The only way to re-live the past is to step into the future.

He was the first thing Bien saw as he came up the escalator of the third floor of Virra Mall. The man was two heads shorter, about a five-foot three to Bien’s six-foot frame. His extremely short hair was unevenly cut, his dark eyes watchful, darting back and forth even as they focused on Bien.

He sidled up to Bien, a big smile on his pockmarked face. “Boss, ex?” he asked.

The modus operandi was that the buyer would follow the hawker to some back room in the mall where he would get to pick from a wide range of X-rated, and, sometimes illegal, films. Years ago, Bien would have followed the man to some back room to check out his wares, but he had outgrown that sort of entertainment sometime during college, and so didn’t give the man a second glance as he walked past him into the nearest tunnel of shops.

He had been told that the mall, which was probably the smallest one in the city, hadn’t changed much since its renovation in the early part of the 21st century. The outside was lined with trendy shops and restaurants, while its inside was filled with small stalls and back alley shops that sold everything from books and clothes to advanced cybernetic electronics on the first floor , and—it was rumored—weapons on the second, and hobby kits and pirated movie microchips on the third. This last item was what interested Bien. He was, and always had been, a movie buff. He collected everything from silent comedies to the recently released virtual movies whose audiences could feel, smell, and sometimes taste what they were already seeing and hearing.

He entered a shop that sold microchip movies, displaying the little chips the way they displayed pirated CDs and DVDs decades ago when they were still being used. Bien was lucky to have come across the relics while sifting through the junk that dated from his grandfather’s bachelor days. Most people had only heard about the big clunky and easily breakable discs from the stories their parents or grandparents told.

“Hey, Bien!” the man behind the counter greeted him.
“Has it come in yet?” Bien asked.
“Yup. Just got it this morning,” the man replied, sliding a hand under the counter and coming up with a chip. “You’re lucky. Jarmusch’s movies are hard to find. Especially this one.” He laid the chip on the counter.
Bien picked it up. “Living in Oblivion,” he read out loud. “How much do I owe you?”
The man shrugged. “I won’t charge you the finder’s fee for that one, since it sort of just fell into my lap. Besides, you’re a regular.”
“Thanks, Mike,” Bien said. “That’s all I’ve come for today.”
Mike nodded, wrapping the chip in butcher paper and placing it in a small bag made of bubble-wrap. “When’s the wedding?” he asked, taking out a scanner and holding it in front of Bien’s forehead.
“The day after tomorrow,” Bien replied.
“Whoa!” Mike replied, surprised. “And you’re here shopping?”
“It’s not often that I can get my hand on a Jarmusch,” Bien replied.
“Excuses, excuses,” Mike snorted. “You’re scared, man. I can see you wetting your pants. Happens to everyone.”
“Sometimes I can’t believe it myself,” Bien chuckled, “I keep wondering if I can still run away.”
“That’s how everyone feels,” Mike said. “Still, being married isn’t as bad as people make it out to be. I count myself lucky that I enjoy it. Hold still.” He pushed one of the many buttons on the scanner’s handle. A red dot appeared in the middle of Bien’s forehead.
“A bit to the right,” Bien said automatically.
“Oh, fuck,” Mike said, following his lead. “I always forget.”
“I always hate this part,” Bien said. “Makes me think a sniper’s got his sights trained on me.”
“Then why didn’t you relocate to your hand then?” Mike asked. He pushed another button. The scanner made a high-pitched sound, which meant that it was reading the IDChip in Bien’s forehead, verifying Bien’s identity, reading how much money he had in his account, and subtracting the price of the newly purchased movie chip from it.
“Too much trouble. Maybe when I get it upgraded, I’ll think about relocating it to my hand.” He moved away after the scanner had finished its business, picked up the chip, dropped it into his shirt pocket. “Thanks again, Mike.”
“Anytime.”

The man appeared beside him as soon as he stepped out of the shop. “Boss, ex?” He asked, his smile so wide Bien could count the gaps between his teeth if he wanted to.

Bien walked past him, hoping that he would take the hint, but the man followed, walking so close to Bien that it was an effort not to trip on him. “Boss, ex?” he asked, his voice raspy and excited, like a child who couldn’t wait to show off his new toy.

From experience, Bien knew that what the man sold wasn’t anything he couldn’t get anywhere else if he wished. They had everything now, women, men, animals, even cyborgs. Dead, alive, comatose, you name it; the chip hounds would have it, all neatly packed inside their reporter jackets or trench coats, every pleasure or perversion under the sun. He tried to walk faster but the man kept up, turning corners when Bien did, and patiently waiting outside stores that Bien would try to hide in. He was still there when Bien emerged from a comic book store, the child-like excitement still on his face.

“Boss, ex?” he asked.
“Go away,” Bien said, finally. “You’ve been hounding me for the past half hour. Can’t you see I’m not interested?”
“Of course you aren’t,” the man said. “That’s because you haven’t seen what I have to offer.” He opened his jacket and took out a chip, his thumb hiding the words on the label.
“Listen,” Bien said exasperatedly, “Do I look like a hormonal high school student? You’d do better selling your wares to a much younger crowd.”
The man shook his head. “Nope,” he said, waving the chip in Bien’s face. “Won’t do. It has to be you, Bien.”
“How do you know my name?” Bien said, his anger changing to surprise.
The man shrugged. “It’s not important. Especially after you see my goods.”

All Bien wanted to see were his hands around the man’s neck, but he held his cool. He hated to admit it, but he was curious. He looked around. They were still in front of the comic book shop which was packed with comic geeks and card game aficionados. Across them was a network gaming place, where about a dozen people were strapped into Virtua-Visions or VVs—the virtual reality unit that had replaced television fifteen years ago—and were busy trying to kill each other in the newest video game. Nobody was paying them any attention.

Page 1 of 5     1 2 3 > Last »