WIP Wednesday - PK 33 and more Perfect Sleep!

It's Wednesday again, and so here's some more work in progress.

First up, Perfect Sleep, my novel draft in progress. You can see the first two parts in earlier blog installments - just check the tags at the bottom of the post. This is probably the last time I'll post up a sizeable consecutive chunk of Perfect Sleep, since I will be submitting it to publishers when it's all finished and edited. If you want to read more, you can always ask to be a beta reader for the manuscript. Hit me up in the comments!

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The park just down the street from my Cube is pretty nice, for an urban place. Grass isn't as green as it is out in the country, but then what is? Green's not a popular color in the city anyway. It's a hick color, an old color. Yellow-green grass is good enough for me, even if most of it's been scuffed down in well-worn paths. The concrete of the sidewalks is scuffed black or even scorched in places from self-assembled skateboards and motorhaulers. Kids try all sorts of things down here at night, and it's a good place to pick up meth and the like, but what else is new? I sit down on a bench with a couple rails bolted up to keep the bums from sleeping on it, and then draw a joint out of my wallet.

It's a slender thing, pretty streamlined, like a cigarette but sleeker and sturdier. Nothing real in it - cuervo gold or gov'mint haul or even chronic aren't going to do someone like me any good. Doping up is like turning the volume down one click on the vidyo for me. It doesn't make enough difference to bother with the price. Clove, though, clove always tastes good, and mint's nice. I like the flavored cig-stick joints. This one is blackberry flavored. I thought I'd have a little adventure. Hey, every now and then I splurge.

I flick the end of the joint in a time-honored motion with my thumb. They used to light the ends of these things on fire, back when external combustion was allowed on a personal basis. Can't find any of those smokes anymore - they went stale before my daddy's body did, may he rest in peace.

The flick I give this thing just turns the LED at the end up. I guess it's just for effect, but it adds a certain something.

Now, the fun part is when I drag in. See, it's just air coming through my mouth. There's nothing else in this joint, not tobacco or cloves or any sort of pipegrass. It smells faintly of the flavor, with possibly a hint of tobacco, or what they tell us is the smell of tobacco. Tobacco might still be grown in those backwater countries where they're not civilized enough to only allow smoking if you pay for a throat implant to do it with.

I suck in the air, something behind the LED in the cig-stick signals the gadget they put somehere between my lungs and my throat, and then I can just taste the smoke on the back of my tongue. I let it wash forward, let myself taste it a little more before breathing it into my lungs. The filter in the device catches most of what might poison me. What I really want is the nicotine. They'd never sell this shit without nicotine.

See, like I said, there's nothing in the cig-stick itself. It just sends a signal according to what type it is. Buying the joint is paying for a subscription. What the Company calls one joint's worth of smoke. The gadget in the throat does the rest. Most of it is really a programmed illusion of the taste of it. Ions and such keep everything in check. You have to pay to be a junkie now, but it keeps anyone else from having to breathe in the smoke you'd make externally. Not much at all comes out when I exhale.

Sounds like a lot of work, doesn't it? The implant's cheap, though, They make up the cost in the subscriptions. Nobody quits smoking. Heck, some people just buy the joints without getting an implant, because they like the look of smoking without actually having to smoke. Bums and posers, but they're easy to tell apart from us genuine junkies. And damn, it feels good to light up out here in the midst of this shitty grass and crummy bench. Like this, I can truly feel wretched. It's the real life. I dunno, it just sort of warms me in a place.

Gotta keep my eyes open though. These places are dangerous in broad daylight, and I am easily distracted.

'Care to share a drag?'

I chuckle. Most of the dangers aren't quite visible, are they? I decide to answer. 'What's your name, sweet stuff?' She sounds female. She's just a voice. I can't see anything or anyone to attach it to, but then, I never do.

'Pandora.' It's a smooth statement, with no hints or lilts or promises of sercet services, of beds and pleasures and money on the nightstand after. That's a surprise - usually they want something.

I chuckle. 'You want me to open your box, Pandora?'

'Hmph.' She doesn't sound very offended, but she probably gets that one a lot. 'Just conversation. And a drag.'

I hold out the light-stick. 'Here.' The LED flickers a bit, as if someone really is inhaling. That part always creeps me out, makes me the most sure that I've gone crazy.

