Saturday, July 17, 2010

Dead Planet X

Dead Planet X

“A clock was
striking one
—William Faulkner
Light in August

At least it wasn’t striking 13—I said to myself. Like in Orwell’s “1984.” But then maybe it was—I didn’t know. WTF did I know—the douchedroid kid was all I’ve had to go with. The rest was just just Pulp Fiction—the Sci-Fi kind.

I’d been living with JJ—for almost a year by then. I spent more time it seemed—living inside his head than I did in my own. At least it seemed that way—especially when I was dreaming.

I knew my dream-ego—wasn’t the world’s most reliable narrator. Probably about as reliable as—the Queen of Zembla in Nabokov’s Pale Fire.

But what about android memory?

It seemed to me that memory believed a lot sooner—than human knowing ever knew. Memory believed—long before knowing knew. Was android memory the same way—believing more than just remembering? What was it like being a Nexus kid? Did Nexus 9 droids—have memories about their beginnings?

There seemed to be a mind-meld link—between me and JJ. Like when we were both sleeping—and dreaming together at night. Not during the day tho—as far as I knew. It was like when I was dreaming at night—something turned off & something turned on.

There was this long corridor—then down a dark twisting staircase. We were inside some kind of heavy-metal echoing laboratory—deep underground somewhere beneath Amazonis Plaintis.

Down there deep in some kind of dark ashstrewnpacked boneblack bunker—inside an ancient Martian purlieus, enclosed by cement & steel walls. It was like a prison or a zoo—full of douchedroid orphans suspended in bleak tanks of fetid childbearing fluids, somber & quiet as a Martian mauseleum.

That’s the first memory I tuned into—lyng restlessly each night next to him. Feeling him reliving what he couldn’t consciously remember—only the droid fleeting memory of himself being what he was back then. He knew it—and I knew it. It was awful being suspended in the darkness—breathing thru tubes in your nose.

The putrid currents circulating in the droid vats—were like breezes of some smarmy breeze blowing from somewhere dead. It stunk like urine & feces—he was livin’ & breathin’ in that fluid fetid shit. And the putrid breeze blew fake & ersatz all the time—even then he knew something was wrong. Something was gonna happen to him. Something bad was gonna happen—he was gonna wake up.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked me—me being with him even before he was born. But there was nobody else in laboratory or lonely corridors—nobody else like him in the other android tubes. He was the only one—and me reliving it thru him. I was the only one who knew he was there. He knew that—I knew that. He’d been incubating for almost a year that way—deep under Mars floating in the dark Nexus void. Then one day Tyrell peered in at him—and smiled his twisted smile.

That was his first memory—the first one he really shared with me all the way. Then next one was up on the surface of Mars—in the Hellas City Zoo. Somehow he’d ended Mars-side up there—he didn’t remember how he got there or who put him there. Was it Tyrell? All he knew was that it felt good to get outta the fuckin' underworld gyn-tubes—that’s one thing he knew for sure.

It was time for him to be born-again—to be born-again almost human all too human the way I was born back on Earth. Or least kinda human—something he didn’t know anything about yet. He knew he was up on the surface—somehow waking up in the Hellas Zoo. But he didn’t know why. He liked the sleek android panthers right away—they recognized him as one of their own. They were on the same wavelength as him—stealthy caged cats pawing back & forth in the cool Martian night.

He hung out around the Panther House a lot at the beginning—even tho the invisible electro-zap bars kept him out. He knew already tho that he was different—and they knew too. He knew too much—he knew more than panthers or sleek cat-like droid Earthboyz should knew. He was one of them—the android race. He had sharp teeth—incisors embedded deep in his skull. He could purr like them—and he liked his meat bloody & raw. He was an animal just like them—just as slinky and erotically ersatz as big cats can go.

Crouching in the dingy apartment—he heard the drunk guy returning home. He’d picked up JJ—and taken him back to his place in the Hellas ghetto suburbs. They called it Hell Town for short—‘cause all the planetarry rejects, Earthlander criminals, Ganymede pimps and on-the-run exo-exiles from Saturn’s Rings hung out there. Below the radar screens...

This drunk guy had picked him up—without sayin’ a thing. JJ stunk & was fuckin' filthy dirty—really just another street urchin ratty hustler kid. Although JJ didn’t it know it then—nor did the bleary-eyed pervert thug who was only interested in one thing. There were a lotta loose lost Terra boyz hangin’ ‘round Mars now—after the Gulag Apocalypto Gulf thing.

They’d made love—if you wanna call it that. And then the drunk man would go out drinking some more. He was into some kind of blackmarket business around Hellas Hell Town. He was drunk all the time. That’s the reason he probably didn’t notice anything weird about JJ—only how dirty & filthy & shy the kid was. That’s why the guy liked him—JJ was dumb, animal-like, dirty like most of the other whitetrash Earth boyz exiled & washed up on the shores of Amazonis hell town.

