On the Verge

A science fiction tale of addiction, corporate greed and tenacious love.

Dear Reader: What follows is my longest short story to date, around 6,300 words. The first draft, which was woefully lacking, went through a professional structural edit by

S.E. Reid

. I highly recommend her services. I considered selling this through Amazon KDP but opted to post it here for free. If you enjoy it, then I hope you’ll let me know in the comments. If you despise it, then you have my sympathies. It’s all I have to trade for your time. Proceed at your own risk.

---

The torrential rains caught Richard Sparks by surprise, a jolting incident in a lifelong series of misfortunes. Sopping wet and ready for a hot shower, he took the lift to the top floor of his apartment complex. The thrum of the magnetized wheels nearly lulled him to sleep if not for the chill. Numbers incremented on a digital display, chiming with every floor. The only other occupant, a waist high bipedal custodial bot, chirped as it waited for the next stop. It looked up at Richard and issued a series of indecipherable beeps and whirs.

When the double doors opened, the building manager, Miles, stood outside, blocking Richard’s exit. The bot slipped between the two men and ambled toward the maintenance closet to perform the evening’s cleaning ritual.

No shoes or socks were on Miles’s feet — a risky decision given the condition of the carpet — and he wore ripped jeans with a tattered, stained muscle shirt. It bulged out from his midsection, catching crumbs from the fried chicken leg he gnawed apart in large chunks.

“Final notice, Sparks,” Miles said through a mouthful.

“Come on, Miles, I need a break. I’ll get you the credits,” Richard said.

“This ain’t the tenements and I’m no charity. In two weeks, I want this month’s rent and the next. No exceptions,” Miles said, ripping the remaining flesh off the chicken bone, and then pointing it at Richard.

“Yeah, sure, no problem,” Richard said, sliding past Miles.

“You and that tweaker girlfriend of yours having issues?”

“No... everyone has issues. Why?”

“I caught her sneaking out some belongings during the day. Thought maybe she was bailing without saying goodbye,” Miles said.

Richard walked briskly toward his apartment door and held his hand up to the scanner. The automatic latch clicked and the door opened. As Richard entered, Miles said, “If it doesn’t work out, you tell her to come knocking on 503b. I’ll be waiting.”

The door closed behind Richard. He spoke into the void, “Lights.”

A pair of dome lights flickered in the alleyway kitchen, which led into the living room where Zara sat on the couch, cloaked in darkness. Her hands were on her knees and one of her legs bounced feverishly. She tried to cast a smile in his direction. He knew the look, had seen it before after a long dry spell. Her eyes were red and dark bags formed underneath. In the last month she struggled to maintain weight while wasting away with every huff of Ethereum. Underneath the fading exterior a beautiful, innocent soul kept Richard attracted.

“What did you try to sell this time?” Richard asked.

“Miles, that snitch,” Zara said.

The holodisplay was gone, along with a few electronics he didn’t care enough about losing to argue. The one room he did care about he kept locked with additional security, impenetrable by Zara, although she certainly tried. The manually operated thick metal door showed the wear of being hammered, pried and even torched. She would deny it as usual. He understood. Even though he was a year clean, the misdeeds of being a junkie were still freshly seared into his brain. In frustration she took what she could manage, only to return back to Richard, her consistent enabler.

“What happened with New Horizons?” Richard asked.

“I don’t need rehab. I told you it was under control before you dropped me off at that hellhole. I just need a few credits to get by is all — enough to get me an edge. After that, I promise, I’m done.”

He uttered those same words to her not too long ago, to anyone who could supply him. His sister Ella, his only living relative, he drained emotionally to the point of exhaustion. She hung on to hope, enduring his lies and thievery, as he continued to employ the same manipulation tactics Zara now used on him. Ella’s husband finally put a stop to it, issuing an ultimatum. It didn’t work. Richard cut all ties while on an Eth binge.

Ella died of cancer, an announcement that arrived via hand-written letter. The expletive-laden prologue from her mourning husband cut through any nuance. Ella’s weary scribbles, dredging up all his horrible choices, were punctuated with an offer of forgiveness. Too little too late. Her death set him straight, an irony that kept him clean.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Richard said.

