Broadcast

I flashed my light into the dust-choked window and saw that everything was in order. There was a reason that Michael had sent us out to the Darum flats, but I wasn’t convinced that looking into a mostly empty parts shed was worth anybody’s time.

“Hurry it the hell up Mahir, we have two more hobos to frill before the light ends.” Kojo was my driver and I liked him that way. A few years back, during the Kuinails Insurgencies we were in the field together scupping the rebellious in Pakistan. There was much to be silenced in those times, and I knew all too well the extent to which Kojo could defend himself against the innocent noises. There were times when I felt that we both had gone over to a darker place, especially when we were posted in the Northern Areas.

I pried my face from the window of the small metal shed and jumped back into the cruiser. Kojo didn’t say a thing before running us 10 kilometres south.

The shale sands channelling our vector straight were new, and must have been formed when they blew up the Torrent here a few years ago. Kojo and I had checked our meters, but the rads were mostly under control.

I stared out the window with the rise and fall of Kojo’s breath being mimicked by the pulse of my suit transponder. We were now passing what was once called Bakersfield, back when the Americans were occupying the area. I hated moving on from their entrenchments, but the pay got better elsewhere so I booked camp and fled North with a bunch of outlanders.

“Is there any way we can get to Armstrong before the month ends?” I asked, getting ready to pull out my travel pad from the pack under my seat.

“No way. I want to clear 470 by June in order to keep next year’s taxes in line.”

“You don’t think we can make another, what, 213 by then?”

“Not really. There’s been too many other scrubs out here since February, mopping the place up too well. It’s getting harder to find lines, and even harder to get a trace of those lines back to proper channels. Zip kills all over the place, too many multifrags. Even nanotags are getting repped by bandits stealing kills. Pay attention to your newswire.”

Kojo printed off a thumb pass and, with a quick motion, delegated it to me. “I already got you in for next Tuesday in G-ton Atol, buddy. You want your nut happy, you go there instead.”

“This is a two-kill thrill, and you fucking know it. Armstrong will pay off. Lots of cred for popping that Spring holdings up there.” I looked at the circular pass and knew that I shouldn’t have shared my imprint with an offshore like Kojo. His entire process cycled continually, forging ahead on you. He found it comical to cull fallen bits for pleasure.

“Mahizeer, you’re an underground drip, you know it? I don’t care what you say, I’m going to pulse there without you. Back by Wednesday morning, promise.”

“Right. No funerealz this time, eh? I’m not going to keep it U-S-B for you this time, buddy. You’ll be on your own.”

The dash perspired in red as we came past 50° on the map. This was a new music zone, and the newsfeed changed with a sinful bell. I kept marking the thumb pass to see if I could change the date, but Kojo had put a DNA interface on it. Whatever. I had access to Selkirk point. Not as nice as Armstrong, but Kojo has refused to take me there since we got back from the Insurgencies. He has refused to take me to a lot of places.

We pulled up beside a river, and Kojo got out of the cruiser and immediately began to scan some of the plants by the door. His suit transmitted a few bits to me, and I could see that we were headed in the right direction. The rads were getting lower.

Kojo stood up from his crouch and looked out onto the wide river beside us. He tossed a toxin pack into the water for a reading. The turning barriers that were used on the old highway system were still mostly intact, and harboured us close to a three metre drop. I thought my friends online back home would like to see this beautiful river valley, all alone among so much dessert, so I tried to pull it all in. Kojo was too decisive, however, and was back in the cruiser before I could scan everything that I wanted. Still, Micah would probably be able to piece it all together for an engine demo or something. Everything, all that you know and everything that you can’t, must be made into positive stats or the cred-flow quickly dries, leaving you with no options for an audience.

“We have to keep the show flowing, you know.” Kojo nodded, then put his visor back on. I knew that he was trying to ignore my intentions.

“I’m not concerned about the aesthetics of it this time. There’s no way that a style can be imposed. Well, nothing that isn’t already there, you know? I mean, that last couple we scupped, they were lit so wrong it hurt, but when we brought it out in software it was gorgeous.” He pulled up the vid on his glovescreen. “I mean, the way she folded before separating? Classic.”

“Ya, I know that comes out sometimes. I dunno. Maybe with so many scrubs around we should set ourselves higher you know. That guy back in Flint really opened up some new vectors, and we should follow up.”

“Fuck copying everything. They have different standards down there, like they plan too much or something. Just kind of be the thrill.”

“I’m not sure if that’s it though. What does anyone know anyway? I mean, opinions are selling these days.”

“So you agree with me. Let’s move-“

There was a bug and it was K’s shoulder, so punched it was, my glove shut and screen off. Kids back home really do like buddy vids.

“Fuck off! Anyway, opinions are not aesthetics. I want a purity of representation.” He took a small red candy from his pocket and slid a little sideways in his chair. I scanned the channels to see if any tourneys were being played, but found nothing beyond the usual high school amateurs.

After an hour we pulled up to our second last place for the day. It was a cabin placed high on the edge of the lake fed by the river we passed earlier. Nice wood siding, stone chimney, ATV by the shed. Nostalgia found everywhere. I hoped we could really deploy here.

“My turn.” Kojo fell out of the cruiser and I rode out high beside him. Unlike the shed, this place had more than one entrance.

“I’ll check out the window, you grab the door.” I think that he wanted to spin a little aggressive today; heroics really got him off. I waited until he got back from the side of the cabin.

I heard him before I could see him. My viewers were right. Around the bend I could have capped him dead in the head, but this wasn’t a tourney so I left it for the kids back home to sim.

“You’re going to have to be quiet unless you always want to muscle it it.”

“Bullshit” Kojo whispered. I always thought that he looked a bit like an old friend of mine called Omari, and never more so than now. “We’re going to have to enter the front door. The window’s a projection.” I heard that the new mechs out on the westland were doing things like that to keep the satellites guessing.

The door was simple, my suit wouldn’t have a problem deactivating the lock without me even noticing. I was surprised by the absence.

So was Kojo when we entered the room. Nothing. Not a table, a closet, or anything. Just a cement floor, walls, and ceiling. I started knocking on the walls to see if there were any more projections inside, but could find no hollows.

“Do you think it’s a dud?” Kojo looked at me intently, and I could still feel the unease left by his voice a few seconds after the com.

“I’m not sure what to expect. The place must have been cleaned out or something.” He looked around the floor by the far wall where the projection was. “Must be internal, there’s no lightbox here.”

I turned off my datacast. No reason to waste bandwidth on a two percent viewership.

[TO BE CONTINUED]