The Sensation

by Amanda Bridgeman

  Only a very small few had refrained from having their implants removed, but many soon regretted their decision, as, in the time that followed, the neural devices came to symbolize a certain shame. The Crash was a black spot on world history, a tragedy, and many couldn’t understand why anyone would want to keep their devices.

  But, as the saying went, Salvi thought, time heals all wounds. Though there were scars left across the human population, the scars were healing, and some people were coming around to the idea of perhaps giving them another try – with the relevant safety measures in place, of course. Just like Attis Solme hoped they would.

  Salvi realized as she researched that some youth subcultures these days wore neural device headwear as a fashion accessory, as an act of defiance. It was a statement that no one, terrorists especially, would dictate to them what they could and couldn’t do with their bodies. But these kids hadn’t really been around for The Crash. They were babies at the time. They hadn’t lived through the pain or the heartache the older generations had; the ones who had truly lived it.

  Salvi focused on the images of the gang fight again. Thinking about the recent cases, she noted that only two involved guns; the Kelto’s Diner case and Randy’s Retrotech, the store in the Mission. All the other violence had been committed with the perpetrators’ bare hands. Of course, fifteen years into the tighter gun laws in California, this was not surprising. It had taken years to get the guns off the streets, and although there was still a strong black market trade, the numbers had been reduced significantly. Still, there was something about this Fyte drug that made people want to use their bare hands. And if it wasn’t their fists killing people, they were using extensions of their fists; knives, bottles, bricks and the like. Of the footage she’d seen, all the perpetrators appeared very confident. Invincible even. They seemed to have an overwhelming desire to inflict pain, as their molten fury burned out of control.

  She sighed and moved the data pane aside, then turned on the news channel, eager to see the latest given her conversation with Beggs. A report was airing. Some skinny teenager was being led away by uniformed officers. The scrolling headline read: Teen seeks bloody revenge on bully jocks. Salvi saw no marks on the kid’s temples but upon hearing the description of his crimes, she knew straight away this kid had somehow got his hands on Fyte so he could stand up to those who made his life hell. She knew he would be the first of many.

  She flicked the channel and saw a debate playing out on a talk show. A psychologist, a reverend who was also a member of the anti-tech movement, a pro-tech expert, and Senator William Aitken were discussing how to tackle the crime wave and the risks of bringing controlled neural tech back onto the market to stop the black market tech that was now leaking onto the streets. Only the pro-tech expert saw the benefits. While the senator was relatively neutral, the others were vehemently opposed, citing that neural implants were harmful or the work of the devil, and nothing good would ever come of them - The Crash had proven that.

  She flicked to another channel and saw an ad for the latest massage tool: a pair of robo-hands that sat atop your shoulders and worked your muscles for hours on end. She watched as various people used the device throughout their day: a businesswoman working at her desk had the hands perched and massaging. A man sitting down to watch tv, exhaling with comfort as the hands did their thing. A grandmother watching her grandkids while the robo-fingers kneaded her tired muscles.

  She flipped the channel again and saw an ad for a dating website exclusively for young, handsome people wanting older, wealthier dates. She flipped again and saw a live video game tournament with viewing stats in the corner: 20 million people were watching while two competitors raced to the top of a mountain fighting all manner of ghoulish creatures that they eviscerated with their cosmic weapons.

  She flipped again and a live stock market report appeared. The crime wave was apparently continuing to send stocks in security technology companies spiking to all-time highs. She flipped again and saw a robo-chef running its own cooking show. She watched in awe for a moment as the robo-chef executed its tasks with speed, efficiency and accuracy. Never before had a cup of flour been measured so precisely.

  She turned off the tv and went back to her data pane, searching for sites aimed at the young, rich, beautiful and technically savvy. She found links that led her to the more kinky sites and explored them, wanting to be up to date with what the affluent people were getting up to in their bedrooms these days. She wondered whether those in the clubs used online VR sites like U-Stasis; the place where the Bountiful killer had found some of his victims.

  An advert for robo-whores popped up and it made her think of the ‘Sation again, and the tech and sex stores that sat on the border between the Sensation and Transmission. It suddenly made her want to take another stroll of the ‘Mission and maybe visit the scene of Bronte and Hernandez’s case, Randy’s Retrotech, to see just what tech they were dealing in exactly.

  7: THE ‘MISSION

  Salvi sat on the Cylin train, headed toward the ‘Mission neighborhood. The Cylin was quieter than usual, and she noticed the other passengers eyeing each new person entering their carriage suspiciously, as though keeping watch for potential trouble. Where once they would be so absorbed in whatever device they had with them so as not to notice the people around them, now they were the opposite. The city was starting to get scared.

  She noted the suspicion and alertness would soon fade after a few minutes, though. When the passengers realized the newcomer wasn’t going to cause trouble, they each turned back to their devices; their phones, their data-panes, their VR and AR glasses, their headphones. Anything to avoid having to speak to those around them. No one had time to make new friends or polite conversation with people they would probably never see again. Many were wary of strangers. Salvi wondered whether this was intentional or if perhaps they’d simply forgotten how to interact with them.

