Sometimes I prefer cyberspace to meatspace. After I finished writing that little lot, I logged on, found my girlfriend and got her to read it. I asked her if I’d written a jazzy rollercoaster – that’s what André Brink said about Moxyland, after all. “No,” she said, much to my disappointment, “it is like reading about another country that is fascinating, that you feel you ought to know about and are a bit embarrassed, because you don’t.” I’m not sure what that means, but the addition of the comment enhances the whole meta thing, don’t you think? Now it’s interactive too. So hip. So postmodern. Plus, it bumps up the word count a little without me having to write and gets the thing proof-read at the same time. Win!
Scar felt just a little foolish seeing the photo. She’d probably ridden past Java Divers Coffee Shop on Main like, about a billion times, without taking any notice of it at all. Well, it was a Hetero Hangout and if she’d walked in through the front door, her whole appearance, never mind the pink triangle, would have alerted Security to an unwanted Queer presence and she’d have been ushered out, possibly with a cattle-prod. Was the shop just a front, or an unwitting and unwilling accomplice? Bizarre to think that at least in theory, Scar’s future would be full of places like that and devoid of places like Charmageddon. She thought about her brave and beautiful tribe and felt a wave of pure sadness. Justice is for winners; whoever said that was spot on.
Still no joy with Troy’s posts, they still all seemed to be all about coffee – no subtext. Or did they change the code when a new batch infiltrated, to maintain cover? If only Helen or Anders would stop being quite so freaking Het!
In fact, Helen and Anders seemed rampantly Hetero. They strolled hand in hand, they sat with their knees touching and although their public displays of affection were never lewd, they formed a barrier Scar couldn’t get past. Helen’s hair was growing more slowly than Scar’s mop, but it was far more femme; she had that whole sleek and gamine raven’s wing bob thing going on. Scar wondered how a girl’s haircut got a boy’s name anyway. Helen had a mannish way of walking, but a decidedly feminine way of doing everything else and Scar found she was spending more and more time gazing at her. Anders was beautiful too and constantly attentive. Scar would say howzit, the twosome would give her one serene smile and Scar would shuffle and retreat again.
She couldn’t even find Helen on Facebook.
Another night spent reading endless data about coffee. No reply from the Empress, nothing new from Troy – nothing but bloody coffee. More days spent smiling at Carrie and discussing possible jobs, hobbies, lives. Scar felt like she was so damn deep undercover she’d never escape.
I signed this project up for NaNoWriMo too, as a way to stay motivated. I think I started on the 9th of November, when everyone was supposed to have something like ten thousand words done already. Will I catch up? Who knows.
Staring despairingly at a small, white pill on yet another breakfast tray on yet another morning, Scar became aware of Maria hovering rather expectantly on the periphery. “Here we are now,” said Scar to Maria, “entertain us.” She had no clue why she’d said it. Maria grinned suddenly, a smile like a sunrise. She sat down opposite Scar and toasted her with her own little medication kit and cup. “What a drag it is getting up,” she said. Scar laughed and the day began.
She wondered if she knew Maria from Charmageddon maybe. She wondered why she didn’t recognise anyone in the clinic. She wondered where the fuck the revolution was anyway.
I found out later that there were more clinics – I just didn’t know how extensive the operation was at the time. So of course what they did was split Queers up on a geographical basis. People I knew were indeed getting deprogrammed at the same time as I was, some of them right there in Generika City. Meantime, there I was, stuck and going rapidly batshit.
Scar found her mood lifting slowly, imperceptibly and she assumed it was due to the pills, until she found herself gazing with even more intensity than usual at Helen one day. She hauled her emotions out, picked through them and diagnosed a big, fat crush. Unrequited – the purest kind. That face, framed by that hair … that smile … the way the muscles of her ass still showed under those skirts … yup, Scar was officially Helen-struck.
“China, you wanna maybe slap on your shades when you’re doing that,” said Maria at breakfast one morning. “What?” squeaked Scar and Maria rolled her eyes. “Mooning about after Helen, man – it’s lank obvious and you know the rapists are gonna freak.” The rapists, therapists; inspeak, clinicspeak. Scar felt a blush race up her face and Maria grinned, “Lekker! You can take the Queer outa the ghetto, but …” Busted.
