The Blind Spot

by Michael Robertson

  Before Graham responded, Nick headed back to his desk. He raised his eyebrows at Adam. Who employed this kid? Who would he have to disappoint when he fired him?

  Nick had avoided Graham all morning. The kid ruined his mood. He’d deal with him when his professionalism required. Otherwise, he could do without talking to him.

  The crack of the door hitting the wall from where it had been shoved wide, Stuart entered. Not unusual for him to remain in his office downstairs all morning, but Nick had been involved in a terror attack just two days ago, so he had to come and see him at some point.

  Several inches taller than Nick, and muscly from working out, Stuart had the bulk of a rhino. A man who felt the pressure of work, he often came upstairs demanding answers to problems he hadn’t yet fully understood. Best to let him release all his hot air before you engaged in a rational conversation.

  But Stuart smiled today. “Fancy a bite to eat, Nick? My shout. I want to see how you are since the attack.”

  A trip to any restaurant meant carbs. The thought of it made Nick’s mouth water, but he shook his head. “While I really appreciate the offer, I’ll say no. Thank you. I’ve got to stay away from the bread basket for the sake of my health. Besides, I need to save the calories for tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “A hot date with Karla. Dinner, cinema—”

  “Enough said, Romeo. Karla’s such a fine woman. Beautiful, smart, powerful.”

  Social etiquette quieted the office while Stuart fed his compliments to the air. Back in the early days, the Wellbeing app struggled to pick everything up. Although, it had improved considerably since then. Old habits and all that.

  A wry smile, Stuart shook his head. “You’re a lucky man to still be excited about dates with your loved one. I do everything I can to avoid Andrea.”

  If Nick got too complacent, he’d lose her. Women like Karla weren’t easy to find for guys like him. “I count my blessings every day.”

  “See ya, Nick.” Stuart left the office.

  The talk of lunch had put the idea of food in Nick’s head. It would remain there until he ate. He’d learned the hard way that starving himself only meant he’d gorge when he got the chance. Besides, he’d come prepared. He had a whole roast chicken and a bag of salad in the fridge.

  Just two seats opposite one another occupied the break room, one of them currently in use. Were the chicken not so greasy, Nick would have eaten it at his desk. His plate on his lap and a packet of antibacterial wipes beside him, he sat down opposite Graham and focused on his meat and salad.

  Nick played the lifts on his phone. Six in total. Two from Adam, one from Jane, and three from Karla. When they’d finished, he smiled. “How can you not have those in your life every day?”

  Graham didn’t respond and Nick smiled wider than before. “Exactly.”

  Graham shrugged and they both went back to their meals.

  The second Nick returned to his desk, his phone rang. The display read Stuart.

  “Could you come down for a moment, please, Nick?”

  “Sure. See you shortly.”

  Why had he been called down to Stuart’s office? Nick walked slowly enough to keep the meat sweats at bay. Zero-hours contracts made everyone expendable. But when he found Stuart smiling, he relaxed.

  “Nick, I want you to take the rest of the day off.”

  “Huh?” Maybe he shouldn’t relax. “But what about my pay for this afternoon?”

  “We’ll pay you, of course. But you do a lot for this office. You make everyone happy, and you spend so much time lifting other people. Also, I see how early you get in most mornings. You do all those hours for free. When you mentioned your date with Karla tonight, I figured you’d want some time to go home and relax before you went out. So take the rest of the day off. It’s nice to see people so in love.”

  Stuart’s computer screen showed he’d been looking at his Wellbeing profile. His graphs had steadily dipped this week. “Thank you,” Nick said. “You’re such a kind person. What shall I tell the others?”

  “Say you have to meet a client and then you’re heading home afterwards. You’re their manager, tell ’em what the fuck you like.”

  “Thank you. You’re a great boss, you know that?” As Nick stood up, he shook Stuart’s hand. “You’re the best.”