  As she stepped off the Cylin and made her way up the transport chutes to ground level, she was surprised to see fewer tech-heads at the entrance with their hands out for donations than she normally did. Even they were scared of a beating from the spike of violence in the city and had made themselves scarce. As Salvi moved along, she pressed her arm against her holstered gun, beneath her coat. She’d thought twice about bringing it, but now she was glad she had.

  She perused the windows of the stores as she walked through the ‘Mission, studying the latest tech wares as flashing neon lights and holograms jumped out to invite her inside. She saw robo-chefs, robo-cleaners, robo-gardeners, robo-companions. She passed a Gym-Fit store, the kind that Barker’s neighbor Rusty Connor worked for, thinking about the people standing in those machines as their muscles were worked and sculpted while they did absolutely nothing. Technology was responsible for many wonderful things, but it had also enabled the human race to become incredibly lazy.

  She spied Randy’s Retrotech up ahead, the tech pawnbroker that had been the scene of the crime for Bronte and Hernandez’s case. She made her way casually toward it like any other shopper would do.

  In the windows were large holographic displays, a rotating slideshow of just some of the items to be found inside. Some she recognized instantly, but there were others she’d never seen before, and she wondered what era they were from. She glanced around the streets and spotted a SFPD drone flying around in the distance, but the nearest stationary security camera looked to be back at the Cylin station exit. She turned back to the store, pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  A lighthearted chime sounded, alerting the store to her arrival. She closed the door behind her and found herself in a narrow entrance with Perspex cabinets aglow either side displaying various gadgets of retro origin. Ahead, running along the back wall, she saw the service counter, entirely enclosed in what she guessed was bulletproof glass. She’d read the case file on her way and knew the owner had not been behind the protective glass when he’d been shot. He’d been out front in the store, which to
ld Salvi he must’ve known his killer; he trusted whoever it was enough to come out from behind the bulletproof shield.

  A young woman suddenly appeared behind the glass counter and stared at her. She looked to be 16 or 17 years old, maybe 5’4 and 110lbs. Her hair was short, peroxide blond and slicked back. She wore a large pair of sophisticated, enhanced glasses upon which Salvi saw text scrolling, and she was covered head to toe in tattoos and piercings.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, in a slightly hostile manner.

  “Just browsing. That alright?” she said.

  The woman studied her, then nodded suspiciously.

  “I’m looking for a gift for my nephew,” Salvi said, trying to allay her fears. “He loves all things tech.”

  The young woman said nothing, just watched her carefully, brows knitted in a slight scowl.

  Salvi stepped around the entrance displays and scanned the rest of the small store. She turned to the left and began to stroll past more sealed Perspex cabinets lining the walls. Clearly this was a place you could only look, not touch, unless you were ready to buy. The locks on the cabinets looked to be digital, which meant they could be opened from behind the bulletproof counter. So why had the owner come out into the store? His time of death had been late, after store closing. Perhaps he’d been stocking shelves or setting up a display? But how did his killer get inside? He had to have known them. Salvi was sure of it.

  She continued strolling and browsing. She saw all manner of modern but pre-loved items, several cabinets dedicated to ‘old-school’ tech for collectors, and, most interestingly, a whole array of hand-cobbled pieces of DIY inventions. She paused when she saw several items of headwear.

  “I haven’t seen you in here before,” the girl said from behind the counter, eyes narrowed.

  “No,” Salvi smiled. “This is my first time.”

  “How’d you hear about us?” she asked, folding her arms. Salvi saw she was wearing a haptic glove on one hand, covered in all sorts of wires and chips.

  “I overheard some kids talking on the Cylin. Apparently, this was a good place for gadgets.” She shrugged. “What can I say, I’m trying to be a rad aunty for my nephew.”

  “You looking for something in particular?”

  Salvi glanced back to the cabinet of DIY headwear.

  “I’m curious about the DIY stuff. It looks like it’s one of a kind. What does this do?”

  The girl stared at her in silence for a moment. “The piece at the front is a pair of VR glasses.”

  “Yeah?” Salvi asked. “Did you make them?”

  “Those ones, yeah.”

  “You’re pretty talented. Is this all your work?”

  “No. We’re a pawnbroker,” she said. “It’s not all my stuff.”

  “Right,” Salvi looked back to the cabinet again. “Some of this stuff is weird. I don’t know what it’s for.”

  “That’s all headwear,” the girl said. “VR glasses, scalp strokers…”

  “Scalp strokers?” she looked back at the girl casually.

  “Yeah. You wear it and it massages your scalp, or tickles it, or gives you a buzz.”

  “A buzz?”

  “You know, a little zap, makes you tingle all over.”

  “Right,” Salvi smiled. “Sounds like fun.” She continued on, passing the cabinets and moving to the other side of the store. “I bet you must’ve had some strange items brought in, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  “What’s the strangest thing you’ve had?”

