Unchipped: The Resort: (Book Five in the Unchipped Dystopian Sci-Fi Series) Read online

  To all underdogs out there:

  The black sheep, the odd ducks, the rejects, the loners.

  You make this world go around.

  DVM Press

  Vaakunatie 16 D 14

  20780 Kaarina, Suomi-Finland

  www.dvmpress.com

  www.tayadevere.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Taya DeVere

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by Suomi-Finland and United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at DVM Press. Vaakunatie 16 D 14, 20780 Kaarina, Suomi-Finland.

  For information about special discounts available for bulk purchases, sales promotions, fund-raising and educational needs, contact [email protected]

  ISBN 978-952-7404-14-0 First Ebook Edition

  ISBN 978-952-7404-15-7 First Print Edition

  Cover Design © 2020 by Deranged Doctor Design - www.derangeddoctordesign.com

  Ebook formatting by Polgarus Studios – www.polgarusstudios.com

  Editing by Christopher Scott Thompson and Lindsay Fara Kaplan

  CONTENTS

  SHORT STORY — THE BEST OF ME

  CHAPTER 1 — KAARINA

  CHAPTER 2 — WILLIAM

  CHAPTER 3 — AVA

  CHAPTER 4 — LUNA

  CHAPTER 5 — MRS. SALONEN

  i — Dear Reader

  ii — About the Author

  iii — Final Thanks

  iv — UNCHIPPED Series Release Schedule

  THE BEST OF ME

  A short story in the world of the Unchipped series

  The club is buzzing with dancing people and music. Glitter, feathers, and wild hair glimmer in the neon lights. When the song changes to another beat—almost identical to the previous one—the lights go off for a moment. The moment is long enough that Dennis has to stop walking because he can’t see. Can’t risk bumping into a bar stool. To stumble and hit his head is hardly something a desirable bachelor like himself should do. But even if he did—his damn near perfect face and body wouldn’t break or scar. He couldn’t hurt himself, not even if he tried.

  Not in this reality.

  The lights blaze on again. Dennis adjusts his Stetson and continues his walk. His cowboy boots clunk against the sticky bar floor—he can hear the sound over the loud music. They’ve improved the sound effects since the last time he visited—which was only last night.

  At the back of the bar, a woman with bright orange lipstick crosses her bare legs. Her long blond hair reaches her navel, thick locks wrapping around her curves like a possessive albino snake. Thirty-one, maybe thirty-two. That’s how old she’s decided to be tonight. Dennis raises the two bottles of beer in his hand, moves the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. Even in a fake reality it seems odd to sit down with a stranger without a drink in his hand.

  “Hell of a line, doll. Hope you’re not parched.”

  A perfect row of pearl-white teeth competes with the bar’s light show. Her face is impossibly symmetrical, her skin flawless. Eyes coral blue, she winks at Dennis and accepts one of the beer bottles, but doesn’t take a sip. Why would she?

  “Well, aren’t you just the perfect gentleman.” She undresses Dennis with her eyes as he sits, well aware of her admiring gaze on his tan and toned body. He knows what works in this room: well-fitted jeans and a few open buttons.

  “So, tell me, stallion. How old are you?”

  Dennis cocks his head and narrows his eyes while his smile deepens. Today, his eyes are the deepest brown the AR-store has to offer. “Thirty-five, doll. It was my birthday last week.”

  Her full orange lips give him another smile. She pretends to take a sip of the beer Dennis has bought her. “And how many times has it been, cutie-pie?”

  “How many times, what?”

  “That you’ve turned thirty-five?”

  Dennis’s eyes drill into hers, estimating. Her choice of orange lipstick tells him she’s young enough to feel the need to stand out. Bold. Revealing dress, flawless face… she’s a rookie for sure. An older woman would know better: Men need flaws. A scar, maybe an extra pound on the waist, maybe two. Slightly crooked teeth, that sort of thing. Perfection doesn’t arouse him. No—it’s boring. But tonight, he’s been drawn in by that long, blond hair. Might as well sit down and keep this one on the hook while he scans for someone better.

