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    2Dee
    2Dee
    2Dee
    Ebook329 pages3 hours

    2Dee

    By Robin Wyatt Dunn

    2/5

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    About this ebook

    The population of Los Angeles has vanished. John Dee has to find out why. With the help of his AI son, he journeys between dimensions, undergoes radical body modifications, topples extrasolar governments, and hunts his lost love, all without a clear idea of who he is. To rescue his city, and himself, he must confront both the cruelty of the universe he finds himself in, and his own interior darkness.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRobin Wyatt Dunn
    Release dateJun 14, 2017
    ISBN9781940830193
    2Dee
    Author

    Robin Wyatt Dunn

    Robin Wyatt Dunn lives in Los Angeles.

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    Reviews for 2Dee

    2/5

    21 ratings10 reviews

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    • 3/5
      Like most of Dunn's work, this is a strange, twisting tale comprised of poetic prose, this time fusing dystopian with AI and aliens.
    • 2/5
      I found myself grabbed by the opening of this book. The quick action drew me in. But then, although I greatly appreciate the quality of the writing in this book, it ended up that it just wasn't for me. Individual passages were a pleasure to read. Descriptions and feelings coming through very strongly. I don't have long periods of time to read in one sitting and the story became disjointed for me, and I couldn't find the flow in the tale. I wasn't able to finish the book, but might pick it up again to give it another go.
    • 3/5
      I found this story unsatisfying because I kept hoping for some resolution that would make the dream like quality make sense and have meaning. I never got it.
    • 1/5
      I couldn't get past the first few pages because the writing is so bad. Completely incoherent, stream-of-consciousness type writing that is completely opaque. There's no way I could have read the whole 495 pages. Not for me.
    • 2/5
      I gathered that LA is empty, he has a AI son to save, theres some aliens, and character had to kill someone. .. and that's it. Random roaming story and changes randomly. I could not follow it at all.I didn't know it was a second book in series till I saw the ending, and with hint for third, maybe. Yeah, not getting either. This being a second book does not matter either, as plot starts randomly and ends randomly. Oh there is some general hints but it is not enough.
    • 2/5
      This was a very weird book. It kept jumping from one topic/area to another. I only managed to get to page 108 before I have up. The book didn't make any coherent sense...
    • 2/5
      I understood more or less what the plot is, but it was not easy at all. The sections in which the story goes on are sparse: in the between there is a lot of text I think is oniric (dreamy, if you prefer), but then again it may not be. Some of the characters are presented in different ways, and I could not make heads of tails of them. True, this is a sequel, as I found out; but I am not sure that even having read the first book the story would be clearer. The real leading character is actually the city of Los Angeles, and the scenes in which Dunn speaks of her are by far the one I liked most. In a nutshell, it's a book for people who like strong images rather than a well developed story.
    • 1/5
      Before starting this book I read reviews of the author's other work, so I was prepared for the jumpy, stream-of-consciousness style. I was ready to get into the groove and enjoy something outside the usual narrative style. But the main character is a complete sleezebag misogynist with a god complex, so I gave up. I don't need to read yet more stories about objectifying women and male saviours. Not recommended.
    • 2/5
      This book is about John Dee – a magician - his AI son and some aliens. But most of all it is a story about Los Angeles.Writing style seems to be stream of consciousness. The story is very surreal and hard to follow. Not at all the kind of book I like to read from the sci-fi genre.
    • 1/5
      I wanted to like this book, I really did. I only got about a quarter of the way through and couldn't get any further. The stream of consciousness way of writing just wasn't for me. The story never seemed to go anywhere and the talking about his dead son was just too weird for me. I received this book from Library Thing for an honest review.

    Book preview

    2Dee - Robin Wyatt Dunn

    Leaving

    1

    My name is Dee; I’m running. The alleyway is covered with markings―signs I might read if I had the time. The young man in the black T-shirt is faster than me but I know something he doesn’t: after he jumps this fence he’s going to have real trouble getting out.

    He climbs and drops to the other side, and keeps running, his bright blue backpack slung over his shoulder.

    He looks back at me and I feel a chill―a particular kind of chill I haven’t felt for a long time. A message from another world. He sees something in me. Something I had hoped was gone.

    I climb the fence―slower, more carefully. When I drop to the other side he’s already made the turn, and then the turn back, finding the dead end. He takes a little gun out of his pocket and points it at me.

    Easy, I say. We’re friends, aren’t we?

    I don’t even know who you are, man. Put your face on the ground and don’t move until I’m gone.

    Easy. No problem. I start to get to my knees but then I see something in his eyes.

    Who’s in there? Is it you, Albert?

    He puts the gun in his mouth and I cry out, run for him, but then he pulls the trigger.

    I still haven't learned his name.

    I don’t look at him.

