Veneer (31 page)

“Looks like we need a partner,” said one of the men.

“Fuck it, why not two?” asked another in the same voice.

“One will be fine for now.”

Out of the shadows, another copy of the hero stepped forward and touched his belt. After a brilliant flash, he appeared a few feet away from himself, back at the start of the mission.

“I guess I don’t make it very far?” asked the hero.

“This time you will,” assured his counterpart.

“Now it gets interesting,” said Pilar, the smile on her veneer sparkling.

Sebo watched as the sequence repeated, this time with two protagonists, then again with three, four, and so on. After a while, there were twenty instances on the screen.

“It doesn’t really play out like that,” Pilar explained. “You play one series, through the venues, but at any given time you’re either alone or with a random number of yourself. The Director decides how much backup you should get, depending on how well you’re playing. So, if you are twenty minutes in and find yourself with an army of ten, then you should probably go back to Scrabble.”

“How’s the veneer integration?” he asked, chuckling.

“Standard. You can reconcile the hero to look like you and the game will replicate it with its damage engine. It’s all procedural textures anyway. You want to try it out?”

He shrugged in response, put out his hand, and reconciled a portal on top of the trailer. Inside, he brought up the shop that Rosa had done of Russo and Jalay with the naughty bits blacked out. He ignored Pilar’s raised eyebrow and stepped back. “I want these two as enemies.”

Pilar reconciled the trailer away and brought the game up on the wall. She moved deftly through the configuration screens. When the game asked her for the enemy models, she studied Sebo’s source material and then recreated it flawlessly on the blank avatars. “Someone’s messaging you.”

Sebo looked back and saw a flashing icon on his portal. He brought it to the front, a message from Rosa. It read simply, “Great.” It took a moment to recall his earlier message about Jalay. As he was pondering her curt response, another came in.

“Are you going to ride the trams today?” it inquired.

“As opposed to walking?” asked Pilar.

“To look for our friend,” explained Sebo. He thought of another evening wasted on the uncomfortable plastic seats of the tram.

“If you left a portal running at home, I can have this pre-loaded by the time you get there.”

Sebo nodded, not really paying attention.

“Unless you have to get going,” she teased.

“Demo first,” he announced. “I don’t try until I buy.”

“You got that backwards,” replied Pilar. She had moved to another screen and was carefully reconciling Sebo’s veneer. For realism, she added some pre-existing battle scars.

“I’m riding now,” he reconciled into the instant message window. “I’ll keep looking. Why weren’t you in school today?”

“Checking something out,” Rosa replied, ending her sentence with a string of frustrating ellipses. He started to ask for more details, but she wrote, “Got to go. Message me if you find him.”

The little indicator in the corner of the window changed from green to gray; she had gone offline.

“This is ready to go,” said Pilar. “If you buy before you leave today, I’ll give you a Preferred Customer discount.”

“And what’s that worth?”

“Ten percent off,” she replied, a thin smile on her face.

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“I just want to get this done before you run off and look for your friend.” She looked around the otherwise empty store. “Business has been a little tight this month.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I am a man beset by free time and I demand something to fill it! And since girls evidently find me repulsive, I will just have to make do with this game.”

Pilar crossed her arms under her breasts. Nodding to the door, she asked, “What about your friend?”

Sebo shrugged and look at the pretty pictures on the wall. An avatar wearing his veneer was slowly spinning on a pedestal. It had a slightly urgent look on its face, as if it were ready for action.

Clearing his throat, Sebo replied, “Don’t worry about him.” Then, to himself, “He’ll still be lost tomorrow.”

40 - Deron

As the sun began to set, Deron wondered how much of the trip back he would spend in total darkness. Maybe they did it that way for a reason, set out towards Easton under the cover of night to hide from something or someone. He hadn’t noticed anyone following them on the way to Dos Presas, no drones patrolling the skies or hovering ominously overhead like any Friday or Saturday night in Easton. Their fear seemed to be misplaced; nobody really cared that they had escaped. They had left and only a handful of people had even noticed.

