Alive
Book 2
Pt26
1
"Qpen tus ojos, David. Tell me… que ves?"
"I see… everything!"
2
Familiar Technology; the brain interfacing implants which allowed users to control digital devices with the power of thought. Its seeds had been sewn long ago, in the adolescence of the digital age.
Computer games of that day had already grown far beyond the simple escapist pastimes of their infancy, and entire virtual communities were being constructed. They were only gathering spots at first, online hangouts for the avatars of tech nerds, game junkies and new age bohemians; the latter usually engaged in transactions that bordered legality. But as the format gained popularity, they'd become legitimate halls of commerce and civil discourse. And, as the world slowly sank beneath the waves of society's self-indulgence, or burned in its fires, the virtual realm had provided a fantasy escape from the disillusion and depression that would eventually claim as many lives as the changing climates.
Then came the next revolutionary step: the ability to maneuver through this new virtual landscape without physical engagement; to become completely immersed in a fantasy world of one's own construction. With the use of a virtual helmet, users could navigate their online communities without lifting so much as a finger.
It seemed that, as Artificial Intelligence was becoming more integral to the 'real' world, Orga were escaping further into an online artifice; even as the pressing matters of their times were growing more and more unmanageable.
They were intoxicating, these realms of fantasy; constructed to lure and captivate users. One could be whomever they wanted to be, do whatever they wanted to do. Free of consequence or limitation. Free of the legal limits placed on behavior in the 'real world.
As the dimensions of this fantasy world grew, so did the profiteers; the usual corporate suspects, come to hawk their wares and, as time went on, their ideologies. Brain interfacing worked both ways. Not only could a person manipulate the virtual realm with their thoughts, but their thoughts too, could be manipulated in a way never before possible. And with that advent came the potential for mass influence on a scale unprecedented in all human history, even in the turbulent age of social media disinformation.
Cults sprouted overnight. Online communities that had been designed for socializing and political discourse were infiltrated by provocateurs, and gradually radicalized into acts of digital sabotage on those perceived as enemies. Virtual wars arose. Accounts were attacked, viruses planted. People who had become emotionally attached to their online avatars were devastated when they were targeted and 'assassinated' by virtual enemies, or armies of reckless trolls. The online violence eventually spilled out into real world, and real blood was spilled.
World governments were quick to respond to this rising danger. Troublesome communities were shut down. Hackers who were caught, became employees of the Cyber Crimes Division, of the National Security Agency. The 'dark-net' was invaded by these new government operatives. Troll farms were isolated and locked out of net access. Regulations were quickly drafted and bills passed, limiting the scope and legality of cerebral interfacing technology.
First Amendment arguments arose. Lawyers went to war in the courts, and politicians battled in the media. But the world was already reeling in the wake of wild fires and rising oceans, civil unrest and famine. Real lives were being destroyed and nobody had the time or energy to fight over a poorly understood technology. So caution won the day.
The hasty preventative measures had been a devastating blow to a young start-up known as 'Doppel', the Germanic word for 'double'. The name referred to the fully immersive avatars used in the virtual realm. It also, not so coincidentally, hinted at the word 'doppelgänger', the mythological apparition that appeared as a person's double, and was typically seen as a harbinger of misfortune... and evil.
Doppel had developed the first version of what would become the state-of-the-art interfacing devices. Where similar technology required a helmet or some other form of non-intrusive head-gear, Doppel had offered a new and controversial approach: brain implants.
The implants themselves were easily affordable, and advances in medical technology had made the required surgery quick, painless and relatively cheap. The advantage being, one could go anywhere and easily interact with any device at any time. No need for a pod anymore. Just think your text, choosing from a variety of prefab messages and responses. No need to scan your personal media page for news or reminders. Just think your way into the news feed, your back account, your social media page.
The virtual world was just a thought away.
Unfortunately, the same medical advances that opened the door to the digital brain, had also helped spurn on the growth of what the medical community labeled 'Hedonic Brain Stimulation'. It was better known by the name: 'juicing' or 'riding the wire'; the extremely addictive practice of exposing pleasure centers in the cerebral cortex to mild electric current.
"Juicing" was actually an inexpensive addiction, compared to the standard designer drugs that were available everywhere. But as cheap as it was, it was actually more devastating than the drugs because it quickly rendered people incapable of normal activities.
Those who 'juiced' quickly became disinterested in normal life, losing their jobs and destroying their families, as they lay about the house, 'riding the wire' for days at a time. They would often ignore necessities like eating, or going to the bathroom, and would quickly descend into a state of depression if their current was removed.
After enough time these depressions could turn into catatonia. Prolonged abuse would have even worse effects.
It was not unusual for vacationing families to return home to the emaciated body of a deceased relative, or even a stranger, laying on the floor, head plugged into an adaptor, vacant eyes set in an ecstatic gaze on nowhere.
Wire-heads, as they came to be known, tended to live short and messy lives.
But Doppel wasn't offering that type of stimulation, and rejected any suggestion that their technology was related to the new scourge. They'd undergone a drastic reorganization in the wake of the regulations, and returned as new company, with a new focus and a new name:
'Familiar Inc.'.
