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THE THREE OF CLUBS
Series / Short Story
Created 9-18-2003 by Jay Manaloto
Based on "The Newcomer" and
"The Fall of Water" fiction-experiments
Based on concepts by Larry & Andy Wachowski
Author's Note - This story takes place circa 100 A.Z.,
about 10 years after "The Sunset," and within one
year before Morpheus finds Neo in the Matrix. --Jay
* 1 *
"No... No... AAAHHH!" Cyberreyn screamed herself awake.
Her plunging and tumbling and gusting nightmare had gone.
From her bunk, she quickly recognized the solid metal door, the patches of rust along the walls and ceiling, the paths of bolts along the joints
and plates. She was still in her quarters, onboard the hundred-year-old hovercraft 'Nosferatu,' the hum of
its hover-pod engines reminding her she was no longer in the Matrix.
This was no longer a dream.
Giving up on going back to sleep, she pulled the tattered dark-gray rags over her petite socket-spotted figure, and with a yawn, headed to the
kitchen, or mess hall, or whatever the crew called it.
"Hi, Cy," welcomed the scruffy wild-haired junior operator. Scratching his new beard, he couldn't help but notice Cyberreyn's blood-shot blue-gray
eyes, disheveled short black hair, and drooping posture.
Cyberreyn breathed weakly, "Hey, Flicker."
"Bad dream?"
"Something like that."
"Here," Flicker replied, "you can have the rest of my soup." In his dirty fingerless-glove, he held out his
half-finished tin can of synthesized proteins, minerals, and whatever else that was supposed to be.
"Don't you mean 'goop'?" She scrunched up her small face and shivered in revulsion at the slimy puddle sloshing around in that can.
"Suit yourself." With a shrug, he slurped another spoonful of gooey nutrition.
A vacant pause filled the stark mess hall, accompanied only by the rattling hum of the engines and the clinking echo of spoon and can.
He eyed her during another yawn.
Then Flicker ventured, "Care to talk about it?"
Cyberreyn started to open her mouth, caught herself, then started again softly, "Have you seen the fields?"
He took another spoonful of goo.
"You mean the human fields?" Flicker glanced at her, and scratched the back of his socketless neck. "Yeah... Well, actually, no, not in person...
Thankfully... Why?"
"I still get the nightmares."
"Hmmm," he slurped, then added, "How long has it been? A week?"
"Two."
"Well, don't worry." Flicker left the spoon in his near-finished tin can. "They'll pass."
"That's what everyone says."
"There you go," Flicker said. He stood up from his stool, walked over, and set his can on a nearby countertop. "Then they'll pass," he added
and headed out to wherever he was heading.
"I hope so," she said to herself.
Cyberreyn yawned once more.
Two weeks ago, Rain McNair was just a normal college student, working joylessly during the day at the PrisNet Providers position she couldn't
stand, studying hopelessly during the night for the Mechanical Engineering finals she couldn't pass.
But one night, a tall Asian man in dark glasses and a black raincoat approached her. He called himself "Kan-chiang" and offered her a choice.
"This is your last chance," he said.
She chose the red pill.
After her 2pm-till-10pm nighttime shift, Diva Domingo sat back in the old fabric seat of her dull-gray 1990
Toyota with the cracked windshield, and waited in the drive-thru line of her favorite burger joint, "On the Go," or "OTG" for short.
With the factory-installed FM radio beating on a low murmur, and a furry hand-sized three-leafed clover dangling from her rearview mirror, she
glanced from her rearview mirror, to her sideview mirror, then back to her digital clock.
"Damn, 10:30 already?" she sighed.
Looking into the car ahead of her, a mid-90s model, American-made, Diva couldn't help but gaze at the young woman's mirror-reflected eyes.
'Hmmm, teenager... maybe early twenties...' she guessed.
In the back seat of the mid-90s car, a little boy, 5 years old, maybe 8, bounced around, and looked out the window this way, that way, then
out the rear window at Diva.
'Is that her kid?...' she wondered.
Then unexpectedly, Diva noticed the young woman's soft eyes...
The increased blinking... blinking...
The growing redness around the corners... reddening...
The beginnings of tears...
As if she was on the verge of crying.
'Why is she crying?...' Diva continued to wonder.
'So young... A young mother?...'
'Getting dinner for herself and her son?...'
'So late... A late-night dinner after work?...'
On the verge of weeping...
And Diva felt a surge of slow-motion sadness... a surge not unlike the sadness that flooded her when she lost her web-design position at the
falling and failing e-commerce company... the loss... the loss of her friends... her security... her place in the world...
But just as suddenly, the young woman fought back her tears, and picked up her order from the drive-thru window.
A few minutes later, Diva picked up her own order.
"Thanks... Have a nice night."
A burger with everything, and fries, of course.
After his 10pm-till-6am graveyard shift, Mark Diamante slowed his dirty-white 1994 Chevy coupe with the missing hubcap, and parked it beyond
the handicapped spaces, just outside the cheap aluminum-roof-covered spaces of his favorite local casino, the "Illusion."
With a dusty hand-sized three-leafed clover hanging from his rearview mirror, he adjusted the slim-framed glasses that focussed his weary
brown eyes, opened and shut his door, and looked back to check that his headlights were off, before continuing to the flickering and
flashing multi-door entrance.
Before entering the clockless, timeless, casino, Mark checked his fake-leather-strapped analog wristwatch.
"6:35," he sighed.
And he opened and entered the glass doorway.
Inside the smoky Sinatra-tuned atmosphere, Mark took the same pattern-carpetted route to his favorite bank of 5-cent video-poker machines,
and sat down at a short-backed stool.
He pressed the on-screen 'Jacks or Better' option, inserted a crinkly 5-dollar bill into the slot, and silently enjoyed the -- Click! Click! Click! --
clicking sound that accompanied the on-screen counting of his credits.
'...97, 98, 99, 100,' the machine counted as it clicked.
Mark tapped the 'Bet Max' button.
Immediately, the video-poker machine deducted the maximum 5 credits, and dealt him his cards.
'Jack of diamonds, queen of spades, 5 of hearts, 2 of spades, 10 of spades.'
Reflexively, he held the jack and queen, and tapped the 'Deal' button.
'7 of diamonds, ace of spades, 4 of spades.'
No jacks or better, no nothing.
Mark tapped the 'Bet Max' again.
'10 of hearts, king of spades, 6 of spades, 9 of spades, 9 of diamonds.'
He held the nines and tapped the 'Deal' button.
'2 of hearts, queen of diamonds, 8 of diamonds.'
And once again, no jacks or better, no nothing.
But he enjoyed the relaxing flow of numbers and cards and colors and sounds... distracting him from the toil and tedium of his full-time late-night
job, his part-time early-night job, and his other lifeless shades of gray... so gray...
"Cocktails?... Cocktails?" the cute brunette repeated as she passed behind him. "Cocktails?"
Quickly glancing, and just-as-quickly forgetting her, Mark tapped the 'Bet Max' for a third time.
'5 of clubs, queen of clubs, 10 of clubs, 9 of clubs, and 7 of hearts.'
He held the four clubs and tapped the 'Deal' button.
'3 of clubs.'
Mark smiled slightly as the machine counted up his credits.
But it wasn't the simple flush that made him smile. Instead, it was the random three of clubs. It always conjured up the old warm and fuzzy
memories of his high-school days... of happier days... of happier times... back in the club... the club of clubs... the 'Three of Clubs'...
As his smile faded, he tapped the 'Bet Max' once more.
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