Deron kicked at the dirt under his shoes and thought about the people who would have cared about his departure. He hadn’t even been outside the city more than twenty-four hours, but already he could feel the impassible chasm opening between himself and the friends he’d left behind. What he had learned, what he had seen, was more than the sum of a night’s steps. There was a world outside of Easton’s rules where people didn’t focus on the appearance of things but rather on their content. Not once during his many introductions did anyone comment on his scars. And though no one in Dos Presas could have passed for a supermodel, he had found a few of the girls attractive. It was the difference between Destined 4 Death and a real fight with Russo. It wasn’t just violence that could be more visceral.

The more the sun dipped, the more restless he became until finally he walked out onto the wide bridge. In the center, he stopped in front of a small gap and saw that the two sides were barely connected. The rails butted up against each other, but the planks operated independently. At the very edge, he noticed that his side dipped slightly. Poor construction, he thought, or a way to break down the bridge quickly should the worst happen. That would be unfortunate for anyone on it as the river looked treacherous. Timo had mentioned that it flowed through a large pipe at the bottom of the dam, making the surface seem calm but the depths an inescapable death.

Deron was leaning over the side of the bridge and looking at his wavering reflection in the water when Valentin arrived, his face scrunched in confusion.

“That’s it then,” he said, forgoing a greeting.

“Sorry?” asked Deron.

“You should be.” He flashed disappointment, but it receded. “You know I don’t get credit for you unless you stay? Dad was going to take me on my first raid because I got you but now...” He scoffed. “Why would you even want to go back to that place? They don’t want people like us there.”

Deron looked at the water again, at the shadowy forms of fish swimming deep below the surface. “A few people want me there. More than want me here, for sure.”

“We all want you here,” said Valentin, his voice pitchy. “New people keep this place going. Didn’t you see all those girls at lunch?” He moved closer so he could speak softer. “They’re always excited when a new guy shows up. I mean, they really don’t have many options.”

“I
have
a girlfriend. And family and friends.” He let out a sharp breath. “I have to at least let them know I’m okay.”

Valentin shook his head dismissively. “They won’t let you anywhere near them. The second you step a toe inside those walls, they’ll pick you up. You think you’re the first person to try to go back? My dad says there’s been dozens, people like you who didn’t accept their fate and ran back home to mommy.”

The rail of the bridge was smooth; someone had put a lot of time into sanding it down. Deron traced his finger along the darkened veins, unknowingly drawing a small portal. Its edges sizzled in their attempt to be black and wood-colored at the same time. Inside, his start page appeared, but only the colors and shapes. All the text was missing; in its place was just black noise. With a little effort, he could reconcile anything into those boxes. He could make an instant message window pop up, make it from Rosalia about how much she missed him.

None of it would be real though. It had not made any sense until the conversation with Abernathy. The portal had to connect to the network and he, or rather his chip, was too far away to transfer data. He wondered how close he would have to get before he could send and receive again.

“Can you see this?” Deron asked, motioning with his hand.

“The rail?”

“No, the portal. My start page.”

“What are you talking about?” Valentin took a step back and crossed his arms.

“Back home, we could reconcile a portal wherever we wanted. And in the portal, you had a connection to an infinite network of information. You could play games, find books, talk to people. It was endless.”

“You can reconcile?” His eyes widened.

“Sometimes,” replied Deron, looking at his portal again. He brushed away the content boxes and replaced them with a picture of Rosalia. “Abernathy thinks I’m a freak.” He chuckled. “And your dad wasn’t too happy about it either.”

“How did—?”

“But it’s no good out here. I can’t connect. You said people have wanted to go back before. Did any of them just want to say goodbye?”

Valentin’s face shifted as if he had never considered the idea.

“Yeah,” said Deron. “I don’t know if I’m coming back or not. I never felt right in Easton, but my mom is going to worry about me.”

“You haven’t seen how great this place can be,” countered Valentin. “Nobody pays attention to Abernathy anyway.”