Thing was, Maria could have been a mole. The Queer Quarter had been full of tales of spies and the Hetero Superstructure certainly had the time, the resources and the dedication. Scar had a feeling she wasn’t going to be able to bluff her way out of it though. She also had a feeling that Maria might very well be cool. Fuck it, she thought to herself and grinned back.
You Can’t Take the Ghetto From the Queer
“Oh Maria, the hills may be alive with moles, but I don’t think I give a shit today,” said Scar, giving Maria a very direct and old fashioned sort of a look. Maria laughed, tapped the side of her nose, winked and walked off. Scar realised she was shaking, sweating and grinding her teeth gently. Shit, shit shit, what if …?
Welcome, Siri! You have [1] new message.
Click …
Java Divers has chosen YOU to receive a limited edition loyalty card, with a 10% discount on all FatMugs of house-blend served at Java Divers main branch this year! Simply use the code JAV/7894 and enjoy your favourite coffee at 10% off!
Oh yeah, like she was going to get out of Queercatraz in a hurry.
Maria just waved from across the canteen the next day, Helen was in a huddle with Anders and so Scar just swallowed another pill, daydreamed Helen into a pair of ass-hugging jeans and wandered off to therapy. Carrie seemed even perkier than usual, which put her on about the same level as a chipmunk on acid. “Siri, you’re integrating so well, that the board has decided to give you a City pass-out!” she warbled. Scar perked right up too. It meant you could go on supervised and approved trips to venues in Generika, it meant she’d get to go breathe some decent pollution for a change and hang around places that weren’t goddamn pastel. It meant that for a while at least, she would be under heightened scrutiny, but it meant some freedom too.
Anders didn’t seem especially enthralled to be assigned as Scar’s trusty the following Saturday, but Scar didn’t care. Looking ruefully down at her shaved legs, she imagined the reactions down at Charmageddon – woooo check out the femme! The clinic shuttle dropped them off on Main and Anders chose a table smack bang in the middle of the place. There wouldn’t be any cosy conversation then. He keyed in his order into the JavaPad on the table and raised two perfect eyebrows at Scar. She asked for house-blend and he keyed that in, then muttered, “Gotta code?” “Pardon?” asked Scar and Anders looked slightly impatient. “Discount code, yo.” quoth he. Scar fumbled it out of her (oh gods) handbag and handed it over. Was she imagining it, or did Anders’ left eyebrow elevate just a little higher at that point?
The mugs arrived and Scar sat back to watch the passing parade. Anders examined his fingernails, his mug; he hardly spoke at all. Just before the shuttle arrived outside afterwards though, he touched Scar lightly just above her right elbow and made eye-contact. “Search Troyville on Facebook.” he said quietly, then got into the shuttle and ignored her for the rest of the ride.
The rest of the day blurred by as usual, strictly according to schedule. Scar felt renewed, like she’d been given a key. She itched to get online and after the usual bland evening meal, she logged on to Java Divers and Facebook.
Welcome, Siri! You have [1] new notification.
There is [1] new post by The Empress.
Click …
Nothing is pure vanilla anymore, it’s all that poncey stuff from Madagascar. Stick to the house mix kiddo and all the best.
Replies had been disabled, the thread locked.
Facebook, then.
Search: Troyville
Results: 357 733
Filter: Applications
Results: 1
Click …
Troyville needs to access your profile, blah blah blah …
Allow
Welcome to Troyville, Siri! If you have a voucher, please input it now.
JAV/7894
Choose your avatar.
Scar’s eyes widened as she scrolled through all of the little cartoon possibilities – they were, well, exceedingly dykey.
Hair: brown
Length: no.1
Physique: average
Eyes: blue
Nose: average caucasian
Mouth: small
Trousers: ripped, faded jeans
Shirt: retro geek tee
Shoes: blue Converse like Kurt’s
Accessories: wallet-chain, heavy silver rings, goddess symbol
SAVE
Holy fuck, but that felt good.
You have now reached the encrypted page YOVILLE+TR
*VOTE VETO*
She almost wept. This was it, this was the underground, in all its one-dimensional glory.
Input Troyville details here!
