Lifer Read Online Free PDF Page B

couches divide the room. Each cubicle holds a different game. In some, the players dance furiously, watching their movements on the screen. Others use real-looking weapons to fight a hologram enemy. Still others tap at a modified keyboard. There’s something for every age and taste. Young, scantily-dressed men and women move through the crowd, exchanging drinks and drugs for a swipe of a credit stick. The bar buzzes with activity even at this early hour.
    In one corner, however, is stillness.
    A young girl, her eyes underlined by black smudges of weary, stares entranced at a simple large screen. I turn to see what is so fascinating. On the screen are rows and rows of different colored rectangles, stacked and arranged in a complicated pattern. I’m drawn to stand and watch, despite the cramps of hunger paining my gut and the woozy sensation in my head that makes the room sway.
    The girl remains unmoving while a large clock in the corner of the screen counts inexorably down. Closer and closer it gets to zero. Ten seconds, nine, eight…I find myself holding my breath, sucked in by the girl’s concentration.
    She leans forward, as though in slow motion.
    Two seconds…one second to go.
    And touches a single green rectangle.
    Nothing happens, and then the rectangles began to tumble, each one loudly smashing into pieces when it hits the bottom of the screen and then disappearing. Until there are only four remaining, each one isolated on the screen. Two purple rectangles, one green and one yellow. A message flashes in neon white across the screen, ‘Sorry, not a winner.’ The girl walks away, her shoulders sagged, her toe kicking the leg of a chair, and leaves the bar.
    “Want to play a game, friend?” A gravelly smoke-filled voice jars me from my game-induced trance.
    I turn toward the man behind the bar. He’s big, hairy, and looking at me. I shrug, trying to hide just how much I want to play, and shove my hands deep in my pockets. “I have no money.”
    The man’s voice warms, becomes almost seductive. “We also deal in credit sticks. My name’s Gan, and this is my place.”
    If he’s sensing a sale he needs to work on his victim. “I have no identification on me, Gan.”
    Not to mention no idea of whether I’ve ever had money. From the ease with which I went into the fight earlier, I suspect I’m not pampered.
    “You have DNA, don’t you?” He jerks his head toward the small screen on the bar.
    I edge closer. ID SCANNER it says in large print across the top. Surely my identity won’t be answered this easily, but it’s worth a try.
    My calf muscles cramp in protest when I finally take a seat at the small terminal. The tension of possible answers tightens every muscle. I exhale and deliberately relax each one. If nothing else, I’m safe from the green robes while in the bar and have a chance to rest my feet.
    I breathe in deeply and almost taste the different foods being carried to waiting customers. Salty, sweet, and spicy. It all smells great to me. I sniff again. There’s something close. Less than an arm’s reach away, there’s a brown, ribbon-like, fried snack dusted with salt in a small white bowl.
    My hand shoots out before my brain finishes registering the food’s proximity. It hovers over the bowl. I look to Gan, silently asking permission.
    “Potato skins are complimentary for valued customers,” he explains, baring his teeth in what might be a smile.
    “And water?” I ask casually, eyeing the slightly murky liquid in a jug.
    He pours me a glass. My hands don’t betray the shakiness inside as I pick it up. I sip slowly. The bitter liquid wets my tongue and slides a relieving trail down my throat. I close my eyes to savor it. And then remember my audience. I take a gulp and slide the glass away. Only someone desperate would drink any more.
    Now for food. With my mouth watering, I take a potato skin, place it in my mouth, and chew slowly. The greasy flavor makes my stomach heave but I manage