“Excellent.” He handed Jacob the coffee.
“After that, I was thinking about leaving the city. Maybe the country. Starting over sounds good right about now.”
A customer stepped in line behind Jacob.
“I better head out. Thanks for the drink and for babysitting my deck,” Jacob said.
“Anytime, my friend. I will see you in a few days.”
◆◆◆
On the bus, he half-watched the city go by and half-watched the screen on the seat in front of him showing highlights of The Democratic Party Primary Show from the night before. Instructions explaining how to vote a candidate out of the race flashed across the screen. Several passengers bent over their phones, tapping away, taking part in the democratic process.
“Have you voted?” the woman next to him asked.
“No, not yet.” He didn’t want to tell her he, and anyone committing a crime against a corporation, had a life-long ban from voting in any political race.
“Well, don’t wait too long. You only have until 7 PM. I voted to get rid of Suarez. He’s sponsored by Helios Incorporated, and a pair of their shoes gave me blisters,” she said, pointing to her feet as if the blisters were still there. “Horrible product.”
“I guess that’s as good a reason as any,” Jacob said.
“Greyson is my candidate. United Energy Drinks is her sponsor, and I love their Triple B BlueBerry Blaster.” She pulled one of the drinks from her purse. “I take one with me everywhere I go. Have you tried it?”
Jacob shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”
“Have this one,” she said, pushing the drink on him.
“Oh, that’s…”
“Don’t worry, I have another.”
The bus came to a stop. Jacob looked up. “This is my stop,” he lied and stood to exit.
“Don’t forget your Triple B BlueBerry Blaster,” the woman said, handing him the drink.
“Thanks.”
On the street, he tossed the Triple B into the recycle bin at the bus stop and got his bearings. He was still two miles away from The Galleria and home. “A walk will do me good,” he said to no one. He adjusted his backpack and started walking.
Chapter 3
He stepped from the cool January air into the warm inviting air of The Galleria. This had once been a Mecca of consumerism, but the ever-shifting forces of economics had transformed it into a backwater part of the city, housing shops and people on the fringe of the new economy. Former big brand stores were replaced by cybernetic shops, sex shops, hangouts for hackers, and endless ethnic restaurants. If someone in the city wanted a product or a life without a corporate logo, they came to The Galleria. Some, like Jacob’s friend, Gomez, came by choice. Others, like Jacob, came because it was the only place that would have them. As with any place on the edges of society, there was a good and bad side to the place. Subderm junkies and high-minded, anti-corporate idealists rubbed elbows with new immigrants and sex workers; hackers and Low Tech Luddites rubbed elbows with artists, criminals, and Steamers, cyborgs who tricked out their cybernetics in steampunk fashion. And while Jacob was not entirely happy with the life he had at the moment, he had to admit he loved the place. When he worked for Your Better Life, he lived in their corporate zone, several city blocks of corporate-owned housing and corporate-owned shops with everything anyone needed, but it always felt sterile. The Galleria felt like it was teaming with life.
He headed to the food court, a term leftover from the mall’s past, to get something to eat. Gomez didn’t expect him to come into work today, and he hadn’t eaten since leaving his apartment in the morning, so he headed to The Chaat Spot for an order of samosa chaat. He’d been on an Indian food kick lately, so why not keep it up?
He sat eating, watching people working in the community garden that filled what was once a skating rink. The rink had been converted into an indoor aquaponic garden that supplied vegetables and fish to the residents who, like Jacob, occupied the former hotels attached to the Galleria. It amazed him that most people honored the garden and didn’t take from it unless they helped work it.
A young Steamer couple stumbled out of a corner of the garden. Both of them looked to be in their mid-teens, and both had crude, low-level cybernetics attached in a haphazard, done-in-a-back-alley-for-cheap manner. The couple laughed and stumbled their way to the food court. High on some code, Jacob figured. They neared his table, and he started to wonder if it was code he wrote when the boy stopped, going rigid. The girl took a few more steps before she realized the boy was no longer at her side. By the time she turned around, the boy fell to the floor and began convulsing, a stream of blood and drool coming from the corner of his mouth.
Jacob moved quickly, taking his code deck out of his pocket and turning it on. By the time he reached the boy, the girl stood over his twisting body, screaming for help.
“Calm down,” Jacob said. “I can help him.”
“He’s going to die! Help him! Don’t die, Aaron!”
A small crowd began to gather. Jacob tried to grab the boy’s flailing arm.
“Don’t die don’t die don’t die,” the girl repeated.
“Somebody help me with his arm,” Jacob demanded.
One of the employees of The Chaat Spot helped grab the boy’s arm. They rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing the QR code tattoo on his forearm.
“Try to hold him still while I scan and link up,” Jacob said.
“Don’t die don’t die don’t die...”
He scanned the tattoo with his code deck and linked it to the boy’s subdermal chip. The code that popped up on the deck’s display was not like any he had seen before. It was a mix of neuro instructions that didn’t make sense. What could make code fail like this? Jacob
