Peter Liu - Bald New World

Clear your mind! I thought to myself.

“I brought you some peanuts,” Dan said, dropping me a bag.

Peanuts helped clear the mind, rich in vitamin B6 and protein. The tricky part of interfacing had to do with the shock. It wasn’t hard linking with a cricket as their brain patterns were so simple. Survive, eat, mate, survive. It was their relationship with the world that was tough. They were completely oblivious to humans who were as alive to them as a hurricane would be to us. Their perceptions were limited and trying to inject them with new thoughts was impossible. It was like trying to do calculus using only 1 through 10. I didn’t have direct control over Crick’s muscles. Only impulses like attack, run, or mate. I once went through the mating process with one of the crickets during the war. Worst mistake I made. From the cricket’s perspective, sex was a mechanical process, devoid of any pleasure, as routine as eating, though it stirred up a strong sense of protectionism over my mate. Being so near the cricket and feeling her intimately left me nauseous and viscerally disturbed. Bugs scared me when I looked down on them from above. Copulating with one left mental scars. I hated bug sex. We normally mated the male with as many females as possible before the fight to arouse his hormones and his combativeness.

I dived back into Crick, focused only on enduring as long as I could. I didn’t try to control or affect his movements. I just tried to stay along for the ride. I lasted seven minutes before a splitting headache caused me to get out.

“I have to take a nap,” I told Dan.

Dan was reading news on his phone and ignored me. He was never the talkative type and I knew almost nothing about him, probably because he didn’t have much to tell. I ate a few peanuts before I went to sleep, using a tooth in the back of my mouth that could bite down without too much pain.

I dreamt about bughood and woke up to a bloody nose. Wiped it clean, ate more peanuts, took a piss, washed my face, and dived back into my interlink. My brain was still exhausted and I jumped out within three minutes. Achieving synchronicity was proving difficult, especially with my back aching.

“You should have let Heidi do her thing,” Dan said. “She’s a pro. Plus she’s clean. Believe me. I call her all the time.”

“Why don’t you pilot?” I asked.

“Causes seizures in me,” he replied. “I’ve tried. So have the others. I’ll be the first to admit it’s not as easy as it looks. You’re doing way better than any of us did. You want me to call you another girl?”

“How about a real nurse?”

“Too expensive. After you win, you can get one. In the meantime, there’s plenty of Asian women that are cheap too, if that’s your thing.”

What I needed now was rest in the form of a long sleep.

“No thanks.”

“C’mon. Ain’t nothing like a good lay to rev up the engines.” Was he treating me like a cricket?

IV.

My first match was in Cricket Alley. There were long rows of cricket bouts. Most were smalltime fights used as practice arenas to warm up stronger crickets. Wagers were limited and gamblers came to scout crickets to bet on. Dan accompanied me in plain clothes and I carried Crick along. He told me to lose the fight. Not that I needed encouraging. Even if I tried, my brain would have had a hard time holding on.

“That’s Tolstoy,” Dan whispered.

Tolstoy had pale skin. But it was his wig that caught my attention. It was white, but it flowed naturally with thick strands, better than any imitation I’d seen. Did he have them grafted onto his scalp? He was a short teen, wearing a gray coat that went down to his knees. His limbs were wiry and he had a caustic snicker curved into his lips. His light hazel eyes methodically watched everything, less out of caution, and more, curiosity, as though everything were new to him. We were both surprised when he approached me.

“You look familiar,” he addressed me.

I would have recognized someone with as distinctive a look as he did. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“How many fights have you had?”

“This is my first.”

Tolstoy stared at me, even after Dan led me to my seat.

Maybe he’d seen me on some of the behind-the-scenes footage with Larry? “Looks like the champ’s taken a fancy to you,” Dan said.

Tolstoy was watching my fight.

My mind was focused on my opponent who was also a young fellow, a paunchy male with freckles and a wig of curly choppy hair. He shook my hand but seemed disdainfully sure of himself. “I’m Nick,” I introduced myself.

“That’s nice,” he answered with an arrogant air that suggested he’d already dismissed me as a competitor.

The table had a glass cage separated by a partition. Cameras were hooked to either side and connected to the gambling decks in case anyone wanted to wager. I softly dropped Crick in while my opponent selected from his gallery of ten crickets. Although he didn’t say, I knew he probably picked one of his weaker fighters in an attempt to boost their confidence. As a final insult, when one of his compatriots asked, “Do you want us to bring dinner back to you?” he answered, “I won’t be long.”

“Three rounds, five minutes each,” the computerized referee informed us.

I took a seat, grabbed the arm rests, and interfaced with Crick. Mental metamorphosis commenced. I pushed off with my legs and saw an ugly cricket ahead of me. Hesitation would be the worst mistake now. I rammed him and bit his head with my jaws. In my human body, my lungs swelled and a cold sweat broke out. I hated the taste of cricket, hated biting their heads. My opponent finally fought back, pushing hard against me. But it was too late. I had the advantage and felt a rush of adrenaline. He was mine and I wanted to wipe the smirk off the pilot’s face. But then my head throbbed and his cricket leapt on top of me. Before I could respond, he bit onto one of my antennae. I tried to feel him out, but I started smelling peanuts in my breath. Or was it me, the pilot? I was already losing track of who I was. It was a good time to surrender. Except I couldn’t stand the pilot’s look and the way he dismissed me. I rammed him again and kicked off my feet. My whole life was a long bug-hood, surviving by any means necessary. Even if I was supposed to lose the match, I wouldn’t surrender. Not yet at least. The fight continued as our crickets locked heads, neither side giving in. If only I had more endurance, if only I wasn’t so out of shape, I would have destroyed him. Now, I was barely keeping up. The good thing was, he’d severely underestimated me. I saw an opening because of an injury and flipped his cricket, about to pounce. Suddenly, the match ended. I’d been forcibly disconnected.

“You looked like you were—” Dan was saying, but before he finished, I vomited on the ground next to him, coughing up peanuts.

The other pilot said, “That’s disgusting man. You shouldn’t be here.”

I stared at Dan. “Why’d you disconnect me?”

He didn’t answer but I knew it was part of his plan.

I shook my head. Noticed Tolstoy watching me.

Then looked at both competing crickets. They’d been brutally beaten. Before interfacing, cricket fights were rarely mortal. Now, they almost always were. In this case, we’d thrown a white flag and spared both. But as I looked at the two fighters, battered and bruised, it was apparent they would never fight again. I knew exactly how they felt.

V.

Back at the room, Dan seemed ecstatic. “I knew you were good. Less than a day and you were fighting like a pro.”

“Barely.”

“In a week, you’ll be in good shape. I got you some good crickets. I’ll bring them by tomorrow. Get yourself a long sleep.”