Peter Liu - Bald New World

“Research for Chao.”

She nodded.

I took out my Pinlighter, tugged on her hair, recording how strong it was and how the roots were embedded in her scalp.

“Ow,” she said.

“Sorry.”

I cut off a handful similar to the amount Larry had in the capsule and put it in my pocket.

“You want to stay too?” I asked the man.

He looked helpless. “Where would I go? Russ takes good care of me.”

At that moment, Russ approached with a smile until he saw me.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Where’s Manny?”

“Why does this girl have real hair?” I asked.

He turned around and ran away. I raised my gun and aimed. As I fired, Plath pulled on my arm. The shot was completely off.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“You can’t hurt him,” she said, her eyes partially opened even though it was causing her pain.

“You care about him that much?”

She didn’t answer me. My legs hurt too much to give chase. Still, I limped after him. By the time I got out the front door, it was too late. He’d jumped into a car and driven out through the gate. I recorded the license plate, hoping I could track him later if I needed.

Plath and the man were still in the lobby. They didn’t look like they were going anywhere. Should I try to force Plath to come with me? Honestly, I didn’t know if I had the energy to even make it to the taxi and seeing how protective she had been of him, doubted she would be of much help.

I hobbled out the front and exerted all my strength to get to the cab. “Train station to Shanghai,” I ordered. Where I really needed to be was the hospital again. I took off my pants and removed the armor. The skin where I’d been shot was black and purple, an island of dead cells floating in a violet death. How many funerals were taking place inside my body, how many loved ones lost? I lay back and slept for the drive to the train station.

X.

I dreamt about being a cricket again, only with much larger antennae. There were a few that were the size of small dogs and groups of them were whispering conspiratorially. I was furious that my apartment was infested with them and didn’t know what I should do to get rid of them as I hated fumigations. Beauvoir actually carried two of the cricket corpses, fought one off and tossed it into the living room. I startled at the sight of crickets so big until I woke up.

I’d arrived at the train station and my cab was gently trying to wake me with a cooing ring tone. My hands went instinctively to my thigh and shoulder, rubbing the area where the wound had been. I could still feel the shock and jolt of the hit. I was lucky to be alive.

What next? I’d have to talk with Rebecca and find out how much more she knew than she’d let on. I noticed the news screen had the image of several factories on fire. The text below read, “Zhang Zhang Factories Under Attack.” I turned the audio on and listened to the account of the explosions that had caused tremendous damage. “We still don’t know what’s going on,” the reporter was saying. “But preliminary reports indicate explosives were used.” This was the Colonel’s company. Had Chao Toufa actually made a move to attack her? That was crazy, but this meant war.

I got out of the cab. My muscles felt sore. I was worried about the fighting that would ensue with the Colonel probably unleashing a full assault on Chao Toufa. Then it hit me again that Larry was really dead. It was hard to accept, especially as I knew there was a doppelganger out there. Should I confront him? Should I expose the truth? I had my exchange with Russ recorded and I had enough friends in the media to ensure that the message would get out there. But my mind kept on going back to Plath’s hair. It was real. She could grow hair. No one in the past 25 years could grow hair. How was this possible? How much did Larry know? Was this what had been haunting him? Was he trying to expose the truth? Or cover it up? Is that what got him killed?

No matter how I spun it, it depressed me to think that hair was the reason he had died. This should have been a cause for celebration among the people of the world. Someone could grow hair again! But I had the feeling there was something darker connected with this whole mess. Did Chao Toufa have the most realistic hair in the world because it was real? No wonder the Colonel couldn’t figure out the formula. But if they did have real hair, why hide it? Why hadn’t anyone else known about it? And why was Russ keeping Plath as a slave?

I bought a ticket and leaned against the wall, my thighs sore. My hands were shaking. I was exhausted. I needed a long, long rest. I hadn’t slept since the day before the convention. But I didn’t feel safe going back home. I had to find out what Dr. Asahi had learned from that hair sample, even though I had a pretty good idea what she’d found.

I thought about the Great Baldification. Everyone at that moment realized there was no God. I didn’t mean a Creator or a spiritual being that brought cosmic order. I meant the genie we’d hoped would save mankind from itself. It was a wakeup call, but all these years later, most people still hadn’t heard the alarm.

I.

I ordered a drink at the station bar after I arrived in Shanghai because I couldn’t stop shaking. A hard shot of whiskey didn’t help. If it hadn’t been for the armor, I’d be a cripple or worse. I asked the bartender for an er guo tou that was almost 60 % proof. That gave me a buzz and calmed my nerves momentarily.

I called Rebecca.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

I didn’t know how much I could trust her or how to broach the topic of the conversation I’d overheard her having with — I didn’t even know who she’d been talking to.

“There’ve been a lot of developments,” I said, keeping vague.

“Developments?”

I’ve been shot at, I found out Larry is dead, and there are people who can still grow hair . “Can I see you, right now?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

The communication ended and I grabbed a taxi. As soon I got in, I passed out.

Honestly, I didn’t remember how I got up to her unit. All I knew was when I got through the door, I headed for the bed and passed out again. I dreamt the whole time about running away from someone who was trying to shoot me.

II.

I woke up and found I only had my underpants on, bandages around where I’d been shot. I felt groggy and my head was a murky maelstrom. Two more days of sleep was what I needed. Rebecca was standing next to the bed, nudging me softly.

“How long have I been out?” I asked her.

“Four hours. Some guys came by and wanted to see you.”

“What did they look like?”

“You can see for yourself. They look like they have masks on. I told them you weren’t here but they’ve been persistent.”

I looked through the door camera and saw four of the faceless men waiting at the door, goons that looked identical to the one I’d seen driving the Colonel’s limousine in Beijing. Who were these men before they’d signed on to become anonymous brute force for strangers? Some of them might have been soldiers like me without family fighting their way for every inch. Did their lovers cringe when they saw their blank faces that barely moved? Seeing them talk was like seeing sock puppets.

“Is there another way out of the building?” I asked.

“No. Who are they?”

“Friends from Zhang Zhang.”

“That’s the hair company that just got attacked,” she said.

“They think I’m involved in that,” I told her, looking at the camera view again.