Nexus (25 page)

  [sam] I need to see if she's dosed you with anything.
  [kade] I would have told you.

  [sam] Maybe. If you knew. If you could. Hold out your hand.

  Kade did as he was told. Sam took his free hand in hers. With her other hand she produced a small black rectangular device. She pressed it against the tip of his finger. He felt a brief sting, then a tiny bit of suction. Sam held it there for a few seconds, removed it, put it back in her pocket.

  She snuggled against him, gave him a smile. "So, you had a good dinner?"
  [sam] How'd it go?

  [kade] Good. She invited me to come visit the lab, see if I was a good fit for the postdoc position. 

  [sam] Excellent. Now, walk me through the dinner. Let me see it and hear it from your perspective.

  Show time indeed. Kade let himself sink into the alternate memories Shu had scripted in his mind. They fit like a mask, like a garment over his mind, like a role he was playing on a stage. He opened himself to Sam.

  She roamed through his memories of the night. He watched her. She skimmed the early part of the conversation, focused on the work portion, absorbed the deliciousness of the meal, the sensuality Shu exuded as she savored the food.

  Kade found himself becoming aroused. Sam's body felt good against his. She was snuggled against him, his hand on the swell of her hip. She felt firm, athletic, and still she had these curves… He could smell her hair. He liked her warmth, her touch.

  Sam noticed his response. She moved fractionally further away, opening a tiny space between their bodies. His hand was still on her hip, but the message was clear:
This is just an act, buddy.

  Kade sighed. It wasn't like he
wanted
to be turned on by Samantha Cataranes.

  Sam went back to sifting through his memories. She scanned the dinner and conversation from beginning to end. If she detected any flaw, if she was suspicious in any way, she didn't show it.

  Sam and Kade's phones buzzed simultaneously. It was a message from Narong.

 

Meet me out front of mixer at 10.15 to head to the afterparty?

 

  [kade] What's this afterparty about?

  [sam] It's a chance to get closer to Narong, which means closer to Suk Prat-Nung and his uncle Ted. We're going.
  [kade] You're the boss.

 

  They went back into the mixer, mingled for another hour; 10pm came. The mixer was officially over. Some students elected to stay and continue their drinking at the Wild at Heart Bar. Oth ers filed out into the rainy night. Sam dragged Kade out to the front entrance. Narong met them there.

  "So where's this afterparty?" Sam asked.

  "It's in Sukhumvit," Narong answered. "You know the city?"

  "A little," Sam replied.

  "It's off of Soi Sama Han, just east of the Nana District." He looked out at the rain. "We can take a cab most of the way, then walk a few blocks."

  Sam's interest was piqued. Soi Sama Han, eh?

  "Is that near Sukchai Market?" she asked.

  Narong looked surprised. "It's a few blocks from there. We don't have to go near it, really. There's a different way."

  "I'd love to see it, actually. I've heard a lot of stories about it."

  Narong looked uncomfortable again. "Well, it's not the classiest area…"

  Sam laughed. "I'm a big girl. I'm a scientist. I'm really curious."

  Narong searched her eyes, as if trying to determine how much she could handle. Or how much he could trust her. He made a decision. "OK. Just stick with me and do what I say when we're there. Kade, that sound OK by you?"

  Kade exuded mild befuddlement. "Sure, I'm down for whatever."

  Narong shrugged again, picked out his umbrella from the basket by the door, and stepped out. He whistled to hail a tuk-tuk. The three of them climbed into its back, Sam squeezed between Kade and Narong. She could feel Kade studiously trying to ignore the way her body was pressed against his. And Narong? She didn't need a Nexus connection to read what was on his mind.

  The tuk-tuk zipped through wet traffic. The streets were glossy black with streaks of supersaturated neon. Reds, blues, greens, yellows – a rainbow of reflected light. Rain got in through the open sides, spraying them gently. Sam stayed driest in the middle. With the rain and the wind from the open sides of the tuk-tuk, Bangkok was pleasantly cool for once.

  The tuk-tuk dodged cheap Tata two-seater cars from India, knock-off Vespas from Vietnam, the occasional Hyundai four-seater taxi, pedestrians making their way across wet streets in the rain.

