicla cruises through the crowd in front of me, leading me to the bar. She’s changed her outfit too, into a monochromatic black, slinky dress and another not so shabby jacket. She’s still not wearing makeup yet and I wonder if she should be up and about this soon after surgery but hell, I was the one insisting she’d come. The gorgeous young man with a dog collar and matching make up behind the bar answers her questions discreetly in swiftly spoken Japanese and I can’t hear a thing they’re saying over the music. I let them get on with it until she gestures at me. The bartender dog boy hands me a plastic chip that’s probably my ticket and points discreetly at a corner of the room where a girl in full traditional kimono is standing by a door, bowing to those who she lets pass and more to those she turns away. Nicla pokes me on the arm.

  -I’ll be over there, in the corner of the bar. I need to check my accounts and stuff and Wau-Wau said I could hook up here. Plus I need me a shot and they give me a discount here.

  -I thought you didn’t want to stay?

  -Just go on now. You’ll miss the show. And you give the door girl 5000 as you chip in, asking for sake time with Geisha after the show. She’ll say no three times and then accept your money discreetly.

  -Roundabout way to do it…

  -That’s how it’s done. Now, go.

  I cringe but do as I’m told. And correct, three sets of “no” later, I’m 5000 creds poorer and let into the private show room behind the kimono girl.

  It’s a small room, soundproofed and low in ceiling. The feeling is that of a theatre before the curtain comes up. The room is dark and the music is muted as I trot in, squeezing my way past the crowd, about 50 silent men and a few painted women, getting a drink in a fancy glass off a glass tray as I go from another barely dressed waiter. Smells of synthetic tobacco, perfume and sweat mingles with the smell of hot wires. The podium on a stage at the back of the room stretches into the middle of it like a tongue shaped runway and a holographic platform on the tip of it is dimly lit, awaiting the presence of the one we’re all waiting for. Somewhere, there’s a hacker with his or her brain half-fried, getting ready to get the Avatar Geisha to perform. I sit down in one of the single armchairs, putting my drink down on the cooled glass plate that’s built into the armrest. The last of the light from outside disappears as another doorman comes inside, closing the door behind him. He taps behind his ear and I can almost hear the buzz on the wire how the
former hacker is being told that everything is ready for Geisha. The light mutes further and suddenly, the music changes.

  The platform lights up and then, there she is. Geisha the Avatar, looks like the Geishas of old feudal Japan, but made into a perfected fantasy with a few new touches. Her legs are longer, all of her skin is moonlight white and her pitch black waist long hair is flowing freely. The kimono she’s wearing is pink with a yellow obi sash. The music changes to a slow, dragging, minimalistic tune with bells and raps on bamboo and a deep drum by a heavy hand. The Avatar rises from her initial bow to get up on her gheta clad feet. The dance is traditional and slow, in close contact with the beat of the drum and absolutely lovely. Her hands move to tell a story, her body swaying and her face showing with barely visible variation what it would take a regular person multiple clear and open expressions to convey, her feet carrying the story on with tiny steps. It goes on for a good five minutes and then the music changes and in time, so does the colour of the kimono, the pink flies off it like butterflies, revealing a bright yellow and the sash becomes black. The music increases in tempo, without becoming hurried, and she dances with the butterflies, all still traditional movements but now in a more modern staccato beat, a beauty of movements, and most of the faces in the room can’t hide their smiles. I find myself nodding in time to the music as it changes once more. The Avatar stops in an odd mid jump and the butterflies turn pitch black, returning to her kimono that now has a blood red sash and a red sun fan to match. The music is now full on slow motion techno with nothing but traditional instruments in the machine but this wasn’t the big thing. Geisha suddenly rises above the platform and her clothes and hair becomes fully weightless, like in water, and she commences to make a swimming dance, slow and sudden movements mingling perfectly to the music. I feel my jaw dropping. The crowd watches her just as hypnotized as me. She curls her way around herself in mid-air, dives and rises, her white limbs showing through the gaps of the kimono, the red from her sash and sun fan flash like currents of blood. But the best part for me isn’t the dance, the concept or the visual delights of it all. I see more than that. To me, the amazement lies in the fact that this is all in her head. She, or he, imagined this and has the control over her Avatar to do all this and the hacker somewhere is literally making a full on holographic dance show for us, right now, in real time. How do I know? Because every now and then, the Avatar drops down and almost touches an audience member, perfectly, and no amount of programming could predict how everyone would be perched, sitting or leaning against the arms of their seats, she would have missed a few by little or even by far, calculating that the audience member was sitting back rather than on the edge of his seat or leaning to the left when he was leaning to the right. This is the work of a master programmer, a dancer and a hacker with a fine set of pictures in his head, letting imagination run wild to the beat, tapping on the keys. The Avatar suddenly returns to the platform and lands, stands perfectly still to make a fall down to a kneeling three-fingered bow, and is then disintegrated into a swarm of pink, red, black and yellow butterflies that just disappears. The room first falls to a perfect hush and then erupts in applause and I almost stick my fingers in my mouth to whistle. The applause dies and the crowd slowly starts to disperse, talking less than I expected. Posh people talk over dinner, I guess. As the room slowly clears fully, the door girl motions to me to stay seated. I do, eager to meet the hacker, even if still in Avatar. Especially, in fact, still in Avatar.

