Subterran

Part I: Reinventing Bone Structure - Chapters 13 - 18

Mari pressed a button on her side and printed a copy of my portrait—a sheet of paper slid out just above her belly button. It had been reproduced as a charcoal sketch on parchment. The girl's big purple eyes shone at me with knowing sadness. She switched back to sketch mode and began to draw the baby. He was all soft angles, translucent eyelids and round, buttery goo. Underneath the picture she wrote,

Our son. D.E.F. G.P.B. A.B.C.

Chapter Fourteen

Out of your medication? Try "Parisian Skull Therapy". The passing of time won't matter anymore...not with all the wine and brie and electroshock you can eat.

Generik's five-star love machines were fascinating, pliable innovations of the 4X century. The ones nearest me were found in a semi-hidden establishment across the street and two blocks down from the Hypocrite Wedding NightChapel.

The girl at the front desk gave me a wink and a wave as I headed to one of the booths in back. I stepped behind a solid steel door with blacklight painted pseudo street art—"Undersea Murder" was the theme; it changes seasonally. Inside was a short twin bed with 1200-thread count sheets and pillows, turquoise blue and blood red. An octopus holding eight machetes shimmered in hologrammed mosaic glass to my right. A shiny white kiosk sat in a pink plastic seashell on the nightstand.

When I tossed my jacket on the bed, the kiosk came to life. "Welcome, Jonah Von Edinbarrow. Please insert credit to begin," it instructed.

I inserted the correct amount for the Deluxe Package. It was the second Friday of the month, payday. I bet half of Generik's individs were in lovehouses and the other half were at NightChapels, depending on their intro/extraversion levels.

"Please fasten the electrodes securely in the locations shown on the diagram," the kiosk intoned as the screen image changed. It showed a blank-faced mannequin with an electrode disc attached to each of its temples, and three strategically placed across its pelvis.

"Please select from the following to begin customization of your Virtual Pleasure Participant: Male, Female, or Combo."

I considered what I was in the mood for. If I wanted a male, I could just go across the street to Hypocrite Wedding and find a willing flesh-and-blood one in ten minutes or less, but females required a bit more song and dance. I was still experiencing the occasional paranoid aftershock from my night with Berlin Ben, putting me off Combo for the time being. I selected Female.

"Please choose from the following color options: White, Black, Yellow, Brown, Orange, or Blue."

Sometimes your V.P.P. setup doesn't work out quite the way you want—even with the expanse of customizations it's still the luck of the draw to some extent. But at least you know what you're in for when you put your money down. I love the way it feels when you make eye contact with a new person in a club—validation, apprehension, anticipation, and cheap lust. But in the end the women are fickle and the men are selfish. Here there's no second-guessing and no idle chit-chat.

I tried to customize my V.P.P. so that she didn't remind me of Mari—no pale skin or violet eyes tonight. I'd been seeing too much of her lately and she kept turning up when I closed my eyes, the variety of memories I was able to pick from on my own consisting too largely of her, and scaring me into thinking I wouldn't remember the others at all outside of watching their reruns on the redscreen. Pressing buttons half at random and half by mystical superstition, my participant for tonight formed in front of me as a petite but curvy, brown-skinned, blue-eyed redhead with perfect teeth. When I kissed her, I felt it in my spine and the back of my eyes—it was bright blue and sounded like a mezzo-soprano's death scene. This V.P.P. was submissive and let me do whatever I wanted to her—I attempted to position us in a variety of kama sutra positions but the booth was too small. The sounds she made were better ego affirmation than a corner office and the tension I'd been holding in my back for decades dissipated within a few long seconds as I let go.