  There would be more to choose from, if it wasn’t for the newest nighty-night-pill, released and delivered by the City of California to its citizens earlier today. Actually, it’s surprising that the room is even this full. People call it a night hours before they usually would, hoping for a new and stronger kind of high. It’s surprising that there are this many people out and about, AR-socializing instead of snoozing away in a newly-found state of Zen. During a new pill launch, it’s not uncommon for the rooms to echo with emptiness.

  “Well?” She pouts, makes a face which she’s practiced in front of the selfie-lens for hours on end. Dennis can tell. He’s no rookie.

  “Why is it,” Dennis asks, “that age is the first thing we ask each other? Not whether we’re happy in life. Or what we do when we’re not working. When’s the last time we cried? Who is your role model?”

  “Wow,” the woman says. “That old, huh?”

  She’s young—much younger than what he’d prefer—but he doesn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. He gives her his best smile and leans forward on his seat. He knows she can see his well-built chest this way. “Let’s just say this is not my first rodeo.”

  A flicker in her eye.

  Hand playing with a loose lock of too-white hair.

  A giggle.

  He almost wishes he would fail. Just this once. Challenge, that’s what he needs. Not easy pickings.

  A low buzzing sound interrupts Dennis and breaks their gaze. Three white dots appear at the corner of his vision. An AR-call. This late at night, it can only be one person. No one else would dare interrupt his night.

  “Will you excuse me, doll? I need to step outside for a moment.”

  She cocks her head, lifts her chin to reveal her long, fragile-looking neck. “It’s not a booty-call, is it, Daddy?”

  Maybe she really is too young. The ones with daddy issues always are.

  “Business call,” he says and raises his hand. Before he taps the side of the AR-glasses to leave the simulation, he adds, “Sit tight, doll.”

  He hopes she won’t listen. That she’ll at least pretend to play hard to get.

  ***

  “A mole? You’re sure?”

  Dennis paces by the balcony railing. He gulps some cold water to sober himself up. The green city opens in front of him, dark and eerie, the neon lights flashing and flickering wildly. The commercials never end—not even when there’s no one to watch them. It’s three a.m.. Thanks to the newest government-issued drug, the city is unconscious, enjoying peaceful and restorative sleep.

  “Ah, Dennis,” she says. He can nearly hear the woman smile at the other end of the line. She hasn’t turned the video on and isn’t a fan of the hologram-calls. “Your Texas acce
nt. It’s fading, my dear.”

  “Not many people to talk to these days. It happens. Things fade.”

  “Not even those young girls in the SIM dating rooms? How is The Best of Me treating you, anyway?”

  How does she know about that? Dennis should be too high in the program’s hierarchy, too important for surveillance.

  “No, we’re not tracking you.”

  “Then, how…”

  “Little birds. I asked what you wanted for your birthday. Nurse Saarinen gave me the tip. Said you had cursed the selection in the dating rooms during new happiness-pill launches.”

  “That I did,” Dennis admits. “It’s mostly men out there, I’m afraid.”

  “Or women choosing to be men…”

  “Even worse. Not sure why anyone would do that?”

  She laughs, her voice soft and tempting. If only Laura Solomon wasn’t his boss—everyone’s boss—he would have made a move a long time ago. Maybe right after Claudia had—

  “So, anyway. I told Nurse Saarinen to shut down all the other rooms for tonight. Happy birthday, Texas.”

  That’s why there had been so many people tonight, despite the happiness-pill launch. They had nowhere else to go.

  “You calling me that sounds odd,” he says. “Only the people in the mansion usually call me that.”

  “Yeah, well. Suits you. Texas.” She hums happily. Dennis swallows and waits for her to go on. “Wanted to try it out, is all.”

