A cold drink, after the operation - Part 2

'You want a drink?' I asked.

 

'Ill get my own.' She said bitterly, 'why the hell did you come HERE anyway? You know that this place is a hive for humanists, bikers and criminals right?'

 

'You want me to alter my whole life around my arm?' I asked her defensively, wondering why I was getting the third degree.

 

'No. Only your relationships.' She muttered coldly and walked over to the bar.

 

I looked back at the cold steel cylinders on my arm, watched the light bounce off the metal.

 

I used my metal hand to pick up the whiskey. Gripping the cold glass with my terminator-hinge fingers. I put the rim of the glass to my mouth, tilted the glass slowly back and allowed a thin stream of whiskey to run into my throat. It set a glorious fire on its way down, hot air blasting out of my open mouth like miniature men were throwing coal in a furnace, deep in my belly. My bodies own industrial revolution --the only thing keeping me alive. I chugged my fuel and felt rejuvenated. The sticky warmth about my cheeks. A dizzy twist of the head, I was ready for anything.

 

Regina sat back down in front of me with a glass of red wine. She sniffed the glass and then took a sip.

 

'Why do you sniff the glass?' I said lightly mocking her.

 

'Thats what connoisseurs do though.' She said.

 

'Youre not a connoisseur, are you?' I laughed.

 

'Why are you in such a bad mood?' She said not seeing the humour, 'You'd think it was YOU had just been dumped.'

 

'I didn't dump you.' I said, 'We both decided we needed space remember? It was mutual. Don't try to make out like im some kind of monster.'

 

She took another sip of her wine and glanced out the window.

 

There was an awkward silence, and I realised I was being kind of defensive. Sometimes I act cruel when I shut off emotionally unintentionally, and I have to check myself.

 

'Im sorry about last time,' I said, regaining her gaze, 'I never meant ...our argument to get so heated.'

 

Something in Regina's eyes changed. I got the feeling sometimes that Regina didn't want to understand me, but she accidentally did. It was like empathy was something which did her more harm than good. Then, sometimes, I wished that she didn't empathise either. I wanted her not to love me, not to feel for me at all. It was this conflict inside me that motivated a growing coldness in me, a coldness that would intentionally or unintentionally always hurt her, a subconscious process to try to break her spirit so she would loath me and let me free. Free from the circles. Free from the never ending trap of it all.

 

'Yeah. It's ok.' She said reluctantly, 'its probably better this way anyhow. I know you want your freedom.'

 

'You say the word 'freedom' with such venom' I said to her, 'you don't believe in freedom do you? It's all just some mission in your endless cause of repairing what will always be broken.'

 

'You mean fighting for what you believe in?' She replied coldly.

 

'I mean.... I don't know what I mean. That's the other thing about wom...' I realised that an accidental sexist choice of words could really enflame the argument here ....and changed my words, '...that's the thing about you... You always think there's a meaning to everything. You always think there's a reason. You're always correcting, but what you don't realise is that life is a big cross on a report card. It's already a mistake. Trying to fix problems all the time, what your really doing is just trying to stop life from taking place. That's it... You /think/ you are solving problems, but once you put it all together how YOU think it should go, it just starts messing itself up again in your eyes. Your solution to the rubix cube is to keep messing it up. But I've got news for you, it came solved. This is how it is.'

 

'Youve got all the answers don't you.' She said.

 

'No... I.....' ....I stuttered seeing that we were already heading back into an absolutely futile argument, 'No. I don't have any answers.'

 

'Tell me something', she said, 'what do you really see when you look back at our relationship?'

 

'You honestly want to know?' I asked rhetorically, 'lately I've been starting to notice patterns. In everything. In our relationship. In other relationships. In my job. In my whole life. There's these complex patterns, and once you start to see they are there...you can't get rid of it.'

 

'What the hell are you talking about?' She said, getting angry, 'I'm just a pattern to you?'

 

'Like this conversation' I said, 'the things you get angry at me for. They're things which will never make sense to me. Right now, I compare what I'm saying to you and what you're saying, I compare what you were saying in our last conversation, and I can see both sides of your argument. I can see they are from your perspective, but I know that they can never make sense from my perspective. It's all just a big ring. It's all rings. Everywhere I can see rings.'