Deriving their reincorporated name from 'familiar spirits', the mythical minions of the witches and wizards of European folklore, the company's new strategy was to provide their services solely to the governmental bodies which had sought to control them. And the strategy worked.
There was no knowing just how far the various governments who'd used Familiar's services had gone with it. All such information was classified; need to know only. But after a few years of strict limitation on public availability - about the same time a peculiar boy had been found in a stolen amphibicopter – the restrictive laws had begun to relax.
After a few more years, when negotiated regulations were firmly in place, brain implants were back on the market. And Familiar Inc, was back in the game.
One of its earliest investors was a secretive businessman with a dubious reputation and no experience in the realm of gaming or artificial intelligence. The investor would never attend shareholder meetings himself, sending instead a representative who would sit apart from the rest of the attendees, never ask questions and leave quickly when the presentation was over.
That investor's name was Dreven Olmier.
3
"This place doesn't look 'familiar' at all," Tamara said. She twisted in the seat and pointed at something outside the Strocruisers canopy. "But that does."
David acknowledged her comment with a grunt. He knew she was talking about The Watson Towers; the 'weeping lions' that stood guard at the gates of the place he now called home. They were only a few miles away and their aviation warning lights would make them visible in the dark of night. But he didn't respond to her. He was concentrating on trying to avoid the makeshift towers of antennae and satellite dishes that jutted up beside the Strocruiser as he drifted slowly towards a roof below.
There was an old landing pad down there. It had once been used by helicopters and passenger drones, long before the oceans had risen to drown the city. But the new residents of this ancient high-rise didn't own such crafts; couldn't afford them. They used the old rooftop for their homemade satellite dishes and signal scalping towers. David doubted there was a legitimate web access account in the entire building.
Cybertronics was fully aware of the hijacked accounts, but also knew it would be futile to fight them. The End Of The World was a wild place. The people who lived in the ruins were denizens of societies fringe; bohemians of the apocalyptic age. Squatters and hackers, scavengers and thieves. Better to regulate them than try to stamp out the free-riding free spirits. So Alan Hobby maintained numerous extra accounts, knowing full well they'd be hacked into and used. He even put up a few road blocks to make the hackers think they'd accomplished something by breaking in.
David could see them through the windows of an adjacent building, as he descended to the landing pad. Dancing shapes, silhouetted in warbling lights of shifting colors.
There was a party going on.
"Dammit," he sighed. "Skipper won't like us barging in on his fun."
4
He'd wanted to come here earlier, during daylight, right after they'd left the beach where they'd first made love the night before. But Tamara had insisted on getting a change of clothes and replenishing her shrinking wad of newbucks.
"We can't right now, Wizzy," David had argued. "Don't you know what's going on?"
"Can't you smell what's going on?" she'd replied, fanning her shirt, so that her sweaty aroma filled the cabin. "I need to change."
David thought about telling her he rather liked her fragrance, but thought better of it.
"Look, I have plenty of money," he said. "Rich kid, remember? And I'm sure Amanda would be glad to lend you something to wear."
Tamara gave him the kind of patient look one gives a child trying to recite the alphabet
"Aww, so cute," she said.
"Ok, ok," David sighed. "Maybe Grace then, or one of the girls in the lab."
Tamara had responded to the clothes and the money with a look that could freeze fire.
"I am in debt to no one, and I don't intend to be," she'd said, coldly.
Time was pressing. 101 was surely planning more covert attacks on Cybertronics. But David had surrendered, and had turned the craft in the direction of Trenton; where she was keeping her things.
In order to avoid the ever present eye of the Gatekeeper, (not to mention that she didn't need the attention of being shuttled to her place in some rich kid's private ride) David had parked the Stratocruiser in a tree cloaked area on the outskirts of the city, and they'd used to public tram to get to her neighborhood. It had taken them all morning to get there, and the better part of the afternoon to get back.
David had never ridden a tram before, at least not to this part of the city, and found himself captivated by the passengers that boarded and left along the way. The weary eyes and vacant gazes of the elders, staring quietly at the city that rolled by outside, interspersed with the animated laughter of teenagers, sharing private jokes and whispering intrigues to one another as they shared the images the that hovered over their pods.
He suddenly wished that there was no imminent threat he had to respond to. He'd love to just sit here and watch them; try to understand them. Another of the multitude of distinct flocks of Orga; so different from one another, yet somehow the same.
Like the young pregnant woman that was standing in the aisle, gripping the straphanger with one hand while the holding the other protectively over her belly, as if she was afraid someone might snatch her unborn from the womb. A man had offered her his seat but she'd refused with a smile which had vanished the moment she turned away. What was her story?
Or the sleepy eyed man seated near the door, seemingly oblivious to the loud chatter of the teenagers in the seat behind him. His gaze was set on something outside, but David thought that maybe he was really looking at nothing; or at his own thoughts. Brain on standby to alleviate the tedium of daily life.
