Into Neon

by Matthew A Goodwin

  But why had she done this? What was the point of him having this skill? And why was Issy scanning him while they spoke? He knew security officers had one eye replaced so they could run analysis while working, but he never expected his friend would use it on him. He was also surprised she would suspect him. In their years as friends, he had never done anything wrong, illegal or even slightly outside the rules.

  “Everything all right?” she asked, more supportive than accusatory. Moss heard a man’s voice, scan for POI. The male guard was using his eye to check for anything out of place. Moss’s eyes darted around the room.

  “Yeah, it’s just—this is all intense,” he answered truthfully, wondering what his eyes were telling her.

  “It is,” she agreed, a hint of excitement in her voice. “It’s cra-cra-crazy!” she said, bumping him slightly with her shoulder and Moss smiled nervously.

  “So, they haven’t told you anything?” he asked, trying not to sound as though he was pumping her for information.

  “Nah, as I said, it’s all hush-hush,” she whispered while her partner walked slowly around the room, scanning the space. With almost everything in the room having slid back into the walls, there was little for him to examine, though he made a show of it anyway.

  “Gotcha,” Moss answered as easily as he could muster and pressed a finger against his lips in a playful shush.

  “But word this morning is that it was a big one,” she said, and her partner almost imperceptibly cocked his head, obviously listening as he ran his fingertips over Moss’s Foodier.

  “Oh,” Moss muttered, intensely watching her partner make his way around the room.

  “When I was assigned this sector, I made sure we came here first so you could get back to work,” she said but Moss was hardly listening as her partner neared Moss’s workspace. “Moss?”

  “Yeah,” he answered and turned to look at her. He watched her pupil dilate mechanically. Could she tell how nervous he was? That he was hiding something? His heart raced. He could feel sweat rolling down his sides under his loose shirt and he wanted to ask why his friend suspected him but was acting so cavalier.

  “I said I wanted to make sure you could go back to work,” she said with a wink and for a moment, he forgot about everything else.

  He laughed, and it sounded awkward even to himself. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Some people are going to have to wait quite a while, and there is pretty much nothing you can do,” she explained.

  “I noticed,” Moss said as the man pulled open his drawer to expose the pile of chips. His palms were damp, his breath short, and he nearly blurted out the truth. He did not. He simply swallowed hard as the guard looked up at him.

  “What’s all this?” He asked as he ran a gloved hand through the chips, causing them to roll and click around the drawer.

  “Porn,” Moss blurted without thinking.

  “I’ll bet it is!” Issy cried out laughing and gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

  “At least he’s honest,” the guard said to Issy, picking up a chip thoughtfully before dropping it back in the drawer.

  “Oh, he’s nothing if not honest, Clam,” she said, still chuckling. She whispered excitedly, “oh, Gibbs is gonna toast you for this one!”

  “Ugh, I know,” Moss replied with a hangdog look and sighed a deep relief as Clam closed the drawer. He couldn’t believe the moment. He was hiding an intense terror for something he didn’t understand and these two had no idea. He felt the weight of guilt on his chest. He was lying to the world, hiding something from the employer who raised him from a boy, from his best friend whose family had cared for him when his parents went away. He was exhilarated, too. He had pulled one over on everyone. In a few short moments, he had picked a side and gotten away with deception.

  “My dad says ‘hi’ by the way,” Issy added as Clam continued around the room. Moss felt as though, now that they had checked and not found anything in the one place something was hidden, they should be on their way. But he continued to sweep the room.

  “Give him my love,” Moss said, and he meant it. Vihaan had always been so kind to him, treating him almost as another child.

  “I will,” Issy said happily, shooting Moss the smile which had made him weak in the knees for years. “I won’t mention the porno,” she added with a wink and he felt that same guilt about the Relief Aide which he felt so often of late.

  “All right,” Clam said. “The kid’s clean.”

  “Of course, he is,” Issy said easily.

