Channel 7-70 had Hotblood Saturdays every weekend of the month. They billed it as a double feature of independent erotic films, but Channel 7-70 (not actually a television channel but a full-service “anytime” subscription media-stream) was owned by Amaripa Group, and “erotic” was their re-purposed word for “explicitly pornographic.” It was a Channel from the domes. All Channels were from the domes. All Channels sucked. And ordinarily, for the domes, staying in on a Saturday night to watch porno would be considered a statement of social handicap (especially when you could just go to a sex party instead, duh). But for hired cyborgs assigned to desolate frontier duty, it was an all right way to spend an evening.

Hearing this, a real person back home might ask: “You seriously prefer porn made for fucked up assholes over digging with real people?” But fools that talked like that didn’t know shit about being a Surveyor. Spending months at a time with a squad only three to five deep got old after a while. Sometimes jerking off by yourself was preferable to trying it with your crew. The time alone, getting back in your body, it was good stuff. Sometimes.

This Hotblood Saturday was really shaping up, though. Someone at the broadcast hub had gotten their hands on a piece of quality smut, a mega-hi-res tactile sync full immersion production. After last Saturday’s low-res single-layer stream of amateur anal, it almost seemed like an apology, while at the same time doing little to alleviate the latest rumors that even the mega-corporations were running out of funds and cutting back, being conservative with their production budgets and bandwidth alike. Must scare the dome yups real bad.

Alone in her tent, Kay was about to make the most of this week’s absurd blessing. Not that last week’s poolside ass-fucking hadn’t been appreciated, but it was so offensively predictable, and the hairless manicured bodies looked ridiculous. Ego stroking jerk-off material made by underage yups, always being misled about what their bodies looked like and eating it up anyway. This stuff on now, though, this high-production gem, was topnotch. The syncing was multi-layer on all the bodies involved, and you could switch between just the neural stimulation, the emotional response, or a custom combination. A-plus shit. Professional performers, for sure. These people knew how to make it ache. Knew how to tease. Maybe it was erotica, but then how did this good kink get approved for broadcast? Better not to question things.

Their camp was just four corporate-issue base tents with optical camouflage, sitting like old stones in the dense silence of a toxic field and its burnt-out industrial slaughterhouse. No one could hear the moaning and whimpering, the heavy spanking, the urgent, sloppy sounds of lips sucking and organs being stroked. Streaming porn direct to a cyber-brain didn’t make a sound. For all Kay knew, her whole posse could be in the middle of a virtual orgy on the sync stream, getting fucked by the same layer that she was about to connect to. Having a corporate-issue prosthetic body that could handle a rich sync stream like that was definitely a perk, even if it distanced you from all the low-tek bodies back home.

In their four-person unit Kay was captain, and her posse knew not to go looking for her when she was sealed in her tent. When they first started out together, she had occasionally asked one of them in for some low-tek physical contact, but that didn’t happen these days. Not since the first few lovers’ quarrels, when she decided the interaction between physical bodies created too many complicated relationship dynamics for their isolated pack. Given their inability to access recreational drugs, the option to wi-fuck her crew in virtual fantasy scenarios was most appealing, and seemed pretty similar to sitting around and getting high with friends back home. Positive stimulation. Stress relief. At least it seemed that way to her.

Recently, though, they’d gone through some real bad shit that left everyone tender and wishing for the past in a bad way. Their day-to-day experiences were becoming oppressively dismal, and they still had a long tenure to fulfill on the front. Depression was setting in. Rahl, whom she was usually so close to, had become distant and unreceptive to any attempts at syncing for mutual “stress relief.” Meanwhile, she and Braga had been connecting on the regular in these lush virtual play scenarios, maintained by the vigorous combination of their imaginations; Braga liked to be topped and she liked his submission. They never talked about it in the flesh.

Suli, the third of her subordinates, was something else. That kid. . . It was a miracle that nobody had killed him by now. He was outrageously entitled, out of touch with reality, and the only one of the four of them that became a Surveyor for the hell of it. He was from the domes. He was stubborn and refused to acknowledge the fact that the domes themselves were an abominable last stand of the capitalist elite, always insisting that it was simply one of the safest places a person could live in this day and age. He was an agent of destruction, who only fucked manicured bodies and was bad at hiding his intense fear of acknowledging his privilege. But that was only after you got to know him. On the surface, he was charming and romantic, and highly skilled.

Kay, yet to hop onto the full stream, was still hanging around watching a muscly little cub writhe around. For all she knew, Suli was actually synced with that oiled-up cub, and the prospect of punishing him in such a removed way was oddly compelling. But no, after listening to Braga’s recount of how their patrol in Nalji went, it sounded like Suli didn’t even know about the streams, which she couldn’t quite make sense of. The streams were produced by Channels in the domes. Suli was from the domes. Suli didn’t know about the streams? Which meant that he didn’t care about them, or that he spent his alone time getting his rocks off some other way. What the hell did he get a Surveyor body for exactly, if not to utilize all those hyper-tiered receptors? Kay would have mulled over this further, except that she was about to be dick deep in the hottest ladyboy on broadcast if she hopped on now, and—

There was a request-to-enter sigil pulsing for attention on her tent flap. She reigned in her connection with a huff. The moaning faded into the background of her inner monologue, receptors cooling back to just her own body’s input. Kay rose, pulling back the tent flap with a mild sneer, annoyed out of sheer principle at the interruption.

“Well look who it is,” Suli’s smirking face started. Of all people. . .

“The fuck do you want?” she glared, exaggerating her displeasure to see if it would register with him.

“Can I come in?” he asked, more like a favor than a subordinate request. Kay gave him an unamused stare-down and then stepped back, impatiently gesturing him inside. In the moment it took her to turn around, he plopped himself down on her sleeping pad, palm in chin and already playing with a twist of fabric. She cocked an eyebrow at this and stood, arms akimbo, scowling.

