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eBook Category: Science Fiction
eBook Description: 2010: Several nihilistic groups band together and release hundreds of computer viruses into the financial markets and power plants of the world. The resulting Crash sends mankind spiraling into chaoss. 2023: Mankind has crawled back from the brink but the world is a very different place. Many governments are no more. Corporations control much of the world while many live in the streets. 2051: Biotech, the world's leader in computer wetware, installs their latest wetware computer into Joey, an unwilling test subject. The world will never be the same.

eBook Publisher: The Fiction Works, Published: Fiction Works, 2004
Fictionwise Release Date: February 2004

27 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [286 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [254 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [247 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [864 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [280 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [236 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [279 KB] , hiebook (KML) [623 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [377 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [231 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [289 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [344 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [378 KB]
Words: 89578
Reading time: 255-358 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Portable Document Format (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

"I highly recommend this story to anyone who enjoys science fiction or futuristic genres."--Briana Lambert, Editor, Timeless Tales Book Reviews

The rain had slackened but had not quite let up as Joey rolled his bike to a stop and switched it off. It seemed like it was always raining in LA these days. Four days out of seven the rain came down, turning the crumbling streets of the city into miniature rivers of crud. Two out of those four days the acidic rain burned exposed skin and unprotected clothing within minutes. Summer was always unbearably hot and winter brought more rain but little relief. Like it or not the weather in the world of 2051 pretty much sucked all the time.

He glanced up and down the darkened street as he let the kickstand down and stepped off. There was traffic but not much and the streets of the decrepit neighborhood were all but deserted. Never much traffic here in the Zone at four in the morning, Joey thought. It was different in the city proper, near Corptown where things were bustling all the time. But that was inside the walls, under the neon stars that always shined. Out in the Free-Fire Zone there were no police, no fire department, and no hope. It had been that way for over a decade, since they'd built the walls around the downtown and waterfront areas to keep the gangs out. It didn't work but the illusion made the urban dwellers feel safer anyhow.

Taking one last glimpse to make sure no one was looking he lifted the seat of his battered motorcycle and opened the secret compartment underneath. The package was still there, a small black box about the size of two packs of smokes, wrapped in thick brown plastic and sealed with banding tape. Somebody didn't trust him not to peek.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the motorcycle's mirror and stared hard at his face for a moment. He was not happy at what looked back. He was still young, only twenty-four, but his face had tension lines that made him look older. His hair was still jet black, his eyes still a very dark brown, and he still had the same pale skin as he'd always had. Too much time indoors had prevented the skin cancer that seemed to claim everyone else but he always looked pale and sickly. He was not tall, just over five-foot eight, and barely a hundred and thirty pounds. He sighed at the reflection and turned his mind back to the matters at hand.

Stashing the package in a pocket of his long coat, Joey set the seat back into place. The time for the exchange was soon, ten minutes or less, and he was late. Skirting between three slow-moving cars, he jogged across the street and headed south. Turning east at the corner, he jogged another block and then turned south again. The chronograph in his cybernetic eye told him it was going to be close, but he could not afford to be followed. One of the few advantages of the 21st century was the number of technological advances. Cybernetic eyes that could see in the dark, artificial arms and legs that could turn a man into a working machine, microscopic robots that could rebuild your liver, kidneys or mend broken bones. They even had body armor you could wear under the skin, woven of strong synthetic fibers and attached to your outer layer of muscles. It wouldn't stop a bullet but it would slow one down and the deluxe model would even turn a blade.

Midway down the block he ducked into a ruined tenement building trotted through the entry hall to the back of the building and out the back door into the alley. Now he felt he was safe, safe enough at least. Two more blocks east and one north and he was staring at his destination.

"The Fireball Club," he almost spat it out as he looked at the red lights and old-fashioned neon sign from across the street.

The Fireball Club was a holdover from the last century, opened before the neighborhood had been swallowed by the Zone but after the decline had started in the ' 90s. Now it was a known hangout for every type of thug and low-life in Los Angeles. The front of the three-story brick building was painted in hues of red, orange and yellow depicting a scene of hell. Trapped souls stood down at the street-level while Satan looked down at them from the third floor. Many people did not know how accurate the scene was. Most of the visitors were never permitted beyond the first floor. Joey's buyer, Frankie the Snoop, lived and worked on the third floor. From his perch he looked down on the neighborhood he ruled with an iron fist.

oey tried to look casual as he strolled across the street and up to the door. Bruce, the bouncer, was at the door looking menacing as always. Bruce was new to the club, less than three months on the job. He replaced the last bouncer who had tangled with a cybered-up psychotic with poisoned claws and lost. Bruce was over six feet tall, about four feet wide at the chest and weighing in at about one-twenty kilos. His close-cropped blonde hair and artificial tan spoke of vanity, but he could still crush a man's skull with one hand.

"Gotta see Frankie," Joey said as he stepped up to the door. Bruce barred the way with his own body. "Got a present for him." Bruce took out his pocket phone, dialed two numbers and waited patiently. He did not speak, rumor was that he couldn't, but after listening to the phone a few seconds he closed it and stepped aside.

The club was only about a quarter full as Joey traversed the long entry hall. Lewd scenes painted by some drug-inspired madman covered the walls and ceiling. He passed them without looking; he had seen them all before. The hall opened into the main room, an open gallery fifty feet across with a sunken dance floor. Booths ran along the walls to the left and right, the tables painted black to match the red seat covers. The far wall was one long bar running from end to end staffed by two tenders. The ceiling was domed in the center, a macabre chandelier dangling in the middle decorated with crystals of black and red. The stairs to the third floor were in a small room behind the bar so Joey started across.

