“
Except that
they’ll track it back to us if it contains any contact details,”
Jen said abruptly. It was the crux of their problem. If Cookie
managed to hack into the UniForce network and pull the plug on
Echelon, they’d have the opportunity to send the world a message
that could help reunite the resistance. But by delivering enough
information to reconnect the fractured branches, they’d be telling
the enemy where to find them. And that meant their downfall before
they could even taste their newfound freedom.
“
The best we
can hope for,” – it infuriated her to accept this – “is to let them
know we’re still here and that we’re still fighting.” She wished
she had some way of knowing how many pockets there were.
What if they’ve given up? What if we’re the
last?
Samantha noticed her
friend’s deliberation and alleviated her unease by distracting her
with something mundane. “Come on, I want to look for my top
here.”
They passed
the scanners, which logged the activities of every patron: which
store they entered, how long they spent there, which products they
bought, and which products they paused to inspect. With this
information, Elustra determined whom to ban from their malls. If
someone consistently browsed but never bought, he or she would
eventually be unwelcome. Elustra didn’t tolerate browsers; they
were only interested in people who spent money. So, somewhere in
the bowels of the mall, a server wrote Jen and Samantha’s unique
identifiers into three logs: a primary, an onsite backup, and an
offsite backup. The fact that the identifiers
recorded
didn’t correspond with the two
girls wasn’t something the storekeepers bothered to check. That was
why Elustra paid security guards.
Samantha spent
20 minutes browsing the racks of garish clothes,
knead
ing
the
material between her fingers to feel the quality of the fabric. She
selected three to try on and a store assistant ushered her toward
the change rooms, enthusiastically sprouting phoney compliments
when Samantha paraded the potential purchases in front of the
mirrors.
She wished her breasts
were bigger. She’d been thinking about investing in a set of breast
enlargers that used electrical fields to stimulate cell division.
Everyone who’d tried them sung their praises and Samantha was
saving up for the purchase. She was needlessly worried that Cookie
wanted them fuller and she pouted at her reflection in the mirror.
She hadn’t yet worked up the courage to ask Jen whether she wanted
to go halves in a set.
“
What do you
think?” The tank top revealed her slender shoulders and much of her
elegant back, though it would
’
ve hung better if she had the breasts
she wanted.
But maybe I should buy clothes
with larger breasts in mind?
Jen said, “I like it
better than the other two. It hugs your waist… but maybe it’s for
people with… it’s a bit loose at the front.” It was Jen’s way of
gently reminding her that the design was for people of more ample
bosom.
Samantha
memorised her figure then closed her eyes and conjured her image
with breasts pumped up like balloons. It fit perfectly in her mind.
All she needed were the bigger breasts and she’d be able to afford
them in a month.
Just in time for
summer
. The enlargers were supposed to show
results after a fortnight and the ads said a month of persistent
use meant she’d need bras two cup-sizes larger.
She smiled. “I’ll take
it.”
The assistant graciously
scanned the top’s barcode and then waved her scanner toward
Samantha. It beeped approval and she neatly folded the purchase
before incongruously stuffing it into a paper carry-bag that
sported the store’s logo no less than five times. She read the name
from the receipt before scrunching it into the bag and saying,
“Thank you Mrs Peterson.” That was the identity Samantha was
using.
Samantha just
smiled and accepted the bag before shuffling from the store, Jen
close behind. “You know, I was wondering…”
Now’s a good a time as any I guess,
she thought. But Samantha wasn’t sure how to broach the
subject. “What do you think of my breasts?”
“
Excuse
me?”
Samantha cringed and
wished she could melt into a puddle on the floor. “I mean, do you
think they’re small?”
Jen didn’t often feel
uncomfortable talking with her friend, but some subjects required
supreme diplomacy and made her nervous. “Well they’re not… they’re
a bit… they suit you.”
So Samantha spent the
next five minutes explaining her intentions and the reasons behind
them.
*
The Raven perched one
level up.
He had the
perfect vantage point, peering over the shiny metal rail to the
lower level. Elustra had tried to recreate the peaceful feeling of
sunlight that
had
often flooded malls in the twentieth centaury by using
extremely intense sun-globes. To improve the effect, they’d
carved
hole
s
through the middle of every first,
second and third floor to give the light somewhere to go. It made
people think they were in a four-storey building instead of a
125-storey building. Every fourth level had a plastic-looking
garden with rocks, trickling water and other soothing
things.
The Raven ignored them
all.
But the rail
glimmered in his eyes
and a
distorted image of
his
face
gazed back
.
H
e ran a finger over the scar just behind
his hairline. And he noticed it was time to shave; three days’
stubble was two days’ too many. Even ravens had to
preen.
He
detested
waiting. He always grew impatient
waiting for a
favourable omen. It irked him
that he couldn’t swoop two days ago when he’d first started
tracking the girl. But he knew how important it was. Without the
omen he was no better than the others, and he couldn’t have
that.
He longed to loose his
Redback-PX7. He wanted to lob off a few rounds and cut her down.
