Simple Read online

  Simple

  By

  Dena Nicotra

  Copyright © 2014 Dena Nicotra

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and locations are either derived from the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  V-10-14

  Contents

  Dedication

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  To my family, you are my most precious treasures. Thank you for your constant support and steadfast encouragement.

  Preface

  Most people share the same pathetic wish in life. I mean, if you could hear one collective expression out loud, the words would be different, but everything could be summed up in these four words: I want it back. That’s the way life is. We have something, but we don’t appreciate it until it is gone. Then, we spend the rest of our lives either trying not to think about what we’ve lost, or reliving each loss repeatedly in our minds. Pause here to insert a variety of emotions: guilt, sorrow, regret, and that pretty much explains the gist of life. That leaves out a small segment of people who desperately spend their lives trying to get it back in one way or another. I used to be like that, back when I gave a shit. That was back before I’d seen what I’ve seen.

  Now I don’t give a shit about most people. Anyone I’ve ever cared about is gone now anyway, so I’m entirely over the need for human interaction. That just causes more hassle, more drama, and ultimately more pain. Admittedly, it’s harder to be alone, but it’s a fair trade. I’d rather rely on myself than put myself at risk for some whiney pain in my ass who can’t keep up, or worse – someone who can’t carry their own weight. It is hard enough to scavenge for supplies by myself and at least if I’m alone, the only person I have to listen to complaining is me…I’ve got my back better than anyone.

  Chapter 1

  The late afternoon sun was as unmerciful as the day had been. Waves of heat radiated across the broken blacktop on the crumpled freeway up ahead. I paused for a minute to wipe the beads of perspiration from my forehead and took a small sip from my nearly empty water bottle. I would have to get some supplies soon. I could feel the annoying grit beneath my tank top as I stepped over what was left of a face. Half a face actually. The body was long gone and I gave no thought to where. One blue eye starred up at me as I pushed through the tall, dry weeds on the side of the embankment I was climbing. It had been at least a week since my last shower, and I could have killed for a clean shirt. A fleeting memory buzzed in my head, one of those that I tried to push back as soon as it popped up: A random day at the mall, sniffing lotions and bath gels in one of those high-end stores that played piped in pop music while I absently ate one of those over-priced, salty soft pretzels, sipped my fountain drink and contemplated my purchase. It was a safe cocoon, one I missed at times, but all things change.

  That was in a different life. Back before the simps were anything more than a facet of computer games. Simulated Reformenonics changed that though. Somewhere after the economic collapse in the twenty-first century, the government became determined to find a way out of fiscal disaster. You’d think that we would have seen it coming, but no one did. Well, that’s not entirely true. Some of us did, but no one believed us. Anyone who didn’t go with the flow was considered an extremist, or just plain weird. After all, it was just technology, and our world flourished on it. It was everyone’s reality, altered or otherwise.

  The corporate world took their cue and fed the masses; taking one-click payments and laughing all the way to the electronic depositories. Then a company out of Silicon Valley called IDE, Incorporated came up with a construction and management simulation (CMS) game that took the concept of altered reality to an entirely different level. IDE stood for Ideal Dimensions Expanded, and let’s just say that “expanded” was an understatement.

  At first, there were CMS clubs that ran the software and people would pay for their time in the “hub.” That meant that they would pay a large wad of dollars per hour to spend time in a special room that simulated a different life. Partner companies popped up overnight, each offering chips that could be purchased online or by scanning the QR (quick response) codes with your mobile device. You could buy houses, trips to amusement parks, deep space, cars…and other things that in retrospect seem ridiculously shallow or gluttonous. I mean, who really had to have an exact virtual replica of a historical place like Graceland? Every historical place you could imagine was rebuilt in virtual reality.

  When IDE, Inc. went public, a whole lot of people got rich overnight. Day to day life seemed pale in comparison to hubbing, and everyone was doing it. I remember reading stories about little kids who couldn’t distinguish the difference between reality and virtual living. Hello…that should have rang some alarms! Of course, anyone countering the momentum of IDE was quickly silenced by supporters — and the supporters had muscle. The government latched onto the technology era like it was an economic lifeline. The financial experts predicted that CMS would catapult the United States into an unprecedented fiscal boom. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

  People stopped going to work; they stopped caring for their families. Hell, they stopped doing anything but hubbing! It was like the nation turned into druggies, everyone just living for that next fix. In an effort to fix things, the government eventually came out with a series of mandates under what they called “Simulated Reformenonics” that regulated how much time people could spend in hubs. It was sort of like the old world concept of truckers and scales – you had to have so much down time between hubbing. Consumer watch groups monitored, agencies were developed to structure the protocols, the bylaws, and the interpretation of the legalities associated with a nation jonesing for more pretend time and less work time. SR laws were a joke. Everybody faked their records, and underground hubs soaked up the extra revenue. The government was taxing every nook and cranny to make up for the deficit, and the consumers were so hooked they couldn’t even open their mouths to argue.

