Neurons at Night
Rixton Lee smirked. His fat head bobbled sheer to his shoulder pack. The hose running straight out of the base of his skull into his life support spewed grey. 'Remember you need to wait for the Cater-8 to work! You're going to lose the connection if you don't wait at least fifty minutes and then—' he gummed his toothless mouth with a pale green tongue. The edges of his lips a blue pale. The little motor mounted to his left clavicle laboured as he spoke.
'When did you drop cater-eight?' Maude barked as our car sped away. I turned and shot Rixton a quick middle finger through the back windscreen.
'Who cares?' I acknowledged the red beeping alert on my wrist.
AX558 or AX658. The decal on the hood was decades old.
'Is that a five or a six?'
'Why did you drop eight?' Maude answered.
'I think it's a five, or could that be a six?'
'You're going to kill yourself.'
'I'm serious Maude. The Bright have been hacking rides, and sending the oblivious passengers to their death!'
'You're being so dumb right now.'
'It must be a six right? My wrist says AX658 is our designated car.'
'Why don't you ask Rixton?'
'Why don't you like him?'
'He's gross.'
'He's a war hero! You can't blame a guy for serving and returning in pieces,' I say and grabs Maude's perfect thigh.
The car rattles its way down Aloita boulevard. Concrete squares press hard against each other and form great seams rising as if plates of the earth itself had crashed together. The car crested one of those monoliths and moaned, its old steel skeleton compressed and shook the cabin. The headlights rise and fall like a kid thumbing a lantern. The effect casts awkward shadows across the decayed buildings and shattered storefronts that sit in complete darkness until our loud eyes careen past. I look at the long display embedded in the dash. The screen has an elongated crack that has shattered above the speed indicator, but the clock is visible. It confirms my wrist, it's nearly three am, and the girl I'm with sits with her hips pressed firmly against mine.
'Get out,' her shoulders shudder with an unexpected smile. She then brushes my arm playfully. 'You'll kill yourself!'
'I'm paying for the ride, so I decide.' I look into her green eyes, ringed with silver glitter. She looks like a butterfly replete with loud blue faux eyes painted on her cheeks. Her little pink shorts and black boots slowly turn toward me. I pull her knees forward to complete the move, and her warm skin presses to mine. 'Tonight is my fourth link, I've got to push my new brain to its limits if I'm going to find any answers.'
'I thought you were joking.' She grabs my hand with a ferocity that's not her. 'You're not serious.'
I nod with an awkward smirk. 'Where do you think we're going?' I wave a hand dramatically past the window to Honshieg's dismembered skyline. The dash shows four minutes and thirty-eight seconds until we reach our hitherto hidden destination.
'Why are you doing this?'
'I need to know how far I can push,' I tap the back of my neck. 'Join me,' I smile. 'It makes everything better.'
She retracts her knees.
'Everything is better,' I say slowly.
'No, it isn't,' she states as if reciting the old papers. 'Junk-shop people are losers.' The butterfly flapped her lashes. 'They won't accept reality, so they do this,' she angrily fingered the inlet at the back of my neck. 'You're honestly going to lose your mind. I don't care what sort of work you've had done to your synapses. You can't possibly think you can drug yourself with cater-8 and come back?'
'I can't not do this,' I grab her neck and pull her forward, toward my chest. 'You need to understand. It's like magic.'
The bright and colorfully dressed girl recoils, her knees scrub the door.
'I—I think, I just want to say that—'
'Yes, what you're trying to say, is, yes, Brason,' I try and lay on my thickest fake charm. 'Brason, you're right. You're so right. Who would have thought you'd been right this whole time? I'd love to join you in pushing away from this shithole of a city.'
She didn't laugh. The blue cheeked girl, who's followed me for at least five weeks now, looks furious. She shoots me a scowl and abstemiously drags a finger across the dirty window. The trace left an upside-down half circle.
'You want to escape?' I add and hold her tight. I gently press her chest against mine. I maneuverer awkwardly and lean forward so I can kiss her cheek. 'This hell.'
The purple creature didn't respond.
