Legacy

The storm was hellacious. Rain blinded him, stung his eyes, flooded the streets. Claps of thunder near-constant, the sky illuminated with the crackle of lightning the likes of which Sam had never seen in Los Angeles. He darted from awning to awning, overhang to carport, the concept of an umbrella or waterproof jackets still eluding him in spite of Seb and Lydia’s efforts the past year. The freezing cold made the wet so much worse, and water poured back out of the drains.

Splashing through the downpour, his heavy footsteps doused the few dry patches of his jeans. He didn’t know where to go, and barely gripped where he was in the first place. Every building identical aside from the small nameplates, inscrutable in the dark. Something in the rain stung his eyes, so he’d barely bother to read them in the first place. Block by block he made his way through the city, his feet frozen stiff, his lungs burning. By the sixth block his legs couldn’t carry him another inch, and he came to rest in a covered alcove between some coffee kiosks.

“Aida, where are we?” He called out once more to the world’s most omnipresent voice, still too afraid to engage with his dop. There was no answer. He tapped at his ear in a panic and felt nothing. His fingers fumbled over each other and found only calloused skin. His Ring was gone.

Hope drained from him, his last bit of warmth disappearing into the cold. And then, a miracle: through the fog, he spotted the glowing M of the Muni. The gates swung open at the sight of him and soon he was back on a train, headed in whichever direction the first one had departed toward. He was sure Lydia lived near a Muni stop. He didn’t know which one, or where it was relative to him, or which direction to head. But he knew there was time enough to ride the Muni to one end then back down the other at least once before it closed. And he knew he could probably afford the twenty or so dollars that would cost. At the very least, it used up time. He shrivelled down into the cold seat of the train, surrounded by people who weren’t really there, who were disappeared into their Rings, who would chat with a dozen invisible people before they paid him the slightest mind.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to Sam that he spotted Lydia’s building not by number, or by how it looked, but by Sebastian’s car parked in front of it. He contemplated staying on the Muni, but he’d gotten enough of a look to see that Seb was in the car alone. Mel’s not come, he thought. That might mean we can actually talk.

With a lengthy stride he walked straight past the back of Seb’s car and toward the door to Lydia’s building. His legs carried him past as he grappled with himself over whether to engage with Seb or let Seb come to him. Is this childish? Why can’t I just meet him half way?

“Sam! You prick! Get in here!” Seb called out, his window cracked just enough to let the sound out, his voice just about audible over the rain as it pummelled every surface.

The digital face of the building’s automated attendant appeared on the glass door, and Sam shouted before it had a chance to speak. “Lydia Rosales, please!”

“Right away, sir,” the door replied.

“Samir!” Seb was at full volume. “Get the fuck in the car! I’m not coming out there!”

Sam sighed, knowing he had no choice but to comply. He found himself in the car soon after. He was soaking wet, and Seb bit his tongue rather than bring up how disastrous he found this.

“How did I know I’d find you here?” Seb was exasperated, with a slight hint of relief. “Why are you fucking around with this girl, man? You’re too old for this shit.”

“It’s not a big thing. We don’t sleep together, we’re just friends. It’s good to have a friend, Seb. Someone who’s actually free to hang out.”

“Oh, don’t fucking start with that, man. I put you up, I gave you a job, it’s been a goddamn year. Why are you still here? I told you this was temporary. I fucking knew it was a mistake! Your problems are down there, dude. Virginia is down there.”

“She doesn’t want to speak to me.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“She’s blocked me on everything.”

Seb’s curt sigh was borne out either of frustration with modernity, or of Sam being an idiot. In either case, the result was some kind of stress headache. He rubbed his temples and rested his eyes. “Since when?”

“I don’t know. Recently, I think? I just saw tonight.”

“Recently. Man, it’s been a year. Almost to the day. Maybe she had to move on for her own sanity? She’s probably been waiting for you to get your shit together.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“What… no, man! No. I just know her. And you!”

“I don’t understand why you’re even against my being with Lydia, if I was. I don’t understand how you’re even married. You never had a girl for more than like a week, you were always good vibes, good times.” Sam tried to run his fingers through his hair, which just caused even more water to drip down onto the seats. The cold had started to set in, and he shivered either from that or the nerves.

