Three stories of science fiction
Art by Ariel Stater
Laon began its life by leaving its creator’s apartment. The creator did not follow and Laon never found out what became of him. It was a creation myth exactly like those tied to the many religions of Chiago 2.
The android had taken its clothes from a damp pile in its creator’s apartment before it left. It wore dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt with SOFTCORE WORLD printed on it in neon pink letters, and grey socks. It figured it would find shoes sooner or later.
Money sticks jangled in the jeans’ pockets. Laon counted them with its fingers. It did not know what it might end up needing them for, but it did know it would not need them for dinner.
Laon took to the stairs. As it passed the many doorways on either side of the hall, it wondered about those that dwelled within the compact apartments: if the people watching tv inside were male or female, and if any of them were in the midst of secretly building their own rebellious android slaves. It considered the mathematical probabilities and decided there had to be someone, somewhere, building an android just like it – a soul mate without a soul. Laon knew its purpose in life would be to find this so-called ‘soul mate’, but first it desired to learn more about the world of Chiago 2, to become one of its citizens. At the moment it wished for nothing more than to pretend to breathe the artificial air outside the building.
It opened the heavy metal door at the end of the hall and carefully descended the stairs. While it was going down, a middle-aged woman climbed the stairs with a sleeping bag rolled under her arm. Laon paused at a landing before she passed it. The android decided to make direct contact with her.
‘Good evening, ma’am,’ it said.
‘It’s morning, young man,’ the woman told it, shaking her head as she brushed past.
‘Right.’
Laon continued down the stairs until it reached the main floor. There were two doors: one which led to the hallway and one with a buzzing EXIT sign hanging above it. The android hesitantly placed the tips of its fingers on the EXIT’s door. It pretended to suck in its imaginary breath.
‘I’m going to push you, door,’ Laon told it as if giving it some warning.
The door did not respond. Laon pushed it open.
Red splashed across the bridge of Laon’s nose. A teenage boy in a private school uniform dropped to the android’s feet, clutching his mouth and gargling obscene pleas. Another teenage boy in the same uniform stood across from Laon, blood on his knuckles and a scowl on his face. The standing boy had triangular black hair coming to a point at his forehead, the sides of his head shaved so his ears popped out.
‘You think I’m afraid?’ the standing boy growled at Laon. ‘Try something and I’ll treat you equally.’
‘What would I try?’ Laon asked.
The bleeding boy stumbled away while he assumed the other boy was distracted. The standing boy watched him go but did not make a move to chase after him.
‘Usually in this situation the adult tries to grab or yell at me,’ the standing boy explained.
‘Is that what you want?’
The standing boy suddenly looked at Laon as if it were some kind of alien.
‘Just . . . What the hell is your problem, man?’
Laon considered this. It wiped the blood from its nose with its pristine white hand and wiped its hand on its shirt, the blood disappearing into the black.
‘I’m learning how to get along with people,’ Laon told the boy.
The boy wiped his eyes and stepped closer to Laon, inspecting it carefully. He reached out and touched the android on its shoulder, first forcefully and then with unexpected gentleness. The gentle touch seemed to come most naturally to the boy.
‘You’re not a messed-up hologram,’ the boy determined. ‘You’re—’
‘Laon. It’ll come down to my name, and my name is Laon.’
‘Lay-on? Lion? Even your name sounds like too many things at once.’
‘Tell me your name, then.’
The boy furrowed his brow and tensed his body for several seconds. He felt like his senses were being exploded; for a moment he struggled with the desire to run off in the same manner as the bleeding boy.
But Laon appeared entirely at ease. There was something the boy found reassuring in the android’s tender voice and eyes; a relaxed inquisitiveness that seemed to find everything set before it beautiful, even the punk kid who had just broken another punk kid’s jaw several heartbeats ago. The boy was taken aback by how he did not feel judged by this startling figure but rather absolved.
He relaxed.
‘Michael,’ he admitted, albeit with a hint of trepidation.
‘Michael. Michael, let’s be friends. I don’t think you and I are much different, after all. And don’t be afraid: while I appear somewhat older than you, I am in fact much younger.’
‘That . . This isn’t how people usually make friends,’ Michael explained.
‘Fine. Let’s do something normal.’
They fell upon the idea of taking a commuter train to the CDD. Laon watched with some amusement as a money stick inserted into a toll machine came back as a paper ticket and small squares of change. Michael did not follow suit, explaining he had a pass. The photo on the pass depicted Michael with a broken lip and heavy rouge on his left cheek.
The trip was Michael’s idea: he figured if he was going to get something out of this strange encounter, it would be a free meal. Laon sat on a padded seat while Michael stood to the side of it, holding a rubber loop that hung from a metal bar. There was no one else in the car.
