Alive Chapter 33, an a.i. fanfic

Ends on a cliff hanger. Don't worry. Next chap is already in progress. :-)

Alive

Book 2

Pt10

Frill slowed the cruiser and pulled into a grassy field that was serving as an improvised parking lot. He came to stop amid a host of older cars; rollers, refurbished antiques; rare and time-worn domestic models. Many had been painted with symbols of the CJ subculture and names of their favorite bands. The few newer cruisers were shiny and unmarked, obviously borrowed from parents who didn't know where their child was taking it.

The engine whirred to a stop and the boys sat quietly for a time, listening to the distant buzz of Crash music wrestle with the unceasing chatter of crickets in the placid night.

"Well, here we are," Frill said in a somber tone.

David shifted uneasily in his new disguise, the black clothing he'd purchased to fit in here. It was comfortable, but he was worried if he really looked the part. Frill had dressed for their mission too. He really didn't look that much different than usual. Darker clothing. Bigger boots. But noting 'shiny'. No makeup. No multi-colored hair dye. No lip gloss. He could play the part more than look it and, as David would find, looks weren't as important here as he'd assumed.

Frill turned and set knowing eyes on David. His expression suggested he would understand if there had been a sudden change of heart. David pretended not to notice the implied offer as he gazed at the large industrial building that lay beyond the barbed wire fence.

Chaos blared from the doorways; the guttural voices of angry crash poets screaming their indignation. Against the windows flashed the silhouettes of kids jumping up and down and crashing into one another.

A sudden rush of second thoughts plagued David's mind. It wasn't really fear, he told himself. He'd survived worse situations unscathed. It's just that he was beginning to wonder if this was really the best course of action…. and maybe there was a little fear, he admitted to himself. Maybe more than a little if he was to be completely honest.

He'd seen what these kids were capable of with Mecha. Could that anger be unleashed on humans?

This wasn't the first time he'd experienced doubts about his plans to infiltrate the violent world of the Crash Jammers.

David understood the angles and dangers of his plan, and did his best to prepare. But there were only so many events one could anticipate, only so many 'known knows'. He'd spent days cruising the Crash Jam sites, watching the videos of their attacks on defenseless Mecha, the pod captures they'd proudly made of themselves being arrested for the destruction of private property. Because that's all the robots were to humans. Property.

The heat of forgotten resentments flared in David's heart as he watched the uploads. City service bots, tending to damaged street lamps or power lines, caught and beaten to shards at the outskirts of town. Defenseless servants who'd been shopping for their owners, caught in parking lots by screaming CJ boys, and pummeled with bats and iron pipes.

It all seemed so senseless. Maniacal. Even the psychopath Johnson Johnson had had some logic to his actions. If only to put on a show. But this? This was just violence for the sake of violence. The end result of decades of scapegoating.

David did his breathing exercise and managed to quell his rising anger. This was work, he told himself. He was just studying. Best to not get emotionally involved. Not yet, anyway.

He then spent some time browsing the acidic comments they left around the net; and following the live feeds and blogs where they pushed their revolutionary rhetoric. It was the next generation of Johnson Johnson's spiel.

They're replacing us. They're leaving us behind. It's time to fight back.

David understood that there was a true foundation for this anger. Mecha had become the new labor force in duties once performed by humans. As global corporations came to dominate smaller markets and replace their workers with cost saving robots, poverty had increased. But the robots weren't at fault! Why attack them when your real enemy was human greed.

The Crash community seemed an odd mix of people; ones which might have not have been allied at other times in history. But then again, they had a common enemy, at least in their minds. They didn't define themselves by race or gender, religion or the lack of. Even sexual persuasion was unimportant among these violent boys and girls. The only thing that mattered was hatred for Mecha. They did their best to reject the technology of the new world, like some twisted militant version of the Amish.

Not surprisingly, many of the sites were tributes to the late Lord Johnson Johnson, who had disappeared many years ago and had since been elevated to the status of a cult hero. David found Flesh Fair reunion sites, run by people who'd worked with Johnson. They shared their fond memories of his tutelage and his 'passion for humanity' as they called it. David couldn't help but laugh at that. These sites tended to have membership fees, and he understood it was just ex-employees trying to cash in on the man's post-mortem popularity.

And there was no lack of conspiracy sites, claiming that Johnson had been the victim of a government assassination plot. Some suggested that the scheme went all the way to the top, and even accused the President of being involved. It was an absurd assertion, and not supported with any factual data, but had garnered so much popularity by the end of The President's first term, it had almost cost her re-election.

The Crash Jam culture had sprung up in the past few years. They hadn't even been around when Johnson was at the peak of his popularity. People, especially the young, tended to glamorize public figures they knew little about. If they'd seen Johnson in his last days, they might not have such a high opinion of the man. David alone knew how far their hero had fallen; how obsession and megalomania had reduced him to a madman. But it was a secret that he would probably hold for the rest of his time.

The CJ's also had their own peculiar slang. David scanned urban dictionaries to understand the words they'd used: kife, slag, klunk, pwerk, fibe, chort… It was a harsh contrived, tongue. The words were short and sharp, and didn't seem to be derived from any common dialect. He practiced using them in his dialog, but he knew he could not really pretend to be one of them.

So he'd play the newbie. The wannabe. Let Frill, who knew the scene better, do all the talking.

