Moss knew he was only at 78.64 percent. “Every day a little closer.” He felt like he was still a long way off.
“You sure you wouldn’t rather wait for your vacation until you hit Two? You unlock some good perks at the beach houses. You’ll be stuck in a pretty small cabana at your current level.” He looked up from under black eyebrows, head still tilted at the screen. Moss couldn’t get a read on the situation. Mr. Greene had visibly dropped his guard but continued to press him in a way he was unaccustomed to.
“I’m not that close,” Moss said in a joking tone, though he felt it was all too true.
“A couple of good months and you’ll be there. I believe in you,” he said, and Moss trusted him. “I’ve watched you come a long way since you were a boy. I see something in you. You have a spark, a drive which is rare, but sometimes…sometimes I wish you acted on it more.” Moss nodded, thinking about how he stole that second work order with pride. “You have this untapped well and I just hope you find it.”
“I think I’m beginning to,” Moss said. “Anyway, this vacation will help to recharge my battery,” Moss said quietly, no less determined, but slightly guilty for the decision he had made. Mr. Greene was so supportive and here Moss was deceiving him.
He chuckled. “Well, no one ever said, ‘I wish I had spent more time at the office’ on their death bed.”
Moss smiled and nodded. “Right,” he agreed.
“You are approved for a week of vacation beginning tomorrow. Was there anything else? I would like to hear more about this Ira thing, but I don’t really have all day,” he said graciously.
“Nothing else, Mr. Greene, but thank you,” Moss said as he backed toward the door, Erik moving alongside him.
“Make an appointment when you return and let’s catch up,” he said.
“I’d like that,” Moss replied, wondering if he would have another conversation with Mr. Greene.
He left the office and returned to his hex. The floor was still abuzz with security. Moss quickly brought up the vacation menu at his workstation and booked himself a week’s stay at the cheapest cabana he could find in SeaDome, expecting he would never step foot within it. Not wanting to stay confined within his mind for the rest of the day, he logged back in to work.
“Welcome back,” Two said. “Was it the pipes?”
“Yes,” Moss told his drudge. “It was the pipes.”
Chapter 4
“We have time to complete one more work order before the end of shift,” Two informed Moss.
“I think I would rather check you into a repair station for diagnostics before the night shift,” Moss said. “I’ll be off for a while and who knows how the others will treat you.”
“This is an acceptable course of action,” Two complied. “I see you rented a vacation house. You just wish to get away from work? You have never done so before.”
“Yeah, it’s time for me to see the world,” Moss said with a smirk.
Two pointed his camera at the vast landscape of solar panels and prophet root. “The SeaDome seems a better option than this.”
“No kidding,” Moss agreed.
“After the morning with Osiris, a burst pipe, and security checks, I can understand wanting a break,” Two put in.
“Thanks, it’s nice to know someone understands,” he said, knowing that ThutoCo could access his conversations with Two at any point. He slowed the bike as they approached the massive hanger which served as the repair center. Drudges of every type moved about, fixing bikes and heavy machinery, moving debris and inputting data. As he always did, Moss wondered about every person behind every drudge. He wondered if they were even in this burb, what they loved to eat and do and how they passed their time outside of work. These absent thoughts kept him occupied as he parked the bike and slid Two off before walking him to check in for repair. He brought up the menu and cued Two up for analysis before preparing to log out.
“Have a nice week, Two,” he said, and he meant it.
“Goodbye, Moss,” Two said. Moss logged out. Work had been a welcome distraction but now he was alone with his thoughts once more. He opened the drawer and pulled out the chip. He could differentiate it as it had 0027 inscribed on the face. So much had happened today for this chip. He wondered if the security officers were even told if this is what they were looking for and decided that they were likely kept in the dark on that detail. Perhaps only the Security Chiefs were given all the information as Issy and Clam seemed to be doing a general sweep. Or perhaps his friendship had saved him?
He brought up a purchase menu to order some clothes suitable for the outside world when the screen was overtaken. INCOMING CALL. It was Gibbs, no doubt returning his calls now that the workday and security checks were done.
He answered the call, Gibbs wide face filling the screen before him, “Hey, man.”
“Hey, I got an alert saying you called. What’s up? I’m gonna hit up The Restaurant in a bit if you want to meet me,” he offered, and it struck Moss how casual he was. His own world had changed so much in the day, it seemed weird that Gibbs was so normal, though of course, he had little reason to be otherwise.
“You mind stopping by my hex?” he asked. Gibbs groaned.
“You’re not going to make me watch Skillz all night, are you?” he mocked into the camera, rolling his eyes dramatically.
“No,” Moss said more seriously than he intended. His friend picked up on the tone. For as much as Gibbs could be foolish, more interested in chatting up girls than listening to his friends, he would step up in a pinch. Moss knew he would walk through a minefield for him if he needed it.
“All right, I’ll be by soon, but I’m bringing beer,” he stated.
The idea of a drink was more appealing than it had ever been. “Perfect,” Moss said.
“Oh,” Gibbs said in astonishment. “Great.”