 

'Like an engagement ring that you want ...but you never get?' She said half jokingly.

 

'What?' I asked baffled, 'You see what you do? I'm trying to explain something to you, but you're not even willing to listen. You don't even care what I have to say.'

 

'So what rings?' She asked.

 

I held my metal arm up in front if her and ran a finger along it.

 

'Like before the operation,' I said, 'we were talking about transhumanism, you remember?'

 

'Sure' she said.

 

I ran my fingers along the metal, wishing I could make her feel what I was feeling.

 

'We had an argument about it in the end,' I recalled, 'and you said the same thing to me that you said just now, 'you always have all the answers don't you.' That's exactly what you said, that's how it ended.'

 

'So?' She said puzzled.

 

'Theres patterns everywhere, if you're smart enough to see it. It's hard to see rings when your in them, but think about this... When you are born.. There's this radius to your existence, you know what I mean?'

 

'I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about.' She said chuckling a little.

 

'Like an equator, like a horizon to your existence. You are literally walking around your parents legs. Like your parents home. That's the first circumference to your life.' I went on.

 

'Ok. I think I catch your drift.' She said disinterestedly, 'So what?'

 

'Ok.' I continued, 'so then maybe you go to school, your horizon expands right, you can't see the rings anymore, there's too many you know. Too many other people. Too many complications. Like an orbit you know. School is like the universe ....with all these bodies, orbiting around each other. Like the planets around the sun. Everything moves on these invisible rings of gravity. But we forget about it. We become blind to it--out in the real world. But I reckon one day--it all comes back to you. Maybe that's what death is.'

 

Regina recoiled and gave me a perturbed look, 'Are you schussing out on me?'

 

'What?' I said angrily genuinely moved, 'how can you say that? When.... I mean.... I can say whatever I want without someone telling me I'm... Tell me I'm wrong!!! Tell me I'm fucking wrong!!! But dont tell me my thoughts don't have validity all because of some stupid war. Are you really on the side of government analysts? And the codes and definitions of human boundaries written by some twits in brown suits?'

 

'You're right.' She said, 'I didn't mean that. You know I don't agree with the thought police or the augment checks. I ... Think your wrong.... Is that better?'

 

'Yes.' I said, 'that's fine. Anyway I don't expect you to understand what I mean. Everything feels different.... Since the operation.'

 

'Are you ok?' She said, trying to look into my eyes as I glanced around anxiously, 'you seem on edge.'

 

Just as Regina was saying this we both were suddenly shocked and surprised, like stunned children in an earthquake, when the table rattled and Regina's drink fell to the floor. One of the humanists had stumbled over to our table and drunkenly or accidentally barged Regina's chair. We shared some paranoid glances, as if telepathically communicating it was better to sit quietly rather than confront the humanists.

 

The drunk Yobbo muttered something under his breath and started to walk away. I could smell his putrid sweating glands from under his gym-junkie arms. We both sighed quietly.

 

'Can we get out of here?' Regina whispered.

 

'Come on. One more drink.' I said warmly, 'What are you having?'

 

'Ok, but only one more,' she said, 'I don't feel comfortable here, but I'm happy to go somewhere else.'

 

'The drink?'

 

'Oh geez. I don't know, get me.... A Claret. Perth Baudeville.'

 

I got up to go to the bar, thinking over what we had just been talking about. Did I even know what I meant??? I find my mind is always working over time you know, but sometimes when I speak I just say the latest thing on my mind. It often turns out to be a misfired argument or a red herring. But I know it had substance, in gestation, it had truth in my mind, before it was poisoned by turning into words. If you ever try to explain to someone a uniform theory of everything, you're fucked, you know. It can't be done. Not so long as there is change. Not whilst there is still time, and things are happening now, every equation has an unwritten qualifier, the future means the present is always uncertain.

 

I didn't like the way the humanists were looking at me as I stood at the bar. They were increasingly agitated. The presence of Regina seemed to have pissed them off even more... (rather than calmed them). They were no longer yelling slurs at me, but they were still staring. The drunk who had barged our table was whispering to the others, as if they were plotting something.

 

Walking across the sticky floor-- I could hear the sound of big engines roaring outside. Like a pack of motorbikes. Could be a biker gang.