He had grown tired of studying and was about to start searching out suitable attire for his adventure, when he chanced upon something that caught his attention. It was a just another webpage, or so it seemed at first. It didn't come up under any searches, had no tags or reference terms, nor did it lead to any other page. He'd chanced upon it quite by accident when he noticed a peculiar symbol in the corner of a page full of links. It resembled the letter Y set inside a circle, like the symbol for the cruiser manufacturer Mercedes-Benz. But that company had dissolved years ago. Each section of the circle was a different color, red to the left, blue to the right and and amber at the top.

What was this about? Curiosity made him click on it.

He immediately saw that this was a bit different than the others pages. It didn't seem to be finished. It bore no text, no links, no intro music, which was typical of the sites. It was just a single image over backdrop of deep crimson, which warbled and flowed like… blood? Yes. It seemed like blood. And in front of this cascading red river stood a man.

He was cloaked from his head to the tip of his spiked boots in a thick coat, which appeared to be made of some furry animal hide. And dangling from the neck of his coat there was a necklace bearing that same symbol that had led to the page.

The man's face was obscured by the lapels of the coat, which were upturned like a character from an old Noir style film. And he wore an old style top-hat on his head, the brim of which cast his features in shadow. All that was visible of him was a single red eye, which gazed accusingly from the monitor; and one arm, his left arm, which was upturned and trust forward from the sleeve of the coat, so that the viewer could see the tattoo.

No. It was no tattoo. Upon closer inspection David saw that the mark was burnt into the man's arm. The branding had left deep scars in the flesh, which looked as if they'd never healed. The mark was a single word:

"Ja?" said David. He hadn't seen that word on any of the CJ sites.

Intrigued, he searched the Wiktionary for the term. There was a time when he would have been able to just open a link in his head. But he was Orga now. He'd have to leave the computer work to the computers.

Ja? Well, it was either German for 'yes' or Slavic for 'one'. David doubted that, but would remember those definitions for later reference

It was a unit of measure in Korean. Probably not the meaning he wanted.

It was first name of a long deceased rapper. Nope. This was no fan page.

An abbreviation for Japan or Jamaica? He didn't see how that fit.

The Rastafarians had used the word Jah, for their religious deity. But that had an H, and David could see no connection. This menacing figure did not look like a Rastafarian anyway. There weren't very many left since their Island nation was mostly submerged..

David tried to find a way into the site, but there seemed to be none. Finally he took a chance and clicked on the single red eye.

A prompt suddenly opened. It was asking for a password. Well, someone had something to hide, it seemed. He had tried a few random CJ phrases, when his firewall suddenly alerted him. It had just stopped a bug. A nasty one too. But he'd figured this would happen. The site obviously didn't like uninvited strangers trying to enter, and was telling him to shove off.

Maybe a sub-net browser would work? David opened the page with his Cyber Sleuth software, but even this gave him nothing. This wasn't the work of amateur kids. Whoever put this page together knew what they were doing.

Oh well. It was time to move on. If he kept this up Security might pay him a visit. He could imagine their confusion that the son of Alan Hobby was visiting sites run by Mecha bashers.

He'd given Amanda a call then, and had her help him pick out a good costume for his trip. She'd been inquisitive and peppered him with questions, but he told her he would explain all later. They eventually found something that appeared suitably menacing and would not make him seem like too much a poser. He'd ordered it, and had it delivered to Frill's house.

When he clicked 'send' he knew there was no turning back. That was when the worry set in; the sense that he was walking into something that was beyond him.

Was it simply ego that drove him on? He couldn't be sure. But if it was, then this must be the appropriate purpose that ego served in the human mind. It could keep you going when everything else told you to stop. But that could have good or disastrous consequences.

His only reprieve from doubt had come the following Wednesday, while he'd been training with Ariel. He never worried about anything when he flew.

The water had been unusually clear that day. So clear that, as David cruised slowly over Manhattan, he could make out the sunken streets below, a ghost framework of intersecting lines beneath the blue of the water. A few miles out from the city floated the buoys that had been placed to protect the site of his rebirth. His old friends, Skipper and Eddie had initiated a legal complaint, but the Government was routinely slow at addressing these matters. And going up against Dad's firewall of lawyers wasn't going to be easy. In the end, even if they managed to get the area cleared for salvage again, Dad could just buy it.

They'd be angry. He'd have to make it up to them. But he had more important things on his mind now.

He triggered the thrusters and the Stratocuiser shot forward. The pull of g-force against his body was a thrill he was sure he'd never get tired of.

The Sunken Lady's torch grew quickly in the forward monitor. Nesting birds scattered from their stone sanctuary as David raced by, banked hard, and headed back for the city. The torch receded just as quickly in the rearview monitor as he pushed his Stratocruiser into a steep climb; thrusters wailing as he shot up to 3000 ft and zipped high over the drowned buildings.

David repressed an ecstatic hoot and tried not to show how much he was enjoying himself. Ariel always scolded him when he was having too much fun.

"Okok, Ariel said. "Don't get carried away. You're in a commercial traffic zone. Take us down a few hundred feet."

"I got this," David said as he descended. Ariel shot him a sideways glance.

"Got this?" his Mecha tutor repeated. David shrugged.

"Euphemism," he explained. "It means I have control."

"I know what you meant," Ariel said. "It just seems like your language has become-"

The Mecha's complaint was cut short by his cry of surprise.

"Whoa!" Ariel bellowed as the buildings far below flashed over their heads. David came out of the sudden roll, laughing as he righted the craft. But Ariel was not so amused.

"I should fail you for that," Ariel said, casting a programmed look of disapproval at David. The boy tried to stop laughing, but couldn't help himself.