Name: Scar
You have been assigned the rank *Maniac*
Welcome to your new apartment! You have *10 000* TroyGold to spend.
A whole heap of clicks and drags and saves later, Scar had a virtual space that made her feel like herself again. Bookshelves crawled the walls around serious screens and street art filled the rest. The bathroom was clean and private, the double bed was comfortable and blue.
What Goes on in Troyville Stays in Troyville
That was the last message Scar saw before the screenfeed clicked off for the night, leaving her wired awake in bed, wondering what was going to happen next.
What happened next was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. She got up, exhausted and went to breakfast. Maria gave her a friendly smile and suggested vitamin B. Helen and Anders floated around in their bubble. Carrie bounced about in hers. Stephen graduated and was off to a job in cybernetics and an apartment in a halfway compound for rehabbed Queers. Carrie put Scar’s added cheerfulness down to the stability of her medication and involvement in the programme. Scar kept her pass-out privileges and the next time she went out, Helen was standing at the shuttle stop.
“Hey there, Siri!”
“Hello” (Can’t she tell I’ve dedicated all of my orgasms to her?)
“Ready to go?”
“Sure” (Oh hell yes, if you only knew …)
Off to Java Diver again and Helen picked a booth in a corner. Orders keyed in and codes too and Helen took a deep breath, making extended and pleasurable eye-contact. Scar felt her knees buckle. For fucksakes, this wasn’t the time to be such a drip. “It’s not safe to say too much hey,” said Helen, “but you do need to know that I’m your liaison and that Plan Q is going well.” Scar started to ask her what the hell Plan Q was all about, but Helen shook her head and said, “Troyville, ne?” and so Scar shut the fuck up again.
“Anders?” she asked, dry mouthed as the Karoo. Helen grinned and said, “All fake, man, all fake. The faggot’s just playing a part, like all of us – like you, I hope.” Helen refused to say more, refused to even tell Scar whether Maria was cool or not. The only other info Scar got, was that her Troyville neighb0rgs would include her fellow clinic inmates, but that the cover must not, under any circs, be blown. Scar just nodded and drank yet another mug of muddy brown house-blend.
She spent her nights in Troyville trying to peel the queer from the neighb0rgs and work out who was who in the meatspace zoo. She was pretty sure Helen was Her0 – her avatar looked fairly close to her offline self, she was just dressed way different. Scar sent her flowers. Maria was mercifully easy to work out, she was, unbelievable, even more femme in cyberspace and went by the name Kitten. Veto was there, but busy and rarely accessible and happily, joyfully, disturbingly – Dave! Dave was there as Bear, of course, just the same as when Scar had last seen him. Turned out he was still out in the Queer Quarter, that he’d been behind Scar’s migration all along. Scar wasn’t sure whether to hug him or smack him. Stephen was there too, the Halfway Hero, telling the clinic-bound about the other Queers there on Planet Hetero, planning his own infiltration, getting instructions from Veto.
Helen of Troyville was now disturbing my days and nights almost full time. I was smitten, to put it mildly and beyond the damn revolution, I just plain liked her. I checked out the books in her virtual apartment and sent her other books I thought she’d like, since the flowers hadn’t seemed to have impressed her much at all. I became obsessed with holding her hand, grabbing her butt and … I wanted to dive into her with my tongue and never leave. Even knowing the Anders thing was a set-up, I was as jealous as hell. I wanted time with the woman – acres of it. She started sending me books too, we started hanging out online a lot; it was fucking brilliant.
Message: Her0
Subject: intel
Content: skin on skin the revolution begins … {alix olson}
Send
The screenfeed died and Scar spent another sleepless night, groaning alternately in pleasure and despair. Another day, another tray … more therapy. Running the cross-country course later, just to get some alone time, Scar’s footfalls echoed to her own marching beat, “I’m lonely, leave me alone …”
“Scar!”
Scar screeched to a halt. “Helen?” Helen was morbing, Scar had never seen her without that trademark smile before. “Your message ..” Scar blushed and shuffled her feet, feeling like a bashful boi again. “If only,” said Helen, sadly, “but the Plan … well, I graduate tomorrow. Anders and I are leaving.” Scar felt as though she’d been flung, splat into some kind of Juliet and Juliet plot. The sky grew even lonelier, but wait a minute; Helen liked her!