Moss clicked him off and ordered black sneakers, denim pants and a jacket with the ThutoCo logo on the back and Burb 2152 on the breast. He wanted something more nondescript but there were no other options. The company always wanted its employees to be recognizable. After a minute, a voice came through the speaker.
“Incoming order,” the voice said and the dumbwaiter next to the Foodier clicked and thudded before opening to reveal the perfectly folded clothes wrapped in plastic. Dress me, he commanded, and the arms unfolded from the ceiling as he stood. It was odd to him to use the neural commands now that he knew people could eavesdrop on them. Though he had always known there was a digital record of all such orders, it was different to him now. The arms unwrapped and unfurled the clothes as others stripped him and within a moment he was dressed. Screen cam. He looked at himself on his screen. He was a different person. He pulled on the cuffs of the jacket, admiring himself.
“Doorbell,” the voice said through the speaker as Gibbs’s image appeared in a box on the screen. Allow entrance. The door opened.
“What the heck?” Gibbs gasped as he strode in, a case of ThutoCo brand BioBeer nestled under his arm.
“Yeah,” Moss said, holding his arms out.
“Going somewhere?” he jested.
“Actually…” he trailed off, not sure what to say. Living room. The desk and chair which served as Moss’s workspace folded down and slid into panels within the wall while another panel slid up and a couch with plastic wrapped cushions moved out. A large screen swung down from the ceiling and began playing as Moss said, “sit down.” Gibbs shot an incredulous look as the voice of Marisol Mae filled the room.
“Good evening, employee! In just thirty-seven short minutes, Burbz Haz Skillz will premiere—” Mute. The room fell silent, leaving just the buzz. Moss turned a grim face to Gibbs, who opened the case and tossed him a beer. Gibbs sat on the couch, which squeaked and deflated under his weight. He looked at Moss with a peculiar mixture of confusion and glee.
“What’s going on?” A curious smile washed over his face. Moss did not know how to answer that question. He felt as though everythi
ng was “going on.”
“I’m the security alert,” he said, opening the beer and taking a sip and thinking himself rather cool. Gibbs burst into laughter before checking Moss’s face and stopping.
“What?” he asked in what Moss thought was the most genuine bewilderment he had ever heard. He smiled and took another sip.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” he said finally. He ran his finger over the lip of the beer can, trying to put all that had happened into words. His whole life had been so simple, and the straight trajectory of his existence now felt askew.
“What do you mean? Why are you dressed like that? What are you talking about?” he squawked, sounding like Moss’s brain. If felt good. Nice to be the one with some information.
“You can’t tell anyone,” he warned, his voice low and ominous. Gibbs nodded, putting his drink on the floor and leaning in.
“You know you can trust me.” Moss knew nothing of the sort. In fact, he knew the very opposite, but at the moment, he didn’t care.
“While I was working this morning, a girl—well, woman. I don’t know. This person knocked on my door―”
“Was she hot?” Gibbs interrupted. Moss let out an audible sigh.
“Unimportant,” he said, knowing describing the girl would derail the conversation for hours.
“So, she was.” Gibbs smirked and rubbed his hands together.
“Yes,” Moss acquiesced so he could continue his story. “I let her in, and she gave me this.” He held forth the chip.
“All right,” Gibbs said quizzically, taking the chip and flipping it over. Realizing there was nothing special about it, he handed it back and picked up his drink.
“She said she knew my parents,” Moss said and though he was excited at the prospect of learning more about them, sorrow coated his words.
“Really?” Gibbs asked, his eyes going wide. Moss almost never mentioned his parents and his friend seemed genuinely interested in this revelation.
“Yeah, and she asked me to meet her tonight,” he explained. Gibbs looked him over.
“And you’re going?” he asked incredulously. “You?”
“Yeah,” Moss stated, holding his head high with a confidence he did not truly feel.
“Into the city?” Gibbs finished a beer and opened another, the crack and hiss of the can underlining his question.
“Yeah,’” Moss did the same.
“You’ll be eaten alive,” he said.
“I’ll be okay,” Moss replied half-heartedly.
“Moss,” Gibbs said seriously. “I’ve been to the city. It’s scary during the day but outright terrifying at night. I hardly wanted to walk around, and I was being led by a tour guide. The people outside of the burbs lead hard, cold, miserable lives and would be more than happy to cut your throat for that jacket. You have no idea what you are getting yourself into, no concept of the outside world, no reason for doing this except that some pretty girl mentioned your dad,” Gibbs concluded. It stung, for Moss knew the truth of the words.
“I’m sick of this life, man. I do nothing, will do nothing. I don’t know what this chip is, I don’t know anything, sure, but it’s something different,” Moss argued.
“Something different may get you killed,” Gibbs noted sadly.
“Death out there may be better than life in here,” Moss said, trying to sound like a character from the superhero movies he so loved.
“Who are you?” Gibbs said, looking down to his beer can while running his forefinger along the rim.
“I don’t know,” Moss answered truthfully. “But I think it’s time I find out.”
“So, what’s on the chip?” Gibbs asked.
“No idea, but clearly it’s something important. Ynna suggested it could take down ThutoCo,” Moss explained.
“But why?”
“She said the company was evil,” Moss told him. Gibbs snorted.