    I take the blue backpack and walk slowly back to my car. Before I get back behind the wheel I take out my spray canister and make an arrow with a signal pointing towards the alley. Fresh body, it says. Just about the only way to leave an anonymous tip anymore.

    People have told you LA is a beautiful city and they’re right―it is. And the violence is one of the most beautiful things about it. Even when we go a year without a single homocide―and we have―you can feel it under your skin. That pressure in the air. Some thing without a name.

    - -

    Nothing plus everything equals Los Angeles.

    I am a magician who casts no spells. I am an American with no government.

    I am an avatar--Sanskrit for descended--with no memory of where I descended from.

    To survive in Los Angeles you must surrender everything. All of your past and all of your future.

    And having done that, you can begin.

    - -

    Albert, my AI son, is supposed to be dead, but he’s survived it before. I wonder where he is now.

    I’m right here Dad.

    I have to pull the car over. I don’t do with psychic communication while driving.

    Hey, my boy. How are you? I fumble for a cigarette.

    You quit smoking Dad. Cut it out.

    Oh that’s right. Shit. How are you kid? You out there around Jupiter someplace?

    I’m worried, Dad.

    Yeah, what about?

    The Church. They’re watching you.

    Those clowns? Couldn’t find their ass with both hands and a . . .

    But then up ahead I see the parade. And I know I have to get moving. They say Ancient Rome was amazing times . . . all those cults.

    The men and women in blue move slowly down the street, waving their incomprehensible banners. Movie and television cameras buzz over them like lazy summer insects. A huge man in the front of them is shouting in what sounds like French. Then I get a look at his eyes. The same look as with that poor kid in the alley.

    I look inside the backpack.

    Still here, huh?

    The little device glows green and yellow, edging to white. I close it back up.

    What are you going to do with it Dad?

    - -

    I have been unemployed for five years. Our generous government sees fit to provide me (as an ostensible citizen, though I long ago lost my birth certificate), with housing gratis. Water, however, is another matter, and generally I make do with the public fountain.

    The irony is that I have plenty of fuel for my car . . . the government provides that too. The sweet smell of plant fuel . . . it makes me a little sick, but you get used to it.

    It’s not like magicians are special in LA. We all got it here. And if you don’t got it when you move here, you’ll get it soon enough. The question is simply: do you really want it? A lot of people don’t. What are you going to do with all those cantrips, son? Set your room on fire?

    They’re inside your apartment, Albert says.

    I wish I could curl up into a ball and die.

    Instead I jump out of the car, over the trunk, and activate my emergency drone. I strap it to my chest and with a queer zing I’m airborne. Out over the City of Angels. Angel means messenger in Hebrew.

    My message to you is: get out. While you still can. Mars is safe. We’ve seen to it.

    As I pass over my apartment, I see the bomb go off.

    Two blocks back, the Church march stops their blue parade and looks back at the flames, smiles on their faces.

    - -

    The artifact in question is a kind of key. What I can say for certain is that the lock it was supposed to fit no longer exists.

    - -

    I go to the movies and sit down in back. Los Angeles went through a period where the movies were so expensive people stopped going. Now they’re free but no one shows up.

    One homeless man is sleeping in the front row, snoring gently. A sentry robot gently shines the man’s boots―another courtesy transported from a prior age.

    I can’t really count the years any more. Time doesn’t seem to move the same as it once did. Probably that’s just getting old. Some of our more recent alien arrivals have also been known to affect the chronology of time.

    Is it ten years since I helped rescue Sandra from Chaimougkos? That feels about right. But maybe it was only two. It doesn’t matter. Sandra’s safe on Mars, with the other colonists. No Earth shit for them anymore. Just clean living and communism.

    On screen, some kind of teenage orgy is going on. All the actors look bored.

    I reach into the backpack and take out the device. I tap its central button and antennae extrude from the thing’s every orifice; it looks like an archaic sea-mine. The sentry robot looks up at me but I don’t give it a second look. Its brain is going to be very clean in just a second . . .

    Go, I whisper to it, and the movie goes off, and the sentry falls over like a tin can.

    The homeless man wakes up.

    Who did that? I was watching that!

    Sorry guy I got to do some magic. They blew up my apartment.

    What do you want? He comes over to me, eyes wide.

    Just a private citizen. You want me to show you some ID?

    He laughs. You got a drink?

    Sorry I’m fresh out.

    I’ll be outside. Come get me when you’re through, he says.

    The lights are going dimmer. The antennae turn and quiver, turning in the distant voices for our little conference call . . .

    - -

    It’s beautiful if you can make it work, talk to some of the ones far away. They’re coming closer, I know, and we need them. But, space is big.

    Maestro, give me an E. And a little drum and bass, huh?

    The computer sees what it can come up with and I dance to something called The Humbucking Coil―I guess it’s like this mortal coil, with some humbug thrown in.

