by Jared Axelrod | Feb 4, 2006 | Story |
Marcus crooked his fingers around each of his eyeballs, and plucked them out with a small “pop.” He unceremoniously placed the squishy orbs in a small jar of salt water on his desk.
“Marcus! Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Stella was leaning against the door frame as she yelled; she hadn’t quite gotten used to the half- inch diameter pole that now connected the top half of her ribcage to the lower half of her pelvis. It was still a bit of a balancing act for her to stay upright.
“I can’t look at you,” Marcus said, slowly spinning around in his chair. The light glinted softly off the modular plugs deep within his empty eye sockets. “I’ve removed my eyes. In a minute I’m going to do the same thing to my ears so I can play Galactic Conquest Online. I just got to Level 546, so if you’ll excuse me, I have a spaceship to select.”
Stella looked at the game module in Marcus’s lap and seethed. “You spend more time on that game than you do with me! I go through all this surgery so I can look beautiful for you–”
“Don’t start that! I never asked you to remove your midriff! That was your decision! You’re always getting things removed. You know what I miss? Your toes! You think I like feeling those cold stiletto monstrosities you call feet up against my legs at night?”
“You know what I miss? I miss you! You’re always plugged in to this goddamn game!” Her multicolored eyes blazing orange and red, Stella snatched the game module away from her boyfriend.
“You bitch! You fucking whore!” Marcus waved his arms blindly. His left arm made contact with Stella, but only succeeded in knocking her up against his chest of drawers. The game module skittered across the floor. Stella found her body crumpled and unresponsive; the impact had broken her torso pole in half. She tried to get up, but only succeeded in spastically kicking Marcus’s desk.
Marcus got out of his chair in order to better feel about for the game module. He heard Stella kicking his desk, but he didn’t turn around to her until he heard the crash of glass, as a jar fell off his desk.
It wasn’t until he heard the squish and pop underneath his boot that he realized what the jar had held.
by J.R. Blackwell | Feb 3, 2006 | Story
“Let me tell you about the revolution.†said Hack as I lay back, enjoying my smoke. Hack and I engaged in the worlds’ two oldest professions. I sold sex, and Hack stole stuff. Recently, Hack had been doing well enough to become a frequent client.
Hack wasn’t so bad, for a geek. His hair was a greasy mess and his stubble was scratchy on my skin but he always brought weed when he came over. I considered the drugs a peace offering for what would happen later. Hack pulled small black box out of his backpack, which was made of melted tires. “This box will unlock your house.â€
I watched the smoke leave my lips in a stream and raised a sleepy eyebrow. “What do you mean?†The more time we spent talking about his projects, the less time I would have to spend naked. I might actually get another hour out of it.
“Just this, Jack.†Jack was the name I had told him, not very feminine, but I thought it sounded edgy. He slapped the box on the wall, and it whirred, blinking red. I found the color mesmerizing as it faded in and out, a soundless chime.
Hack stroked the box. “This is something I put together from old parts, but it’s made on a code that I found floating around the third world net. It unlocks all the content in your house, the music, the shows, even the programming on your PC. It configures your whole system to open source.â€
I sat up, trying to shake off the haze. “Oh shit Hack, what the fuck did you do?†I looked at the evil box on my wall and felt nauseous. “Holy crap! If the cops get a link on this I’m fucked!â€
“Calm down Jack, this is very new stuff. Third world. They are not going to get a link on it.â€
I couldn’t be pacified. I was not a child. The red blinking light suddenly looked like a police siren. “Hack! You know how illegal open source stuff is. Why the hell did you bring that here? If the cops find it, I’m going to be in jail forever.†I got up and pulled on my soft velour overcoat, not even bothering to throw on my dress. “I’m leaving. I do not want to be here when the cops arrive and find the open source.â€
“Stop freaking out Jack! The drugs are making you paranoid.†Hack got up and walked over to me, putting his big hands on my shoulders. “I configured this thing to avoid police scans. I’ve had it running for weeks at my place and I’ve yet to see a cop.â€
It occurred to me that his program to avoid police scans must be why he was tipping so well. “Really?â€
“Yeah, really. If you want, we can reset your house’s program when I leave.â€
I shrugged. It wasn’t my house anyway; the place belonged to the madam. “Sure, okay.†I said, and giggled suddenly, thinking about Bera getting busted for open sourcing. It would serve her right.
