SF in The City Anthology (17 page)

             
“I’m sorry the place is such a mess,” Olivia said quietly.

“Oh, no, you should see my place,” the salesman imagined giving himself a face palm. It was no wonder he needed substances to convince
anyone to take him seriously.

             
“Feel free to sit on the couch,” Olivia took her own seat in a HexaHeros foldable chair.

             
That’s a good sign
, Leon thought to himself. The chair his prospect now reclined in had been the hot new product four years ago. Citizens all over The City who wanted more space in their cramped apartments bought this type of HexaHeros seats, since it could collapse into a small cube for easy storage when out of use.
Even if she bought this chair recently, and with a coupon, at least it indicates that she will go for hipper goods when it is prudent
.

             
“So the product I have for you today is Pharaoh-Sol, our most recent scent for giving your home a regal ambience.”

             
“Can I smell it?” Olivia wanted to cut to chase and get back to her busy life as quickly as possible.

             
“Sure,” Leon drew one of the cans out of his satchel.

“Thank you,” Olivia said politely, as she took the sand colored vessel in her hands. It was about the thickness of a human index finger and almost twice as long. “How much
aerosol do you keep in here?”

             
Leon could already tell that his customer looked at the company’s product as a luxury item. He reached into his satchel, pulling out a package of Nectarina gum. “Well, um, one spray from that will last about a week,” the salesman stuttered. “One canister will last longer than you would expect.”

             
Olivia slightly depressed the button on the can, sending a plume of translucent mist into the room. In just a moment, the whole apartment had a musty, “dry” sort of smell, the kind one would be met with when entering an ancient Egyptian tome.

             
“Oh, well, that’s…interesting,” Olivia set the can on the foldable coffee table between her and the salesman.

             
“Imagine having friends over, and bragging about the regality of your apartment’s scent,” Leon attempted to force an excited inflection into his voice. “You would be the most popular woman in the neighborhood. All your girlfriends would want to come over and hang out here, and
men
would too.”

             
“Thanks, but I…”

             
“We even believe that this scent will subconsciously convince guests that you are a person of great wealth.” Leon had been in her apartment for only a few minutes, and he had already begun lying to Olivia.

             
“I don’t think I can afford something like this at the moment,” Olivia tried to say forcefully, yet her “little girl’s voice” just couldn’t sound commanding. 

             
“Well you are lucky, since we are having a 20% off sale at the moment,” Leon tried to hide his nervousness. “For only 139.99 ECUs, you get not only one, but two cans of Pharaoh-Sol, with a 30 day money back guarantee if you find that you don’t like this scent.”

             
“It’s a unique smell and all,” Olivia said shyly, “but my apartment has mold and already smells like a tomb.”

             
“Would you like some gum?” Leon held the Nectarina package out to his prospect, as he put an unlaced piece into his mouth. He organized the solicitin spiked portions in specific rows, so he never wound up accidentally drugging himself and getting roped into buying the junk they sold on the street he currently lived on. 

             
“Thanks, but I don’t chew gum,” Olivia said.

             
“Oh, okay,” Leon put the package back in his satchel and tried to hide his annoyance. “Do you mind smelling this cologne? Our company also sells this fragrance, and you might want to buy some as a gift for a special someone in the future.”

             
Olivia agreed to smell the Dionysian Man cologne, and Leon waited expectantly for a change in her behavior, as she uncorked the heavy glass bottle and took a whiff of the navy blue liquid inside. Having purchased a special type of olfactory micro-liners from black market dealers on the Deep Web, Leon had the equivalent of the world’s smallest gas mask stuffed up his nostrils, invisible to the naked eye. Originally used by undercover police, these devices found their way into the possession of interested parties only a few years after their release, and a salesman trying to drug people with airborne chemicals obviously had need of them.

             
“You said that I could buy two cans for only 139.99 electronic currency units?” Olivia looked up in sudden surprise. “That would be a wonderful deal!”

It’s kicking in
, Leon thought to himself with an ambivalent reaction. At the same time that he knew he was about to sell his product and boost his sales record, he still felt guilty for tricking Olivia into buying something she probably couldn’t afford. Even if she returned the product within 30 days, which would probably happen, he still made the sale. Most of the individuals he sold the product to had enough money that they didn’t worry about returning the fragrance, even after waking up from the drug’s influence.