The laughing teens were the working-class version of the Bright Flock. Adorned in colorful t-shirts bearing the name of brands or bands that David had never heard of. Hair glossed or flecked with faded streak of old dye jobs. Feet propped up on seats, or strewn carelessly across the aisles, the girls shot quick selfies as the boys traded insults and punches.
They weren't CJ's, but it was clear all they needed was a nudge in that direction.
Would he have been this…? David found himself wondering, if he had been born an Orga, into a life of the struggling masses… would he have been the same? A loud child on a crowded tram, pestering the world of weary adults with insults and shallow banter?
One old woman noticed David's gaze and lifted her head to stare back at him. He fought the impulse to look away. Something about her fascinated him. She had to be a century old. Her lips were curled in a way that suggested she'd lost her teeth a long time ago. Her hair was reckless gray curls, propped atop her head like the tangled foliage of an ancient forest. The old woman was clad in a thick and threadbare dark coat, covered in a pattern of white criss-crossing lines that had faded over the years. And she was bent forward in her seat, as if her back was too weak to hold her up, even in a sitting position.
Her withered hands clasped a walking stick that was scarred with nicks from long years of difficult pathways. But her eyes were bright and her gaze so intense, that David could not look away.
He smiled.
She did not smile back.
But there didn't seem to be any judgment in her look, no resentment of his scrutiny. They were just two people gazing curiously at one another across a barrier of age and a socio-economic divide that had been forged long before either them had had come into the world.
Oddly, David did not feel the subconscious twinge of guilt that typically bothered him when in the presence of poverty. He was never want for food or shelter. He was heir to a vast fortune and his bank account overflowed with more many than he could spend in a lifetime, while so many scrambled to just get by.
But he hadn't always been this way. He'd suffered. He'd starved. He slept under the stars before too, having nowhere to call home.
This was just the world, he'd come to realize. This ugly gulf. He wasn't sure if it had always been this way, but this is what it had become. From what he'd read in the history books he'd studied during his years in isolation, the utopian society was just a myth, an ideal set into the hearts of Orga by philosophers and dreamers of an egalitarian society.
He tried to remember the words of the philosopher Emerson... "We are enriched by only what we give, and poor by what we refuse."..? Was that right? It was something like that, he was sure.
A precious idea, surely. But it was easy to laud the nobility of altruism when you weren't trying to decide between paying the rent or eating.
And perhaps those history books, written under the auspices of hierarchal social orders, had ignored contradictory realities. Maybe things didn't have to be this way. It certainly couldn't go on like this forever: Fragmented. Disconnected. Apathetic.
Then it was suddenly over. That fleeting moment when two worlds observed each other across a crowded tram came to a close when the old woman turned away and fell back into her thoughts.
What were those thoughts, David wondered. Memories? If so, he hoped they were happy. She looked like she needed happy memories. It was probably all she had left in this life.
Tamara broke him from his introspections.
"Don't stare," she whispered.
"I wasn't staring," David hissed "I was just… just…"
"Just staring," she said.
"Ok, but I just felt sorry for her," he replied. "Is that a crime around here?"
"Her?" Tamara said, eyeing the old woman, skeptically. "You just judging by looks. She could be a killer for all you know. Might have bodies buried in her basement."
"C'mon," David sighed. "She's just some lonely old woman."
But when the tram pulled up to the next stop, the old woman rose quickly and ambled down the aisle with more strength than David would have expected. As she headed for the exit, she suddenly stopped right in front of him and turned eyes like little beads of hate in his direction.
"You like what you see?" she croaked in a loud raspy voice.
David uttered a surprised "huh?" and pulled back.
"Are you deaf and stupid?" she replied "I said, you like what you see?! You maybe want some of this?"
"No-no-no," David sputtered. "That's not why I… uh, I didn't mean to …I thought…. No. Sorry. I don't want any …. whatever it is."
The woman glared a moment more and then flipped a gnarled middle finger into David's face.
"Then mind your own damn business, ponyboy!" she yelled, before storming off the tram with more energy and determination than it seemed her old body could muster, muttering to herself all the way.
Tamara began to laugh.
Then everybody on the tram was laughing.
David crossed his arms and press back into his seat, doing his best to ignore them all.
5
The place Tamara had been staying was in a run-down apartment complex that sat in a somewhat dangerous part of Trenton. But she was not at all hesitant about her surroundings, and had strutted boldly off the tram into the suspicious gazes of street-corner hustlers, tattooed trac-heads, discarded labor-bots and lover-bots.
And then there was ever-present scrutinizing eyes of local law enforcement, who made cautious glances at the curious couple who exited the tram.
"Walk like you belong here," Tamara whispered, as a passing police cruiser slowed near them. David wasn't sure what she meant by that, but he fell easily back into the smooth gait he had used when he ran with her in Sy's crew. He was surprised and relieved to see the police move on after Tamara shot them an impatient 'what the hell you looking at' glare.
"Never smile at cops," she explained when David curled his eyebrow at her. "Just makes 'em think you're up to something."