 

Looking in Regina's face as I walked towards her, I knew something was wrong. She had a look of intense fear in her eyes. Looking right over my shoulder. She started to slowly get up, the expression on her face seemed to scream out 'We need to get out of here!!' Time stood still.

 

I started to turn. My eyes only just managed to catch a glimpse an arm, before the immense brick-of-a-fist crushed my face. I fell straight to the floor, semi conscious, and everything happened in a purple haze... but I could feel the kicks in my side. I could hear the laughing humanists, and the one who was attacking me cursing and swearing at me.

 

I managed to break free from the milieu. Running out towards the bar and putting up a hand to hold myself up, I turned --seeing what I feared. All of the humanists were crowded around now, and though Regina had stood up and screamed, there was no time to stop the worst of the yobbos who grabbed a heavy metal bar stool, and lunging ran it straight across her temple. Regina fell immediately to the floor, jittering and shaking. 'Metal-nigger-fucker' one of the beasts mocked coldly.

 

'Regina!!!' I cried out in desperation.

 

Once more ...the fiersome men focussed their attention to me. One of them held a pool cue above his head and charged at me viciously.

 

The events that followed were extremely confusing. I remember the sound of engines --- the sound of jetbikes. The smashing of glass, and then before I had time to think I was thrust down --- pushed away onto the table on the front of the bar.

 

Bikers.

 

I had been saved by bikers.

 

(It's pretty well known, that bikers and humanists don't get along). The bikers were the first fringe group to completely embrace transhumanism as part of their subculture. Presumably ...love of their vehicle, feeling inseparable from the heavy metal, went hand in hand with a love of machinery and robotics. Heavy metal music, which was mostly outlawed and shunned by the community at large, was practically gospel music for the bikers. Also the danger of jet-bikes meant severe injuries were common, so it was never surprising to see a group of bikers, all with some replacement appendage. Metal arms, legs, faces, digital eyes. The humanists saw the bikers as a scourge and whenever the two groups met there was an inevitable foray of violence. For some reason both groups deliberately seemed to get in the line of fire of each other, congregating at the same bars, attending the same events. I managed to get a good look at my saviours as they beat down upon the humanist yobbos. They were pretty evenly matched in numbers --but the bikers were immensely stronger. Already the humanists were looking incredibly bloody ---with smashed gums and broken noses. There were six bikers in total.

 

Looking at them in awe, I could see they they had black and gold jackets, and I could make out the name of the group by the bright, flaming logo on the back of their jackets 'The Antiquaries of Contemporary Loot'. Of course i'd heard of them. They were a very well known group in the area of BethHexton NM where I live.

 

One of the men had a metal arm almost exactly like mine. They were clearly drunk out of their minds and enjoying the fight way more than they should have.

 

It was less than a minute before the fight was over. The humanists lay completely unconscious. The bar staff had fled the bar, leaving the bar completely deserted but for me, an unconscious Regina --- and the 'Antiquaries of Contemporary Loot'.

 

I was terrified about Regina and dizzily stumbled towards her. The bikers moved aside sympathetically. Though drunk, it was clear --that they knew that this was more than a routine fight. They knew they had interrupted the humanists from committing their perverse ritual of 'justice'. The bikers themselves were mostly Amoral and Apolitical, but when it came to 'the humanists' they were kind of noble 'robin hood' style defenders of the trans-human class.

 

I fell upon Regina, trying to bring her to consciousness. She was clearly alive, because she was still breathing. Five of the bikers moved over towards the bar, helping themselves to bottles of whiskey and lighting up cigarettes underneath the no smoking signs. But one of the more timid and approachable of them came near to me. He was a skinny guy, with torn blue jeans, a pony tail, and a boney but friendly face.

 

'Sorry for what t'ose bastards have done t'er lad. Ambulance ison her way. Would you like some acid?' He said, extending his hand to reveal some small white blotter tabs.

 

'No thanks' I replied. As I looked up --the boney man noticed me --staring inquisitively at one of the bikers, who presently stood up on the bar. He was obviously the leader of the group, judging by the way other men acted around him. His jacket was grander and more peculiar than the others. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about him though, was the common household saucepan which he was wearing as a hat. I watched as he poured straight whiskey down his throat as though he was drinking water. He had an immense wirey, grey beard, like an urban Santa Claus. His face was reddish, and his eyes were piercing, but friendly.