“I’m lonely, Captain,” he explained at last.

“Get the fuck outta here with that shit,” she sneered, sucking her tongue in disdain.

“No, really, though!” He gazed up at her pleadingly. She stared at him as one might do a strange animal that was trying to convince you to take it in. Some misaligned part of her personality began rising, suggesting she hear him out. Maybe he was lonely. Maybe he was actually going to process some emotions with her. Maybe. . . if she gave him a chance, posse’s morale could improve. She crossed her arms.

“I thought you might have Rahl in here with you,” he said next, oblivious.

“Why would he be in here with me?” she asked through a clenched jaw. This fucking kid.

“I dunno,” Suli shrugged. “I thought he was having a rough time lately and like, needed company or something. I just wanted to see, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Yeah. Like . . . just see.”

“All right, you saw. Time to go back.”

“Well, wait,” he jumped. Kay waited for him to continue. He seemed nervous, but Suli was clever enough. He sighed at himself. “I guess I just wanted to see if you were busy.”

“For what?” she demanded sharply, tired of his dawdling.

“If you wanted to like, hang out, you know?”

“Hang out? Like what, chit chat into the night like we’re on a stoop or some shit? Come on, Suli, the fuck is wrong with you? We’re out here on—”

“No, no, not like that!” he pleaded, trying to buy time. “I don’t know. I just figured you might want some company. A little tenderness, right? Like, I realize you like Braga and Rahl a lot more than me, but I just wanted to see if you wanted to try something again?”

“Like what?” Kay bit.

“You know. . . Some physical stuff or something,” he said, eyes imploring.

“I thought you liked your ‘women’ to have ‘tits’.” Kay dished with a snort, repeating verbatim a line Suli had said to Braga the day before. She watched his gaze drop and his mouth open, searching for something to respond with, until too much time had passed and he only looked up at her with an impish smile. Then,

“Well so what? I always thought we had a good time.”

Kay began to shake her head, lips pursing open as her sense of bewilderment organized into realization. She recalled the handful of times they had flirted and messed around, secretly, in the corners of offensively massive, perversely wasteful dome structures, before they had been deployed on their first run together. That was before she figured out he was one of those old fashioned types ignorantly obsessed with the sensations of his own penis and unwilling to accept pleasure elsewhere. A square.

Slowly, “Do you have a thing for me? Or are you just looking to get off?” She watched his face.

He gave her a noncommittal shrug, still hopeful for action with the ambiguous motion. When she didn’t respond to his passive aggressive tactics, he realized he had miscalculated the situation. Suddenly, he was being yanked to his feet by his shoulder. She looked mad.

“You’re wasting my time, Suli. Again.”

“Hey, I’m sor—Ow! You know I don’t like tha—”

The tent filled briefly with the harsh sound of a smack. Suli quickly buried his face into his shoulder, but she gave him a hard jerk instead and walked him through the tent flap to the outside. Dead silence and only starlight outside. His vision automatically adjusted and he could see her eyes narrowed to slits, with a mean set in her jaw. She tossed him forward, and next her reconstructed voice was in his head.

//listen, this isn’t the time for acting like a dickhead. go hop on 7-70’s broadcast if you wanna mess around, and *don’t* come to my tent again when you see it’s off limits. got it???//

A pout in the darkness. Suli said no more and crept back to his tent. He thought 7-70’s broadcast stream was awful, especially this week’s. They couldn’t just put something normal on. It always had to be some freaky body-switching S&M thing. Hot girls would suddenly grow dicks and then you’d have to go down on them and it was just, like, whatever. You could never just have sex with someone normal. Like, ever.

Suli was a dying breed living in an immortal body.

Back in her tent, amidst the wash of virtual sweat and skin, Kay wished for the domes’ collapse.

CYBORG APOCALYPSE and how to be somebody! Global warming is for real, yo. Government here just means corporate pool party anymore. Everything is bankrupt, shut down, or trying to “protect the shareholders’ interests” by locking up shop to anyone not making at least $30,000 a year. Philanthropy is over. Capitalism’s gotten old. Education — college degree holdin motherfuckers — is done, lost its share of the truth. All my friends can grow, build or make. Others maintain. And we’re all hard motherfuckers. Class (to anyone not corporate) doesn’t matter around here; we’ve been all fucked over and had. There’s been riots, national guard shit, gas masks & police forces. Motherfuckers calling us desperate, as if they’re that much farther down the line — No, we’re all fucked. And just like in that old sci-fi book we’re out here trying to establish who’s actually human. Once you find that out, distinctions aren’t too hard. Inhuman motherfuckers can only think about owning. Everyone else can deal with “making do,” with support and sharing and community — and yo this ain’t utopia, I’ll say that right now. People still “have” and “acquire.” All we are is a bunch of gangs out here. Regulators represent.

And it’s fuckin hot. Subways been flooded. Some old hoods you don’t wanna go through. The water, the smell. The roads are all jacked up. Gotta collect your own trash, get your own water situation worked out. The rich cats in the “new metropolises” (that’s what they call em — we call em the domes) think they got it rough, hoardin resources for bullshit reasons like “my legacy” and shit. Shit doesn’t even make sense — legacy. Legacy doesn’t matter anymore in this world — the whole shit is changed. Forever. We’re moving on. They can stay in their domes. They don’t realize just how many of us there are. We’re not even gonna “rise up”, we’re just gonna be everywhere already rose.

The only thing that’s really actually fucked up — and this is some personal shit — is that I can’t give up my enhancements. The cybernetic ones. Me and my whole crew, Regulators crew, we love that shit. I’m talking about chemical fortification and cell structure invigoration, all of that. We’re hooked up more than anybody else out here. But it puts you in a rough spot… I don’t know how you might take it. I mean, we’re not the only cyborg cats around, just the hypest ones. But that’s cause our shit is legit. Yeah. We had to do some crazy shit for it but yeah. And now here we are, trying to keep things together in this place.