"But we are up to something," David replied.
"Which means we really have to play the asshole," she shot back quickly. "Around here smiling faces are usually hiding something."
"Not just around here," David said.
The people they passed on the street seemed to recognize her, and gave her wide berth. Did they know she was the daughter of the infamous Sy Cleve? Or had they once felt the debilitating sting of her roundhouse kick before, and didn't want a repeat? David didn't know and didn't care. As long as they knew she was not one to be messed with, he was safe in her company. His ankle was still not fully recovered from the fight in the stairwell, and he wanted to avoid doing anything that would strain it.
When they finally arrived at her apartment, she stopped and gave him a quick hug.
"Wait here. I'll be quick," she said.
David started to object but she shushed him with an icy look.
"I don't feel like having to explain you, ok?" she said.
David sighed a weary 'whatever', and leaned against the wall as she entered the apartment. He could hear her through the door, speaking with someone. He couldn't make out their words but it sounded like an argument at first. Then he caught the sound of her laughter and remembered how she could be; how things had been with the gang. It was just her way.
He took in his surroundings as he waited. It was an old building, but surprisingly clean and orderly compared to the neighborhood outside. The noxious smells of the street had not penetrated into the building. And there had been ample security at the door. He was pondering what kind of jobs the residents here might do when the apartment door suddenly opened and Tamara rushed out, sooner than he'd expected.
She wearing the same color fluid overcoat but had donned a black t-shirt bearing the name of another band he'd never heard of, and carrying a glossy black tote bag over her shoulder. The cuff of a pant legging was hanging through a zipper on the bag, as if she had packed in a hurry.
"I can change the rest later," she said. "Let's go."
As they rushed away, David shot a few curious glances back at the apartment. Who was it that she didn't want to 'explain' him to? Another guy? And if so, how did they know each other…. what did he mean to her? Were they…
He felt a tug on his arm.
"C'mon," Tamara hissed. "We're gonna miss the tram!"
He rushed to keep up beside her, trying to push the idea of her with another guy out of his head. But it wouldn't go.
By the time they got back to the Stratocruiser, it was already headed towards dusk.
By the time they got to Manhattan, night had fallen.
6
They were standing at the back entrance to the building, on the balcony where, years before, David had first seen Skipper, waving to Hiro and Chioko as they'd unknowingly ushered him back to the place he now called home.
There was a man standing in the doorway, but it wasn't who David had come to see. The man was silhouetted by the light from the hallway. He was dark skinned, looked to be in his fifties; sweaty, overweight and balding, dressed in a white cotton shirt that seemed a size too small. He leaned heavily against the doorjamb, as if he couldn't hold up his own weight.
David had already introduced himself but the man just stared wordlessly, and then shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts.
"Quién estás buscando?" he said, a slight intoxicated slur in his voice.
David realized why the man hadn't understood him the first time. He sighed.
"Um, yo ness… uh, necesito Skipper. Tell him 'Brat' is here... El Brat aquí, por favor" he said.
"Brat." The man looked at David curiously as he repeated the word. He pointed over David's shoulder. "She brat?"
Wizzy was walking around the rooftop, eyeing some of the scalping arrays that had been built.
"Me?" she replied. "Oh yeah, me a brat, alright. A brat who's about to kick your-"
"Wizzzzz," David hissed over his shoulder. Tamara sighed, and forced herself into an apologetic smile.
"She's a friend… uh, me amigo," David said.
The man nodded his head and seemed like he was about to reply, when a sudden swell of music and laughter erupted from behind him. Someone had opened a door that led into the building. The festive sounds were silenced just as fast when the door was closed.
"Easy!" someone called down the hallway. "Don't just open the door for anyone!"
It was a man's voice. One that David knew well. He shuffled uncomfortably as he heard the man's footsteps approaching. The man came to door and leaned against the other, and they both looked David up and down.
"Oh, it's you" Eddie said, clucking his tongue. "Does Daddy know where you are?"
David knew he'd have to jump through a few apologetic hoops before he would be allowed inside.
"Hey Eds," he said, smiling meekly.
"Oh, it's 'Eds' now?" Eddie mocked. "So we're just gonna be friends again? After the shit your Daddy pulled."
Eddie had obviously been partying hard. His hair was mussed and his shirt seemed be on backwards. His plaid shorts were undone, as if they'd just been hastily put on. And there were a few wet spots down there. David didn't want to know what they were from.
"Look, I don't want to fight," David said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I need to talk to Skipper. I would have sent a text, but I'm on the down low, right now. It's important, Eddie. Or you know I wouldn't be here."
Eddie didn't reply at first. He was obviously having some difficulty standing. He teetered a bit and then draped his arm over the other man's shoulder. David was half expecting them both to fall on their faces, but they managed to stay upright.
"I should whup your little ass," Eddie slurred, pointing an accusing finger in David's face. Then he pointed at Tamara. "But that ebony princess behind you looks like some kind of warrior queen. She'll probably mess me up pretty good, wouldn't ya, darlin'?"