    One of them comes up on the screen. He’s always the first to arrive and I don’t think it’s because he’s geographically closest. He’s just punctual.

    What is it now Dee? he says. Have you fucked up again? His voice somewhere down in my skull.

    Nice to see you too, I say, doing my dance steps. How’s the final frontier?

    What’s that? Your translations systems are terrible.

    I said, you’re looking great, boss!

    We continue to seek non-hierarchical relations with your tribe.

    Thanks Big Green Alien. I don’t know where everyone else is, and I don’t have a lot of time. You think you can send me a little cash?

    Money?

    Yeah.

    He signs off immediately but I can see on my credit card that my allowance just increased. I slide it through the dead robot’s slot to give him a little tip, and it opens one eye.

    Outside I pat the homeless guy on the shoulder.

    Let’s go get drunk, I say.

    I only drink spring water, he says, smiling.

    I’m buying.

    The wise man said, Every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with them, and every new dog who comes into my life gives me a piece of their heart. If I live long enough, all the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are. I feel that way about aliens. Maybe that’s all the quote really means: keep letting people in. Cities fall, and new ones are born.

    What’ll you have? the bartender asks.

    Spring water for my friend. Whiskey for me.

    They still have bars in Los Angeles.

    What do you think, Joe?

    I think we’re doomed, the homeless guy says.

    Tell me something I don’t know, I say.

    I’m a cop, he says.

    I swallow my whiskey carefully. The bartender moves down a pace, to polish his bar.

    What kind of cop?

    LAPD man. You’re under arrest.

    I look at him carefully. Part of me feels that deep and vestigial urge to flee.

    Ha ha ha! Just kidding, man. No, I really am LAPD but you’re not under arrest. I haven’t had legal powers in I don’t know how long. But I still have my badge.

    He raises the leg on his jeans and there it is, pinned to his sock.

    That’s a handsome badge, I say.

    Yeah, makes me feel comfortable.

    I got this feeling, and excuse me if I’m speaking out of place here, that you might know someone I’m looking for. He goes by the name of Jake Smiley. He knows I’m looking for him, but he doesn’t want to see me.

    Even if I did know him, why would I tell you?

    You seem like an honest guy so I wouldn’t want to offer you money . . .

    No, money’s good with me. Come on, I’ll take you to him.

    We step out of the bar.

    Sorry, my car ran out of gas, I say, showing him my jetpack.

    Sorry about my gut, he says. I’ve been trying to lose the weight, but it’s hard when you’re homeless and hearing voices all the time.

    I know just how you feel, I say. Hold on! He embraces me and then we’re flying, on our way to Pasadena.

    Right here, in the park! the homeless guy says.

    We land in the grass just as the sun is going down.

    Man, I love this park. No one ever bugs you here.

    I swipe the guy’s credit card with mine.

    Well, he says, I’ll be seeing you. Just knock on that tree over there. Tell ‘em Joe sent you.

    I do as I’m told. The face who sticks his head out of the tree is not a pleasant one. I tell him the name and he smiles a little too wide.

    Welcome to Smiley’s, he says. Come on down.

    What are you, like the Keebler Elf? I say.

    That’s not funny.

    - -

    The club is dark, and there are a lot of aliens in it, and I get that feeling I hate―more than almost any other―of deja vu.

    It makes me nauseous.

    Sitting at the bar is a human woman in red. I sit down next to her.

    You’re looking good tonight.

    You want to buy me a drink?

    How about you buy me a drink?

    Alright, she says, But it’ll cost you.

    I’ll have a whiskey if it’s all right with you.

    Two whiskeys Tom, she says. And hand me your gun too, if you don’t mind.

    Two whiskeys, and my gun, Tom says.

    Better drink that whiskey, son. It might be your last.

    I down it and smile.

    I’m looking for Jake Smiley.

    What do you want with him?

    I just want to talk.

    A talker, huh? She drank her whiskey and put the gun back on the bar.

    What if I told you I have an alien transmitter in my pocket that can communicate beyond this galaxy?

    Shit, who doesn’t have something like that nowadays. I should have known you were just another loser.

    She stood up.

    Put this guy on my tab, Tom. But don’t give him anything else. And tell Jake some asshole is looking for him.

    You’re an asshole, are you?

    The voice was suddenly very close to my ear.

    Jake, the woman in red said.

    Samantha, Jake said. The man had a very round and a very bald head. He looked about fifty but was probably younger.

    Yeah, I’m definitely an asshole, I said. She has me pegged right on that. The thing is, I’m trying to save the city of Los Angeles.

    Save the city? How heroic! A real loser!

    The aliens were moving back to their parts of the club, having moved towards us at Jake’s arrival.

    Just a private detective. Trying to do a friend a favor.

    A friend. We don’t get many of those in LA any more. I see why you’re in trouble. Samantha, get this man another of whatever he’s drinking.

