Steampunk is Dead: (Book Two) (Sci-Fi Series) (The Feedback Loop 2), page 1
Steampunk is Dead
The Feedback Loop BOOK TWO
Harmon Cooper
Edited by George C. Hopkins
Copyright © 2015 by Harmon Cooper
Copyright © 2015 Boycott Books
Cover by White Comma
Edited by George C. Hopkins (georgechopkins@yahoo.com)
www.harmoncooper.com
writer.harmoncooper@gmail.com
Twitter: @_HarmonCooper
All rights reserved. All rights preserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Here are two free, full-length books from my other sci-fi series.
If these names mean anything to you – Hunter S. Thompson, William Gibson, William S. Burroughs, David Mitchell, Kurt Vonnegut, Philip K. Dick, Karen Russell, Donald Barthelme – then you may like my new series, Life is a Beautiful Thing. Warning: this series is obscene, ridiculous, drug-filled and far from PC. That being said, it may totally be up your alley. Note: it takes place twenty-five years after the Feedback Loop Series and shares the same world, but not the same characters.
So if you like the Feedback Loop, you’ll like some of the similarities in this series.
Reviews for the series:
'Mesmerizing, dark dystopian thriller. The action never lets up.' - Amazon top 500 reviewer
'If Palahniuk wrote Trainspotting as a dystopian futuristic sci-fi, it would be this book...smart, funny, stylish, quick-moving, and cyberpunk-sexy.' -Amazon top 500 reviewer
'Strangely thrilling; imaginative and depressingly fresh, Cooper introduces a freakishly diverse cast of characters in a futuristic setting that is, sadly, a feasible reality in which to devolve.' -Liquid Frost, Amazon Top 100 reviewer
'Definitely cyberpunk (William Gibson meets Phillip K Dick) with a side order of Clockwork Orange sums it up.' - Goodreads reviewer
'This book will make you want to read the entire series.' - Amazon reviewer
'Imaginative and fast paced.' - Amazon reviewer
Want the books for free? Sign my reader’s group here and I’ll send you a free copy of each book. I love writing this series, and I’d love it if you joined me on the wild ride that is Life is a Beautiful Thing.
Want to check it out first? The first four chapters of Book One are at the back of this book, accessible from the Kindle menu above (Go To). You can also preview them by clicking here.
Thanks for the support and happy reading,
Harmon Cooper
Chapter Zero
Steampunk is Dead is the second book in The Feedback Loop series. If you’ve somehow missed Book One, get it here on Amazon.
The Feedback Loop (Book One)
Chapter One
I try in vain to access my inventory list. My finger taps against thin air, waiting for my inventory list to appear. Come on you bastard…
Another kick to the stomach reminds me of where I am, lying in a dirty, greasy, urine-soaked alley, watching the stars and planets whirl about in my own private planetarium and feeling genuine, full-body pain the likes of which I haven’t felt in years. Blood on my lips, blood on my chin, blood on the pavement. The fight already lost, the white flag tattered.
‘Come on,’ I say tapping my finger in the air. ‘Come on…’
Another kick reminds me of how real the real world is, how stupid I must look trying to access my inventory list. From trouble boys and trigger men to snowed up shitbirds – the story of my life.
Pathetic, Quantum.
My eyes blur as I take in the man’s stompers, oversized things that make him look like a toddler in his dad’s sneakers.
‘Ya got something else to say, ya bastid?’ my assailant asks. He is East Coast to the core – that accent we’ve come to love and despise coupled with muscles and grease. No ducktail, but definitely slicked back. The type of palooka I shouldn’t have messed with, the type of jasper who gets high off pollutes and assaults a feeble guy like me, a man with a cane. Maybe I should have opted for cyborg replacements or an exoskeletal suit. What can I say? A man has his convictions.
A kick to my thigh this time.
‘C’mon – is that all you got? My sistuh hits hahduh than you! Stand up, ya pussy! Fight me like a man!’
‘Leave him alone, Jimmy, he ain’t shit.’