“With this, you can get your shit to play on anything; you can rip it and trade it or whatever. You don’t have to buy new tech to make things run.â€
“You’re shitting me.â€
“No. The third world uses this kind of thing to rip and sell stuff back to us on the cheap. It’s illegal, but the laws in some places are pretty flexible.â€
I wondered how long I could keep him talking. “That’s cool.†I said, playing nice.
Hack handed me another blunt. “Smoke up babe. This is the revolution.â€
by Jared Axelrod | Jan 31, 2006 | Story |
“The fact remains, ladies and gentlemen, we have to meet the Geert price,†Fawzia Chiranov said. “We ought to do better than the Geert price, but due to the nature of our company, we’ll probably get by merely with meeting them. But I will tell you this, we lose this bid, we lose the planet.â€
Naturally, this was scoffed at. Fawzia was used to this. She charged a great deal for her opinions and consultations, and she was paid for them because she was always right.
“You mean, we’ll lose the contract.†Usamah Afifi had a tendency to bob his shriveled bald head when he talked. Fawzia found it difficult to look at him and not to picture a turtle in a Brooks Brothers suit. “We’ll lose the bid. We’ll get ‘em next time.â€
“No,†Fawzia said. “We won’t. There won’t be a next time. We lose this bid, we’re finished. The Geert will have control of the Earth.â€
“I think you’re being a little too xenophobic, Ms. Chiranov,†said Eugeny Ruzhan from the head of the table. Ruzhan was considered a war hero; he had designed the robot that won the Kasi War. He still wore his medal pinned to the front of his coat, though the Kasi War had been over long before Fawzia was born. “The Geert are shrewd businessmen, but they aren’t out to take over the world!â€
The board laughed at this. Fawzia only scowled.
“That is where you are wrong, Mr. Ruzhan. The Geert are a conquering people. We forget what that means, these days. But they are. They have been buying up and sending out of business Earthan companies for the past few years. We’re one of the last ones, and if Aczel Interplanetary falls, the Geert will control the commerce and economy of the people of Earth.â€
“How could they have done this?†Jit Shiew Han asked. She had recently had her face redone, and she looked younger than Fawzia, despite being twice her age. It made it difficult for Fawzia to take her seriously.
“By being single-minded on a cultural level. Despite the appearance of multiple Geert industries, they all have the same goal: overrun a planet, absorb its workforce as slaves, move on to the next. They’ve done this on a dozen worlds already.â€
“What do you suppose we do?†Afifi asked. “We’re bidding as low as we can. How can we hope to compete?â€
“We stop paying our workers,†Fawzia said. “We stop paying them, we work them day and night, and we provided them with only the most basic nutrition.â€
“You’re talking slavery,†Afifi huffed.
“I’m talking of the only defense from slavery. We don’t do this, we lose this contract, there will not be another. Which means it will only be a matter of time before this board reports to Geert masters.â€
“It can’t just be down to us,†Han said, her voice quavering. “What about Calaerts? Ghenadie Tech? Easwarau?â€
“Calaerts is three months away from filing bankruptcy,†Fawzia said. “Ghenadie Tech is being forced into a plan which will downsize them considerably, and it’s only a matter of time before they are absorbed by a larger Geert corporation. And Easwarau—â€
Ruzhan cut her off. “Easwarau was bought outright by the Geert. Saw it on the feed this morning.†Fawzia nodded. “Send out a memo to our employees. We’re following Ms. Chiranov’s suggestions to the letter.â€
“They’ll never go for it,†Afifi said. “They’ll riot.â€
“They’ll go along with the plan,†Fawzia said. “Just remind them their freedom is at stake.â€
by Jared Axelrod | Jan 29, 2006 | Story |
Tomasine Acero folded her hands on her desk, and then opened them in a manner that she hoped would suggest both an understanding on her part and an acceptance of the inevitability of fate. “You have to understand their point of view,” she said. “They are trying to sell a house. You are saying that you want to rent it before you buy, well, that makes them uncomfortable.”
Mr. and Mrs. Smar were not calmed by Acero’s hand motions, Mrs. Smar in particular. “Uncomfortable? We’ve been living in a damn Honvar ever since the Caern came! All our clothes are in plastic bags…there wasn’t any time to pack.”
“I understand,” Acero said.
“I don’t think you do,” Mr. Smar said, gripping his wife’s shoulders tightly. “We just want a house in our old colony. And we need it before our Ellroy starts school. We don’t want to uproot the poor guy, not after the raid.”
