Riff

SHORT STORY BY: Rex Wong

ABOUT THIS STORY
by Prof. Lucas Kwong

This final project for ENG 2420: Science Fiction asked students to write a creative "riff" on a Science Fiction (SF) text that explores its connections to another SF text, and/or a philosophical or sociopolitical issue common to both. 

In a separate essay, Rex offers his take on a mashup of William Gibson's short story classic "The Winter Market," the seminal 1996 manga Ghost in the Shell, and his own story.

ABOUT THE PHOTO
This photo was created by Prof. Lucas Kwong in collaboration with AI.

Vancouver looks like a nocturnal city during the winter. Gray Snow or acid rain clouds over the city are often enough to threaten months of darkness alongside the smog. The holos that suspend over the scrapers shine brighter than the sun on days like these. Along the highway, fewer and fewer cars ebb through the morning hours. It’s not long until I am the only one left. Took a left, and there it was, Granville, ‘land beyond the city,’ so they say. It might not be out of the jurisdiction of the Vancouver PD, but it might as well not have existed to any of them. Dispatchers routinely ignore calls from its coords, cadets are never allowed anywhere near the island, and those brave enough to answer the call end up missing and evicted. So imagine the surprise as an unmarked sedan threaded through the gomi-covered dirt of Anderson.

“Another? Makes me want to off myself this fine day.”

“Whoever got her must be really damn lucky.”

“Damn straight, probably bedded her way up to some bleeding heart corpo.”

My heart sinks as I see the life teeming on the streets. I had hoped that whatever passes as storefronts were shuttered today. Instead, every moving body stares soullessly, trying to catch my eye despite shuffling away at the sight of the car. My knuckles whiten as I pass those who looked healthy, standing at street corners running their nervous hands over barely concealed iron.

I sighed as I was bombarded by the stink of Gomi, stepping out into the murky daylight. Taking a few experimental steps on the familiar dirt, I glance around before noticing a crowd that has formed above the flood wall. I stare at them, and they stare back; a few reach for their pockets. “You Will? Said ya’ wanna take a look at the body before we brought it up?”

I nearly jumped for my iron. Instead, thankfully, a worried-looking uniform startled me back to what I was here for. It’s surprising how much a call and a couple favors can do as I take account of the small armada of patrols around the scene. “Well, there ain’t much to see, can’t make sense of what we are seeing, chips corrupted so no ID. Not sure why we’re here, it’s getting plenty hot already downtown,” he said before turning.

Corrupted.

Chips are as cheap as they come, simple electronic implants to connect to the citywide network. Not that Granville’s hooked up to the citywide network, but it’s supposedly infallible tech. I wouldn’t blame them for wanting to return to the station, not with the crowd staring at us and the distance from any backup.

“Anything physical?” The crowd loosened up as I took another look, seemingly satisfied that they were not of my interest, before we disappeared into a scant-looking shack along the waterline.

“You kidding?” The uniform gives me a look. “You can’t be serious. Preliminary says she took her own life in a tub.”

No, no, I haven’t looked at the preliminary, but I wasn’t expecting that. It’s almost tradition to read anything from the uniforms on the way to scenes, even if only incomplete, and even on the net while driving. But that’s far from now. I couldn’t spend another moment or two more without seeing her name.

Just like the uniform said, it’s in a tub, precariously floating in a tub filled with water, a thin layer of transparent ice chunks still visible floating alongside the body. I take note of the too-large cooling suit and the electrodes hidden by her hair splayed out across the head of the tub. I’ve seen enough suicides that this was abnormal; there are murders better dressed up as suicides than this. Tracing the trodes to a terminal, my hands glide over the well-worn keys before tapping experimentally. I remember the ease Akira once had with tech.

I had hoped that whatever passes as storefronts were shuttered today. Instead, every moving body stares soullessly, trying to catch my eye despite shuffling away at the sight of the car.

“The boys and I looked at that, connected to the city network, wiped though, no idea how they connected, probably stolen.” The uniform coughed and posited. He seemed jittery, taking occasional glances at the body. Anger, indifference, and sadness are expected; he’s probably green enough not to have seen this too often.

“They, Freeman?” I ask, taking a glance at his tag.

The uniform, Freeman, took a deep breath, appreciative of the change in topic, before pointing towards an adjacent room. “Yeah, uh… another girl. Same age, I think.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Ohhkay? We can book her, lend her to the breakers, and see what they can get out of her then.”