Tamara smiled in spite of herself.
"So what am I? A princess or a queen?" she said, a reluctant chuckle in her voice.
"Oops," Eddie giggled. "Did I mix metaphors?"
"Umm..." David said. "That's not really a mixed-"
"Who was talking to you?" Eddie blurted. "I was talking to the queen!"
Tamara laughed openly, and tensions seemed to relax.
"Explain this," Eddie continued. "Why is a divine warrior princess like yourself, hanging out with this soggy sack of flotsam?"
"Ok, that's a bit much," David said.
"So I'm a princess again?" Tamara said.
"Whatever, girl!" Eddie blurted in mock frustration. He waved his arms dismissively and turned to head back into the building.
The other man stepped aside and gestured for them to enter.
"You just in time for the party," Eddie called over his shoulder. "You can even bring that annoying clinger in with you."
7
Skipper listened carefully to David's request, but said nothing. After a silent minute, he swiped long gray strands of his hair from his sweaty forehead, and rose from the table. He seemed to be mulling over David's request as he grabbed a large mug from a shelf and filled it from a keg of beer that was fitted into an enclosure on the wall.
"Anybody else?" he said, glancing over his shoulder as he filled his mug. David and Wizzy declined the offer. Skipper grunted as if he found this insulting.
It hadn't been easy to pry him away from the party. They'd found him in a cluster of half-naked revelers, grinding against each other in time with the DJ's thumping trance rhythms. After a lot of yelling over the music, Skipper had pried himself away from the group, and led David and Tamara up an old stairwell that stank of brine, and into the 'kitchen'.
It had once been a conference room, where humorless men and women clad in dark business attire would gather around a large table to discuss their next big money deal while the world outside burned. The building's real kitchen was on the lower levels that had been submerged since before any of them were born. Scavengers had dredged up the ovens and brought them in here.
It was humid and hot, large slabs of were pig roasting over pit fires in large metal containers. Skipper had raised the pigs himself, on one of the upper floors, where he also kept a garden and medical provisions.
Bohemians of the apocalypse tended to be highly self-sufficient.
The party was still going on a level beneath them. Muffled sounds of laughter and music were a backdrop to their conversation.
"Sooo, implants?" Skipper said, finally responding to David as he plopped down on a chair across the large oak table. "I thought you hated all that brain tech crap."
"I do," David replied. "But there's a war on. I'll use whatever weapon is necessary."
Skipper screwed up his face in confusion, and then lifted his large mug to his mouth. He took down a gulp.
"War?" he said, wiping the foam from his chin. "Kid, the only war I know about is the one we're having with your damn Father over those Coney Island ruins. There's some good coin down there and he's got us locked out. I shouldn't even have let you in here."
"You're on lockdown, right?" David said.
Skipper pushed back in his chair and frowned.
"Yeah, Hobby is at it again," he said, frustration in his voice. "All inbound communications are restricted until blahblahblah. But this shit is typical. The notice didn't say anything unusual."
"That's because he's not letting you in on it," David replied.
"In on what?" Skipper asked.
"It's too much to go into now, but you shouldn't be a target," David said. Then he looked suspiciously at Skipper. "Unless, of course, you have any unlicensed bots around."
Skipper cocked his head to the side, as if he was thinking about that.
"But you shouldn't, right?" David said. "Because this is a Mecha restricted zone. And you would get in serious trouble if you did… right?"
"Well, uh…" Skipper stopped and took another sip from his mug. "I couldn't say I know of any bots like that."
David smiled knowingly at Skipper. The man raised his eyebrows a few times and chuckled.
"Well, if you see any, shut 'em down," David said. "Somebody…. some 'thing', is watching; waiting for a chance to breach security. And that's why I'm here. I can't go to a commercial shop. Everything has to be below the radar. I need someone who can do implants off the grid, and I need them tonight. I can pay in newbucks."
"You know freelancing implants is illegal, right?" Skipper said.
"Since when did that matter to you?" David replied.
The man chuckled and looked at David with caution.
"You, uh… you fixin to ride the wire, boy?" he said, a look of concern in his eyes.
"You know me better than that," David replied.
Skipper pinched his scruffy chin as his eyes flashed back and forth between David and the silent girl who accompanied him.
"Your name was, uh …Wizzy?" he said.
Tamara nodded but said nothing.
"You put him up to this?" Skipper said.
"Don't hang this on me," she replied, casting a sidelong look at David. "He comes up with his own crazy notions."
Skipper nodded, seeming satisfied with this answer, and turned back to David.
"What makes you think I know anyone who does that kind of work?" he said.
"If anyone in Manhattan knows, it's you," David replied.
Skipper stared at David for a time, his old face unreadable. Then he wiped the hair from his forehead again and looked towards the space over David's shoulder.
"Easy, this is David Hobby, local rich brat and son of a major pain in my ass," he said. "You heard everything I did, so it's your call."
David turned to see someone standing in a dark corner, looking back at him with skeptical eyes. It was the same man who had greeted them at the door; the one who could barely stand up.