  The girl studied her. “Define strange?”

  Salvi shrugged. “I don’t know. Anything crazy? Like… off the charts?”

  The girl shrugged. “You’d be surprised how often people try to cash in their old sex-robots.”

  “Yeah?” Salvi laughed.

  “They don’t seem to understand that nobody wants their leftovers… Then again…”

  “Then again?”

  “Let’s just say there’s a market for everything.”

  “I bet,” Salvi nodded. She finished perusing the store, then turned and looked back toward the DIY cabinet. “What about old neural tech? You ever get any of that?”

  “You a cop?”

  Salvi looked at her and laughed. “Do I look like a cop to you?”

  “A little,” she nodded.

  “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

  “It’s an insult,” the girl said.

  “You treat all your customers like this?”

  “No, just the ones asking too many questions. So just to clear things up, we can’t buy or sell neural tech because it’s been illegal since The Crash. Alright?”

  “Sounds like you get asked this question a lot.”

  “People try to sell it to us all the time. A lot of it was pricey when it came out. People want compensation for their losses. They bought things they’re now not allowed to use. But what can I do about it?”

  “So I guess I overheard wrong then.”

  “What?” her face screwed up.

  “The guys on the Cylin. I heard them say that Randy’s was the place to get neural tech.”

  The girl gave an acidic laugh. “Nice try. Look, whatever you’re looking for, we don’t sell it. We got nothing to do with the tech that’s out there now on the streets. We’re legit.”

  “Alright,” Salvi said calmly. “I guess I was mistaken then.”

  “You were.”

  “I’ll have to look elsewhere,” Salvi said.

  “You do that.”

  Salvi nodded slowly and cast her eyes around the store one more time. She looked over to the cabinets selling the DIY headwear again. The case file said that the owner – the girl’s father – was found lying on the ground before that cabinet, with a bullet in his brain. According to the file Riverton had shared with her, the cabinets had contained retro hardware. Nothing in the description mentioned the DIY headwear at all. Someone had swapped out the contents before Bronte and Hernandez had arrived on scene, and after they left, put it back.

  “It’s time to leave,” the girl said, aiming a pepper gun at her through a hole in her glass box.

  Salvi raised her hands peacefully, then turned and left.

  She stepped out onto the street and walked away from the store. The girl’s attitude was troubling, and it made Salvi’s gut tighten with adrenaline. She also had the overwhelming urge to take a risk. She pulled her burner phone and contacted Riverton.

  “Yes, Detective Brentt?” it answered.

  “Riverton, get me a soundbite from my position outside of Randy’s Retrotech in the Transmission. Single out female teen voices.”

  “Yes, detective.”

  Salvi hung up and waited patiently while Riverton sent a drone down to hover over her position and record whatever sound it could. Ten minutes passed, then her burner phone rang.

  “Get anything?” she answered it.

  “I have three matches to your request,” Riverton answered.

  “Go ahead,” she said, and Riverton played the first soundbite. Salvi heard two young girls talking about a guy who had been at a party with another girl who knew the arrested teen on the news. Salvi looked around the street and saw two teens walking along the street toward the Cylin station.

  “Not them,” Salvi said. “Next.”

  Salvi listened as the next conversation played. She recognized the voice of the girl from the store.

  “I think a cop just came by!” she sounded panicked. “At least I hope it was a cop.”

  “Relax,” a male voice said. “They’re going to ask questions, it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I don’t like it. It has to be related to Dancer. Why else would they keep coming here?”

  “Dad was killed, Lennie. They’re going to ask questions until they know who did it. Dancer has a record but there’s no way they can connect him to dad’s death. Best they can do is connect him to a friendship with me. That’s all.”

  “But what if
they do?” she asked. “If they think we’re involved, if the cops draw attention to us, they’ll kill us.”

  “They won’t. Just stay cool. Even if the cops somehow link Dancer to us, they can’t prove anything other than that we were friends. They’ll lose interest and go away.”

  “You never should’ve hung out with him. If we lose the store because of you, I swear to God!”

  “Relax. And give Dancer a break, alright? He’s got nothing to do with this shit on the streets, I’m sure of it. He’s a gamer, Lennie. He supplies gamer tech.”

  “How do you know he hasn’t branched out? He’s the best at what he does. You know that. Everyone underground knows that.”

  “I just don’t think he would, alright.”

  “You need to call him and find out what’s going on.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?” she demanded.

  “Because!” he yelled. “He’s not answering my calls!”

  “He’s not?” her voice softened, frightened.

  “He’s dropped off the grid,” he said equally quiet.

  “Since when? How long?” Lennie asked.

  “Since… just before dad died,” he answered hesitantly.

  “Oh my God…” Lennie said. “It was him. He put the tech on the streets.”

  “Lennie, he didn’t have the connections to put tech out like this. Not on this scale. If he’s involved then someone paid him for the design only.”