“I’ve read about it. It’s a bit out of my price range.”
The man nodded. “Well, we can talk about fashion another time. Let me introduce myself. My name is Johnson.” He held out his hand.
Jacob shook his hand and said, “I guess you already know my name.”
Johnson smiled smugly, and the sedan pulled away from the curb
“My place is just a couple of blocks. So what’s this about?” Jacob asked.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Quince,” Johnson said, “we can take our time. The driver knows where you live.”
Jacob took a quick look at the handle, making sure it was within easy reach, the euphoria of the dopamine code giving way to a mild paranoia.
“You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Quince. I simply have a business proposition for you.”
“Jacob. Just call me Jacob.”
“Understood.”
Through the darkly tinted window, Jacob watched the turn leading to his apartment pass by.
“So, what’s this about?” he asked again.
“Would you like a drink? Whiskey?” Johnson asked.
Of course, this thing has a bar Jacob thought. “Sure.”
Johnson reached forward and pressed a button on the panel facing them. A small door slid down, exposing a shelf with a bottle and two glasses. After pouring the whiskey, Johnson handed a glass to Jacob.
“Thank you. Now, for the third time, what’s this about?”
“Three years ago you were employed by Your Better Life Incorporated?”
“I was. You seem to know a lot about me.”
“It is part of my job to know a lot about you. I know after your release from prison you have spent the last two years working at Retro Media with your childhood friend, Mr. Gomez. I also know you have utilized your skills as a coder to ‘flick code’. There are several other side ventures, mostly dealing with minor hacking or repurposing older technology, you and your associates are involved in. And finally, I know you were released from probation this morning.”
Jacob took a moment to absorb what had just happened. The paranoia he felt grew in intensity. How in the hell did Johnson, if that was his name, know so much about him? How long had he been observing him? Was someone he knew feeding him information?
“More important than what I know about you,” Johnson continued, “is what I have to offer you.”
Maintaining his calm, Jacob asked, “Which is what?”
“Your former employer is nearing the end development stages of a new subdermal chip and a new type of code. The chip operates on a hybrid quantum processor, making the delivery of code more efficient and precise. The code, of course, is designed for use with the hybrid chip.”
“There were rumors the R&D team was working on some sort of quantum chip while I was there. Most people didn’t think it was possible anytime soon.”
“The rumors were true and the possibility sooner than was thought.”
Jacob watched the turn to his apartment pass by again. He hadn't noticed they were driving in a circle. “That’s great for Your Better Life. But what does any of this have to do with me?” he asked.
“My employer would like you to steal it. Them actually, both the new chip and the new code.”
Jacob almost dropped the whiskey. He concentrated on holding the glass.
“Steal?” he asked.
“Yes. We would like you to obtain one of the new chips, as well as the code algorithms designed for the chip.” Johnson took a drink, eyeing Jacob over the rim of the raised glass.
Jacob took his nic-stem out and took a drag, hoping the nicotine would calm his thoughts. He exhaled.
“So let me get this straight,” he said. “You want me to break into Your Better Life and steal some code and new chips they are working on?”
“Simply put, yes.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? I’m not allowed anywhere near that building. There’s a shit-ton of security, and I’m sure there’s more than that around something like that chip. If it even exists. Not to mention a million other reasons why the whole idea is crazy.”
“Those things are more than likely true,” Johnson said. “However, we are willing to offer you ten million credits for the delivery of the chip and the code.”
Jacob took a drink. Stay calm, he told himself, but it was difficult to stay calm when someone offered you ten million credits. That was a life’s time of corporate work and more than enough to go to Botswana or anywhere else he wanted to go.
“What makes you think I would take on something as crazy as this? No matter how much you offer me.”
“To be frank, desperate men do desperate things, Mr. Quince.”
Jacob resisted the urge to jump out of the moving car. Desperate? Was he desperate? Unsure of the future, yes. But desperate?
“Look around you, Mr. Quince,” Johnson continued, gesturing to the city block passing by outside. “Is this the future you envisioned for yourself when you were young, learning code, dreaming of coding for corporations? You live in one of the least desirable areas of the city, surrounded by small-time criminals and social outcasts. You have been banned from ever working corporate again. You are faced with an uncertain future. I would say that the ingredients for desperation are all around you.”
The paranoia he felt was overridden by anger. He fought to control it, tightening his grip on the glass.
“Just who the fuck are you, and who do you work for?” he managed.
“Who I represent is unimportant. What is important is that you take this opportunity. It will not come again.” Johnson glanced at Jacob’s hand and the whiskey glass. “Would you like another drink?” he asked.
The thought of hitting Johnson in the face with the glass shot through Jacob’s mind.
“Sure,” he said, handing the glass to Johnson. He had to get a handle on his emotions. Johnson, or the driver, could, and probably did, have a gun. Lose your cool, and you might be dead. The dopamine code made it difficult to maintain an even keel, and he found himself regretting sending it to his chip.