“You don’t need to do anything. You love me… and I love you. Let’s not make a big thing of this,” Zara said, standing and walking over to the metal door.

“I’ve got barely enough money for this month’s rent. But I’m working on something that will get us out of this mess.”

“Open the door, baby, and we can find something to sell, you know, just enough to get us through. All that tech you jacked has got to be worth something in the underground.”

“That’s what you said last month, and the month before, and—”

“Why don’t you trust me!” Zara shouted.

Richard sat on the couch, sulking in the dim light, running his hand over the indentation left by Zara, trying to recall a more sober version from the past. She recognized her mistake and sat down next to him, attempting to play off his emotions, draining his depleting willpower, and said, “I don’t want to end up on the street, doing something I would regret. Don’t send me back there. Just a few credits.”

Zara turned up her wrist to reveal her DR code tattoo. After a brief hesitation, Richard pulled out a digital wallet and pressed down his thumbprint, capturing a bio signature for sign on verification. He typed on the display and then scanned her code. She would withdraw the funds for her dealer and Richard would pick up the pieces later.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Zara asked, kissing Richard on the cheek. She slipped out of the apartment before he could respond or change his mind. He slunk back into the cushions and his mind drifted to his personal project, his salvation and Zara’s. No amount of techjacking would be sufficient to complete it. He needed funds.

The rain let up briefly as streams of water trickled down the only window in the apartment. Richard changed into dry clothes and left for work, hoping Mr. Liu would be in a gracious mood — gracious enough to advance several month’s pay.

2.

A thick blanket of humidity threatened to smother Richard as he peddled his bike faster. While night had fallen hours ago, the sidewalk still shed an oppressive heat, cascading up his legs. Everything stuck. His hair stuck to his forehead, shorts to his inner thighs, and especially his shirt — splashed with Moo Goo Gai Pan — stuck to his chest. The cost of the discarded food would come out of his paycheck, evidence of a late delivery and an angry customer in the public tenements district. He despised the tenements. In the hottest months the fury of the affordable housing inhabitants knew no boundaries. The tips were never good, if they existed at all.

Running deliveries for Golden Palace Chinese restaurant barely paid enough to subsist, one of few jobs available within the dregs. He swerved to avoid hitting an Ethereum addict, who stood in a dream state, eyes dilated and stammering incoherences, a glint of saliva sliding down the lips. The job wouldn’t last. The dregs wouldn’t last.

An ad drone swooped low and hovered nearby, then directed its attention to Richard, keeping pace while inspecting his appearance and shuffling through a databank of advertisements. The machine, with its wide holosign display, deftly avoided the series of wires and cables connecting buildings, which pumped the dregs full of empty, digital promises. Holosigns everywhere flashed ads for shiny objects, priced beyond the means of most inhabitants. The glimmering lights reflected off the mildew on old brownstones marked by graffiti, hiding the rot beneath it all.

Mr. Sparks! Mr. Richard Sparks, it’s your lucky day, a deep, pleasant voice from the drone’s speaker said.

“Not interested!” Richard shouted, attempting to peddle even faster.

Tough stains? No problem! Introducing Guard, the miracle detergent that eliminates grime. From grass to grease and even Moo Goo Gai Pan, Guard is here to protect your fabrics. Guard – the future of clean laundry, today! the drone exclaimed.

Richard slowed while pulling a half-eaten carton of noodles from his front delivery basket. The bike wobbled. He chucked the food remnants at the drone and yelled, “Get bent!” It sailed up at the perfect trajectory, but the drone ducked before the projectile connected. The carton landed, spilling the contents near a sidewalk encampment. A mousy figure coming down off an Ethereum high gathered up the morsels and carried off the barely digestible scraps.

The intentional destruction of GlAdPro Industries property is a violation of local ordinance. Richard Sparks, you will be reported to the proper authorities, the drone said, and then flashed several photos in quick succession.

