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#1
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“Backpocket Thalamus”
“And how about you? Are you enjoying today’s open house?” Assistant Director Carter was a sufferer of pattern baldness for more than a decade. He was also a coward, a man who decided to skip out on legalized scalp grafting because he had read one or two articles on how painful the process could be. For Assistant Director Carter, one report was enough to decide baldness was something he could live with.
“Oh heh heh. Careful, Director Carter. Bobby doesn’t really enjoy being bounced like that.” Bobby was two and his father, Harris Midford, was a thirty-eight year old Database Engineer for Aspira Corp. Bobby didn’t have his father’s eyes, in fact, he held no resemblance to the man whatsoever. That dubious honor belonged to the resident dairy contractor in the Bei Ri Chu apartment district.
“Nonsense, Mr. Midford. All children enjoy a little ‘Superman’ now and then don’t they?” And so Assistant Director Carter sailed young Bobby through the air, all the while making ridiculous “whoosh” noises.
Harris gave his wife, Sara Midford, a worrisome look and then reached forward to save his boy from the clutches of the division head. Sara hadn’t said a word throughout the whole ordeal and of course, she wouldn’t. The Propamine she took on the way over would leave her malleable and complacent until her next eight-hour dose.
Despite the child’s giggles and reddening cheeks, Harris assured Assistant Director Carter that the boy didn’t approve of being played with. “Director Carter, please. He’s just eaten and the Doctor tells us he’s awfully susceptible to motion sickness.”
Bobby was back in the hands of his father, his smile rapidly fading. Assistant Director Carter would go on record later as stating, Bobby looked very much like the puppy that didn’t get chosen, as it was placed back inside its market square cage.
The division head feigned a pout and waved away the seriousness of the situation. “There you see? He’s fine. Well, enjoy the rest of the visit, Mrs. Midford and thanks again so much for coming out to see us.”
“Pleasure was mine, Director Carter,” she lied. For her faults, Sara Midford was very much the dutiful wife, save for a stretch in which she was disloyal for one hour a week for eight months. Beyond that, what good-man Harris didn’t know about Sara ‘Car 69’ Cardeu’s college days in the ‘Grand Central Station’ dormitory wouldn’t hurt him.
“Oh now see? Poor Bobby’s messed himself!” The announcement was probably a bit over the top, said loud enough for plenty of people to hear and with enough attitude that one would expect to see baby crap all over the floor.
“Well alright, Midford, no need to be dramatic about it. I’m sure young Bobby’ll be fine after a proper changing.” Assistant Director Carter motioned down the row of pale blue, neck high cubicle walls. Harris knew that’s where the washroom would be and the hint is that it’d be a far better place to change a diaper than in the middle of the office open house crowd.
Harris gave Sara a pointed look but saw only glazed over eyes in return. Entering the work cubicle that was his, Harris snatched at the diaper bag off his desk and proceeded to storm down the hall towards the washroom. He was hardly missed. Assistant Director Carter had gone off to assault another family’s child and Sara had taken to biting the cuticle of her right thumb.
In the washroom, Bobby received a clean diaper and his previously worn -and still clean- diaper was deposited into the sanitation vat. He played with his toes as if they were just recently discovered and waited on his father to finish his business. Harris Midford took to splashing cold water over his face. He looked up into the mirrored surface over the sink and pondered what it was he was doing there, though he wouldn’t dare give the question voice. They’d overhear him if he did and then they’d know. “Cookie.”
Harris’s heart stopped and he froze with terror. Water ran like cold sweat down his face as he dared to look away from the mirror.
“Cookie,” the voice declared again. Bobby grabbed his left foot and smiled.
Harris shook nervously, a cold chill sending the hair on his neck on edge. Harris saw only red, as if he were suddenly showered in blood. Fear and panic seeped in, forcing him to consider a dire and vicious act. It wasn’t too late, he told himself. He could scrap the whole idea, quit while he was ahead and leave Sara to deal with the authorities. He searched the countertop for an object, anything to quell his fear.
“Midford?!”
Harris jumped, a stack of paper towels clenched in his fist. Assistant Director Carter stood in the door with a half concerned and half distressed look on his face. “Are you almost done? The others are waiting and I need your help escorting the families off the floor.”
“Uh, of course, Director Carter.” Harris blotted the countertop with the paper towels, making like he was cleaning up after a Bobby-like accident. “Tidying up now.”
“Well for God’s sakes man, it’s a diaper, not an oil change. You’ve been in here for nearly a half hour.”
“All thumbs with this sort of thing, Director.” Sweat mingled with the residual drops of water still left on his forehead. He tossed the towels inside the vat and picked Bobby up off the changing table. “I don’t know what I’d do without Sara.”
