So yeah, in a nut shell, I went to work and got prepped for the starting of the fall semester. I'm currently halfway through Bradbury's The Martian Chronicles. I first read it half-assed when everyone else was reading along to Huck Finn in English class. I didn't really enjoy it the first time around, but I also didn't really understand McCarthyism, nor did I really pay it much attention since I had to periodically pretend that I was paying attention. Now that I'm reading it with a contemporary mind aged about 18 years, I'm noticing more to it. Also, I've never really been too stoked on Bradbury from any of the other books I've read from him (Something Wicked This Way Comes, The Illustrated Man, & Dandelion Wine) but something about this book this time around, I'm enjoying the poetry of Ray's prose. While it seems dated in some regards, particularly the romantic Mars of H.G. Wells and E.R. Burroughs, and the pre-space race knowledge of what it was like traveling to outer space, the novel has a certain charm, mingled with a 1950's paranoia and sense of blind optimism. |
| I don't care who you are, that's a sweet cover. |
Besides my playing Civ (I managed to pull off a culture victory as Gandhi after having to eliminate Kamehameha since I didn't have enough time to wait for Polynesia to come under my influence) and reading Mars fiction, I've been overloaded with work from Spanish class. I wish I had a group of six other ethnically diverse people to form a study group and have wacky online adventures with. Maybe we'd even have a catchy theme song sung by some Alt Rock band. I would type something funny for you to toss into Google translate, but I'm sick of halbar Español for today, or however you conjugate hablar in Spanglish. I spent most of my time setting up all the ridiculous hoops one has to jump through when learning a language online for credit. The online third party site, with proprietary useless book that's a vessel for the $150 access code so you can participate in the class.
BTW, if you've been under a rock for the last few decades, higher education is a damn grift.
So, book reviews, life update, oh, right... novel chapter. So I just wrote today's chapter. This is essentially a first draft. Not really a rough draft, but definitely all new material that hasn't had much editing. This actually got an upvote on /r/cyberpunk_stories (which is standard), so I've got that going for me. We say it's not about the internet points, but how else am I supposed to gauge if I'm on the right track with the limited fanbase I'm shilling to?
So let's kick some tires and light some fires. Dog:
C:\>15_Notes_From_Thee_Underground
High noon was left far behind. Not even a
memory of daylight remained inside the drainage tunnels. Only a couple hours
had passed and time was already as irrelevant as direction and fresh air. Caged
industrial bulbs periodically marked branches from the path; each dim garrison
staving off an invasive black. Palatable darkness sat on Decker’s tongue
alongside the reek of city waste.
“I’m fraggin’ bored. I wish I had something
to keep my mind off how much it stinks down here,” Fixer griped. “I still can’t
believe you lost all our batteries.”
“If I drowned you wouldn’t have them
either,” Decker glowered in the dark. “Not like there’s signal down here,” His
last bar faded somewhere between now and downloading the original tunnel
blueprints.
“And then you have that rescue fish story,”
Brawl17’s implants glowed in the dark. “Even though none of us saw anyone pull
you out of the river.”
“No, bud, it was a fish that rescued him,”
Breaker chuckled, “’member? He saw some fish kid.”
“Oooh, riiight,” Brawl17 pat Decker on the
back like a sledgehammer. “Why don’t you ask your fish buddy to get your bag
back for us?”
“And bring some fraggin’ food while they’re
at it,” Worthington said from the rear with mute Manner.
Fixer moaned, “Who could think of eating in
this stink?”
“When this is all over, I should take you
on a tour of the reclamation tanks,” Sweeps said from the middle of the pack.
“That’s a reek you have nightmares about.”
The group cut their way through a black
patch in heavy silence. Light beams from Decker and Breaker’s palmtop displays
showed the way as they headed westward through Metro City’s guts. According to
the blueprints, they were inside the walls of Metro City proper, but finding a
way back up to the streets was another story.
“Gee Sweeps, way to kill the mood,” Breaker
flashed the light in Sweep’s mismatched eyes.
“Dammit, Breaker. I’m blind enough here
without your help.”
Brawl17 bowled into Sweeps, tumbling them
into the metal underfoot. No amount of, “Look out!” or, “Hey watch it!” stopped
the back ranks from falling head over feet on top of them.
Bruised bodies and egos untangled
themselves from the floor. Decker shined a light on the group of sore and sour
clones. Beneath their groans and expletives, He swore there was a hint of
gurgling laughter. No one looked to be having a good time.
