by Curtis Hox
“You mean like getting tossed across a room and making twenty-five K?”
“I don’t usually do this.” Hark waved him over. “But you and I need to have a talk.”
Frankie stood where he was. “I’ve been honest—”
“I mean, I need to be honest with you.” He heard the faucet running in the bathroom. Celia wanted privacy, which was fine, and the water would also mute what he had to say. “There are two types of people in the world, Frankie. Those who can adjust their minds when need be and those who are bound by their idea of what the world is.” Hark pretended to watch the TV—now showing a commercial about body spray (no clue there, unless they were telling him he stank). No need to sniff under his arm. His suit kept his body clean. He could use a hot, relaxing shower, though. Maybe later, he told himself. “You religious, Frankie?”
“No more than the next guy.”
“Imagine if aliens landed, what kind of problem would that be?”
“It would be cool.”
“For you, sure. But think of certain religious types—the literalists—how it would affect them. Huge cognitive dissonance on a cataclysmic scale. What would it take to mess your mind up?”
“You got something to tell me?”
And there it was: as sure as any scripted scene for any old-time film. The dramatic posture of confidence as if every eye in-V were on him. Even that rangy sense of pride Frankie evinced without knowing it seemed contrived. He was being directed as sure as Sunday’s still a holy day for some, Saturday and Friday for others. Krista was probably running Frankie, dropping hints via their tunneler.
“Something miraculous.”
Frankie nodded, eager now. “This one of those red pill, blue pill moments?”
“What?”
“Like in the Keanu movie. You offer me a red pill and I fall down the rabbit hole and see the world as it really is, even though I might not like it. But it’s the truth. Or I take the blue pill and walk out of here without the truth, but the world stays the same, and I’m a schmuck.”
“Which would you take?” Hark asked, genuinely interested.
“Oh, hell yeah, the red pill.”
“Here’s a taste.”
Hark lifted his right hand, extended his index finger, with his thumb up. He let his carapace energize. He pointed his finger at the wall, cocked his thumb as if it were an Old West revolver, and shot a mild energy round. It was soundless, the venting heat barely perceptible beyond a hiss out of his back. The watery blue round punched a sizzling hole in the dry wall.
Frankie’s eyes widened, mouth an oval. Hark grinned. What he’d just shown the young man was beyond anything his time had at its disposal. Straight up science fiction, sure. But not in real life outside the Rend-V. Frankie was still operating under the assumption real life was the mundane world of the early twenty-first century.
“What was that?”
“Like I said. Just a taste. You want to see more?”
“Hell yeah in a hand bag.”
“I’ll explain more, but you have to do what I say. We can’t let her know.” He nodded at the bathroom. “I have to protect her. That means keeping all this from her. What I show you, it’s between you and me.”
“She saw your box.”
“No biggie. I’ll have to use it again. She’ll have to see it. Besides, I gave her my standard lie: government hardware.”
“Lie …? That’s what you told me. Then what?”
“Little by little, Frankie. Have patience.”
“Okay, I’m so in. I don’t even have to call work. What do you need me to do?”
“That a computerized phone?”
Frankie pulled out his hand-sized device with the flat screen. “Brand new.”
Hark took it. He withdrew his AK from the bag and set the phone on top of the kit. The faucet stopped running in the bathroom. He waited for the door to open, but it remained shut.
He raised his eyebrows at Frankie and grinned.
Frankie mouthed, “She’s hot.”
“I know,” Hark mouthed back. He put a finger to his mouth. “Reprogram. Standard low-level access.” He grinned at Frankie. “It’ll just be a second.”
The screen of the phone flashed once. “Hey,” Frankie said. “What’s it doing …?”
Hark snatched the phone and tossed it to him. “Turn it on.”
The door opened and Celia exited. Hark waved hand at his hip to signal a delay.
“What are you two doing?” Celia asked, drying her face with a hand towel.
“Waiting for you,” Hark said.