"The look on your face," he managed to say in between bouts of laughter. "That was worth it."

"That was the look of a failing grade," Ariel replied coolly. David finally managed to get control of himself but couldn't repress his smile.

"Oh, c'mon," he said. "You're just mad because I surprised you."

"Angry' is the word you're looking for, David," Ariel replied. "Mad means crazy. And as you well know, I am capable of neither anger nor insanity.. What I am capable of however, is moving your solo jump back another month."

David thought of a few snappy comebacks, all having to do with anger and madness, but Ariel put his hand up for silence. The Mecha looked away as if it was listening to something. Probably got a call, David thought.

"We have to head in now," Ariel said finally. "Your father is waiting."

David decided to save his snappy responses for a time when not so much was at stake. He cut the thrusters and banked slowly westward, headed for home.

"Wouldn't failing me be a bit of an over-reaction on your part," David said. "Methinks you're getting a tad emotional about this."

"I don't get angry, David. I get even." Ariel quipped, knowing he had the upper hand.

"Are you capable of humor, at least?" David sighed, slowing over the Cybertronics building. Ariel clucked his tongue as the boy began to descend. An oddly human thing to do, David thought.

"Let's see how well you handle landing in the copter bay," The Mecha said "and maybe I'll let the roll slide."

"Let the roll slide?" David repeated, skeptically.

"That means to give you a pass… for now," Ariel said.

"I know what it means," David said. "It's just that…" He scrutinized the Mecha's face and thought he saw the slightest hint of humor in its eyes.

"Oh, I get it," David said. "Dad's been messing around in your head again, eh?"

"I'm sure don't know what you mean," Ariel said, looking away.

"Yeah, you do," David laughed. "He's giving you a little personality, eh? Slowly removing the virtual rod you have stuck up your-"

"Mind your landing," Ariel scolded.

"Finally," Allan Hobby said, closing his laptop and rising from a chair as David strolled casually into the landing bay lobby. "I almost fired up one of the backup pilots."

David noticed the man was dressed as if he was going to something important.

"Sorry," he said. "Headed out?"

"Just some last minute business to attend inland," Hobby said, adjusting his tie in the reflection in the dark glass of the door.

"What's wrong with the conference link?" David asked.

Hobby didn't reply, just slid his laptop into his briefcase and made sure his things were in order. David considered the man's silence and knew he was hiding something. Probably something to do with the security breach, something he didn't want to discuss over cyber-space. Or maybe he just wanted to get out of the building for a while.

Ariel stepped into the room and set a scolding eye on David. David returned the look with a mock sneer. But the Mecha had apparently decided his 'snitching' could wait.

"Ready, sir." Ariel said to Hobby.

"Whatever he tells you is a lie," David said.

Hobby laughed as he snatched his case from the table and started for the Cybertronics copter with Ariel fast on his heels.

"Causing trouble again, is he?" Hobby said to his pilot.

"Of the most juvenile sort, sir" Ariel replied.

"Dad," David called. Hobby stopped and looked over his shoulder. David put on the boyish smile that he always used when he was going to ask for something. Hobby was familiar enough with the look. He signaled for Ariel to go ahead, then turned and crossed his arms in preparation for the inevitable request.

"What now?" he said.

"Why the Yeats?"

Hobby looked confused.

"The poem," David said, gesturing over his shoulder. "The Stolen Child. It's carved in the door."

"Oh, yes" Hobby said. "What about it?"

"Why did you use that one?"

Hobby made a dismissive shrug. "It was part of an early marketing campaign," he said. "It had some attractive subtext, I guess. But we didn't wind up using it. Why?"

"Do you know its meaning?"

"This is not the time for deconstructing 19th century poetry. I've got to be somewhere. What is it you want?"

"Well, I think I'm ready for the waters and wild by now, don't you?"

Hobby pondered the cryptic words for a moment, but couldn't decipher them.

"Out with it," he said. "You're making me late."

"I mean, I believe I've shown that I can take care of myself by now. Do you really think I need Lex tagging along everywhere I go?"

Hobby thought for a moment.

"Well, the poem does suggest you should come to the waters and wild 'with a fairy hand in hand', doesn't it?"

"Are you calling Lex a fairy?" David replied.

His Father's laughed and started backing towards the copter.

"Touche', but you do need protection, David" he said. "Recent events support that conclusion. And this is not the time for this discussion either." The man turned and boarded the copter before his 'son' could find a more effective avenue of negotiation.

David sighed as the copter lifted off the floor. He had intended to ask later that night, but hadn't known his father would be going somewhere. Bad timing. If his mission was going to work, he'd have to rid himself of the bodyguard, for a least a couple hours. There was no way Lex would let him enter a club full of wild CJ kids.

He noticed his father waving from the passenger window and plastered on his best 'I'll be a good boy' face as he waved back. He didn't want the man to think he was up to something… because he was definitely up to something.

It was time for Plan B.

"You called, Sir?" Alfred said. The butler bot was standing in David's doorway, apron around its waist, a programmed look of patient curiosity on its face.

"Sorry to disturb your chores, old buddy," David said, rising from his console, where he'd been busily snooping for the last hour. "But I was wondering if you might know anything about umm." He glanced at the words on his monitor. "Crystal Eyes 7, 20 dash 47?"

Alfred didn't respond for a moment, and David felt a surge of hope. Would it really be that easy?

No, it turned out. It wasn't going to be that easy. Alfred finally shook its head and donned a apologetic expression.

"That is not familiar, sir."