  Then IDE, Inc. announced a new product. Simulated Identity Modules or SIMs. How perfect was it that one could now have an android version of Elvis to add to your very own Graceland? And we’re not talking about the holograms that were in the hubs that you could see through if you were positioned just right, these things were physically solid and freakishly real. The first models were way too expensive for most people, but everyone wanted one. Imagine being able to bring back grandma or marry a rock star. The possibilities were insane! One of the top magazine companies put Micah “Mic” Keenan, the IDE, Inc., CEO, on the cover of their magazine and named him the man of the year. He wasn’t even thirty years old at the time, and the whole world thought of him as their personal savior. In the article, Mic referred to his latest product as if they were a new race. “He’d stated in that article that SIMS make life simple for people. SIMS and people working together side-by-side to simply better the world. Before you could say “slimy slogan” the term “simps” spread like any other worthless slang word for a class of humanity deemed less than superior. And then corporate America stepped in.

  The first company to do it was a major fast food burger chain. I guess they had enough money to invest in CMS in an entirely innovative way. In the span of a year, it was common for companies to have simps as employees. They did the simple things to make life easier. I think that was ev
en their slogan at one time. People, in their love for adopting new technology, adapted quickly to the simples. The prices began to come down with the mass production flooding the marketplace, and then even babysitters were replaced by simps. Couples who couldn’t have children were buying baby simps (with options for humanistic growth rate upgrades). Again, the financial experts predicted superior outcomes.

  It wasn’t initially viewed as a threat to the workforce because the simps made life so much easier. Consequently, families had more time to spend with one another. At least, that’s the load of bull they tried to feed us. When the jobs for lower pay grades dried up to nil, the government introduced a new developmental program that paid for re-education. The nation grew more intelligent and new jobs were developed by way of the changes required in society. Hub technicians, personal massage therapists, (limp noodle muscles derived from hubbing more than living) and my personal favorite — hygiene technicians. These were but a few of the new job titles available for the working class. They sold it, and we bought it. Working parents could buy a simp and replace the cost of daycare. A unit would pay for itself in no time at all. There were even companies out there that could get your health insurance plan to cover the cost of a simp for certain medically accepted reasons.

  Life became easier without the mundane chores clogging up the hours. Simps did the crap work that no one wanted to do or had time for. It raised the standard for education because the blue-collar work was absorbed by the simps and if you wanted a job, you had to be educated. College went hand in hand with hubbing venues that immersed students in real life settings through historic archives, because just about anything could be stored digitally via CMS. The boundaries of knowledge expanded to new levels, etcetera, etcetera.

  A decade later, war broke out in the Far East and the government launched the first simp soldiers. How brilliant was that? No lost lives, no real risk. Numbed Americans shuffled along obliviously. They kept right on hubbing and buying their crap from perky, smiling artificial people and listening to the news spewing out of model-perfect simp reporters. No one seemed to notice that the simps weren’t acting as hospitable as they once had. A Chinese programmer by the name of Sam Yen found a way to infect simps with a bug. A tiny string of code that slowly chipped away at the polite veneer of artificial intelligence. It was like a bad science fiction movie on crack.

  They didn’t get tired like we did. They didn’t have weaknesses like we did, and they were capable of clever, unimaginable cruelty. The government, along with IDE, Inc., and its affiliates, tried to do damage control, but it was too late. They couldn’t shut them down and the machines took over. Kill the fatted calf, the human race finally woke up. Seeing the flaw in the system, other countries began shutting down their simps as fast as they could, but it wasn’t fast enough.

  Yen was a flamboyant but savvy developer who had a knack for surprises. He’d created rogue traits in the simps that could not be shut down. Worst of all, he had a sick love affair with American pop-culture. His particular favorites were old movies and television shows so the simps were not only un-killable, they also spewed out stupid quotes from old commercials or shows, as they killed us off. I’d heard rumors that some of them even broke into song. The Trojan virus Yen developed backfired though. So, I guess, in a way, we got the last laugh. The way I heard it, the simp that killed him spouted, “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog too,” just as it lobbed Yen’s dog and the famed computer guru off the top of a high-rise parking structure. A few individuals from his accompanying entourage of photographers and personal stylists apparently lived to tell the tale.

  That was the real beginning of the end, because the war against the simps went global after that. Nuclear warfare was outlawed globally when I was in middle school. That was a big day back in the year 2025, because most people believed it ended the real threat of world destruction. World leaders gave heartfelt speeches while the crowds blotted their eyes and commemorative coins were made. Hell, we even held parades. Of course, that was a naïve view and we should have known better– especially with our greedy government. We should have recognized that nations all over the globe had other means of mass destruction. I guess we wanted to believe the world was a safer place.