I get the fleeting impression of a woman's smile. Shivers go down my neck. I hate it when it gets too real. 'You're very kind,' she says.

She. Yeah. Like anyone's really there. 'No problem,' I say. I don't want to take this too much farther, because it creeps me out. It's the most profound reminder of how not-normal I am. But still... still, what else have I got to do?

'More than most junkies ever do. Tell me, why do you come here? The others are telling me you're a regular.'

I wince a little. The others, yeah, there's some other voices I hear down this way. Guess I'm popular, everyone keeps thanking me for talking back. Or bugging me. I have to retreat to the Cube sometimes - they don't like the hi-tech stuff so much. Sometimes the portable neural attach for the vidyo will drown em out here... sometimes it won't. And it gets them angry, sometimes, as if they know I'm purposefully doing it to shut them out. As if they had some right to be able to talk to me. 'I come here pretty often. Live near here. You new?' As if she's real. As if any of them are real, and not just products of my freaky busted mind.

'I'm just passing through. I'm the type to come and go. It's just my way. But you're polite, and that's different. It's so nice that you share.' I extend the cig to her one more time, see the fire on the end flicker again, feel myself going just a little bit more mad. 'What with all that, I'm surprised you aren't a bit more taken care of. Doesn't anyone adopt you?' There's another pause, and then the surprised bark of a laugh. 'They're chastizing me, honey! Can you believe that? I apparently wasn't supposed to give that one away. Tsk-tsk, you're dwelling amongst graverobbers and thieves, it seems, and not even batting an eye at their larceny.' There's another impression of a woman's smile, more honeyed than before. 'Perhaps you need someone to come home and look after you.'

'I don't have the space, but thanks,' I say. Not the first time I've had an offer. Heck, once in the curiosity of my youth I did bring one home with me, one who said she was a girl, to see if I could have some fun with her. I was better off just masturbating alone. She kept on talking about my stuff and wouldn't put out at all. What a shitty figment of my imagination. Normal people don't even have to deal with this stuff, what makes my kind so special? The few of us who'll talk to each other about it (and believe me, I know we all hear the voices, I can see it in their faces, even Milieu's) don't know what to think of it. Some of us know the same voices, which is the creepy part. There's no way to set all that shit up, is there? So we just don't know what's going on. Some of us suspect the Company's got some twisted conspiracy going on to do psychological experiments on the population. Some of us think that's bullshit, but don't have a better explanation. The best explanation is that we're actually intercepting raywire signals, and some prankers on the network have figured that out and talk to us every now and then. That theory at least has some legs on it, but still... how do they make the ciglights flicker?

It creeps me out so much.

'I'll hang out a little anyway. You look like you've been having some trouble, and besides, I haven't done much interacting in awhile. I could also use the barter, if you really do let us types take a drag that often.'

I sigh, don't even bother arguing with it. I just wanna go home, really. 'Okay, but I was here to talk to someone. See ya later?' Not that I really believe there's anyone there, but it'll make the voice stop talking. It's a way to cope, I guess - a way to manage a type of crazy that can't be treated by any drug. Nothing puts us types under, nothing calms us down.

'Oh, my apologies, I didn't know I was delaying an appointment. I'll follow you out when you leave. Pleasant eve to you.'

For all the crazy neurons rattling around inside my skull, it really does feel like someone's left.

I take another drag and settle my mind. I can hear the other voices around the edges of my range, now. They're probably put off by Pandora. We're all used to routine. Assuming that all of us exist. For all I know, I'm a figment of the voices' imaginations.

There's one voice I'm looking for, though, and he speaks up after a minute of peace. I only ever hear him in this park, which has me wondering some things about range, or if maybe he's some local who's managed to hack into my vidyo module somehow. Who knows? All I know is, I genuinely like this guy. Maybe because he doesn't want anything from me.

'Hey, kid.'

I grin, knowing that to any passersby, I look like a fucking idiot. 'Hey, Big Papa. How's it hangin?'

'Side-by-side, a little to the left, but not stretchin' too much.' His voice is slow and meticulous, but genuinely humored. 'You doin okay, scrap? What's the problem?'