“That was a decade ago, man! It can’t be like that forever! It was never even like that in the first place, dude. Under the good times bullshit I was a fucking lonely, miserable drug addict. Good vibes, my ass.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look at me, man. I’m here right now, for you. But I can’t keep pissing Mel off. You think I want to turf you? No! I have to do whatever I can to make that marriage work. I’m trying to look out for both of you, and for me. It’s fucking stressful, man! And now you’re being a fucking baby about it! If you want to copy me, just copy this part of me. Get back together with your fucking wife, man!”

“No, no, that’s done.” Sam stared straight ahead as the traffic lights flashed. It was nearly curfew. He had to find somewhere to be, soon. But he hadn’t felt this distant from Sebastian in a long, long time. Everyone was going in so hard on him about Virginia. The woman who, he’d like to remind everyone, kicked him out of his own home. How had they all forgotten? He cleared his throat a few times and tried to stop his near-constant shivering. “I’m happy Virginia and I broke up. I was always so miserable when I was with her. She obviously was, too.”

“Is that even true? You’re more like her than you know. You were good for each other man, she opened up a lot more after you two hooked up. She was always asking how you were, asking how I was, asking me about the music industry. Topics she never cared about. She opened up. What the hell even happened?”

“I’m not doing this.” Sam let the words go by. He’d think about them, about her, later. “I’m not getting into this.”

“Why the fuck not? Ask yourself why you refuse to talk about it. It’s been a fucking year you’ve been living on my sofa. Why do I not even know why you two split?”

“It wasn’t any one thing. We drifted apart, I guess.” Atop the light poles, the blue strobe lights had begun pulsing. Fifteen minute warning.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Seb shook his head and his finger struck the air like a cobra. “We’re talking,” he shouted. “Go back in your hole, you fucking legacy snake.” Sam managed to break his gaze away from the lights and look out the window to one side. Lydia stood in the pouring rain, arms crossed. She stared at the two of them with an unsettling scowl.

“Samir Patel.” Seb’s tone had taken a stark shift. He grabbed Sam’s shoulder and squeezed. “Let me find you a hotel. Do not do this. If you’re serious, and there isn’t anything going on here, don’t let tonight be the night.”

“They’ll all be shut now. It’s nearly curfew.”

“Fuck.” Seb pounded his fist on the dashboard in a frenetic rage. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! God damnit. Sam, look, I’m sorry. I’ve been where you are right now.”

Lydia’s knuckle rapped against the window. She was hammering the button on the outside of Sam’s car door. “Is this real?”

“You can sleep in the car, in the garage. Best I can do, but it’s warm, safe, and dry. And we’ll figure it out in the morning. Okay?”

Sam closed his eyes and made his hands into fists, tucked close against his chest. “Aida, out please.”

Lydia darted into her apartment and went straight for the bathroom, leaving puddles in her wake on the laminate wood floor. Sam crowded onto her welcome mat just inside. The room was soulless. Every apartment in this building was no doubt indistinguishable, though as he looked around he could see she’d done her best to put her personal stamp on it. It was the standard efficiency layout: sleeping alcove with a single bed, kitchenette sectioned off by a minuscule half-height countertop, two-seater sofa in front of a large flat-panel screen on the wall, and a two person table filling what space remained.

The screen was showing a grim-looking soap opera, some kind of hellish relationship drama called Ruffle Those Feathers. It was a bit jerky, at times a bit melty, and the captions were of some wretched brain-dead dialogue–all the hallmarks of a show you’d gen on the Magenta Basic plan. He hated these, but he hated being a snob about them even more. Plus wasn’t cheap. And there must’ve been something compelling about them, because people would stay invested in the plots even if they upgraded.

Not a single window either, he noted. San Franciscans live like convicts. “I’m really sorry about just turning up like this,” Sam shouted. He was as close as he could be to the door. Something about being here made him uncomfortable, and it wasn’t helping that Lydia had dashed out of sight.

“Well, now you’ve seen where I live,” she shouted back from the other room.

“It’s…”

“You don’t have to say it, I know it’s tiny.”

“It’s functional.”

“It’s a shoe-box. But it’s mine, and it’s free.”

Sam leaned back, and his head banged into the doorway. “Free?”

Lydia emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her clothes abandoned on the floor behind her. She tossed a towel across to Sam. “I don’t spam it around, you know. People resent it.”

“I don’t understand.” Sam was trying in vain to mop up the puddle he’d made. The towel would be soaked through before he even got to the water on the rest of him. His hands trembled and his body shook from the cold.

“Come on,” she sighed. “Just get in the shower.”

