Three Guys in a Post-Apocalyptic Bar: Predictable Paths, #4

By Blade Cort

Three Guys in a Post-Apocalyptic Bar [#postapocalyptic #dystopian #sciencefiction] - A Longevity / Age Engineering and Genetic Engineering Science Fiction Novella by Blade Cort; Book 4 of 8 in the Predictable Paths series

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It's 2054, 17 years after the Great Debacle that killed billions. Long-time high school wrestling buddies Sam and Ross sit in their favorite bar, embroiled in a pointless discussion about the new anti-aging treatments being offered to extend life for hundreds of years.
Sam says it's foolish to even consider these therapies given the abysmal state of their post-Debacle world and the chaos they both endured in the last few decades. Ross, however, is intrigued by the idea and longs for the chance to experience a longer life span. 
Suddenly, a stranger joins them, and they can't help but suspect that he may be an undercover thug sent to hunt down radical types who denigrate the budding oligarch-controlled state. The trio continues the conversation with derision and cussing, debating both sides of longevity technology and its impacts on human society. 
Will Sam and Ross get red-flagged for their radical views, and can anything useful arise from all the squabbling? Probably not – but you never know.

 

PREDICTABLE PATHS episodes, in sequential order:

#1. AGENESS - A Longevity / Age Engineering Science Fiction Play on Our Imminent Ageless Dystopia ; Six Acts, Episodes -22 to -17

#2. CLIMATIC - A Climate and Genetic Engineering Science Fiction Novel; Episodes -16 to -2

#3. AMYGDALA HIJACK - A Genetic Engineering Sci-Fi Novel of Impending Dystopia (a Trilogy) 

  3.1 - Amygdala Hijack - The Waening, Part 1 of 3; Episodes 1 - 9

  3.2 - Amygdala Hijack - The Warning, Part 2 of 3; Episodes 10 - 18

  3.3 - Amygdala Hijack - The Wasting, Part 3 of 3; Episodes 19 - 28

#4. THREE GUYS IN A POST-APOCALYPTIC BAR - A Longevity / Age Engineering and Genetic Engineering Sci-Fi Novella ; Episodes 47 - 54

#5. INFINITY CURVE - Lamentations to Unseen Friends Across the Vastness of Space ; Episodes 56 - 78

#6. PATH TO ENTROPY - An Apocalyptic Climax ; Episodes 79 - 93

#7. SORD IN PROSPERITY - Hope Beyond the Apocalypse ; Episodes 118 - 159

#8 . DAISY THE DUMPSTER DOG - A Sordid Tale of Dystopian Hubris and Convenient Canine Rationalizations (But Not a Supreme Court Satire or Parody) ; Episodes 311 - 337

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blade Cort
• Release date: Sep 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201028053

Blade Cort

Blade Cort writes Age Engineering and Longevity Science Fiction as well as Genetic Engineering Science Fiction novels and plays that are mercilessly littered with pedantic discourse, pointless diatribes, and persistent droning about humanity's pervasive derelictions. The pulp drivel exhumed from his keyboard is as terrifying and graceless as overcooked cafeteria peas. Visit https://www.bladecort.com.

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THREE GUYS IN A POST-APOCALYPTIC BAR

Copyright © 2021 by Blade Cort

All rights reserved. No part of this publication or any elements from it may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying; recording; digitization or tokenization of characters, scenes, or any other components; or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Permission requests should be provided electronically to the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, dialog, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is coincidental. References to any products or services are not an endorsement and are only intended to develop storyline and context.

First Edition September 2021

THREE GUYS IN A POST-APOCALYPTIC BAR

A LONGEVITY / AGE ENGINEERING AND GENETIC ENGINEERING SCI-FI NOVELLA

EPISODE 47 – TOSSER

HEY, DIPSHIT. SAM BELLOWED his usual greeting as he walked up to his old friend who was sitting quietly in their well-used, dark corner booth at the bar. What’s got your puerile mind in a tizzy today?

Ross shifted his eyes upward, barely acknowledging Sam’s arrival. You overgrown son-of-a-bitch, why do you always assume I’m in a sour mood? And where do you come up with ‘puerile’ in your vocab? You must be doing those crosswords again.

Sam chortled as he slid across the booth’s red leather bench seat to face Ross head-on. He rested his arms on its thick wooden table, stained and scratched from years of abuse. So what if I’m doing crosswords? You let your mind fritter away on useless shit. At least I stay sharp and witty. And I asked because you’re always complaining about some no good this or that. It’s what makes you one of God’s angriest beings on the planet.

You love the fact that I’m even more cynical than you, knobhead.

