“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?