“Why is he still here?”
“He’ll be running errands for me.”
“Good. I need to eat something more than that pizza slice.”
She stood rooted in place, arms now crossed. She looked as if she’d recovered. She’d cleaned up her face. If you asked Hark, he’d have a hard time ignoring her if she were covered in mud. What she looked like now would stop about any red-blooded man in his tracks—probably a few blue blooded. Frankie could barely contain himself. He stared so hard his eyes looked about to pop out.
“I can get it for you,” Frankie managed to say. “Whatever you want.”
Hark stepped to the door. “How’s Chinese?”
“Fine.” She returned to the bed, grabbed the remote, and changed the TV. “As soon as my phone works I’m calling my sister. I can’t believe this room doesn’t have a phone.”
Hark walked Frankie into the hallway and shut the door.
It was dim from muted, yellowed light in recessed ceiling lamps. At the far end stood a burnished metal elevator, two cylindrical trashcans with ashtrays to either side. Five other doors ranged along the floor, each one opposite another.
“This might hurt a little,” Hark said. He grabbed Frankie’s shirt and tore it open. Three buttons went flying.
Frankie looked down at his ruined shirt. “Hey … ”
Hark placed the phone against the skin of Frankie’s meager fish-white left pectoral muscle. He pushed, as if settling it into a groove. Frankie continued to look down. “Hey … that stings.” Hark grabbed both his hands. Frankie’s mouth opened wide, his eyes followed. “That … hurts.”
“Give it a second,” Hark said.
Frankie tried to get away, but he was in a vice grip. Frankie’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. “What the …?”
The phone embedded itself in the outer layer of skin. “Snug.”
Frankie stopped jerking. “That frackin’ hurt.”
“I imagine so.”
“What did you do?”
“Cognitive enhancer. Extended mind. You’re augmented now.” Frankie looked down at the phone securely attached to his body. Hark said, “It’s not much, compared to what I got, but it’ll do.”
“You glued a phone to my chest.”
“What’s nine thousand, six hundred and twenty seven times three hundred and eleven?”
Frankie looked up. “Two million, nine hundred and ninety three thousand, nine hundred and ninety seven.”
“What did you do at ten-fifteen a.m. twelve days ago?”
“I was shampooing my hair in the shower.”
“Here’s a tough one. See if that phone has more brainpower than an ant. May have to dig deep to get the information. What sort of scenario would explain a man who can create money from a box, shoot energy from his finger, and implant electronic devices in human bodies?”
Hark watched Frankie’s eyes for a sure sign his brain was working too hard interfacing with the phone. Only a few flickers of the lids. “The kind of story that’s made up.”
“Good. Turn it off.” Frankie reached up to trigger the off button. Hark stopped him. “Just turn it off.” Frankie stared at it. The device darkened. Frankie grinned. Hark said, “You’ll do.”
“Sweet.”
Frankie’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Hark caught him just as he passed out.
7
Hark a
nd Frankie stood on a bustling NYC street in the West Village. Hark paused as the sights and the sounds of the city hit him. A yellow cab honked its horn as it roared by only a foot from the curb. So much pedestrian traffic moved up and down the sidewalk that he had to step back. A homeless man dressed in rags and holding a baseball cap out walked by. The stink of excrement lingered.
“This way,” Hark said. He’d told Celia to stay put. She was safe as long as she didn’t leave the hotel room. Their cover was good for a few more hours. He stopped in front of a corner shop that looked like it served Asian fast-food. “Frankie, I need you to do something for me.”
“What’s that? You have a watch you want me to swallow?”
Hark grinned. “Always a wise cracker?”
“Except on my days off.”
“I need you to hack a computer system for me.”
“I don’t know how to do that. I’m a thumb jockey, dude.”
They paused in front of the restaurant. Its facade was a series of open doors that fronted a single counter. Two lines of people waited to order. Stairs led upstairs to a dining area.