The light caught Richard by surprise and he lost balance, the front wheel of the bike turning and bending out of shape after hitting a crack in the pavement. He tumbled over the handlebars and smacked down hard onto his hands, which failed to mitigate the impact. His shoulder met the pavement with a thud, scraping up his arms as he slid to a stop. A few passersby took notice with sideways glances, unsympathetic vestibules with uncaring souls. The streets could be teeming with people and the dregs would still be devoid of life.

Richard left the bike. The bent tire frame couldn’t be salvaged or repaired, not with the lack of credits in his account. The sting of his wounds carried him the next three blocks to Golden Palace, where Mr. Liu would be waiting with more deliveries and no one to make them.

3.

The restaurant’s holosign came to life, a golden dragon swirling in a figure eight, blowing fire and coming to rest in repose. A vestige of simpler, ancient times – old Chinese architecture – faded into the background, and the ornate words Golden Palace zoomed in front. The sign on the adjacent abandoned shop advertised brand new bikes for sale.

In between the businesses were a row of chance machines with slick cabinets and attractive colors. Vibrant, neon lines pulsed rhythmically as a high-definition display animated a matrix of gems. A tall woman, arms crossed, fidgeted next to a petite man who scanned the DR code tattooed on his arm. Chance after chance he gambled, trying to place the cartoon jewels in a winning combination, forced to give up when no credits remained. The woman slapped him hard on the shoulder and said, “We got nothing now, can’t even eat. I’m through with you.”

The odd pair walked away, cursing each other and their bad luck as they rehashed unfulfilled dreams, the kind that changed fortunes forever, and which were in short supply.

When Richard walked through the doors of Golden Palace, a gong rang, announcing the arrival of customers, or an unwelcome employee. Mrs. Liu came out from behind a tiny three-stool bar inside the cramped front lobby. The tiny, spirited woman cursed him out in Mandarin while wagging a finger in his face. She stood between him and a pair of ornate arches leading to the seating area, full of tattered, emerald green leather booths. The only man at the bar chugged a shot, turned over his shoulder and smirked at the interaction.

Richard spotted Mr. Liu, who bowed to a customer and shuffled up behind his wife. She sensed her husband’s presence and went back to tending bar, offering a smile and broken English apologies to the only customer. Mr. Liu walked behind the counter opposite the bar, punched some numbers on a tactile keyboard, then turned a physical cracked touch screen toward Richard. It showed a few credits received in his account with deductions for the last order. Two buttons were present: Accept and Decline.

“You done here,” Mr. Liu said.

“No, Mr. Liu, please, my bike—,” Richard started to say.

“Always excuses! You cost me money, customer, time,” Mr. Liu said.

“You don’t understand, man, give me another chance!” Richard yelled, pounding on the counter. Mr. Liu stepped back, a faint hint of empathy or possibly a detection of misapplied judgment softening his features. The owner’s face hardened, washing away Richard’s hopes.

“Accept or decline. You decline, you get nothing. Just like you, Mr. Sparks. Nooothing,” Mr. Liu said, stretching the word out for emphasis, as if it would force Richard to magically dissolve and blow out the door.

Richard rubbed his hair in frustration, took a deep breath and forced a wide smile, artificial and ineffectual.

“You know what the problem is around here? Impulse control,” Richard said.

“No delivery person. That’s my problem,” Mr. Liu said.

“Nobody can control their impulses anymore. We’re encouraged to do just the opposite — to gratify and justify ourselves, to medicate, to... we’re victims, Mr. Liu. Victims of circumstance and exploitation,” Richard said.

“Gah, you talk nonsense.”

“My girlfriend, Zara, is hooked on Ethereum.”

“Not my problem.”

“You’re right, it’s not, it’s mine and I’ve got a fix,” Richard said, leaning in low to whisper. “I’m a techjacker, but not even the best can jack everything. I need money for high tech. When I get it, what I’m working on will provide a cure for all addiction. With our newfound freedom, the underground will rise up and take control.”

“You!? You’re not a part of the underground,” Mr. Liu said, laughing. “And if you were, why would I employ you? I don’t need more trouble.”

“Because you want to be a part of something bigger, a revolution even, just like Wei Zhang in post-Communist China,” Richard said.