Our place is a nice place, you know. We get enough to eat and keep the oppressive shit down. Not like some places, you know. It’s tough. Sometimes I think, I wonder what the fuck I was thinking getting my body replaced and shit, but I wasn’t thinking about the big picture back then. Back then it was still part of the old city, this area, and you would be on your stoop fucking around online cause that’s all you had left after all the other shit was cut off. It was all you could think about. Yeah, this area was in the city back then. Not anymore. They moved it. So, here we are. Yup…

Late afternoon and the air was crisp for once. Cool on the extremities. The weather was in between seasons, in between muggy days and brisk nights. Kay took a step outside, leaving the always musty hallway of her building to survey the uneven streets of the neighborhood. She was dressed not in her usual regulating gear (strapped down, all boots and draping shroud shapes), but in a pair of bleached-out canvas slip-ons and old house cottons, hood pulled up against the wind, hands stuffed in pockets. Rahl had come back to the hood after a run all the way out in West Rundown; eight weeks with no contact. Meet at the front of Fu Wah was the message Kay received, out of the blue and to much excitement. Her homeboy was back and there was finally someone to break it down to proper.

The front of Fu Wah was, as usual, busy with the comings and goings of the local heads. You could buy drugs there (legal), or small parts, or soap, or produce, grain, liquor. Or a good box meal. Kay supposed her and Rahl were going to get a pair of those and post on the stoop outside like they usually did; like five or six other cats would be doing at any given time. When Fu Wah closed at eleven every night, there was always a rush for last order and then a mighty congregation on their stoop for at least another hour or two, till folks started their evening transition to the local bars (or wherever else). There were tons of other ramshackle general stores around this part of Omwenga. But they didn’t sell the combination goods that Fu Wah did. This always puzzled Kay—why not rip off a good bit like theirs and make bank? When she thought about it, the stoop was what really sealed the deal. A general store on a corner spot, at a busy intersection, with a stoop they didn’t chase you from? There probably wasn’t another place in town so tolerant.

The chill air felt good against Kay’s face as she walked against the blowing breeze. She closed her eyes for a few steps and listened to the hum of rickety power lines overhead and (no doubt scruffy) dogs barking. Rahl was standing out front of Fu Wah, arms crossed over his chest, idly staring at the sky when she opened her eyes. A deep grin set on her face. He gave her the old what’s up toss-back nod, and seven paces later was in a tight embrace, no back pats. She stepped back, hand still on his shoulder, and gave him a hard once-over.

“You’re looking good for coming back from that kinda run, pard!”

“Really?” His face softened, looking both relieved and surprised at once. “That means a lot right now. I feel like shit and I just wanna fucking beast on some meals and crush bottles till I pass out,” he huffed. Then, looking at her: “Damn, Kay, just come here boy,” Rahl pulled her back to him and hugged her tight, his sighing breath blowing past her ear. Kay laughed and gave his lithe frame a good squeeze.

“You can do all a’that, pard. Welcome home.”

“Thanks, boy.”

“Naw naw. . .” she smiled, squeezing again before stepping back.

“What you want, a number three or a two?”

“Man, you know I was thinking about that when I was waiting for you — and by the way, what you’re wearing right now is tight — I like it. Anyway, man, I can’t decide. I don’t even know what it is I want to taste anymore right now. Just anything that isn’t a fucking packie.”

Kay threw back a nostalgic laugh. “Damn! They still mess with packies out there? Those shits are all hard and don’t even taste good or anything.”

“Yeah, right? They gave us each a wad of twenty every time we went back to base and re-upped. I wanted to throw them right in the distributor’s face every time, like DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW AWFUL AND UNSATISFYING THESE FUCKING—matter bricks are?! Make better cyborg food! I don’t need your stupid new edition guns!! Spend the fucking money on real food! Please!“

“Did you ever say anything?”

“Fuck no. It was stupid.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he huffed. Kay shook her head disapprovingly. “Look, don’t give me that!” he shot back. “I know, if it had been you, you would’ve had real food on the second re-up. But you know how I don’t have the patience to deal with people’s crazy bullshit lies on why they can’t do the simplest of things like that!”

“Yeah, I do know,” she nodded gently, like a mother listening to her young child’s recount of what the school bully did that day.

“Can we crush now or what?” Rahl asked, agitated from his friend’s unrelenting smirking.

“You just tell me what you’re in the mood for, baby girl,” she offered, her smile soft and genuine this time, all too grateful for this kind of easygoing banter and Rahl’s hilariously passive/manic, non-native English speaking presence to be back in her life.

“I want a grip of wash and. . .hm,” he paused, still undecided.

“Got ya,” Kay said, already heading to the window order counter.

On the stoop, one grip of wash down and two remaining, the pair ate their box meals in silence, content with taking in the comings and goings of the intersection, the brisk air, the taste of hot, freshly made, homegrown edibles, and each others’ warm bodies.

“So what have you been doing this whole time?” Rahl finally picked up in between mouthfuls, leaning back against the wall behind them. Kay slipped an arm behind Rahl’s waist and gripped his hip affectionately.

“I don’t even know,” she sighed.

Rahl draped his arm across her shoulders likewise and gave her a concerned look. “That bad? Has it been just you regulating this whole time I’ve been gone?”

“Not even. I dunno, pard. I can’t get into talking about it right now.”

“You sure?” he offered once more. Kay looked at him in the eye and nodded a yes, I’m sure before resting her head on his shoulder. They both leaned back. Rahl brought the mouth of their second grip to his lips, the bite of Fu Wah’s house blend liquor settling down good in his stomach as he drank, thinking: Those resource-hoarding dome motherfuckers can manufacture super high-end prosthetic bodies, but they can’t grow good edibles. . ..