You are not in The Loop.
The reminder has little or no effect. Still trying to access my list, still trying to choose a weapon – anything – to handle the wise guy who’s kicking me like I’m a recalcitrant Harley. What I wouldn’t give to access my vintage stag-handled Bowie knife – item 33 – and slice him into greaser jerky, hang his carcass up to dry. What I wouldn’t give to activate my advanced abilities bar, spring into the air and land behind him and crack the back of his neck over my shoulder. Send Mr. Tough guy to the morgue before he can utter another word. Make sure the only thing he can do for the next week is eat out of a tube.
I suppose the name of the game is maim, even in the real world.Another kick and I spit blood. Real blood, my blood, no digital sap allowed.
‘Youah wimpy and weak!’ The man bends over and socks me in the face. ‘Ya heah me? Weak!’
If only we could have met somewhere else…
A final kiss from his big boot sends a sharp pain ballooning through my body. My finger comes up to access my inventory list and I hear laughter.
‘Let’s get out of heah, Jimmy,’ the man’s friend says as a police siren knifes the air. ‘This guy’s a real freak.’
Welcome to the real world, Quantum.
~*~
‘State your name for the record please, this Field Interview is being recorded.’ the police officer says. The walls of the alley strobe red-blue-blue-red; red-blue-blue-red with sufficient intensity to induce an epileptic seizure. I sit with my back against a dumpster, clutch my cane, and try to make sense of what’s just gone down.
‘Quantum Hughes,’ I manage to say.
His pupils dilate and completely occlude the iris as he scans me – okay, this one’s not human, then. No, he’s part of a new Humandroid Police Program, something I would not have believed eight years ago, when I first got stuck in The Loop. There were Humandroids before I got trapped in The Loop, but they weren’t as advanced as they are now. Definitely not advanced enough for law enforcement. Now here’s Homo Machina Lex Congendi Officiariis, genuine Mechanica Porcum Americanus if you will, in the artificial flesh. Next it’ll be ED-209s on every street corner. Who’d have thought it’d come to this? Mechanical fuzz? Goodbye civil liberties and our rapidly eroding constitutional guarantees.
‘Look, RoboCop, I want to speak to a real person,’ I say, ignoring the pain in my jaw every time I flap my gums.
‘You require medical treatment,’ the Humandroid tells me. ‘You have a fractured rib and cranio-facial injuries indicative of potential traumatic brain injury.’
‘Who are you? Dr. McCoy? Dr. Spock? Dr. Seuss? How do you know?’ I ask, as the planet rotates around me.
‘I’ve scanned your vitals twice now.’
‘Dammit droid, I want to speak to someone who can help me find the scum who did this to me.’
‘I understand, Mr. Hughes.’
‘Quantum, call me Quantum, and quit giving me the third degree!’
‘I understand, Mr. Quantum. A human police officer is on the way. In the meantime, please tell me what happened in your own words.’
‘You want to know what happened?’ I look up at the Humandroid. If I hadn’t seen his pupils dilate, I would have assumed he was as human as me.
‘Please, in detail. The video from the surveillance equipment in this alley will help us to positively identify the alleged perpetrators.’
‘Surveillance equipment? Wait a minute – alleged perpetrators?’
‘Yes sir. Unless and until the individuals in question are apprehended, processed, tried, and convicted they are the alleged perpetrators. In accordance with the Watch Our Own People Act of 2036, surveillance equipment has been installed in all public spaces, particularly those where statistical probability indicates criminal activity is likely to transpire.’
I sigh. ‘Listen, droid...’
His voice goes flat and not-quite-menacing, ‘Mr. Hughes, my official designation is Mark9 Patrol Officer, Unit 2315. You may address me by some variation thereof. Do not address me as droid again. This is your first, last, and only warning.’
‘Mark9 Patrol Officer? Do you know my buddy Mark8? He and I go way back… ’ I say with a blood dappled grin. I’ve been back in the real world for nearly a month now – giving droids hell is something I’ve come to enjoy.