“You think you can sway me with Chinese history?” Mr. Liu asked.

“I’ve invented a device that curbs impulses and can eliminate chemical dependency through transcranial magnetic stimulation. It’s real and I know it will work.”

“Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. But one thing I know for sure. You no work,” Mr. Liu said, crossing his arms, firm, emotionless. The owner could be cast in gold and placed near the entrance, an unflinching fixture of the business he owned.

With a measured touch, Richard tapped the Accept button, and the words “Employment Terminated!” flashed across the screen. He left the confines of the restaurant and entered a familiar world of hardship.

4.

A large duct fan attached to a nearby building squeaked with every tired rotation. Ventilation pipes blew out rank air and pollution into Richard’s already polluted reality. The chance machines were claiming another victim, one young enough to violate local gambling ordinances, but nobody would stop or report the act.

Richard roamed the sidewalks and wondered where the teen would be in a few years, even a few months — possibly down the street with the same glassy eyed look as Zara. A disheveled woman strolled by, pushing Richard’s bike, its unbalanced wheel wobbling. He didn’t care. If she could find a sucker willing to buy it for scrap parts, then what did it matter.

A GlAdPro airbus floated overhead and dropped down several ad drones, all while rotating through generic holosign billboards. The electronic gnats buzzed with increasing volume as they approached, then scattered to different sectors of the dregs. A sprinkle of rain started as Richard picked up the pace, hoping to make it back to his apartment before another downpour. A voice summoned from behind. He turned and recognized the man who sat at the bar inside Golden Palace.

“Richard, right?” the man said, pausing with his hands folded at his waist, composed and tranquil.

“Yeah, do I know you?” Richard asked.

“Silas Baxter. Now you do,” the man said, reaching out to shake Richard’s hand. He didn’t return the gesture. Silas didn’t mind, standing relaxed and comfortable, several inches taller. Richard made a closer inspection of his appearance. The cheeks were rosy and full, a sign of too much drink and an overfed belly. Although his dark beard and almond skin hid it well. Not a man in need. His pants and shirt weren’t executive material, but he dressed with spiritual intentions, giving off the aura of a religious figurehead. He wore a burgundy red kurta draped down to his knees and tan pajama pants.

“I don’t have any spare credits,” Richard said.

“It’s nothing like that. Just the opposite. I have a proposition for you,” Silas said.

“I don’t need credits that bad,” Richard said.

Silas laughed a hearty laugh, a little too carefree, then asked, “Your invention, does it really work?”

“It will, but I don’t have the parts or credits on hand to buy them.”

“I can solve that problem.”

“I’m a recently unemployed delivery boy for a third-rate Chinese restaurant, and you’re going to give me several thousand credits? Because that’s what it will take.”

“Consider it a signing bonus. I invest in smart people with a committed work ethic — promising scientists, engineers... techjackers.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Word from the underground is your tech is impressive; some might say prophetic.”

“And what of it?”

“Technology can perform miracles, or give us insights into the mind and soul. It already has, hasn’t it? I’m a believer in what it promises, the untapped power to transform humanity in ways... well, I’m preaching to the choir.”

“How do I know you’re not the police, undercover fuzz hoping to bust up the underground?”

“Ask around. I mean business. But what I really offer is transformative purpose, for anyone open to receiving guidance.”

“Yeah, and what if I can’t get it to work? You going to break my legs or something?”

“Your girl, Zara, needs all the help she can get. Your rent is due and now you’ve got no job. The universe is converging on this moment and offering you a chance at redemption. I would say the reward far outweighs the risk.”

Silas pulled out a slick digital wallet and pressed down his thumbprint. He typed on the display and then motioned toward Richard to indicate the transaction needed to be completed. Richard hesitantly turned his wrist up to reveal a DR code. Silas scanned it.

“Check your wallet,” Silas said.

“I don’t have it on me,” Richard lied.

“The receipt will contain my contact info. You’ve got one week. I’ll expect proof, of course. If you can give it, you’ll never need to work again. More importantly, your soul will be cleansed.”

“And if I can’t?”

