by Drew Magary
Or maybe you were just always a psycho.
She was happy to be out of the New Hampshire cold. But she was still wet, the dusty Cairo air pulling sweat out of her skin.
The soldier passed Anna without breaking stride. When he got farther down the alleyway, she opened up Network Z and checked on her mom. There Sandy was, back in DC, a little blue dot on Connecticut Avenue in Cleveland Park. Anna could see other dots popping up outside the restaurant at a rapid pace. When she checked some of their profiles, all she got were blanks: the outline of a person’s head and nothing else.
PINE.
Someone shouted at her from the alley entrance. It was another man in fatigues with a gun. Anna got ready to port but, before she could, the man was gunned down from behind by six other men in fatigues, their uniforms adorned with a single patch that displayed a long, black shard of obsidian. The slugs exploded out of the soldier’s back and skipped along the concrete toward Anna, now split open like tiny flowers. The half dozen militia guards advanced on Anna. She could have sworn she heard their guns go off just before she felt the shiver.
WASHINGTON, DC
Anna ported onto Ordway Street, which ran perpendicular to Connecticut Avenue, and crouched in front of one of the opulent townhouses along it. The houses that were still occupied in this hood were tucked behind walls nearly as high as the Harkness and capped with barbed wire just to be extra nasty. The abandoned houses had no walls at all, left free for squatters and/or Mother Nature to occupy them.
A woman walking her Shih Tzu spotted Anna, all disheveled and barefoot, and crossed Ordway to get away from her. Anna looked down toward Connecticut Avenue and could see trucks blitzing by at 100 mph, not bothering to stop for pedestrians. Chinook helicopters above were crisscrossing so low to the ground it sounded like they were about to land on her head.
She ran to the back entrance of her mom’s steakhouse, through the winter muck and past grease dumpsters that were already near full capacity. She slipped through the rear door and into a narrow hallway packed with full beer cases piled on top of one another. Two workers awkwardly slid by Anna and were too stunned by the sight of a shirtless stranger in the hallway to say anything. She ducked into the kitchen and saw Sandy, in her hairnet and kitchen clogs, spraying béarnaise sauce off plates and eating any big scrap of ribeye she spotted on its way to the trash. They only paid Sandy $12 an hour, so she viewed the leftovers as a deserved perk.
Anna tapped her mom on the shoulder. Sandy turned around and nearly dropped a serving platter.
“Anna! What on earth?”
“We have to go.”
“Where?”
“We have to GO.”
She gripped Sandy tightly and led her out the back.
“I need to grab my phone!” Sandy protested.
“You can never use it again,” Anna said.
“What?!”
There was a commotion coming from the dining room. Sandy tried to pause to hear what was going on, but Anna wouldn’t let her stop.
“Get out of here, you PINE terrorists!” shouted a man in the dining room. He was alternately cheered and castigated by other diners. A PINE agent came moseying through the swinging kitchen doors like he was entering a saloon.
“Let’s go,” Anna said.
Sandy didn’t question her daughter this time. They sprinted out the back and headed west on Ordway. Anna gave Sandy her phone but kept the bulldog cover for herself.
“Take this. Passcode is 5272.”
“Anna, why aren’t you in school? And where are your shoes? Is that bracelet you’re wearing new? Where’d you get that? What is happening, for God’s sake?”
“Listen, there were problems,” Anna told her mom. “People may be coming after you.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“No. Also, I’m probably expelled. Actually, I’m definitely expelled.”
“What?!”
“Mom, it’s very important that you get mad at me later, not right now. Other, much more dangerous people are also very mad at me right now. Take the phone.”
“Anna.”
“TAKE IT.”
Sandy took the phone. “What am I gonna do with this?” she asked Anna.
“Port anywhere but here. Wait for my text. Contact no one else.”
“But our locker!”
“Mom, we can never go back.”
“Anna, you promised me.”
“Mom, later.”