    She lifted her butt onto the bar and swung over it, making sure I got a good look at her legs as she did. She poured me another whiskey and slammed it onto the bar.

    This’ll be enough for me. I’m a lightweight in my old age.

    How exactly can I help you, Savior of Los Angeles?

    The City’s dying. Most people say she’s already dead. But I knew her when she was alive, you understand? I owe her. I owe her my life.

    That’s very sweet.

    I need money Jake.

    He laughed, a huge sound like a bell. The whole club smiled when he laughed, a kind of fresh meat smile.

    Are you a gambling man? he asked.

    Not on the ponies.

    But on people? he said.

    Yeah. Yeah, I bet on people.

    I’m going to bet on you then. You can have as much money as you want. And you can have it for one week. At the end of the week, you’ll give me that money back. And if you don’t, I get to kill you.

    I punched him in the face.

    He fell onto the floor, blood spurting out of his nose.

    I could kill you right now, motherfucker! I said, tears in my eyes. "Because you’re one of the guys who hurt Sandra. But I’m not gonna do that. You’re gonna give me that money. And I’m gonna pay it back in a week. And if I don’t, I get to kill you."

    The device buzzed in my pocket and the lights flickered.

    Jake got back to his feet and straightened his white tie, wiping the blood from his nose.

    I know there are many mentally ill people in the city now. So I forgive you. Please, now, leave my club, and don’t come back.

    He slipped the envelope into my pocket as I left the club.

    Inside was the cash and a small psychic note, activated by touch:

    Thanks for that. I haven’t felt that alive in five years.

    It was midnight in the park. The perfect time to get drunk.

    But I still had some more doors to knock on.

    LA, are you there?

    I’M HERE JOHN

    LA, I love you.

    2

    I am a magician and I sleep in the sewer now, with the rest of my kind.

    We have candles. We love each other. Even if no one else does.

    Semira is here.

    Hi John.

    I give her her morphine.

    I lay me down to sleep.

    I pray to the universe: not my soul to keep, but my body. Universe, let me keep my body a little longer. I still need it.

    - -

    Dad. Time to wake up.

    Dark in the sewers. I take my candle to the ladder. Blue light sneaks through from above. I blow out my candle and climb.

    I shower at the YMCA. Pay for my towel.

    I defend the City. And though it fall, it shall exist within my mind.

    All the lights are out. We haven’t had electricity for twenty days. Political problems.

    I flag down a cab and negotiate a barter: I’ll say a prayer for him, if he takes me downtown. The money in my pocket isn’t mine to spend.

    I light the incense stick and watch the dark and silent city float by as we drive.

    - -

    Why does one defend an abandoned city? Not that Los Angeles is abandoned. We still live here. Yes, it’s her Heart that I defend. So that it will not leave, along with all who have already done so.

    I must nourish it, with what I do.

    The cab is having some trouble―our new alien arrivals have caused reality to behave in obnoxious ways―the light has changed, green sky instead of blue.

    I hum to myself, and hold on to the back of the cabbie’s seat, willing us to arrive safely.

    We get to downtown and I whisper another prayer for the driver and step onto the street. I cover my nose and mouth with my hand―sanitation hasn’t been here in a week. I navigate a path through piled garbage bags and get into an elevator in the lobby.

    A slightly-out-of-tune voice announces: Eighteenth floor!

    The office is mostly abandoned.

    Meritzia wears green―or has every time I’ve seen her. Sometimes a forest green, sometimes a neon. Today it is sea green, like a water nymph.

    I have the money.

    She takes the envelope and counts the bills.

    I don’t think it’s a good idea, John. These surgeons these days―they’ll do anything.

    Exactly why I am interested in hiring a good one.

    Come have a cigarette with me, she says..

    I follow her over to her smoking alcove, looking out over the city. She’s worth a fortune, but seems to have lost interest in spending it. Why didn’t she leave? Perhaps, like me, she loves this city.

    She lights her smoke and takes a drag. Offers me one. I quit.

    She sighs.

    You look beautiful, I say.

    Thank you.

    How is your family?

    You know I don’t talk to them.

    My son says I should consider becoming an AI.

    I am not interested in your hallucinations.

    Ha ha ha! All we’ve been through and you can still call them that. That’s funny.

    John, after I make this happen for you . . . I’m leaving Los Angeles.

    I stroked her hair. Outside, the acid rain was pouring down.

    - -

    State of the art surgeons can do many things for the body. But many are leaving. I could have had anything done: fly for short distances with booster rockets in my thighs, super X-ray vision, super speed.

    But all of these upgrades come with costs. If Nature is consistent about anything, it is in the idea of compromise.

    So all I am getting are new joints. Joints to last 1,000 years. If the rest of me cooperates, I should be able to make it to 100.

    Count backwards from 100 for me, the robot surgeon

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