“One more disappointment in a long line of disappointments.”

“It’s an odd job, finding random strangers and funding their experiments. Does it have a title?”

“Fairy Godmother. Talk soon, Mr. Sparks,” Silas said, turning to leave in the opposite direction.

A rumble of thunder announced more rain.

5.

Zara shivered on the couch, a hard crash leaving her curled up in the fetal position. Richard pulled up her blanket. She stirred, but wouldn’t wake from her hangover for several hours. When she did, the hunger for food would be all-consuming. That would last a day until the craving for another huff sent her spiraling. His plan would involve keeping her on the verge between addiction and sobriety.

On the verge. He remembered loathing it. The liminal space between the next high and another crash created havoc in the life of an addict and everyone in their proximity. The verge made Richard do stupid things, ungodly things, the things he wanted to forget most. But it would be the only way to keep Zara nearby and test his device. It also left him guilty and full of shame. Had he stopped enabling her earlier, accepted the risk of abandonment, then maybe she would make better choices. Those maybes kept him in a constant state of despair.

Richard checked his wallet half a dozen times, turning the screen on and off, trying to decide if he should take the credits and run. The sure thing would be to pay the rent and get Zara help. With a little left over he could buy a new bike, beg Mr. Liu for his job back and crawl his way out of the dregs. And then spend the remainder of his days regretting the decision, as the ghosted memory of what could have been haunted him. Besides, he had checked in with fellow techjackers. Silas was the real deal, had tossed big money around and offered prophetic visions of a prosperous future. But nobody knew his origins, and he didn’t offer them either. The possible outcomes if Richard couldn’t produce left him anxious.

The metal door leading to Richard’s shop provided the solitude necessary for manufacturing hacked hardware. He entered and turned on the computers and a single wide holodisplay. The machines whirred to life as he cleared a bench full of scattered circuitry. Live wires fed into a small monitor and were attached to metal wrist bracelets he named neuralcuffs, which were pieced together from second-hand traded parts. The AI programming, while brutal in architecture, lacked the GPU upgrades necessary to function completely. He made a final plan and tinkered into the early morning.

Over the next several days, Richard barely slept, ate indigestible leftovers and focused his efforts on buying and jacking the remaining parts from unsuspecting businesses. Impulses could be interrupted through transcranial magnetic stimulation by wearing the neuralcuffs. They monitored neurofeedback and tracked brainwave responses through contact against the skin. Alternating currents were fed between them, serving as magnetic poles. They constantly managed and adjusted the stimulus for the wearer, whose body acted as a conductor, a process known as auto-tuning. He concocted the idea watching old medical procedural videos on abandoned streams. They used to call it shock therapy. The imprecise nature of the treatment caused an uproar and lucrative pharmaceutical companies stepped in as a substitute.

In recent years, an increase in Earth’s magnetic field induced a subtle shift in human behavior, but it also allowed Richard to tap into the source. Everyone reacted differently, but auto-tuning with AI based upon surrounding solar activity and atmospheric phenomena was a breakthrough. Richard posited the prefrontal cortex and hippocampus could repair itself, although the level of neuroplasticity involved was still uncertain. Unfortunately, this also required sensors inaccessible on the consumer market. He initially jacked a black market core, but with all new components he could repair it for good and demonstrate to Silas working controls.

On the sixth day he finished. Zara could no longer exist without Ethereum, and he dedicated all of his resources to ensuring success. He hoped the increased magnetism would not shift her impulses too much, reversing the polarity of their relationship. It was the first time Richard doubted his ability to keep her around if she were sober and the thought of a brewing codependency scared him. Even so, no force strong enough could bring them back together if the neuralcuffs failed.

Zara shifted, uneasy on the couch and rubbed her hands on her legs. A sickening addict. The hallucinations were becoming more frequent. She itched incessantly, complaining about the maggots leaching out of her pores. Scabs formed, which was sure to cause an infection. Sensing her unease, the dilation in the pupils, perspiration on the surface of the skin, Richard understood this would be his only opportunity. He set the neuralcuffs down on the coffee table, but it could not distract Zara from what she wanted most — the inhaler and cartridge full of Ethereum.