Just then, a skateboarder riding down the sidewalk smashed into Anna and knocked her over. Her skull hit the pavement with a sickening thud and her scalp tore open. When she sat up, she saw PINE agents to the east rampaging down Connecticut Avenue, grabbing at lanyards and kicking people over.
The boy on the skateboard knelt down beside Anna and her mom.
“Is she all right?” he asked.
“No!” Sandy screamed. “She’s hurt, you moron!”
“Mom, stop screaming.” Anna stood up, blood trickling down the side of her head. “Gimme your phone,” she told the skateboarder.
“What? No.”
“I shot a man today. If you don’t give me your phone, I’ll shoot another.” She patted the bulge in the front of her pants. It looked gun-like enough.
“I’m not giving you my phone.”
Anna grabbed the boy’s skateboard. Before he could protest, she brought it down on his head. When the boy dropped to the ground, she wrenched his phone out of his jeans pocket and slipped Dougie over it. Her phone now.
“What’s your passcode?” she asked the boy.
“I won’t tell you, you crazy bitch.”
“You guys always accuse us girls of being the crazy ones. Well guess how we got this way, fella?” Anna raised the skateboard over him again. “I’m only gonna ask you one more time.”
“3400.”
“Anna!” cried her mom. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll text you, mom. Go now.”
They ported out just before PINE came marauding up the street.
PortSys CCO To Repurpose Private Resort As Experimental Sovereign Nation
MALDIVES (AP) — Jason Kirsch, Chief Creative Officer of PortSys, unveiled plans today to convert his family’s private Lily Beach resort on Huvahendhoo island in the Maldives into a “sovereign incubator” for entrepreneurs and other captains of industry.
“The Kirsch family’s mission is to open the world up to everyone, and our own properties are not exempt from that mission,” the would-be heir to the PortSys empire told reporters at a press conference he convened out in the shallow waters surrounding the Lily Beach villas. Reporters covering the event were urged to take off their shoes and socks and join Kirsch in the surf as he outlined his vision for the property in a presentation that, surroundings aside, was not unlike the unveiling of a new PortPhone.
“We’re gonna expand to more villas,” Kirsch promised. “Bigger villas. Plus we’ll build a major conference center. Lily Beach will become ground zero for future technologies, port-forward governing ideas, and creative storytelling.”
But the World Wildlife Fund is concerned that Kirsch’s expansion plans will endanger shivers of whitetip reef sharks who call the surrounding Addu Atoll home. Other groups decried the resort’s handshake deal with web titan Darren Jackson to host an offsite for his company, Univeil, once the new facilities have been built.
“They say they’re gonna be sovereign,” says Rosa Wills, GizPo columnist. “That just means it’s gonna be a playground for rich libertarian a**holes like Kirsch and Jackson.”
Jackson’s Rosetta network has been lambasted as a breeding site for hate groups and other divisive factions, including the “men’s renaissance” forum Conquistadors. Questions about these concerns, and about concerns of Maldivian citizens over their government’s $100 million subsidy of the project, were left unanswered by Kirsch.
The resort’s expanded villas, each complete with a full kitchen and private spa and around-the-clock staff, a
re already available to purchase and will start at $76 million each.
“This is about freedom,” Kirsch told reporters, before putting on a snorkeling mask to observe nearby whitetips, “And, as with the technological gift that PortSys has granted the world, this is a freedom that will prove contagious. Sovereignty here will soon mean sovereignty everywhere.”
CAIRNS
Anna Huff had a great many things to do and not a tremendous amount of time to do them. First of all, she needed a shirt and shoes. Those were crucial. She ported back to Kewarra Beach north of Cairns, where she and Bamert had stolen those first few blissful moments in the sun outside the Druskin walls before everything went to shit. Groups of port tourists were frolicking gaily in the water, all rocking waterproof fanny packs to safeguard their phones and passports. Discreetly as she could, Anna strolled behind one of the palm trees and nicked a tie-dyed shirt and a pair of flip flops that had been left there. Then she ported to Holloways Beach, five miles to the south. When she put the shirt on, it was two sizes too big. Like wearing a mural.