Sitting there quietly resting against each other like they were, one might assume any number of relationship dynamics between the two cyborgs. Back when the pair of them were coming up, it was common to have a publicly accessible profile out on the Net (so you could read up and find out those sorts of things). Back then, that kind of personal broadcasting was popular, and one could access all the inane personal details about strangers that one wanted. In fact, Rahl used to list his whole system rundown stats, thinking it was cool and made some sort of statement about who he was. Eventually, though, all that got to be information overload and folk went back to keeping restricted access profiles, or in Kay’s case, none at all. Right now Rahl was recalling the first time they met, feeling nostalgic for Kay’s old tricked-out profile. She used to be much more flashy back then. Nowadays, she was a visible-enough figure around town that the old kind of posturing was probably too much. Or maybe you could say that their way of posturing was old hat compared to the way all the young bucks did nowadays. Kay was fond of giving him bits of critique that usually ended with don’t play yourself or naw, that’s played out. And that’s how he felt about laying back now: let’s not play ourselves out — we’re the oldheads now.

Kay was asleep against him. Up late, huh? He drew her closer, acting like it was for (the sake of) warmth, but they both knew (hell, their whole crew knew) how much he liked playing protective girlfriend. Sometimes she let him act that part, usually in times like this when she was exhausted. (He had to ignore the fact that it was probably out of some pack animal mentality where the alpha lets beta run some things.) Other times she shut him down hard, and he would see the boundary line of their intimate yet very platonic friendship. But nothing bothered him, so long as she kept him close.

After a while she woke back up. She didn’t move but he could hear it in the change of her breathing. She took the remaining grip of wash when he offered it, downing a sip to wake up fully.

“Did I miss anything?”

“No, not really,” he said, easing up his grip on her shoulder as she straightened up. “You’re exhausted, huh.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” She paused and shook her head. “Sorry I fell asleep on you.”

“Don’t even say that,” he offered quietly.

“Thanks.” She picked up her box lunch, literally in a box fashioned out of strategically folded butcher paper, and began picking at the leftover bits. Rahl hummed quietly when the heat of her hand left his torso. “You trying to get into anything tonight?”

“Hmm, I wanted to, right. But I think I should kick it at home, at least tonight. . . Why? You got plans?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, it is feeling quiet around here. . .”

“Well you’re always welcome over if you want. We can break bread and maybe watch something.”

His brow perked up. “You sure?”

Suddenly, a dusty pair of sandaled feet were in front of them.

“Hey! You’re back.”

Rahl angled himself to look at the body of an unfamiliar voice — ‘Try A Little Tenderness‘, a tattoo said on the outside of her left calf, one of many. This girl looks good, he realized. Hair shaved on one side, fading out into longer curls on the other. She had one big earring on and a piercing through her bottom lip. She was looking at Kay, smiling — glowing, in fact. Kay was silent. This person is talking to me, she realized in slowly-forming thoughts. Rahl nudged her as if to say the same thing.

“Yeah, I got back last night.”

Last night? Where she been at? Rahl puzzled.

“How was it?” This chick, her face and voice were so vibrant, so awake and interested, looking expectantly over Kay’s mutely agonized expression as she struggled to gather her thoughts.

“It was. . . Well.” she stopped. “Well I’m real tired, to be honest,” she sighed out, squinting. “It was the hardest dive I ever had to do,” she paused, trying to absorb some of the positive tension from this girl, failing. Silence.

The girl picked up with a sympathetic tone. “Yeah? How’ve you been? Aside from the dive.”

“Me? Well lately we’ve been going out to the riverfront to relax. My brain’s been tired.”

“I can only imagine!”

The two chatted on, with Kay struggling to remain coherent. Rahl was mystified. Who was this chick? Where had Kay been? Why was she so drained? Whatever, he concluded. Kay would tell him all about it when she was ready. Hopefully. Tonight.

“Well let me know when your schedule is open, boy.”

“I’ll do that,” Kay managed a smile.

“Okay. Hope I see you soon.”

“You and me both, Par.”

Par flashed the pair a smile that made Rahl’s breath hitch up in his chest, then they turned on their heel and walked off with a swing in their hips.

“Are you talking to her?” Rahl asked as soon as she was gone.

“Them,” Kay corrected. “I wish, though,” she laughed, “Not enough time to, lately.”

“Yeah, she—they’re really fine, huh.”

“They are available, pard. And they’re into being exclusive, just like you like.”

“Oh for real?” Rahl piqued. “Wait, how do you know?”

“We been kicking it is all. They moved here since you been gone. They seen me out on my rounds and just started talking to me one day, all asking how my job is and shit. I dunno. Just on some chance is all.”

“All right, all right,” Rahl parsed, nodding. “So, aside from fine-ass Par, where did you just get back from last night?”

“Aw shit,” she huffed. “I’ll tell you later. Really.”

“All right.”

“Let’s go, though. I’m getting cold. Trying to go reserve on my hook-up so I don’t have to go in for maintenance right away.”

“Yeah, I just got updated,” Rahl frowned with understanding. “To your place?”

“Course you did. Yeah, my place.”

• • • • • • • •

Kay unlocked the door to her quiet spot, ushering Rahl in before her, then taking the worn canvas bag of groceries from him once she was inside. He locked as many of the manual entry mechanisms as he could. The rest needed her personal touch.

“I should’ve asked before we got here,” she called from the kitchen space.

“What?”

“If you needed to stop at your place for anything. I want you to stay over tonight.”

“Oh. . . Oh, okay,” he fumbled, surprised. “Should I. . . do. . .?”

“Naw, you’re here now.”

Rahl walked into the ‘kitchen,’ intent to help, but saw she was in one of her I got this moods and just posted up against the wall instead. Still. . .

“You want any help?”

“Naw, I got this,” she said, wiping crumbs off a cutting board.

“Gotcha,” he nodded. He watched her get everything ready in silence, washing vegetables and setting up stock pans. Occasionally, she held something out, a knife or cooking sauce, or a piece of compost for him to take care of. When she turned on her beat-up audio deck and put it on one slowed-down chill record from back in the day, he gave her a sudden look. She stopped what she was doing and returned his gaze.