'It's a fucking nightmare!' I yell at her.
She still doesn't move. She's frozen. Do butterflies freeze like rocks?
'There's someplace better than Honshieg, and I can show you.'
'Stop it,' she finally muttered and shoved a palm in my face.
'It's, just—It makes everything else dumb.'
'Brason, you're dumb,' she turned her little body back toward the door and curled her knees to her chest. 'Take me home,' she muttered to her wrist.
'It's my car!' I protested. 'You can book it after it drops me off.'
Her eyes suddenly lose all their fun. 'Stop the car now,' she demands in a brutish low tone.
'But we're not finished.'
'I'm not going to a junk-shop.'
'What!'
'Car, now! Personal security breach. My number is 6-5-9-9-4-8.' The car confirmed the identification. The overhead glowed red. The girl shouts. 'Clear input, danger protocol!'
'Stop,' I shout, glaring at the anachronistic steering wheel, 'No threat! I'm no threat,' I yell at the angry flashing instrument board. 'Tell it, Mieka!'
The butterfly shook her head.
The board was furious, and the interior lights above us now shot white and red. The car was making its own defensive decisions. My seatbelt pulled tight, a headpiece extended, cupped my chin, and then retracted against my forehead. I moved my eyes against the pressure, and I could see the car's emergency system was engaged.
Police Alert ... Police Alert repeated green on display.
'Stop being a bitch! You goaded me into this upgrade.'
The butterfly didn't answer.
'Tell it you're okay!'
She didn't even look worried.
The speakers shook the doors with the announcement.
The Police are coming. You're meeting them at the next available street junction. Please, stop. Do not move—
'Mieka! You fucking whore!' I scream against the rusted restraints. I thrust my hands into the air so there is no confusion about my intentions. 'The police aren't coming! No one is coming!' but I notice the car has slowed, driving along the shoulder.
The Police are arriving imminently. Cease your crime immediately.
'What fucking crime, Mieka?'
The butterfly is now a cocoon. She has curled all limbs into the fetal position.
'Tell them!' I shout as loudly as I can without moving my lips. I know the camera has been recording since we both jumped in. 'I'm not going to be trapped here waiting for some phantom fucking cop!'
The butterfly lets out a little moan.
'What have I done?' I ask. But, Mieka doesn't even move. 'Turn it off,' I try and turn her toward me. Force her to look at me. I struggle against the restraints. My lips move. I don't know if the old microphones under the dash have recorded anything. Probably not. I know that this car emerged from a time when microphones were expected to work.
She's called the City. In that instant, our relationship had ended.
'Do you like me?'
'Go fuck yourself!' the butterfly squeaks.
'What did I make you do?'
Mieka looks at me, her eyes wide. She looks scared.
'I'm not going to make you do anything,' I push against the robotic arm.
The girl looks down. 'You chose it.'
The car screeched to a stop, well before the junk shop.
Intersection 40594 reached. It announced. Is the victim safe until the police arrive?
'Yes, she's safe,' I shout. I can feel warm sweat trickle into my eyes as the head grip tightens. 'Tell it, yes!'
The butterfly was silent.
Electric shock to begin in twenty seconds.
'Fucking hell Mieka! Tell the fucking car you're safe!'
Mieka slowly exhaled. 'But you chose it.'
'Holy fuck Mieka! You crazy bitch!'
'Take me home,' she muttered as though this was any trip. She wasn't even looking at me.
Shocking procedure beginning.
The dash threatened imminent police action.
'Leave me alone,' she said, and I swear she even tilted her cheeks toward the camera. 'Why bring me tonight, if you're just doing this,' she then looks at me, and I can see she is crying. 'I.D. 6-5-9-9-4-8 cancel accusation.'
6-5-9-9-4-8, please confirm that you are safe.-
From the middle of the roof, a small arm extended and shoved a sample collectors kit against my lips. Mieka grabbed the swab and sounded out my mouth. She placed the specimen onto the tray, which then disappeared into the roof.
The restraints loosen, and I shift my weight to my haunches and tug on the handle. It's unlocked, and I jump out. I step onto the curb and look back through the window. She's just looking at her knees.
