Carnal Cruises

On the other side of the flatbed, Cam flashed a hand count: 3, 2, 1.

Dexter Quinn clenched the lifting strap, his grip nearly peeling open as he straightened his legs and lifted his end of the 20-foot section of insulated carbon fiber piping. They shimmy-stepped forward and paused. Looking over his shoulder, through his fogging visor, he could barely see Cam nodding. He nodded back. Together, they executed a synchronized clean and jerk, swinging the pipe overhead and moving forward to rest it on the temporary supports.

Dex groaned as he leaned forward, digging his hands into the small of his back. The sweat pooling in his hair spilled down his forehead and stung his eyes. He reached up to wipe them, but his hand just smacked against hard plastic. Fuck, I hate this job, he thought.

Above, fifty million people lived their lives in Pacifica Prime, a hyper-dense, 15-minute smart city. Most of them had no idea this place existed, and even fewer would ever see it. A dark, unventilated dungeon of server banks, high-voltage lines, sewage, and industrial waste. The vascular system of the entire city.

A flicker of static hissed on his comms, but the interference was too strong in this sector. Then, a strobing light caught his eye through the fogged lens as Cam signaled him with an emergency LED flare. Technically, it was an emergency-use-only safety tool, but in reality, it was one of the most effective ways to communicate down here in the Grotto. Cam was impatiently waiting for him to finish applying the nano-resin and securing the joint collar so they could finish the repair. It didn’t take long to secure both ends. He flashed a thumbs-up, and Cam twisted open the shut-off valve. The soft whoosh of the initial flow washed by. District 107’s gray water system was officially back online. Dex shuddered, thinking about the repair. A gash in the gray water runoff pipe wouldn’t usually be a rush job, but with raw sewage dripping in from the line above, it was a critical fix. The whole thing made his stomach turn. 

On the main freight line behind them, a heavy-duty track cart rattled past, hauling spooled fiber toward the west junctions. The vibration rippled up through the concrete, past his knees, and right into his aching back.

Three minutes passed. No leaks. Repair successful. Time to get the hell out of here, he thought.

He turned to the wall console, entered the work order, and updated the status to complete. Finally, he keyed in the flatbed ID number and its return location. A warning popped up: AUTOMATED RETURN IN 03:17. CONFIRM? He pressed ‘Y’, and the running lights along the flatbed flicked on, dimming from hazard red to standard green.

Cam walked up behind him and gave him a heavy pat on the back, making sure to press extra firm and rub it in extra long.

“Goddammit, Cam!” Dex shouted. They were close enough now that Cam could hear him through the protective suits.

Cam laughed, a muffled sound through the plastic, and hopped onto the flatbed. “I know how much you love that.”

Dex shook his head, climbing up after him. “You’re a real prick.”

As he sat down, the graphene polycomposite inner layer of his suit clung to his sweat-soaked back like glue.

#

The decontamination cycle was five minutes of chemical sprays and hot air blasts that added insult to injury. By the time the pressurized door hissed open, Dexter nearly fainted.

He unzipped his suit to the waist, peeling the graphene weave away from his back and letting the cool air rush in. The locker room smelled like dirty feet and garlic sausage, but it was still better than spending one more second in that suit.

Dex breathed a sigh of relief. “Last fucking shift.”

“You’re actually going through with it?” Cam asked, plopping onto the bench next to him.

“Yeah, man, I’ve been saving up all year for this trip.”

“So where you going?”

Dex hesitated before leaning over and whispering, “Carnal Cruises.”

“You dirty bird,” Cam gasped.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“No, but seriously, Dex, you should be careful. A buddy of mine, his wife works in the coroner’s office. Says they get at least one case a week where some poor schmuck has his brain melted out of his skull in those sleazy black-market joints.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Dex gave him a shove.

“You think so, huh?” Cam grinned. “Val, can you turn that up?” He motioned to the TV panel mounted over the lockers.

Val stood on the bench, reaching up to swipe the volume slider. A local talk show panel was already in full swing.

“Everyone’s had a terrible vacation, am I right?” the host laughed. “But there are bad trips, and then there are bad trips. Our next guest planned her dream vacation with the Protectorate’s premier virtual provider, Liminal Dreams. But what she got instead was a living nightmare.”

“This one gives me the creeps,” his co-host jumped in. “Imagine lying back expecting a refreshing beach vacation, but instead you’re being hunted by a serial killer in a multi-day lucid dream you can’t turn off.”

“That’s gonna be you next week.” Cam shoved him back.

“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to psych me out. But it’s not going to work.”

“He’s not wrong, Dex. Think about it,” Val said, reaching up to change the channel. “Liminal Dreams is the top licensed outfit in the city, and even they get it wrong. What do you think happens if shit goes sideways at one of the unaccredited back-alley dives? It’s not like they’re going to report it to the health authority.”

“Yeah, Dex. They’ll just dump you in some dumpster, and by the time anyone finds you, they’ll need to scoop your brains out with a soup ladle.”

“Fuck both of you,” Dex said, shoving his protective suit into the auto-cleaner as he headed into the showers to wash the rest of the day off.