I take another drag off of the cig. Something tells me this one's almost at its end. Kind of a relief - I like the cloves better. I can probably trade these for some - enough junkies around to be able to manage that pretty easily.

'What makes you think I have a problem?'

'You only come here to talk to me when there's a problem, kiddo. Now tell Big Papa all about it.'

That's what I like about Big Papa. For a crazy delusion of my whacked-out mind, he doesn't waste any time.

'There's a girl I met. She's another type like me. A no-wink. We met for that program I told you about, the one that studies sleep.'

'Oh, and how did that go?'

'Pretty shitty. They took her, but for some reason I'm not their type. Still... well, she got my biz. And now she's sent me a Courier.'

'Don't understand none of you whippersnappers's funny talk. Say it in plain English, kiddo.'

I blink. I keep forgetting... some of these voices just don't understand day to day living. It's so weird, I mean - all this is a part of ordinary life. The raywire network isn't new, the vidyos aren't... why don't they get it, if they get stuff like cig-sticks and even somehow smoke them?

'She took my contact information. She sent me um... something that lets me send her email.'

'Email? That's like regular mail? I can't keep up with these things, youngster. Oy, to be in the spring of my youth again... I do miss the old days, Kenneth. But go on, do go on. You sent her a letter through the post, then? Is she sweet on you?'

I suppress a vocal chuckle. 'Maybe. That would sure be nice, Big Papa. She invited me out to see a vidyo in one of the multiplexes. Ah uh... you call them movies?'

'Oh yes, I do remember movies! Loved them westerns. You got any movies with cowboys in 'em? I sure tell ya, nobody could ever beat John Wayne when it came to cowboys. What a man, what an actor. Before your time, I suppose?' He sounds so sad at that last part, pining for an era I have no way of remembering.

'I keep tellin' ya, Big Papa, I've never heard of John Wayne. We don't really have movie stars like that anymore, anyway.'

'Don't see how you can make a movie without actors!'

'Well, like I keep on saying, vidyos aren't like that. You can play games in them, and they're mostly simulations generated from--'

'Never mind all that techno talk, whippersnapper, I ain't made for them fast times and never will be! You're gonna go out with your girl, right?'

'Well...' I think. 'It's a little weird. She sounded kind of hesitant when she talked to me. Maybe she really doesn't want to--'

'A girl wants you to go after her, boy! Women respect a man who'll take chase! Don't give me none of that uncertainty bull. You just go see that girl you're sweet on, maybe see something romantic with her, maybe buy her some popcorn and hold hands. Then, well - well, theatres can be a real romantic place, sonny--'

I blush. I know what some people get up to in vidyo booths, but I've never been near a real girl in my hyper-awake life. 'Big Papa, this is just a first date!'

'Right! You gotta get your hopes up, boy! Confidence! Put on some scent too. A good cologne. Smell clean, but smell like a man. And shave. A girl appreciates that.'

I sigh. 'Right. Whatever you say, Big Papa.'

'Damn tootin'. Now get on home, boy, and get ready for that date of yours! Make Big Papa proud. Don't forget to take her over to meet me. You say she's one of your types, after all.'

I get a bit of a chill. I forgot about that part, completely forgot about it. She's a no-wink, she'll pick up on the voices too. I've talked with others like me, but never actually invited any over to this place. Once we mention to each other that we can hear things... well, we tend to go our separate ways and not meet each other again. Everybody's afraid to talk about the voices.

Could I take her to meet Big Papa, though?

'I'll try! Depends on if I even get her to follow me home!'

'Boy, don't you shame me by coming home without the sweetie you went out to meet, unless you're stayin' over at her place for the night! Now, git!'

And with that, there's silence, and I decide to amble on back to my humble Cube, which I'm not even going to think about fitting a real live girl into just yet. I mean, there was that one time I bought a doll and tried that out, but I ended up having to sandwich her on top of the sharp edge of the vidyo unit, and she kinda--

'Honey? You and I are heading on home now?' Pandora's voice intrudes on the edge of my thoughts like a polite tap on the shoulder.

'I guess so.' I'm done here. I was just here to talk to Big Papa. If there's one thing I like about talking to him, it's that he helps settle my mind about something, even if he doesn't quite get what era I'm living in. Maybe he's some crazy networked historian. Drunk and still attached to his vidyo unit, even though it's illegal to be drunk on the public networks.