“Zara, hey, look at me. The Eth is yours, but only if you put on the bracelets and give me a minute,” Richard said.

“You left the door open to your shop… you shouldn’t trust me,” Zara said, her voice tired and raspy.

“That doesn’t matter anymore.”

Richard slid the neuralcuffs onto her wrists, where they hung loose. Upon activation they automatically resized to fit her snug, but not too tight. The small displays lit up yellow and then blue while the AI came online. New user, activate initiation sequence, the device echoed calmly.

“What I would like you to do is press your right thumb to the display. Can you do that for me, Zara?” Richard asked. “You’re going to feel a small shock, barely noticeable, and then sense a humming as your body tunes.”

“Then I get the Eth, right?”

“Soon enough,” Richard said, fighting back tears. He hated to treat her like some guinea pig, promising her the thing she desired most, the terrible thing that guaranteed endless pleasure, only to leave its users dead to life, and then simply dead.

Zara followed instructions. The display lit up green and she startled by the initial shock. Her demeanor changed little, a disappointing sign, but Richard knew better, understood the devastating hold the drug had on users. Zara’s breathing intensified and her facial muscles spasmed. She resisted. Her body resisted. Her mind resisted.

“So? When? Now? Give it to me, Richard, just give it to me. I did what you…” Zara paused, then leaned back. Her pupils shrunk as she shed away the parasite clinging tight to her body, that uncontrollable impulse to self-medicate. The electricity produced waves of goosebumps, pushing blonde hairs up on her arms while the AI adjusted to her nervous system. She peered up at Richard, a child of remorse, then leaned forward and wept. Richard put the Ethereum cartridge back into his pocket.

“How do you feel?” Richard asked.

“Empty, but in control. It’s a miracle,” Zara said.

The couple embraced, expectant of a better future, but Richard recognized an immediate truth he couldn’t convey to Zara. He would need to contact Silas and ask for more time, lie about the effectiveness so she could keep the bracelets, or else the compulsion would become unbearable. He didn’t want to lose her again, but that meant figuring out how to hold onto the invention.

Later that evening he called in secret. Silas asked Richard to come meet him face-to-face so they could come to an understanding. The alternative was Silas would come to see him with company. That wouldn’t end well, so Richard chose the former.

6.

A thin bead of sweat trickled down Richard’s temple as he inspected the surroundings. The building he stood in front of had no published address. Silas directed him to an alleyway on the outskirts of the dregs and asked him to walk down to the only door. A camera above it tracked Richard’s movements. The lens zoomed in to capture facial recognition data points, and said in a robotic voice: Richard Sparks. Identity confirmed. Notifying occupants.

After a brief silence, thick locks unlatched and the door opened to reveal Silas Baxter, smiling. Next to him, a tall, broad-shouldered man stood watchful and wary of Richard’s presence. His face and neck were tattooed with the brands of genetic enhancement labs — warning signs to anyone who wanted to cause trouble. He peered out around the corner of the door and stepped outside, an indication Richard should step inside.

“Don’t mind the security. Gregory is all bark,” Silas said. Richard wasn’t comforted.

The men walked down the narrow hallway, lights illuminating as they passed. Gregory slammed the door shut. Trapped. They reached another shut door with a camera above. It scanned Silas, and the door automatically slid open with a gentle wisp.

The hallway opened and continued through a long stretch of enclosed glass rooms on either side, where lab technicians, engineers and scientists worked like bees in climate controlled hives, buzzing around busy and focused. High-value tech spread across workstations indicated a sophisticated operation. A few laborers glanced briefly in their direction, then returned to their work.

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s not military, not anymore. This is all for commercial application,” Silas said.

“Why all the security then?” Richard asked.

“Corporate secrets worth spending the money to protect,” Silas said.

“Isn’t letting me inside risky?”

“We’ve done our research, Mr. Sparks. You’ve got contacts in the underground, other hobbyists and techjackers, but you’re one of the few with an industrious streak.”

“And the name of your company?”