He didn’t let the guy see him nude tho—even when he took a Jacuzzi-bath afterwards. JJ knew enough about how different he was—not to let the guy see both of his douchedroid dicks. The guy would’ve probably freaked out—and never would’ve left JJ alone after that. I couldn’t really blame the drunk I said to myself—I was kinda enamored by the droid kid the same way. I tried to be discrete about it tho—I didn’t wanna act like a pig.

He lived with the guy for a week—got to know what modern Martian city life was like. The guy kept him locked up in the apartment like a cosmo-slut kept boy—JJ didn’t mind at first that much.

There was usually food, booze & cigarettes. Humans had the nastiest habits—lots of drugs and skanky guilty pleasures. There always was something to get high & ogle at—right away the kid tuned into to vidscreen porno channels. But no humanoid chicks ever came by—so it was all still a weird kinda mystery thing. All the stuff fuckin' sex-crazed humans did—on YouFuck & SexFlix TV.

The only problem was—the guy was such a fuckin' disgusting SM freak. He’d beat-up JJ really bad—whipping him with an awful electro-whip all night long. The guy had a dirty Terran Taser gun too—and an evil Earth-thing called a fuckin’ Texas cattle-prod. He used it on JJ almost every night—before JJ finally smashed the goddamned thing against the wall. JJ was learning fast about what it meant to be human. All too fuckin' mean & sleazy sick human.

He heard the guy stumbling in thru the door—blundering back from a night in the Red District. His big drunk dark silhouette slid thru the slit—the door silently dialing open & closed. The door dialed shut really fast—the guy had a secret key he kept to himself. He leaned back—propping himself up back against the greasy closed plastic door. He leered at JJ on the sofa—pulling off his big black belt with the usual badguy smirk on his ugly face...

His name was Jones—he was breathing heavy like a pig as usual. He was a fat slimy no-good two-bit Hellas gangster thug—working for the shady Martian Mob on the side. Standing there in the dark living room—breathing heavy & leering at JJ on the sofa.

Jones was really drunk this time—drunker than a fuckin’ Saturn skunk. It wasn’t pretty either—one of those low-life whitetrash crummy Earth downworlder types. He was fat & ugly. He wanted to get off.

Jones had this kinda singsong saccharine nasal whine—he was one of the Redneck Riviera mob of exiles that barely got out in time. Even his voice—stunk like benzene & oily whiskey. He sounded mean—he looked mean. He was mean…

He propped himself up against the door for leverage—then leaned forward falling downward on his face on the floor. He crawled his way over to where JJ had been sleeping—all drooly-jowls and forlornly morose. Slimy as a greasy slug—big drooly rubbery lips.

“What a piece of shit,” JJ said to himself.

He was getting’ bored with the whole fuckin’ thing—livin’ with a stinkin’ cruddy creep. He knew the disdainful crummy Terra lingo by now—all the slutty sex-soaps & worn-out space operas had taught him well. Playin’ night & day on the cheap vidscreen—JizzTube three-ways and NetFuck gangbangs. The amazing things humans would do—when they were bored and didn’t fuckin' care anymore about anything.

Plus all the old fading film noir Terra flicks—from back when Hollywood Planet ruled the dead Earth. Humphrey Bogart pistol-whippin’ fag Peter Lorre—Lorre lovin’ it & lappin’ it up.

Bogart sneering at him—tellin’ Lorre to say he liked it. He’d like it & he’d want it some more. Lorre getting’ turned on more & more—getting’ bitch-slapped by the butchy Earthguy private dick. JJ learned a lot about crummy Earthmen & film noir planet consciousness—watchin’ Hollywood movies all the time.

He just sat on the couch—smoking his cigarette. As the creep slowly crawled and wormed—his way over to the sofa. That’s when Jones grabbed him by the leg and wouldn’t let go. He started gnawing at the kid’s ankle—slobberin’ & workin’ his way up JJ’s tense muscular leg.

“C’mon kid, one more time. I needs it—I needs it bad.”

“Eat shit, asshole,” the kid hissed.

He reached down and grabbed hold of Jones’ hands. He twisted them off his leg—they were tight like vices. And greasy. Jones was so drunk—he had to be the most disgusting human being on Mars.

Jones started cursing him—calling him all sorts of fuckin’ names. Cunningly—not loud. Knowingly—like only drunk bigots can be.

“You’re a fuckin’ android aren’t you? Just look at you—you goddamned android piece of white trash. Get your slimy droidblooded hands off me—you fuckin’ freak!!!”

He pulled up Jones up off the floor—and tossed him on the couch. He leaned down into the drunk Mississippi honky twisted face—and bitch-slapped him with his left hand. Like Bogart did Lorre. While his other hand held him tight by the throat—squeezing harder & harder.