Just thinking about it filled him with malicious glee bordering on
psychosis. But that wasn’t how he saw it. He was a surgeon, after
all, an instrument of the new order. He carved the dead and
decaying flesh from society to reveal the delicious fruit
underneath. Never had he preyed on an innocent, only those
deserving death. And he was good at dolling it out, but the
meticulously economical part of his mind refused to allow him more
than a glimpse of pride before snuffing it with an electronic
command. Sometimes it was difficult to tell where the machine ended
and he began, but perhaps that was irrelevant. He was one organism,
and a fine specimen of what humanity was capable of if they’d just
overcome their inhibitions for cybernetic implants.
He signed and
watched Jennifer Cameron from above, ready to swoop at a moments
notice. It had been that way for days.
It’s a pity
I
can’t control the omens too
. He
wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he
’
d recognise it when it arrived. And
it
would
spell the
death of the girl – none too soon as far as the Raven was
concerned. He wanted to return to America and get some decent
sleep
because n
ot
even
his
cybernetic
implants
c
ould
eradicate a human body’s need to roost.
*
Samantha looked
downcast.
They sat on a bench, away
from the bustle of the crowd, outside one of Elustra’s many medical
centres.
“
It’s hard not
to be a consumer.”
Jen nodded, intimately
understanding. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been fighting the impulses for a
long time. Even today I had to remind myself what it’s all about.
It has to start somewhere and I don’t think the people living here
can control their sprees.”
“
What have I
done?” Samantha looked horrified and guilty at the same
time,
and t
he
combination
made
her look depressed. But she wasn’t depressed, just distressed.
She’d
certainly n
eve
r
need
ed
a Xantex
prescription
; she’d never been depressed in
her life.
Jen had never
taken
Xantex’s
advice either. She shied away from their products as thought
they were poison, which they
may
very well have been.
“
You haven’t
done anything wrong. Yet. I think spending money on breast
enlargers would be a mistake, but it’s always-”
“
No,” Samantha
said, cutting her off. “You’re right. So what’re we doing
here?”
Jen paused to
consider that.
Was I really intending to
buy
something
?
She couldn’t be sure. She didn’t
want to
buy anything
now, but perhaps she was a consumerist at heart and had a
deep-seated desire to buy a heap of junk she
could
just as easily
do without. “I don’t know.
” She
scoured her surroundings distrustfully. They were far enough from
the jostling crowd not to be overheard and it seemed an unlikely
place for a microphone. If they kept their voices low, Jen thought
their nook was a safe enough place to talk. “
But now that we’re here I
’m
enjoy
ing
thinking about a jam –
as an
intellectual
exercise
only
,
I’d
be too dangerous to
try
.”
Samantha looked at the
nearest plasma screen. An advertisement for jewellery was vying for
the attention of the passing bustle. The sparkling diamonds and
gorgeous gold chains held a lustre that artisanship alone couldn’t
explain; the marketers had created some lustre of their own and
woven it into the fabric of the message. It revolted them both to
see it for what it was – money in the pockets of
Elustra.
Hatred poured through
Samantha’s next words. “I’d love to jam that screen.”
“
How?” Jen
loved to think about it.
“
Well…”
Samantha thought for a long time before answering. “The control
devices are probably in a restricted area. We’d need
high
security clearance to
get there.”
“
So it’s
impossible?”
“
No.” She
looked serious. “We’d need Cookie to build a handheld scanner that
we could use to record someone’s details.” The trade in stolen
microchip data was big business for those with the technology to
retrieve it.
The trick was to retrieve it
all; partial data was worse than useless, it was
dangerous.
“We’d have to pick someone
that
definitely
had
appropriate access.” She thought some more. “I don’t how
yet.”
“
Work
experience?” Jen offered.
Samantha shook her head.
“We’re too old to pass off as year ten students.”
“
That doesn’t
matter, does it? We could just turn up and say we’re considering a
career change and that we’d like to spend a day in the life of a
screen operator.”
Samantha’s eyes lit up.
“Yeah, they’d be crazy to turn away free coffee-fetchers. And then
we’d know where to go and what equipment they had.”
“
We could scan
one of their chips on the day. Afterwards, Cookie’d have to forge a
chip with the appropriate clearance – if he can do that at all –
and, hey-presto, we’d have access to the control room.” The
beginnings of a frown crept across Jen’s forehead. “It’s probably
somewhere in the office block.”
“
Then it’d
depend on Cookie. I don’t think he’s jammed this model of screen
before.” Samantha was perking up and returning to
normal.
“
And
then we’d
run like hell.”
Jen reminded her.
Samantha laughed. “Yeah,
we’d run like hell.” She looked at the paper bag she was clutching
and a pang of guilt shuddered through her body. “I want to take
this back.”
“
Really?” Jen
wasn’t convinced that was a particularly smart idea. “Are you sure?
You’ve got it now, why not just enjoy it?”
Samantha shook
her head. “No, I don’t need
it and it
doesn’t look good on me without the breasts to go with it.
Besides,
it’ll just make me feel
bad
every time I wear it. I
don’t want that.”
Jen bit her lip,
regretting her anti-consumerist tirade. “I’m sorry, I
didn’t-”
“
Don’t be
sorry, you’re right,” she said, cutting her friend off with a wave
of
her
hand. “I
have plenty of
functional
clothes and if we can’t control our own spending,
how dare we expect others to?”