“He saw what happened to our neighbors,” Mrs. Smar said, her eyes on the floor. “He saw it before we did. If he hadn’t, we wouldn’t have made it out in time. But my poor boy, having to see…those pieces flying, and all that blood. We need this house, Ms. Acero.”
“And I understand that.” Acero had her fingertips down on the desk, supporting the palms. Hands like sheltering structures. “But you aren’t the only one from your colony looking for houses that survived the raid to come back to. And the seller, he wants proof that you aren’t going to rent for a year and be on your way.”
“You want proof?” Mr. Smar almost leapt out of his chair. “Go by my house. Go by the burned-out crater that used to be where my family lived. Go and see the charred and mutilated body parts that used to be old Mr. Fufferds and his wife. Maybe they can cut those bits down from the trees while they’re at it. We survived a raid, Ms. Acero. My own father couldn’t even say that. I think we’ve suffered enough.”
Acero found herself involuntarily self-hugging. She shook away the image of some kindly retired couple strung about a yard, and the alien mind that considered such a dismemberment amusing. She placed her palms together. It was time to project strength and resolve. “What the seller is asking for is some sort of deposit. Your Honvar, maybe?”
“Can’t do it,” Mr. Smar said. “Our ship’s our livelihood.”
“Well, in that case, how about your boy? You could give the seller him.”
“I’m not selling my son into slavery,” Mrs. Smar said.
“He wouldn’t be a slave,” Acero said. Hands open again, fingers apart, bent out at the wrist. Imply trust. “He would be an indentured servant. Only until the seller is convinced of your intent to buy. He’d still be able to attend his old school, see his old friends, only his time outside of school would belong to the seller.”
“Is there any other option?”
“Not unless you want a colony further out, Mrs. Smar. But I wouldn’t suggest it. The further out you go, the closer you are to Caern worlds…” Acero massaged her temple, looked to the left, and projected pure, unadulterated concern. “..,.I just wouldn’t want anything more to happen to you.”
Mr. and Mrs. Smar looked at each other and then simultaneously turned around in their chairs to watch their six year-old son play through the window to the lobby,
“Where do we sign?”
by Jared Axelrod | Jan 26, 2006 | Story
Turnstyle aimed carefully, took into account the drift from the barely oscillating fan, and hit his brother Alphonse in the back of the head with a cigarette butt.
“Quit that,” Ingram said. Watching this is why she never liked being at Turnstyle’s place, but it beat staying at school.
“Why? He ain’t gonna notice. Fucking walltalker.” Turnstyle lit another cigarette and offered one to Ingram. She shook her head violently. “I think I still got some nanites left from the other night. I know for a fact there’s soy sauce in the kitchen.”
“Not on your life. My stomach still hasn’t recovered from the cooking oil wine you made last time.” Ingram started absent-mindedly picking at the exposed foam that blistered through a hole in the sofa.
“That was good shit,” Turnstyle said. “Good shit. You’re crazy. We could go see if we could find Al’s Roulette stash.”
“Oh, hell no!” Ingram said. “You do know why they call it ‘Roulette’ right? ‘Cause every time you take it there’s a chance your brain’s gonna explode! You wanna be a walltalker?”
“Maybe. Least Al’s never bored.” Turnstyle looked at his brother releasing a steady stream of words toward the wallpaper. Alphonse’s voice was barely above a whisper, and his face was blank. But he never stopped talking.
“I invented Roulette,” Turnstyle said, abruptly.
“Fuck off.”
“No, seriously. Somebody had to turn grandpa’s stroke medicine into a rec drug. Why couldn’t it have been me? You’re saying I don’t see the entertainment value of something that connects your neurons in new ways?”
“First off, you don’t even know what a neuron is–”
“Do too!”
“Secondly, if you had, you could afford some proper alcohol, and you wouldn’t have to reprogram the decontamination nanites.”
“Well, yeah…but…” Turnstyle scrunched down into the sofa. He took what was left of his cigarette and flicked it–still lit–at Alphonse. He missed by a good three feet.
“Was that lit? You’re going to burn the walls down, you are. What would your Pa say, you did that?”
“Same thing he always says: ‘Fuck! Why aren’t you in school?’ ” Tunrstyle stared at his 14-year-old older brother, who was staring at the wall. “Goddamn walltalker.”
“Ah, don’t be like that. Go get your soy sauce.”
“You sure?”
“Why not?” Ingram said. “Nothing else to do.”