#

The LED strips barely lit his micro-apartment when Dexter got home. He’d set the default power profile to low to save enough carbon allowance for his trip. Even the exterior smart-glass wall stayed powered down, leaving only a matte gray rectangle that seemed to absorb the light. Licensed skyline views were too much of a luxury this month.

Standing at the narrow kitchen counter, he choked down his daily calorie allotment of bland insect paste and reached for a bottle of Dasani Fresh Water. It was the one luxury he allowed himself. He just couldn’t stomach the idea of recycled gray water beverages.

The micro-display on the wall fridge played the evening news. UNN anchor Graham Robertson was talking over another grainy image of a police cordon in the Sprawl. It had been the same story every day this week. 

“Protectorate officials have yet to comment on whether the grisly discovery of another severed limb recovered near East Junction is connected to the previous three victims,” the low-bitrate audio crackled. “Medical examiners note the clean, almost surgical nature of the amputations…”

Dex tapped the interface, killing the feed. He’d spent all year skimping and saving for tomorrow’s trip. The last thing he wanted was to think about leaky pipes or severed limbs. Tonight, he was going to take a sleep aid and get a good night’s rest before heading to paradise.

Morning came after another fitful sleep. Sometimes he thought the only thing the sleep aids did was make the dreams worse.

The auto-taxi ride was quiet, but Dex was a bundle of nerves. This was his first trip, virtual or otherwise. He’d never even been out of the city. He pressed his forehead against the glass as the vertical towers faded behind them. His pulse quickened as he realized he’d never been this deep into the Sprawl before. Straining to look upwards, he realized how much he missed the sky.

The taxi’s dash screen churned through targeted ads before cutting to a public safety warning, advising citizens to avoid traveling through unmonitored sectors after dark. Dex ignored it, watching the rust and grime roll past until a flickering marquee caught his eye: CARNAL CRUISES: A HOLIDAY XXXTRAVEGANZA.

Whatever butcher was carving people up in the alleys had nothing to do with him. He had three days of simulated bliss waiting. Besides, who would ever mess with a Consortium-run joint? That’d be suicide.

The cab came to a stop, and the automated voice chirped, “Payment received. Thank you for choosing RoboRoute.”

#

Inside, the place smelled like an air-conditioning unit that hadn’t been cleaned in decades. A greasy-faced salesman with a predatory grin waved Dexter over.

“Pick your poison, friend,” he said, sliding a laminated menu across the desk, its edges curled and peeling.

Dex tried to ignore the man’s large yellow pit stains and the moist, sour smell that came with them. He flipped through pages of synthetic beaches, palm trees, and buxom women, but embarrassment kept him from speaking up. His eyes must have lingered a little too long, though.

“Ahh, the Lunar Lust XXXperience. That one’s real popular with you Grotto fellas. Guess it makes sense. Trapped down in those claustrophobic tunnels all day, why wouldn’t the mind crave open space?” He reached out and pulled the menu back. “Let me just queue it up and prep the system. You want Earth gravity or actual lunar gravity?”

Dex scratched his head. “I don’t know. What do you suggest?”

“First run? Go with Earth gravity. One less thing for your mind to fight while you’re in there.”

“Sure. And… About the women… do they look--”

“Honestly, the brochures don’t do them justice,” the salesman interrupted, entering the selection into the system. “The simulation uses eye-tracking and biometric feedback to give you more of what you like. You don’t have to explain a thing. The system extrapolates it from your body’s own reactions, pulse, body temp, arousal patterns.”

“That’s wild.”

“Pretty groovy what the code nerds can do.” He slid a ProtectoratePay terminal across the desk.

Dex hesitated. “I thought this place was off-grid.”

The salesman smirked. “Don’t sweat your clearance, friend. The charge gets bounced through a daisy-chain of dummy vendors over the next three days while you’re under. The network won’t even flag you as missing.”

“No traces?”

“Nobody will ever know you walked through that door.” The salesman tapped the pay terminal.

Dex took a slow breath before tapping his wrist on the sensor, wincing at the celebratory chime followed by the hollow whoosh of a year’s worth of savings being sucked out of his account.

The salesman stood and pointed toward a door in the back. “Pleasure doing business with you. First cubicle on your left. The nurse will be right with you.”

#

Dexter felt awkward slipping on the paper-thin gown. “Is this really necessary?”

“Very,” the nurse said without looking up from her tablet.

“Sorry if this is a dumb question, but if this is a virtual experience, why does it take three actual days?”

“Because it’s virtual,” she responded. Dex just stared at her, blinking, until she sighed. “This isn’t an implanted memory. It’s a real-time enhanced neural simulation. Your mind processes everything as it happens. Since you’re sedated the entire time, we can dial back the mundane downtime by skipping sleep cycles and dead space. That’s why your three-day package feels like a week-long vacation.”

“Will the sedatives show up on a work piss test?”

“I’m always shocked at how many people ask that. You really should do your homework before you climb into the rig.”

Dex just blinked at her again, waiting.

She exhaled sharply. “It’s the same pharmaceutical grade used in every medical clinic across the Protectorate. It metabolizes fast, and even if there’s a trace amount left behind, it’s not on any banned substance lists. You’re fine.”