“Say what? What’d ya say I was, asshole?”

Jones turned purple—he couldn’t breathe. He stopped sneering—and started choking, gurgling, strangling on his twisting blue tongue. He didn’t seem to like it—like Peter Lorre. His eyes turned from lazy hate to real fear—it wasn’t nice to fuck with a pissed-off Nexus 9.

Jones kept droolin’ & whimpering—until both his eyes popped outta their sockets. One went sliding down the side of his pockmarked face—the other ended up on the dirty floor ogling helplessly up at the filthy ceiling. It was an obscene-sounding kind of liquid popping sound like a cork popping outta a bottle.

“Kinda like Marilyn Monroe in Niagara, isn’t it?” the kid hissed at Jones. Except Jones wasn’t as pretty as Marilyn Monroe—not by a long shot. He didn’t have big red luscious lips or slinky hips or big innocent eyes. His fuckin’ eyeballs were doin’ other things—like squiggling & wiggling down there on the fuckin' filthy linoleum floor.

The kid tossed the rotten retching body across the room—smacking up against the wall. Wiping his hands off on the couch—how fuckin' bloody & slimy humans could be, the kid saying to himself. Jones wasn’t whimpering or drooling anymore. His limp body twitched a couple of times—and then it didn’t move. It stopped wheezin’ & breathin’—pretty soon it was deader than a doornail.

“Slimy human Earthturdz are fuckin’ easy—easy to off,” he said to himself. It was getting close to Martian dawn—time to get the fuck outta there.

He stood in the darkness of the cheap apartment—thinking quietly to himself. He reached for his razor-gun—ready to slice the goon into shreds.

But he didn’t—he held back. Saying to himself, “This isn’t the right time. Something’s happening to me. I don’t like being human this way. I gotta get outta here—back to the Hellas zoo.”

He walked over to Jones—got the dial-key the guy hid to dial open the door. It slid open with a click—he was outta the dump once & for all. The door hissed shut. Closing it behind him tight—a lost chapter in his so-called douchedroid life. His exo-existence—he’d rather forget it. He'd rather be a cat, a droid panther in the dark. The zoo called him in the night. That was surely his real home. Not with these human animals...

Out onto the street—he felt invisible. Like Claude Raines—the Invisible Man. He fumbled for a cigarette—heading for the zoo. In the flare of the match—he caught himself in the picture window. Who was he anyway—WTF was he doin’ here on this hellhole Hellas? How the fuck did he end up on Mars anyway? The kid knew pretty much by then—that he was putrid douchedroid material. In a really bad way. Tyrell his creator had fucked him but good. Kid Frankenstein droid. That's all he was, all he would ever be. Down the street he stalked in replicant hate & self-loathing. It wasn't pretty in Hell Town...

The zoo wasn’t far away—he needed some time not to think to himself. He liked the Hellas Zoo—it was a lot better than the rest of the forbidden city. The real animals were outside of the fuckin' electro-shock cages—the stealthy droid panthers, the prancing android peacocks and the screamin' robot monkey boyz. They were more his brothers—than creepy Earthmen would ever be.

JJ snapped his cigarette into the gutter—listening to it hitting the damp street with a sizzle. The whole joint was one big damned Droid City—a gone robot metropolis put together by TerraCorp & Tyrell. Just to house the influx of fleeing humans—on the run from doomed Dead Earth.

Plus all the Exo-development companies—on the run. The Asteroid Belt mining racketeers—the fleet ships heading out past Titan Town. Out to the enigmatic Oort Cloud Belt Zone—before the Big Nova came down.

Hellas City had been quickly built—on top of the ancient hidden Martian one. The underground ruins were invisible to most of the exiles and desperate émigrés coming from Earth—the whole Earth mob heading outward where the safety really was before the Big Show.

Some of them didn’t even get it—or know about how bad the Things To Come were gonna be. The solar nova cycle that eventually always caught up with itself—the energy hell dynamics of the solar engine & hidden hydrogen endgame systematics...

The BP Oil Spill—had been just the tip of the iceberg. A convenient mini-Apocalypse rehearsal & excuse. Whether planned or not—it didn’t make any difference. Either way—the Exo-Exodus was going to happen anyway.

Whether distracting the Terra rubes again—like some canny Wizard of Oz pulling the curtain closed behind him. Like some somewhere over the rainbow flick—it was gonna be a lot more than just that, honey. This time around—humanoids were more klug right? Maybe so—maybe not. What did the kid care?

The real Apocalypto Disco—was gonna happen precisely on time—only the TTT intelligentsia knew the truth, the whole truth & nothing but the skanky truth. Tyrell & some filthy rich TPTB types—but even they didn’t really know for sure.

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