Helen put her hand on either side of Scar’s face … and kissed her.
Then she ran, shockingly fast, towards the main building. Scar fell over trying to follow her and then she couldn’t find her. Maria found Scar weeping, got her a sleeper and sent her to bed. Good thing too, or who knows what might have happened. Something inappropriate and futile for sure.
Skin on Skin
Days blurred by again and somebody upped Scar’s meds. Carrie reassured her that transitions were always tough and gave her an extra pass-out. That time, Scar landed up sitting morosely at JD with Maria, slurping house-blend. Rifling idly through the newspaper on the table, Scar stopped at a full-page of rather different print.
Plan Q
“Read it,” said Maria, “ and then leave it.” Maria buried her head in the job ads while Scar read.
So the revolution didn’t work. Pride marches didn’t work. Violence didn’t work and neither did non-violence. In less than a century, heteronormative society managed to segregate and hate queers again.
Scar found herself nodding, till Maria kicked her shin sharply under the table.
The only way we’re ever going to regain any liberties at all, is by infiltration. For that reason, many of you have had to leave your homes and whatever security you might have had, to either go underground, or to the front lines. More of you than we care to consider are stuck in mental institutions, medicated into passivity.
Scar palled, she’d heard about things like that and never wanted to believe it.
Your mission – and it’s too late to refuse it now, is to continue with the heterofication process, remain compliant and wait for further instructions. You’ll be transferred to a halfway house within a week and assigned a liaison officer.
This message will not self-destruct – we hope you won’t either.
They finished their coffee and returned to the clinic. Everything went on as inexorably, as tediously as before, but there was light at the end of that particular tunnel now. Troyville continued to keep Scar relatively sane, especially the night she got a message from Her0.
I miss you.
Feverishly, frantically she replied, I miss you too! She hit refresh over and over, hoping Helen was online. Nothing. She rearranged her virtual books and moped around.
Her days altered gradually as her graduation date loomed. They didn’t make a fuss about it publicly, they didn’t want the regime of the clinic disturbed, but there was an air of expectancy. At her final session with Carrie, she was given a WatchFeed – she’d definitely been escalated. Hets always got the best tech and now she’d be connected, to everything, 24/7.
Halfway to Somewhere
The shuttle dropped Scar off at what looked like a Tuscan rabbit warren – a style invented by Queers and promptly ripped off and commercialised by the Hetero world.
OK, most lesbians might not be famed for their sense of style, but jeez that place was just maxed out kitsch, man! Picture my little halfway home, all tricked out in subtle shades of reds, pinks, oranges. Not a glimmer of blue anywhere, which made me shake a bit. I just don’t feel right without blue, man.
Scar didn’t recognise any of the other denizens of the halfway point. Then again, there wasn’t time for too much socialising now; meals weren’t communal anymore, Scar’s medication arrived by courier in weekly batches. She geared it down to one pill every two days, ground the rest up and fed them to a Yucca.
After an intensive vocational session, Scar had been put forward for a low-tech, behind the scenes job in the city’s Intermodality Node. She oversaw a bank of computer panels that connected shuttle stations. Her days became a dance of connected colours, with a rhythm only ever disturbed by occasional power-outs. She had coffee at JD once, with a guy called Devon from work; the newspapers in the coffee house were devoid of Plan Q and keying in her discount code, Scar felt lonely again.
You have [1] new message.
It was her watchfeed, pulsing discreetly. Scar felt her saliva dry as she flicked her fingers over the display, accessing the message.
Stay Queer!
Ha, thought Scar, as if she had an option about that. If there was any chance of turning authentically Hetero, she’d have done it by now. The tech was so good, but no ways was her whole soul going to bend to make her a practising Het. She’d tried out sex with a dude when she was 17, after all and she just couldn’t do it. Not dissing men, she muttered, it just doesn’t work for me. At all.
Being Queer had become so political. Scar thought back to when it was mainly about same-sex relationships and fashion, not social marginalisation. Back in the day, when you could get any job and buy any tech you liked. Scar sighed; she missed the Quarter, even with all its restrictions. She missed seeing pink triangles on woman and wondering which woman was the one. She wondered, if she’d found her, if she’d have left at all.