She led him through a set of doors into a rear chamber wrapped in high-density acoustic foam that looked almost like tiny fingers reaching out. The air was frigid, and the scent of industrial-grade antiseptic burned his throat.

In the center of the room sat the machine.

It looked like a metallic cocoon with dark, segmented, curved plates folded against each other like an alien armadillo.

“Jesus,” Dex muttered, stopping in his tracks. “What is that?”

The nurse laughed. “Everybody says that. Makes more sense once you realize what it’s doing. People are in these rigs for three days, sometimes longer. It handles medication injections, intravenous feeding, and even comes equipped with massaging sleeves to ensure your circulation isn’t cut off. And then there is waste management.”

“Ah. Hence, the antiseptic?”

“Yes, hence the antiseptic.” She nodded. “Despite our accreditation status, this machine is top of the line. Climate-controlled, fully sealed, and locked to your real-time biometrics. Most regulars come out feeling better than they have in years.” She pressed a flashing button, and the segmented panels hissed back, revealing a contoured zero-g seat. “I’ll step outside while you get settled. Hit the green button on the armrest to lower the skirt.”

“Skirt?”

She tapped a control, and a heavy, curved metal plate glided down over the lower half of the chair.

“Skirt. Got it.” Dex climbed into the chair, the rubber squeaking beneath him. A pulsing green button on the right armrest caught his eye. He pressed it, and the heavy metal skirt glided down, locking firmly over his lap and pinning his legs. “Feels like strapping into a Gundam,” he muttered to the empty room.

He grabbed the suspended VR visor and pulled it down until the rubber gasket sealed around his eyes. The button on the armrest was now glowing solid green, the only light left in the dark.

Hydraulics hissed as plates folded shut, completely silencing the natural room tone until all he could hear was his own breath and the thud of his pulse.

The nurse’s voice came through the speaker. “Dexter, dear, try to relax. Your baseline is looking a little frazzled. Just breathe.”

Dex gasped, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath.

“Deep breaths,” she instructed. “When you’re feeling calm, hit that green button one more time.”

“What if I can’t go through with this?” Dex’s voice trembled.

“Your call. We cycle it down and you’re on your way. Just remember, you’re only eligible for a fifty percent refund due to the deposit and booking fees.”

Dex grit his teeth. “No. I’m fine. Let’s do it.”

“Good. The auto-injectors engage once you hit the button. That’s the point of no return. I’ll count down from ten. Most folks are out by five.”

“There’s no going back now,” he whispered. And with that, he pressed the button.

A sharp sting bit into the side of his neck, followed by a dull ache in his forearm. Dex flinched, gripping the armrests.

“Ten,” her voice called out over the speaker. 

“Nine.”

“I don’t… I don’t feel sleepy,” Dex said, his pulse hammering in his ears. “My hand… hey, my hand feels cold.”

“That’s normal. Just breathe. Eight.”

“No, wait,” Dex said, his fingers twitching against the armrest. He rubbed his index finger against his thumb. It felt wet. “Something’s wrong. My hand is wet. Something’s leaking!”

“Seven.”

“I’m serious! It’s slippery. Is that blood? Is the line leaking? Can somebody check?” Panic surged through his chest like a shot of adrenaline. “This doesn’t feel right. I made a mistake.”

“Mr. Quinn, you have to calm down. Six.”

“I can’t feel my legs!”

“Five.”

“Wait, please!” Sweat pooled under his back.

“Four.”

“I’m still awake! Stop the machine! I wasn’t ready!”

“Three.”

“This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening!” Dex screamed into the dark, his voice cracking with pure terror.

“Two.”

“Please—”

#

Darkness.

Dexter’s head was pounding. He opened his eyes, but they felt impossibly heavy and refused to focus. Everything was upside down. It took a moment to realize he was slumped forward, forehead pressed against the floor.

In the distance was a shape he couldn’t yet make out, accompanied by the muffled sound of someone sobbing.

With a heave, he pushed himself up, palms sliding through something warm and milky. He sat upright, his vision returning in bits and pieces. The room was dark, bathed in an eerie crimson glow.

A woman on her back was frantic, kicking and dragging herself away from him across the floor, leaving a thick dark smear in her wake.

“No. No, please, no more,” she whimpered.

On the floor between them rested a severed leg. Dex looked down in a rush of panic, checking his own limbs, but both of his legs were intact. It wasn’t his. And it wasn’t hers.

He tried to stand, but his boots slipped on the slick tiles. The woman had reached the corner and was now cowering in a ball, her arms shielding her head. Beside her, a man with a missing leg lay motionless.

Dex moved toward her. “What’s going on?”

She shrieked, pressing herself flat against the wall. “Leave me alone! Why are you doing this?!”

Several fingers had been hacked clean off her left hand. Dex raised his own hands to show he meant no harm, but froze.

Clenched in his right fist was a heavy butcher’s blade, coated in a thick slurry of gore.

The woman sobbed hysterically.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he stammered, letting the knife clatter to the floor. “I just need to know what’s happening. Who did this?”

Her scream tore through the room with enough fury to drop him to his knees.

“You did!”