“Look, I’m that tired. I hope you don’t mind,” she asked softly.

“I don’t mind,” he replied quickly, a little startled. Did he? She poured a glass and handed it to him, receiving it almost instinctively. “What’s this?”

“Some of my good stuff,” she half-grinned. “Sip it.”

“Are you having any?”

They clinked cups a moment later. Right before they sat down to eat she jumped up and changed into an old rag of a t-shirt and worn-out shorts, the ones they used to have to wear in their training sessions before deployment. Dinner conversation was warm and nostalgic, sipping all the while on her high-quality booze.

“Do you wanna change?” she asked, smiling slow and tipsy, obviously running herself on very low metabolic settings.

“Should I?” he asked, standing and bringing their plates to the sink. She stood as well, swaying next to the table, watching him.

“I’m asking if you want to. I got our old training sweats still that you can wear. . .”

“Yeah, if you think I should,” he began to say.

“I’m saying you should. But, I understand if you don’t.” She paused. “You don’t even have to stay here tonight if you don’t want to. . . You know I know you’re nervous about this whole situation,” she added quietly.

“No—” he began.

“What?”

“I’m just thinking, like am I gonna piss off one of your, you know, ‘friends’ when they roll up in here and see the two of us—”

“No one’s gonna roll up in here,” she bit, as if the idea was absurd, which it was.

“All right,” he fell back. “I’m just trying to gauge what the situation is.” Kay was frowning, her eyes on the floor. “What? What did I say?” He began to approach her.

“Nothing, I’m just feeling stupid is all. And you’re always over-cautious. It makes me feel bad.”

“What over, Kay? Everything’s cool.” He stepped in closer to no protest. Rahl felt a wave of deja-vu hit him, from their front days on broad patrol, with those other goons Suli and Braga and them, before Omwenga was a proper territory. Kay had been in charge of their posse and Rahl, while you couldn’t say he was the second-in-charge, did become her right-hand. She’d have these occasional freakouts and he’d be the only one she would let talk her down. Right now, Kay was just drunk and stressed out and unsure of herself, no where near the crises-level losses of control he witnessed on the front. He was pretty confident he could keep cool, nonetheless.

“I dunno, Rahl. Everything is like, really fucking sloppy for me right now. That dive was one of the worst messes I ever got mixed up in, and it was mostly my fault, not looking out. My rep was on the line, I feel like.” She paused to catch a breath. “And you saw Par! That person is so fine, trying to ask about me. You know how I am. But. . .” She lapsed into silence, clearly flustered with herself. Meanwhile, Rahl found himself struggling with an old familiar inner monologue of ‘should I…? shouldn’t I…?‘ He looked her over, standing there leaning against the table, needing something. A hug, or an encouraging word, or maybe just his silence. The way her shoulders were sloped, he sensed that a hug was a safe approach. He’d been shrugged off before plenty of times. Hell, over those eight weeks out in West Rundown, he would’ve loved a shrug-off from her. Suddenly she picked her head up and looked at him.

“I’m just. . . I’ve been real tired lately. Lonely.” she muttered.

“Lonely,” he echoed. His inner conflict ceased and he took her in his arms. “What got you lonely?” he asked gently. She huffed and put her head on his chest. Rahl sighed himself, feeling all too close and intimate to her, wanting to sit her down and work on her muscles, comb her hair — something like that, that he wasn’t actually confident enough to go through trying without fearing some negative reaction from her. Still, he found his hands creeping up her back, the nape of her neck, stroking the short tangled wisps of hair there. He felt her body relax against him, her shoulders unhitch and her hips sink forward slightly.

Kay thought pitifully about all the things she could ask him: Let’s take a bath, or, Can you take my clothes off for me?, or, Can you just lay in bed with me and kiss me till I fall asleep? She knew he might do them if she asked. She knew that she could give herself safely up to his careful obedience, his loyalty, and have little to worry about — no street rep or particular gender role or bi-tactile syncing — none of that. But there was always something that made her hesitate to cross that line, ever since those first few messy times back on the front. Perhaps it was exactly the loyalty, the obedience, or the understanding in his austere gaze, like that of certain children who have seen too much. He didn’t have the heart to deal with how she handled her relationships, was the thing. She wouldn’t put him through the jealousy or doubt, even though they’d been living for each other since that first deployment …

“Kay. . . Kay. . . ?” His voice was tickling the inside of her ear. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, feeling warm and safe, realizing then that she’d dozed off right there. “Hey, I was thinking. . .” He looked down at her, embrace easing up nervously.”

“Yeah?” she asked sleepily.

“That, if I’m staying over tonight, well, you seem like you need a rest and. . . How bout I get you ready for bed, tuck you in, and then maybe we could do like uh, some platonic cuddling while I watch a movie or something.”

“Platonic cuddling?” she repeated with an amused, lazy snort. He grinned at her, at his own foolishness.

“Yeah, that. How’s it sound?”

“You don’t even know, pard. . .” she began.

“It’s good?” he asked, eyes like a child asking for permission.

“Yeah it’s good,” she asserted, nodding against him. “It’s straight nice,” she reiterated. “But just, like—”

“What?”

“Just, yo. I want a bath and clean pajamas and all a’that.” Rahl smiled, feeling a bit relieved. She had succumbed to her fatigue, words coming out in lazy strings of thought, hands loosely clasped around his back, nuzzling against him like certain alley cats are want to do.

• • • • • • • •

Later that night Rahl dreamt of sleepy-eyed Kay with her legs wrapped around him, watching himself push into a past vision of her again and again. She was Kay but not Kay, the sharply defined striations of her abdomen and thigh muscles replaced by the softer, more supple body of lower conversion percentage cyborgs and junkie juicer types, those kids with thick hips. Maybe it was Par’s body.

