The Apex Book of World SF 2 (19 page)

But I was watching
the girl and, as she slipped her phone back into her pocket, I saw that
tell-tale glow ‘neath her sleeve. Long sleeves in summer didn't cut it. So, it
didn't surprise me none in the least when K waxed the table. Ten-Ten was
surprised though. Ten-Ten slipped his groove. But boy kept it in, didn't say
anything, just infra'd another five to the table and racked ‘em again. Anyone
else but Ten woulda racked ‘em hard, woulda slammed those balls on the table,
eish. But Ten, Ten went the other way. Just by how careful he was. Precise ‘n
clipped like an assembly line. So you could see.

Boyfriend wasn't
used to losing, especially not to Special-K. I mean, the girl held her own ‘gainst
most of us, but Ten could wax us all six-love, baby. Boyfriend carried his own
cue in a special case. Kif shit, it was. Lycratanium, separate pieces that
clicked into each other, assembled slick ‘n cold and casual-like, like he was a
soldier in a war movie snapping a sniper rifle together. But Kendra, grinning
now, said, "No, my bra. I'm out," set her cue down on the empty table next to
us.

"Oh, ja, like Ten's
gonna let this hook slide." Rob snorted into his drink.

"Best of three."
Tendeka said and smiled loose and easy. Like it didn't matter and chalked his
cue.

Girl hesitated and
shrugged then. Picked up the cue. Tendeka flicked the triangle off the table,
flip-rolling it between his fingers lightly. "Your break."

Kendra chalked-up,
spun the white ball out to catch it at the line. Edged it then sideways so's it
would take the pyramid out off-centre. Girl leant over the table. Slid the tip
of the cue over her knuckles once, taking aim, pulled back and cut loose,
smooth as sugar. Crack! Balls twisting out across the table. Sunk four solids
straight-up. Black in the middle and not a single stripe down.

Rob whistled. "Shit.
You been practising, K?"

Kendra didn't even
look up. Took out another two solids and lined up a third in the corner pocket.
Girl's lips twitched, but she didn't smile, no, didn't look at Ten, who was
still sayin' nothin', like. He chalked his cue again, like he hadn't done it
already, and stepped up. The freeze was so tight I couldn't take it. Anyway. I
knew what was coming. So, off by the bar I was, but nears enough so I was still
in on the action, like. Ten lined ‘em up and took out two stripes at the same
time, rocketing ‘em into different pockets. Bounced the white off the pillow
and took another, edged out the solid K had all lined up. Another stripe down
and boy lined up a fifth blocking the corner pocket. "You're up."

Girl just stood
there lookin' as if she was sizing up.

"K. You're up."

Girl snapped her
head towards Tendeka. Tuned back in. Took her cue up, leant over, standing on
tiptoes and nicked the white ball light as candy, so it floated, spinning, into
the middle of table, like. Shrugged at Ten, smiling, and that ball just kept on
spinning. Stepped back, set her cue down on the table next and started walking
over to the bar, to me, while that white ball, damn, was still spinning.

"Hey! What the fuck?"

"Ah, c'mon, Ten. You
know I gotcha down."

"What! Game ain't
even started. And what's with this, man? Fuckin' party tricks don't mean shit."

"It's over, Ten."

"You on drugs, girl?
You tweaked?"

"Fuck off, Ten."

Ten shoved his cue
at Rob, who snatched it quick, and rounded on the girlfriend. "You're mashed,
Kendra!" He grabbed her shoulder, spun her round, "C'mon, show me!"

"Kit Kat, baby. Give
it a break."

"Oh yeah? Lemme see.
C'mon."

"Fuck off, Tendeka!
Serious!"

People were looking
now. Cams were, too, though in a place like Stones, they probably weren't
working none too well. Owner paid a premium for faulty equipment, like. Jazz
was defending Kendra now. Not that she needed it. We all knew the girl wasn't a
waster, like. Even Ten.

Now me. I was a
waster. I was skeef. Jacked that kind shit straight into my tongue, popping
lurid lurex candy capsules into the piercing to disseminate, like. Lethe or
supersmack or kitty. Some prefer it old-style, pills ‘n needles, but me, the
works work best straight in through that slippery warm pink muscle. Porous your
mouth is. So's it's straight into the blood and saliva absorbs the rest into
your glands. I could tell you all things about that wet-hole mouth that makes
it perfect for drugs, like. But, tell you true, it's all cheap shit.
Black-market. Ill legit. Not like sweet Kendra's high. Oh, no, girl had gone
the straight ‘n arrow. All the way, baby. All the way.