"David, meet Eztli Cocotle," Skipper said. "We call him Easy because it's easier. He's been with us a few months by now. You stupid enough to stick implants in your head, he's your man."
"Como," Easy said, flashing a broad smile at David.
Tamara made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. David pretended to not hear her.
"Uh… I'm fine," David replied. He turned back to Skipper.
"Him?" he whispered. "Skipper, this guy can barely stand up!"
"Now now, you're just going by looks," Skipper scolded.
Tamara laughed aloud this time.
David shot her an impatient look.
"Ol Easy here was a practicing physician," Skipper continued. "Serviced the good people of Valle Hermosa in Tamaulipas, Mexico, before an eight point quake launched a tsunami that sank half the farmland. Sea water killed the crops and the economy went with it. So everybody headed for good ol' El Norte. Half of 'em wound up in border camps. Legally speaking, Easy is not supposed to be here. But, ya know, water sinks walls, too."
David turned to look at Easy. The man was still smiling, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking at David with a knowing expression.
"You know what you're doing?" David said.
Easy nodded his head and spoke in a thick accent.
"Implanns? No prollem," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Veinte minutos for the plugs. Treinta más por calibración… y ya está… done. Pero necesitarás software, eh? Thass you prollem."
"Well, we got a house full of hackers," Skipper said, dismissively. "I'm sure I can dig up some cracked Familiar code around here somewhere."
He caught David's attention then, and looked the boy hard in the eye.
"This is basically trepanation, David. Punching holes in your head," he said.
"That's a bit of an exaggeration," David replied.
"Maybe, maybe," Skipper conceded, waving his mug back and forth, as to wave off the argument. "Yeah, the plugs are small, and don't penetrate the skull. But once he drills, you can't 'un-drill'. You can always pull the implants and fill the holes if you change your mind. But the scars will stay. And so does the other shit."
"What other shit?" David inquired.
Tamara grew curious too, propping her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her hands, like a child about to hear a bedtime story.
"The stuff they don't talk about in the manuals," Skipper said. "You're turning your brain into a computer interface. You'll have avatars floating around your head, picking up signals. Transmitting too. At least with stuff that's Familiar compatible. Some people never get the hang of it. Other people can't seem to let it go. Either way, it changes the way you see things... the way you interact with your fellow Organics. So, look before you leap, kid."
David found himself considering the man's words. He'd had no doubts since the idea first came to him, sitting on the beach the day before, Tamara sleeping beside him as he gazed on the 500. He had been that once, had lived in the digital realm; been part of it. There had been times during his new life when he'd wished he had access to that realm again, but he'd never desired to return to that life.
And although installing Familiar implants in his skull was nothing near becoming a machine again, there was something about the idea that now gave him pause.
"Look before you leap, kid."
He was Orga now. He loved being alive. The flesh, with all its entanglements and regrets; its desires, fears and vulnerabilities… it was real.
A memory came to him, of the people he'd seen on the tram earlier. Their faces. Weary and aloof, laughing and mischievous, and even threatening. A huddled mass of people, crammed into that moving metal box, each headed for their own destination, for their own reasons. He was one of them now. He had his own internal reasoning.
He was no longer just another part of the infrastructure. He was no longer a program.
Was that what was scaring him...? Would stepping foot back into the digital world make him something else? And would it be someone his Mother could still love?
There it was again; the sense of purpose that had brought him into this life: Her love.
But She was in danger now. And there was only one way to protect Her.
He turned to see Tamara looking on him with concern. She surprised him by placing her hand on his and gripping it tightly.
"You sure you want to do this?" she said.
"I need to do this, Wizzy" he replied. "101 has to be challenged in its world; where it's vulnerable. I can't think of any other way."
If Skipper or Easy found his words confusing, neither showed it.
Tamara suddenly leaned close and kissed David softly on the cheek. The feel of her lips so gently against his face, relaxed him; renewed his sense of purpose
"I believe you," she whispered softly in his ear. "Your crazy story… I believe. Do what you have to. I'll be here."
When she sat back down and smiled, David felt a grateful tear crawling into his eye. He wanted to say 'thank you'… wanted to say 'I love you',knowing now that it was true… but he was sure his voice would break. So the young lovers just stared at one another quietly, while the two men looked on.
Easy finally broke the awkward silence with a loud clap.
"Hagámoslo!" he cried, smiling and rubbing his hands together, as if to warm them up. "We do this, eh? Quinientos, señor y señorita. Five hunnred. Tiene dineo?"
8
"Perdón. My ennlish not too good," Easy said as David plopped down into a thickly cushioned chair. "But I don need say much."
They were two stories above the party now. The music was just a faint thumping, punctuated occasionally by the muffled voice of the DJ or the sound of someone screaming unintelligibly into the mike.
They'd left Tamara and Skipper in the kitchen, and came to a quiet room on the south side of the building. Easy served as Skipper's unofficial doctor in residence, and this was the place where he performed his duties in exchange for a safe place to hide from 'La Migra'. The room was clean and sanitized. And the medical equipment that lined shelves, or hung from hooks on the walls, looked surprisingly state of the art.