Deron laughed, glanced again at the veneer of Rosalia. He dragged his finger across her face and made the model spin. He had made up his mind; whether he could convince Valentin of his certainty didn’t make any difference.

“Val!” Timo’s voice carried over the quiet evening. Without a goodbye, the boy broke off and walked hurriedly to his father. Their voices were sharp but hushed and at one point it looked like Valentin wanted to come back to the bridge, but Timo pointed away ardently. The son obeyed but not without offering a half-hearted wave.

It wasn’t going to be pretty, but if Timo wanted to argue about it more, then Deron was ready. It didn’t matter that the man had brought someone with him as backup. They both walked slowly towards the bridge, Timo with his eyes locked on Deron, the other looking around, disinterested.

“Deron,” said Timo. “This is Skinner. It’s his night to walk the path to Easton. He’ll take you back.”

“Thanks,” replied Deron, shaking the thin man’s hand.

“He’s going that way anyway,” he continued. Then, to Skinner, “You go and look for a newcomer but don’t stay any longer than normal. And if
he
goes into the city, you book it the hell out of there. They’re going to light that place up when they take him.”

Deron protested, “They’re not gonna—”

“See that they don’t!” Even Timo looked surprised at his own anger. He took a step back, echoing a move Valentin must have learned from him.

Skinner didn’t seem to be listening to the conversation and he started moving towards the opposite bank.

“I might come back,” offered Deron. “I don’t know yet.”

Timo’s face lost its fire. “We need you. But not until you need us. So go do whatever it is you think will make you feel better. We’ll be here to put you back together once you realize how asleep everyone else is.”

Deron nodded and extended his hand.

With a reluctant sigh, Timo shook it. “You be safe, boy. We can’t come rescue you if you get caught.”

“I get it,” he replied. “Thanks.”

Skinner started to whistle.

“Good luck, Deron.” Timo hesitated another moment and then walked away.

“Don’t mind him,” said Skinner, after Deron had caught up. “He loves with anger instead of...”

“Love?” asked Deron.

“That’s a word,” agreed the thin man.

By the time the moon came out, they had been walking for almost an hour. The sound of the spillway was distant and it took a bit of squinting to see the lights of the town.

“So what’s the plan?”

A good question, thought Deron. It would be late when they reached Easton, much too late to show up at Rosalia’s doorstep. He’d have to wait until morning or if he could reconcile a portal, send her a message and arrange a meeting. Maybe she’d skip school to see him.

Skinner cleared his throat when he didn’t get an answer. He then asked, “What’s her name?”

“Rosalia,” answered Deron, automatically.

“How does she look?”

That question again. Why was everyone so focused on appearances?

Deron thought about her face. “Her nose is small, but she has a wide smile with a lot of teeth. Her eyebrows—”

“What about her body?” Skinner mimed breasts with his hands.

Deron laughed uncomfortably. “You’re old enough to be her grandfather.”

“Poppycocks,” he replied. “I’m not yet sixty.”

“No wife?”

“We don’t get many women walking out of the city. Five men to every one of them. And not all of them are lookers, either. Why would they be?” His voice changed slightly. “You seen your woman? For real, I mean.”

“Without her veneer?”

Skinner nodded.

“Not yet.”

He whistled a low note. “Wish I could stay around for that! See if that don’t shrivel your pickle!”

Skinner had a crude point. Deron had never seen what Rosalia really looked like. Could it be so different from what he knew and loved? And in the reverse, would she still look on him fondly when he got her beyond the reach of the network?

If she came at all. If that was the plan.

“Don’t worry about my... pickle,” said Deron.

“Never do,” said Skinner. “Only
whores
worry.”

Chuckling, he asked, “What do whores have to worry about?”

Skinner looked at him sideways, his eyes serious. “What
don’t
they have to worry about?”

Another good point, thought Deron.

41 - Ilya

It started suddenly, out of nowhere. One minute Rosalia was content to sit on the floor and push colors around her palette. The next, she was sobbing openly and falling into Ilya’s arms. There was no time to question why; Ilya simply put her arms around her and squeezed.