Disappointed, she rested against another palm tree and woke up the skateboarder’s phone. His name was Brayden Bundy.
That’s a stupid name.
Before Brayden could report his phone stolen, Anna opened his PortWallet account and wired the remaining $200 in it to a Monarch vendor who was more than happy to port directly to her pin.
“Are you Candace Bumlee?” the vendor asked.
“I am. Do you have my phone?”
“Here you go.” The salesman handed her a brand new Worm9 and a two-year contract to sign. “You sure you don’t want a PortSys-brand PortPhone?”
“Fuck PortSys.”
“All right then!” He cast an eager eye on the phone she was already holding. “Did you want to trade in your old PortPhone?”
“Oh this?” Anna asked. “Nah. I better keep it for backup.”
“Well, if you want any upgrades I have some amazing covers.”
“Go away.”
“Right.” The salesman clapped out. Anna put Dougie on the Worm9 and logged onto Network Z using her brand new identity. She called Bamert immediately.
“Hey.”
“Your mom texted,” he said. “I had her port to one of our estates in North Carolina. This is one that hasn’t burned to the ground, which is nice!”
“Will she be safe?” she asked Bamert.
“Worried sick, but safe.”
“Where are you now?”
“ROCK AND ROLL, BABY.”
“What?”
He texted her a link. She recognized the logo for Desert Burn ’31 immediately. Oh god. She hit PORT, closing her eyes before the wormhole could do the job for her.
PHOENIX
Now she was on a scrubby hill overlooking Phoenix Motor Speedway. At the far end of the track’s infield was a massive stage rising up from the ground: great iron trusses stacked to the moon, speakers the size of city buses joined together and snaking down from the rigging above, spotlights brighter than the sun itself. The crowd filled the grandstands and spilled out of the speedway into the surrounding lots, a human swarm that easily numbered in the six figures. The whole desert smelled like weed and beer piss.
A halogen floodlight at the top of the hill cast an eerie silver glow down on the stoners and bros in flannel shirts riding around on souped-up bicycles. Port marketers zapped in to offer festivalgoers e-cigs and airplane liquor bottles and potato chips and other lightweight non-perishables. Everyone except for Anna was dressed in formalwear: suits, tuxedoes, frilly taffeta gowns, garish dresses with slits that ran all the way to the hip, and more. Meanwhile, she was wearing a tent and cheap thongs.
She was dead sober but felt drunk all the same. Just another day that had thrown too much at her too quickly. She walked down the hill, bobbing and weaving between couples aggressively making out on picnic blankets. Farther down the hill, she saw a dozen boys in black t-shirts and tux jackets and khaki pants huddled around a quarter barrel, chortling with one another. She kept that wolfpack at a distance and bumped into a girl in a tight white dress who was drunk into next week.
“I like your shirt!” the girl said.
“Thanks,” Anna said.
That was enough small talk. The girl in the white dress wrapped her arms around Anna and kissed her full on the mouth. She slipped her tongue past Anna’s lips and Anna was so shocked at what was happening that it didn’t even register that she was slipping her own tongue back.
Are you really doing this? Are you kissing someone? Holy shit, you are kissing someone.
It was like she had just chugged twelve energy drinks in a row. This girl tasted like Mad Dog, but her mouth was still wet and soft. Magnetically so. She pressed against Anna and Anna could feel the Ziploc bag digging into her belly.
“Ooh, what’s in your pants?” the girl asked.
“Nothing. That’s nothing.”
She nipped at Anna’s earlobe and whispered to her, “Why don’t we port someplace quiet?”
“Now?” Anna asked her. “I… I can’t.” She had to turn the girl down for a million different reasons, and yet she still felt like a fool for doing it.