  They both fall silent for a few seconds. Dennis wets his lips, wanting to ask something from her in return. Something personal. Her likes and dislikes. What kind of flowers—

  “How is the new mansion crew coming along?”

  She beats him to it. The moment is gone.

  Dennis leans against the metal railing, gazing down onto the streets. No self-driving limos with dimmed windows. No Unchipped pedestrians, making their way to Texas’s building for a quick meeting. That’s all the movement you see on a normal day. Then again, who is he to decide what’s normal anyway?

  “Dennis? Bad connection?”

  “No, no. I’m here.”

  “And the mansion?”

  He exhales, turns around and walks back to his gaming chair. Minding his tweaked back, he sits gingerly on the leather seat. The chair creaks under his weight. The black coverall he’s wearing feels tight around his belly area. “The progress would be smoother if I got my girl back.”

  Doctor Solomon stays quiet.

  “I know, I know. We’re not there yet. And once we are, she’ll need an immense amount of training and alteration, and I agree. It’s just… Maria was the one to keep the ball rolling. The others were more or less useless compared to her.”

  “Even William?”

  It’s Dennis’ turn to brood. He had enjoyed Bill’s company. Had big hopes for him. His design work had been second to none, and the man had never lost his ambitious ways—no matter how rich and powerful he was getting. For someone like Bill to jump ship had been a shock. Never during Dennis’ thirty years of managing a mega-corporation has he seen a change of heart quite so sudden and so completely out of character. Or had he just missed the signs? Had living in the AR life, his environment responding to his every desire, conditioned him to see what he wished to see?

  “I wouldn’t mind finding William. Maybe bringing him back to work for me, after a short visit to Nurse Saarinen’s mind augmentation project.”

  “Might take quite a lot more than a short visit. Your CEO basically leads the rebels now.”

  “And where are we with that? Stopping the rebels? I know you vetoed our most effective option, but don’t you think it’s about time we made a move? That was a hell of a lot of CC’s those bastards stole from us.”

  “First things first, dear. As you now know,” Doctor Solomon says. “We have a mole, and it turns out this traitor has been helping our rebel crew since the shit hit the fan at Kinship Care.”

  “The mole is in City of England?”

  “We think so. Iris called, from City of Serbia. She’s the one who found the malware in the system and spotted the devices that had been tampered with.”

  “Good girl.”

  “Mm. Gave her a raise and put her in charge of the purple city.”

  “Well-deserved.” Dennis shakes his tipsy head, not believing he has yet to ask the most burning question. “Hold on. Who’s the mole?”

  “Margaret.”

  “Margaret from the accounting department?”

  “No. Margaret from IT.”

  “Lewis?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck me.”

  “Agreed.”

  Solomon gives him a moment to let the thought sink in. One of their own—a founder—working with the rebels? Margaret had always been difficult, but in the past the issue was the children. She and Mrs. Salonen had pushed for youth rights ever since the Happiness-Program first got legs. The deaf woman had finally gotten her way, on the condition that she would finalize her research on singularity and mind augmentation. Everyone was surprised when she had agreed. Even more surprising was that the old woman—Laura’s mother, Mrs. Salonen—didn’t put up a fight. In fact, that had been the moment when Mrs. Salonen had stopped coming to the meetings and demanding updates on the healing capsules she’d invented. No one ever asked Laura what had happened to her mother, and she never mentioned her. In the end, everyone was more relieved than curious, for Mrs. Salonen had been a force to be reckoned with.

  “We must find her, Dennis. You know this, right?”

  Her words snap him back to this moment. “Who? Margaret?”

  “Sure. But I’m talking about the Unchipped girl. Kaarina and her little crew. Your William. The kids.”

  “And how—”

  “Hold on a second, Dennis. It’s Nurse Saarinen. I must take this.”