             
After he had said goodbye to Olivia and suggested that she didn’t leave her apartment for another hour, he didn’t want her to be taken advantage of by anyone but him, Leon got back on his moped and drove just a few buildings down before stopping at the Dwarf Wood apartment complex. As terrible a salesman as he was without the help of substances, Leon knew enough to get referrals from his customers. Olivia had told him that a man named Derrick Computationson would probably show interest in Pharaoh-Sol, since he talked about pyramids a lot.

             
Leon felt a bit surprised to see a thumbprint scanner on Mr. Computationson’s door, along with the typical security features. While biometric technology had been inexpensive and easily accessible for decades, most people in Prefecture 82 spent their money on entertainment or drugs rather than security measures.

As he rang the doorbell, the salesman was surprised by the length of time it took the occupant to answer. He thought at first that maybe his prospect wasn’t home, but Derrick showed up eventually,
his face flushed crimson red.

             
“Sorry, I was just hitting the tread mill,” Derrick said as he wiped globs of sweat off his face with the back of his hairy arm. 

             
“My name is Leon Loth,” the salesman reluctantly put out his hand to the overheated man. Even after years of working out to get in shape for swimming, the salesman still despised sweaty handshakes.

             
“Derrick Computationson,” the man responded to his relieved visitor with a bow.

             
“I work for Milieu Crew. Could I talk to you about our newest product – Pharaoh–Sol?”

             
“No thanks,” Derrick eyed the salesman suspiciously.

             
“It will only take a moment. I’ll even give you a free cigar for letting me in.”

“Don’t smoke.”

              Leon now found himself in a rarely experienced situation. Most people let salespeople in their homes, even if they didn’t want to buy anything. While Leon had never enjoyed dishonesty, his obsession with becoming the best salesman, the same drive that made him a champion swimmer, pushed him over the edge.

             
“I see you have a biometric scanner on your door,” Leon motioned at the device. “Would you like information on locks? I have a cousin in Prefecture 84 who makes cheap security devices.”

             
Derrick looked the salesman up and down, suspicion of the guest’s intentions rising to the surface. However, he motioned to Leon to come in and have a seat on the room’s only zabuton
[26]
, which had a zaisu and kyousoku combination
[27]
for comfort. Sitting atop a tall wooden stool, Derrick stared down at his guest, still behaving as if the salesman was a dangerous intruder.

             
“Man, you sure do have a lot of security,” Leon looked at the apartment’s door, where three deadbolt locks glistened in the dimly lit apartment, and a mentally activated lock nestled by them.

“I like to be prepared,” Derrick swung his legs back in forth like a child on a swing. “What kind of locks can your cousin offer me
that I haven’t already tried?”

             
“First, do you mind if I just demo
my
product for you. Then we could discuss your security situation.
Quid pro quo
, right?”

             
“Milieu Crew has ties to the Ophiotaurus gang. Did you know that?” Derrick continued to swing his legs back and forth.

             
“Well, no,” Leon wondered how his prospect could ever imagine that telling a man his company works with a criminal organization promoted a good conversation. “I can’t help what the higher ups do. What is your occupation Mr. Computationson?”

             
“I’m a full time mlogger,” Derrick stopped swinging his legs.

             
A mlog, or “mental blog,” involved complete honesty on the user’s part, as he or she would upload their unfiltered thoughts on any subject to their respective website. Through affiliate marketing or the creation of one’s own products, mloggers provided informative and very personal content to their audiences while making money.

             
“What do mlog about?” Leon said excitedly, as he saw an opportunity to have a hopefully less awkward conversation.

             
“The name of my site is ‘Captain Conspiracy.’ Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”     

             
“No, no I haven’t,” Leon felt suddenly hot under the collar. As a conspiracy theorist, Aerin Loth, the salesman’s younger sister, had gone on and on about problems with Central Authority, until she died in a VTOL crash. Leon personally disliked people who questioned his government, and the fact that his sibling, as different as they may have been, had died recently made him even less enthusiastic to talk with Captain Conspiracy.

             
“Did you know that the CA is performing illegal surveillance on our minds through inserted nanotubes?”

             
Just put a tinfoil cap on and shut up
, Leon thought to himself. “No I didn’t know that. If that’s
really
the case, why would you continue to post your thoughts on the web? It seems like a contradiction that you fear government surveillance, yet you willing give up your privacy.”

