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14 • September 4 - 10, 2014 • Tolosa PressLifestyleNIGHTWRITERSChapter 1: Brain JuicerJanuary 1, 2079By Shruti Maniarneeded the Artificial Intelligence Botlike I needed air. Yearning for its sweetcure to make me forget. Because here,n the rat race of Los Angeles, sadness was aiability. Questions, a threat. I needed themumbed out. Now.The final ramp down the freeway took meo warehouses and run-down apartments.evel 0. Nothing grew here. Sewage bubbledut sewer holes whose covers had long beentolen for scrap metal. People eyed my Musang.They could move up nine or ten levelsf they stole it from me. I had to keep drivng.Children rolled each other in old tires. Iwerved around a pack of mangy dogs lyingn the street.Everyone down here went about theirives with one hand. They killed rodents withne hand and scraped them into a meal withhat one hand. The other hand held a cheapxygen inhaler pressed to their mouths at allimes, twenty years obsolete to the modelsn the market now. The incapacitated linedhe sidewalks on their torn lawn chairs, starngwith cataract eyes up at the freeway thated to the light. There was no telling how oldhey were. At ground zero, decay walked unbashed.I snorted two cartridges of compressedxygen. Four hour supply of air. If the dealent well, I›d only use up half an hour inhis pit. My hands shook. I rolled down theindow.“A.I. Bot? Japanese M350?” I called out.I only cracked the window an inch, in casehe dealer had any idea of knifing me. Heucked in a labored breath, slipped me theackage, and then shifted his bloodshot gazeoward the fringe of the black light district.id he really think the neon-clad women,rowling for clientele, were agents? Thatcops would burst out of the abandonedbuildings? Maybe. For kicks. But frankly, thescum on Level 0 - and anyone dumb enoughlike me to descend to it - could finish themselvesoff. The upper city could rid itself of asocial train wreck. It’d be organic. Natural.Being green.The guy rapped on my window—time’s up.“I’ll take it.” I pushed out a thick stack ofbills, seven grand in total, and let go onlywhen he shoved a small pouch into the carcontaining a blue pill and a coding sequence.I punched it in. The Bot’s red light camealive. A shaky breath rattled my parchedthroat—I had never taken drugs before.Outside, the dealer rubbed each notethrough his dry, cracked fingers. “Listen up,kid,” he started.“I’m not a kid. I’m sixteen.”He raised one eyebrow at me. “Whatever.When the Bot goes nuts on you a year fromnow, and believe me, you›ll know it, swallowthe blue pill within ten minutes, or else.”He stuffed the money into his pants andwalked away.“Else what?” I shouted after him.“Else ‘bye-bye world’,” he replied. “TheBot’ll pulp your brain till it’s all a smoothiein there.”“Wait!” I pulled the car into ‘Drive’ andcaught up with him.“What’re you doin’?” he hissed at me.“How many times can I have one in me?Before I turn into a vegetable?”“Scram.”“Tell me.” My voice came out level, theway it always did once I made up my mind.“Max twenty-five, if you have someonedoin’ it for you. In fifteen, you’ll be too friedto blow your own nose.”My eighteenth birthday—when I couldleave home and never come back—was anothertwo years away. This Bot wouldn’thold me that long. “Sell me another. I cancome back in an hour with the money.”He narrowed his eyes, gazing at my face ina way that made my skin crawl.“You got that much dough, kid?”No, but Mom’s bank account did. Andas I discovered freshman year, the ATMscouldn’t tell our fingerprints apart for somereason.“I’ll get the money. Where can I meetyou?”He scratched at his filthy shirt. “I workthree jobs,” he muttered, “just to get oxy cartridgesand keep a tin roof over my family.And you got enough money to blow on twoBots in one night?”My hand shot to the controls, shutting theremaining inch of the window and doublecheckingthe locks.A loud thud emanated as his fist punchedthe glass pane. “I don’t come by nothin’as easy as life comes to you,” he shouted.“Shop’s closed. Now get outta my face.”Shruti Maniar is in the midst of writinga YA fantasy and children’s series. She willalso be starting a blog called GlowHot, featuringpeople that inspire with their gratefulspirit and vivaciousness. Shruti is amember of SLO NightWriters, the PremierWriting Organization on the Central Coastsince 1988.Eligible for a30%Federal Tax CreditReceive an average of$850 with federaltax credit eligiblityChet’s TubularSkylightsNew Skylight & SunTunnel InstallationReplace & Repair ExistingSkylightsVelux Skylights –Engineered Not to LeakNo Matter How Severethe Weather800.824.3877805.528.1801Licensed Roofing Contractor # 448726We’re with you from start...It’s Time to Call Us.Professionally InstalledNo Messy Tear-Outs15% OFF$25 TRADE-INFREE ESTIMATEAND DEMO!772-5080www.centralcoastglass.comServing All of Your Glass NeedsContractor #559121...to finish.(805)544-LAWN