"C'mon Ten, back
off, man." Rob was getting real nervous, like. Bartender, too, twitchin' to
call his defuser. But Kendra-sweet had enough now, spun on Ten, finally, stuck
out her tongue at him like a laaitie. And Jazz sighed. "There. Happy now?" But
Ten wasn't. For yeah, sure as sugar, Special-K's tongue was a virgin. Never
been pierced by a stud let alone an applijack. Never had that sweet rush as the
micro-needles release slick-quick into the fleshy pink. Never had her tongue go
numb with the dark oiliness of it so's you can't speak for minutes. Doesn't
matter though. Talkin'd be least of your worries. Supposin' you had any. But
then Ten knew that all along. Cos you can't play the way the girlfriend did on
the rof. Tongue's not the only thing that goes numb. And boyfriend knows it. And
everything's click-clicking into place.

"Oh you fucking
crazy little shit. What have you done?" Ten was grabbing at her now,
tough-like, her swatting at him, pulling away as he tried to get a hold of her
sleeve. Jazz was yelling again. "Ease off, Tendeka!" Shouldn't have wasted her
air time. Special-K could look after herself all well now. After those first
frantic swats, something levelled. Only to be expected when she's so fresh.
Still adjustin', like. But you could see it kick in. Sleek, it was. So's
instant she's flailing about and the next she lunges, catches him under his
chin with the heel of her palm. Boy's head snaps back and at the same time she
shoves him hard so's he falls backwards, knocks over a table on his way. Glass
smashing and the bartender's pissed now. Everyone still, except Rob who laughed
once, abrupt.

Girl gave Ten a
look. Cocky as a street kid. But wary, it was, too. Not of him, although he was
already getting up. Not that she could sustain, like. Battery was running low
now. Was already when she first set down her cue. And boy was pissed indeed.
But that look, boys and girls, that look was wary, not of him at all. But of
herself, like.

Ten was on his feet
now, screaming. The plot was lost, boys and girls. The plot was gone. Cut himself
on the broken glass. Like paint splats on to the wooden floor. Lunged at
Kendra, backing away, hands up, but still with that look. And boy was big.
Intent on serious damage, yelling and not hearing his cell bleep first warning
then second. Like I said, the plot was gone. Way past its expiry date.

Then predictable;
defuser kicked in. Higher voltage than necessary, like, but bartender was
pissed. Ten jerked epileptic. Some wasters I know set off their own phone's
defuser, on low settings, like, for those dark an' hectic beats. Even rhythm
can be induced, boys and girls. But it's not maklik. Have to hack SAPcom to sms
the trigger signal to your phone. Worse now since the cops privatised, upgraded
the firewalls. That or tweak the hardware and then the shocks could come
random. Crisp you KFC.

Me, I defused my
defuser. ‘Lectric and lethe don't mix. Girlfriend in Sea Point pulled the plug
one time. Simunye. Cost ten kilos of sugar so's it don't come cheap an' if the
tec don't know what they're doing, ha, crisp you KFC. Or worse, Disconnect. Off
the networks. Solitary confinement, like. Not worth the risk, boys and girls,
unless you know the tec is razor.

So, Ten, jerking to
imaginary beats. Bartender hit endcall finally and boy collapsed to floor,
panting. Jasmine knelt next to him. Ten's phone still crackling. VIMbots
scuttling to clean up blood an' glass and spilled liquor. Other patrons were
turning away now. Game over. Please infra another coin. Kendra stood watching a
second, then also turned away, walked up to the bar where I was sitting.

"Cause any more kak
like that, girl, an I'll crisp you, too." The bartender said as she sat down on
the bar stool next to me.

"Oh, please. Like
how many dial-ins you got left for the night?" Kendra snapped, but girl was
looking almost as strung out as Ten was now.

"Yeah, well don't
make me waste ‘em all on you."

"Just get me a
Sprite, okay?"

Behind her, Jazz and
Rob were holdin' Tendeka up. He made as if to move for the bar, but Jazz pulled
him back, wouldn't let him. Not least cos of the look the bartender shot them.
Boy was too fried to stir anyway, but said, loud enough for all to hear, "Sell
out."