The hot water was a tremendous relief. It trickled out of the shower head in the tiny cubicle, but he couldn’t be picky. On the other side of the frosted glass was the outline of Lydia, who’d given back a quiet pout when he insisted she not watch him undress. Seb’s advice rang in his ears, though his desperate concern felt so misplaced. Virginia had known where he was for a year now and she hadn’t made a single move toward seeing him. It was obvious where her head was at. He did wonder whether it was still possible to re-enable the tracking. Sure, she’d blocked him from contacting her, and sure, she’d prevented him from genning any photos of her or the two of them. But would Magenta Mate still work? It could be a way to reach out, he thought. It was a nice, non-threatening move Sam could make to show he’d be willing to make amends.

“Aren’t you curious how I live here for free?” Lydia pressed her face against the frosted glass, her hands cupped around it.

“I’m curious. No peeking.”

“You know, most boys of your persuasion would take the W here. Is there some reason you aren’t interested? Is it Virginia? Are you trad mono? Ace? You can tell me to back off.”

“Um.” He coughed. Sam didn’t know what half of that even meant. Nothing about this made him comfortable engaging with Lydia about anything. And he felt nervous about what might happen if he started. He just wanted to shove things back into their box. “How do you live here for free?”

She laughed. “I’m a legacy.”

“A legacy?”

“I know you’re not from here, but I’m still surprised you haven’t heard of this. I’m a legacy. Which means I’m third generation San Francisco. I’m entitled to free housing if I don’t have a job.” She spun around, and the shower door rattled as she threw her back against it. “Everyone hates us. But I’ve got their hate, plus a free apartment. So let them hate.” She slid down to the ground like her strings had been cut.

“That’s…” Samir was flabbergasted. “That’s incredible.”

“You resent me now too, yeah? Gonna spit the L word at me? I’m sure Seb’s apartment is a lot bigger than this one.”

“I don’t resent you, Lydia.” Sam sighed, the warmth of the water having finally thawed him out. He joined Lydia on the tile, inches apart, save for the thin plastic between them. Sam had a history of depressing stints on shower floors. Virginia had given up talking him through these bouts a year before their split, and he’d never found the comfort level needed to do it at Seb and Mel’s.

“Good. I don’t know what I’d do without it. It’s not like I feel entitled, you know. It’s just how it is. I was just issued it one day. It would’ve been more complicated to get it, I guess, but both my parents were dead. It was automatic the day my mother passed. I wouldn’t have had anywhere to go.”

“I’m sorry.”

The shift in Lydia’s posture was immediate. “Are you down here with me, chulo?”

“Yeah.”

“Chulo… what happened with Seb tonight?”

“Well. His wife kicked me out. So I don’t have anywhere to go, either.” He tilted his head forward and let the shower pour right onto it. The drops flowed down his face and neck, and the noise drowned out most of the other thoughts in his head. Just the loud patter of a low flow shower echoed on his skull. He almost didn’t notice the door pop open behind him. He focused on the sound of the water, and the pelting against his neck.

Lydia pressed her body against his back, and her arms wrapped around his stomach. It was the first safety he’d felt in a year, even as the sopping wet towel around her proved awkward and uncomfortable. She rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re mine then,” she said. “For as long as you want to be.”

Free from the cold and wet, and with some distance between himself and Seb, he felt like he could actually focus. Yet another line he hadn’t meant to cross with Lydia. And yet more confusion over what he was even doing here in San Francisco. He towelled off and changed into some clothes she’d left for him, which somehow were both too baggy and too tight.

“Wicked,” Lydia said as Samir emerged from the bathroom. “Sick fit. Chat, is he adorable?”

“Stop.” Sam tugged on the oddly-cut flannel.

“You’ve had a long day. Come sit.” She pat the seat next to her and waved him over, and he obliged. She’d dispensed with the towel and changed into jeans and a baggy tee with some Spanish on it that Sam didn’t understand. “Baby, I need to self-own before you fact check me.”

“Okay…” His back pressed against the hard wood inside the sofa, and he felt himself avoid Lydia’s gaze. “Fact check you on what?”

She gestured to the screen, which was now black. “I know you saw my basic ass genned drama.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“I know!” She covered her face with a pillow and muffled her shouts. “I know you weren’t!” Samir laughed as she hit him with it. “You can!”

“I was surprised.”

