Read Lifer for Free Online
Authors: Beck Nicholas
to swallow it. Food at last.
With my hunger stoked, I follow the barman’s direction and place my hand, palm down, on a plastic pad connected to the terminal. I press the ‘sample’ button, and feel a strangely familiar scrape across my little finger.
I don’t even have time to hold my breath. A face appears on the screen. My face, but not the one I saw in the water’s reflection. This boy looks younger than the one I saw earlier. His hair is longer, the brown strands spiking up at odd angles and his cheeks a little more plump. He’s not smiling, I guess he’s suffering through the picture, but there’s a carefree shine to his brown eyes.
White-hot envy snakes through my chest. Who was that boy? What happened to me?
The hunger to know engulfs my physical need for sustenance. I search for more on the screen. A name. Something to answer the questions that have been building in my mind. Where the name should be is blank.
“Blank, eh?” says Gan with a smirk. “Catchy name.”
“It’s the one my dear mother gave me,” I retort. “It’s been in our family for generations.” I skim the rest of the ID report. I’m seventeen years old and the medical scan pronounces me free of disease.
The last known address is as blank as my name. Only one other field has an entry. Where my credit history should be, there’s only one deposit listed. A large one. I have no real feel for what the number means, but I’m guessing from the way Gan is looking at me like we’re long lost friends that I can afford a game or two. I act unsurprised.
His hand comes down on my shoulder. “We print credit sticks here, Blank my friend, but there’s a small fee. And of course I ask no questions.”
Small? He names a figure and I half-heartedly haggle him down, assuming he’s trying to rip me off. His lack of surprise at my lack of information is, in itself, telling.
I clear my throat. “What about the authorities?”
He glances around. “People without a history would be wise not to attract attention. The people in charge around here don’t take much convincing to match a stranger with a crime, if you know what I mean.” He turns away to deal with another customer.
He might be biased but what he said goes with my gut: I have to find answers myself.
I stare at the boy on the screen while the credit stick is processed. I’m looking for any details in his face and the edge of black t-shirt he wears that might help me work out who I am.
There’s nothing.
“Blank,” Gan calls from behind the bar.
I look up. He’s sniggering to himself. I’m glad my name amuses somebody. “What?”
“Your credit stick’s ready.”
“Thanks.” I take it from his pudgy fingers, tugging a little to get it free.
“Now, what can I get you? Food, games, accommodation.” His voice drops to creepy. “Drugs, girls.” As he speaks, he flicks off the terminal screen, taking away any hope of spotting something useful.
“Food and drink, first.” I choose a hearty-looking meat and vegetable stew and bottled water from the menu, and then wander back toward the rectangle game while I wait for my food to be served.
No one’s playing and it’s only ten credits.
I glance back toward the bar, but my order isn’t ready. One game. I’ll play one game. It will use up time and give me a break from all the unknowns begging for attention in my head. Ten credits will hardly make a dent in my credit stick. I swipe it in the slot and authorize the purchase.
I take a moment to scan the instructions. As suspected, the aim is to smash all of the colored rectangles, referred to as bricks, by removing just one and triggering a chain reaction. The first level holds six bricks and takes less than six seconds to solve.
As I progress through the levels it becomes increasingly difficult. If I ignore the clock and concentrate, I discover a pattern in the apparently random bricks. From there it’s easy to solve. While I think back over what I could have
With my hunger stoked, I follow the barman’s direction and place my hand, palm down, on a plastic pad connected to the terminal. I press the ‘sample’ button, and feel a strangely familiar scrape across my little finger.
I don’t even have time to hold my breath. A face appears on the screen. My face, but not the one I saw in the water’s reflection. This boy looks younger than the one I saw earlier. His hair is longer, the brown strands spiking up at odd angles and his cheeks a little more plump. He’s not smiling, I guess he’s suffering through the picture, but there’s a carefree shine to his brown eyes.
White-hot envy snakes through my chest. Who was that boy? What happened to me?
The hunger to know engulfs my physical need for sustenance. I search for more on the screen. A name. Something to answer the questions that have been building in my mind. Where the name should be is blank.
“Blank, eh?” says Gan with a smirk. “Catchy name.”
“It’s the one my dear mother gave me,” I retort. “It’s been in our family for generations.” I skim the rest of the ID report. I’m seventeen years old and the medical scan pronounces me free of disease.
The last known address is as blank as my name. Only one other field has an entry. Where my credit history should be, there’s only one deposit listed. A large one. I have no real feel for what the number means, but I’m guessing from the way Gan is looking at me like we’re long lost friends that I can afford a game or two. I act unsurprised.
His hand comes down on my shoulder. “We print credit sticks here, Blank my friend, but there’s a small fee. And of course I ask no questions.”
Small? He names a figure and I half-heartedly haggle him down, assuming he’s trying to rip me off. His lack of surprise at my lack of information is, in itself, telling.
I clear my throat. “What about the authorities?”
He glances around. “People without a history would be wise not to attract attention. The people in charge around here don’t take much convincing to match a stranger with a crime, if you know what I mean.” He turns away to deal with another customer.
He might be biased but what he said goes with my gut: I have to find answers myself.
I stare at the boy on the screen while the credit stick is processed. I’m looking for any details in his face and the edge of black t-shirt he wears that might help me work out who I am.
There’s nothing.
“Blank,” Gan calls from behind the bar.
I look up. He’s sniggering to himself. I’m glad my name amuses somebody. “What?”
“Your credit stick’s ready.”
“Thanks.” I take it from his pudgy fingers, tugging a little to get it free.
“Now, what can I get you? Food, games, accommodation.” His voice drops to creepy. “Drugs, girls.” As he speaks, he flicks off the terminal screen, taking away any hope of spotting something useful.
“Food and drink, first.” I choose a hearty-looking meat and vegetable stew and bottled water from the menu, and then wander back toward the rectangle game while I wait for my food to be served.
No one’s playing and it’s only ten credits.
I glance back toward the bar, but my order isn’t ready. One game. I’ll play one game. It will use up time and give me a break from all the unknowns begging for attention in my head. Ten credits will hardly make a dent in my credit stick. I swipe it in the slot and authorize the purchase.
I take a moment to scan the instructions. As suspected, the aim is to smash all of the colored rectangles, referred to as bricks, by removing just one and triggering a chain reaction. The first level holds six bricks and takes less than six seconds to solve.
As I progress through the levels it becomes increasingly difficult. If I ignore the clock and concentrate, I discover a pattern in the apparently random bricks. From there it’s easy to solve. While I think back over what I could have