Into Neon

by Matthew A Goodwin

  INTO NEON

  A Cyberpunk Saga

  MATTHEW A. GOODWIN

  Independently published via KDP

  Copyright© 2019 Matthew Goodwin

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording without either the prior permission in writing from the publisher as expressly permitted by law, or under the terms agreed.

  The author’s moral rights have been asserted.

  ISBN Number 978-0-578-53440-4

  Editor: Bookhelpline.com

  Cover design by Coversbychristian.com

  For Amy and Eli. You inspire me every day.

  Contents

  INTO NEON

  Dedication

  PART 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  PART 2

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  PART 3

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  NOTE TO THE READER

  AUTHOR BIO

  PART 1

  Chapter 1

  Light crept up the walls as the sun peaked, an orange hue over a calm sea appearing on all six sides of the room. Billions of pixels fired to life simultaneously. The recorded sound of lapping waves grew louder and the simulated smell of ocean air permeated Moss’s nose. He had never been to a beach, never seen the sea or smelled the salt air, but it was as familiar to him as his own skin. Lights, he thought, and the simulation ceased. The overhead vitamin D lights flickered to life. His walls went blank, and a space opened next to the bed which slid out of sight. It would return that evening, washed and made up. As he did every morning, he stood up, feeling refreshed from a perfect night’s sleep. Bacon, eggs and orange juice. He rubbed the base of his skull. His implant always felt odd in the mornings. He had asked his friends if they felt the same way, but none did. Though he had to admit to himself, the sample size was small.

  The blue LED on his RePurp brand foodier turned on. He heard two dull thuds and the hiss of steam from the machine that was built into the wall in the small nook which served as a kitchen. The foodier slid out a plate with his juice and then two bags plopped out. He took the plate but was careful to give the bags time to cool.

  Wake Up World. The wall in front of his table displayed the emblem of his favorite morning show before fading to the friendly face of Marisol Mae. Every morning Moss wondered at what time she must have to wake up in order to be on no matter when he tuned in. He was curious about what she was like—if she was as chipper off camera as she was on. Did she drink juice in the morning? Milk? Coffee? Did she bring treats for the crew on their birthdays? These thoughts floated about his mind as he watched the screen.

  “Good morning employee. It’s another beautiful day in Burb 2152 and if you’re watching me, it’s probably a good time to hit the gym,” she said, smiling out from the screen. Moss loved her face in the morning but loathed the daily reminder to work out. Exercise was mandated by ThutoCo and while one was allowed to do it in the comfort of their own hex, it was monetarily incentivized to go to the floor’s gym. “In local news, a severe storm hit B.A. City overnight but here in the burbs, we were unaffected. The storm warning systems worked to perfection and kept all employees safe and secure.

  “In other news, 2152’s very own Jonny Mukazi made it to the semifinals of Burbz Haz Skillz with his magic cards. I know I’ll be rooting for Jonny tonight. Will you?” she asked into the camera and Moss knew he would be. He loved the show and always watched virtually from the audience after work. “If he is eliminated though, be sure to catch the new season premiering next week,” Marisol continued. She kept talking as Moss ate and slid his dirty plate onto the waiting tray before it glided into the wall.

  He stood and got ready for the day ahead. He did not really enjoy the gym, but it was the only time in the day when he was guaranteed to see his friends, and that made it worthwhile.

  He arched his back before stepping over to his wardrobe. Dermidos. The door to the wardrobe hissed open as three metal arms unfolded from the ceiling. Moss raised his hands and the arms removed the white linen shirt from his torso before sliding off the white linen pants. He stepped out of the pants and the arms dropped them into a chute in the wardrobe for laundering. The arms then slid his Dermidos athletiskyn on and sealed him in. It shimmered and buzzed as it read his vital signs and performed a health scan. His health and employment statistics appeared on the screen next to Marisol Mae.

  ThutoCo Employee: 06187300

  Days: 7,035

  Weight: 77.14 Kg

  Productivity Points: 7860/10000

  He left his hex and stepped into the hallway. Fluorescent light filled the space with oppressive brightness and it smelled like freshly opened plastic wrap. He walked down the long white hall for what seemed to be an endless time, passing door after unadorned door before entering the common space where employees were chatting, drinking coffee and watching television. Moss walked past without saying a word to anyone, and through the door to the gym where he was greeted by the backs of several men pretending to stretch or limber up before stepping onto the machinery. He knew why, and as he pushed through the throng; he saw them.

  The Butler sisters were side by side on stair machines, stepping up and down in unison as the men stared. Twins in their young twenties, the sisters were as famous for their beauty as they were for their parties. Moss had never spoken to the sisters, much less attended one of their parties, but they were the stuff of legend. Moss paused a moment, watching the girls sway in their matching Dermidos second skins. Some of the men were staring so intently, Moss knew they were utilizing ocular implants to film the girls. As much as he enjoyed watching, the idea of saving it put him ill at ease and he began to make his way beyond the group.