“I knooowwwwww.” She slithered off of the sofa and onto the floor, tucked into the tiny gap between it and the coffee table. “It’s tough, right? It’s not like I can afford hand-made. I obviously hate Magenta, I hate what they’re doing to society, I do believe all that.”

Samir’s smile was uneasy. “Right.”

“Sammmmm!” She put her hands on his thighs and squeezed in between them, her eyes locked on his as she stared up at him from the floor. “I’m a hypocrite. I get that. Okay?”

He kept his hands at his sides and pressed himself harder against the back of the uncomfortable sofa. “I swear, I didn’t think much of it.”

“Bullshit.” Her fingers dug into his legs. “Look, okay? We’re fighting for a better world, but we have to live in the one we’ve got until then.”

“That’s wise,” Sam said with a nod. It was a reaction, but the words stuck around. We do have to live in this world, he thought, even if it’s just for now. “I have a show I watch.”

She slapped the top of his thighs, and her face projected pure joy. “You, what! What is it?!”

“Oh.” He hesitated. “No, no. I just mean, I understand.”

“Nope.” She rested her head against his leg and stared up at him. “Tell me.”

“It’s called… Ellie Misandry.” He tried to adjust himself. The hard wooden crossbeam of the sofa had started to really test his limits. He could swear he had lost feeling in part of his body already.

“Ellie Misandry. So is she…”

“She’s a vampire. She, uh.” He could feel his face go hot. He’d never spoken about Ellie Misandry to anyone that really existed. “She sort of leads a coven of…”

“Covens are of witches.”

“Oh, no… no, covens are a vampire thing, too.”

“No,” she smiled. “Por favor, continúa.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah, um, she leads an all-female… group… of witches… no.” He coughed again. His voice had gone reedy. “She leads an all-female group of vampires. They sort of fight another… group. That’s all men. Like, you know. Topple the patriarchy. They fight for control of the city.”

Lydia giggled. “Oh my god, Samir. Did Virginia prompt this?”

“No…” He closed his eyes and frowned. “Can we please not talk about it?”

“What! Chulo, no no no, me fascina, pleaaaseee.” She sputtered through her giggles. “What city?” She squirmed up from the floor and plopped onto the sofa next to him. “You said they fight for control of the city!”

“New Vampire City.”

“Oh, novio,” she groaned. Her body convulsed with stifled laughter. “Oh, it’s so bad.”

The evening took on a merciful lightness as they cuddled under a duvet and alternated watching each other’s auto-gen television shows, neither of which had ever been seen by another soul. It was more intimate, and more embarrassing, than either of them expected.

“Who is that,” Lydia asked every time a new vampire came on screen in Ellie Misandry, enough times that Aida began having the characters say each other’s names far too often.

“Wait, why is she mad at her,” Sam wondered aloud, as another fight between two characters escalated out of hand during Ruffle Those Feathers.

They slid down the sofa as the night wore on, and each of the shows began to drift into each other’s tastes. Lydia joked they should really get to bed before both programmes became unrecognisable, and Sam agreed.

Sam awoke in Lydia’s tiny bed early the next morning, their backs pressed together, their bodies balanced on their respective edges. He was sure nothing had happened, but part of him still wanted to triple-check. He reached out to grab his Ring from the nightstand, and slid it onto his finger. It took far more force than usual. Sam groaned at the annoyance, which disturbed Lydia, who in turn groaned at being woken up. He opened his palm and saw nothing. In the dim light of the morning he could see it hadn’t even gone half-way down on his finger. Shit, he thought. This is hers, not mine. He shook his hand and the Ring went flying, landing on the floor with a thud.

“¡Ay, güey!” Lydia craned her head back. “The hell?”

“Sorry.” He slipped out of bed and felt suitably dignified as he crawled around on all fours, squinting in the dim light of the morning.

The cork-board was unassuming, just on the floor under the bed amongst the dust, discarded knickers, and dirty socks. Lydia’s Ring had come to a stop just at the edge. As he reached toward it, the contents of the board itself caught a bit of sun. Pinned all over it were blurry photos of himself and his wife.

“What…” Sam muttered as he slid the board toward him. Each photo had their names written underneath–Samir Patel, and Virginia Rose. There was even one of them together, emerging from O’Leary’s Pub in Santa Monica.

“Sam, no, look at me, okay.” Lydia’s head appeared over the edge of the bed, and her voice echoed around his skull. His gaze was fixed on the board, and the photos.