‘Very humorous, Mr. Quantum. I’ll be sure to recount it to the other Mark9s at the precinctory who will without doubt enjoy it as much as I have. Now then Mr. Quantum, in detail, what happened?’
‘All right, Marky Mark all right. So I stepped into the bar…’
‘Paddy’s Pub.’
‘Sure, whatever. Anyways, I sit down and have a beer. Then I have another beer. Then I have another, ‘nother beer.’
‘Three beers.’
‘You got a calculator app too? Listen, Ro-Man, I wasn’t going over the edge with the rams or anything – got it? I was just having a few cold ones. Nothing wrong with that. This is still a free-ish country, dammit.’
‘Indeed sir. Is this your blood on the ground here?’
‘Well, let’s see, Marlowe. That’s the spot I was lying in when you showed up, I’m the only one here that’s bleeding. So yeah, there’s a statistical probability that it’s my blood.’ I can talk like a tight-ass too.
‘Yes sir. Is this your blood; please answer yes or no.’
‘Yes, yes – it’s my blood. What, are you the Blood Police? You gonna charge me with littering for getting my blood all over this nice clean alley?
He takes a small applicator out of a pouch on his belt, delicately swabs it in the blood – my blood, holds the applicator in thumb and pointer finger and dilates his pupils again as he reads it.’
My eyes narrow. ‘What’s the big idea?’
The Humandroid officer flatly states, ‘Adjusting for your weight, stomach contents, and metabolic rate, your blood alcohol concentration in parts per million indicates you have consumed more than three beers. You are well above the legal limit, sir.’
‘Oh, you’re frickin’ CSI Baltimore now? Well, there’s nothing wrong with that is there? I’m not operating an aeros, ground vehicle, or heavy equipment; I’m not on a hoverboard, Imperial speeder bike or unicycle. I don’t even have a hayburner or nothing.’
He produces a small ziploc bag, places the swab inside, and secures the bag in his bat-utility belt. ‘Very well, Mr. Quantum. Do tell me what happened in Paddy’s Pub.’
‘Okay, so maybe I had six beers. The point is, I saw these two goons across the bar looking at me funny, gowed-up on pollutes.’
‘Describe the men.’
‘Buff, slicked back hair, dangly earrings, fake tan, maybe Italian, Puerto Rican, Greek, Martian, Joey from Friends – who knows. I got no idea what the filth were doing here in Baltimore.’
‘And were they drinking?’
‘Are you listening to me? They were using pollutes.’
Pollutes are the name for designer inhalants dispensed by pollution masks, which were developed in the 2040s. They’ve become quite popular in the eight years I was marooned in The Loop, although personally I don’t see what all the fuss is about. Who wants to sit around like an aardvark with a rhinovirus snuffling in designer gasses when you can marinate your brain cells in good ‘ol EtOH like God intended? What the hell is wrong with people these days anyway? I’m not saying eel juice is for everyone, but it beats sitting around in neo-plague masks sucking down dope.
‘So the two men were using pollutes?’ the Humandroid asks.
‘Do I need to spell it out for you?’
‘And then what happened?’
‘One of them took off his mask and asked me if I was looking at him funny.’
‘And how did you reply?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘What do you remember?’
I scowled at the droid, but the change in my facial expression didn’t seem to register with him. ‘I remember one of them asking if I’d like to take it outside. Well, I obliged, and I got one good one in with my cane before he overpowered me.’
‘I see. So you state that you committed the initial assault, and the subsequent physical injuries you received were a direct result of that individual acting in lawful self-defense. Does that accurately describe what happened?’ he asks.
‘I… wait, what?’ My eyes move from the officer’s perfectly sculpted face to a streetlamp in the distance. Don’t give yourself away, Quantum.
‘Does that accurately describe what happened?’
‘I don’t remember.’
This is turning not good way too fast. I stand, wobbly, but at least I’m on my feet. Leaning my weight on my aluminum cane helps some, but not much. I’m not the biggest fan of my new walking buddy, but it’s better than a wheelchair. ‘Look, Mark9 Patrol Officer Unit 2315, Can we just forget about the whole thing? I’ve got to get going.’