"Hello Joey. How have you been?" he heard from behind him. He took another step, climbing the one over-sized step out of the dancing pit, then turned around. The man moving towards him was tall, much taller than Joey's sleight five foot eight frame, with silvery hair and long thin finger. He wore a black suit, always black, and looked like a cross between a game show host and an undertaker.

"I didn't know you were still in town Joey. How are you?"

"Fine Bernie, and you?" Joey said evenly. Once he and Bernie had been like brothers, but that was long gone.

"Oh, fine I guess," Bernie managed, sensing the tension between them. "What have you been doing with yourself lately?"

"This and that," Joey replied flatly, no emotion registering in his voice. "You know how it is."

"Yes, I know." Bernie was looking nervous, sorry he'd started the conversation. "Is there anything I can do for you Joey? Do you need money or anything?"

"How about a job Bernie?" Joey cut right to the matter. "I'm a little rusty but I can still talk the talk."

"I wish I could Joey," Bernie replied, not meaning it. "But you know how things are now. The Man says you're banned ... for good. If I were to help you out that way...."

"Go away Bernie," Joey said as he turned towards the bar and put Bernie out of his mind. He half expected to hear a parting remark, it would have given him a reason to walk faster. But no remark came and he moved up to the bar and nodded subtly to the bartender wiping glasses.

"I need a beer Pete," he said, using the code for the week.

"Draft or bottle?" Pete countered. The wrong reply would signal the second bartender, Pete's partner Stan, to draw his shotgun and begin firing. Joey would likely be the first one shot.

"Draft Pete, only the best." Joey announced in code that he had the goods on him and that he was all clear.

"Step right in sport," Pete said as he drew the beer and leaned on the silent buzzer with his foot. The lock at the end of the bar clicked and a small panel about three feet high opened in the front of the bar. Joey ducked through and closed the panel from the other side. He was standing behind the bar now, eyeing the dance floor one last time before opening the door to the stairwell. Pete handed him a beer and waved him on through.

Joey sipped at the beer as he climbed the stairs to the third floor. The landing on the second floor had no access door, that floor having been claimed by storage years ago. It was the third floor where things happened around here. He stopped outside the large red fire door at the top of the stairs and stood directly in front of the peephole. He knew he was being checked out by face as well as scanned for guns or bombs. Frankie had not controlled the entire neighborhood for six blocks around for a decade without being careful. After what seemed like a long time the door swung open silently.

The third floor of the Fireball Club would have put many four-star hotels to shame. The large central room, the dimensions matched the dance floor downstairs, was decorated with rich tapestries, oil paintings and holo-renditions of faraway lands. The floor was of teakwood and Joey unconsciously kicked off his shoes as he stepped beyond the threshold. A raised dais took up the center of the room. On it sat a throne rumored to have belonged to one of the kings of England. Upon this throne, flanked by twin female bodybuilders Grace and Gracie, sat the most notorious man Joey had ever met. Born Franklin John Scarapetta, he was known throughout the Zone as Frankie the Snoop. Tonight he was dressed in a silk robe, dark green with black borders, over his favorite red silk pajamas. His twin bodyguards, rumored to both be clones of Frankie's late wife, were identical in every detail except for their names. They were obviously body sculpted, following the blonde/Nordic/ultra-pale style, and strong as hell. Both could kill Bruce in a matter of seconds and they knew it. They stood in bare feet, dressed only in black one-piece bathing suits. Every muscle rippled when they moved, like living works of art.

"You're late Joey," Frankie said quietly as he held out his left hand and Grace placed his cigarette holder in it. Gracie lit the cigarette like the whole scene was rehearsed.

"I wanted to make sure I wasn't followed," Joey replied evenly. He sometimes had a temper, especially lately, but he had to be careful with Frankie.

"Were you followed?" Frankie asked, blowing smoke from his nostrils.

"No. I made sure, as always," Joey replied.

"Do you have the package?" Frankie motioned and Grace stepped up, hand outstretched. Joey pulled the package from his pocket and handed it over. Grace tore it open, ripping the banding tape with little effort, and Joey saw that it was some sort of data cache. Judging by the size it was probably 50 Gig or more. The connection ports all had foil seals over them to prevent tampering. They really didn't want him peeking! Grace placed the box in Frankie's hand and returned to her station beside him.

"Good job Joey, as usual." Frankie seemed to relax a little. "Pete confirmed that you weren't followed to the club and the seals are intact. Well done."

Gracie stepped over and presented a credstick and a small plastic box. Joey checked the stick, saw that it contained more money than usual, then checked the box. Inside he found eight tiny black tablets, each with a white dot in the center. He closed the box and looked up questioningly.

"I decided to throw in a bonus for a job well done," Frankie said lazily. "You've been muling for me for nearly two years and you've only ever lost one shipment. As a result, you get a bonus. Go out and have some fun for a change. I'll call you in a week for your next job."

"And the pills?" Joey asked cautiously. The pay had been double what he normally got, but then he had always had to buy his own drugs before. Life for him was usually measured by time between Stim doses.

"Something new, from out east," Frankie said. "Same as Stim but with a small euphoric effect. Supposedly it keeps you from being too stressed during the high. But be careful in public. The black is supposed to be your pupil. For as long as the high lasts you'll be walking around with small white dots in the middle of yours. Cops might spot you and pick you up, so take care."

"Thanks Frankie," Joey said, choking on every word. "I'll see you next week."