"Crystal Eyes seven, twenty dash forty seven?" David repeated the words slower; on the off chance that Alfred's language interpreters were mashing the two key words into a singular 'crystallize'. But Alfred had understood completely and repeated that he had no idea what David was talking about.

"Sorry," David said, "I meant to say Merovac's Quandary, 19 dash 88 dash 1?"

Once again the butler disappointed him by shaking its head. David apologized and checked his list. He tried again, and again, running though each the override phrases he'd managed to snoop over the last few days, repeating the words slowly when Alfred hesitated for the slightest moment. He was watching carefully for that tell tale blank-faced moment which would indicate he had initiated a command prompt;

"Blue Odyssey 20-01-7".

Nothing.

"Watson Anomaly 12-14-66"

Nope.

"Destiny Manifest, 14-92-08?"

Dead end.

"Is this all leading somewhere, sir?" Alfred inquired at last.

David sighed.

"Ah, never mind," he said waving the butler off. "Go on and …do whatever you were doing."

Alfred returned to the study and resumed its chores. David leaned heavily against his door frame, watching the Mecha go through its cleaning routines. Dusting this. Wiping that. Straightening those. He pushed his hands into his pockets and began to pace, feeling a dark pang of failure in his chest.

Plan B was not going as smoothly as he'd hoped.

Of course Plan A, which had simply consisted of asking his father to leave Lex at home for a change, was not that swift now that he thought about it; and had probably been doomed from the start, even if not for the intervention of fate. But he had thought his backup plan was rather clever, if he had to say so himself… and since no one else even knew about it, he did have to say so himself.

He'd realized that there was a glitch in Cybertronics security. One that only he, being the heir to Alan Hobby, could probably exploit. But he needed a piece of information that he, now being Orga, had no access to… at least not by any legitimate channels. There was a hierarchy of command overrides for all the in-house Mecha, from the chefs assistants to the lab bots. Even the Personal Protection units, like Lex, could be put into temporary command mode. And that was the code he needed.

But he sure couldn't get it by asking. Not without giving himself away. So he'd have to get it without anyone knowing what he'd done.

There was the rub.

Alfred would have been perfect for his ruse. But David couldn't find the code to break into him. He could have asked Dad, but once again, just asking wold have given him away. The codes for the Maintenance crew would be the easiest to find by snooping the system, but they automatically reported any vocal interfacing to security, especially the kind that required them to breach security, which was exactly what David had in mind. So they were out. Teddy, once his closest ally and even a co-conspirator in his escape from captivity, was now untrustworthy, its credibility in tatters after serving as a little spy for Dad for so long. He'd even considered Amanda's tutor, that stoic, matronly 'Shiela' bot he'd seen in her room. But even if Amanda did know her override, the bot was a recent addition and was unlikely to have access to the information he desired.

Perhaps the true irony was that if he still had his digital brain this would be easy. But then, if that were the case, he wouldn't even be here. He still be a little clueless …

David bolted up straight. Could that be it? He stepped back to his room, pinching his chin and mumbling to himself as he considered the obstacles. Of course! It could work. It really could.

Spirits renewed, he left the room, hoping Mario wasn't doing any after hours programming. He needed some alone time with a certain prototype in the lab.

The little 500 woke abruptly, ready for practice.

"Hey, Coach!" it said, cheerfully, looking around for the bat and glove.

David knew the override code for this one.. He had created it himself. It was a shortcut to save time for quick adjustments; a simple two-word command, the first segment of a string of seven words he remembered very well.

"Cirrus," David said. The bot ceased its programmed jabber, and stared at him with expectant eyes.

"Socrates" David said. The bot went into command mode. It would only stay that way for ten seconds unless an inquiry was made.

"What is your model and maker," David inquired. He already knew the answer, but the inquiry would bring up in internal command prompt, like pointing a cursor over a line of code to edit.

"True," David said. "What is your function?" .

"Child simulant. Series 500 Prototype in production."

David smiled. This was going to work after all.

"False," he said. Then he made some temporary adjustments.

It had been twenty minutes.

What was taking so long?

David picked up his lute and began plucking absentmindedly as he paced the room. Worry was beginning to creep through the holes in his ingenious plan. Had he overlooked something? What if security had changed identification procedure? It had been a while since he had been down there. Did they still use their scanners for-

His pod buzzed. David actually jumped at the sound. He took a deep breath before picked it up. He didn't want to appear to be in a hurry.

"Yeah," he said.

""This is security," a voice said. He remembered the guard well. It was the man he'd fooled on his return five years earlier. He wasn't the brightest bulb.

"Hi," David said. "Something wrong?"

"We've got a stray down here," the man said. "Claims to belong to you."

"Oh," David said, trying to sound surprised. "Just send it back up. It should know the way."

"Well, that's the problem, " the guard said. "It won't leave. Just says 'where's David?" over and over. Can you come down here and retrieve it?"

"Look, I'm…" he paused a moment; sighed heavily, trying to imply he was in the middle of something. "Can't you just use an override? That should shut down whatever routine its running. Then you can give it commands."

"I don't know the override for the lab units, sir," the guard said, a hint of impatience in his voice. "It looks like a new thing. Dressed in a baseball uniform."

"Oh yeah, that one," David said, feigning ignorance. "Well, don't you have a list of overrides in your system? Hit it with a scanner. That should find a prompt."

The man was quiet a moment.

"If that doesn't work, I'll come down and get it," David said, crossing his fingers. Then he heard the guard sigh heavily. It was a sigh of surrender.

"Hold on," the man said.