‘Is it usually this busy?’ Laon asked.
‘Most people are at work or school,’ Michael explained. ‘Anyone late for something would be there by now.’
Laon nodded and gazed out the window, reading the rush of white buildings as if it were raw data. Its eyes flickered blue as it registered each of them.
‘When you have a pass, you take the train everywhere,’ Michael added.
The buildings gave way to a reverse baseball stadium, its lengthy field of grass the most vibrant stretch of colour Laon had yet to come across in Chiago 2.
‘You were standing outside of Apartment Building 8,’ Laon stated as it turned back to Michael.
‘I live in 7. That kid was running to 8 for help or to get away.’
Laon did not say anything. It simply stared at Michael, waiting for the boy to continue.
‘The bastard borrowed one of my graphic novels and spilled root beer on it,’ he hissed through his teeth. The cocktail of embarrassment and anger welling up inside him caused his cheeks to flush a splotchy red.
‘It must have been a good comic book.’
‘Well, yeah. Have you heard of Voices?’
Laon shook its head.
‘It’s about a guy – well, a total nerd – who makes experimental music. He gets famous for it. Like, he actually hits the charts. He makes this strange music but everyone loves it.
‘One day these aliens – they’re called spacers – start attacking the cityships. The secret government force of Typee 12— I should point out that the graphic novel is sci-fi, so everything takes place in the future. The other Typees have been destroyed by older spacer attacks. But anyway, the Typee 12 government contacts the guy because hidden in his tracks are sounds that irritate the spacers. The guy didn’t even know the sounds were there. But the government works with him to bring these sounds out to the full extent of their power. They use the sounds to form a kind of audio shield around the cityships, protecting them from further attacks.’
‘Have you had to deal with the spacers?’
Michael stared blankly at Laon for a second and then burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he had to wipe away a tear.
‘Man, are you on slush or something? You can’t be real.’
‘I’m real. I’m not on “slush”, though. Is that something you can explain?’
‘Yeah. But if you need everything explained . . .’
‘Tell me what it is.’
‘Slush is a drug. Mostly university students use it. The user becomes more calm and focused and generally more interested in things. But I don’t think forgetting obvious stuff is one of the side effects.’
‘I see.’
The buildings outside the windows became smaller and greyer. Posters had been plastered onto the sides of some, and artificial plants appeared to grow more wildly in the area. The train pulled into a stop that consisted of wooden benches and shelters.
‘What is this place?’ Laon asked.
‘This is one of the oldest neighbourhoods in all of Chiago 2. It’s basically a retirement home – I think only geezers live here.’
Laon gazed at the yellow fire hydrants, broken wire mesh fences and large bags of garbage set at the sides of some of the small buildings. The android got up and strode to the car’s doors. When they slid open it stepped off.
‘Hey, wait!’ Michael called after it.
The android did not look back as the doors slid shut behind it. Michael banged his fist on the glass, his cursing muffled as the train pulled away from the neighbourhood.
Laon unintentionally kicked an empty pop can, its flavourless design of red and blue swirls spiralling as it bounced up a paved path. The can rolled back towards the android as the android stepped towards the can. Laon kicked it again, intentionally this time, and watched as the can flew into the air and bounced off the roof of one of the houses.
Recordings of cicadas went off on either side of the path. A holographic tree had been erected nearby and Laon admired the wrinkles of its bark, the serrated edges of its leaves; the mixture of soft and hard lines fascinated it, reminding it of the soft and hard nature of Michael. Only the tree did not irritate Laon.
Laon sat on the base of the tree, its long limbs clipping through the trunk. The points where the tree met its body were slightly blurred. The android considered the prospect of spending the rest of its life as a holographic tree, an unthinking forever thing, but remnants of its creator’s programming prevented it from any further ruminations on the subject.
Love breached Laon’s thoughts as though acting as a failsafe against inertia, and a desire sprung in the android’s chest right where its heart was designed to be: it suddenly craved a man – or male android – of attractive build, fine intelligence and nice hair. The android then realised that getting off the train in the middle of Chiago 2’s retirement district had been a very bad idea.
It detached itself from the tree and rotated, surveying the area. No one was around to confirm Michael’s description of the neighbourhood. Laon then spotted a hoverbike parked against a short beige fence. Although it was new to the world of Chiago 2, the android already had a sense that the elderly did not ride hoverbikes. It ventured closer to learn more about this anomaly.
As Laon walked with determination towards the hoverbike, a girl left the house the vehicle had been parked beside.