Johnson took his time pouring the whiskey. The amber liquid slowly made its way up the sides of the glass, the faint reflection of the passing neon signs adding to its color. Keeping his eyes on the whiskey glass, Jacob thought through possible answers. If he said no, it would be over. Johnson would have the driver drop him off at his apartment, and he would wake up the next morning and go through the day is if none of this happened. If he said no. Something about Johnson told him the man wouldn’t take no for an answer. If he said yes and could figure out a way to pull this off, he would have enough credits to get out of the country and start over and live the rest of his life the way he wanted to live it. And that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? A chance to begin again. A chance to erase the past and create a different future, a future he wanted and controlled.
“And if I say yes?”
Johnson smiled and handed him the glass. “I am authorized to give you a forty thousand credit advance. While it is not a large sum, we feel it is enough to show our sincerity in our offer. The remainder of the credits will be deposited in your account upon delivery of the merchandise.”
Jacob laughed. “That’s not enough to get a job like this done. I don’t even know what it would take. And I can’t do it alone.”
Johnson put his whiskey glass back on the small shelf. “You are resourceful, Mr. Quince. And you have resourceful friends. I am sure you will discover a way to accomplish the task.”
“But forty thousand is...”
“I can assure you the people I represent did not get in their position by investing in any project more than is necessary. Especially in an unproven project. ”
Chapter 8
For the first weeks of his prison sentence, Jacob had trouble sleeping. It wasn’t being in prison that kept him from sleeping, it was withdrawing from code. The prison was a low-security corporate prison that sat somewhere between a cheap country club and low-end rehab where e
veryone wore the same outfit every day. There were no hardened criminals, just people like himself, coders and hackers who slipped up and got caught.
No, it was not the prison that kept him from sleep. It was the withdraws. His body had grown used to a daily dose of code of some kind. Uppers. Downers. Opiates. Cannabinoids. Amphetamines. Dopamine. And to have his chip disabled and the code taken from him sent his body into a whirlwind of emotions, pain, irritability, aggravation, and restlessness. The pharma-tech corporations sold subdermal chips and pharmaceutical code to the public and the politicians on the promise there would be no physical addiction. They promised the government mandatory subdermal chip implants would offer a new, cheaper, safer way to deliver medications, a way to rid the country of the opioid epidemic once and for all. They lied. It took Jacob two weeks to withdraw. Two weeks of tossing and turning and pacing the floors of his cell. Two weeks of tremors so bad he could barely hold a cup of coffee without some sloshing over the lip of the cup. Two weeks of sleeping only after his body couldn’t take it anymore and shut down for a few hours of sleep filled with the bizarre dreams and night sweats, his sheets drenched when he woke, shivering.
He had forgotten the struggle of not being able to sleep in the three years since, but the conversation with Johnson brought it back in force. His mind flipped from the weight of what he had agreed to do to Johnson’s words, “Desperate men do desperate things.” Was he that desperate? He was desperate enough to take the job and was going to if he could get Gomez and Sandy to help. Maybe the bigger problem was he didn’t know why he was so desperate. Johnson was right, he wasn’t living the life he had imagined for himself when he was seven, spending his time trying to learn to code instead of doing whatever it was other seven-year-olds did. He made a life plan, he worked hard for it, and ridiculous subsections in a corporate contract took it away. And now he had agreed to something he still couldn’t get his head around.
Of course, he still had to convince Gomez and Sandy to help him. There was no way he could pull this off without them. He couldn’t even think of where to begin.
He had already given himself a dose of sedative code, but it was not working. He felt tired, but his mind fought back every time the blanket of sleep started to overtake him. He sent another dose of sedative to his chip and stared at the ceiling, waiting.
The next morning he woke in a fog. Sleep had come, but it came late and in small amounts. He made a cup of instant coffee and started toasting two pieces of bread. Waiting for the toast, he sent Gomez and Sandy a message to meet him at Retro Media before it opened.
In the early morning, The Galleria had not yet come to full life, the only real activity centering around the garden and the food court. A few stragglers from the night before roamed in an aimless stupor and several people slept in the walkways, presumably where they passed out at some point in the night. Jacob weaved around and over them on his way to another cup of coffee.
Entering the food court, he saw Sandy sitting at a table, drinking a cup of coffee.
“This better be good,” she said as he neared her. She rarely got out of bed this early after she spent the night running lights at the club and it showed in her eyes.
“It is,” Jacob said, stopping at her table.
“You look worse than I feel,” Sandy said.
“Thanks. I need another cup of coffee.”
“I think today is going to take more than coffee.”
“Let me have my coffee first,” Jacob said.
Together, he and Sandy made their way to Retro Media, cups in hand.
“So what is this about?” she asked.
“I want to wait until Gomez is with us,” Jacob said.
“I hope I didn’t upset you last night,” Sandy said, stepping over a young Steamer woman with ornate brass cybernetics around her left eye and blonde dreadlocks fanning out across the floor.
“Upset me?” He was at a loss for a moment, then their conversation in the club came back to him. His ride with Johnson had completely pushed it out of his mind. “No, I understand. Besides, what I’ve got to tell you will have that conversation on the back burner for a bit.”