“Come on,” the girl said, “Let’s get out of here.” She pulled away from Anna with a naughty look, then promptly dropped to the ground in a drunken coma. Her white dress was muddied in an instant.
Suddenly, there was a meaty paw on Anna’s shoulder. She whipped around and punched the offending man in the stomach.
“OH, SWEET VIRGINA!” he cried out. “That was most uncivilized, Anna Huff.”
“Bamert! Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
She rubbed his back and used her other hand to keep him from falling over. Bamert had already managed to sweat clean through the silken fabric of his chosen fashion statement for the evening: a beige suit decorated with little cacti. The sun may have gone down in Arizona, but the parched ground had taken in all its heat like cast iron. That trapped heat rose back through the crowd and permeated the living desert air, stewing everyone in a rich funk.
“That’s quite all right,” Bamert said. “That’s what I get for interrupting your little rendezvous.”
“I didn’t know that girl at all!”
“That’s the fun of it.”
“Why is everyone dressed like it’s prom?” Anna asked.
“Because that’s the theme of this year’s festival, my wild buttercup: PROM. Sorry I didn’t remind you of that tidbit. You seemed to be in great haste.”
Anna grew solemn for a second. “That was my first kiss.”
“Helluva way to kick off your love life. Now, why are you bleeding?”
She touched her forehead. When she pulled her finger away, an infant scab came with it.
“Oh Jesus.”
“What’s going on?” Bamert asked her.
She pulled the Ziploc bag out of her waistband. “Can you take this?” she asked.
“And what might that be?”
“It’s the recipe for teleportation.”
He threw his head back laughing. “AHAHAHAHA. Does it require kosher salt?” Anna gave Bamert The Look. “Wait. You’re serious.”
“Half the recipe was stolen from Emilia. The other half I stole from Ciaran Stokes.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“Uhhhhhhhhhh.”
Bamert pulled a can of seltzer out of his trousers pocket. Two naked boys on dirt bikes came whizzing down the hill past them. “Anna Huff, are you telling me that you stole all of Big Teleportation’s trade secrets and then stuffed them into your unmentionables, even though you have no idea what to do with them?”
“That’s all accurate, yes.”
“Why, that is marvelous.” He tucked the Ziploc bag inside his sport coat. “I have some thoughts on what to do with your goods, but first: how did you steal this from Ciaran Stokes?”
“I shot him,” Anna said.
“Oh! You just up and shot him.”
“I did.”
He bit his lip and nodded. “Okay. Did you kill him?”
“If I’d been thinking clearly. I also might have punctured Dean Vick’s lung.”
“Busy day for you!” There was a buzz in Bamert’s pocket. He took out his PortPhone and his eyes went open wide. “Oh wow, it really was a busy day for you.”
“What do you mean?”
Bamert showed Anna a Push Alert from FreedomNews USA:
CRAZED DRUSKIN STUDENT GOES ON PORTING RAMPAGE; ASSAULTS DEAN, SPRAY PAINTS LOCKER ROOM WITH SWASTIKAS AND HATE SPEECH, FLEES
“I have an alert set for Druskin stuff,” he told her. “Didn’t expect FreedomNews to pop up there, though. They have the best headlines, I must admit.”
Anna swiped opened the full report and stared in disbelief. It included doctored surveillance footage of her scrawling hate symbols all over Druskin Stadium.
“I didn’t do any of that stuff!” she cried. “Well, except for the assault.”
“I believe you, but I don’t think PortSys has much interest in doing likewise. No wonder that girl wanted to make out with you. You’re a sexy fugitive now.”
Anna scrolled down and there, staring back at her, was a picture of herself in an argyle sweater, with a wan smile and her eyes halfway shut.
“Christ,” she said. “They used my school photo.”
“I think it looks quite fetching,” Bamert said. “Also in your favor: David Farris said you were innocent.”