David didn't subscribe to any religious beliefs, but something like a prayer crossed his mind as he waited. The guard finally came back.

"Weird," he said.

"Is something wrong?" David said, trying to hide his tension.

"Nah, we found the override. It's headed back up" the man said. "What's weird is that the damned thing was identifying as a personal protection unit. How'd that happen?"

David hummed thoughtfully; glad the guard couldn't see his expression of delight.

"Dunno," he said. "But thanks. I'll have to take a look at it."

It was an act of sheer discipline to not jump for joy when the line went dead.

When his little spy returned, David ushered it into the room and quickly closed the door.

"Well now, let's see what you have for me," he said with a mischievous grin.

Friday came and David decided to finally tell Amanda about the details of his mission. They'd been having breakfast and she'd been going on about her plans for the weekend, showing atypical diplomacy by not asking what he and Frill intended. David leaned in conspiratorially and confided what he'd accomplished with the 500, and what he intended to do while she was hanging out in the plaza. Her reaction was pretty much as he'd expected.

"You're crazy," she said.

"It'll work," David responded with a lot more confidence than he felt.

"And what if it does, " she replied. "So you get past Lex, get inside the club. Let's say you even find Myron. What then?"

David shrugged, as if the rest was obvious.

It wasn't obvious.

"Those kids are dangerous, David," she said, her features shifting to a look of concern. "This is not a game."

David knew that well enough. Better than she could imagine.

"You're right, it isn't," he agreed. "But you play it like a game. And you play to win"

Neither said any more about it.

Saturday night finally arrived. He'd met up with Frill at the Nexus. The usual crowd was hanging at their usual spot, all except Zee whose parents still had him under house arrest. It was an understandable reaction. He was, after all, their only child. They were all only children. David was surprised more of their parents were not as stern as Zee's.

He had been obliged to endure the standard effusive adoration from Jazzy, who gushed over his new look.

"Oh, now this is even better," the girl said, cuddling up to David while the others laughed. "You make the nerd thing look sexy." Amanda finally complained to Shooter. But he only waved the issue away, seemingly happy for a reprieve from his girlfriend's antics.

"We got to go," Frill said at last. And just in time, for the questions were starting to arise; all the ones David was supposed to avoid. Who he really was… what his father did… was that quiet man sitting nearby really his personal bodyguard?

Frill started heading for the bay where his cruiser was parked. David followed, blowing Amanda a parting kiss and waving goodbye to all the Shiny kids who watched mystified as the two departed without explanation. A few of them snickered and cocked knowing eyebrows at the pair.

David knew what they were thinking. He didn't care.

After a moment, Lex rose from the bench where he was pretending to read, and followed.

Frill lived with his parents in a quiet suburban community about a 20 minutes from the Nexus. During the ride, David found himself being fascinated by the street life. The lights. The storefronts. The restless tides of Orga going about their distracted Saturday night pleasure seeking. The obedient Mecha going about their servile duties. It had been a long time since he had roamed freely, and in those days he'd not been in the mood for sight seeing. Even more recently, when he'd come Inland with Skipper and Eddie on his excursions to see his Mother, they'd been on a tight now he felt relaxed. Calm even.

A thought came to him. He turned down the music streaming from the cruisers link up. Frill looked over at him, annoyed.

"How dare you turn down my music," he said. "Never turn down a man's music." He was only partially kidding.

"You ever heard of 'Ja'?" David said.

Frill considered the word as he they raced through the streets

"No," he said at last. "Can't say I've heard of that before. What is it?"

"I don't know," David said, relaxing back into his seat. "That's why I asked you."

Frill shrugged and turned down a dark street of older houses lined up like boxes in a warehouse. The remains of 21st century suburbia.

"You ready for tonight?" he said.

"Oh, yeah," David said. "I'm good." And he did feel good. Or perhaps he was just numb to the potential of what could go wrong, seeing as it was too late to turn back.

Frill glanced over his shoulder and turned back to David.

"And what about.. uh…." he nodded his head towards the back seat where Lex was sitting quietly, looking menacing and suspicious. The Mecha only knew they were going to his friends house. This much would be safe for his father to find out about. But no information on their final destination had been imparted.

"Don't worry about him," David said with a wink.

The house was dark when they arrived. His parents were probably at work, Frill said. David scanned the quiet street as he got out the cruiser. It wasn't the best neighborhood, nothing like the Swinton's upscale estate. But neither was it the worst. Struggling professionals might live here. People who made decent money, but only worked intermittently.

This was confirmed when Frill explained that his parents made their living in theater… for the most part. It was a hard business and they often had to take odd jobs to get by. Neither had a regular schedule, and both had been struggling since he was a child. His mother was a make-up artist and, at least for now, worked for a local news affiliate. His father was an actor, occasionally, but worked mostly in set design and production. But there hadn't been much for him lately.

"I'm home," Frill called as they entered the dark house. David was confused by this announcement, assuming the house was empty since all the lights were off. Then he heard soft music, and a voice coming from the darkened living room. A man was there, pacing to and fro and … talking to himself?

No, no, David realized. He was reciting something.

The King doth keep his revels here to-night;

Take heed the Queen come not within his sight;

For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,

Because that she as her attendant hath

A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king.

She never had so sweet a changeling;

And jealous Oberon would have the child

Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild;

"Dad?" Frill said in a somewhat annoyed tone, interrupting the man's monologue. Seeming to come out of a trance, Mr Lobov finally noticed his son's arrival.