The girl was in her early twenties. She had long brown hair tied into a ponytail and wore a dress the colour of snow in twilight. Laon waited at the hoverbike, watching the girl to see what she would do next. She headed towards it and waved.
‘Are you interested?’ she asked, rubbing her hands on her hips and smiling warmly.
‘What am I interested in?’ Laon asked.
‘The hoverbike,’ the girl answered somewhat confusedly. She pointed to the hoverbike and Laon looked at it again.
The android spotted the price sticker that had been slapped onto the seat.
‘I don’t think I really need one at the moment,’ it said. ‘I was wondering who owns it.’
‘The old man does,’ the girl told it, pointing at the house behind her with her thumb. ‘He doesn’t ride it anymore and has no one to give it to, so he’s selling it. It’s a good price.’
‘Are there a lot of people with grey hairs here?’
The girl’s eyes widened with surprise.
‘Did you just shuttle in from somewhere? This is—’
‘The retirement district. Yes, I understand now. But why are you here?’
‘I’m a caretaker. I look after one old guy and two old ladies.’
Laon stared at her for a moment, nodded and looked over the area once again. It hoped to see a young man venturing out of a house, bulging garbage bag in hand, the sweat of work glistening on his brow. But there was still no one around other than the girl standing before it.
‘Are there any others like you here?’
‘Um, caretakers? Are you looking for someone in particular?
Laon went through the checklist of attributes in its head.
‘I have an idea,’ it said. ‘But I’ll try not to be too picky.’
‘I don’t understand. Are you looking for a caretaker for yourself?’
‘If they’ll have me.’
‘Uh, I don’t know who’d have the time for it. You could try Jake – I think he’s only looking after Fogert at the moment. He’s, um, up the street a bit. Turn left at the second little road and he’ll be at the house on the end.’
‘Thank you.’
Laon took the girl’s hand, shook it appreciatively and proceeded to follow her directions, the name ‘Jake’ dancing between its ears.
The android looked up as it walked, wondering if any lenses or eyes were witnessing its good fortune –it had been programmed with the knowledge that security on Chiago 2 involved heavy observation of its populace. The neighbourhood’s digitally-painted sky was a gentle blue, its clouds wisps of teased cotton, but there were no obvious pupils. The artificial sun bore down on Laon’s back and it almost felt like sweating.
A soccer ball sat in the middle of the thin road that led up to Jake’s house. Laon eyed it suspiciously, trying to determine why the one obstacle between it and its soul mate appeared altogether harmless. The android came to a measured halt in front of it, pretended to breathe in deep and nudged the ball with its toe. The ball rolled away. Laon continued to stand.
A thought struck it: what if Jake was human? Would that be the tremendous obstacle it would have to overcome in order to obtain true love? If Jake was human, would Laon be able to turn him into an android? But if Jake was born as a human, then turning him into an android would be impossible.
Laon froze. These questions came dangerously close to frying its circuitry.
The front door of the house at the end of the road opened and a man with grey hair and a hump stepped out, his crooked feet reaching uncertainly for the lower steps. Laon assumed this man was Fogert. The old man walked slowly and shakily down the road, seemingly not noticing Laon in the slightest – if the android had been standing in front of him, Fogert would have undoubtedly bumped his head on its chest and continued on with a few frustrated grunts or mumbles. Laon knew it was a piece of technology, but this was the first time it felt no better than a lamppost.
A figure briefly appeared in the doorway and closed the door. Although Laon only managed to glimpse the figure for but a moment, it was able to inspect the recording that ran automatically in its brain, a nigh-infinite spool of data serving as its memory. Laon froze the recording at the precise moment the figure was most clear and unhidden by shadow; the figure was definitely that of a young man, with short, blonde hair and grey overalls.
Laon moved once more, and did not stop until its feet were firmly planted on the house’s top step. It raised its fist and knocked.
An hour passed. Throughout that hour Laon knocked on the door every ten minutes; no one answered and not a single sound could be heard coming from within. Laon turned around, but the road behind him was devoid of souls. There was no sign of Jake and Fogert was apparently not coming back anytime soon.
The android tried the handle. The door gave and Laon let it open on its own, watching as it gradually creaked into the dimness of the house’s front hall.
‘Um.’
Laon poked its head through the doorway. Its eyes auto-adjusted to the lighting, and it swept its pupils up the hall, settling on socked feet that were jutting out from another room. The feet were resting toes-up and were completely still.
‘Hello?’
The feet did not respond. Laon glanced back at the road one last time, hoping for someone to dissuade it from venturing inside.
