CHAPTER 6: Bad Elements and Coffee.
Getting back into the car, Erin asked, “So now what?” “Now we go to the place your phone originated. Somewhere in that bit of code was its Location of Origin. Those kinds of devices tend to have Meta Code built into it, so any one line of code contains up to 23 other aspects of the program.”
“And that Troll was able to read that?”
“Yeah. Aini may be fucking annoying, but she has her uses. Sometimes. But I try not to push it.”
“…And it came from a Coffee Shop? No, wait, let me guess… It’s actually a transdimensional Communist Dojo actively engaged in bringing down the Establishment.”
“Actually, that’s more the NSRA’s style.”
“The what?”
“New Soviet Red Army. I’m not willing to get them involved yet. You know things are going poorly when you need to get them involved. Kinda like killing a mosquito with a bazooka.”
“…But, a coffee shop.”
“It really does seem ridiculous, doesn’t it? But these quasi-bohemian college-lifestyle hangouts really are the best places for breeding dissent, and for staging unpredictable acts of subversion. What Cop is going to be able, not only to fit in, but to be able to sift through the conversations going on in one of those places and figure out which ones are flights of fancy, which ones are honest plots, and which ones are coded messages?”
“But LMNO, you seem to know these places pretty well. You even seem to be friendly with some of these people. And you say my phone came from there?”
“Technically, yes, according to Aini. But all she really knew was what ‘home base’ the phone was programmed to report. And since there’s no screening policy at the shop, and they have public computer access… Well, there’s no telling whocould have been there.”
“Ah. Hey,” Erin motioned to the dank streets and storefronts of The City. “We just passed the Starbucks…”
“You are aware, of course, that coffee is not a trademarked beverage, yes?”
“No.”
“As it turns out, marketing material aside, Starbucks doesn’t own coffee, nor the practice of making it. I swear, usually I joke about Illuminati plots and the Starbucks conspiracy, but when they were able to successfully outbid and out-brand virtually all other coffee companies, I wasn’t so sure. Suffice it to say, any current alternative coffee places are Underground.”
“Like the Bar we were just at?”
“Well, not so underground. The place isn’t conscious, and it’s open to the public. But it’s run by a very stern mistress: The Caffeinatrixx.”
We pulled up to a freshly-painted monstrosity of concrete inside the University Row District. The beams and rebar the contractors used in this section of the city were of such poor quality, they started folding in on themselves almost immediately. The precise angles, meant to relax and mentally stimulate, were horrible to contemplate now, and produced such headaches of anyone looking at them for too long that the college dropout rate eventually became 100%. The hum of human activity inside the building compared to the barren street would be welcoming to even the most claustrophobic sociophobe. We stepped inside before the psychotecture became too much.
Inside, the air was thick with exotic cigarette smoke and the rich smell of roasting coffee. There were hundreds of people here, sitting at small tables, some trying to pose as sophisticated intellects, others trying their best to stay awake, their eyes skittering to and fro, their fingers twitching slightly.
Erin grabbed my arm, and leaned in close, her perfume cutting through the atmosphere of the coffee shop, making me dizzy, thinking about rope swings, and summer ponds. “What the hell is that?”
I looked in the direction she was pointing. At first glance, it was a woman. A beautiful woman, bound by a black leather corset and a mini skirt. But then a second look revealed the differences: From her head sprouted two cat ears, and poking out beneath her skirt was a tail that swished lightly in the air as if testing the environment for prey. She was talking to a small table of people, and when she smiled, you could see the needle point of her razor sharp teeth. But cat ears and a tail weren’t the oddest things about her. When she moved, it became obvious that her knees bent in the opposite direction, much like a cat standing on its hind legs. “That’s Malaul. The Caffeinatrixx,” I said. Her ears twitched in my direction, and she turned.
Scowling, she stalked over to us, a growl in her throat. She flexed her fingers, and claws extended from where her fingernails should have been.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” I said…
~~~
“Where the FUCK have you been?”
Malaul crossed the final three yards between us with one bound, and she was up in my face. “You think you can just walk in here, after slipping away like that--”
“Hi, Mal, I--”
“Don’t give me any of your sweet talk, L! I know you too good for that. Don’t think you can just waltz in here… Mrurrrrrrr…” Quicker than a blink, she grabbed me, pulled me to her, and kissed me.
She smelled like the desert, rich with heat, with the ever-looming sense of danger, and death. She tasted like chocolate and coffee. Her claws dug into my back, and her tail wrapped around my leg. I’ll never get used to that tail, I thought. I eased back into the kiss, like a song you only remember at dawn. Her rough tongue lapped at me, as I did my best to avoid cutting myself on her teeth.
Abruptly, she let me go, and I stumbled, trying to catch my breath, and my balance. Malaul had noticed Erin, and her eyes narrowed into slits. Uh oh.
“L,” she breathed. “Don’t tell me you brought one of your new sluts into this place, after all this time.” Her sharp teeth glinted in the light.