The room's southernmost wall was a large bay window that had somehow survived decades of storms and disrepair. It looked out on a panoramic view of the ruins of Manhattan. Darkness blanketed the world, broken only by the husks of the old skyscrapers which were dimly lit by a sliver of crescent moon.
"Well, my Spanish isn't stellar either," David admitted. He pulled his pod from his pocket, and started flipping though his apps, looking for the translator. But Easy snatched it away from him.
"No," he said, sternly, turning the pod off and placing it on a nearby table, where he'd already set a surgical drill on a steaming towel.
"Imma put plugs in you head," Easy explained slowly, in his thick accent. "No good for have pod on… comprende?"
"I get it," David replied. "You want to limit electronic activity until I'm plugged. Right?"
"Claro," Easy confirmed "No good for have signal. No good for have… uh, entrente… how you say…?"
"Incoming call?" David said.
"Si, incoming," Easy replied as he went to retrieve the drill. He returned to a place behind the chair and out of David's view.
David could feel the man's big hands against his head, pulling at his hair.
"Dirty, boy," Easy grumbled. "Mucha arena en tu cabello!"
"Oh yeah," David said with a realization. "I slept on the beach last night. Sorry… uh, 'siento'."
Easy sighed and went to place his drill back on the table. He returned with a handful of jell and began roughly scrubbing David's head. David was too embarrassed to complain about the way his head was being jostled back and forth.
When he was done, Easy retrieved the drill again and stepped behind the chair. David could feel the man pulling his hair aside and pinching at his scalp. Easy pinched hard, twice near the front of his head and then twice at the back. Then he leaned over so close that David could smell the alcohol on his breath, and feel whiskers against the side of his head.
"Don move, eh?" Easy whispered, and David was sure he heard a touch of merriment in the man's voice. "This going to … how you say?... hurt like hell?"
"Don't you have any anesthetics?" David cried.
"No time! Get ready," Easy said, in an almost malevolent tone. "Here comes!"
David gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, preparing for the excruciating pain of having his skull drilled.
The man suddenly screamed. It was a terrified sound and David almost bolted up from the chair. But he forced himself not to move; fearful of the man's drill tearing across his scalp.
"Dios Mío!" Easy screamed.
"What!" David yelled.
He opened his eyes to see the man standing in front of him, bent over, his body shaking.
"What happened?" David yelled. "What did you do?"
When the man finally stood up, David saw that his face was red and he was waving the drill back and forth in one hand while holding his stomach with the other… and laughing.
Laughing!
"Sitnto, siento, siento," Easy kept saying though his laughter. "I joke! I joke! No prollum. You fine. Job is done."
It took a moment for David's heart to stop racing.
"Done?" he said. "That fast?" He reached up to feel his head.
"No-no!" Easy yelled, jumping forward to grab David's arm. "Don put you dirty little hands, chico. Only holes por plugs. I do implanns now."
David relaxed back, and released a long sigh.
"That wasn't funny, you know," he said.
"Oh yes," Easy replied, chuckling. "You face. Oh my. Jodidamente gracioso! Very funny!"
"I know that word," David replied. "It doesn't mean 'very'"
Easy chuckled again, and waved the drill in front of David's face.
"Crees que te pellizqué, eh?" he said. "You think I pinch you head, but it was drill. Punta de plasma. Zap. Zap. Done. Rápido y limpia."
"Plasma drill?" David said. "That's an expensive piece of machinery."
Easy glared at David with mock umbrage.
"What you think? I am amateur?"
The man made a disgusted sound, but he was laughing when returned to the table. He started humming a merry tune as he sorted though some items there.
No, he was no amateur, David realized. He felt a small twinge of guilt for having presumed so much on the man's appearance. But this was not a good time for self-reflection on his prejudices. He had other things to worry about.
"Sorry," he said, when Easy came back to stand beside him. The man had put on surgical gloves and was holding long tweezers in one hand, and a small glass cup filled with a clear fluid and what looked like four small ball-bearings, in the other.
"Por que?" Easy said as set the cup down and began feeling around David's scalp again.
"For drawing conclusions based on your appearance," David explained.
Easy chuckled.
"Don worry," he said. "If I see me now, I be afraid too."
Easy laughed loud and hard, and David couldn't help but join him.
"'Eztli Cocotle'" David pondered aloud, after their laughter died. "That's not a Spanish name."
Easy didn't reply at first. David could feel him applying something cool and wet to the drill spots in his head.
"Is not," Easy said after a time. "Es un nombre 'Azteca'. Ancianos, eh? How you say.. 'ancient peoples'. Comprende?"
"Yes, the Aztecs," David replied. "A fifteenth century kingdom in southern Mexico. I've read about them."
Easy chuckled to himself, and David felt the man doing something with the tweezers at the back of his head.
"You know, 'Mexico' not Spanish name too," Easy said as he worked.. "Peoples livin there long time when Espanolas come with they flag and they crucifijo. Jus like Estados Unidos, eh? Europe peoples come and say 'now this our home, and you is all ilegales!"