“You dudes hear that?” Decker’s light was
swallowed in the open tunnelway. Night vision was just as much help.
“No.” Breaker shook something off his hand,
“But we’re okay, thanks for asking.”
Spun around by the arm, Decker was greeted by
tongueless ranting. Manner held his palmtop light as she wildly gestured at the
tunnel’s length.
“Whoa, down girl. There should be an access
hatch inside the city walls coming up. Second left then a right.” She shoved
him away and kicked with a sewage covered boot. “What the frag? I didn’t design
the place.”
“Who cares? Let’s move,” Brawl17 pushed him
forward. “I’m sick of being here.”
Industrial starlight from the next bulb
twinkled from lightyears away. Decker and Breaker illuminated the immediate
path ahead. Silence from the group behind grew oppressive in the reeking dark.
Shuffling feet and stifled breathing were the only accompaniment to the sound
of quickening water in neighboring tunnels.
“So I’ve been thinking,” Breaker said the
first thing in what felt like an hour instead of seventeen minutes, “about what
Sweeps said.”
“What’d I say?”
“About when this is all over.” Breaker’s
pale green eye light turned to the group. “Sure we’re protesting, rioting, and
revolting, but what for? It can’t just be for our lives, can it?”
Fixer’s shrug was audible, “Isn’t that what
people fight for in times like this? To show that their lives have worth and
belong where they are? Not like any of the guvvys are speaking up for the
cause.”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” Breaker mumbled. “Say, maybe that’s our problem. Instead
of building a darknet, we should have had Decker do some social engineering.
Eh? Eh?
“Oh, come
on guys. We don’t even have a good slogan, or-or-or even a hashtag. That’s
how you get the guvvys on your side. Just say catchy skag with buzzwords.”
Fixer scoffed, “Like, ‘No blood for organic
matter’?” Everyone groaned into laughter, unable to say it with a straight
face.
“Outta the broom closet and into the
streets!” said Sweeps. Everyone just groaned.
Decker said, “Been done.”
“We’re here! We’re engineered! Stop
murdering us for sport and pleasure!” Brawl17 boomed.
“A little long for a hashtag,” Sweeps hacked
and coughed.
“It’s hard to fit your hopes and dreams
into a sentence,” Fixer said.
“Exactly my point,” Breaker gestured with
his lighting hand. “Don’t you guys, ya know, want more than to just keep
living? We’re already surviving. Don’t you have any dreams or something that
keeps you going?”
Manner looked to Worthington, who was too
busy trying not to fall or barf.
Sweeps spat, “It seems like you do. Why are
you walking through Metro City’s
sewers on a trip to save some guvvy?”
“If you want clone lives to matter, you
really gotta stop with that guvvy slag,” Decker said.
“Then how about guvvys stop executing us in
the streets for the frag of it?” Brawl17 choked on his anger.
“Open up a black cross,” Breaker threw out
there to everyone’s confusion. Sheepishly, he added, “You know, install
people’s augments and skag.”
“I refuse to be your receptionist,” Fixer
deadpanned.
“Pft, bud, you ain’t got no clerical
skills. You can open up a workshop next door, though. We can combine our office
spaces into a one-stop-shop emporium for the self-enhancer on a budget.”
Breaker raised his hands in excitement. Everyone yelled at him to put the light
back on the walkway.
“I see you’ve thought a lot about this,”
Fixer said. “Glad to see you planned out my future in the process.”
“Aww, how sweet. The twins grafting slag
into the ghetto dwellers of Ocean City.” Sweeps hacked and spat into the
standing water below.
“Well what about you, Mr. Janitor?” Brawl17
said. “Surely you don’t want to be hosing out reclamation pits and drinking
piss at the Revolving Door the rest of your life.”
“I got a couple plans,” Sweeps said from
the corner of his mind. “Been saving away for them over the years. Who knows? Might
be able to act on it, depending on which side we’re standing on when this is
all over.” He scoffed, “Sometimes I wonder if we even can do anything outside
of what we’ve been programmed to do.”
“I’d like to think I’m a pretty good
example that we can,” The Twins said in unison.
“Fighting for my life is all I know how to
do,” Brawl17’s red eyes softened in the black. “What I was built for…”
A pregnant pause as each manufactured soul
searched itself.
“I hope I die before this is over,”
Worthington’s voice croaked from disuse. “Better than what I have ahead of me
otherwise.”
“If I can help it, you’ll never be tried
for identity theft,” Decker soothed.
“It’s not that, you idiot,” Worthington’s
voice broke. Manner took her hand.