  They passed down urban valleys of towering glass-and-steel office blocks, their neon-lit ground floors stuffed with noodle shops, massage parlors, boutiques, discount electronic stores, pharmacies, bars. Golden shrines and temples dotted the urban landscapes, some tiny, some sprawling, spires and Buddhas and fearsome temple guardian statues. At 10.30pm everything was open, restaurants, shops, bars, temples. People filed in through temple gates, incense sticks in hand, while across the street rock music blared out of red-lit bars.

  They turned on to Sukhumvit 4, the infamous Soi Nana Tai, one of Bangkok's more popular sex districts. Open air bars with neon signs lined the narrow street. Foot traffic slowed their tuk-tuk to a crawl. Women in tiny miniskirts and short-shorts and improbably large breasts for their tiny frames were everywhere. The men were Indian, Chinese, or white. The women were uniformly Thai, young, and for hire. They sat on men's laps, draped themselves over them at the bars, danced lasciviously with each other, and waited for the customers to take them home, for a price.

  Sam felt Kade tense next to her. His eyes were wide. So much sex on sale. Narong was looking down at his hands.

  A raven haired girl – in tiny hot pants and a matching white bikini top – blew a kiss at their tuk-tuk. Sam doubted she was eighteen.

  Such a strange country, Sam thought to herself. A quarter million monks who don't drink or smoke or swear. A quarter million prostitutes filling in all the spaces where the monks aren't.

  Then again… She spotted a shaven-headed man, Thai, wear

ing normal clothes, with a black-miniskirted girl on his lap. Maybe the monks are here too.

  The tuk-tuk slowly wound its way down the street. A neon sign advertised live orgy shows. The crude animation depicted a woman's body between that of two men, both of them thrusting into her in unison. Kade's head tracked it as they passed.

  "Is this that market you were talking about? Sukchai?" he asked. Sam could feel his conflicting revulsion, arousal, and fascination.

  "No," Sam answered.

  "This is just sex," Narong elaborated. "Sukchai Market is more… exotic." He didn't sound comfortable.

  They turned onto a side street. Soi Sama Han. They threaded through traffic, turned onto another, smaller side street. There was no street sign. They were close.

  The tuk-tuk pulled up to a tiny alley between buildings. "We're here," Narong said. He paid the driver. "You still sure you want to see Sukchai?"

  Sam nodded. Kade shrugged.

  "Stay with me while we're in the market," Narong said, unfurling the umbrella above them. "Not everything here is strictly legal. You'll look less suspicious with me as your guide."

  He led them into the maze of alleyways.

 

Wats paused on the street, near where the tuk-tuk had left Kade and his companions. The alley they'd gone down… there was little reason to head down that alley except to reach Sukchai. What were they doing there? He knew Sukchai well. It would be difficult to follow them without being conspicuous.

  He looked up into the rain. The buildings were tightly spaced here. Yes, that would do. He slipped into the shadows, tightened the straps of the pack across his back, put his hands to the brick, and began to climb.

 
 

The Chandler Act (aka the Emerging Technological Threats Act of 2032) is the opening salvo in a new War on Science. To understand the future course of this war, one need only look at the history of the War on Drugs and the War on Terror. Like those two manufactured "wars", this one will be never-ending, freedom-destroying, counterproductive, and ultimately understood to have caused far more damage than the supposed threat it was aimed at ever could have.

 
 

Sam kept her eye on Narong as he led them on a winding zigzag path through the narrow alleys. A pair of burly toughs lounged at one intersection, leaning against brick walls, heedless of the rain, improbably huge muscles bulging in their arms and chests. Narong nodded fractionally, kept walking.

  One more turn beyond the toughs and a much wider alleyway opened. Stalls and shops lined both sides, neon and LED lit the air, scores of people moved down the lane, hundreds of people. They paused at the stalls, talked quietly, inspected wares and price sheets, haggled in low voices. Everything had a furtive air. Collars were turned up, hoods pulled over heads and down over faces. Two more inhumanly muscular men loitered at the intersection, glowering.

  Muscle grafts, Sam thought. Inefficient, draining, but intimidating. They'll probably die of enlarged hearts trying to support all that mass.