  “Moss!” he heard and snapped back to reality. He turned to see Gibbs and Issy on treadmills on the other side of the gym. They were both trotting at a slow pace, just enough to qualify for their daily incentive. He approached and Issy wrinkled her nose at him. This sign they had developed as children to indicate something was up. Moss knew her warning meant Gibbs was in a mood.

  “Moss, we missed you last night!” Gibbs barked as he jiggled on his treadmill. His face was flushed, covered in a sheen of sweat. “Don’t tell me you stayed home and watched Skillz when you could have been out with us!”

  “I stayed home and watched Skillz,” Moss admitted, hanging his head in mock apology.

  “Stupid,” Gibbs admonished. “We watched the match and then chatted up some girls from Panel Repair. I even got one girl’s hex number,” he bragged as Moss stepped onto a treadmill between his friends. Issy scoffed.

  “You guys had no chance with those girls and tell him what happened when you called her hex,” she mocked.

  “Some guy answered and had never heard of her. But she was drunk and probably just said the wrong number!” At this, Issy burst with laughter.

  “Oh, puh-lease!” she chided. “That girl wanted less than nothing to do with you, Gibby.”

  “Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about. And don’t call me that, Isabelle!”

  Moss listened to his friends bicker as sweat beaded on his forehead, legs, and back. Every now and again he stole a glance at Issy, but when she caught h
is eye, he looked away quickly.

  Things had been different for him lately with her. He had been in love with her since they were children. Their parents had been friends and enrolled them in the same Company school. He had loved her for the way they played, the way she knew his mind before he did and when she grew into womanhood, he had lusted for her. Gibbs had noticed, but when he asked about it, Moss used the ancient lie that, “she’s like a sister.” Gibbs had never bought it, but never pushed the issue either. For all his bluster, Gibbs was a good friend.

  Everything had changed with Issy when Moss returned to his hex after a night of drinking and signed in to order a Relief Aide. When the question of customization appeared on the menu, he had paused. He knew people did it: had sex with their friends without consequence, but Moss had only ever entertained the notion. Gibbs had explained his night with the Butler twins in excruciating detail, but Moss had only groaned.

  That night he found himself entering Issy’s information and soon thereafter a perfect replica of his friend waited at his door. They drank together and, while the machine had none of her personality, he stopped caring once he asked the facsimile to disrobe. He had run his hands over his friend in a way he had only ever dreamed. Squeezed. Licked. Entered. After his release though, he sent her on her way and was left with nothing but confusion, guilt, and a week’s fewer wages.

  Since that night, he could only look on her with shame, though she had seemed even sweeter, as though she could sense his discomfort and wanted to help. He shook the thought from his mind and sweat cascaded from his head.

  “Watch it!” Gibbs snorted.

  “Yeah, you’re getting me all wet,” Issy added and a chill ran down Moss’s spine. The rest of the workout was uneventful, full of Gibbs bragging and Issy busting his chops. They parted ways and Moss was happy to return to his hex and begin his day.

  He sat at his workstation and picked up his transmitter. He flipped the switch and felt the usual relay in the back of his head as his eyes faded from the world in front of him to the world outside the walls of the city. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of kilometers away where the bacteria was rampant, unprotected by the fields of misters, Moss’s drudge, MOSS II, came to life and greeted its controller.

  “Good morning, Moss,” it said in a computerized version of his own voice. “Were Issy and Gibbs up to their usual antics?”

  “You know it.” Moss snorted with a laugh and MOSS II chuckled. The adaptive AI was becoming more like his controller every day—by design. The company took their employment motto, “work with yourself,” very seriously and utilized brain maps to make the bot and operator as close as possible. ThutoCo had attempted fully autonomous units in the past, but they never measured up to their guided counterparts. Despite huge advances in artificial intelligence, the drudges still required a human component. One which Moss was more than happy to provide from the comfortable solitude of his own hex. He loved spending the days with MOSS II, preferring him even to the company of his friends.

  “How have you been?” Moss adjusted his sitting position, getting comfortable for the day’s work.

  MOSS II let out a digital sigh. “The night operator got me wedged in a service pipe and I spent most of the shift waiting for a repair unit.”

  It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t such a common occurrence. Moss scrunched his nose. “They need to fab more repair units.”

  “They also need to fab more bots in general,” MOSS II added with disgust lacing his voice, a near-perfect mirror of how Moss would say it.

  “Seriously, they shouldn’t be dividing you guys between operators. I’m so sick of night shift denting you,” he griped.

  “Drudges are a scarce resource imported from another city at great cost to ThutoCo,” he said the company line. Moss hated it when corporate programming overrode the AI.

  “I know, I know,” Moss groaned. “I just wish I didn’t have to share you is all.”

  “Employees who reach Promotion Level Three receive exclusive use of a bot and at Promotion Level Five the right to customize their unit,” MOSS II reminded him as though it was the first time.