  I don’t know who fired first, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. The world we knew ended on a cloudless October day in the year 2036. Then things really turned to shit.

  That was two years ago now, and although the battle isn’t over, what’s left of the human race has been reduced to squatters living on the run. I never stay in one place very long, and I never, ever, take a person at face value. Simples look way too much like people. They’re black, white, fat, thin, short, tall, young, old…and they are everywhere. There are ways to tell them apart from humans, but you’d better be able to do it quick. One way is their eyes. Their blinking patterns aren’t always quite right, but you have to be able to watch them closely and long enough to really catch that. In addition, their pupils don’t dilate, so if you’re in the dark and you have a flashlight, that’s great. Another is their fingernails. They don’t look completely natural. Another more obscure sign is a pencil eraser sized port imbedded in the top of the head. This is rarely visible though, because there are few bald simps, and hair covers it. The best way to tell is what I call the scream test. Since they don’t feel pain and they don’t have fear, anything you can do to create the proper response from a distance is a good indicator. That’s why I keep a slingshot in my back pocket. It’s saved my ass more than a few times and it works well because my ammunition is anything that I can pick up quickly.

  Chapter 2

  I threw my right leg over the side of the guardrail of what was once a freeway, and walked another thirty minutes to reach my goal: a collapsed overpass. It was the only source of shade, and I hoped that in the confines of the rubble I would be able to hide long enough to get a little sleep. As I drew closer, I noticed a very faint humming sound that sent a fresh dose of adrenaline pumping through my veins. Quickly, I dropped into a crouch and duck-walked to an area where the sound seemed to be emanating from. I dropped to my stomach and crawled in on the flat cement as far as I could go before it dropped off. The sound was definitely louder. I leaned over so that I could look down below. There, about six feet down, tucked in a little concrete cubby, was a figure. I squinted, trying to get my eyes to adjust, and then it moved. I rolled on my side, held my breath, and prayed I hadn’t been heard as I desperately tried to yank my flashlight from the clip that dangled from my belt loop. If it was a simp, I needed to kill it before it killed me.

  Fortunately, he/it was too focused on the laptop perched on his lap. The fact that he had a laptop almost guaranteed he was a simp. No one had electronic devices. Cell phones, iPods, computers…those were yesterday’s toys. The internet was no longer a safe place to play. Interest dissolved years ago when we learned they were able to use it to track us. Electronic devices were gigantic homing beacons, and only a simp would be comfortable with one on his lap like that. I stretched my fingers out to grasp a small hunk of cement, just big enough for my slingshot and made sure it was right within reach. Then, I clicked on my flashlight and stuck it between my teeth. Grasping the handle of my slingshot; I loaded my ammo and drew back. The light caught his attention immediately and he jumped up, dropping his laptop to the dirt.

  I had just enough time to see his pupils shrink before I dropped my arms. “What the hell are you doing?” I shouted.

  “Me? What the hell are you doing? Were you seriously going to hit me with that thing? You’re an asshole! You could have hit the screen!” He disregarded me and collected his laptop as if it were a crying infant in need of soothing. I grabbed my possessions and worked my way down to him while he continued to mutter his displeasure with my presence.

  I jumped down when I was at a safer distance. “Nice cubby you have here,” I said, brushing my hands off on my jeans. It was strange to hear my own voice and I absently realized how g
ravelly it sounded. I hadn’t spoken a word to anyone in days.

  He raked his hand through his rooster hair and shot me a frustrated frown. “Have you not been listening to me? You have to go! This is my place right now, and I’m very busy. I don’t have time for this, and I need to concentrate!”

  His voice echoed in the small space and his pitch was high enough to grate on my nerves. “Okay, listen to me. I don’t know where you got that, but it’s dangerous, and you need to get rid of it before you get yourself killed.” I wasn’t really up to being motherly, but I did care if his dense actions put me in jeopardy.

  “I’m not an idiot. I’m not traceable. I can IP hop faster than anyone could trace a packet, and I’m fully encrypted.” He said this as if I had a damn clue what he was talking about.

  “I don’t know what you just said, but if you have a brain in that goober head of yours, you’ll shut that down and get as far away from it as you can.”

  “Not going to happen,” he said, repositioning himself to the dirt and resuming his clacking on the keys.

  “Okay, let’s try this again.” I said, raising my slingshot and directing my aim toward his head. “I’m going to say this one more time. Power that piece of shit down.”

  “Or what?”

  “Do I look like I’m bluffing?”

  “No, but you don’t understand. I’m not putting you or anyone else in danger. I know what I’m doing. I was a senior developer for IDE, Inc., and I am this close,” he held up his thumb and index finger a half an inch apart.

  “This close to what?” I snapped.

  “To hacking the gateway.” I dropped my wrist.

  “Talk.”