PART VI
a€?No reproduction without a valid death
certificate, thata€?s what the
Worldwide Population and
Family Planning Law mandates.
As a result, therea€?s a hunger that cana€?t
be quenched, no matter how
many VR children you invent or
how many puppies you buy,
a hunger that can only be satisfied
by spending time with a real, live childa€|a€?
a€”Underground Circus propaganda, sent via black-market
Verse to select customers
CHAPTER SIXTY
Chaz:
I have to confess there are things about this world, this time period, that are wonderful. Things that I would never want to live without. Virtual reality is one of them. The ability to go almost anywhere in the world, anywhere that the current VR signal reaches, anyplace you have the physical coordinates for. I could be in Singapore one minute and Paris the next. All of it is in real time, of course. That detail usually confuses first timers. You can go to Australia, just dona€?t expect it to be the same time as it was back in San Francisco.
But even VR travel has it drawbacks. Just like deep-sea diving.
The frequent, shifting patterns of light can sometimes cause travelers to have hallucinations. So, like any other good thing, there are warnings, age limits, contraindications regarding certain drugs.
Ia€?m not sure how people lived before we had virtual reality or accelerated learning techniques or Verse implants.
Before resurrection.
What was it like when everyone lived with the fear of death peering over their shoulder? How did they get the courage to cross the ocean in primitive boats, to burrow tunnels beneath the earth in search of precious metal?
Sometimes I wonder what it was like before families were ripped to shreds, when holidays were spent with cousins, aunts and unclesa€”before the creation of the sous-terrain soci??t??. Wea€?ve filled our empty spaces with foola€?s gold, taken false solace in the tumbling jesters and the flying horses and the carnival that never stops.
Our world ended the day the Underground Circus came to town.
Sometimes I think we pulled a window shade down to cover our dark night, to keep our safe light inside. Let the vampires wander the streets and only invite them in when we need company, when wea€?ve grown tired of looking in the mirror and seeing no reflection.
I wish I could undo the black-market flesh trade, that I could burn the hands off every pretend mother and father willing to pay for a few hours of family-time-and-then-some.
The Circus had three levels of hell. As if one wasna€?t enough.
It all began with a cast of kidnapped children, displayed in the black-market video bars and ordered like after-dinner desserts. The first level was trained, like pets, to perform at secret events for the wealthy. Sometimes these youngsters pretended to be members of the family, in a mock-celebration or holiday, kindling long-forgotten memories of a life when families gathered together, when a house echoed with the voices of brothers and sisters and cousins.
The second level was taught to dance and sing, a tiny cabaret on a candy-colored stage. Like nimble acrobats, they leaped across floors covered in expensive Persian carpets, tumbled between priceless antiques. Swift and lithe, their innocence erased with rouge and eyeliner, they acted out plays, entertained with rehearsed poetry.
But it was the third level that ripped out my heart, one swift wolf bite of flesh and blood and muscle, one devouring hunger that both maimed and killed. In the third level, prepubescent children were dressed in harlequin diamonds of black and white; they rode a carousel of flying horses. Here, the performance was dark and unrehearsed, the children were required to play adult rolesa€|
Here, in a wassail feast of licentiousness, we destroyed the holy innocence of those we should have died to protect.
?
In my mind I can see the black market like a midnight bazaar in Marrakesh. Dark streets lined with open stalls, moon hidden behind the clouds. The air fills with the chatter of trained monkeys and the fragrance of exotic spice. Snake charmers linger in the shadows while someone offers to paint your body with henna tattoos. Colored lanterns flash within the stalls that you pass, revealing secret merchandise behind the counter. Illegal drugs, forged death certificates, clone bodies made to order. Anything you want, here and now, while you wait.
For a pound of flesh, the Underground Circus will come to town.
The horrors of the world, shimmering in veiled incandescence.
For a price, it can all be yours.