 

'Squires.' Said the boney man, 'that's my name. The man your looking at is our leader. Folks call him death-beard. Bit of a joke you see. Mostly he's quite a friendly chap, so long as you're on his good side. Hell of a beard though ain't it.'

 

I said nothing, but half smiled gratefully ---still worrying intensely about Regina.

 

The boney man placed three tabs of acid on his tongue, then leaned over to whisper something in my ear before he returned to join his reveling friends. His eyes were deep and wet like big pools of water, or mountain lakes.

 

'Whatever you do.. Don't laugh at his saucepan hat!' Said Squires, 'Someone did once. I forget the poor chaps name. Didn't end well.. Some people say he wears it just to stir a reaction out of people so he has an excuse to get violent. The scary thing is they're wrong... He's serious about the damn hat. He's completely mad you know. Anyway, you're welcome among us brother.' Squires glanced down at my machine arm ..then turned--- and walked back over to his friends.

 

In the shortest amount of time, the bikers had made the bar their own. That's what they did, after all.

 

After the third-law crisis, president Delomer brought in a bunch of weird laws designed to 'permanently enhance freedom'. The theory was that human civilisation was beginning to out-govern itself. (To stifle its own humanity). Preventative policing was too efficient. Technology was too powerful and it was inhibiting freedom. So among the many acts introduced, Delomer banned the use of drones for the purposes of policing, surveillance or military use. He also created zones where the police weren't allowed to enforce the law at certain periods of time. If someone committed a murder in the red light zones, the murderers weren't allowed to be investigated, prosecuted or arrested until normal occupation hours resumed. Perhaps one of the weirdest laws surrounded 'biker groups'. Delomer deliberately brought the laws in after the conservative president Mendelsohn had almost completely outlawed motorbike gangs in his previous term in office. The trick was ---- in appealing to the humanist majority. Mendelsohn spread fear and hatred for the bikers by showing they were transhumanist vermin- a scourge to be rid of. Where Delomer took the angle that the panopticon machine of the modern city was the real inhuman danger. He painted a picture of humans one day being enslaved by the perfect and infallible laws of machines. He said that mutant-machine-humans were the grey area which we had to let free. If we cracked down on the bikers, then the machine won. If we let whatever was human about them run amok, then humanity would win. So two classes of people were created, those inside the law, and those (treated more like a force of nature) outside of it. Our disease would beat the disease of the machines. At least, that was the theory.

 

So, the law states, that if a biker gang inhabits an entertainment venue, the law can't step in, for at least 24 hours. It was a kind of secondary law system. Vigilantism was encouraged. Lynch mobs were allowed to track down the bikers, kill them, do whatever was necessary. But the state was legally obliged to tie its hands, and turn a blind eye, in spite of all the surveillance and how easily, and swiftly they could end it. They were certainly bizarre laws, but they did make Hexton and the red districts of New-Motalus, particularly BethHexton, an interesting place to live.

 

I watched the bikers sing, and fight, and spill their liquor. In spite of their enhancements, it was hard to argue that they oozed of humanity... And compared to the tight regulation of bars which weren't temporarily commandeered by bikers, I had to say, I preferred the chaos. I preferred the anarchy.

 

As intriguing as the acid taking festivities of the bikers was, I had to attend to Regina. I gently tapped at her face, putting my ear close to her mouth-- to see if she was breathing.

 

I could feel her heart pounding against my body, then... Suddenly through a fit of coughing and spurting her breathing started. She was alive. 'Regina!' I yelled, pulling her up to the wall, 'Regina!'

 

Finally after what seemed like a lifetime, her words finally came: 'You're right about the rings Harrick. They program us to lie to you. Were all just prison wardens, you can't see it till your outside, like were all under some dark spell. It's all a machine. Were no different to the super computers, our biology is just a complicated machine. Everything has a value. Everything---it's all just complicated moving parts, revolving around. It's disgusting Harrick! You were right! You were right about the rings!'

 

Regina was schussing out.

 

'THE PACT WITH THE TIME GOBLIN' Continued in Chapter Two - 'No Angel Wings, on the backs of crims': https://www.reddit.com/r/sffstories/comments/41mcoe/chapter_two_no_angel_wings_on_the_backs_of_crims/