  “If you’re quite done flirting, you can check him off the list,” he said, so matter-of-factly that it dumbfounded both of them.

  “I wasn’t flirting,” Issy protested, turning a shade of pink he had not seen in what felt like an age and for the first time, Moss felt a glimmer of hope that she felt the same about him. End analysis, Moss heard, and it almost sounded hurried. Issy looked down to the screen on her forearm and made a note.

  “Hex cleared, thank you for your cooperation. Employee, you have been awarded five Productivity Points,” the voice announced through the speaker.

  “All right let’s get out of here,” Clam gestured for the door before looking at Issy and pointing to the drawer. “With all that, who knows what he wants to do to you.”

  Issy was not caught off guard this time and said wryly, “oh, I know what he wants to do to me.”

  Moss nearly collapsed to the floor. What had that meant? She had never joked like that with him, always treating him like a brother.

  “You two are wired,” Clam said, looking down on both of them as though they were children.

  “Dinner with the ’rents tonight?” Issy asked and Moss remembered that he was supposed to leave the burb for reasons he didn’t understand.

  “Maybe later in the week,” he forced from his now intensely dry mouth, his tongue moving like cardboard.

  “I’ll hold you to that.” She smirked and the two turned to leave.

  Alone in his hex, oppressive, a near silent electric buzz closed in around Moss. Everything in the room emitted a sound which he had never before noticed but which now seemed to press on his brain.

  He sat in the middle of the room, pressing his hands on the plastic floor for support. He was exhausted. Not physically tired but psychologically drained. In back to back moments, his world had turned upside down. He crawled over to his workspace and called Gibbs again but got the same automated reply. He needed to talk to someone, let one train of thought leave his lips rather than having them all bang around in his head.

  Shower. The small door at the side of his hex slid open and the water began to run at the preset temperature. He stripped, not bothering with the automated dressing arms and left his clothes crumpled on the floor. He stepped in, letting the water pour over his thin, muscular frame. Black hair matted over his closed eyes.

  What was he going to do? He had lied to Issy, but it wasn’t too late. He could call her back, tell her everything and help her earn that promotion Vihaan insisted she deserved. He could win her favor that way. Maybe she would see him differently then. Maybe she already did. Perhaps he would even get a promotion for his duty to the company or be jailed for his part. He could be dragged away, have his bounty sold to Carcer Corp, and stay locked away for the rest of his days. Once more, he needed to speak to someone.

  Shower off. Dry. The water reduced quickly, the vent covers opened and warm air began swirling around the tight space. He stepped from the shower determined, put his work linens in the laundry chute manually, and headed toward the door, followed by the buzz in his head. He stepped from the cold floor of his hex onto the soft carpet of the hallway, his light slip-on shoes sinking slightly into the ground. Pairs of security officers were entering and exiting hexes and he heard shouting as he moved down the hall. He passed an open door and watched as two guards wrestled a heavyset naked man to the ground.

  “Desist, employee,” one of the guards shouted through a closed helmet. Moss star
ted as the two forced his hands and the man screamed indistinct obscenities. He jiggled as he writhed against them. Moss could not move, transfixed by the scene before him. He had never witnessed violence in his life. He had played at it in video games and watched it in movies, but this was completely foreign to him. It was ugly and brutal, and he hated to watch it but could not look away. One of the guards looked up and barked, close in his mind before the door slid shut.

  With every passing moment, Moss became more convinced that the day was a lucid dream and he would soon awaken with no memory of any of this. He reached out a finger and ran it along the white wall, bright under the fluorescent lights. It was there. He tried to put it all from his mind and forced his legs to carry him toward the elevator. It was a long way through the rows or hexes, dotted occasionally with restrooms, common rooms and gyms. At the center of the burb lay the elevators which looked out over an open space from which one could see all the floors of the structure. At the top was a massive skylight to let in the gray natural light and at the bottom, a shopping area and menagerie. The shopping space was for those employees who preferred browsing racks of items rather than picking something off a screen and having the item delivered to their hex. The menagerie housed a clone of some long extinct animal which served as the mascot for the burb. 2152 had tigers, which yawned and lazed on heated rocks amidst plastic trees. Moss loved to sit and look at the animals, wondering absently about a time where the massive beasts roamed the earth. He marveled at their impressive jaws and paws and couldn’t believe that so weak a species as man could drive them to extinction.