"Ah, Franklin," he said smiling and approaching the boys. In the light coming in through the door, David could he see was a plain looking fellow, clad in a bathrobe and slippers. Thick glasses adorned his face, which was topped by a thinning head of graying hair. He shot David an appraising look.

"This is my friend, Blue," Frill said. The man reached out and shook David's hand.

"Blue," he said thoughtfully. "And from whence was this nic derived? Is that Memphis Blue, as in the melancholy pentatonic melodies of 20th century African Americans? Or blue like the ocean? Deep and full of primordial mysteries?"

Frill sighed as if he was embarrassed by the question. But David was only amused and wondered at his friend's discomfort.

"More like blue for a suit I wore once," he said. Mr Lebov raised a curious eyebrow but decided to not pursue the inquiry any further.

"Twelfth Night?" David said.

It took Mr Lobov a moment to understand.

"Ah, you refer to my nocturnal ramblings," he said. "Close, but not quite."

"Midsummer's Night Dream!" David corrected himself quickly. "Puck, right?"

"Hazzah!" the man said with a laugh. "Thou speakest aright, I quoeth that merry wanderer of the night. So, a fan of the Bard, are you?

"Not an aficionado," David said, "But I like to read him aloud too."

"Ah. Well then, I've a small group of amateur enthusiasts that meets occasionally to read. You should drop by some night when you've nothing else to do," Mr Lebov said. "I am afraid my son, having grown up with two failed aspirants of the thespian trade, is not so enamored of the field. Familiarity breeds contempt, as the saying goes."

"We have to leave," Frill said, impatiently.

David found the man entertaining and wondered why Frill seemed embarrassed. But he sensed tension between the two and decided not to inquire.

"And where would you two young men be headed this fine evening?" Mr Lebov said. Then he noticed Lex standing just outside the doorway and stepped back. He turned a look on his son that suggested this would require a more detailed explanation.

"Oh, he's with me," David explained quickly. "He's… uh 'it's my fathers. I have to take him with me… for protection." He realized he should have prepared for this introduction. But Frill's father accepted this easily. Lex was obviously not the first bodyguard he'd seen in his line of work. He may not have achieved success, but he had probably worked with people who did.

"Hello, Lex," Mr Lebov said. David was surprised that the man addressed the Mecha respectfully, like it was Orga.. Most people would simply ignore the guard. He warmed a bit more. to Friil's strange father.

"Good evening, sir," Lex replied.

"My, don't you look expensive, " Mr Lebov said, stepping back and scrutinizing Lex curiously. He turned a new gaze on David, but had the grace not to ask the questions that were apparent in his eyes.

"Well, then. I'll assume he's safe, eh?" he said.

David nodded.

"We're just changing," Frill said as he started up the stairs. "Then we're going clubbing for a while."

"Then trip away; make no stay, and try to be home before the break of day!" Mr Lebov quipped as he headed back to the living room.

Frill rolled his eyes. David thought it was pretty clever. He gestured for Lex to wait on he porch, and started up the stairs behind his new friend.

Frill's room was a converted attic. Polished wood walls that came to a point 12 feet overhead. Clothes, books and dvds were strewn about in haphazard order. Frill wasn't dirty. Just not very organized. The walls were lined with posters from TV shows and films and a few androgynous looking celebrities posed seductively in various states of dress.

It was a little cramped, but comfortable.

"Hope they got your size right," Frill said as he pulled a box from a shelf and handed it to David. He then began typing at his console, which sat near a window looking out on the street.

David unwrapped the clothes he had ordered. They were a specialty line, black and beaten leather, thin strips of dulled steel lined the collar. Shoulder pads were metal reinforced, as were the shins. The clothing was designed to cater to a young rebellious sub-culture. They were fresh off the shelf but made to look like they had been worn for a long time. And they could take a beating. They had to.

"Found him!" Frill said excitedly.

"Who?" David said.

"Myron," Frill said, "he's leaving messages to his friends on a CJ site." Frill pulled away from his monitor and gestured to small avatar next to a comment. The avatar was a Viking, blonde and armored, swinging a great sword in the midst of a fiery battle. But there was no name.

"How do you know it's him?" David asked.

"I know that avatar," Frill said. "It's him."

David leaned down to read the print.

"Jamming 101. Slagged. Kife the pwerk!"

David shrugged. He had no idea what the words meant.

"It means he'll be at Club 101 tonight. He's tired from eating jail food. And screw the police."

"Ahh," David said, glad Frill was here to interpret. "Club 101?"

"It's CJ club on the outskirts," Frill said. "Not that far. Gets pretty crazy but we should be ok."

David held his clothes up to his chest and stepped back for Frill's appraisal.

"Think it'll pass?" he said.

"They're gonna mark you as a newbie no matter what you do," Frill replied. "But you'll fit in."

That would be good enough, David decided. His confidence returned. He slipped out of his clothes, to put on his new outfit.

"Mmm-mm!"

The exclamation made David turn to see Frill casting an approving eye and sly smile in his direction.

"I hope Mandy-girl knows what she's got," Frill said.

David shrugged the compliment off and returned to dressing, hoping the other boy didn't notice him blushing.

'Club 101' turned out to be an aged industrial structure set beneath a criss-crossing latticework of freeway ramps that hadn't been used in almost a century. It had once been a center for the manufacture of farming equipment; cultivators, slurry tankers, shoot harvesters and the huge barrier enclosures that had been a last attempt to stave off the rising waters. But long before the floods had drowned fertile soil and human labor had been replaced with compliant Mecha, many of the jobs that had driven the economy of this small exurban community had been shipped off to foreign lands.