'Fucking bitch!' I say and slam my fist against the glass. She holds her hands over her face and slumps into the seat as the car pulls further into the night.
'Goodnight,' I yell to the empty road.
She's gone. My little butterfly has flown away.
I hike the next six blocks to the Junk Shop. It's a single-story white brick building. It's bare and broken with wires and cords hanging from missing portions in the gable. The building's original purpose could have been a school or, most likely, government. The military probably roamed its walls before the war moved.
I walk the entry hall and push through a set of double doors at the end of another perpendicular hall. I step into a large open lobby. It's grand, and the ceiling is high, but it's rank. I can't help but forget that the air is heavy with the stink of people.
All of us humans emit odor.
Before me stretches a staggering blue stairwell. It reaches down. Down into the junk shop. The baldachin bows low in the middle to the pressure above. I catch a generator outside, clattering away, making din above anything I can see. The front desk of the junk shop blocks anything but aslant entry.
'Ten pieces,' a half-man hunched over a screen says. His heart is held by white tendrils in a little jar in his chest. His nose is gone replaced with a tube that extends to his shoulder pack. He doesn't even look at me. I hear moans coming from the speakers beside his screen. I don't hate this oaf. Somewhere inside I know, if I were fucked, like that, I'd sit in a catacomb state and watch pornography too.
My limp dick body deserves to go. But I'd probably do the same thing. Why wouldn't I try to survive and take a position that allowed as much unfinished Cater-8 as possible?
'Wrist transfer?' I say and swipe a small black cube mounted on his desk.
'What speed?' the fat thing barks.
'Two thousand,' I say.
This gets the guy's attention, his gaze shifts. Abruptly I see there is no white in his eyes. His pupils are holes, surrounded by a murky red. He has no eyebrows and no hair. With limited flesh left, the bag that is his stomach, must process the fats and dump them straight under the skin that loosely covers his skull in bulging clumps. 'A little slow,' he moans.
'That'll change soon,' I step forward into the sticky room. Around me are at least twenty couches arranged in settings with a small round or square table forming a nucleus for each cell. On top of each table is a silver Linkset. I move by a setting filled with three women. They are each slumped forward and the Shove-link sphere glows deep shades of red, brown, and purple. There are several 2.5-millimeter wires stretching from the base outputs. They extend across the floor, and reach each of the women's feet and snake up to each nape.
I collide with and accidentally swaddle a thing wanting to have sex with me. Its chest is an enormous pair of fake brown breasts. With my touch, it painfully retracts against a cage of organs. It jolts forward and then backs away — a tiny foot thumping the ground to an unseen beat. A protruding person is looking at me through a screen. It's brain housed deep in its chair. Its consciousness is thrust forward on the hinged screen.
'Not now,' I shake my head.
They all remind me of insects. These mutants, I find myself using Mieka's words; they're all fucking monsters and bees. Every shoulder pack is a constant buzz, making endless attempts to connect to the master hive.
'Cater-8. Four thirty-five,' a yellow vending machine announces as it clumsily bumps into my leg. 'Cater-8 patch for three hundred,' it states and then circles again back into my leg.
My stomach knots.
I wave my wrist across the screen, and the little appliance dispenses a small white packet. Its label is plain except for the C-8 logo and some small print.
C-8 is premium Cater Eight. Its properties are known to expand the synapses of your brain's implant and heighten the effect of your shove-link. C-8 will expand your synapses and allow you to forge a link at least ten times stronger than a non-user, and at least four times stronger than any competing product. Any attempt to incriminate C-corp with Maluse will ... then there is a sixty-five-page Digi-document that I have to sign. It's probably not even in date. This machine is like the phantom cops that the butterfly's car was announcing. It's all obligations to a world that hasn't existed for a hot minute.
Holy fuck, give me the stuff.