He woke up with cum wet on the hairs of his lower abdomen and Kay’s knee draped just above his. He tensed in a moment of panic, thinking the hand resting on his chest would any moment brush through that sticky warmth. But Kay was fast asleep. And Rahl, wide awake with the thundering blood brought by adrenaline (with none of the cheap chemicals), was trying to calm himself down. Breathe it out, just close your eyes, he thought. Normally he would wipe away his cum with a cloth or get up and use the faucet in the washroom, but oh—what the hell? Rahl realized the magnitude of the situation; that his dick (which, incidentally, he was born with) was out in the air and he didn’t know where his underwear was. He pushed a constricted sigh through his nose, adrenaline peaking as he remembered with some relief Kay’s midnight insistence that clothes were ‘in the way,’ and ‘too hot,’ and ‘a joke.’ She had pulled those old training sweats off the both of them and flopped down back to sleep in seconds. Recalling this—remembering the sequence of events—things didn’t feel so alarming anymore. He quietly scooped up the small milky pools and licked away what stuck to his fingertips. Then it was all gone, his skin cool as it dried in the pre-dawn air.

Later (not much later), Kay would rise first, stretching up and up, straight towards the ceiling, listening to the sounds of breathing, the boisterous cawing of all-black trashpicking ravens, the ambient hums of fans and power supplies, and the approaching singsong call of the local water tank man, who always gave her a friendly nod, even though she never bought anything from him. She reached lazily across the bed, across sleeping Rahl, to pull a tattered gray shirt off the floor and over her head. Kay wasn’t ready to all the way, and neither was he, but Rahl was somebody she could really love, she thought then, looking at the calm of his sleeping face, and his half-erect penis. She laughed to herself, at the same time feeling poorly for putting Rahl in this situation. Rather, dragging him into her pathetic, attention-starved fog last night. Her gaze drifted towards the floor.

Kay gathered up the kicked-off covers from the floor and laid them over her friend gingerly. She stood at the side of the bed, watching him, waiting for his eyes to pop open and stare at her, or look at her in horror, knowing he was naked in her bed or—Who cares, she resigned suddenly, stooping to place a kiss near the corner of his mouth. She paused, then slid a hand under the covers and fondly stroked that supple, half-erect length. He didn’t rouse.

“Rahl,” she uttered gently. “If you got somewhere to be, you should get up now. Rahl.”

“What time is it?” he muttered, eyes closed.

“You got your clocks, don’t you?” she chided. His brow perked, remembering those standard internal system clocks, and mouthed an oh of understanding in the same motion.

“Naw, I don’t gotta be no where till one,” he managed, manner of speech unconsciously mimicking hers. Then, “Why is your hand on my dick?”

She laughed, drawing it away quickly, and his eyes finally opened to look at her. She was grinning, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Seemed like a good idea is all. Like you would’na minded, I mean.”

He looked at her for a long beat, and she at him, considering perhaps that maybe it wasn’t a good idea at all, or that he didn’t like feeling jerked around because she was lonely, or that he wanted something more from her than this. She wasn’t sure. She looked away suddenly.

“Kay, I don’t care. I was just curious,” his tone mellow and soft. “The last time your hand was on my dick, you know?” he ended playfully.

“Yeah,” she managed a smile, consoled by the sober understanding steeped in his teasing voice. How did it happen that in her whole posse, it would end up that there’d only be one person who could really follow her thought process, she wondered.

“How you feel today?”

“Better.”

“You wanna go to Fu Wah again? Get some breakfast?”

“Yeah. . . I’d like that.”

gargoyles and wooden blocks
sit arranged at my side by my throne
of dust and tired bones

fading memories and
crumbling ambitions are put in a sacred box
in hopes of preservation

for we have sailed into the doldrums
in all of the wild sea

2002

Why is it that she feels so lonely? Wandering around in IKEA to buy chopsticks they won’t even have in stock, she discovers with her soft eyes and lax-armed posture that she is hoping for someone to notice her, to approach her and show her a time somewhere. She is feeling young and lonely and waiting for someone to love her (because her lover is out of town). She wants to sip drinks and flirt in a loose fitting top or a dress that’s riding up on her thighs.

There is no one to have company with at IKEA, and she will go home to her small but adequate place with one handsome fat cat and maybe sip vodka until she gets a headache. There is the possibility also of simply riding on buses, unnecessarily, so that she’ll end up writing more of her poorly suggestive science fiction, because when she is home she can only focus on her sense of isolation and does mostly any petty activity to alleviate it.

Maybe she’ll ride the 64 home and then go to a coffee shop, but they don’t stay open late enough. Maybe she should just get some coffee, or order a pizza and watch something that will waste time, and stay up far too late because the melancholy feeling of wanting to be caressed and smiled at will not go away until sick fatigue eventually overcomes. She suspects this feeling is not the mere state of being young and bored. It is something that will persist for her whole life.

the scratching of a sharp
pencil
lead is like musk
and you almost want it.

but having is too much

I want that shirt but
it
makes me short
and in a way, a shaved
head makes me feel
elegant
my neck is long when the
hair there
i s short.

how sexy is it to watch
a left-handed person?
writing to a melancholy melody?

even though I’m woman;
liberated & American,
but you,
how can I feel liberated
when I kinda fit in.
maybe I should sit like a
man, acting hardy
with my bigsmall.

and swagger like a model
with my bigsmall

and wear my ghetto hoop earrings
with my bigsmall
and dull
pencils still scratch.

17 October 2001

(glink-clink glink-clink)

Shells empty, falling muted on the ground. The bastard, dropped in a clownish heap on himself. The gun, hot, half back in its holster. A crunch in the gravel as his heel turned. Colin grimaced as he knelt beside his fallen pursuer. Clean in the head, he shot him. A real mess all over the place, but nothing a good rain wouldn’t make easy. Still, there was a body he had to drag back now, and nothing really worth taking from it.

