Virtually True by Adam L. Penenberg Read Free Book Online

Tembuocs attacked: a massacre at a Catholic settlement, a rampage through a Muslim town, leading to swift and bloody reprisals. The Muslims turned to Arab countries for arms, the Catholics to Europe, and other tribes suffering from encroachment by the so-called environmental refugees joined the fight. Soon, calls for separate homelands. Peace initiatives were proposed by the U.N. More arms streamed in.
    The result: another post-millennium land cracked into tiny ethnic and cultural granules.
     
    *          *          *
     
    Bzzz bz bz bzzz bzzz. Bzz bzz.
    True wakes, his face caked with sleep. Beads of sunlight fleck the room, filter through pinholes and rips in his curtains as if they can’t wait to prod him awake. True groans. What time is it? Seems like he slipped into dreamland moments before.
    He rolls off his futon and pulls on stale pants and a shirt. Puts them on as he goes to squelch the sound. Looks through the hallway monitor and opens the door. “What are you doing here, Rush?”
    Rush ducks under True’s arm. “I’ve never seen your place before.” Rush, to True, is little more than a human replica. Plastic pectorals, silicon calf inserts, synthetic biceps, plaster of paris shoulders. The skin on his face is tightened twice a year, pasted with color-inhibitors to produce a glowing visage. His teeth are perfect, white; his gums rosy. And when he turns his head, his whole body moves with it. Literally a sculpted physique.
    True rarely meets Rush in person since most of their business is conducted via telelink. It’s disconcerting to see Rush without artifice. Without a backdrop, he’s less self-assured, less real than his TV persona. His eye and skin are lightly blemished, lacking broadcast allure.
    Rush looks around, notes the dirty plates slopped by the sink, the unmade futon, clothes strewn-about. “This is a dump. Strictly old tech, Ailey. Mine’s much bigger. New too. Even got a Jacuzzi. You should move to my side of the complex. Lots of empty apartments. Cheap, too.”
    True doesn’t tell him the reason he lives here is because Rush lives there. Closes the door.
    “It’s after ten. What are you doing in bed? Don’t you have work to do?” Rush doesn’t wait for a response before gravitating to the home entertainment center. “Look at this dinosaur. Must be three, four years old.”
    “It came with the place.”
    “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t upgrade. Like total sheesh-kay-bob. Stick a fork in it, it’s done. You should compost this puppy. Mine’s got twice, three times the megs. I bet there’s a lot of software you can’t run.”
    “Undoubtedly.”
    Since there’s no couch, Rush sits on the edge of True’s futon. “I just came from a meeting with Bong Bong. Did you know he doesn’t like you?”
    “I had an inkling.”
    “Usually when he’s not happy with our coverage, he gives me the old applesauce enema. You know, lets me know he’s not happy but doesn’t threaten to kill off my manhood. But this time he reamed me. Said if I couldn’t control you, he’d do it for me. And he didn’t forget to mention that neither you nor me would—is it me, or I?”
    “I.”
    “I would enjoy it. I mean, what the hell is this about you meeting up with a Muslim at 24-7? I was here two years before you got here, and Bong Bong and I got along just swimmingly. No problemas amigo. Now you get here and undermine everything I accomplished.”
    “What did you accomplish?” True really wants to know.
    “I get along with the locals. I don’t make waves, they don’t cause me trouble. It’s a healthy relationship, and I won’t have you messing it up.”
    “Spoken like a true reporter.”
    “A true reporter gets ratings. This is now, and today’s motto for the press is cooperation.”
    “Maybe you mean the motto is corporation .”
    “Shut up, Ailey. Cooperation . I know what I’m saying. Either you work with me, or you’re out of here. Cooperate or you