  Back on the top floor, Nick went to his desk and packed his things. A small office, he called to the others, “I’m going to see a client now. I won’t be back in time, so I’m going to head straight home. Have a great weekend.”

  The platitudes came back from everyone but Graham, who didn’t look up. The second Nick found a reason, he’d be getting rid of that boy. He could well turn out to be the smartest kid in the world, but if he didn’t have the right attitude, they didn’t want him. Nick had worked too hard to cultivate goodwill in this office. No way would he allow it to be derailed by that little shit.

  Chapter 12

  Never before had Marcie’s dad let her walk through the Blind Spot on her own. She’d been too young before her mum had been murdered, and everything had changed after that.

  The power suit and anonymity mask hid her identity as she wandered the streets like every other Scala citizen. She walked with a bounce in her step, her handbag swinging with her movements. It gave her a taste for the life she’d undoubtedly choose. Every few seconds, she brushed shoulders and bumped into johns and slack-jaws. They would have done it whether she went disguised or not. She might have been infamous in the Blind Spot, but she was no more than an annoying kid to anyone from Scala City.

  When Marcie rounded the next bend, the flashing neon dazzled her, and the thud of music pumped from every brothel.

  The man stood on the corner at a crossroads. He might have had bright yellow glasses and a tall hat, but the way he held himself suggested if you fucked with him, there would only be one winner. Time to put that to the test.

  Marcie pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. She had every right to be there. A paying customer from Scala City, she deserved to be treated like royalty. Just a metre separated them when she finally spoke. “Some slack, please.”

  Four streets running away from him, he checked each one before returning his attention to her. “How much do you want?”

  “What does it come in?”

  He shook his head and shooed her away with his hand. “Get out of here, rookie.”

  Marcie flashed her loaded credit card. “A rookie with good credit. And if your shit is as high grade as everyone claims, a rookie that will soon turn pro and make you rich in the process.”

  His tight frame unwound. “How do I know you’re old enough?”

  “I’m old enough.”

  He stared at her for a few seconds before he pulled out an inch-long glass tube with small cerise rocks in it. “One hundred credits.”

  “I may be green, but I ain’t that green. Try a trick like that again and I’ll open you up like a banana.”

  For the first time since she’d walked up to him, the dealer smiled. Although, he made a show of resting his hand on the gun at his hip. Yellow teeth stretched across his face and he scratched his stubbled chin. “You can’t blame me for trying.”

  “I will if you do it a second time.”

  “Ten credits.”

  Marcie handed over her credit card and he swiped it before giving her the rocks. “Now take it easy,” he said. “Start on a small amount and up it as you get more experienced. There are several dens along this street. You have to use one of them. Slack-jaws get tossed out pretty quickly if they’re using in public.” He looked down the road to his right. “I’d personally recommend …” His words faded. She’d switched the anonymity mask off. His confidence left him with a deep sigh. “Oh shit.”

  “I’m sorry,” Marcie said.

  “What have I ever done to you, kid? Do you realise what the punishment is for selling slack to minors? Give it back.”

  Marcie nodded at the washing machine he’d used.
It hung down from a chain attached to the wall. They were called washing machines because they laundered the credits before putting them into the traders’ accounts. The top table took ten percent for the service. “An experienced hacker can trace me spending my money here.”

  The slack dealer tightened his grip on his gun. “I don’t know what your angle is, kid, but only Wrench can order someone to hack a washing machine. It seems to me like my best option is to make this problem go away.”

  “Do you know who I am?” Damn, she sounded like such a princess.

  The dealer lifted his glasses, revealing his bright green eyes. Bags beneath them from where he clearly got high on his own supply. They widened. “Shit. You’re—”

  “Marcie Hugo.”

  “Hugo? As in Wrench Hugo?” No hands left to play, the slack dealer let go of his gun. “What have you done to me, kid? I won’t last five minutes in the agricultural lands, and there’s no way I can stay here now I’ve just hooked up Wrench’s daughter. What did I ever do to you?”