“We have to use the bathroom,” Hark said.
“We do?”
Hark kicked open a hallway door and then pushed in a men’s bathroom. An abused lidless toilet and scratched up sink were the only objects in the room. Enough graffiti was on the tiled wall to keep a reader occupied for at least an hour. Hark locked the door with a thousand stickers of local bands decorating it.
“Just relax.” Hark touched the device in Frankie’s chest. His eyes rolled back into his head again. “Stay standing.”
Frankie managed to obey before settling into equilibrium. “Buck-n-truck, that’s a rush. What’s happening?”
“Just zip it for a minute, will ya?” Hark tapped the device a few more times. Frankie grinned, mouth opened as if he hoped someone might put a quarter on his tongue. Hark said, “Don’t slobber on yourself.”
“This is a trip,” Frankie said.
“Exactly.”
“I can’t move.”
“You don’t need to.”
A few more seconds …
Frankie’s arms extended from his sides in rigid beams.
“There we are,” Hark said. He grabbed both hands and pulled Frankie’s arms forward, both still rigid, Zombie-like. Hark adjusted them as if they were antennas. He placed his index finger on the face of the phone. “You, sir, are now a human proxy gaining access to the most powerful computing system humanity has ever known.”
“Sub bios entry complete,” Frankie said in an even monotone. “System check engaging.”
Hark stood back. “Excellent.”
“What the craptastic heck was that?” Frankie said in his own voice.
“Authorization. And now the fun begins. Just be quiet and let me get what I need before they track you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
Hark stood straight. “EA Specialist Harken Cole, requesting access.”
“Voice recognition granted,” Frankie said in the computer voice. “Would you like us to contact anyone for you, Specialist Cole?”
AIs are always so polite, he thought. Even now they’re calling in the cops because I’m using voice access through a proxy.
“My status.”
“Missing, sir.”
“Who’s assigned to The Old World Collides?”
“Specialist Caleb Paratore.”
They’re coming hard.
“Any anomalies for Collides?”
“A series of backdoor entrances, sir. As of now there are four. You are one of them. We suggest a parachute, sir. Please locate yours and exit the Rend-V. We will be lenient.”
Four? Me, Krista, Tripp … and who else?
“Any game changers?”
“Several, sir. Collides is suffering from a coordinated bleedover insertion attack. So far it looks like elements from a horror thriller scenario. We appreciate your unauthorized immersion. But we would prefer you to exit and let us handle it.”
“The host is in danger.”
“We know, sir. All is being taken care of.”
“Then why am I here?”
Frankie’s mouth hung open. “We do not know, sir.”
Hark pushed Frankie’s arms down. His eyes righted, the connection gone.
Hark stared at Frankie for a few seconds as the young man’s vision cleared. He felt like telling him how much trouble they were in. But he kept that to himself. He was here illegally. And he was interested in protecting the host enough to risk his life and the lives of his brother and sister. What had happened in the last month to send him off the reservation?
“Let’s get some food,” Hark said.
He opened the door and guided a stunned Frankie out of the bathroom. Frankie carried a dull sort of smile on his face as if he’d just experienced a few moments in a porno Rend-V. He would be riding high for another hour or so as every synapses in his brain fired with a rush of neurocharms. Better than the drugs they had on the streets in the twenty-first century, for sure.
“Come on, Smiley,” Hark said and pulled Frankie along.
Hark passed the first few individuals waiting in line but paused in front of a young woman with glitter lipstick. She had huge eyelashes. Her blue hair hung in short bangs that ran a line across her forehead and layers to her shoulders in the back. She wore glossy club boots with two-inch soles, a plastic miniskirt dotted with the faces of Disney characters, and a pink tank top that revealed her belly button and small, but firm breasts. She was chewing gum and blew a huge bubble, popping it right in front of Hark.
Jesus Christ Almighty. She’s got to be in play.
