Narong shrugged again, picked out his umbrella from the basket by the door, and stepped out. He whistled to hail a tuk-tuk. The three of them climbed into its back, Sam squeezed between Kade and Narong. She could feel Kade studiously trying to ignore the way her body was pressed against his. And Narong? She didn't need a Nexus connection to read what was on his mind.
The tuk-tuk zipped through wet traffic. The streets were glossy black with streaks of supersaturated neon. Reds, blues, greens, yellows – a rainbow of reflected light. Rain got in through the open sides, spraying them gently. Sam stayed driest in the middle. With the rain and the wind from the open sides of the tuk-tuk, Bangkok was pleasantly cool for once.
The tuk-tuk dodged cheap Tata two-seater cars from India, knock-off Vespas from Vietnam, the occasional Hyundai four-seater taxi, pedestrians making their way across wet streets in the rain.
They passed down urban valleys of towering glass-and-steel office blocks, their neon-lit ground floors stuffed with noodle shops, massage parlors, boutiques, discount electronic stores, pharmacies, bars. Golden shrines and temples dotted the urban landscapes, some tiny, some sprawling, spires and Buddhas and fearsome temple guardian statues. At 10.30pm everything was open, restaurants, shops, bars, temples. People filed in through temple gates, incense sticks in hand, while across the street rock music blared out of red-lit bars.
They turned on to Sukhumvit 4, the infamous Soi Nana Tai, one of Bangkok's more popular sex districts. Open air bars with neon signs lined the narrow street. Foot traffic slowed their tuk-tuk to a crawl. Women in tiny miniskirts and short-shorts and improbably large breasts for their tiny frames were everywhere. The men were Indian, Chinese, or white. The women were uniformly Thai, young, and for hire. They sat on men's laps, draped themselves over them at the bars, danced lasciviously with each other, and waited for the customers to take them home, for a price.
Sam felt Kade tense next to her. His eyes were wide. So much sex on sale. Narong was looking down at his hands.
A raven haired girl – in tiny hot pants and a matching white bikini top – blew a kiss at their tuk-tuk. Sam doubted she was eighteen.
Such a strange country, Sam thought to herself. A quarter million monks who don't drink or smoke or swear. A quarter million prostitutes filling in all the spaces where the monks aren't.
Then again… She spotted a shaven-headed man, Thai, wear
ing normal clothes, with a black-miniskirted girl on his lap. Maybe the monks are here too.
The tuk-tuk slowly wound its way down the street. A neon sign advertised live orgy shows. The crude animation depicted a woman's body between that of two men, both of them thrusting into her in unison. Kade's head tracked it as they passed.
"Is this that market you were talking about? Sukchai?" he asked. Sam could feel his conflicting revulsion, arousal, and fascination.
"No," Sam answered.
"This is just sex," Narong elaborated. "Sukchai Market is more… exotic." He didn't sound comfortable.
They turned onto a side street. Soi Sama Han. They threaded through traffic, turned onto another, smaller side street. There was no street sign. They were close.
The tuk-tuk pulled up to a tiny alley between buildings. "We're here," Narong said. He paid the driver. "You still sure you want to see Sukchai?"
Sam nodded. Kade shrugged.
"Stay with me while we're in the market," Narong said, unfurling the umbrella above them. "Not everything here is strictly legal. You'll look less suspicious with me as your guide."
He led them into the maze of alleyways.
Wats paused on the street, near where the tuk-tuk had left Kade and his companions. The alley they'd gone down… there was little reason to head down that alley except to reach Sukchai. What were they doing there? He knew Sukchai well. It would be difficult to follow them without being conspicuous.
He looked up into the rain. The buildings were tightly spaced here. Yes, that would do. He slipped into the shadows, tightened the straps of the pack across his back, put his hands to the brick, and began to climb.
BRIEFING
The Chandler Act (aka the Emerging Technological Threats Act of 2032) is the opening salvo in a new War on Science. To understand the future course of this war, one need only look at the history of the War on Drugs and the War on Terror. Like those two manufactured "wars", this one will be never-ending, freedom-destroying, counterproductive, and ultimately understood to have caused far more damage than the supposed threat it was aimed at ever could have.
Free the Future, 2032
22
THE BAZAAR OF THE BIZARRE
Sam kept her eye on Narong as he led them on a winding zigzag path through the narrow alleys. A pair of burly toughs lounged at one intersection, leaning against brick walls, heedless of the rain, improbably huge muscles bulging in their arms and chests. Narong nodded fractionally, kept walking.
One more turn beyond the toughs and a much wider alleyway opened. Stalls and shops lined both sides, neon and LED lit the air, scores of people moved down the lane, hundreds of people. They paused at the stalls, talked quietly, inspected wares and price sheets, haggled in low voices. Everything had a furtive air. Collars were turned up, hoods pulled over heads and down over faces. Two more inhumanly muscular men loitered at the intersection, glowering.
Muscle grafts, Sam thought. Inefficient, draining, but intimidating. They'll probably die of enlarged hearts trying to support all that mass.
Narong led them down the street. Sam let Kade and the Thai student share the umbrella. She walked a few steps behind them. The rain felt good on her face. Her tactical contacts snapped every face, recorded every gait, uploaded them for analysis and identification.
• • • •
Kade's eyes were everywhere. The wide alley was bustling with people, with woks going over open fires, with sights and smells, and with vendors offering their wares.
The first few stalls were reproductive services. Sex selection. Ova fusion to make a child from two mothers, no father necessary. Tri-fusion to create a child with genes from two fathers and a surrogate mother. Gene tweaks for your kids. Height, eye color, hair color, muscle mass, weight, health, IQ, charisma. "Other services by request."
Reprogenetics gave way to bio-cosmetics. Semi-nude men and women modeled the wares. A petite copper-skinned beauty in a skimpy bikini posed in front of a shop advertising skin color transformation viruses. Less dramatic melanin therapy was on sale to make Asian skin lighter, Caucasian skin more tan, or whatever the customer might desire.
The semi-nude woman at the next stall showed living tattoos. A bioluminescent dragon crawled up from below her navel, climbed its way up her chest, a claw gripping her left breast. The tattoo snaked around her neck and returned on her right side. Its eyes glowed amber. She tensed her muscles and it moved, tail swishing, scales changing colors, glowing flames erupting from its mouth and nostrils.