  “It’s not what you’ve done to me, it’s what you can do for me.”

  The dealer’s skinny frame slumped. “It’s not like I have a choice, is it?”

  Chapter 13

  Marcie might not have had any experience on the streets of the Blind Spot, but she knew how they worked. Slack dealers knew pimps and hackers. The economy relied on recommendations and mutually beneficial relationships. If you used the services of one, you might need the services of another.

  Most of the hackers lived away from the main tourist streets. Hard to focus when they had the commotion of a brothel or slack den next door. They lived reclusive lives and kept low profiles. She’d even heard her dad refer to them as spiders. They lurked in the darkness, waiting for the vibrations to come to them from the webs they laid through the Blind Spot and beyond. When they caught a fat one, they pounced. Some of the most powerful people around, they needed to be treated with care, caution, and respect.

  “He might not have surveillance,” the slack dealer said, looking around him as he walked, “but he knows we’re coming.”

  “And you say he’s the best in the Blind Spot?”

  “The very best.”

  Marcie’s eyes worked overtime in the dark alley. Any sign of a red ring and she’d be ready.

  A small dark doorway, the dealer walked in first and Marcie followed. The second she stepped inside, her eye enhancements shut down. Her mask, however, continued to work, as evidenced by her reflection in a mirror by the door. It must have been set that way for when Scala citizens needed to find him. They had a right to their anonymity.

  “Yo,” the dealer called, although the warble in his voice betrayed his faux confidence. “I need a favour.”

  A room filled with screens and cables, Marcie didn’t see the person until he lifted his head. He wore a mask as covered in microprocessors and wires as every other device in the room. He pulled the mask away, his skin pink like a puppy’s stomach. Red eyes like her own, he had a shock of white hair that made him look like an albino lab rat.

  “Are you busy?” the dealer asked.

  “Not now. I’ve just finished installing the Pandora hack for someone.” He flicked his head in Marcie’s direction. “Who’s this?”

  “Someone who needs a favour,” the dealer said.

  “We all need favours.”

  “Someone with a full credit card who needs a favour.”

  A tilt of his head, the albino hacker looked at her for a few seconds. “What kind of favour?”

  “She has prints on a knife handle and needs to know who they belong to.”

  “Why?”

  “Needs to track them down.”

  “This is hardly legal.”

  “It’s not like she’s asking for the details of someone in the Blind Spot.”

  “And you can vouch for her?”

  The dealer nodded.

  “One thousand credits.”

  The dealer stepped back as if he’d been dealt a physical blow. “What the hell?”

  But Marcie walked the streets with her dad’s money. She could afford what most couldn’t. “Done,” she said.

  The hacker stared at her. “Who are you?”

  “Does that make my credits any less valuable?”

  A shrug and he shook his head. “No, just curious.”

  “Like the cat.”

  The man’s nose twitched before he held his hand out. “Give me the knife. I’ll find out whose prints are on it, and then you pay me the credits. I’d hate to take your money and not deliver.”

  Marcie pulled the knife from her handbag. When she’d gone home to get dressed, she’d wrapped it in plastic to protect the prints. She passed it to the hacker.

  The device the hacker used gave off a beam of red light, which he ran over the knife’s handle. A few seconds of silence, during which time the slack dealer shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Hopefully, the hacker would pass it off as him needing his next fix.

  “Okay,” the hacker said. “I have a match.” He held his hand out for Marcie’s credit card. “That’ll be one thousand credits.”

  Marcie gave him her card.

  After he’d swiped it, the hacker said, “Her name’s Angie Sneech.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “Single mum, two kids, piss poor. She lives in the city.” As he said it, he wrote down an address. “She’s here.”

  “Sorry, dude,” the dealer said, his voice breaking.

  The hacker’s face fell slack. “Why are you apologising?”

  “I was in a compromised position. I had to bring her here.”