“What a waste . . .” Of bullets. Of his time—both their time, when you thought about it. Those capitalists from the domes got under his skin. Never took you seriously out here; that all the guns and gears and greasy drugs weren’t much besides a few exciting words in the frontier magazines they bought. Now there was another dumb yup in the sand. More weight to pull back on the haul, and no doubt, they’d have another one after him in so many days. Colin was gonna be late for his appointment with Sofi, and that girl needed crucial work done, before her damn leg fell off at the knee.

Colin stood up, pocketing the yup’s wristwatch. Exclusive stuff, brand new intuitive interface. He looked down at it quickly, still cupped in his hand, then tossed a cursory glance at the sky overhead. He really hoped they’d stop sending these entrepreneurs after him, soon. It was starting to pull at his conscience. This would be the third person he’d shot in forty-two days, and he wasn’t the killing type. It just happened that he hated capitalists. You could spot them from so far away, in their extruded nano-make clothing, with their artificially whitened teeth. After all this time, after they’d erected their climate-controlled domes and violently exiled whoever didn’t fit in, they were still trying to come out here for “resources.”

He couldn’t remember what drove him to pull out his revolver and gun the man down. Anger? You could argue that the yup didn’t really look like a man, per say, but that was arbitrary. He felt pretty bad, regardless, for taking another life, for killing some guy that could’ve been a hapless cog in a machine. But you know what, fuck it. Him or you. They come out here in their crazy suits, sweating like hogs cause they’re not used to weather, and try to talk to you about “paying you for you time.” “Earning a real wage.” Offering you access to the “latest technologies,” cause they read your file and know who you are. Intriguing offers, sure (what was their ‘latest technology?’), but all total bullshit.

Colin was a-ok where he was now. Bad weather and good weather, weather at all. Everything self-made. Everything dirty. Everything real. The eastern Fallout was the best thing that could’ve happened in his lifetime, even if it was a struggle to get by. They had plenty ‘technology’ to work with in the aftermath, and the sharpest folks working with it. Which is why the assholes in the domes kept trying to survey what was going on out here. They still managed to get their working satellite pictures and figure out that his bionic arm wasn’t like how they make theirs, and then there you have it – another guy dead.

It was hard to get over the initial shock of seeing a human head explode into brain and bone bits, even though it felt good. In his robot hand, the gun felt pleasantly heavy.

You love machines but you hate them.
When the time comes, you’ll cast them aside and then
I’ll be the evil woman you once made love to.
Or fucked. I’d say we fucked.
I remember the way your body feels, the way it moves.
I caressed you the next morning like someone I loved. I could love you so intensely.
But you love machines, and you hate them.
And I am a machine.

I looked at your pictures like I often tend to do, flipping fast through. Stranger. But from a familiar place, some where I can imagine.

Your pictures. You’re new to me. Flirtatious tension. I think I like it, for its obvious going nowhere. I think about what you’re like at home, look at the clothes you’re wearing, wonder what your voice sounds like. We’re entirely digital. In the future, you could just be a seductive machine. On a seductive machine. (whisper fax machine sounds in my ear…)

In your pictures, you play with the saturation levels, and it’s calm and distant. Your self-portraits show me someone just enough vain and just enough conscious. I think you’re like me. Sensual.

I see the shape of your lips suddenly. Focus. Feel. In a scene from a movie, I’ll stop you and press my fingertips against them, ask you to lick them. I’ll carress the long nape of your submissive neck. We’ll be close. I’ll feel the warmth of your skin under my hand.

This all from a picture.
Your subtle fashion, future sensation.

A nice escape you provide for me.
A nice escape you provide for me.

“I like you.”

“What?”

“I like you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, Suli. What are you getting at?”

“Just that.”

Suli had a sing-song way of saying things that got right on Braga’s nerves sometimes. The malicious adolescent smile. The playful eyes. The laughing. But Suli was a violent, trigger-happy asshole. It used to bug Braga out, but that was only because he was used to the stone cold gangbangers from outside the domes where he was from. Suli was a privileged piece of shit from Inside. A piece of shit that was good at his job, though, and for that Braga was usually grateful. Maybe a person like Suli is a normal guy where he’s from, Braga would fret. Maybe even a popular guy. Suli was full of good looks and charm, and you don’t get to be that way being a loner.

“Does it bother you?”

“What.”

“For me to say that.”

“No, not really,” Braga shrugged, making a point to keep his attention on the situation ahead.

“Oh, ‘not really’. . .”

Braga shot Suli a look, not in the mood to play. “What about me?”

“Do I like?”

“Yeah.” Grimace. Why’d he open his mouth.

“You’re so—quiet. Like a house plant.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re a fuckin’ weirdo, Braga. You never talk unless someone’s talking to you, but you’ll talk to yourself if you’re alone. Probably just like house plants do in the nuked areas.”

“That so.” Braga glanced down at the crunch underneath his foot for distraction, ignoring the idiotic notion that there are still homes to even house plants in the nuked areas.

“But you’re cute in you’re own way, you know?,” Suli continued. “That’s what I like about you. Emotive. Determined eyes, strong hands, quick mind. And just a little scary. You always wear your pants kinda tight, too. I’d put it to you.”

“Come on Suli, we got shit to do here.” And my pants aren’t tight. You just don’t have any ass to fill yours . . .

“Yeah, I’ll come on,” Suli smirked. The bulkier of the two scowled. More childish innuendo from the asshole.

“There’s a time and place for that and this isn’t it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Brah, we’re in the Nalji fucking ghost town. Shit is here! If I threw you over that railing right now and tore into your ass who would see it? The vampire bitches sleeping down Main street right now?”

“Supply bug,” Braga offered, ignoring Suli’s absurd notion of sexual aggression.

“Oh fuck off, that piece of shit doesn’t care. What a tightass. Now I see why you’re always itching to be close to the captain.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“You’re a masochist. And she doesn’t care what your paranoid ass worries about, you’re thinkin’, so you’re just waiting for her to get tired of Rahl so she’ll take a bite outta you instead.”