“Now you really have my attention,” Sandy said.
They turned down the hallway leading to Retro Media. Gomez was standing by the gate, waiting for them. “About time,” he said.
“I needed some coffee,” Jacob said.
“Just give yourself some stimulant code,” Gomez said.
“Then I wouldn’t need the coffee, and I need the coffee.”
“But if you give… Never mind, let’s get in,” Gomez said. He shook his head and raised the gate.
Chapter 9
Jacob finished his story and took a sip of his now cold coffee. The backroom of Retro Media hummed with the sound of electronics, and the closed-circuit security system behind Gomez and Sandy cycled through images of The Galleria.
Sandy spoke first. “That’s some crazy shit.”
Gomez looked doubtful. “They already gave you forty grand?”
“He told me I would have it as soon as I said yes.”
“And you haven’t yet?” Gomez asked.
“No. Like I told Johnson, I can’t pull off something this big alone. I need help. I wasn’t going to say yes before I got that help,” Jacob said, putting his cup on his desk.
“And we are that help?” Sandy asked.
Jacob rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know anyone else I would even tell about this. I understand if you don’t want to help. Either one of you. To be honest, it freaks me the hell out. I mean, we’ve pulled some jobs here and there, but this is way bigger than anything I’ve even thought of before.”
Sandy nodded. “Then why you?” she asked.
“Because of my history with Your Better Life, and my skills.” And my desperation, he added mentally.
Gomez leaned forward in his chair. “And us.”
Jacob looked at him, puzzled.
“You said this Johnson knew all about you and he said you and your friends are resourceful, so I assume he knows all about me and Sandy, even Kat and Two-Step. We all have hacking skills. I’ve got military and security experience. So does Kat. Hell, I even know someone who works security in the Better Life building. And Sandy has security experience too. ”
Sandy laughed. “I got fired two weeks after I started.”
Gomez nodded. “But you’re trained in cybersecurity. That’s more than most people can say. I think Johnson and whoever he works for did their homework.”
The three of them sat, silent. Jacob felt as if the weight of knowing someone had that much information on them took away their ability to speak. They all knew that surveillance was ever-present, and they were the type of people who knew enough about it to avoid most. But this was not just surveillance. This was another level altogether. This was prying. An invasion.
“What if you say no?” Sandy asked.
“Johnson said he didn’t think I would say no.”
“Did he give you a timeline?” Gomez asked.
“I need to tell him today.”
“And for the job?”
“That’s not as clear, just sometime before Your Better Life announces the release of the new chips.”
“Did he have any idea when that will be?” Sandy asked.
“Maybe six weeks.”
Gomez stood and checked the time. “Two-Step is going to be here soon. We need to decide if we are doing this before he gets here. He’s been helpful before, but I don’t want the kid wrapped up in this. He’s too inexperienced.”
“You said we,” Sandy said.
Jacob noticed that also.
“Well, like Jacob said, he can’t do it alone.”
“Well,” Sandy said, imitating his tone, “what makes you think I want to be part of this ‘we’?”
“I don’t know. The challenge. And your motherly instincts to protect us,” Gomez said with a smile.
“Motherly instincts your ass. But I could see th
e two of you fucking this up without me.”
“Ha! I’m the…” Gomez said before the sound of Two-Step opening the gate interrupted him. “So, do we do it?”
“I’m in,” Sandy said.
“Now I don’t have a choice,” Jacob said.
“Good,” Gomez said, “we’re all in.”
Two-Step came into the room. “All in on what?” he asked.
“What?” Gomez asked.
Two-Step put his backpack on his workbench. “You said you were all in. All in on what?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Gomez said. “Don’t you have something to do?”
“I just got here.”
Gomez gave him a blank stare.
“Yeah, but if you guys have something lined up, I want to help,” Two-Step said.
“You can help by finishing that damn Tandy you’ve been working on, or this security system,” Gomez said, dropping the subject.
With resignation on his face, Two-Step sat down in front of the Tandy, muttering just loud enough to not be heard.
“Well,” Sandy said, standing, “I’ve got to go. I’ve got a new program I’m working on for tonight.”
Jacob stood also. “I’ll walk you to the street.”
Chapter 10
The Galleria pulsated with its usual activity. The halls and walkways that had been empty an hour ago were now teaming with, as Johnson put it, “small-time criminals and social outcasts.” A small girl traded vegetables from the garden for a pair of worn Nike shoes; the same blonde with dreadlocks they saw earlier sold handmade steampunk style jewelry made from upcycled computer parts to a pair of teenagers who looked like they came from corporate housing; a small man with a cybernetic arm that had pressure gauges on the elbow sold paperback books out of a pushcart; one of the sex shops was getting an early start and two of its workers, one male and one female, both genetically altered to have a fine golden fur over most of their body, stood in the shop’s show window tempting those passing by; a street preacher named Father Gordon stood on a milk crate preaching the ills of the material world and the everlasting glory of uploading to the cloud.
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