  He looked down at the tiny orange specks and called for the elevator which dropped quickly to his floor as the halls were largely void of people. Moss stepped in and rode to the top floor, his stomach turned. His body was so unaccustomed to the rapid movement that he was always left queasy during the ride.

  The hexes at the top here were larger than those below, with glass-paneled walls looking into the office fronted apartments. People sat at desks with translucent monitors before them as Moss passed, hearing their commands: data analysis, collate information, check drudge, all rather innocuous but no less dumbfounding to Moss. He was wracked with guilt, ill at ease with the invasive nature of this newly unlocked skill.

  He made his way to the office of Mr. Greene and knocked on the glass door. He watched as his mentor looked up and smiled, a hint of confusion on his normally stalwart face. Mr. Greene had hired Moss right out of school—though he had not placed high on his aptitude exams—and taken Moss under his wing, helping to guide him into his career as an engineer. Though he was still unsure what he was going to say, he knew he needed to say something to someone.

  Allow entry, Moss heard Mr. Greene command his personal drudge, who complied wordlessly. Or thoughtlessly. Moss was unsure how even to categorize the machine. While the drudges in the field were hulking robots, designed to withstand the elements, the office variety were much more human in their design. Their form was that of a person, though skinless and mechanical, all polished plastic and metal. Their heads had a screen where the face would be. Most managers used it to display information, but which others had a computer-generated human face display. Mr. Greene was one of the latter, preferring, as he said, “the human touch.”

  The machine approached the door which moved slightly back before sliding along the wall. “Good morning, Moss,” the face of a handsome young man said in a near-perfect rendering of a human voice. Moss couldn’t believe it was still morning. He felt as though a year had passed since he first heard the knocking on his door.

  “Good morning, Erik,” Moss replied in affected nonchalance.

  “Hey, bud,” Mr. Greene welcomed in his nasal, monotone voice, standing and waving Moss in. “You came without an appointment; this must be important.” Moss moved over and sank into the comfortable chair opposite the older man. Mr. Greene was a third-generation employee. His grandparents helped establish Burb 2142. He had a picture of them mounted on the wall behind his desk, the young couple standing and smiling in front of the burb with a “Grand Opening” banner hanging over the door.

  “They looked so happy,” Moss mused, surprised he had said the words aloud. Mr. Greene turned in his chair to look at the picture as well.

  “They were,” he agreed. “Will and Linda Greene were pioneers of a new work style. They gave us what we have today. They may not have been trailblazers like the colonists, but they created a new world in a different way. At the time, you must understand, not everyone was enthusiastic about living in employer-provided housing, to say nothing of sending their children to employer-provided schools. Many needed convincing and my grandparents were among the first to help pitch people on the idea.” He beamed with pride, as though he himself was the one who had the accomplishments.

  “Trendsetters, definitely,” Moss agreed, calming down slightly for the first time all morning, comforted by the small talk.

  “My brother still lives in Hex One. It’s been in our family since that day,” he said, hooking a thumb at the picture.

  “Neat,” Moss said, looking at the photo of two happy people posing on opening day. The picture was rendered in black and white to give it an old-time appearance.

  “What’s up, Moss?” Mr. Greene asked, and Moss looked down at him. His beard was precisely manicured, his small brown eyes calculating behind rimless glasses.

  “Something happened today,” Moss started. Begin security recording, he heard in his mind and realized that Mr. Greene was now filming their conversation. It made him uncomfortable and he shifted uneasily in the chair. He had always counted Mr. Greene as an ally but now he was recording him. Moss swallowed hard and felt his leg begin to bounce again.

