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"Turn off
the engine."
"No."
"Turn off
the engine!"
"No."
"They're going
to see us!"
Harry Cooper
glanced over at the man in the passenger seat. Nathan Berlin sat
there, squirming with discomfort, convinced that the GTO was emitting
sounds roughly on the decibel level of a 747.
"If I turn
it off and then turn it on again, it'll make more noise than it's
making now."
Nathan nodded,
never taking his eyes off the two guards at the small border crossing
a hundred yards ahead.
"What are
they doing?"
He squinted
into the glare, "Oh, shit, they're checking subcuts. That's it.
Forget it. Let's go."
Cooper grinned.
"Of course
they are. You think they want to let any old riff-raff into LA?"
Nathan wasn't
amused. He hadn't known this Cooper guy long, and he was starting
to like him less and less. The only reason he was in the car was…well,
the guy had a car. They'd been selling old kitchen appliances to
central valley farmers when Nathan'd had his latest brilliant idea.
Except now it didn't seem so brilliant. And Cooper just seemed annoying.
Nathan held up his wrist. A two inch scar snaked down the inside.
"I had mine
removed!"
"Gee, Nathan,
could it be that you're not a law-abiding citizen?"
He reached
across the dash and popped open the glove compartment, pulling out
a small box and a plastic bag. The bag was tied with a worn twist-tie,
and the plastic was old and almost opaque. Cooper tossed the bag
into Nathan's lap.
"Here, find
one that matches your skin."
Nathan opened
the bag and saw a jumble of small tags, bar coded on one side. The
other side was covered with a delicate synthetic covering, different
shades for different skin tones. His mouth dropped open. He looked
at Cooper, who just gave with the irritating grin and entered some
data into the box, inserted a patch, coded it, pulled it out and
slapped in onto his wrist.
Nathan watched,
then froze. That was weird. He looked at Cooper again. His new business
partner had been sitting at a bar in Bakersfield when they'd met.
He was tall and rangy, with an open expressive face that seemed
to be amused by almost everything. He readily acquiesced to almost
any crackpot idea of Nathan's and had happily provided the wheels
for the kitchen appliance scheme. Before that it had been the methane
scheme which Nathan refused to discuss any more. Besides, it hadn't
been his fault. Anyway, the point was that the guy didn't have a
scar.
Everyone had
a scar. Or a subcut. The little id barcodes were implanted at birth
and no-one, except really, really old people, didn't have one. But
Coop didn't have a scar. Nathan was sure of…
There was
a flash over near the guard booth as one of the guards peered in
their direction through an antiquated set of binoculars. Cooper
tensed.
"Uh oh. They've
seen us. Better do this."
He put the
car in drive and tossed the box at Nathan.
"I've already
set it, just find a matching patch, stick it in and hit record."
The car pulled
slowly out and rolled towards the border. Nathan picked out a patch,
put it into the recorder. Upside down. Took it out. Put it back
in again. Hit the wrong button. Hit the right one. They were nearly
at the guard post.
"Wait! Slow
down! I'm not ready!"
The great
beast of a car rolled majestically up to the border just as Nathan
finally got his patch on and shoved the reader and bag under his
seat. One of the guards leaned towards Cooper while the other one
strolled to the passenger side.
"Good afternoon,"
he said, cheerily, "Reason for visiting Los Angeles today?" Cooper
smiled, then realized he hadn't thought this far ahead.
"Um…the beach."
The guard
stiffened a little, his tone now was polite but suspicious.
"I'm sorry,
sir, the beach is forbidden. Toxic for the last twelve years. Surprised
you hadn't heard. Where are you from?"
Coopers mind
raced. Nathan had started to sweat.
"Wisconsin.
That's back…um…that way," he waved vaguely over his shoulder, "Gee,
that's a shame. Always wanted to see the ocean."
He sounded
genuinely disappointed. The guard relaxed, and pondered the situation.
"Well, you could try driving north. I think there's some non-toxic
sand up near Gualala."
The other
guard shook his head.
"No, that
got shut down last year. He should try south," he poked his head
in the passenger side window, "You should try south, sir."
"South?" asked
the first guard, his voice dripping with skepticism, "You mean San
Diego? There's nothing down -"
"No, I was
thinking south. You know, like Mexico. Baja, maybe."