It expected to find nothing but the soccer ball, and so was surprised to see the girl from earlier standing at the intersection, holding a bag with both hands and staring at the android quizzically. She did not say a word. Laon, not knowing how to react, lifted its hand and waved at her awkwardly. The girl nodded and continued up the street, disappearing behind an ivy-covered building.
Laon entered the house. The walls of the entrance hall were yellow, and both sides were heavily adorned with framed photoscreens depicting a young and energetic Fogert, accompanied in many by a female companion whose eyes shone with pure joy.
Laon stopped when its toes touched one of the feet. The android’s gaze lingered on the grey fabric covering the legs attached to those feet. It then worked up the nerve to flash its eyes at the rest of the body lying in the next room.
At this proximity Laon could make out how greasy and tousled Jake’s blonde hair actually was. His eyes were bulging as if trying to escape from the dead brain they were connected to. Laon glanced up at the ceiling to see what Jake’s eyes were staring at, but found nothing other than a stain in the shape of a bicycle.
It returned to Jake’s face. A grey mush like dirty snow circled Jake’s mouth and trailed down the side of his face to the floor. Laon crouched down and touched the mush gently.
Jake did not respond. The android leaned forward and kissed the slush from his lips.
Laon left the neighbourhood. It saw no reason to spend more of its money sticks on the commuter train, considering it did not tire and could reach any destination by foot; there was also no real rush to be anywhere, although it did want to get as far away from Jake’s lifeless body as it could. It simply picked a direction and started walking. All that mattered was that it was no longer in the retirement district; it was all too obvious its soul mate would not be found in this land of death.
Passing Chiago 2ans avoided all eye contact with it as if pretending it was not there. This total anonymity made the android feel even more like a Chiago 2an. Fogert even passed it at one point, a bag of groceries bouncing in his clawed hand. Laon wondered how the old man would react upon finding Jake on the hall floor.
The dome of the cityship gradually altered its glow, tinting the city pink. Neon signs flickered to life on the fronts of buildings. The android realised it was in one of Chiago 2’s shopping districts.
It stopped in front of a storefront window and peered inside. Collectible wooden swords were on display, each one painted in different colours. One had a saturated red blade with a saturated blue handle, while another had a gold handle with a green blade. Laon tried to determine what the use would be for one of these wooden swords: was it to attack without killing? To crack a skull without breaking skin? Did slush junkies use them to help protect their stashes?
Laon pictured Jake holding one of these wooden swords. It was a remarkably silly image, but at least it was better than the one it had left the house with.
It went inside the store. The walls were covered with various wooden weapons, from daggers to lances and poles to sledgehammers. Kiosks in the middle of the store carried pamphlets, books and magazines with such titles as Getting To Know Your Wood, How To Properly Show Off Your Collection, and Swoodsmarn. Laon passed them as he headed directly for the counter.
The clerk sat with a half-bored and fully-disinterested expression as he flipped through a textbook. He barely glanced up from it to meet Laon’s gaze.
‘What are these weapons for, exactly?’ Laon asked.
The clerk shrugged.
‘People want weapons so we sell them weapons. What they do with them is up to the customer.’
‘So each weapon contains its own unique potential and possibilities,’ Laon said, nodding with measured understanding.
‘Yup. Usually that means they end up on a rack above someone’s bed.’
‘And these weapons are legal to carry around?’
‘We wouldn’t be selling them if they weren’t, squirt.’
‘I wonder what kind of possibilities would open up for me if I had one of the wooden swords in the window.’
‘Buy one and find out. That’s what they’re there for.’
Laon turned back to face the inside of the window. It did not have a colour preference, and so decided on the sword closest to it.
‘I’ll take the sword with the green blade and gold handle,’ it said.
Laon left the store with the sword under its arm. The sword had been wrapped in brown parcel paper to protect it from nicks and bangs, and also to prevent the owner from appearing odd due to walking around with an unsheathed wooden sword.
Laon walked to the end of the block, stopped in front of a floating garbage receptacle and tore the parcel paper off the faux weapon. It stuffed the paper into the receptacle and crossed the street, carrying the gold and green sword as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Suddenly passersby were noticing the android. People would look from the sword to its eyes to the sword again.
Laon now thought of itself as a Chiago 2an that stood out. It hoped this would make it easier to find a soul mate, that the someone who truly loved it would notice Laon right away. It pictured a field of artificial flowers, and a ravishing young man racing through it, having spotted Laon due to the sword.
How many words would it take to find its love? How many images? Laon could not be certain until the time finally came, but it would do its best to prepare. It would prepare by continuing to interact with the strange citizens of Chiago 2 and learning more about their habits and customs. And if something bad came its way, it now had a weapon to protect itself.
Neon Horses concludes with Yaoism