“And over here, through the windows, you’ll see the top shaft of the data core.” Assistant Director Carter was trailed by a row of eight or so families from the Foreign Archival floor.
The Open House was the first of its kind and all of Aspira Corps was participating. Families were escorted by the floor director and the whole ordeal was costing the corporation a day’s pay for all of its 1200 employees. For this relatively small company, a daily loss like that should have been intolerable but the trade off was peace of mind amongst its workers and their families.
For most of the 1200, their day to day job required mundane data entry of some sort, a nationally funded project to digitally record all of its acquired secrets. Secrets of the State. Secrets of Kaizen Gammora.
What the government would do with such secrets was beyond the need-to-know quotient for all but a quartet of Aspira’s employees. To the layman, and now his or her family, the data was being used to create a massive online teaching resource from open source information collected on the internet and from press releases all over the world.
Regardless, a Database Engineer could expect to sign a lengthy statement of non-disclosure under threat of lofty fines and prison terms. Even after that, employees were randomly surveilled by industrial police and subjected to annual biograph examinations to detect the introduction of deception and secrecy in their lives. It was quite a bit of security for just typing and scanning documents into Gammora’s wannabe Encyclopedia Britannica.
Six weeks ago, when Harris Midford learned who shot the American President, John F. Kennedy, he knew instantly that this was much more than a program for home schooling. It was the end of the world in digital format; in Times New Roman 10 pitch with 256 pulse-bit encryption available live and online 24/7. That’s when Midford decided that young Bobby was not his son, despite what he told Sara over a broken picture frame, spilled wine and a bruised eye almost two years earlier. He couldn’t be his son. It would help Harris sleep better if he weren’t.
Carter droned on and on about the core; its maximum storage capacity, its circular shell of servers and the revolutionary chain-ICE security linkage that would prevent the core from being hacked. All the crucial details were being left out, of course, because none of them had proper clearance save for the actual employees and even they were handed company-line bullshit for posterity’s sake.
Harris nervously walked in small semi-circles, bouncing Bobby on a shoulder. Sara was nearby, staring into the protective glass shielding the core or to be precise, her reflection in the glass. Bobby was sucking on his two middle fingers when Harris whispered harshly into her ear.
“Did you do that?”
“Did I do what?”
“Did you teach him that?”
“What are you talking about?” Their whispers were disruptive but they were being politely ignored while Assistant Director Carter went on.
“What did I tell you about teaching him?”
“But I didn’t--”
“Cookie!” Bobby’s exclamation stopped Assistant Director Carter in mid-sentence. All heads turned to Harris Midford who was whispering into Sara Midford’s ear while Bobby carelessly bounced on.
“Yes well, I believe that is young Master Midford’s way of telling us that I’ve taken enough of your time and it’s time for some lunch. Shall we?”
The crowd moved on but Harris lagged behind, staring a look of murder into his wife’s eyes.
The line ahead of Harris was down to a few people now and once he made it to the window it would only be a few minutes walk to the tube. He’d take the tube with Sara until they reached the Xiao-Lang area and then go on ahead to downtown with Bobby. He’d be a few hours there but he’d return home with plenty enough time to help Sara pack. It was a tight time line and so far everything hinged on the two industrial cops taking their times with people’s handbags.
Harris knew the process well. Spectrum-wand scans of the diaper bag, Sara’s purse and their outer garments. The wand would detect everything from their keys to the medchip imbedded in Sara’s left forearm so he’d be ready to completely empty his pockets before they could get the first word out.
Then they’d ask him if he was ‘ported and of course he’d answer that he was. That meant a surface sweep of the penny-sized I/O port surgically implanted at the base of his skull. Temperature and residual data around the port’s surface would prove whether or not it was recently in use, which would have been illegal within the confines of the building, and if that didn’t work there was always a cortex comparison scan to see if his brain was storing more information than usual. Ugly things normally happened after that and for employees who had been ‘ported a number of years ago, that could possibly mean a surgical excavation of the ‘port for data perusal.
Harris swallowed hard and stepped up to the window once the person in front of him was cleared. He held Bobby out, meaning to sit the boy down on the counter near the review booth, when Assistant Director Carter scooped the boy up. Harris’ hear skipped another series of beats and he suddenly felt light headed.
“Well okay now, Bobby. Be sure to tell your old man not to drive too fast so’ you don’t go and poop yourself now, alright?”
“Really, Director Carter, that isn’t necessary.”
“Please, Director Carter, I’ll take him.” Sara reached out for her son.
“Sir, please place the bag and any other carried items on the counter.” Apparently the industrial police were also in a hurry. “Sir?”