“It’s a strange choice, I admit it,” Derrick cracked a smile for the first time that evening. “Many conspiracy aficionados become cynical and passive when they realize the degree to which our lives are controlled by the ruling elite. I decided I wouldn’t sit back and be silent about crimes against humanity, even if it meant sacrificing my privacy…even if it entailed risking my
safety.” 

             
“Would you like some gum?” Leon asked after he had put an unlaced one in his mouth.

             
“No thank you,” Derrick waved his hand dismissively, “I don’t chew gum, and I would like you to tell me about this product of yours, so that we can get back on the subject of your cousin’s business.”

             
That’s what I’ve been trying to do
, Leon thought peevishly. “The name of this product is Pharaoh-Sol. With just one spray, your house will have a regal scent for a whole week. I guarantee you will become the most popular man in this neighborhood.”

             
“You
guarantee
it, eh?” Derrick started swinging his legs again.

             
“If you don’t mind, I can just spray it now and…”

             
“No that’s quite alright,” the mlogger shook his head, “I’m not interested in scenting my apartment unless it’s cheap. Why do we spray aromas into our homes anyway? There’s something odd about humankind’s obsession with artificially altering the world around us. I can always buy a box of flowers and sweeten up the atmosphere in my apartment, if it costs less than your gimmick.”

             
“We are having a 20% off sale at the moment, so you can get not just one but two cans of Pharaoh-Sol for only 139.99 ECUs. Take this offer now, and your house will smell like a royal’s, plus you have a 30 day money back guarantee.”

             
“Yeah, I won’t spend my money on that,” Derrick jumped down from off of his stool and gave Leon a hand to help him up from the floor.

             
“Would you like to at least smell the fragrance?”

             
“Nope.”

“How about this cologne I brought with me?” Leon felt more than annoyed that all his other ploys had failed. Who
would turn down gum like that?

             
“I just want to know the name of your cousin’s business, and then you can go,” Derrick yawned.

             
“Well, it’s, um, Browne’s Bolts is the name of it,” Leon knew few businesses that sold security systems and locks, so he was more than glad to have come up with one off-the-cuff.

             
“Thanks for the recommendation. I’ll look into it.”

             
Leon prepared to tell a missed opportunity goodbye when a claxon suddenly sounded in Derrick’s apartment, and the startled mlogger ran to a monitor set up in his bathroom and cursed.

             
“What is that, a really loud fire alarm or something?” Leon covered his ears.

             
“Someone with an RFID chip inside them just walked into the neighborhood,” Derrick stared at the monitor, which showed camera footage of the street outside of the apartment complex. “Not to stereotype or anything, but the majority of guys and gals who get a chip inserted have some kind of connection to the CA.”

             
“Well I think I will be leaving now,” Leon turned to leave, but Captain Conspiracy grabbed him by the wrist.

             
“There are four guys out there, and they have already entered the building. They’re wearing masks and carrying weapons, so I can only assume that they have it in for me.”

             
“I don’t want to stick around here then!” Leon tried to run for the door, but the apartment’s owner wouldn’t let him.

             
“It’s too late! If they see you leaving my place, they’ll kill you too.”

             
“Don’t tell me your mlog brought this on us,” Leon hated the irony of his situation. He had always feared that the CA would one day catch him in the act of using solicitin. If the men coming for Derrick worked for Central Authority, it would certainly suck to be blown away for just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

             
“I’m sure those men work for the CA,” Derrick walked into his bedroom and came back with an assault rifle in hand.

             
“Whoa, easy man,” Leon backed up and tripped over the zaisu. “You know guns are illegal, right?”

             
“Well I don’t know if you noticed, but the rabid killers out there don’t seem to care.”

             
“Why do you think they work for Central Authority if they are wearing masks?”

             
Derrick sighed in exasperation, temporarily forgetting that his guest did not read his mlog. “I don’t know if you pay attention to the news, but the CA claims an epidemic of ‘bestialism’ is affecting people in The City. They claim the acts of murder are the result of widespread madness, as if insanity could be contagious. It’s all a ploy to justify their surveillance programs when they are announced to the general public. I wrote about it in my mlog. The masks are in place specifically to convince people that they are
not
CA agents.”

