Celeste shrugged.
The woman raised her eyebrows, “Standard show do you good?”
“Sure, whatever.” Celeste said.
“Great. I love an enthusiastic punter.”
The woman stripped the red dress off functionally and began to slowly turn and spin around the pole. Her body showed her age more than her face. Every gesture was drawn-out and mechanical. There was less life in her performance than the headless droid outside. After a while, Celeste said, “Stop.”
The woman stopped.
“Come over here. Sit down.”
The woman did so without a smile, “Are we gonna talk? You know there’s no special discount for that.”
“I know. Answer a question for me.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you real?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Celeste ran her fingers down the woman’s cheek. The flesh felt warm and the bone underneath was hard. “Can you remember your parents? Are you v-born? Droid stock?”
The woman frowned, “You looking to insult me now? I’m n-born. Pure blood.”
“No-one’s pure here.”
Celeste pinched the flesh of the woman’s other cheek between finger and thumb. It wasn’t a gentle gesture. She meant it to hurt. “Are you lying to me?”
The woman didn’t flinch at the pain, but Celeste could feel the tension growing in her. “If I cut your face off, would there be real bone underneath? Would I be looking at a grinning plas-steel skull? Or, nothing at all? Would I speak all my questions and only be answered by the howling void?”
Tears were running from the woman’s eyes. “Allah, you’re dusted. You can have your share back. Full refund. Serious. Whatever you want from me, I don’t want to give. Please. I want to wake up tomorrow and be breathing. Alive.”
“Don’t we all?” Celeste said.
She let the woman go.
“Get out,” the woman said, “leave me alone. Don’t come back. Clear?”
“Clear.”
Celeste left. She was feeling sick; hating herself for what she’d done. Someone who doesn’t flinch from pain has known too much.
And, the bitterclear in her stomach was fighting back. She needed a dispose-cube quick. She pushed her way towards the farthest section of the rathole, ricocheting from one regular to another. Her head was spinning like the deathball on the screens. Game Two of the night was underway. No less bloody than the one before. Groping her way along the nearest wall, she felt the surface give and open up into a dark, secluded space. Dispose-cube or not, this would have to do. Celeste near-collapsed. Her knees banging hard against the flooring as she vomited even harder. It could’ve been minutes or hours before she came back to herself. Elastic time snapped back into place. She looked up and saw four men looking down at her.
Oh, shit.
She’d thrown up in a private room. One look told her these were all hi-seccers. Young ones. Rich. They had smiles on their faces that could’ve been painted on. Their eyes had been upgraded with fluorescence and the pupils were elongated, nocturnal slits. With their hair spiked and the studded faux-leather fibes they were wearing, she felt like she’d fallen into a den of night creatures. They were wearing masks she vaguely recognised. Old world names came to mind: Nixon, Hitler, Putin, and Trump. Despicable, cowardly men these spoilt children wished to emulate. One of them giggled, high-pitched and mean. Another shuffled his feet, the omega wolf cowering at the rear of the pack. One alpha led the others, neo-knives drawn. In the background, she could see a bukake porno playing on the worn-out vidscreen.
“She smells awful sick,” said one.
“The better for us,” said another.
“Put her down and get her naked. Grab her by the pussy. I want to put my knife in her, all the way inside,” said the mean giggler wearing the Trump mask.
The alpha, in his Putin mask, was strong enough to pin a drunk woman to the ground. Struggling sent everything into violent spin. Celeste gagged on her own bile. The night creatures laughed. She spat in their faces. The lighting made their masked visages turn dark and ugly.
The brilliance of a neo-knife interrupted her vision. So close she could hear the buzzing of the element inside. “You spat in my eye,” the alpha said, “I should take one of your eyes for that.”
Celeste tried to move her legs to kick but she couldn’t. The others were sitting on her; keeping her still while the alpha had his play. Leader of the pack went first. The others followed after. The neo-knife’s light illuminated his teeth, which were too white and too clean. He leaned in and licked her face up and down with a prehensile tongue, an extra bought with parental shares. “You taste nice,” he said. “Be sweet for me.”
It was the last thing he said.
The world exploded.
Boom – boom
Hitler and Nixon disintegrated in a hot shower of blood and bone.
Boom – boom
A scream from Putin. A child’s cry from Trump, followed by some whimpering. Hard substance cracked against flesh and bone. There was smoke and bitterness in the air. It stung her eyes. She blinked to clear them. Hands helped Celeste to her feet and she saw the barman with the plas-steel skull. He was holding a sawn-off shotgun under his arm. His permanent leer was a welcome sight. “You hurt?” he asked.
“No, shaken, that’s all.” Celeste said.
He led her gently out of the private room.
“What about them?” she asked, “won’t family come looking?”
He shrugged. “I’ll dump the bodies. It’s not the first time. A friend will cut out their soulwires and sell them on black market. No-one’s anyone without their soulwire. They’ll be little more than dead meat once they’re found and I doubt their parents will mourn long. Hi-seccers love their share best, after all.”
Celeste looked around. No-one seemed disturbed. They were watching the game. The volume way up, must’ve helped to hide the gunshots. She sat down at the bar; conscious of her dishevelment and the vomit clinging to her clothes though she looked and smelled no worse than the regulars.
“Buy you a drink?”
Celeste smiled her thanks to the barman. He didn’t return the smile – impossible with his engineered grin. He poured and set down two shots before her; one red, one blue.
“See one you like?” he asked.
Celeste considered them for a moment.
She downed both in quick succession. No sipping here.
“Compliments of the man in the moon.”
Celeste looked at the bar man with an effort. “What?”
Her head was getting heavy, and he was blurring, becoming indistinct. His skull grew rounder, whiter, and the shimmering bottles behind him glowed like stars in a night sky she’d never seen. The noise from the screens and the hubbub of the regulars became a strident, ululating choir. His mouth opened to encompass everything, opening wide, wide enough to swallow her down into the void. “Time to wake up, Celeste Walker. Remember, there’s no place like home.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mickey Mouse was ringing again.
Groggily, Celeste groped for the cheap plastic receiver and picked it up.
“There’s no place like home,” said the voice on the other end.
“How do you know that?” she asked.
“If this is real, then it doesn’t make a difference. But you could be in deep, Celeste Walker. Tread light. Tread careful. Say the words out loud, and see for yourself.”