“Oh come now, I only mean to hug the child good-bye.” Assistant Director Carter held Bobby with a hand under each of the boy’s armpits. His fingers were near the back of the boy’s head and it was quite out of place for him to feel anything more than the softness of baby flesh. “What’s this?”
“Director Carter, if you’d kindly hand the boy to his mother so we can--”
“That’s odd. There’s a bit of metal...is it a zipper?” Assistant Director Carter rotated the baby so that Bobby was now looking at his mother with an ear to ear smile. “Oh dear heavens is that...oh my word...” Assistant Director Carter’s eyes widened as he saw a one half inch in diameter, metal lined hole beneath the baby’s right ear lobe, its dust cover visibly missing.
“Sir, please place your carried items on the counter so we can process the line, sir.”
“You’ll upset Bobby, Director Carter. Let me see him, please.” Sara reached out but Assistant Director Carter turned so that Bobby was out of reach.
“This hardly seems proper, Harris. Officers, this baby appears to have been ‘ported.”
“What?” One of the two industrial police on hand, reached for his waist as he frantically recalled his training.
“Such a thing can’t be healthy for a child, what with a non-matured brain. I say, Harris what were you thinking?”
Harris looked from Assistant Director Carter to the industrial policeman who was unbuckling his neuro-baton. “I---it’s for his uh learning disability, I mean he needs--”
“Sir, at this time I am directing you to lower one knee on the ground while placing your hands on top of your head.” An industrial policeman took a step forward.
Harris began breathing rapidly and looked at each set of staring eyes. Bobby was crying now, being held away from Carter’s body like it was some sort of diseased thing.
“Harris...did you bring a child with a cerebral data port into the office? Why would you need such a thing? You know how this looks, Harris! Why it looks as if you were planning on--”
“Sir, you need to take a knee,” the officer placed a gloved hand on Harris’ elbow just as hell broke loose.
Harris shoved the policeman back into the counter and took off for the exit, a revolving door that separated the corporate building from a tube stop. If he made it on a tube, the case against Harris would be taken up by Gammoran shock troops who had none of Aspira Corp’s intentions in mind. The only true way to settle business was to keep it within the jurisdictional purview of that business. That is why industrial police with Aspira were armed.
Three shots rang out and Harris felt concussion slam into him three times. It was like three massive fists landing against him while he ran and he suddenly felt it impossible to stay on his feet. The sight of the revolving door titled and slid and the polished gray floor of Aspira Corp’s main hall launched upwards to kiss him. Harris struck the floor and convulsed in shock for the better part of two minutes, plenty enough time to involuntarily piss himself.
Footfalls behind him were calm, slow and repetitive. The industrial police had the advantage of taking their time because they knew, Harris Midford wasn’t going anywhere.
“Explain to me how something like this could happen, Officer Ran.” Hu Jiang-Xian was Aspira’s founder and president. Not overly shrewd and equally naive, he was known in government channels as a push-over, particularly when confronted by Gammora’s dictator. His chiseled chin was somewhat concealed by an unkept black shag, a beard thirty-nine years in the making.
“My humblest apologies, President Hu.” Ran Ju-Man was hired to keep Aspira’s industrial police in top shape. When one of them failed it was Ran’s responsibility, such as in the case of Harris Midford’s attempt to commit industrial espionage. Never mind that Midford was caught. The fact he got as far as he did would be counted as gross negligence on Ran’s part.
“Had we lost the information Harris Midford stole from us, we’d have earned Kaizen’s wrath. You understand this.”
“Yes, President Hu.”
“I will not have Kazien’s eyes forever fixed in my direction, Ran. Not because a retired Hong Kong detective of my choosing failed to protect our Superior Leader’s most prized secrets.”
“Yes, President Hu.”
“Do not let this happen again, Officer Ran. Your occupation is not the only thing at risk should you fail. It is my reputation you see and on Gammora, a reputation is worth more than the price of blood. You understand, Officer Ran.”
“I completely understand, President Hu.”
Hu didn’t have a desk. A desk was a symbol of labor that a president should have rightfully outclassed by position. Those who worked for someone else has desks, those in a position of leadership simply had a chair. A throne of sorts.
Beside Hu Jiang-Xian stood his executive assistant, a thin Asian male of about twenty years. He stood solid as if sculpted, holding a file open with both hands so that his employer might read from it. “Though I don’t believe this incident is entirely your fault, Officer Ran.”
“Thank you, President Hu.” As with each response, Ran Ju-man bowed his head, showing respect and repentance to his merciful employer.
“How could anyone foresee the day when a man would replace a portion of his own child’s brain with a cerebral data drive?”
“These are godless days, President Hu.”