             
It was at that moment that Derrick’s well locked door exploded off its hinges and flew into the apartment, crashing into the owner and knocking the weapon from his hand. An enormous cyborg stood in the doorway, lowering his titanium alloy leg to the floor. Before Derrick or Leon could get to the gun, the two other masked men ran into the room. One carried a pair of Browning Hi Power pistols, and he kept one of his weapons trained on each of his victims. The second man, who was by far the shortest yet the only one shouting commands, carried a sawed off double barreled shotgun. He picked up Derrick’s fallen rifle and slung it over his shoulder.

             
“Good evening to both of you,” the small man balding man said to the shocked occupants, “I appreciate you hosting us this evening. My name is Ovid Naga”

             
“Just shut up and get it over with,” Derrick wiped the blood that now flowed from his nose off of his face. Apparently, the impact with the door had cause more damage than first appearances suggested.

             
“Now don’t forget that we have a show to put on Mr. Computationson,” Ovid lowered his shotgun at his targets. He turned smiling to his companion with the handguns, “Pazzo, send a message to Mr. Husher. Let him know that we’ve got the
captain
at gunpoint, plus he even has a friend for us to exterminate.

             
“We’re not friends,” both Derrick and Leon said simultaneously.

“I thought you said there were four men?” the sal
esman looked at his companion.

             
“Zlo is out in the hallway at the moment,” Ovid glowered, “so don’t get an idea of trying any funny business, or Velns here will rip your limbs off.”

             
Both of the captives stared warily at the seven foot tall cyborg. He didn’t even hide that one eye, one arm and both legs were cybernetic, their shiny surfaces reflecting the light from a bioluminescent light that sat atop Derrick’s refrigerator.

             
“The boss says that we can proceed with the plan,” Pazzo spoke up.

             
“Do you happen to have some rum lying around here Mr. Computationson?” Ovid looked at the refrigerator curiously.

             
“I don’t drink,” Derrick said quietly.

             
“Of course he doesn’t,” Leon shook his head.

“I just kind of wanted something to take the edge off of the situation,” Ovid lamented. “I’d even share it with you, seeing as I’m about to skin you f
or the camera in Velns’s eye.”

             
“And the whole world will know that our government has to spy on us, to protect us from nutcases like you,” Derrick shook his head. “That’s the plan right? How much do you get paid to play the villain in this sick drama?”

             
“Enough,” Ovid holstered his shotgun and pulled out a curved skinning knife, running his thumb gently over the blade to check its sharpness. “I used to be a hoodlum, running around committing crime for the sake of it, but then I found out I could commit the same deeds with government benefits.

             
Leon racked his brain, trying to find a way out of their situation, as he watched a psychopath sling a knife around like a toy. Ovid had said something that could help them – he needed to take the edge off. It was then that Leon knew exactly what to do.

             
“You’re just going to be killed and thrown away like trash when the CA has gotten all they need from you,” Derrick growled.

“Maybe,” the killers’ leader licked his lips behind his hockey mask. “But then again, you won’t be around to see it happen
. Velns, turn on your camera!”

             
“Wait!” Leon threw up his hands, a move which made Pazzo turn both guns on him and widen his eyes behind his own mask. “I’ve got some cigars in my satchel. That’ll take the edge off for sure.”

             
“Well that is fortuitous. Hang on Velns.” Ovid walked over to the bag and pulled out several cigars before looking at the rest of the products. “Do you sell…fragrances?”

             
“Yes, I work for Milieu Crew,” Leon said nervously.

             
“Did you hear that boys? This guy smells perfume for homes.”

             
The gang of killers laughed menacingly, and Velns even had to pull up his hockey mask to wipe a single tear from his one natural eye.

             
“What’s so funny about that?” Leon felt more than a little hot under the collar.

“Well you’ve already provided us with the perfect opport
unity,” Pazzo rolled his eyes.

             
“Don’t you see,” Ovid snickered, “We’re going to use your own precious products to scent this room while we skin you. Not to be rude or anything, but the smell of blood and death is something even I don’t get used to.

             
“Why don’t you try some of the cologne and see if you like it,” Leon looked at the heavy glass vessel.

             
“Hm, Dionysian Man eh? Ovid eyed the container’s label. “I could go for that.”

             
The man set his skinning knife aside long enough to spray the scent in the air. With an appreciative look on his face, he handed the bottle to Pazzo and lit up a cigar.

             
“You guys want some smokes?” he motioned at the prisoners.

             
“I don’t smoke,” Derrick asserted.

“And I’m actually allergic to cigar smoke,” Leon felt even duller than normal for saying this. “I just carry them around a
s a way to appease customers.”