There's the impression of someone's hand on my shoulder. 'I don't really have to, hon, if you don't want me to.' She sounds genuinely concerned. I don't like someone sounding concerned like that, especially someone invisible. It implies there's something to worry about. I don't like worrying.

'Yeah, it's fine with me. You can't fit in there, though, so I can't invite you in.'

'Thank you for your kindness. I shall make do.' There's the impression of a woman lifting her head high, and I swear for the life of me I feel like a tall person is walking beside me as I make my way back to my Cube. 'You don't take us home often, do you? Don't walk with us at all.'

'Not often. Not much to say, I guess. And, well..." I guess I'll be candid. 'I think I'm just crazy anyway, so I don't put much effort into talking to figments of my imagination.'

'That's a sound idea, and I commend you on it. Pardon me, I'll have to walk behind -- ah. Quite a lot of interference here. Figures. How do you humans live amongst such a mess? Your minds must be buzzing with all this energy in the air.'

Hm. I rarely hear them in heavily urbanized areas, come to think. Just in quiet places like the park, where signals don't cross nearly so much. 'My mind buzzes constantly anyway.'

'Well, I certainly see why. I shall guard, if you've no qualms. Unless you have those you'd allow entry for? I can allow for visitors, but you'll have to specify. I can't just go on discretion because I don't know you well enough yet.'

I blink. 'Guard? What?'

'Oh, you're very new, aren't you? Figures. No wonder the others are taking advantage of you. But I can't allow a payment to go unrewarded, and you gave me offerings of sweetly scented smoke. Here now, I can guard the entrance of your dwelling and prevent any whom you would not allow from passing through. Does this please you, or would you prefer I not? If you don't prefer I guard, it would be good for you to tell me what other service I might be able to perform in exchange for the offering.' She sounds a bit annoyed, but I realize the tone's more of that of someone who's reading a script on a transmission. It's all rote.

'Guarding will be fine. It's a low-rent district. I'm not afraid of thieves, but sometimes there's some punks who'll grab anything they can pry out. I don't plan on having any guests who don't come in with me.'

'Thank you. Master Kenneth, I believe it was?'

I shake my head, looking like a crazy as I linger outside my Cube. Master? What now? 'It can be just Kenneth, thanks. I'm not, uh, high class like that.'

'Oh, my apologies. I didn't bother to look into your social stratum. Is it a point of importance?'

I snort. 'Not really. Don't bother with it. I'm low-life scum, so it won't matter.' I want to go inside. I'm getting cranky. Been outdoors too much today, been out and about a lot more than usual. It's not healthy, or at least it's not normal, and I prefer the latter over the former.

'Proper etiquette is of utmost importance, but I'd not want to burden you. Go on, then. I'll guard. I miss guarding.' She sounds quite lonesome at that last part, and I almost want to pat her on the shoulder. I can't even see a shoulder to pat, though, and she's probably just some stray bit of code written to fuck with me.

'Thanks. Have a nice evening," I say, and then duck into my cube.

I'm renting a Cube that doesn't even give you full space to stretch out, much less stand up. Most people rent these as storage units, or else as very temporary residences while waiting for something better to show up. Some real creepers use 'em to store kids, and I don't really like to hear those stories so I don't hear too many details. I like to think that they're not nearly as common as people like to think they are. You know how people play stuff up for drama, or for a fantastical story. Can't say I'm not prone to the same, but still. Little kids? Come on.

Anyway, there's not much reason to stretch out for me. I don't sleep, after all. I don't need to lay down. Most I ever do is curl up. You could say that it feels good to stretch out, but eh. I can take it or leave it. I like to kick my heels up every now and then, maybe. Sorta wedge my feet up into the low ceiling corner so that my legs aren't bending anymore. That's close enough to lying down, right?

Okay, so maybe it really would be nice. But then I'd have to make the credit to be able to afford a unit big enough for me to stretch out, and that would require more work than I think I'm capable of. It's easier to live on the minimum and be miserable yet relatively sane than to reach for more and fry myself in the attempt to have better.

Why am I thinking about this so much, anyway? Oh yeah, right. I'm gonna be bringing a girl home soon. And my pad ain't exactly suitable for more than one person. Strictly speaking, it's not even suitable for one adult.