“We employ half the country and feed all of it while providing necessary crops, textiles, and power from the toxic expanse! How is that evil?” Gibbs seemed personally hurt.
“I’m gonna find out,” Moss said, and Gibbs swallowed down another whole beer.
“We’re gonna find out,” he corrected, extending a hand triumphantly.
“Nope,” Moss said with a cold finality which took Gibbs aback. Moss had anticipated this offer. He had known Gibbs long enough to know that if there was an opportunity to get into trouble, Gibbs would be right there. But Moss did not want to jeopardize another life. He knew that his would never be the same, but he could protect his friend.
“What, you think you can protect me when this all come out?” Gibbs said as though reading Moss’s mind. “I’m safer out there with you than in here when they figure it out.”
“They won’t figure it out,” Moss stated, more confidently than he felt.
“Oh, yeah? The second you don’t show up for work tomorrow, you’re gonna be red flagged,” Gibbs retorted, in his element playing devil’s advocate.
“I took vacation time,” Moss said with pride.
“During a security check?” He guffawed. “Nothing suspicious about that!”
“I had a good pretext!” Moss countered.
“Even if you had the best excuse in the world, the company is going to be suspicious. Count on it.” Gibbs folded his arms across his chest. “You are going to need me.”
While Moss wanted to keep his friend out of all this, the idea of having a companion with him as he explored the city was appealing.
“Maybe…” he said, staring at the muted television. Marisol’s mouth moved soundlessly. Gibbs stared at his friend. Neither spoke for a long moment. “What do you think she is like?” Moss finally put words to the question he pondered every morning.
“What?”
“Marisol Mae, what do you think she is like in real life?”
“Moss,” he began, his words coated in pity. “They are going to eat you alive out there.”
The truth dawned on him. His combined terror and excitement had carried him this far but now he felt foolish and naïve. “Oh,” he said.
“She isn’t real. She’s a CG construct.” Moss heard the words he didn’t need to hear.
“Right,” he said, remembering all the times he imagined Marisol having breakfast, picking furnishings for her hex, and chatting with friends.
“You have to let me come with you,” he put plainly.
“All right,” Moss accepted.
“Good, now tell me everything.”
Moss gave him a rundown of the entire day, leaving out only the part about Issy possibly flirting. Gibbs listened quietly, drinking and offering beers where necessary. When he concluded, Gibbs rubbed his face with both hands.
“If this woman is to be believed, your parents were working against the company from the inside,” he said.
“Yeah,” Moss agreed.
“You’ve never really talked about them,” he coaxed.
“Mr. Greene told me they were killed by a malfunctioning drudge, but…” He trailed off.
“But what?”
“I have these memories, like when you wake up halfway through a dream. Flashlights in the night. Screams and promises. A hand being pulled away. I don’t know. It’s confusing. But when Ynna said she knew them, I believed her.”
“You think they scrubbed your memory?” Gibbs asked, looking sorrowfully into Moss’s eyes.
“I do now,” he said.
“That’s messed up,” Gibbs asserted. Moss simply nodded. “You think they hacked your implant? Listened in since you are the child of rabble-rousers?”
“I doubt it,” Moss said softly.
“Why? Seems like the smart move.”
“Maybe, but I was only twelve and if they scrubbed me, maybe they didn’t think there was any reason to,” he said. Moss felt empty. He had often questioned his parent’s sudden departure from his life, always felt that there was something more. There had been an undeniable truth in Ynna’s words and
as more of the pieces came into place, his disgust with the company that had raised him was growing. He needed more information, more answers.
“Plus, I guess security would have been on you if they knew you were visited,” Gibbs said helpfully.
“True,” Moss agreed.
Gibbs shifted nervously, “And you can hear my thoughts?”
“No. I can hear only the orders. However, the system differentiates thoughts from commands, I’m hacked into that.”
“So, no help in the outside world,” he observed.
“People don’t use neural commands in the city?” Moss asked. Gibbs just laughed.
“Let’s go to my hex and get some stuff. You’ll understand when we reach the city,” he said, a devilish smile crossing his lips. “Say goodbye to everything you think you know.”
“Say goodbye to all your sick time,” Moss joked.
Chapter 5
Drunk, Moss and Gibbs meandered down the now dimly lit hallway. Moss tried to look calm, but his hand gripped the chip in his pocket. As they passed a group of young women in cocktail dresses, Gibbs stared, lacking any subtlety.
“Man, you see the twins this morning,” he asked as though anyone had missed them.
“Yeah,” Moss whispered as the girls looked back at them and rolled their eyes.
“I’m telling you, that night—” Gibbs began but Moss held up a hand to silence him.
“I know,” he said impatiently. He didn’t want to hear it again. His mind was split in so many ways, he couldn’t bear to listen to Gibbs talk about sex again.
As they entered the hex, Moss looked around the space. Where he left his wall screens blank, using them for little more than his ocean sunrise in the morning, Gibbs utilized his to the fullest: modeled after a late twentieth-century college dorm room, two windows looked out over ivy-coated brick buildings and the spaces between were covered in posters. He switched them out regularly, always happy to lecture any visitors on the cultural significance of the image.
Into Neon Page 4