That was an invitation Hark would usually make time for. He’d also have to send whatever hacker was in charge a gift. They liked to razz you most of the time, but he had a few fans in the Sersavant corps who looked out for him.
“Good food here?” he asked.
She kept chewing, looked like she might blow another bubble, and smiled. “General Sao’s Chicken is my favorite. I like your jacket.”
Frankie righted himself. “I picked it out.” He still grinned like a fool.
She gave Frankie a once over. “What’s he on?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do.” She nodded at the menu over the cashier. “I’ll order. Get a table upstairs, and I’ll join you. You can pay me back … however you want.” She winked.
“Sure thing.”
He gave Frankie a gentle shove in the right direction. Frankie continued to grin at the young woman.
“No way, bro,” Frankie said as they walked up the stairs. “That has never happened to me. That never even happens to my friends. We hear about it sometimes. You know, actors who’ve scored a hit, maybe a role in one the big shows. We see them in the theater district. The bars cater to them after each night’s matinees. But you have to be a big celebrity to get that kind of offer.” Frankie teetered on the last step. Hark righted him. “She wants you so bad … just like that, she let you know.”
They entered a long, narrow space with tables and chairs packed with diners. The sound of twenty conversations at once was a welcome distraction. Hark chose a table in the middle. He began clearing off a few dirty plates. He dropped them in a trash bin. Frankie stood there, pretending to be a smiling mannequin.
“You look like a dimwit, or a drug addict,” Hark said. “I can’t tell which.”
“I had a friend once,” Frankie said as he sat down. Hark sat as well, hands folded. “We were … I think it was the East Village … yeah, Leopard Lounge. We were sitting at the bar after work, happy hour, drinking Kettle One, Red Bull, when this girl walks up to him. She wasn’t hot, not like that hottie downstairs. But she … uhm … says to him, ‘Hey, if you want to take me home, I’d say yes,’ like out of the blue. Can you believe that? I almost fell off my chair. She didn’t even look at me twice. And you know what he says, ‘Maybe later!’ I almost slapped him
silly, but he told me he was meeting someone and didn’t want to lose his mojo. Who has mojo? God, you do. I don’t, for sure.”
Frankie’s eyes were no longer as wide as saucers and the pace of his breathing had decreased. He was still smiling, though.
“Here’s how this goes,” Hark said. “Be cool and don’t interfere.”
“Me?”
Hark harrumphed because Frankie looked like a perfect candidate for interfering.
The blue-haired girl sauntered up the stairs with a tray full of food. She set it down and took a seat next to Frankie.
“So?” she asked as she arranged the plates. “What’s your story?”
Hark sized her up as a go-go dancer, or maybe an out-of-work actress—maybe even a high-end call girl who liked to dress funky during the day. Something about the cut of her lips and those big eyes made him think she was a paying full immersion customer in the Rend-V. She’d probably gotten her genoscript captured, paid the fee to be immersed, and quietly began living life as a 21st century girl in a body husked to order. She had a perfect look that seemed chosen off a menu. Everyone around them glanced at her for longer than they should. Several guys couldn’t stop looking.
“What’s your name?” Hark asked, making himself a plate.
“Binda Avey”
“You awake or dreaming, Binda?” he asked.
She sat ram-rod straight and looked around, as if she were being surveilled. “Since you asked, I’m allowed to say.”
“Those are the versim rules.” Hark took a bite. “As an employee of EA, I’m officially asking.”
“Awake and loving it.”
“What year is it?”
“Twenty five sixty one, C.E. I’ve been in for a year.”
Hark nodded. “I knew you were a customer. You under contract for possible entry into the drama?”
“No. I’ve applied. But I haven’t been called yet. I’m just a tourist, enjoying the scenery.”
Frankie said, “What?”
She glanced at him. “He doesn’t know?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“No biggie. Rules are changing in this one. I’ll let him know soon enough.”
“You guys are messing with me,” Frankie said. He put his head in his hands. “That date’s in the future.”