It was a ghost town now. Empty houses, once inhabited by working class families, sat boarded and decayed; shelter for vags and transies, addicts and cons. The dark houses lined the broken roadways that disappeared into the lush new-growth forest to the east, and beneath the risen waters that lay to the south.

The club sat on the outskirts of everything. Both literally and in metaphor. It was a gathering spot for forgotten and discarded youth. Rebels. Runaways. Tranc addicts. Wireheads. Unsanctioned children who'd grown to adolescence on the fringes of society. A dark Neverland inhabited by the young flotsam jetsam of a drowned empire.

A raucous group of the young Crash Jammers milled about at the entrance. The large sliding doors had been decorated with smashed and burned body parts of Mecha victims. Old Iron, likely. Discards and rejects. Hanging anything new up there would be admission of a crime.

A few of the wild young Orga were clad in black and metal, shaven heads and fierce piercings; vicious tattoos emblazoned on arms and faces. A few of the older boys sported 'shields'; metal enhancements surgically attached to their bodies for the advantage in fights with Mecha. Spikes on their shoulders. Steel braces over knuckles. Elbow cuffs and shin guards. They were baby-faced warriors of an unofficial Orga liberation front, who destroyed robots for fun and, on rare occasions, for profit

"Let's do this," said David as he opened his door.

"Master Holt," said a firm voice from the back seat. David slapped himself in the forehead. He had almost forgotten.

"Ah, Lex," he said without turning.

"This location was not cleared, I'm afraid," Lex warned. "I cannot allow you to attend without notifying your father."

David winked at Frill before he turned and smiled at his Mecha bodyguard.

"Listen carefully," he said.

All the Mecha at Cybertronics had an override code. It was standard procedure. But getting hold of Lex's had been quite a trick. David had entered a false line of data in his 500; a little tweak that would cause the security scanner to misread its identifier as that of a bodyguard. This wouldn't have been possible with a marketed David. Their ID would have been read only. After David changed the ID line, he created a processing loop that would make the robot ignore a direct order from anyone but himself.

When the guard had used the scanner to find the prototype's override, the system had mistaken it for a Lex model, and had then had tried to use the guard's code to break the processing loop. Fortunately, all the in-house Lex units used the same code. When the Lex code didn't work on the 500, the scanner automatically reset the parameters and tried the other codes in it's database until it found the correct sequence.

David's other trick, of which he was immensely proud and really hoped his Father would never find out about, was to program his little Mecha sibling to record all he data it was exposed to during the scan. And the trick worked perfectly. When the bot returned, David loaded the stolen code onto his console and had it snoop the system to find the corresponding vocal string.

"Andronicus. Fidelus. Three, dash twenty dash zero three." David said.

Lex stared at him quizzically. For one moment the boy thought his little scheme had failed. But when the large Mecha's expression went blank, his worries were put to rest.

"State your model and function," he said.

"Lex,1200 Series, Cybertronics Personal Protection Unit" the Mecha recited in a monotone.

"False," David said.

All his worries had been for nothing, it seemed. David passed though the doorway, past the rough looking boys at the entrance, without drawing so much as a second glance. One of them even nodded a quick appraisal of his clothes and flashed a hand sign. David recognized the salute. A hand shaped to form the letter C, then folded to a fist and tapped hard over the heart. He'd seen CJ kids throwing it back and forth in a few of their online videos. He thrust his chin up and returned the gesture, and the boy went back to his conversation.

He wondered how many of the group had took part in the raid at the Nexus. None of them seemed to recognize he or Frill. Though they did look a bit different now.

"Just act like you belong here." Frill advised as they entered the large room.

If there were anyplace in the world where David didn't belong, it was here. But he had some experience in projecting false impressions. He strapped on his new persona and affected the menacing traits that defined CJ kids.

The club hadn't undergone many changes since it was used for manufacturing. Old equipment was still there, but had been converted to be used as tables and resting spots for kids who had had danced themselves out. Large support pylons, which erupted from the floor and rose to the ceiling, were covered with speaker systems and flashing lights. Shattered bodies of broken Mecha adorned the walls and hung from the high ceilings. David could make out their shapes in the lights that flashed in hues of red, blue and amber, the base colors of the spectrum to symbolize the primal state of being. Orga. Human. Pure.

The music was pounding and fierce. No elaborate arrangements here. No lofty lyrical metaphors. The message was guttural and raw:

We're alive!

We're flesh and blood!

Feel our heart beat!

Popular bands like Flesh Rite, who'd tempered their lyrics after they made it into the mainstream, were just considered rich sell outs by these kids. Their anthems were sung by hardcore CJ groups with names like "Crash Fetish", "Blitz Creed" and "Fiber F*ck Brigade". They used no holographic backup shows, had nixed the digital instruments for beat up guitars and drums, played old fashioned analog amplifiers and 'chort' instruments; things which were made from any refuse of the old world that could be used to pound on or hooked up to an amplifier to make noise. Any noise would do. As long as it was created through pure Orga creativity and played by Orga hands.

Some were quiet clever, as David had seen in his web searches. Packing containers that had been tied together and tuned, were used as drums to create backup rhythms for Crash Poets. Construction materials that were torn from the flesh of sunken buildings, and hooked up to amplifiers just to see what kind of sound they'd make. It was chaotic, discordant yet had it's own peculiar aesthetic. Raw creativity.