“This is more like a cooperative, or a congregation if you prefer. I make the right connections as the spirit moves. There isn’t one company, only interested buyers. You’ve got a few, all of them sharing a divine vision of a better world.”

The three men walked down the hallway to the last room on the left, where a man wearing a lab coat watched them enter with a measure of authority. The room’s windows frosted over to ensure privacy. Gregory hovered and silently instructed Richard to sit. He complied obediently.

“This is Dr. Bakhash, an observer from our bio-medical staff,” Silas said, introducing the authority figure.

“What do you mean? To observe what?” Richard asked in confusion.

Silas nodded to Dr. Bakhash, who pulled out a dispenser and a cartridge of Ethereum, or what appeared to be Ethereum, but the common white cartridge contained swirls of faded blue.

“I’m afraid you haven’t been completely honest. I’ve been watching, observing from a distance, and then a little closer, waiting for the results I knew you could deliver,” Silas said.

“I will. I just need more time.”

“In a way, you’ve chosen the subject for an appropriate demonstration, even though I suspect you’ve already tested it on her.”

A back door to the room opened, and in walked what could have been Gregory’s twin enforcer, with his large hands clasping the delicate arms of Zara. Richard leapt up, but Gregory yanked him back down into his seat. She wasn’t wearing the neuralcuffs. Her eyes were glassy and unintelligible words sputtered out of her lips. An interruption of her auditory nerves sent ripples of color washing over the room, painting an abstract facsimile of reds, pinks and yellows.

Zara sat, barely aware of Richard’s presence. Her escort handed the neuralcuffs to Silas, who inspected them carefully. A smile formed and he looked pleased.

“You bastard,” Richard said.

“More like a savior or a concerned shepherd. We all need to find our place in this world, and I’ve helped you find yours within our flock. Zara is on a new product called Ethereum X. The euphoria is indescribable. It’s extremely addictive, but the high is short lived. She’ll want another hit, which Dr. Bakhash has provided.”

Silas walked to the other side of the table and leaned in close to Zara. He slid the Ethereum X in front of her and whispered into her ear. Richard struggled in his chair, but Gregory kept his meaty hands planted firmly on his shoulders. Zara gazed over at the drug, waking from a dream state, craving a permanent state of blissful ignorance. She quickly grabbed the cartridge, but Silas stopped her, turned to Richard and said, “Salvation is at hand. Show us how clever you are, Mr. Sparks.”

Richard slipped the bracelets around Zara’s wrists, just as before, and they cycled through startup. The AI programming learned how to interpret the signals unique to Zara’s body and adjusted the learning model. She squirmed in her chair, groaning, fighting the hum emanating from the embedded transmitters.

Silas reached for the Ethereum X and slid it directly in front of Zara, tempting her further, and said, “It’s okay, you can have it. Wash away your troubles and doubts, let your fears give way to eternal ecstasy. Take your communion.”

For a moment, Richard thought Zara would overpower the tuning sensation, destroying her brain and her will to live. But tears formed, and through reformed senses she recognized the man who would save her life and who could hand her true sobriety.

“Richard, I don’t want it anymore,” Zara said.

“I know, sweetie, it’s okay, you don’t need it,” Richard said.

“See Dr. Bakhash, another miracle of science,” Silas said.

“We’ll need the source code and the ability to run diagnostics, preferably while she is on the verge,” Dr. Bakhash said with a heavy Indian accent.

“You can’t keep doing this to her! Please, I’ll give you everything you need. I can make another prototype. Let her keep the bracelets. You can kill me afterward,” Richard pleaded.

“Murder? That’s a sloppy way to run a legitimate business. I prefer a more elegant solution, a unification of interests, a fostered understanding. While I’m sure Dr. Bakhash would enjoy experimenting, you have the wrong impression. You will both stay here, as my guest. You will make another prototype, but we’ll find other subjects. And when you’re done, you’ll be paid handsomely,” Silas said.

“For my silence,” Richard said.

“For your faith. We’re brothers on the road to righteousness. That road is narrow, but I’m sure we can find a way to walk it together.”

