Leon shook his head in disgust. “How about this armored hovercar?” he asked, gesturing to the half-tank floating car in the back corner. “It can do two-fifty on a straightaway.”
“Nope. We’ll take the Caddy.”
“Argh!”
Thirty minutes later, they were cruising down I-95 in the pristine white antique with Mike behind the wheel.
“I can’t believe you never learned how to drive,” Mike said.
“Everything was automated by the time I graduated,” Leon said, fondling the red leather seat, “and before that I took mass transit. But I’ve driven simulators.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Right, it’s better. In the simulators I drive cars with real cornering ability that can hit one-fifty in the quarter mile.” Leon still felt bitter they’d taken a clunker that’d be lucky to hit a hundred, and had no airbags or roof.
Mike pulled over to the shoulder. “You drive.” He got out of the car, coming around to the passenger side.
“I don’t have a license for manual driving,” Leon said, refusing to move.
“Just drive. You’re twenty-nine years old. Try it.” Mike waited, still standing next to the door. Every few seconds, a car whizzed by, buffeting them.
Leon groaned and slid across the bench seat, putting the flimsy lap belt on. He experimentally tapped the accelerator, but nothing happened.
“Put it in drive,” Mike said, buckling himself.
Leon took off with a lurch, sending gravel and dust spitting out behind them. Mike let out a whoop, and Leon cautiously smiled. He pulled out erratically, AI-driven cars smoothly avoiding him. He continued to accelerate, and soon they were cruising along with traffic.
“Not bad?” Mike yelled over the wind.
Though he kept his attention on the road, Leon could feel himself grinning.
15
The chrome-and-tile diner probably looked fantastic once, maybe fifty years ago. And had likely gone in and out of style a dozen times since. Judging from the dull-brown stains on the floor where a booth had been removed and not replaced, the place had been down on its luck for a while now.
The cook looked her over, a long leer that traveled up and down, making Cat wish for something to wrap around her body. She forced herself to keep a bright smile on her face and not cross her arms. She’d let him ogle if that’s what it took to get the job.
“Look dumb,” was what Sarah often suggested in situations like this. Somehow it came more naturally to Sarah. Funny how Cat hadn’t thought of her housemates in days.
The cook finally managed to work his gaze back up to Cat’s face. “No experience, huh? You can start at ten bucks an hour.”
“But—” The sentence died on Cat’s lips. She didn’t know how she could survive on minimum wage, let alone half of it. Then again, she must have been in sixty other places during the past week, and this was the first job offer. “I’ll take it.”
“Fine. You can start tomorrow,” he said, staring again at her breasts. “But I’m gonna need your implant ID. It’s not legal to hire you without it.”
“You’re not even offering me minimum wage.” If she could just charge this guy for staring at her, she wouldn’t even need the job.
“You’ll make minimum with the tips. But I gotta get the ID. Otherwise, some inspector comes down here, and I get into trouble.”
Cat looked at the empty diner, doubting the tips could amount to much. There had to be a way around the ID. “How do you hire people without implants? You can’t tell me everyone who has worked here”—she gestured with both hands at the worn-out eatery—“has an implant.”
“They get a skin chip from Social Security. But I can see your implant is on, you just got the ID masked.” He tapped two fingers against his forehead and pointed at her. “Look, kid, you got some kind of trouble about ya, that’s obvious from a mile away. I can’t give you a job without your ID, or your problems become my problems.”
Cat didn’t reply; anger, frustration, and hunger warring inside her. She should have powered down her implant.
“Look, you’re a pretty thing. My brother-in-law, he’s got this online studio, and he don’t ID the actresses. You can make some easy money.”
Oh, God, he was pitching a porn parlor to her. Cat didn’t wait to hear any more. She spun on one foot, banging through the doors on the way out. Her face burned, but she was not going to let herself cry.
Two blocks away from the diner, she sat down on the curb. What a complete asshole he’d been, and she was so desperate she would’ve taken the job. Her boot was empty, the payment cards gone. Her stomach growled, but she had spent the last of her money on yakionigiri at a street vendor last night. If she wanted to stay in her room, she needed money by tomorrow.
She kicked at the street. She was going to have to steal again. She didn’t like it, but if it was theft or making porn, it was an easy choice. She suspected even her mom would approve. But she needed to be smart this time. Payment cards were too much risk for too little reward. She had to steal dozens to make it worthwhile, and she rarely got the chance to take more than one or two at a time. She needed something small but worth a lot and easily resold. She sat for ten minutes, half meditating, half thinking, until she decided on jewelry. If she went into a large store, there was bound to be more than one of the same piece. She could wait for someone else to make a purchase and then replay the transaction just as she’d done in the bodega. There’d be more security, so she’d have to do it perfectly, but the payoff would be huge.
She checked the time. Nine at night was not exactly a jewelry-shopping hour, so she’d have to wait for tomorrow. She could do it first thing, sell the jewelry at a pawn shop, and still be able to pay for her room before she was kicked out.
Cat took an electric bus back to her neighborhood and walked the eight blocks to her building. At the door she used the room key to open the main lock and her implant to unlock the secondary bolt she’d installed two days ago. While it didn’t drown out the late-night screams, banging on walls, or crying, it offered some meager protection for her few possessions. She had two changes of clothing now, not one, and a black-and-white checkered hot plate.
She checked the clothes in her bathroom, found them dry, and folded them. She took off what she was wearing and washed that in the sink, using a little detergent she’d taken from the laundry room downstairs. Her chores done, she climbed into bed and sat meditating.
Once her mind was at rest, Cat spent twenty minutes exercising her implant, seeing what signals she could interpret. Security cameras and motion detectors were ongoing unidirectional streams trickling in the distance. Nearby, in her own building, she felt the bidirectional flow of massively multiplayer games, and large chunked data streams of downloads. She skimmed them, finding porn and old movies. She pushed herself to practice until she started to fumble the data, exhausted. Mastering her implant and her control over the net was now the difference between life and death, freedom and imprisonment, food and starvation. She crawled beneath the covers and tried to ignore the late-night sounds of the building, which would continue for hours yet.
The next morning, Cat woke at eight. She contemplated the dimensions of the small room, looking at the extent of free floor space, two narrow strips around the bed. After debating whether it was worth doing her entire routine, she decided yes. She wanted to be in the zone when she went to the jewelry store. She lifted the mattress off the bed, leaned it against the wall, then did the same with the bed frame. Now there was enough room for kata.
She started with qigong, as she did at home, then moved into karate, and closed with vipassanā. With no breakfast to eat, and no one to talk to, she had a long time to meditate. She finished, surprised to discover herself crying. She missed Einstein, her puppen. She missed her backyard with its mix of weeds and flowers. And she missed Tom and Maggie and even Sarah. She balled her hands into two fists. It wasn’t fair! Why was she, the only one of her friends who even gave a damn about doing anything with her life, the one that lost it all? She punched the mattress standing against the wall as tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t be condemned to this life. She just couldn’t.