Sweeps said, “Oh, skag. You’re almost four,
aren’t you?”
Her silence was enough of an answer.
Decker said, “So what, aren’t you like
thirteen or something, Sweeps?”
“Bud, don’t be such a guvvy,” Fixer
one-hand shoved Decker in the back.
Breaker said, “You ever wonder why there’s
such strict punishments for clone ID thieves? Or why there’s a whole
under-funded division in law enforcement for us?”
A hot flush of embarrassment hit Decker’s
chest and ears, “Uh, honestly? I never really gave it much thought. Most clones
in Hollywood are already using some stiff’s ID on Holovision.” Jeers and stray
limbs assaulted Decker from all sides. “Alright, chill, chill. Please,
enlighten me.”
“To remind us we’re just copies. And no
matter how perfect that copy is, we’ll never be the original.” Worthington’s
words hung in the dense air.
Decker searched himself for a response,
only finding ones that made him sound like an ignorant prick. His mind
wandered, as he blankly stared at the light he made. “Huh, I just remembered
the ‘Black Tie Event’.”
Brawl17 said, “What, you getting an award
for something?”
“Back when I was a kid, like ’76 or ’77, sometime
after the Red Light Massacre. My buddy Johnny told me… whatever, I’m getting
side tracked. So like this Pharrel Studios Exec OD’d at this club, Bizzaro’s or
some skag like that. Turned out it was the dude’s clone, and they’d already
been dead for, like, a decade. Started a huge paranoia wave along the coast. Lotta
people died, outing their neighbors as clone and skag. Even though your plain
Jane can’t even afford a domestic clone, let alone a glamour. No offense,
ladies.”
Manner made no effort to respond.
Worthington exhaled through her nose, “It sheds some light on why we glamours
self-destruct after four years.”
“Oh, skag.” Decker looked back at her faint
night-vision outline.
“Unraveling at the genetic level doesn’t
leave behind a pretty corpse,” Sweeps said.
Worthington mumbled, “It doesn’t leave
behind much of anything, really.”
“I’m sorry,” Decker whispered. “I didn’t
even know. Trip’s the bio expert.”
“Is that why we’re risking our necks for
him on this detour?” She snapped back.
“You didn’t have to come along,” Fixer
said. “Trip is good people, and I would count him as a friend.” Rushing water
echoes filled in the pause, “If he’s in trouble, I’d help him as much as our
crappy guvvy guide here.”
Decker sniffled back tears, instantly
regretting the use of his nose, “That means a lot to me, Fix.”
“Frag off.”
Flickering orange from a forgotten bulb
marked the entrance of the first offshoot. Fast water movement reverbed with
metallic sharpness up the unexplored tunnel branch. Musty cool air stirred the
stagnation within their own section, bringing new aroma’s along with it.
“Sweet fraggin’ skag,” Fixer dry heaved.
Sweeps said, “It smells like a trash barge
midday in August.”
“It’s like a filled diapers rolled in vomit
and wrapped in wet dog fur,” Decker added.
Breaker said, “I’d say closer to an old
dish sponge floating in a backed-up Tex-Mex restaurant toilet.”
“You guys don’t know skag,” Brawl17 waved
his hand in front of his face. “It’s what it smells like when you gut someone
and nick their GI tract.”
“For frag’s sake, get me out of this pit
with you dudbatches.” Worthington choked back bile, “I dread the trip to
Hollywood after the first half of this train wreck.”
“Oh, come on Worthy, take a guess at the
smell,” Breaker said. “It’s fun for the whole family.”
“I think Brawl already won,” Fixer said.
“Bulltaco,” Decker said. “He was just
last.”
Breaker took a gamble and shined his light
back towards the female clones. Manner nudged her lover in the ribs.
Worthington looked like she drank a glass of pickled lemon juice. Whoops of
encouragement built itself into a jubilant wall of sound. Manner clapped out a
rhythm as the boys chanted out, “What’s that smell? What’s that smell?”
“It smells like skag and mold. Happy?” Worthington’s added, “Fraggin’
cakehole sucking pricks,” under her breath.
“Lady, the only thing filthier than these
tunnels is your mouth,” Brawl17’s old combustion engine laugh rumbled through
the area.
Decker swore he caught another gurgling
laugh beneath their own, but kept his mouth shut. He swapped vision overlays
from heat signature, to echolocation, finding nothing but more darkness and
cheaply printed ‘30s era industrial craftsmanship.