‘Do you desire to make an official statement?’
‘No, I’d like to go back to my hotel.’
‘I’ll escort you, Mr. Hughes.’
‘Quantum, call me Quantum.’
~*~
The hotel I’m staying at in Baltimore isn’t far from the gin mill, just a couple of blocks. It’s an elaborate affair, with a half-donut driveway and an expansive lobby. Too much room for me; I prefer something a little cozier, something a little more disheveled, something like The Mondegreen Hotel in The Loop.
‘You should receive medical attention,’ Mark9 Patrol Officer suggests once we arrive at the hotel. ‘I can summon emergency services if you desire.’
I shake my head. ‘No meat wagons. I’ve seen enough sawbones over the last month to last me a lifetime. I’ve been poked, prodded, picked over and examined…’
‘So your life chip data states,’ he says.
‘Life chip data?’ The bottom drops out of my stomach. ‘I didn’t authorize a… a damn life chip!’
‘It was likely inserted it during one of your surgical procedures, as lifechip evasion is a federal offense. The life chip allows the Federal Corporate Government to better administer to its citizens’ needs. Yours indicates that you’ve recently had corrective spinal surgery and that you were in a digital coma for eight years.’
I tap the tip of my cane against the polished marble floor. A looker walks by with a pair of getaway sticks worthy of a pinup mag. I shoot her a toothy grin and she ignores me. My thoughts return to the fact that I’ve been chipped like a shelter puppy – now I’m traceable, trackable, watchable and blackmailable.
Thanks a lot, Frances Euphoria. She’s the one who signed off on my medical procedures. My fists tighten as I turn away from the droid.
‘If I have a life chip,’ I say through gritted teeth, ‘why did you ask me my name back there?’
‘It is standard procedure to ask a citizen their name during a field interview. It helps to establish a friendlier officer-citizen interaction. Studies have shown that an estimated –’
‘Whatever, copper, I’ve got it from here.’
I’m in the elevator a minute later, heading to my floor. Fuming doesn’t begin to describe my disposition. In the past thirty minutes, I’ve had my ass royally handed to me and been told that there is now a CPU called a life chip installed in my head that can be used for God-knows-what. This on top of the fact that I have to give witness testimony tomorrow has my blood boiling.
As soon as I’m in my hotel room I pick up the phone and call the number Frances Euphoria gave me.
‘Dammit, Frances,’ I say instead of hello.
‘Quantum?’ she chuckles to herself. ‘Ah that’s right; you’re calling on a landline. I haven’t received a call on a landline in ages.’
‘Did you know that a life chip was installed in my head?’
‘Yes,’ she says, yawning. ‘Why?’
‘I told you I didn’t want one! I just got my ass kicked and the droid police officer tells me all these things about me based solely on the data of my life chip. It gave me the creeps.’
‘Ass kicked? Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. The life chip–’
‘Everyone in America has a life chip,’ she says. ‘It’s federal law. I was planning on showing you how to use it tomorrow, after your witness testimony.’
‘So it’s active?’
‘Your life chip is active, but it can’t connect to iNet or anything.’
‘iNet?’ I mouth the words again. ‘Oh, yeah, internet inside my eyelids, the thing that everyone uses. Great, that’s the last thing I need…’
‘It’s quite useful, much more convenient than Wi-Fi. Don’t act like you haven’t seen people using it before. You’ve been out of the recovery ward for a week now.’
‘I was at my dad’s place; he doesn’t use this shit.’
‘Yes, he does – everyone has one.’
The thought of my dad reminded me why I was drinking at the dive bar in the first place. My mom died two weeks before I logged out of The Loop. The woman who had named me and raised me was gone and cared for me. I couldn’t help but feel bitter about it. Two weeks before I woke up.
As Frances tells me about tomorrow’s plans, my eyes settle on the Proxima VE rig set up in the room. There’s an NV visor and even a reclining haptic chair.