“We’ll talk here,” I emphasize, hoping to get the point across. “Take the rest of your guys and keep order out there, will you?”

“Sure, whatever,” Freeman starts shuffling towards the door, “sir.”

I glance at the unresponsive machine as the uniform dashes out of the room. But, of course, it’s not the standard operating procedure to speak to a witness or relation away from the station, away from the interrogators, the bright lights, and the chains where everything can be recorded. But hey, we get paid by the hour regardless, so the guy couldn’t give much more of a fuss.

Confusion, recognition, anger, then an unreadable expression lit up across the girl’s face when I entered the adjoining bedroom. You can scarcely call it one, as a hint of a clean mattress adorns the floor decorated with gomi and strewn boxes of buck-a-slice. I expected fury, kicking, and screaming from Anne. But she kept her hands squeezed around the spine of a polycarbon access pad. Slowly, she eases her grip on the pad and takes muted steps toward the only window in the room.

Akira often wrote to me about what Anne meant to her. Supposedly a pillar of sunshine and mirth in the darkness of Granville, it seems so distant and different from the utter silence standing in front of me. A powerful gust of bay winds shatters along the corrugated walls.

“This is what’s left of it all,” she said, in a whisper, barely loud enough over the rattling walls to hear. “What do you want from us?”

“I made a promise,” I said, hoping to sound as tactful as possible.

“Well, now.” she huffed, turning back. “You could’ve visited before… before this.”

I glance at the wall isolating me from Akira, double checking that the uniforms are well out of earshot. It’s all playing out like some Wednesday night soap they played at the station waiting room. I question whether I or the soap is the joke. I thought of turning tail, hating every moment since I gave my word. “Cats got your tongue, detective?”

It was a low blow, even for her, having to resort to where I am and, by extension, our history. “Did you know we were partners once, Anne?”

Her eyes widen, but her grip on the pad still whitens her knuckles. “No,” Anne almost whispers, “sometimes I wonder, but I couldn’t ask.”

“Yeah… worked everything from vice to homicide.” I drag my hands over my eyes. We didn’t just work together; We gave up nearly everything for what we believed in. Granville was still livable back then, filled with recording studios and aspiring artists. We wanted to preserve that state but dug too deep and found ties we weren’t supposed to. I was horrified by what they did back then, and now I feel horrified at my inaction.

I drop my arms and see Anne’s pale eyes have now darkened. She blows her hair out of her face, rounds on me, and stares into my soul. I was glad I was still across the room, wishing I hadn’t looked back. “Like I said, you could have seen her. You could have visited. Gone and done so much apparently, but to drop her like that?” Anne’s tone sharpens as through her tirade, punctuating every point with a jab at me with her hand. “Unbelievable.”

It was a crack of lightning on an otherwise calm day; I glanced back outside, counting my blessings no one heard and pleading “Please don’t yell, the—”

“You lied so you could get them to come, didn’t you?” She scoffed, throwing her hands in the air, “Unsurprising you got shook down by the bullpen to get them to send backup. They should’ve pocketed the hazard slips and sent you alone so we could tear you apart.”

“I can’t ask them if they knew. Akira dove too deep. She found things the force couldn’t wipe away, so they got rid of her instead,” I tentatively took a step forwards, hoping not to get bitten. But, instead, Anne huffed and threw the pad into my chest, returning to the window. “She wanted you to have that; it’s locked, said you… of all damned people, would know the cipher.”

Her shoulders were set, and the reflection on the gomi-caked glass was blurry, but I could make out the tears despite that. “She isn’t gone if it’s anything to you,” Anne says, taking care not to express her emotions. Then, taking a quick swipe at her eyes, Anne swivels and stares past me, the tension gone. “Every last bit of what she saved went into the equipment in the other room so she could escape with her mind to the net.”

“Did she make it?” I trailed off.

“I would never understand why she did it, to dream of returning by doing that to herself… wild.” Anne let a smirk appear for just a moment. “You haven’t seen her hunger for escape, an almost singleness of purpose.” A moment and a glance around the room.

“Yeah, I know. Akira would have spent all that she earned just for another chance to help anyone at the end.”

“You should know. You said you were partners. Perhaps she won’t be the same person you knew.”

I let Anne go, despite the questioning of the uniforms outside. Buried Akira in an unmarked grave I visit on occasion. Ultimately, I set aside the pad, deathly afraid that Anne’s right and I wouldn’t recognize the person on the other side.