Erin glared back. “Look, whoever-you-are. No one calls me a slut and gets away with it.”
Malaul laughed, and swiped at Erin’s face, her claws missing by a centimeter. Erin flinched; Malaul smiled. “We can settle this right here, bitch. We can charge admission as everyone watches me tear strips from your skin. Won’t be the first time.”
I decided it was time to step in. “Mal. Mal. She’s a client. I’m on a case.”
“The hell you are.”
“Seriously. This is Erin. Erin, Malaul, the Caffeinatrixx. Mal, Erin has been getting strange calls, and her phone just turned into a face-raping bat an hour ago.” I took a chance, and reached up to scratch Malaul behind the ears. Her claws withdrew to wherever they go.
“Murrr… So why are you here?”
“Over at the Open Bar, Aini said that the phone was directed to go here. Probably from one of the open terminals.” At Aini’s name, Malaul’s ears flattened back, and she scowled.
“And you believe her. Hmph. Well, I guess that’s the risk you run when you run an open source café. The logs are in the back. You two want something to drink while you wait?”
“Espresso, with a splash of grappa. Erin?”
“Just plain coffee, please. Black.”
Malaul laughed. “Honey, in here, it’s never plain.” She walked to the end of the café, gliding in only the way a woman whose knees bend backward can.
Watching Malaul disappear behind the swinging doors of the Café's kitchen, Erin turned to me and said, "You seem to know her quite well."
"Well, Mal was the original and Lead Tantrist involved in creating the Open Bar. I met her just before she started work on that. She's spent much of her life exploring the various sensual disciplines, like Tantra, Taoist sexual techniques, the Kama Sutra, Thelemite sex magic, and the like. The Hackers were lucky to find her. That was one of the last projects she did before the change."
"Projects? Change?"
"Well, as it turns out, after years of practice and personal fulfillment, Malaul decided to share with the world. She had so much excess Kundalini energy, she dedicated herself to, essentially, recharge humanity's Orgone batteries. The Hackers convinced her to use that extra energy in constructing the Bar. Soon after that, she went in for genetic body modification."
"..."
"Yeah, you didn't think all that was simply prosthetics, or grafted on, did you? That goes down to the genetic level. As it turns out, when you alter your DNA, the chakras move as well, and the act of raising Kundalini changes. Mal was thrilled, for she had new worlds to explore."
"So why is all of this taking place in... well, places like this?"
"I figure it's half a joke. The whole college/university/bohemian thing not only creates a relaxed environment for the participants, but what Cop in their right mind is going to try to monitor a coffeehouse like this, and attempt to filter out what's a real conspiracy, what's simply stream-of-thought bullshit, and what is actually coded messages? It adds a level of security, all neatly wrapped up in unpredictable chaos. You can't get a better system of disinformation that a bunch of pseudo-intellectuals sitting around getting jacked up on coffee."
“You said that already.”
“You asked already.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Through the din and the crowd, I could see Malaul walking back with our drinks. Setting them down, she said, "Well, I hate to admit it, but Aini's right. Whoever was using the terminals tried to hide their tracks, but I think I can get some information out of it. I'll get one of my boys to work on it." She glanced at me, and turned her head towards Erin. "Sorry about all that earlier. You know how it is."
Erin smiled thinly. "I suppose."
"Oh, don't be like that." Malaul looked Erin up and down slowly, and arched an impossible eyebrow. "You know, L," she said, never taking her eyes of Erin, "I have a few... experiments... in back that I'm sure both you and... Erin would be interested in."
"Tempting, Mal, but she really is a client. Maybe next time?"
She sighed. "I suppose. You just stay here, and enjoy your coffee. I'll send a boy out when the information surfaces." Malaul walked back to the end of the café, catching the eyes of several patrons along the way, and disappeared in the crowd. Erin sipped her coffee.
"My god!"
"I know. It's almost criminal to have something this good."
"Starbucks should be burnt to the ground."
"Don't think it hasn't been tried by the Church of Foamy."
Just then, the door burst open, and dozens of people spilled in the door, making a hell of a racket, carrying bottles of rum and whiskey. They were mostly unkempt, disheveled, drunk, and had a crazed look in their eyes. They ran for a corner, and began chanting, "A challenge! Hear, hear! Who now wants to challenge us! They shall be destroyed!" The Café's other customers began giving them room, some hastily grabbing cups of their precious coffee and trying their hardest not to be noticed.
I stood up. "We better move somewhere a little quieter."
"What's the matter?"
"Didn't you hear that? 5-7-5. They're starting a Haiku Battle."
The yelling intensified, and I noticed more then a few of them looking at us. Too late, I thought. The chant shifted. "It's LMNO! You should know better than that, to come back in here!" They streamed out , forming a rough circle around us. I turned to Erin. "Sit tight, and keep your head down, this may get messy."
I slowly turned in a circle, until I found the greasy-haired degenerate I was looking for. "Hello Paul. What's this? A glutton for punishment? I don't have all day."
The crowd cheered. The Battle was on.
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