"Get the fuck out,
kid." Dismissive the bartender was. Knew there was no fight left.

"Fucking corporate
whore!"

"C'mon, Ten. Let's
go." Jazz was escortin' him out.

Kendra ignored him.
Girl had her Sprite now and downed it in one. Asked for another.

Already you could
see it kickin' in.

"Can I see?" I
asked, mock sly-shy.

Kendra shot me a
look which I couldn't figure and then finally slid up her sleeve reluctant,
like, revealing the glow tattooed on her wrist.

The bartender
clicked his tongue as he set down the drink. "Sponsor baby, huh?"

Sprite logo was
emblazoned there, not on her skin, but under it, shining through, with the
slogan, "just be it".

No rinkadink light
show, was this. Nanotech she'd signed up for changed the bio-structure of her
cells, made ‘em phosphorescent in all the right places. Nothing you couldn't
get done at the local light-tat salon, but corporate sponsorship came with all
the extras. Even on lethe, I wasn't ‘blivious to the ad campaigns on the
underway. But Kendra was the first I knew to get Branded, like.

Girl was flying now.
Ordered a third Sprite. Brain reacting like she was on some fine-ass bliss,
drowning her in endorphins an serotonin, Sprite binding with aminos and the
tiny bio-machines hummin' at work in her veins. Voluntary addiction with
benefits. Make her faster, stronger, more co-ordinated. Ninja-slick reflexes.
Course, if she'd sold her soul to Coke instead, she'd be sharper, wittier. Coke
nano lubes the transmitters. Neurons firing faster, smarter, more productive.
All depends on the brand, on your lifestyle of choice and it's all free if you
qualify. Waster like me would never get with the programme, but sweet Kendra,
straight up candidate of choice. Apply now, boys and girls, while stocks last.
You'll never afford this high on your own change.

Special K turned to
me, on her fourth now, blissed out on the carbonated nutri-sweet and the tech
seething in her hot little sponsor baby bod, nodded, "And one for my friend,"
to the bartender, like. And who was I to say no?

December 8th
Raúl Flores Iriarte
Translated by Daniel W. Koon and the Author
 
Raúl Flores lives in Havana. He
is the author of several short story collections, from 2000's
The Dark Side
of the Moon
to 2010's
Paperback Writer
. He is also the author of the
novella
Balada de Jeanette
. The following story, appearing here in
English for the first time, won the 2006 Juventud Técnica SF contest.

"Who are you?" John
asks.

I introduce myself. "I'm
here to save your life," I tell him.

"What's this about
saving my life?" he replies. John speaks impeccable English. As if he had been
born in England. And then I remember: he
was
born in England.

I explain to him
about Mark David Chapman. He is the lunatic. He is the assassin. He is the
walrus.

"That's crazy," John
says. I can almost make out the words as they leave his mouth, like the hook of
a great pop song. The one that was never written.

"He's going to come
here and kill you today. Tonight. While we're talking here, he's lurking out
there. Waiting. Plotting. With a copy of
The Catcher in the Rye
under
his arm."

John looks at me as
if I'm crazy, too. Or like he doesn't understand English. Or maybe both.

"That's a good book,"
he mutters.

"What?" I say.

"
Catcher in the
Rye
. Good book. Salinger is a—"

"Listen," I
interrupt him, raising my voice. "This is no time for literary chit-chat. There's
barely time to explain. I'll just take your place and try to stop Chapman. Kill
him if I have to."

"And you're going to
do all this
because
…?" he asks.

A set of lyrics
flashes into my mind like lightning:
Because the world is round it turns me
on
. But instead I say: "To change the future. To give you a new life,
borrowed time. You could have a Beatles reunion in a couple years, new songs
for the old fans. Won't you please…help me? It'll be just like starting over."

His song
(Just
Like) Starting Over
has been rocketing up the charts. I am hoping he
appreciates the reference. I continue: "You see that girl driving that Porsche
up and down the street like a maniac? Well, her name is Madonna Louise Veronica
Ciccone, but in three or four years, everyone will know her as simply "Madonna".
She's got a lot of talent, but right now, nobody knows her. I've changed all
that. Bought her the Porsche, given her the money to bankroll her first LP, and
I made her sign two hundred or three hundred autographs for me to sell in the
future."