  The hacker’s red eyes narrowed.

  “She’s not from the city,” the dealer said. “The suit’s a disguise.”

  The absence of a red warning circle startled Marcie as much as the gun levelled on her. “You’d best start talking before I pull this trigger,” the hacker said. “What’s going on? Who are you?”

  “I’m sorry,” the dealer said again.

  A deep breath to settle her rampaging heart, Marcie said, “I’m going to turn my mask off, but you need to relax, okay? Trust me when I say you don’t want my death on your hands.”

  “You don’t call the shots. I’m the one with a gun.”

  Marcie’s hands shook as she switched off the anonymity mask.

  “Shit!” the hacker said.

  The hacker turned his gun on the slack dealer and ripped off three shots. Each one sank into the dealer’s face, his legs buckling beneath him as he folded to the ground. A red spay streaked across the mirror Marcie had used to check her reflection.

  “What the hell?” Marcie said.

  The hacker pointed his gun at her again. It shook as if he struggled to control his rage. “Wrench’s daughter or not, you’ve just screwed me over. If I’m going down, you need to give me a good reason why I shouldn’t take you with me.”

  Chapter 14

  As much as Nick loved his job, even he walked with a skip in his step when he got given a paid half day off on a Friday. The bus had been virtually empty, although no matter how quiet, being so close to strangers on public transport always left him craving a shower. A cold walk back from the bus stop, but the sun shone bright. Damn, did it feel good to be alive.

  Nick passed several people, who, like him, delivered platitudes to the sky for the Wellbeing app to catch. “A half day on a Friday to get ready for a hot date with my beautiful woman. Stimulating conversation, a good film …” and maybe even filthy sex. Not that he said that aloud. It had been a long time since they’d had sex. They were normally both too busy with their day-to-day lives. At least, that was what Karla always told him. Nick pulled the front of his coat away from his stomach.

  A cleaner on the other side of the road emptied the public bins. Hover cars ran along the skylanes overhead, weaving through the tower blocks. They made the slightest hum, not because they needed to, but government regulation said it would be safer
if people heard them coming. Although, now the vehicles had taken to the sky, the law had become somewhat dated. “Thank you,” he shouted at the man by the bin.

  The man turned around slowly as if expecting abuse.

  Nick waved. “You keep this wonderful city clean, and for that I’m grateful. Thank you!”

  The man managed a cautious half-smile by way of response.

  Nick paused. An obsolete lay sprawled across the pavement in front of him. A bald man with an O tattooed on his forehead. Whatever his crimes had been, he would have long forgotten them. The ultimate punishment in Scala City, obsoletes were branded with an O of shame and had everything taken from them: their jobs, their homes, their memories, their digital existences. In a place like this, if you had no proof you existed and no data to back it up, you might as well have been a ghost. Although, at least ghosts never got hungry.

  When Nick drew closer, the obsolete sat up and held out his bony hand. “Please, can I have some credits or food?”

  Many of them were skinny, but this one’s muscles were so atrophied, he probably couldn’t even stand. Sure, everyone had seen an obsolete expire in front of them, but it didn’t make the sight any less horrific. “I can’t,” Nick said. “I’m sorry. If I give you credits or food and get found out for it, I could end up like you. We’re not allowed. I’m sorry.”

  A different hum cut through the air, announcing the arrival of a CCTV drone. It came through the gap between two large tower blocks and stopped about ten metres above them. Before Nick could get out of there, the whoop, whoop of a police siren pinned him to the spot. If he moved off now, they’d think he’d done something wrong. A rare afternoon off, he didn’t need to be spending it in police custody.

  Two androgynous officers on flying scooters, they moved through the tall buildings like worker bees. Both dressed in biker gear, their mirrored visors obscured their faces. For all anyone knew, the police force might have been taken over by robots years ago, although the city claimed different. They would never admit that justice had been outsourced to an algorithm, no matter how much better it would be at delivering objective punishment.