Scar stayed queer.
You have [1] new message.
Click!
OK Scar, damn you, but here’s the thing. I can’t stop wondering about you, I think I’m obsessed. Actually, I think I’m in love. I think you’ve got a trojan virus, yo.
As Scar ran virus checks and security updates, she wondered whether the pun was a chat-up or a threat. System was clear anyway and Scar smiled wider than wide.
There was no doubt Helen was a true blue lesbo – confessing love before the first date, never mind the second. Well, there was that kiss. Scar smiled stupidly as she replayed it; the kiss that had literally taken her breath from her and left her feeling stoned.
I asked my mate Hippolyta to read my shit too – she said she loved it, even though it’s rough and needs editing. Fucking grammar nazi … I love that woman, but if she thinks I am editing this crap, she can go jump. All I care about is hitting the word count target and right now I am on 8 851. Head’s aching and pounding like a total bitch too and while I’m at it, I can’t even read other shit to unwind. I’m awash in fucking words. Mika looked surprised yesterday when I told her I’d just signed up for NaNoWriMo. “You haven’t got much time left, Petal,” she said in her odd mix of Geordie-German English. Yeah, I know, I am supposed to be writing away in tortured and splendid isolation, but have you taken a look at cyberspace lately? Words jostling around shielding their binary, yelling for attention and gone in three seconds. Everything’s disposable man; you, me, the world – everything. I’m just trying to pin this butterfly to the board before it all changes again.
Helen … talking about love in the time of trojan viruses seems strange to me – and wonderful. I think we’re on the same page, like those jargon loving Hets say. When can I see you again? Dammit, when can I kiss you again?
Another incoming Facebook notification popped up in its merry little red square.
You have been invited to join “I bet we can find 1 000 000 Trojans on Facebook!”
Accept?
y/n
yes.
Those were just the kind of messages that Scar habitually sent to the trash. How the fuck was a Facebook group ever going to change anything? Constant barrages of join my cause, join my group, become a fan of me … what was the use of any of it? But she couldn’t resist anything Helen related. She had no intention of resisting Helen.
Oh Scar, you can kiss me now. If only. Where are you in this demented city? I just got a job managing Java Divers – you can guess the implications. Can you make it here anytime soon?
Could she?
Helen, if you fuckers would open 24 hours I’d be there now. Instead, Generika’s newest Intermodalities Connection Technician (3rd class) will be at your door as soon as possible after tomorrow’s early shift. I wouldn’t bother with lipstick if I was you.
Scar! I think you mean, “if I WERE you.”
Helen … no I didn’t.
The shift passed achingly slowly, colour to colour, connections buzzing and whirring their way around the city, getting the drones to work and home and shops.
You have [1] new message.
Click …
Thank you for joining I bet we can find 1 000 000 Trojans on Facebook!” – shifting the system sideways, one face at a time.
Oh, yup. Whatever.
Scar didn’t bother changing before she raced off to JD. Civvies would have meant a dress, since rehabbed Queers’ dress style was watched fiercely by the board. Her techie outfit, however, was almost dykey. Orange city overalls with the Intermodality cable logo on the pocket – nerdy, but still better than a dress, no doubt. The safety boots were the best part of the ensemble, Scar felt almost like her old self as she pushed the door open, casting anxiously about for Helen.
There she was, standing behind the counter, brow furrowed in deep conversation with a barrista-bot. Scar hadn’t realised you could converse with those things, or was Helen about to reprogram it? Helen looked pretty fit in the Javalicious corporate uniform – one of those severe business suits, all pencil skirt and straight (ha!) lines. And lipstick. Scar grinned.
You youngsters might think it was trivial of me to be chasing skirt during a revolution, but you gotta remember that the whole infiltration process was a painfully slow and gradual thing. What took under a year for me, had already been in motion for about five years. That year felt like ten anyway. Also, what’s the point of being queer if you can’t, you know, be queer? You know what I’m saying? Anyway, I know you’re all drooling to know if we kissed, if I ever got my hands on Helen’s perfect ass and all that, but I just hit my word count target for the day, so I’m going to go chill the hell out now.
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