He laughed again, but in a way that was not exactly humorous. David knew better than to join in this time.
"Pindejos," Easy muttered, when he was done laughing.
David started to say something, but the man reached down and placed his large, gloved hand over David's mouth.
"Ayyy! Niño pájaro!" he complained. "You like the little bird! Chirp-chirp-chirp! Este es trabajo duro! Silencio!"
David didn't understand all of that, but he knew the words that mattered.
9
It wasn't long. About 15 minutes of David listening to Easy hum old Mariachi songs as he poked and prodded. And it wasn't painful. The man's hands worked smoothly, deftly over David's scalp.
Easy made him keep his eyes closed, explaining that he'd understand why when the time came. David had read a lot about how Familiar technology worked, in the documents that Jenna had brought him, but nothing about the actual implanting procedure. So he'd have to trust the man that was humming cheerfully over his head.
Eventually Easy stopped humming and David felt more cool jell being applied. Then what felt like his hair being brushed and smoothed into place.
Was it over? He heard Easy step away and then return to stand nearby.
"Is it done?" David said eagerly, keeping his eyes closed.
"Almos," Easy replied. His voice was distracted, as if he was doing something while he spoke. The anticipation was starting to bother David. He was fidgeting like a child. But he couldn't stop himself.
"Ojos cerrados," Easy said, finally. "Comprende? Keep eyes closed."
"Comprende," David replied.
Then he heard the snick of a button being pressed.
Behind the darkness of his eyelids David suddenly saw a small white dot appear. As he watched, it slowly grew to appear about the size of a baseball held at arm's length. He almost jumped in his excitement.
Then it began to take on features.
"Ok, don be scared" Easy said. "You see now a light. Watch this. It will change into-"
"A face!" David said excitedly. "Yes, I see it! A face! It's… oh… oh, man. It's…"
"You face?" Easy said.
"Yes," David said in amazement. "It's my face!"
"Hmm. That is fast," Easy said, sounding impressed. Then he explained.
"Es tu 'avatar'," he said. "Es tu autoimagen residual… how you say…"
"Residual self-image!" David replied quickly. "I get it! An automatically generated digital refection of the self-image in my brain."
"Bien, bien," Easy said, again impressed. "You read much, eh? Is good. Only face now. Body come later, after we-"
"I already see it," David said with a laugh.
"Que?" Easy said in disbelief.
"I can see a body… my body!" David chortled. "I just thought of a body, and there it was. It's dressed in…"
David suddenly stopped. He realized that his mentally projected avatar was dressed in clothes he had not worn in a long, long time: the outfit his first family had been given by Cybertronics to dress him in. They were the same clothes he had been wearing the day 'She' had awakened him to the world of sentience.
Then, with a shock, he realized that it was not his face he saw, not the face that had grown into that of a young man…. but a boy's face; his other face… the face of the Mecha child he had once been.
David clamped his mouth shut to keep from crying out. What did this mean?
"David?" Easy said, hesitantly. "Que pasa?"
"I'm good," David said. "I can see my avatar's body. That's all I was gonna say." He was too busy trying to understand the meaning of the avatar's clothes and face to sense the growing caution in Easy's voice.
"Extraño," Easy said. He took a deep breath before he continued.
"Ok… Now you try move avatar. Just think, and try make move. Try walk and -"
"Done," David said.
Easy uttered a snort of disbelief.
"You play me?" he said after a moment.
"No," David replied, eyes closed tightly as he manipulated the little David in his brain to run and jump and do flips. "It's easy. It's supposed to be easy, right?"
"Don play, boy!" Easy said, and David finally heard the agitation in his voice. "I get monitor to see if you lying!"
"I'm not lying, Easy!" David said. "Why would I?"
"Ok, bien, bien," Easy said in an apologetic tone. "Most peoples take long time. You very quick. Rapido. Too quick, maybe."
Easy fell quiet again. David heard the man take in a deep breath and let it out. Then he continued in a new tone of voice.
"Ok. Is good," Easy started, slowly. "Cierra el avatar… Try make go away."
David thought his strange avatar away, and it zipped out of his sight.
"Done," he said. "It's gone."
Easy hummed thoughtfully.
"You very fast in this. Very" he said. "Ok. Now make come back."
David imagined his avatar, and it instantly reappeared
"It's back," he said, laughing.
"Si?... Bien, bien" Easy replied. But David heard a strange note of something else in his tone. Was it… fear? Why would he be afraid?
The man was quiet for a time, seeming to mull something over. David could hear his footfalls, pacing to and fro. He finally stopped and spoke.
"Open tus ojos, David. Tell me … que ves?"
David sat up in the chair and slowly opened his eyes. It took a moment for his vision to adjust to the stark light. Then he stared at the world around him, taking it all in.
Sudden tears flooded his new vision, and he had to cup his hands over his mouth to keep from crying out
He remembered now! He remembered how it used to be!
"I see…. everything!" he said.
(cont…)