Authors: Jason Austin
She
jumped, trying to catch up with her flesh. The voice belonged to a
man who’d sluiced from the alley, looking like a six-foot smear
of grunge and soot. He wore and abundance of ratty clothes and she
thought he had to be roasting in the late summer heat. He practically
fell on top of her as he skidded forward shaking a large plastic cup
in her face. She was so startled she’d nearly backed into
oncoming traffic.
“
Ah,
oh my god!” she screamed.
Coincidentally,
a police patrol car was circling the area and screeched to the scene
with a yawp of the siren as it scraped the curb. An agitated
policeman broke from the car like an enraged bull from its pen.
“Hey,” he yelled.
The
vagrant paid no attention to the officer and continued shaking his
cup, just a toxic breath from Glenda’s face. “Come, o’
miss. Got some chain? I jus’ nee’ some chain. Please?”
His words were horribly slurred through his desiccated lips.
Glenda
was about to tell him that she had nothing to spare, but before she
could say a word, the policeman had flattened the vagrant against the
nearest wall. The action loosed an object from somewhere on the
vagrants person and it clacked onto the pavement. It was a hyposhot:
a programmable, oblong, syringe with a retractable self-cleaning
needle. It was about four inches long by an inch wide. When ran over
the skin, it detected a healthy vein a lot like a carpenter's
stud-finder. It was a virtually perfect delivery system for
Halloxiphen (H-ball), which was highly susceptible to overdosing.
“
H-ball
burnout,” the officer groused. “Jesus! It never ends with
this trash! We flush it and it floats right back to the surface!”
Glenda
creased openly. How could anybody go near that stuff? From everything
she knew, H-ball was no less than nuclear waste on the brain. A few
years back, when it first started surpassing the meth trade, most
users were intrigued by the high that made your average opiates look
like cough medicine. It was only after the first couple trips that
they became aware of its hardcore reality-warping effects, the potent
hallucinations. Under such circumstances, dosages were easily and
often misjudged, resulting in permanent insanity or death. If an
addict was ever caught with an
old
fashioned
syringe it was usually sticking out of his
week-old corpse.
“
Are
you okay, ma’am?” the officer asked Glenda.
“
Uh,
yes. Yes, I’m fine,” she answered. She could almost swear
the officer was holding back a come-hither. In fact, the only thing
missing, Glenda thought, was the nigh sparkle of his teeth.
“
You
sure?”
“
Yes,
yes, I’m sure.”
The
officer aimed his lips at the vagrants ear. “
You
know, I can’t believe I have to touch you,” he shouted.
“God only knows where you’ve been!” He lilted back.
“On second thought, I think I can smell where you’ve
been.”
With
the right side of his face scraping the wall, the vagrant’s
barren eyes aligned with Glenda’s. It gave her the prickly
chill of a December wind. The
way
he looked at her. It was as if his soul was trying to siphon a piece
of hers for its very survival. She stood frozen to the sidewalk. She
didn't move until the officer stowed the vagrant into the back of the
patrol car and it faded from view.
Minutes
later, Glenda approached her apartment door doing a juggling act with
her grocery bags. She just had to get her mind off the past few days,
she thought. It had all been like a roaring freight train on her
nerves. If she wasn't careful she'd end up just like her mother,
storing up all the stress until it evolved into a single body-wide
migraine. Glenda didn’t care how much her mother denied it; the
majority of Louise Jameson's chronic ills were stressed related. Her
doctor had told her as much. You couldn’t just spend a lifetime
repressing anger and the stockyard of querulous instincts that were
synonymous with marriage and motherhood, and not expect physiological
repercussions. Louise needed a good psychiatrist, better friends or a
dog; some responsive means of getting things off her chest.
“
A
plausible excuse to complain, you mean,” Louise said once.
“Leave that crap to the crotchety old cows in church and at the
beauty shop—depressed, middle-aged women actually trying to
outdo each other. One always has to have bigger bunions, a cheating
husband, or a kid strung out on drugs. Who needs it?”