And Richard did stay. Him and Zara were housed in living quarters within the same building. They were well fed and cared for, given access to the necessary accommodations for living comfortably and for Richard to complete another prototype. But they were not allowed to leave for any reason. They were observed by Gregory or any number of security personnel streaming in day and night.

Zara started to recover in the following weeks. A doctor was provided to monitor her body’s responses, meticulously documenting biological and neurological reactions, showing jealousy at Richard’s progress. A techjacker had managed to outsmart every Ph.D. sycophant with reams of medical credentials. Paperwork was signed before the final demonstration of the improved prototype on an unsuspecting Ethereum X addict. Immediately after the couple were ushered out the door.

The first payment arrived the same day. Money would never be an issue again, until almost a year later, when Richard’s worst suspicions were confirmed.

7.

The chance machines were gone and only a handful of Ethereum addicts remained. The entire mood of the dregs shifted. It was a test market, which Silas explained to Richard would help them work out any kinks. He brokered a single deal, the kind that meant Richard would never need to work. That purchase exceeded his expectations. The royalties alone, shares off the top of every sale, were an unbelievable surprise.

Richard never questioned the identity of the buyer or the puzzling marketing, not that Silas would have revealed it anyhow. Thousands of neuralcuffs were simply given away. The only requirement, that he remain quiet regarding the technical specifications, seemed a reasonable trade-off. Never could he reveal the nature of his invention, or that he was responsible, but it didn’t matter. The people he lived around led better lives as a result of his creation, including Zara. A new, thriving populace got and kept jobs, raised families and spent disposable income. As a result of everything that changed, GlAdPro and companies like them thrived, all too well.

Suspicions only arose when friends, former addicts and techjackers who hated the capitalist machine, started buying indiscriminately. Their ethos shifted. Jacking, then re-purposing tech for societal benefit, an ideal that elevated to an art form, lost its appeal. The mood of the underground began to shift as well. Prosperity invited comforts previously unattainable.

Richard no longer participated with further development, not that he minded or would entertain working for Silas. Instead, he purchased the latest model and worked toward reverse engineering the encrypted BIOS. He cracked the updated software through a backdoor that remained intact and discovered anomalies in the auto-tuning, shifts in the magnetic frequencies that made no sense. It wasn’t auto anymore, at least not as far as GlAdPro was concerned. The neuralcuffs were communicating with their server farms, and Richard knew why. He made the call. Only Silas could confirm.

“Did you know this whole time?” Richard asked.

“Your insatiable curiosity will be your undoing. You brought healing to thousands. Someday millions will experience a rebirth. Imagine our progress and let it go,” Silas said.

“Odd that everyone can control their impulses to huff Ethereum or gamble, but can’t stop impulses to buy material possessions. It’s an irresistible urge when those holosigns are beaming ads, an artificial tuning in the opposite direction.”

“Drug addled users were able to escape a chemical prison. We’re just beginning to understand how this can be used for carefully controlling our unchecked urges. They lead better lives. You should be proud.”

“What makes you think I won’t go public?”

“That’s a comfortable existence you’re tossing away.”

“I’ve lived uncomfortably my whole life. I’ll get used to it again.”

“These are powerful people, Mr. Sparks. Don’t let the cheerful overtones of GlAdPro affiliates fool you. The goose is laying golden eggs, and you want to eat it for supper. They won’t let you. We’re not talking about a simple NDA anymore. Go public, and it will be the last thing you ever do.”

The false hope driving Richard’s contentment faded away. No addict could truly be free if they were still controlled by outside forces, denied secretly through the illusion of choice. But losing his life would mean the secret died with him. He wanted to fight back, to create a device that could intercept and counteract the signals. The best part was GlAdPro, those commercial overlords, would pay him to do it without realizing.

“You’re right, Silas, going public isn’t in anyone’s best interest,” Richard said.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Silas said.

“I already did. Now I’m going to correct that mistake, all while playing by your rules,” Richard said. He disconnected before Silas could preach anymore. Richard needed to convince a new group of followers by gathering techjackers around this common cause. He made plans for the new underground and began to proselytize a zealous congregation.