I stick the patch to my arm and look to the nearest setting. A woman in her fifties sits alone. She's wearing a striking deep blue dress. Her hair is enormous and green, and her face is full of purples, pinks, and blues. It's alarming, but it accentuates her delicate features. It's funny to see her sitting next to a balding man in his mid-forties, still in his work suit. His clothing is clearly metal but painted to look like cotton. It's even trying to hide his shoulder pack. This skinny metal-suit guy must have crawled in and plopped himself next to the prettiest woman in sight.
The color of woman says everything. I notice the color of their shove-link is a horrible grey.
He can't possibly provide any inspiration.
I get the sense that at the height of their connection, there would be nothing but innuendoes and thinly veiled romantic passes. As I sit, she notices me. She's shallow and surprisingly breaks the link.
'What the hell?' the man in his robot attire states angrily, suddenly conscious of the room. His bloated face contorts itself into a look of indignant shock. Abruptly standing, he notices me and heaves a sigh. 'You won't get anywhere, Kid.'
He brushes against me as he leaves.
'Don't worry about him,' the woman says in a soothing tone. 'He's a tourist.'
'Brason,' I say, holding out my hand. She grasps it with her two tiny hands.
'Addrey,' she smiles. 'You're ready?'
I nod, and instantly, I'm ecstatic.
This will be fun.
She has abundant natural energy.
This will be insanely and awesomely fun!
'This will be my fourth time, and I want you to know that I am serious about—'
She stops me with a shake. 'It's not necessary,' and with that Addrey sits back and exhales. She rolls her shoulders, and I can feel something tugging at my mind. There is a tickle at the base of my neck, and I can feel the ethereal wire entering. It's a shocking tug, but it forces my mind to empty. The sphere changes color. It's green. It's a really bright sort green.
Connection.
My immediate awareness becomes distant. My focus abruptly leaves the room. As I travel inward our bond is thrust before my eyes. It's green and then purple. But then it's yellow. It's like a happy yellow. Everywhere around me is this banana yellow. It's like I'm swimming through a thick foam of yellow. And then a long white plank extends in front of me. It's floating in a sea of instant darkness that has appeared below the yellow.
I notice the woman's figure. She different. She looks at me with both her eyes. In this vision her face is perfect. She's wearing nothing but a yellow gown. It's nice but I notice she is at the other end of the white beam. I suddenly become aware that she's light-years away, yet I can feel her touching me. The beam widens, and I float forward. I stand at the precipice.
Step forward, her command enters my consciousness, but I don't move. I become aware of a cliff drop about three metres ahead.
Who are you? I scream across the gap, and several small bubbles form at the sides of my mouth. They inflate and then take life and float. They drift into the new void above my head. The little spheres are blue and green and maroon.
Come back; they're my thoughts presented in front of me. I move my arms and try to find a way to settle myself and then push the tiny spheres across the infinite gap. They rotate and I reach out and press a finger to one. I can push it. It moves a bit. I notice they are all sitting there, waiting for me to touch them, to push them, each of them. It's like they want to be pressed forward.
Are they coming too?
It's silly because I need her to see them. I know I'll fail if she doesn't understand my moment. I need her to feel it. It's urgent. I'll lose everything laid out in front of me if she doesn't accept me.
Touch me.
Please.
But she's far, and it's impossible because there's the roar of a Traje shouting from the nothingness below. Perfect spheres pour up from the crevice. A heap of bubbles is floating ahead above the chasm toward my yellow clothed beauty. The micro spheres fill the gap between us. But now there are millions of voices popping around me. It's like everything I've ever imagined is at my fingertips. Each idea is there, presented as one of those little spheres, I reach out, but it dissolves.
Don't disappear. You're important to me. You are me. Stay. Stay now.
I can't hold anything solid. I reach out, and the bubbles pop.
'Touch me,' she summons my conscience. She's sent a triangle across the gap, and it prods me.
Good idea.
It's a great idea, and it strokes my skin. But I can't focus on it because I'm concentrating on the thin white beam that's holding my little steps. It's the only thing holding me up. But then against the falling I can feel her.
Your inspiration.
Feel me.
Her voice manifests as the same terrific feeling I felt as a child. It's returned, and it feels like bliss.
Touch me.