Glenda
entered her apartment with a sharp toe to the door's kick-plate. The
second that same foot hit the carpet, her bladder gave a nudge. It
reminded her that it had taken three cups of Columbia's finest to get
her engine going this morning. She kicked the door closed, trotted to
the kitchen and plopped the bags onto the counter. She then cut the
corner to the bathroom like a motocross racer.
After
two minutes, Glenda was back in the kitchen, holding in her hand, the
hearty, seasoned pork roast she’d splurged on. This baby would
go a long way in making a weeks' worth of crap worth the struggle. As
a matter of fact, there was no pain in the world a perfectly-sized
piece of meat couldn't cure, she thought. From time to time.
She
set the roast to boil and then went out to the living room. She gave
a noteworthy sigh as she regarded the drab peach-colored walls of her
abode. Glenda was always grateful to have a place to lay her head,
but that ever-ambitious teenager inside couldn't wait for the day
she'd move up from this plain, contemporary little place. She'd have
to find a way to take the walk-in closet with her, though. No woman
could go back to picking out a dress from the outside once they'd
experienced standing in the same room with
all
of her shoes.
But I'll have
one the size of this whole place, soon enough
, she
thought. She kicked off her pumps and curled into the corner of her
sofa. In three weeks she’d be back in school, and one year
closer to her degree in business management. She'd be the head of her
own company in less than ten years and maybe make the really hot men
wear Speedos during the holiday season. She aimed her chin at the
stereo
.
“
Play
Deanna Robinson track thirteen,” she said and promptly
recoiled. She then switched the command to Hayden's concertos. They
would be better for her mood. Deanna Robinson songs only depressed
her now that the poor girl was dead. Shame, what happened to her. She
was so young. Minutes later, the orchestral lullaby of violins and
soothing flutes distended about the air, while a soft throw pillow
massaged Glenda's neck. It was hard to stay awake.
Glenda's
eyes flapped open, when the stereo's drive broke into a particularly
loud crash of symbols and bassoons blaring through the speakers. She
checked the wall clock. She'd been asleep about fifteen minutes.
“
Messages,”
she ordered, suddenly remembering to check her voicemail, and hoping
she had gotten a callback. Thank goodness for American Network
Interface(ANI). With her compieces cut off, it was all she could
afford. In fact, it was so cheap that most new homes and apartments
had a freestanding port built in for basic service which was often
left online even when the place was vacant and on the market.
The
webscreen blinked on. An attractive woman with Glenda's eyes and the
beginnings of gray hair appeared on the screen. “Glenny, it’s
your mother, honey. It’s been a couple days and I was just
wondering if you’d landed anything yet, sweetie. I’m
sorry if it seems like I’m nagging you, but you know I worry
about my baby. Daddy says hang in there and we love you. Let us know
when you get something. Bye.”
“
Nagging?”
Glenda snickered. As if she somehow couldn't tell that Louise Jameson
was just appeasing her daughter's exaggerated sense of independence.
Mom,
you wouldn't know how to nag if your life depended on it.
The irony being that it just
might.
Glenda
heard a disturbance from the direction of the kitchen. She assumed
the roast was boiling over and proceed on to deal with it. Halfway to
the swing door, the hub beeped again and the next voice message
stopped her cold.
“
Hi,
Glen,” the voice said, sending her into a girlish tailspin.
Good
lord, he couldn’t even say hi without it sounding like a mating
call. Glenda's legs went numb and she defiantly kept her back to the
webscreen.
“
It’s
me again. I know you asked me not to call.”
Glenda
shook her head. He'd said it as if he presumed “no”
really meant “yes”. The way men always do.
