Consider Us Even

CONSIDER US EVEN

  A Short Story

  by

  Jarrett Rush

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  Consider Us Even

  A Short Story

  Copyright © 2010 by Jarrett Rush

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  FOREWORD

  Hi, everyone. Just a few quick words to say thanks for downloading this story. I hope you enjoy it and enjoy your time spent in this universe I’ve created. These won’t be the only stories to come from New Eden. I have plans. Big plans.

  If you do like what you’ve read I’d love for you to follow my blog, jarrettwrites.blogspot.com. Stop by. Say hi. Let me know you were there. If you don’t get enough of me there, I’m also on Twitter at @JarrettRush. And if you want to shower me with praise and kind words, you can email me at [email protected]. Email me even if your words aren’t so kind. Any feedback is useful.

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  CONSIDER US EVEN

  Marquez smashed the bottle against the edge of the bar. Bits of brown glass clattered to the floor and he swiped what was left in his hand at Solis’ face. Solis shoved Marquez’s hand away and he dropped the bottle.

  A pair of security bots spun in circles by their feet, the little red lights on their domed heads flashing. Solis kicked the bot nearest him and the machine slid across the floor, smashing in to the leg of a chair.

  Marquez was distracted by the commotion and Solis put a fist hard into his opponent’s stomach. Marquez doubled over and Solis brought a knee into the shorter man’s nose. He dropped to the ground and the other security bot passed by his ear. Marquez pushed it aside.

  He brought himself slowly to a knee then sprung at Solis, burying his shoulder into the older man’s soft middle. The pair crashed into three barstools as they fell to the ground. Marquez straddled the old man, his hair falling in his eyes in a sweaty mess. Solis grabbed a handful of Marquez’s dark mane and pushed him back into an upright position. He swung his left arm and crushed Marquez’s cheek. His head snapped to the side and smacked the old wooden bar next to which the two men were laying. Solis pushed Marquez off of him and the younger man lay on the ground in a wet heap, one of the security bots by his head and the other near his feet. In computerized voices they told him to stay where he was, that he was being detained.

  Solis reached into Marquez’s back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He took the three American twenty dollar bills that were inside.

  “Now, we’re even,” Solis said as he pocketed the bills and headed for the door, a security bot tailing close behind telling him to not move any farther.

  Marquez rolled to his stomach and tried to say something, but no words came.

  Fight and all, Solis wasn’t leaving The Dudley in much worse shape than he’d found it. Dive bars lined the streets off the south bay and all the places were the same. Wooden floors. A beaten up bar against one wall. Tables across the other. A questionable crowd inside.

  Solis passed three more establishments just like The Dudley before reaching the corner. Overstuffed ships lined the other side of the street and they bobbed up and down on the rough water. The wind whipped in from the bay and Solis shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets to fight the chill. He wrapped a fist around his new found cash and headed for the hothouse a few blocks down. He’d only have to spend one of his new twenties on a hit that would last him all night. A more than fair trade.

  Security bots larger than the ones in the bar were patrolling the street and Solis told himself to stand up straighter. Slouch and you’re gonna look suspicious to these things, you idiot.

  One bot had a woman against a wall and she was fumbling through her purse for her ID card. The bot was counting down from ten and had already reached four. If she didn’t find the card by the time the bot hit zero she would be detained. Solis thought a good thought for the woman then felt in his back pocket for his own ID card. It was there.

  The address he’d written on his hand a few hours earlier had smudged thanks to The Dudley and the sweat and the beer. He thought he remembered where he was headed, but, honestly, finding the hot house wouldn’t be hard. There would be a crowd, especially on a weekend. Plus, he’d hear it. If it was anything like what was described to him earlier, the place was wired to the gills and the air around it would crackle with data.

  Solis hated using hot houses. It didn’t matter if they were set up in an old apartment building, a broken down warehouse, or an abandoned office tower, he didn’t trust them. Someone looking to make quick cash would come in, run miles of wire through the walls, hook it all up to a server that was pumping out unfiltered data then charge each addict twenty dollars to plug in, to get their fix. Once they drained an area’s addicts dry or the authorities got word of what was going on they’d pull out the wires and be on to another building and another population of junkies. Solis wished he didn’t have to use hot houses, but his feed at home wasn’t cutting it anymore. He needed the volume of data you got at a hot house to feel the flush of digital that had hooked him so many years ago.

  “Howdy, partner,” a man said as he picked up his pace to catch up to Solis. “Long time no see.”

  It was Daryl and he was wearing a cowboy hat with his bangs flaring out from under the brim. His boots were shiny and the hard heels made it impossible for him to sneak up on anyone.

  “Been busy,” Solis said, keeping his eyes forward.

  “I would guess so,” Daryl said. He put a hand on Solis’ shoulder but Solis never looked to the side. “I don’t suppose you were busy making money, were you? Because then you could pay me what you owe me. I don’t like having people owing me money, Solis.”

  It was just a hundred bucks borrowed from Daryl a few weeks ago to get him through, but in the end blown on magazines and hot houses. Solis had promised to have it paid back by this weekend.

  “No, not working unfortunately,” Solis said.

  Daryl squeezed Solis shoulder and the older gentleman dipped his arm. The hot house was close. He could hear the crowd and feel the data pulsing through the neighborhood.

  “I’m getting impatient,” Daryl said, turning Solis to look him in the eye. “I can give you until the morning, but I want my cash.”

  Solis nodded and rubbed his port. It was in his right arm, just above his elbow. It was a third generation military-issue unit that he’d paid to have cracked a few months after discharge. Once the filter was removed he could experiment with the data overload that so many of his army buddies had told him about. The warm sensation you got. The foggy head and the ability to forget everything you’d seen during your time serving. It had been twenty years now and Solis had never expected to be one of these people who was hooked, who was addicted. He never expected he’d be the kind of guy to beat up a friend to get his hands on enough cash for a fix.

  Dozens of people milled about outside the converted warehouse. Men and women, some begging for money. “Just a few bucks, that’s all I need. Just a little scratch that I can give to the man inside. You can spare a couple of dollars, can’t you?”

  Just through a raised bay door, a man in a light jacket and tan trousers sat in a folding chair, a cigar box on his lap. He took Solis’ twenty dollars and pointed him toward a larger room up a ramp. There, coming from the ceiling was a bundle of wires at least one hundred thick. Once the bundle hit the floor the wires spread out into individual feeds.

  Solis searched the wires for one that would fit his port. Once he found it he cleared a place in the corner between two young men who looked like they’d been there for a while. One had his eyes closed and a puddle of drool on his chest. The other was slumped against the cinder block wall. He was staring into the far off at nothing and Solis gave him a push to make a little room for
himself. He gave the end of the wire a quick lick and felt the buzz on his tongue. He pushed the feed into his arm and the rush was immediate. Heat went up his arm and into his neck then down his back almost instantaneously. His body relaxed and he slid a bit down the wall, his legs pushing out farther into the room. He felt his head dip and his chin touch his chest. He was on the wire.