  When the last person has left the room the door girl closes the room up behind her and the quiet resettles almost heavily. I take a sip from my forgotten drink, finding it to be a French 75, sour yet refreshing. As the Avatar returns to the holo pod she’s dressed in a light green kimono that looks more business-like than her performance kit, still with softly pink butterflies though, brown obi sash with autumn leaves, and her hair is up in a traditional hairdo. She bows to me and gestures at me to come forward, which I do gladly, grinning like an idiot.

  -I have a tall order I heard you might be able to help me with but first I’ve got to say this. You’re amazing. The others probably don’t know what’s behind all that but I do, and you’re amazing. Who the hell are you?

  I say as I sit down in front of her. The luminous Avatar looks at me and titters. The butterflies on the kimono move, lift, land and fly around her. As Avatars go, it’s gorgeous even in stillness and up close.

  -My Gatekeeper wishes no contact with the hardware world.

  she says, a perfectly charming Japanese accent gracing her English.

  -I respect that.

  I say solemnly, disappointed but duly rectified. I’m still curious as to who can be behind it, but as a hacker I really don’t care. Her skills are all that matters. She, or he, could be fat, old, ugly or obese, it makes no difference in the System. That’s one of the reasons I think it’s a perfect world. The flesh is of no consequence. The Avatar smiles apologetically.

  -You know my name, but I do not know yours.

  -I’m Lionfish.

  I reply without a doubt or pause. She bows again and says it’s good to meet me in Japanese and then returns to English.

  -Then, as we now are introduced, speak of your tall order, Lionfish.

  I skip the details of the job and just give her what I’m here for. The fewer who knows, the better. And I don’t want to involve her, for her own sake. Speaking of which, I never got any sake. Just a form of speech, then. Might as well, I don’t like it much.

  -I have a massive job for hacking and I need the very finest. I may even need to talk to the President. How can I get in contact?

  -It would be indiscreet of me to tell.

  -Please. This is a life and death matter.

  She tips her head slightly to one side.

  -In the System, there is no life or death.

  I grin and sigh, delighted and frustrated by her answer at the same time.

  -I’m only asking because my own efforts have been in vain. I’m desperate. As a hacker to another, please. If you can’t direct me to the President, give me the name of the next best one. Please.

  -Proud men do not beg.

  -I have no pride left. Only revenge. Please. No one else can help me, Geisha. I know you got hurt and I swear I won’t involve you any further than this. They can rip my arms off me before I tell on you. Please!

  Geisha bats her eyelashes at me and seems to give it some thought while I squirm. Finally she looks at me again and tips her head.

  -Very well. You need to speak to DragonFire. He is one of the finest, as good as he is confident. There are very few things DF cannot do in the System but I cannot guarantee he will help you.

  I cringe. I recognize the name and I know the story. I knew him, by proxy and rumour. He visited Axorpa once, dropped some amazing software for bioware debugging with his name on it, and whooshed.

  -DragonFire hasn’t been active for almost three years. I think he’s dead.

  She shakes her head.

  -No, he is not. Few know this and I shouldn’t be telling you… but he changed his Avatar.

  I raise my eyebrows. That’s just something you rarely do, if ever. It’s hard to alter and update an Avatar, they get so set in their routes, but to drop it and get a new one entirely? It’s like exchanging a battleship for a tugboat and starting all over, equipping, routing, masking, booting, patching, ugh, the list is endless.

  -DragonFire changed his Avatar? What the hell for?

  She titters nervously and averts her dark eyes.

  -I have already told you too much.

  I understand that totally, she’s dangerously close to telling on another hacker. That Code seems loosely knit these days indeed, which is bad news for the lot of us. I decide to press another point.

  -How do I find him, then?

  She looks at me again through her heavy eyelashes.

  -You are aware of and familiar with his work?

  -Yes. Bioware software amongst other things. Debuggers. On
e very sneaky Portal Breaker he got in a lot of trouble over as the rumour goes.

  -Then go fish.

  The pun is almost charming. She’s telling me to dive into the System like the little Lionfish I am, and to be kind enough to stop asking and leave amicably. I don’t want to leave her. Meeting her reminds me of the feeling I got the first time I hooked up fully after my first surgery. It was like meeting God, if there ever was one.

  -At least give me your Portal.

  She tilts her head and smiles at me.

  -A Geisha may never deny anyone of her beloved anything they ask, so please don’t ask of her what she is not willing to give. I have already almost broken Code for you.

  -An email, a forum?

  Her eyes say no but her lips smile. I nod.

  -Then I’ll swim until I find you again.

  She bows to me and wishes me goodbye. As I get up to leave, she vanishes again in a flurry of butterflies.

  Nicla waits for me in the bar, almost yanking a cord from her jack behind her ear and another from the new, barely healed bio jack underneath her eye.

  -Did you get your thing done and your shot?

  I ask. She shakes her head.

  -Sort of. And no. They were out of shots.

  I get a little annoyed. We’re fresh out of our earlier tiff and I still feel stupid about it but I can’t help but to ask myself what she just did, hanging out back here, refusing to see that awesome show, sulking in the bar.