"Baja, yes,
now that's a possibility. Don't take any chances, though, sir. I'd
suggest you check Mutha for details."
Cooper nodded,
happily.
"I'll do that.
Thank you. You've been very helpful."
"Not at all.
Contrary to what many people think, we're here to help."
The second
guard nodded, and smiled at Nathan who was trying really hard not
to look like he was about to have a coronary.
"We like to
think of ourselves as a kind of Welcome Wagon to LA."
"Well, I feel
welcome," said Cooper, "How about you, Nathan?"
Nathan didn't
seem able to speak.
The first
guard pulled his subcut scanner from its holster.
"ID please,
sir."
Cooper offered
his wrist and the guard scanned it briefly.
"Mills…Standish,"
he read, "Guidance Councilor."
"Miles…Miles
Standish."
"Oh, right.
Miles. Well, Mr. Standish, anything to declare?"
Cooper shook
his head. The guard cleared his throat and slowly drew breath. Nathan
receded into his seat. What the hell was happening now?
"Welcome to
Los Angeles, home of Geratech Systems," he intoned with the voice
of someone who's said something so often that it long ago ceased
to have any meaning, "Every effort has been made to make your stay
relaxing and memorable. With crime non-existent, please feel free
to visit any of our many scenic wonders; from the historic tar pits,
to the streets of Hollywood, or shop in our convenient arcades at
any time, day or night. Have a pleasant stay."
He finally
stopped. Cooper and Nathan stared at him in disbelief. He looked
at them both expectantly. Coop smiled.
"That was
nice," he said, hoping that it was the correct response.
"Yeah, we
used to say 'beaches' in that 'scenic wonders' part," said the guard
wistfully, "But since they closed them down -"
"Twelve years
ago," said Cooper, helpfully.
"Yeah, twelve
years ago, now we have to say 'Hollywood,' which isn't really a
scenic wonder."
He seemed
to sigh for happier days, before snapping back to the present and
the rest of his spiel.
"Anyway, all
transactions must be completed with LA primos, which you can purchase
at the currency exchange kiosks in the plazas near the gates. All
currency must be purchased with OmniSoft cash. No checks. No credit
cards."
He stopped
and stood up.
Cooper and
Nathan just sat there. The second guard leaned in and grinned at
Nathan who grimly held out his wrist.
"Nathan Berlin…Engineer."
Nathan tried
to look as though it wasn't a complete surprise and hoped that there
wouldn't be a pop quiz on the subject. The second guard nodded to
the first, who leaned down into the car again.
"Okay. Drive
straight down here about twenty miles. You'll come to a parking
structure. Leave your car there. No vehicles allowed in the city."
Nathan couldn't
believe his ears.
"You're kidding,
right?"
"Oh, no, sir.
LA has always prided itself on its healthy climate. Have a nice
day!"
He waved them
on and Cooper pulled slowly away. Nathan shuddered and reached for
a small tin hip flask that he kept handy for just such occasions.
"Oh, man,
what a nightmare!"
"You're not
real good with stress are you?" asked Cooper as he slowly depressed
the accelerator and waited for that first delicious burst of power,
"Have you ever thought of going into another line of work?"
Nathan chose
to ignore this remark. He sat quietly and let the whisky slide down
his throat, warm and comforting.
Within ten
minutes, they began to hit some of the outer suburbs of the city,
and Cooper slowed down a little. He'd never been here before. Heard
about it of course, mostly from old books, but it was nothing like
that. These streets were dark and dirty, with rows of hastily erected
shelters, punctuated by tall buildings that had probably once been
proud bastions of commerce, but were now blind and shattered. Strung-out
looking people clustered on corners around filthy digivend machines
that doled out data hits for a price, so long as you weren't too
fussy about your input. Occasionally another car would sputter by,
but the majority of people were on foot, shambling through the nearly
empty streets. Cooper watched them and wondered where they were
going, what they were thinking, and how they had come to this.
He knew the
answer, of course. The answer was in the digivends and the turbid
jack shops down slimy alleys. This was the refuse of the modern
world, people whose minds were so addled by data that they'd happily
submit to the removal of brain tissue to accommodate another jack.
He held out his right hand.
Nathan handed
him the hooch.
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