  Narong led them down the street. Sam let Kade and the Thai student share the umbrella. She walked a few steps behind them. The rain felt good on her face. Her tactical contacts snapped every face, recorded every gait, uploaded them for analysis and identification.

• • • •

Kade's eyes were everywhere. The wide alley was bustling with people, with woks going over open fires, with sights and smells, and with vendors offering their wares.

  The first few stalls were reproductive services. Sex selection. Ova fusion to make a child from two mothers, no father necessary. Tri-fusion to create a child with genes from two fathers and a surrogate mother. Gene tweaks for your kids. Height, eye color, hair color, muscle mass, weight, health, IQ, charisma. "Other services by request."

  Reprogenetics gave way to bio-cosmetics. Semi-nude men and women modeled the wares. A petite copper-skinned beauty in a skimpy bikini posed in front of a shop advertising skin color transformation viruses. Less dramatic melanin therapy was on sale to make Asian skin lighter, Caucasian skin more tan, or whatever the customer might desire.

  The semi-nude woman at the next stall showed living tattoos. A bioluminescent dragon crawled up from below her navel, climbed its way up her chest, a claw gripping her left breast. The tattoo snaked around her neck and returned on her right side. Its eyes glowed amber. She tensed her muscles and it moved, tail swishing, scales changing colors, glowing flames erupting from its mouth and nostrils.

  Fat cutters. Fat boosters. Nordic cheekbones. Square jaws. Almond-eye shapes. Golden eyes. Cat-slit eyes. Hair curling viruses. Hair straightening viruses. Forked tongues. Prehensile tongues. Height therapy. The signs and models promised it all, no surgery required. However you wished to alter your appearance, from mild to wild, the gene hackers of Sukchai Market could reprogram your cells to make it happen, provided you had the cash.

  "Are these things all for real?" Kade asked, voice hushed.

  Narong shrugged. "Probably some scams here. But mostly, yeah. Is it safe? Different question."

  "What do you mean?" Kade asked.

  "Gene hacking. Sometimes they miss the gene they want, you know? Break something else. Cancer, maybe. Or worse. You hear stories."

  "But don't they test this stuff? Safety trials, that sort of thing?"

  "There's no FDA on this street, man. You wanna try something? You ask around about the shop, make sure there's no horror stories, make sure they have a good reputation, a clean reputation."

  Bio-cosmetics gave way to bio-erotics. Booths offered viral gene injections to deliver enlarged or firmed "natural" breasts, larger penises, enhanced orgasms, porn star feats of stamina and recovery.

  A banner advertised female arousal superchargers with a choice of delivery vehicle. Transform virus for permanent changes. Tasteless odorless liquid for short-term effect. The booth was thronged, the customers entirely male. Large bundles of cash changed hands for syringes and small vials. Kade was simultaneously agape and aroused.

  "Tasteless and odorless…?" Kade wondered.

  "…so you can spike someone's drink with it," Sam answered for him.

  His revulsion overwhelmed what arousal there had been.

  Bio-neurals followed bio-erotics. Stay-awakes. Sleep reduction hacks. Extroverters. Dream recall enhancers. Dream suppressers. Love injections. Heartbreak erasers. Viral pair-bonding therapy. Monogamy shots. Sexual orientation shifters in temporary and permanent varieties. Savant drugs claimed to put the customer in a hyper-productive or hyper-creative trance. A superbright LED sign offered viral injections to boost musical ability. Another to remove guilt. A third to intensify religious faith and spiritual experiences. There were customers perusing and discussing at all of the booths.

• • • •

Sam hardened herself. These were the worst. These were the ones that could be used as weapons, to control and degrade and enslave. She captured every face she saw, searched for any sign of Communion virus, of DWITY. None in sight. But who knew what could be provided if you asked the right person? She thought of Chris Evans, physically and mentally crippled in busting a DWITY ring. It made her angry.

  Kade sensed her mood. He sent her a sense of curiosity, an unspoken question.

  Sam ignored it.

  Extreme medicine came next. A tall glass cylinder housed human organs in clear, bubbling fluid. Hearts, livers, kidneys, available for transplantation. Cloned organs from your own cells speed-grown in just a few days. Another stall offered viral therapy it claimed would trigger regeneration of severed digits or limbs.