Giddily I reach out my left arm and connect with her fingers. My whole being is now moving like a wave of color. It merges with her ideas floating over the ivory-colored beam. I'm flying now, and I'm relishing in the unbridled passion of being a young man.
I will not stop. Ever. I am here because I'm supposed to be here.
The history of my thoughts has converged into a grand moment of ebullience.
Brason.
Addrey's calm voice breaks the tension. I ignore my past and surge through a window that has appeared above the eternal drop. As I cross, I can see her form. She's infused with brilliant gold.
Follow me, she grins.
She glows blue now, and then instantly she is a smattering of every amazing color from mauve to pink.
You found me.
I've been standing here above the abyss waiting.
I've been waiting for hundreds of years.
But now. Now, she is next to me, and I push forward. I'm going to pierce time. The awkwardness of our physical encounter is centuries ago.
Grab my hand.
Unaware of where I am, I see her envelop me with her inspiration. She's everywhere.
Who?
All of us.
Her voice fills my consciousness. Immediately I know she hasn't sung for a long time. It's the lost dream of a thirteen-year-old girl.
Who are we?
It has stalked her shadow in everything she has done since. She once entered a competition. The endless counting by the adults, but suddenly she draws back.
I am you?
She has allowed me to see her inner soul — every thought, disappointment, and inspiration that has comprised her life.
I won't hurt you. Sing for me.
The words echo as I tumble through a thick womb that has encapsulated my energy. I release my inhibitions and feel one of my little musings flow forward. A great weight is gone. No longer is my body hiding who I truly am. Addrey enters me. The mask is gone, and I am naked.
This is love.
I let her know she is the beautiful thirteen-year-old singer, and then immediately I reach out and touch the orange tree in my parent's yard. The house I grew up in.
Such a thing is too complex to appear from nothing.
I know.
I run my hand along the soft bark, my little finger bleeds against an unseen thorn. Addrey's form jerks me forward, away from that lost memory and we shoot up toward the white stars that have appeared above. We tangle together and tiptoe on the ideas of our bodies.
'Touch me,' she whispers and grabs my wrist and drags at me to float with her.
We leave the ground.
It's scary, but she holds me tight. We extend ourselves to reach the edge of infinity that is now so obvious beyond the octagonal white glowing embers above. We tumble in the freedom of our secret thoughts, and let each other laugh.
I exist because I can ... I exist because I can ...
The idea is a thumping rhythm to our movement, and it captures our intrigue and sends us further into the warmth of the plane we are traveling.
Unexpectedly there is an explosion at the side of my temple.
'I—I'm so sorry,' Addrey stammers and reaches into my chest. Her ethereal hand bypasses any skin or ribs. She grips my heart and pulls the orange back toward herself. 'I'll take this too,' she pulls the purple in a long streak.
Right at that moment I'm still trying to coax my eyes into focusing on reality. 'It was like—the thing was about—'
'It's okay,' Addrey smiles, gripping my knee. 'It takes time to get your sea legs.'
'That was amazing,' I gush, regretting the loss of our journey. The awkwardness of our physical beings has quickly returned. No longer am I dancing with her thoughts, but struggling to look her in the eye. 'I want to feel like that forever.'
'In time, you can bring essences of the link to your reality.' She checks her watch. 'I have to go, but it was a pleasure.'
'Thanks,' I say, and stand to let her edge out. She hurries away, and I slink down into the lounge. I notice that the sphere is now clear. I lean back and rest my head against the soft and sticky fabric. My ears pick up the beat of the walls. The connection I forged with Addrey is simmering. Already it has become weak enough to feel as though many months have passed. Slowly I stand and edge out of the gap between the lounge and the lowset table housing the link. I move to the front of the junk shop and slip past the fat fleshless man. The street is empty, and it's dark. Addrey is gone, but it doesn't matter. The air in Honshieg feels fresh for a moment, like it has blown from a beautiful fresh ocean. I even think I see a star, but I know that's nonsense. Nothing gets through the fog. I step out onto the pavement and lookup. There are no stars and I can't see any color.
Where is my Butterfly?
Cover Art - Andrew Dunlop