Sam ignored his retort and raised his hand to catch the eye of the bartender. Hey Lina! he yelled. Can’t y’all hear me with your mechanized ears there? Girl! Lady! How about the usual draught for this thirsty stud over here?

Accustomed to Sam’s persnickety attitude through the years, she shrugged at his request and continued fiddling with the chip reader at the bar’s long oak counter.

Christ! he exclaimed. You can’t get good help these days, not even with all the fucking advanced robotics these varints sport. Please, God, find me one decent robot without his head up his mechanical ass, and I’d replace the lot of these varint quasi-humans with him.

I heard that, and it wouldn’t be a him, Lina countered, knowing Sam was toying with her.

You sure as shit should have heard me given those magical ears of yours, girl.

She disregarded his comment. Lina, a short, stocky, middle-aged woman of Mediterranean descent, was one of those varints, being among the first in her town to have aural implants installed. They were still working well thanks to her origins in a large, wealthy family who could afford the best varint tech. They were wealthy, at least, until the Great Debacle of 2037 when everyone in her immediate family perished.

The verbal jousting halted when an alert shot across the three vidscreens positioned at various corners of the bar. A football game had been playing in the background, and the volume was at a whisper.

Shhh! Lina demanded. I want to hear what he has to say.

I was hardly even fucking breathing, Lina, Sam complained. You’d think I’d get yellow-flagged for opening my mouth.

She stared at the vidscreen and shouted commands at it to turn up the volume. Your mouth should be yellow-flagged, if not red-flagged, my boy.

Sam’s chest swelled. Oh, baby, I’m no boy by any means. Glad to prove it again to you at any moment, even if you are part varint.

Been there, done that, don’t care, old hat. And she had been there, too many disappointing times.

Whatever, Sam replied, waving her off. He frowned at Ross across the table and shrugged his shoulders sheepishly, then sighed, She had me, she didn’t like me, and I wasn’t too pleased either. Swore off these varint chicks after Lina. Too damned demanding, expecting me to comprehend the crap they know and be worldly like them. Then I’m supposed to perform acrobatic stunts in the sack like a super human. Hell, I’m just a dude. A big, one hundred percent human dude with some particular skills and talents when it comes to women. I don’t care about their public interest and social networks shit worth a damn, however. All these varint chicks seem to care about is their connections to their fucking etherworlds, even during the righteous act. Aren’t I right?

Ross drew his hands behind his head and leaned backward, resting against the splintered pine on the booth wall behind him. Sam, he smirked, you might actually get some lady to remain with you for more than a night if you’d quit joking around and be serious with one of them for a minute each day. Oh, and it would help to stop mentioning your alleged prowess in every sentence with them.

Yeah, he huffed, nothing alleged about that. And you defend them because you don’t mind dipping your stick among those varint dames. You know it’s true, even when you two or three or whatever number are off getting your jollies. While that’s happening, your varint broads are probably in some la-la land fantasy metaverse, unaware your tiny twig is diddling them.

I’m not into multi-participant activity, Sam. You know that.

Well, he smiled wryly, you should try it some time.

One at a time’s enough for this guy.

Tosser, Sam spat.

Would you two be quiet? Lina begged. I’m trying to disregard your detestable schoolboy sexual banter and actually listen to this alert.

Oh, you love the banter, just like I love you, Sam claimed.

Passive aggressive, Sam; doesn’t fly with me, she cautioned.

Hey, it’s a lot more interesting than listening to that excuse for an oligarch you’re watching on the screens there. And you can turn it down since we could give a shit about what that jerk says about anything. It’s only a computer-generated crap version of the dude, anyway, and not the real scumbag speaking. He’s probably not even real himself and is instead some AI synthetic creation. So what does it matter to you?

Uh, Sam, Ross warned, it’s not that wise to joke about our new, beloved leader or government, even in this place.

Oh, don’t give me that. We’re the only people in this stinking hellhole of a tavern, and like I care if I get yellow or red-flagged at this stage of my life. What would they do to an aging mechanic who’s burned the candle at both ends for too long and is within spitting distance to the end of his days? Assign me to a reconditioning camp? Slap me with a fine? I could give a shit worth two pence.

Ross rolled his eyes and said nothing. He stared at his old friend, thinking how time had changed his good looks but only hardened his innate crudeness. He envied Sam for some things he never had, like his six foot height, a rugged, sculpted face, and leathery, tanned skin. That all came naturally to his friend a few years after high school.

Sam was his wrestling partner from freshman through senior years, and they shifted their lower weight classes up or down to avoid competing against each other for varsity spots. He got his growth spurt immediately after graduating, while Ross was off in college.

At sixty-three, Ross was still at his