  ***

  He didn’t mean to jump back into The Best of Me simulation while waiting for Doctor Solomon’s and Nurse Saarinen’s AR-call to end. A mole this high in the hierarchy is a bad thing. The news is too important for him to focus on anything else.

  Yet here he sits. Staring at a pair of orange lips, fake-sipping beer from an old-fashioned brown bottle. Was that how he had blown his cover? Must be. No thirty-five-year-old would buy a drink like that for his date. He’d go for something modern, just for optics; a neon-colored rainbow cocktail, maybe a mini-fountain-tini. Whiskey-soda with a crushed Happiness-Pill. That sort of thing. But never a brown glass bottle with a one-word-label.

  “Sorry, doll. Where were we?”

  “Daddy issues.”

  Dennis crosses his leg on his knee and frowns. He hadn’t said that out loud. Had he?

  “My daddy issues. You were just about to ask me about them.” She fixes her long hair around her body. “Weren’t you?”

  Dennis looks at the bottle in his hands. He should have gotten a whiskey. Not at the SIM-bar, but in his kitchen while talking with Doctor Solomon.

  “I’ll tell you my age,” the girl says, running her fingers on her neck. “If you ask nicely.”

  But Dennis doesn’t care. He already knows how this night is going to end—if he so desires.

  There’s nothing wrong with AR-sex. As a matter of a fact, the tickling, head-rushing sensations it brings should in many ways be better than the real deal. Skin on skin. Every soft—or demanding—touch. Every adrenaline driven sigh. Each sound pushing and activating one’s lust-driven mind. Each stroke washes through one’s being, rushing through every pathway of the somatosensory system, caressing and pressing each neuron and cell as it sinks into one’s consciousness. It’s flawless. Disease and mess free. Anonymous. Always perfect bodies, always performing, acting, finishing in sync without a fail. But unlike most people—those hooked and plugged into their gaming chairs and AR-lovers’ make-believe bodies for twenty-four-seven—to Dennis, this kind of flawless lovemaking leaves him hollow. Empty. Wanting. In fact, he enjoys this part more. What comes before the SIM-produced multi-or
gasms. And yet, Dennis can’t seem to quit the chase.

  Without Margaret Lewis turning rogue, they’d already be in the men’s toilet, her apple-shaped fake buttocks pressed against the see-through walls. That’s what the booths are there for. Because who pisses or shits in an alternate reality? And, of course, no one knows who they are here, so privacy is not at the top of their list of worries.

  Cracking his knuckles, Dennis sets the beer bottle between them on the table. Then he nods and gestures for her to do the same. Disheartened to see how eagerly the woman obeys anything he says, Dennis watches her lean over, her round bosom now hovering closer to his face.

  Fake and boring, yes. But it works. Dennis finds himself holding his breath until the woman leans back in her chair.

  He takes out a hundred-dollar bill. It always makes an impression on them, him carrying old currency with him. Waving it in front of her eyes, he then sets it between the bottles, flat against the table. He turns around and snaps his fingers at a waiter. Unnaturally soon, the waiter brings him a third brown bottle, sets it on the table, and walks away. “Tell you what, doll. If you can figure this out, I’ll tell you how old I am. And you can keep the money too.”

  “But it’s—”

  “I’ll transfer the funds to your CC-account the minute you figure this out.”

  She crosses her arms against her flat stomach. A defiant smile spreads across her face.

  “See this note?” Dennis takes the hundred-dollar bill and sets it on top of the two brown bottles, placed four inches apart. “If you can balance the third bottle on top of the bill, without it or the bottle falling, you win.”

  The girl stares at the note on top of the two bottles. She leans closer to it, blows on it. The paper money drops onto the table. “That’s impossible. Gravity is still a thing, old man. Even in this reality.”

  The AR-glasses buzz again. Solomon’s back, possibly with news.

  “Oh, it’s possible.” Dennis sits back and presses his finger on his glasses. “Five minutes, doll. You can do it.”