  “Yeah, thanks, Two,” Moss moaned, fully aware of company policy. As he did every day, he regretted naming his bot MOSS II. He had been so young when he began work and when he had been given the chance to name his drudge, he gave him the first name which came to mind. As employees were not given a chance to rename them until Level Three, he had been stuck with this name for years. He had spent countless nights trying to concoct a better name, but since he had only earned Level Two the year before, he had a long way to go before it would matter.

  “Depot 2428 was raided last night,” Two informed him.

  “Really? Feels like it’s happening all the time now. Scubas?” Moss asked, knowing the answer before he heard it. The company clearly wanted its employees to know some information, but not much.

  “Don’t know and couldn’t tell you if I did,” MOSS II answered easily.

  “I know.” Moss sighed. He would ask Issy later. Even though she worked internal Burb Security, she usually had good intel on what was happening outside the walls. “What’s our first assignment? I can’t expect to make Level Three if we shoot the breeze all morning.”

  “Truer words…” Two said. “First up is a panel repair.” The HUD display in the corner of Moss’s vision showed the direction of the needed repair. MOSS II stepped off his charging pad, walking over to a waiting solar bike, which Moss borrowed from the company without reading the Licensing Agreement—he knew he would be paying it off for years if he wrecked it. MOSS II threw his leg over the seat and gripped the handles, and after a quick interface, the bike hummed to life. It lifted easily off the hover-pad and Moss drove it out onto the service road.

  What used to be an asphalt road had now fallen into disrepair and was cracked and broken where it hadn’t been reduced to rubble. But it was a clear path and the bike glided above it easily. The sun was still low. Waves of heat radiated off the ground. Moss had never experienced heat like what he saw through Two’s camera, but it looked unpleasant and he knew it could damage the drudge over time.

  Moss followed the indicator north along the road until he had to turn into the sea of solar panels. The cameras compensated for the dark of the shade as his drudge rode over the flattened earth between the tall metal supports. He hummed along the desolate sameness until the indicator blinked that he was getting close. Another bike sat parked at his destination.

  “Oh, dick!” Moss said.

  “Use of such language is unadvised and you will be docked one Productivity Point for the day,” Two informed him sullenly.

  “I know,” Moss groaned, holding his minds tongue from further expletives. He parked next to the iridescent blue bike with painted red and yellow flames rising from the levitengine at its base. Ira had beaten him to another work order and while the practice was frowned upon by fellow engineers, it was allowed. It infuriated the employees to no end, though they all understood that the company wanted to encourage the competition. More work got done if every employee was in constant risk of having someone else complete their job. People like Ira may have been loathed by their coworkers but the company no doubt loved them. Ira’s drudge jumped down from the panel with an unnecessary flourish as “Work Order Complete” flashed on Moss’s display.

  “You have to get up earlier than that to beat me,” said an automated voice from Ira’s drudge. The sound was unnaturally computerized as the company had never quite perfected neural voice output.

  “You know that was my W.O., Ira,” the same computerized voice said from Two’s speaker. It didn’t properly convey the anger and jealousy he felt. Ira’s drudge was painted in the same blue and yellow of his bike and Moss loathed how cool he thought it looked.

  “Whatever, lame-name. You know I’m called Osiris out here,” the drudge said, and Moss could hear the condescension even if it wasn’t relayed. The dig at his drudge’s name landed hard and he mo
ved Two fast toward Osiris.

  “Your planned course of action is a violation of corporate policy and shall not be enacted,” Moss heard in his mind’s ear as Two ground to a halt. Laughter emitted from Osiris’s speaker. It was an unnatural sound which always sent a chill down Moss’s spine.

  “Listen, friend,” Osiris said as he strode toward Two with his metal head held high and an arm outstretched. “You’re young. If you want to make it out here, you must do some things which piss people off. You want to be a saint? Have fun staying Level Two forever. I’m Level Six. I got a sweet paint job for my drudge, own my own company bike, and have a three-story hex.

  “You think I care if I annoy you? You think it matters to me that Jenny screams at me because she can’t complete an order as fast as me? Or that Burt lectures me about ethics?

  “No. My life is great. The company loves me. I have everything I could want. So, take note kid: you want to make it in this world, you have to do what’s best for you, regardless of the consequences.”

  Now it was Moss’s turn to laugh. Just a slight, quiet chuckle. “What a sad way to live,” he muttered to himself, but Ira heard it.

  “When you log out tonight, look around and tell me who’s sad,” Osiris said as he mounted his bike. Moss didn’t answer. His moment of superiority had passed, and he worried that Ira was right. He had never done anything of note with his life. Nothing out of the ordinary or unexpected. Nothing even interesting. He wanted to log out, go sit and sulk alone in his hex. But no.

  Ira was famous around the burb for this. Moss had never met the man or anyone who had met him, but everyone knew him. Word around the office was that there was one like him in every burb—someone who took advantage of the system in such a way to benefit themselves. People loved to grumble about him, stand around after work complaining about how he moved in and took their jobs, but it’s how the company wanted it. They fostered the competition and rewarded employees like Ira.