“No, we just created a gold mine. Think of all the accessory cameras we just created a market for! Mirror cams, handheld cams, and mini-drones with follow-me. We’re going to rake in a fortune.”
--Discussion between Head of Artistic Design and Chief of Marketing for X Development and Alphabet company. 2037
***
Thursday morning, a strange, shrill alarm invaded my dreams and drove me to wake up. After a couple of fumbling tries to shut off the bedside alarm clock, I remembered that I hadn’t used it: I’d used an app in my hind-brain instead. Since it was entirely inside my head, it wouldn’t wake Tara. At that point the app grew tired of waiting for me to give it the proper response and intensified by sending a tingling sensation down my nerves, like I’d hit my funny bone, only everywhere.
I sat up, fully awake, and quickly found the necessary mental button to shut it off. Satisfied, the app settled, but I could still feel it watching me, lurking in the back corners of my hind-brain, waiting to pounce if I drifted off again. I sighed and reached for my clothes.
As I slipped quietly through the living room, Tara stirred with a slight moan. The blanket had twisted about her, and she struggled against it. I gently pulled the blanket free and covered her with it again. With a sigh, the young woman settled as she drifted deeper into her dreams.
When the hallway cameras showed clear, I quickly left and closed the door behind me. I didn’t want to risk Tara’s reputation on the chance a person walking by had the common sense of a fly. Rumors spread about the M-Com like the plague, with about the same consequences on a person’s reputation.
Tara was a good kid, with the emphasis on “kid.” Her childhood emancipation did not change the math on our age difference. And she showed the worst damage from being taken by the cultists. I wondered if some of the fragility I’d seen in her came from troubles going back before the cultists.
She triggered a protectiveness in me that wanted to shield her and prevent anyone from trying to hurt her, even myself. If a little caution could prevent harm from social media’s tongue waggers, that was a price easily paid.
As I headed towards the gym, I reminded myself that I could only do my best and ask for help when it wasn’t enough. I sent a text off to Kaitlyn.
Me: Hey, can you keep an eye out for rumors of relationships on the feeds? Just left my apartment and realized it could look like the walk of shame with Tara asleep on the couch inside.
Kaitlyn: Egotistical much? You’ve only been a Samurai a couple days,
K: No one serious will be shipping you for at least a week.
Me: After yesterday’s corporate invasion and the crowds at work last night? I’m not making any bets on anonymity.
I had no idea what she was doing up so early, but I gladly took advantage of her responding.
Me: I just think it would be better to try to avoid that when there’s nothing there. Tara doesn’t need pressure like that right now.
Me: Nor you or Ginny, for that matter.
K: I’ll let you know if anything pops up.
I spent a couple of hours on exercises, switching between agility and the more common strength and endurance exercises. The old man was there and eager to help me with the martial art training, after which I spent some time on cardio. Finally, I returned back home to shower and change for the apartment tour.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Right at the end of my shower, Trinidom called me. I froze up for a second—I’d never been called while in the shower before, and I didn’t know what to do. How much would she see or hear? I certainly didn’t want to answer it in my altogethers, so I shut off the water, which meant I started shivering in the cold. The phone rang a second time, and I seized on the first thing that came to mind: activating my armor.
“Xenovir here,” I answered her call, hoping that my audio didn’t pick up the water still dripping off of me. The armor had not been as clever as I thought it would be. It held the moisture to my body, leaving a sticky feeling, but did nothing for the cold. My hair and limbs still dropped on the plastic shower pan. Each drop hitting with all the acoustic subtlety of bowling balls, and I was sure she’d hear them through any muting I could do.
Logic finally gave me a small bit of relief as I realized that both augs and my visor can’t aim a camera back at me. To turn this into a video call, I’d have to either find a mirror or some external device. And the mic used bone conduction to pick up the audio. In other words, she couldn’t see me and only heard my voice.
“I got your text.” Her voice was quiet, not particularly fast, and she cut off the ends of each word as if her voice was too precious to spend.
After the moment’s panic, it took a second to put context on her comment. “I know it’s an odd request. But Didir thought the Change League might be able to help. I have some Samurai tech to sell, but I don’t know how to contact any buyers.”
“Corporations are going to have more money.”
“True, a business or mega-corporation would be better for standard blueprints about some item or other. But they won’t pay as much for what amounts to a Protectorate college curriculum.”
“Depends on what part of physics and how applied it is.”
“The catalog I’m drawing on could be that or much broader. And it can touch on a lot of different subjects, many that aren’t very Samurai-like: economics, agriculture, ecology, mathematics, the list goes on.”
“You’re full of interesting ideas, aren’t you? We do have a contact that’s associated with Cascadia University. I’ll set up an introduction. Do you care if it’s in person? Or would VR or the Mesh work?”
I paused at that question, the first direct one she’d asked me. I still hadn’t tried diving into the Mesh, and frankly, I questioned if I should. I’d seen too many friends get lost in the mesh and become addicted to the escape it provided.
“I think in person would be more secure, failing that, VR will do.”
“Cool. I’ll check with Professor Colt and get back to you with details.”
She ended the connection before I could warn her of my plans, and I hoped that she would not double-book me.
***
Ginny, Tara, and I arrived at the apartment to find the place still closed. The entrance stood at the end of a long offshoot connected to the main hallway by an odd, jinked intersection.
“This corridor would be good for security,” Tara said. “And how it jinks off of the intersection will be good too. Only people that want to come to you will come down here. You’ll need to change the lock, though.”
We stood around in the hall, waiting for the management’s person to come let us in. Every once in a while someone would pass by in the main hallway, and we’d hear their footsteps on the carpet.
“Having the door deep in the corridor is both a good and bad thing for security. Your security can be aggressive without risking any innocent bypassers. But it also means no one’s going to see someone trying to break in and report them.” Again, Tara was thinking more about the security of the place. “But I don’t understand why it slopes down so much.” On the way to the door, the twenty-meter passage dropped at least a meter with a gentle slope that was barely noticeable.
Out of boredom, I linked to the door and found the same pile of loopholes and malware as my current place. I tried out some of the cyberwarfare tricks I’d been learning, more practicing than any real attempt to unlock it. While I was examining one of the loopholes for data use, the door suddenly clunked, startling us. I didn’t realize that particular hole was tied directly to the lock control and had triggered it accidentally. We all exchanged glances before shrugging and heading in.
We entered a large room empty of furniture. The paint and wall decor, however, filled the space even as it assaulted our eyes. Elaborate, flowery molding overflowed from every connection and encrusted every opening, while hidden RGB striplights bathed it all in a cascade of primary color. Black wainscoting crept up the lower half to clash with the neon-colored abstract wallpaper. Impressions and ruts in the deep shag carpet, again in deepest black, showed that the furniture had been equally heavy and probably plush enough to swallow a person alive.
“What is this?” I asked, aghast at the sheer ugliness of the room. I’d never seen a room so uncompromisingly ugly.