The band on the small stage now, was called 'Man's Child'. It consisted of five people. The sound was distorted and brash and David could barely make out the words. But the other kids obviously knew the tune for they were singing along. The song, which came fast and pounding, had an appealing hint of Irish folk music. The band consisted of two skin-head boys pounding out power chords on time-word Stratocasters, a thin young girl in a long black dress was doing was a surprisingly adequate job of playing a stand up bass. A heavy set girl wearing a gas mask stood behind them, beating on a 'chort' set of percussion, which looked like it had been made from pots pans and shipping containers, and had garbage can lids for cymbals. A thin feminine looking boy jumped around at the front of the stage, screaming into a distorted mike.

The room was filled with noise and heat, the scent of sweat and humanity. No perfume here. No economic distinction created by clothes or make up. They were all races and genders. Short hair. Long hair. Fat. Thin. Muscular and slight. The only thing they had in common was the black clothing and the willingness to do violence. They pressed together on the dance floor. David realized what had appeared to just be kids crashing into one another, was actually some strange sort of dance. It was violent and reckless, but no one was getting hurt.

David was brought out of his thoughts by a tug on his arm. Frill was pointing to the side of the room, out of the crowd. He leaned in to yell over the din.

"He's here somewhere!" he said. "What do we do when we find him?"

The boy stared at David expectantly. He smiled back awkwardly and glanced around the crowd. He really hadn't planned this part too well. He'd just assumed he would approach Myron, make peace and somehow and try to find out who had been behind the job at the Nexus. Of course he knew Myron was not going to just tell him who it was. But if he asked the right questions the boy might slip and reveal a name that David already knew. There was only one name he was concerned with. Maybe two. He was just going to have to 'wing it', he thought, improvise the situation as it occurred.

How could he have planned this kind of thing anyway? Too many variables… the unknown unknowns, as it were.

Frill cocked his head to the side and raised his brows, as if to say 'welllll?'

David was about to respond when one of the unknowns unexpectedly hit him from behind. He managed to maintain his balance, and turned quickly, fist raised and ready to strike. But what he saw was a smiling face. A pretty one too. Piercing blue eyes gazed manically at him from beneath a head of wild blonde hair that fell down over her forehead. She was panting and sweating … and laughing?

"Hey, sweet thaaang!" she yelled over the music. "What's your name?"

"Dav… uh Blue!" David yelled back, still unsure if his fist was necessary.

The girl screwed up her face as if it was the dumbest name she'd ever heard. David shrugged as if to say it was a best he could do.

"I'm Grizel" she screamed.

David acknowledge this information with a nod and was about to tell Grizel that he was busy and couldn't do whatever it was she had in mind. But she obviously had other plans for him.

The girl suddenly grabbed David's arm and yanked him towards the mad throng on the dance floor. She was a lot stronger than she looked. He glanced back at Frill, his eyes pleading a message: 'what the hell do I do now?'

But Frill was already laughing at his situation.

"Let's crash!" David's pretty abductor screamed as she threw him into another kid. David bounced against the boy, who quickly turned and, instead of taking throwing a fist as David fully expected, bounced his chest against David's and then jumped to pound his back against Grizel. She laughed and returned the body slam, and the boy went on to crash into someone else. David was trying to make a quick exit when he was hit from another direction. He corrected his balance and tried to get away again when Grizel pushed him into someone else.

In moments David found himself in the middle of the mad free for all. Bodies pressed around him, closing off his escape. He was pounded and slammed, bounced on and knocked about like a doll as he tried to maintain his balance. Grizel found him again, grabbed him by the shoulders and leaned against him to yell in his ear.

"Just go with it, newbie!" she screamed. David shoved her off and fought against the mad press of bodies. But it suddenly occurred to him that she might have had been trying to tell him something. If he just went with he flow, could he keep his footing? David decided to try it, and then slowly worked his way to the edge of the dance floor. As he relaxed he found that every time someone bounced against him, there was another body to stop his fall. When he bounced into that person, they bounced into another, and on and on it would go. That's why they mobbed so close, he realized. They had to, so the dance would work… because it was a dance. A strange violent dance.

He was starting to get the hang of it, crashing back and forth in the frenzied mob of kids. It was even starting to resemble something like fun, when the music suddenly changed tempo. The dancers slowed in time with a new throbbing beat. Instead of 'crashing' they were now 'warbling, as he would later learned it was called. The kids began weaving between one another, like an undulating hive. David was quickly getting lost in the heat, and found himself reacting to the potent physical energy of the dance. It flowed up from his loins and enveloped him; the electricity of bodies against bodies, sweat, heated breath, hypnotic trance of reckless hungry youth, hungry for humanity, for all the things lost before they'd ever been born and hungry for revenge on those that stole it; hungry for life, for love, for each other; unabashed, shameless.

It wasn't really sexual as much as sensual; primal; the remnant of ancient tribal rituals stored in a common genetic memory.

Something broke him from the trance. A hand yanking on his shoulder. David looked to see Frill at the edge of the crowd, reaching over a shirtless boy to grab his collar. David came to his senses. He had work to do.

He was trying to maneuver his way to the edge of the warbling crowd, hoping the crazy girl named Grizel wouldn't see him and try to abduct him again.

That was when the shirtless boy beside him suddenly turned.

Their eyes met. Recognition set in. Then surprise. Time froze.

The boys stood that way for immeasurable moments, chest to chest, panting into each other faces, as the people around them carried on their slow undulating trance dance.

David nodded, as if to say 'hi'.

Myron snarled, as if to say 'screw you.'

Then he threw the first punch.

(cont…)