*
An underground river met the group at the
first right after the second left. Lighting wasn’t much better than the
neighboring tunnels, but enough for reflections in brown ripples before it
rushed over the tunnel’s end into a churning sump pit. Floodlights made a
flickering halo around the weathered purification pump in the center of the
massive chamber. Heavy machinery and waterfalls drowned out the sounds of the
clones yelling at Decker for guiding them to a dead end.
“There’s
gotta be an access hatch somewhere along the rim.” He shouted back, but no
one heard a damn thing. His nanomachines formed their own ear protection
membrane.
He shined the light on himself and tried body
language to communicate his intentions to investigate. No one really seemed to
get it. Decker crept to the edge of the opening, searching for any kind of surface
route. The roof of the chamber might as well have been a starless night sky.
A catwalk looped around from their tunnel,
missing a decent portion of its floor to corrosion. Decker enhanced the tunnel
blueprints in his HUD, feeling along the wall for any semblance of a ladder. Both
night vision and his light were less than useless in helping peer out through
the darkness along the rim of the water treatment hub. All he could spot was a rent
apart hole in the floor that had another side someplace towards the sound of
another water fall. Decker clung to the wall, feeling still moist clothing
press against his filthy skin.
In his HUD he matched blueprints against
what was drawn in the cartography app. Only to come up with the same route
leading to a ladder that was nowhere. Decker banged his fist against the wall
in frustration, clanging off something metal. He yelped in pain then shined his
light on the problem.
A broken spine of metal rungs rose along
the sheer wall into the black above.
“Hey. Clone people. There’s a ladder.”
“What?”
The group said collectively.
“I
said there’s a fraggin’ slagged ladder.”
From what the poor lighting would show, no
one could hear what Decker said. His augmented eyes rolled in the dark, then
projected white text superimposed on a warning sign, reading: LADDER AROUND THE
CORNER. MIND THE GAP.
He flipped back to his palmtop’s flashlight
app as something caught his eye in the distance. Sparse light rippled in the
green tint of Decker’s night-vision. Splashes vanished into the river in the
middle of the fast moving channel. A glisten rose from the river of waste
water, slipping into the far bank shadows, followed by another, then another.
I DON’T THINK WE’RE ALONE.
Manner grabbed for her sword as Worthington
checked her gun. She shook water from it, frustrated at her lack of dry ammo.
Brawl17 got into ready position, scanning from side to side for anything to
happen.
Gurgling laughter rose above the sound of
the river. Meager lighting showed just enough to know something was lurking in
the shadows across the water.
FRAGGING MOVE!!!!!!!!!!
Breaker edged forward with his weak palmtop
light, trying not to make sudden movements. Fixer held onto his free hand as
they sidled around the corner. Sweeps turned away from the catwalk railing and
was pulled down by his boot, catching the rail post between his legs.
Decker illuminated the scene on an albino
clear arm covered in iridescent scales reaching from murky water. Worthington
and Brawl17 each grabbed an arm and pulled him onto the catwalk.
Decker gave a, “Sacred skag,” that no one heard.
His light wouldn’t reach much further
across the river, but splashes into it were enough to confirm a full scale
invasion incoming. Like a silvered rocket, a spindly body thrust from the
river, hurdling over the railing and into Brawl17, smashing him into the wall.
Another and another splatted and splashed onto the crowded walkway, cutting off
a means of retreat.
Brawl17 slipped and squirmed as his
attacker lashed out wildly with webbed claws. Decker gave it a sharp boot to
the side that only managed to piss it off more. Manner backed up against the
pressing horde. She swung her sword, gimped in its arc by the close walls.
Worthington picked up Sweeps—nursing his nards—from the floor, then wrenched
off a loose piece of railing. The horde filing in against Manner grew bolder,
with exploratory grasps and slashes flung her way. Manner speared a fiend on
the tip of her broadsword, raising a shriek of terror and rage from the group.
A moments distraction was all Brawl17
needed to gain the upper hand in his struggle. He twisted the slick beast to
the floor and snapped its neck. It twitched and gurgled as Brawl17 hoisted the monster
into the air and flung it overhead at the group of monsters.
“Come
on,” shouted Breaker from the corner, waving his light wildly towards the
exit route.
Pandemonium broke as the back ranks of
scale clad brutes leapt over the front ranks, pinning the armed members of the
group down, to let them be trampled by the surging company.
Decker was gripped about the throat by a
cold and clammy hand that felt like six fingers crammed into three on one hand.