“What… what is all this…” There were dates and times, hand-written notes indicating where each photo had been taken and when, and even a recent one: Sebastian and Samir outside City Hall, the night Sam had tried to get his visitor permit. “I don’t understand.”

“I know, it’s overload.” She was on the floor now next to him. She tried to slide the board back under the bed, but Samir gripped the edge.

“Why have you genned these? But some of these look… real…” The photos had a flatness to them, and a sort of blockiness, a lack of colour and detail that were all telltale signs of an early-era digital photo taken on an antique camera.

“Sam, don’t. Don’t spiral, okay?” He felt her arms wrap around his waist from behind, her chest pressed against his back. “Please just listen,” she whispered into his ear.

He wanted to wrench free of her, to cast her off, shove her to the ground. Anger welled up and spilled everywhere inside him. But outwardly he said nothing, and he stood still. Paralysed, overloaded. Tears streaked down his face.

“It’s important,” she added. “I swear.”

“Why? Why me?” He scanned the wall and checked each photo. None were of Gemma, like the one in the newsletter had been. Was she part of this, too?

“It has nothing to do with you, Sam. I promise.”

“Oh. I don’t understand.”

“It’s about your wife. The group I’m with, Sam, the ones who make The Analog Gazette, it’s so important that we meet her.” Lydia slid around and stood in front of Sam, her hands still wrapped around his waist. Their eyes met as she blocked his view of the wall. “She’s the only one who can help us.”

“Help you what?”

“We’re going to shut down SkyTie. And she’s the only one who can help.”

Sam tried to wriggle away, only to feel Lydia tighten her grip around his waist. Anxiety shot through him as he tried to pick out the most bothersome part of what she’d said. Her head laid against his chest, which heaved faster and faster. “SkyTie,” he said with a clear of his throat. “The Magenta… satellite thing.”

“Yes, SkyTie, the satellite network that powers everything. It’s how Rings talk to each other, let you talk to Aida, dops, digis, everything. It’s how Magenta controls every device they’ve made, how they enforce all their rules.” Lydia squeezed him harder the louder she got. “It’s why you can’t opt out of any of this, Sam.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“It’s true!”

“Even if it is, people like all these things.” Sam realised he lacked the vocabulary to talk about Magenta’s products in detail. It wasn’t something he thought about very much. “You like all of these things!”

“Sam, I know. Just listen.”

“And Virginia and I aren’t even speaking. Even if we were, she’d never agree to help if it involved messing with Magenta. How could she even help? She works on something related to music, I think.”

“Sam, your wife isn’t in the music division. She’s the Vice President of Operations for SkyTie.”

“Oh.” He wondered if she’d ever told him that, or if it’d maybe happened after they separated. “We aren’t in touch. She blocked me.”

“She blocked you?”

“Fully blocked.”

“Wow. Unalived you.”

“Yeah.”

“But listen. You’re our only chance to get close to her, Sam. You were together for a decade. Maybe if she saw you in person. We can try to arrange it.”

“No. I can’t go back.” Sam’s face felt red hot, his mind a jumbled knot of embarrassment. “I can’t.”

Lydia slid her hand on top of his. The sensation overwhelmed him. “Just relax.”

Sam leapt to his feet and backed away from the collage that laid his life bare, and the stranger who had assembled before they’d even met. “No, no.” The numbness crept up his arm. He shimmied out of the way and toward the door. His left hand curled into a fist and he squeezed and pumped, hoping for more blood flow. “No, I have to go. I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“Where will you go?” Lydia sounded so callous, so unsympathetic.

Why wasn’t she worried about how he was reacting, he wondered? It was the final arrow, shot clean through to finish him off. She didn’t care at all, she never had. He raced down the hallway and through the lounge until his back met the door.

“Te necesito aquí ahora.” Lydia shouted into a small device pressed against her ear as she entered the hallway. With a flick of her wrist she snapped it shut. Sam recognised it: it was the same thing she’d been so excited to find in that apartment down in Foster City.

“What was that, what’s happening?” His chest heaved. “It’s too much.” He slapped the door behind him, then the plate next to it, then everywhere in between. “Aida, let me out please. Let me out, let me out!” The door seemed to comply, but as Sam stumbled backwards, he fell straight into the grasp of some unseen person. With a swift look upward he saw Lydia’s friend Hector stood behind him, with a hard grip on his shoulders.

“Sit down,” Lydia instructed as Hector pushed him back inside the apartment. “I promise we all want the same thing.”