  “What happened?” he led.

  “Well,” Moss stuttered, steeling himself to just tell him everything. “I don’t even know how to describe it.”

  “You can tell me,” Mr. Greene pressed with a hint of impatience in his voice.

  “It’s just—” Moss began before he heard, security on standby. Erik shifted into a slightly aggressive posture, its mechanical arms raising ever so slightly. Moss couldn’t believe it. “Excuse me?” he blurted without thinking.

  “Excuse you, what?” Mr. Greene said suspiciously, his eyes narrowing to slits. Moss was enraged. His hands were fists, shaking. This man who he had counted on, trusted when he felt he couldn’t trust anyone had called security on him. His rational mind screamed that any good manager would call security when a nervous employee came to them during a lockdown, but that voice was quashed by the fury of betrayal. The room felt tense, tight, like the oxygen was leaking out. Moss tried to keep a serene expression on his face.

  “Excuse me for coming unannounced like this, it’s just—”

  “Just what?” Mr. Greene growled. All pretext of friendship was gone.

  “Just, Ira stole another work order today and I think I need some vacation time,” Moss said, deciding to keep his secret.

  “Oh.” Mr. Greene played at relaxing, but his body was still taut. “That’s what you came here for? Moss, are you sure about that?”

  Moss let his head drop. “Yeah.”

  “You don’t need to come to your supervisor to register for vacation time, but I can certainly help you set it up since you are here.” And while his tone had turned kind, Moss felt something just under the surface; lurking like a shark in the deep blue, ready to strike. “When were you hoping to take your days?”

  “Tonight, well, tomorrow that is. That’s why I came to see you since the system requires a week’s advanced notice.” Moss was impressed with himself that for a second time in the day, he had covered his tracks so quickly.

  “I see,” Mr. Greene said, sounding less dubious and more himself. “Ira really got to you?”

  “He did. I think I just need a break,” Moss answered as Mr. Greene opened his file, lifting his glasses to squint at the screen.

  “You’ve never taken a vacation before,”
he observed. “Why now, just the Ira thing?”

  “Yeah,” Moss said.

  “Not all the security action?” he fished, staring into Moss’s eyes, gauging his reaction. Moss was disappointed that the man who he had trusted for so long seemed so suspicious of him, but he understood why. Mr. Greene had been a company man his whole life and valued ThutoCo above all else. He had tried to instill the same feelings in Moss, but they never quite took.

  “Nah, I cleared that easily,” Moss said, thinking about the flailing man he had passed.

  “That’s good to hear, albeit unsurprising,” he said, and a gentle smile crossed his lips. “I can authorize vacation beginning the day after tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I’d really like to begin tomorrow,” he pushed, unsure where the night would take him. Mr. Greene raised an eyebrow.

  “Are you sure there isn’t something you’re not telling me,” he asked in a way which bordered on insisting and Moss questioned if he should just say it. Be done with it rather than go along with this plan. But he was in it now and a determination to see through whatever this was overtook him. He would see Ynna again. He would bring her the chip and he would find out about his parents.

  “Nope, just ready to lie on the beach for a few days,” he lied and let a broad grin cross his lips.

  “Going to hit up SeaDome?” Mr. Greene asked, looking at his screen and approving the vacation.

  “I keep hearing how amazing it is. Maybe I’ll take surfing lessons during the day and watch the fire dancers at night. I’ve never been in water other than my shower,” he admitted.

  “It is a good time,” Mr. Greene agreed. “I take the husband there twice a year.”

  “You’ve mentioned, it’s what inspired me to try it,” Moss said and was surprised how easily the lies were coming to him. He had never once contemplated going to the SeaDome, even when Gibbs rather forcefully invited him.

  “Good to hear I can impart some wisdom outside of work,” he said, and Moss saw the word approved on the screen before he switched it to another. “Looks like you’re closing in on Level Two.”