Maybe I'm thinking ahead of myself. We haven't even arranged a date yet. She probably won't even want to go. So why bother planning for something that won't happen? Might as well not even send the Courier message.

But what would Big Papa say? He might be a figment of my imagination, but he's always been highly supportive. I can't just let him down without trying to do this.

No, I've got to follow through. I have nothing better to do, right?

Damn, I can't remember the last time I've even used a Courier, though. I activate the Span mode on my fob. It displays a screen on the wall for me to read. (I could bust for one of the sleeker models that projects it midair. That's current technology, heck it's getting to be OLD technology. But the wall-project ones are free to every registered citizen, and I'm not wasting my credit on something when what I've got works perfectly fine.) It tells me my messages (none, I'm not a popular guy as you may have intuited) and gives me a credit status, shows me my latest Vidyo stats, does a readout of how much food I've consumed and how much waste I've cycled back in for replenishment. There's a tab for my utilities and a big red sum for how much I owe the Company. Even my smoker's implant has a section on the screen. Fobs take care of pretty much everything. If I had a more active social life, I'd probably have to start organizing and prioritizing all the information. My screen's a real mess, but it's not like I have to use it much.

There's the Courier icon in the center of the screen. Nice and attention-getting. Hm, looks like she has a pretty sleek model. More than I expected from her. Rare to see a no-wink with some real money. Maybe she's still got parents, though. That really helps. Or so I've heard. Anyway, the Courier's a little round icon that I just go ahead and press. I'm not going to bother figuring out the voice command. it's not like I'll probably be seeing another of these hit my mainscreen again.

It fills most of the screen, shows a fancy animation of a dapper-looking guy taking a bow. He's got a two-wheeled vehicle next to him that looks all old-timey. Like a scooter, except with some weird bits of metal and chains. Some people are into this retro stuff - frankly, I don't get it and don't bother to read up. History's not a required subject in Basic Schooling, and I only do what I have to.

I tap the interface for inputting a message. Pretty sleek. I can speak it aloud or I can type it in. i decide I might as well speak it - I'm really not much of a writer. Who is, these days? Heck, a lot of people can go without reading their whole lives and still work regular jobs and afford nice stuff. ...Why can't I be like them?

"Hi Milieu, this is Kenneth. Thanks for the Courier, it's pretty slick. Anyway, I'm good for a Vidyo at the Cornertree Multiplex anytime that's good for you. Let me know a day ahead so I'm not scheduled for a think tank, okay? Otherwise I lose some sweet slots. Anyway, I like the horror-type stuff, but I'm okay for comedy fare too, and 'm open to suggestions. I don't go out for vidyos much, so I'm sure It'll be something new for me regardless. And uh... guess that's it. How do I make it stop? Oh shit I sound like a dork, I'm sorr-"

I find the STOP icon a few sentences too late. Oh shit, that was SEND! Damnit, I wanted to re-record! I sounded like a goddamn retard.

Oh well, at least she's met me in person. She already knows I am one.

Well, shit. Time to wait for a reply. Who am I kidding - she's not gonna send anything back, I'm a total dip.

At least Zombie Ranchero loves me. I decide to forego the open range and play a dreamsim game instead, though. It's something that's absolutely useless for me in a way - it certainly doesn't put me to sleep like the program's designed to do at the start. The programmers really couldn't account for no-winks, I guess. Not that anybody really cares to do that anyway. Still, it's a nice way to relax. Kind of a free-form game at its core. I can't afford a lot of the vidyos that are out, but cheap dreamsims are always glutting the market, probably because the interaction isn't exactly nuanced. I mean, pretty much anything can happen in dreams, so if a game designer screws up and aligns the physics so that you walks around on the walls of a house instead of the floor, they just sell it off as a dreamsim instead of actually fixing it. I guess you could call them hilariously glitched games, really. That and horrible beginner works. Maybe I just have a taste for punishment.

Anyway, this one's tennis. With fish. And with a partner who's not very adept at actually hitting balls, and occasionally sinks into the court up to his knees, or dissolves visually so that he's invisible. It makes tennis alternately challenging and easier. Whatever, there's no score (I think the programmer never made that part) so I can do whatever I want without any repercussions. I can even stretch out and lay down and feel like I'm laying down without having to pay for that annoying extra Cube floorspace. I'm living the life, I tell ya.