“To purposely stunt your child’s mental development for the sake of concealing a hard drive. To not encourage a child to learn to speak, to grow because it might corrupt the data its carrying...”
“Inhumane souls, President Hu. Who could ever believe mankind is capable of such atrocious acts?”
“Well certainly not you, Officer Ran.”
“Certainly not.” The bow went deeper this time.
“But...I believe it’s possible that there are men who can conceive such things. That Harris Midford thought of it means that such hellish imaginations are possible. Someone out there knows the evil that men are capable of, someone’s familiar with its sickening extremes...”
“A wolf knows another wolf, President Hu.”
“I agree, Officer Ran. And so you shall find me such a man.”
“President Hu?”
“Yes. You shall find me such a man. A man who is not a wolf but has worn a wolf’s clothing. One that knows what men are truly capable of and that can warn me of such things.”
Ran Ju-Man said nothing and continued to look down at the floor. He knew what this sounded like but he prayed he was wrong.
“I mean to replace you with such a man, Officer Ran. Go now, deep into Gammora and find me this man we speak of. Do this and I shall keep you in my good graces and under my employ.”
“You are too kind, President Hu. Certainly I deserve less but I shall do this since it pleases you.”
“And since it means you will keep your reputation intact and not enter the street as one who has been fired. You’ll keep your face, Officer Ran, if not your pride. Do as I’ve said.”
Without another word, Ran Ju-Man bowed and departed the executive chamber, bound for the heart and soul of Gammora: its urban sprawl.
“Did you grab my ass?” Little Miss Boobsy the waitress walked like a woman but she sure as hell talked like a man. Cole Cash, the Grifter by trade, should have known better. You wouldn’t find it written down in a tourist brochure but it was pretty much common knowledge that Gammora was freak central.
“Oh no, I most certainly did NOT grab your ass uh...sir.” Cash was lying of course. Biotech research on Gammora now made ass-augmentation surgery possible and he just had to know if it was live or silicone. So he did what any real man would do. He reached out for a handful.
Cash squinted to read the waitresses nametag as she-he set his-her tray on a nearby empty table. ‘Hello! My name is: Rocky,’ it read in heavy black ink. Well Rocky most certainly had a silicone ass and more than likely had silicone breasts as well. But no amount of silicone was going to fix Rocky’s voice and so the joke was up.
“Look here, street troll, I make seven C’s an hour to put up with kids and their spilled drinks, bitches with their picky ass orders and teenagers jackin’ into street porn and messin’ themselves in the booths . I’m not about to put up with some AmeriCon blank check who thinks they own me like they think do the rest of the world!” Rocky was actually rolling up his sleeves, which Cash nearly missed because he was still staring at his tits. “You gonna grab my assets, you gonna give me a raise first.”
“So then I guess a refill on the coffee is out of the question...” Cash had been from one corner of the world to he next and never had he been to somewhere as fucked up as Gammora. It was bad enough that the majority of Gammoran males could pass as females with the right amount of makeup and pelvic tucks but now it was damn near impossible to tell without a chromosome count.
Rocky grabbed the edges of Cash’s table and overturned it, throwing half eaten eggs, sausage links and home fries in every direction. Rocky’s bob haircut barely moved but his pouty lips were forever twisted into a snarl.
“Remember?” Cash continued, holding up his empty coffee cup. “Wanted it strong but sweet? Like my waitresses?” He grinned, hoping flattery would get him somewhere other than Intensive Care.
Very strong and very manly hands snatched Cash by his olive drab trench coat and pulled him up to his feet. Just when he thought that things were over and that he’d be told to leave, he felt his body continue to move...up and then over a nearby table. Cash’s body sailed through the air and landed hard on someone else’s table, destroying it beneath his weight and inertia.
Slowly, Cash picked his head up out of a pile of flapjacks and raised his hand. Only the handle and half of his coffee cup remained. “Go ahead and put that on my tab, will ya Rocky?”
“That’s Roxy!” The waitress was stepping over broken dishes and scattered food to take another swing at Cash. He, in the meantime, was up and dashing for the door.
“Oops sorry, my bad!” Cash threw his weight at the door, throwing it open and letting him enter the walk outside. Roxy was in hot pursuit and Cash really didn’t want to have to resort to using his signature firearms to resolve the quarrel. So he used the next big thing. A nearby dog.
“Hey! Wait! No, don’t you dare!” The dog’s apparent owner was a thinner woman, or so she seemed, and she had taken to slapping Cash on the arms and face with her handbag.
The Gammoran House of Pancakes’ door opened and Roxy bolted out towards the direction Cash ran in. She never stood a chance and could only barely stop her run forward when she saw the airborne Pit Bull Terrier heading straight for her face.
The End...
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