He punched wildly at the angry lamplight in the beast’s eyes. Regaining his sense,
he dialed up the welding torch for his omni-glove and jammed it straight into
the thing’s pupil. A terrible shriek broke through the din as Decker rode an
adrenaline rush to shoulder the bastard over side-railing and into the
underground river. Worthington and Brawl17 fended off their own troubles.
Worthington brained one beast, then cracked into the back of another’s neck
with an undisciplined swing. Brawl17 fought like he was born to the job,
cutting through foes with brute strength and series of augmented grapples that
left slimy corpses piled in unnatural poses. Manner was more overwhelmed than
anything.
Relegated to series of thrusts and parries
with a two-handed sword was wearing on the silent domestic clone. Her opponents
gained ground, and gripped her sword arm, yanking her off balance. She fell
amongst the bodies littering the narrow pathway, having a flippered hand find
its place on her neck, hungry jaws biting for her flesh. Manner gripped it by the
neck with both hands and snapped it. She rolled from her supine position out of
the way from another’s leaping attack. Brawl17 snatched it by a fin trailing
its back and separated it from the beast’s body. Its cry of pain was nothing
any human had ever made, loaded with temptraits or not.
Breaker called out again, franticly waving
his light from the edge of the ruined outcropping. Fixer and Sweeps were gone,
already making their way up the maintenance ladder. Decker fashioned his
omni-glove into a pry bar and was bashing in faces of those foolish enough to
get close to him. He crept, back to the wall, to his friend’s position when a
thick muscled wall of black scales and aquatic humanoid features tore down the
corner rail. It crowded between the exit and rest of the group, making an
effective wall.
It roared in ferocity, bumped into from
behind by the remnants of the attacking vanguard. Worthington slipped in
between its legs and bashed the jagged rusty end of her broken metal bar into a
soft scaled underbelly. The beast howled in pain, smashing a boned fist into
the pavement, trying to follow up with its jaws around her head, finding a
mouthful of dead fish friend.
It grabbed her by the hair as she lost hold
of her weapon. It rolled away into the churning waters pumping below.
Worthington struggled against the hold on her hair when a sword burst through
the beast’s gut. It shrieked in dismay and disbelief, dropping Worthington.
Upon contact with the floor, Worthington
slipped in her flats, sliding off the side of the walkway. She grasped onto the
twisted metal where the dying brute burst into their lives. Breaker grabbed
onto her arm and the rickety railing as she lost her grip. Behind, Manner and
the reflection of multiple targets danced in the dim light. Thrashing about
with Manner’s sword jammed through its center, the dying fish monster flung
Brawl17 into the rails. They bent outwards, knocking Breaker and Worthington
over the edge, hanging over the great pit of water treatment.
With a yelp Decker slid on his belly to
grab onto Worthington’s arm. “Breaker. Don’t you fraggin’ dare let go, dude,”
he shouted at his friend. The railing sagged further from their weight.
Decker looked anywhere for help. Above them
the lights of a city evening shone through an access hole with Fixer or Sweeps
peering down on them. Behind, Manner had her hands full, Brawl17 was whooping
and hollering at the fun he was having picking on someone his own size.
Decker magnetized his omni-glove—getting a
firm grasp on the railing—and pulled with all the might his skin, muscle and
bone reinforcements would allow. Breaker got his legs wrapped around the
platform supports, still holding onto Worthington. They got her hoisted up to
where she could hold on with her hands.
Breaker shouted, “Alright Worthy, hang on, we’ll get you up.”
“I
can’t do this much longer. And don’t call me Worthy.”
Decker gave one last yank upwards as
Brawl17 freed Manner’s sword with a push kick into the brute’s back. Brawl17
collapsed to the ground, panting, as the beast stumbled forwards. It tipped
right over the edge, tumbling straight into the dark pit all the tunnel
waterfalls fed into. Decker and Breaker had their arms wrenched near free from
their sockets as the monster fell over the side, grabbing onto Worthington in a
final chance for survival, taking her down into the churning waters below.
The stragglers of the first wave fled back
up the tunnels at the loss of their bruiser. Manner turned around to see Decker
helping Breaker crawl back onto the platform with the remaining group. Brawl17
tried to hand back her sword, but Manner pushed past, eyes growing in terror. She
threw her limited gaze back and forth for a sign of her love. Looking in
Decker’s face, she was half wild with a desire for someone to tell her the
thoughts forming in her mind were a lie.
In the dark, right before the ladder to salvation,
only truth looked back wherever her eyes fell.
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