I'm pretty sure this is what dreams are like. I've had a couple, now and then, but I suppose they're what you'd call nightmares. I run a lot, and I die a lot, in my dreams. There's always something looming over me, breathing down my neck. Something big, hulking, heavy and hot. I always know, in the nightmare, that I'll never be able to shake the thing. I don't even try. I just cringe.

I guess saying that I've had nightmares implies that I've ever slept at all. And I have, maybe once or twice a year. It's how I know what sleeping feels like, and it's how I know that I want to be able to sleep. It's easy to assume constant misery is the norm when you have nothing to compare it against - but those few nights of sleep were such mind-relaxed not-paying-attention brain-not-buzzing bliss that the nightmares were more than a fair trade. I'd take them every night if I could sleep. Heck, I'd probably have a real job if I could sleep that often.

It's nice to be able to pretend, at least. Without dream sims I'd probably have completely unhinged by now. Surviving on some designer's incompetence - I guess everything in the world is useful for something or someone.

There's a weird buzzing under my palm. Wait - am I being called? No, a message. Avoiding another crash and hard boot, I key the message to pop up inside the dream. The function's not quite compatible with Zombie Ranchero (they keep saying they'll patch it!) but this dream sim seems to have no problems implementing a simple string of... text?

Huh. Guess she's a writer type. Weird, it's been awhile since I've actually read a personal message. Everybody does voice.

=Meet you there at 6 evening tomorrow. Too late? Could go later if you'd like. Would like to see a zombie film, Mom keeps making me watch chick flicks and I'm about to puke from them. At least zombies make people want to puke on purpose!=

A zombie flick? Man, my day is picking up! Let's see what else she's got to say.

=I'll pay, least I could do. Maybe dinner afterward, if you don't think I'm a crazy after talking to me for more than a minute.=

Win, and another win! If she's afraid of driving me away with her mad ramblings, I probably won't repel her with mine! Wow, all this time my loser self just needed to go date a loser girl.

Wait, this isn't a date yet. Is it? I shouldn't assume it is. I should wait for her to cue me on that, through some subtle feminine signal I don't understand. I think that's how it's supposed to work.

I key back a response of =O.K.=

I smile, lay back, and enjoy my little dream. A salmon flies overhead, flops once on the court, and bounces out of bounds.

* * *

And now, here's a preview of Peacock King's weekly update:

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Ebrellin-i
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And there is Nul. Above me, as always. As it should be, for I'd certainly not aspire to be above him, would I? No one could. Mother taught me that much at least - that when you find something that would rule you, you either find a way to surpass it or find a way to keep it happy.

And I, well, I keep Nul happy for her.

The first grumble from him is probably an observation, or a question. I can't really tell. Usually Cade will translate for him, but for some reason the Herald isn't providing illumination. I almost prefer it this way. There's nothing I can do about the Nul's decrees, so why would I really care what he's going to say? It's merely my signal to ready myself - not to shield, no.

That only makes him angry.

He hurts me. He's good at that, and I know he enjoys it. Usually he just does it at the beginning to get my attention - for I am a lazy follower, as Cade has always informed me on the Nul's behalf before. I do not step in time to the Nul's orders, I merely toe them vaguely while I go about my own dance. It's no lie, really - I am loyal, but I don't so much care to be all that devout about things. I am not a religious man, as it were.

Nul detests this, and so I am sent into a convulsion. Worship is something he demands, and I am always a fool not to give it to him. The convulsions usually pass, though - they're typically just long enough to shake me into my senses, to jog my memories. These don't pass. They become more excruciating than usual, in fact - my vision a blur, everything in my mind clenching up and twisting upon itself, and every bit of sense in me turning itself inside out and then rambling on like a madman. It is an intriguing sensation, to be sure - to be driven into madness at another's will.

It finally passes, very slowly does it pass. I can feel Nul's regard on me as the torture slows, as he drags it out enough that I can be aware of him dragging out. This is a pointed sort of torture, then - a punishment. I have been a bad pet. I have been the very worst of pets.

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Boy, I bet you're wondering how that turns out!

See you this Friday. :D