“
I
wanted to let you know that I’m going out of town for a while,
but I’m not scheduled to leave until tomorrow. I know things
are...
difficult
for us right now and I know I'm
taking a huge chance in asking you this, but...I’d like you to
come with me. I want us to be together like we always wanted, away
from all the 'noise'. You're all I've ever wanted, Glen. I’d
hate to think that I missed one last chance for us.” The voice
paused then said, “You know how to reach me if you decide to
come. I’ll be waiting for you. I love you.”
Glenda
turned quickly only to catch a fading-to-black image. She walked
stoutly over to the webscreen, and stared at its blinking replay
option. Sunlight from the window warmed her face. She let the
sensation course through her body for several seconds, before saying
softly, but decisively, “Delete.”
That
bastard!
Son-of-a-bitch couldn't even express a caring
word without stroking his own ego. How dare he call her, after
everything he’d put her through! Of all the egocentric,
inconsiderate, irresponsible...
How
dare
he make her want
to say
yes
!
Glenda bit down, huffing through her teeth. And she called herself a
woman of the future. Ha! She should be ashamed. If her former sisters
at Feminine Future Perfect had ever gotten wise to the relationship,
they would’ve burned Glenda at the stake for two reasons—one
for debasing herself with a man in such a Neolithic pattern, and two,
for not telling them sooner so they wouldn’t have to feel
guilty about their own similar off-the-record adventures...or at
least their desire to have them. The judgment she could live with,
but the hypocrisy was a whole other story. That and the air of anger
and divisiveness, which seemed to be edging its way to the upper
echelons of the organization, one faction at a time, was what made
Glenda's attendance at the semi-annual rally, three years ago, her
last. Not that that made her feel any better. Glenda was still a
sister of the future and it was just
wrong
to indulge herself in the mirage of the fair maiden rescued by the
gallant knight and then whisking her away to a palace on a hill.
Damn
him
for making her want that!
Damn
him for exposing her to the reality of what she was capable; for
giving her the most life affirming adventures she’d ever had!
And for making her fear they would forever be behind her. Damn him,
and damn every man like him!
As
Glenda ground her teeth to little white nubs, the hub’s beep
sounded again. She regarded the screen, only to have it flash the
words, NO IMAGE AVAILABLE.
“
M...Ms.
Jameson, hello. This is Richard Kelmer.”
Glenda's
brow angled up.
There
was a name she hadn't heard in a few
weeks. Not since he'd relinquished his part time professorship.
Richard Kelmer had tutored her to fill a science requirement at Case
Western Reserve University. He was a kind man, drastically shy,
viciously polite, and she loved the fact that he was so patient with
her. She even suspected a mild crush. Funny, he was calling. She
hoped he hadn't finally gathered the courage to ask for a date. She'd
hate to hurt his feelings.
“
I...I
don’t mean to disturb you,” he said. “but I’ve
been doing some...very special work here at Millenitech lately and I
uh...uh, well l...let’s just say your name came up and...Oh,
dear, this is difficult to discuss over the phone. I really wish you
were there. I really need to speak with you. I’m sorry, I can’t
leave a number. I...I’ll try to get in touch with you again
later, when we can talk in person, some place safe. It’s
important.” The hub beeped again signaling the messages end.
Glenda
grimaced and scratched her head.
Well, that couldn't have sounded
any stranger.
Some place safe? What did that mean?
She put
it to the side of her mind and started toward the kitchen again. She
barely got a foot forward before the webscreen trilled.
“
Hello,”
she said, facing it once more.
The
NO IMAGE AVAILABLE flashed at her. “Ms. Jameson, thank God.”
It was Richard Kelmer.
“
Dr.
Kelmer?”
“
Yes.
Th...thank God I reached you! I m...m...must speak with you right
away! Can you m...meet me?”
“
Dr.
Kelmer, are you alright? Your last message sounded very strange.”
“
I'm
n...not sure I can discuss it over the phone. Are you...you alone?”
Glenda
held silent for a second. Kelmer had always stammered, but now he
sounded different. He had dampened himself to almost a whisper, as if
he feared being overheard.