“Hey, have some respect for the captain.”

“I got loads of it, Brah. That doesn’t mean what I say’s not true.”

“But it’s not. You’re talking about yourself, anyway.”

“Shit, I wish.”

Braga stopped walking and turned to Suli with a curled lip and raised brow. “You haven’t?”

“Nope.”

“I thought when you—”

“Nope. We had to stay up keeping watch all night.” Suli paused for a wistful sigh. “She just ain’t into me anyway. I think I’m too fresh for her. And I dunno. . . I kinda like my women to have tits.”

“Christ, Suli, shut the fuck up, will you?”

“They’re barely there,” he went on, pausing to make a face. “I mean, they’re cute and all—”

“But you’d just prefer something bigger, is that right? Well what about a ‘big’ motherfucker like me?”

“That shit’s different with men, you know that.”

“No, I don’t. I wouldn’t let you touch me anyway.”

“What? For a front line cyborg, you sure are a conservative asshole.”

Braga sighed, shaking his head.

“That’s not it, Suli. Shit.”

“Then what?”

“Well you gotta have respect, you gotta have boundaries out here. Limits, you know.” And besides, you’re too damn ignorant to act right, anyway

“What? Like we don’t have enough all ready?”

“Hold on a minute, Suli, damn.”

Braga stopped walking again, not for any good reason or dramatics. Just that he didn’t care for ghost towns like Nalji, real empty ones. There were no signs of significant activity, according to satellite relay feeds, but he always had to check with his own equipment. Enhanced pupils flickered, dilated, and when it felt right, he unshouldered his pack and set it on the dusty ground. Suli followed suit, and then it was just the two cyborg surveyors standing alone under a dry sun.

They had a bit of time to spare.

“I’m saying,” Braga picked up, “the way you go about things, it’s disrespectful. Cutting loose and fuckin’ whoever you feel like works when you’re honest with people. And you aren’t honest.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“We’re not androids or clones or those goddamn talking chimeras, Suli. We’re human. We still get crazy over our emotions even if we’re aware that the computer up top is telling what chemicals to regulate them. That goofy dumbass Rahl acts like he’s got his shit under lock, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But we can all tell he can’t get used to the fuckfriend way Kay treats him.”

“So what? It’s funny to watch, he’s like a woman for her.”

Braga gave an aggravated look to the sky.

“See, this is what I’m talking about with you.”

“What? What the fuck did I say now—”

“Listen. What I’m trying to get across to you is that maybe if Rahl expressed himself to the Captain about his desires and expectations, he’d have a better time. I’m saying. It’s an example of how we have to act out here. With boundaries, with communication. I like people, Suli. I like your company and everyone else’s, and I even thought about lying down with one or two of you. But we got hired to handle some serious shit out here, and I’d like avoid the interpersonal strife with people that don’t know how to communicate about their shit.”

“Well of course,” Suli threw in.

“You say that but I still don’t think you’re really thinking about it. Anyway, you’re my partner on this run, Sul, I don’t want to worry about dumb stuff.”

“But— “

“Listen. My point is that I’m not a conservative asshole.”

Suli threw back a laugh. “You missed me getting to that one, Brah. Listen to yourself.”

“Hey, also, like I said before, can you stop calling me ‘Brah’?”

“Oh. Sorry. Braga.”

Braga narrowed his eyes at Suli’s tone. “Anyway, I’m just saying, even if we think we have all our thoughts and emotions regulated proper, we’re still gonna be tripped up by them. And that’s where communication and boundaries come in. Yeah, we could fuck or whatever it is you think you’d like, but since you don’t know what you like, I’m not trying to mess with you.”

“Are you fucking serious, pard? You’re serious. All your relationships must end terribly with that mindset. Talk too much. Who thinks like you anymore? Cyborgs like us are supposed to be bad motherfuckers. Even the full human I was throwing it in before we dispatched knew that score. She liked me a lot and all, but wasn’t crying when I left. It’s about laying your shit out on the table, Braga. No wonder you’re such an uptight, quiet fuck, you’re operating from the old era!”

“Whatever. I’m sure you did a great job telling her how it was gonna be. Did you ever ask her what she wanted?”

“What an asshole,” Suli laughed, ignoring the question. “Be true to yourself and true with the else, didn’t you ever hear that before? I can’t believe this shit never came up before, Brah—you need to realize people are past that inner turmoil shit.”

“You’re not listening,” Braga sighed.

“You’re not listening to me.”

“Who cares,” he muttered, looking away. Braga was ready to be over with the conversation.

“I do.”

“Sure.”

Braga shouldered his pack and went through the usual check sequence, making sure everything was operating properly and was exactly where it should be. Suli watched, affecting a curious child’s posture, vying for Braga’s attention unsuccessfully. He just couldn’t leave things alone sometimes.

Finally: “You know, I like it when you say what you’re thinking.”

“That’s cute. You and I will never fuck.”

“Why not? Oh right, you don’t want to get caught up in my ‘shit.’ Maybe I’m 2-hot-4-U,” Suli laughed, gesturing along for emphasis. “Or maybe. . . you’re in love with me already and having me in your big burly arms would be too much.”

He was doing it again. That pursed smile, that obnoxiously sweet tone of voice. . .

“No, I don’t enjoy fucking children like you.”

“Course not, you fuckin’ bucket of bolts.”

“Yep.”

“Well I’ll still love you the same, whenever you get curious.”

“Sure.”

“And you know, I love you as a partner too, Brah.”

“I know.”

Suli shouldered his pack finally, no checks. “Good.”

Good.

Braga sunk into himself as they continued on, zoning out on Suli’s new stream of self-centered babble. He entertained the idea of overtaking the skinny asshole, more as a show of power than desire. Cause after all, Suli was, very unfortunately, hot shit. But Suli’s whole game was about power, and Braga just couldn’t get down with that kind of thing.