The Lightcap

by Dan Marshall

  “I know, I know,” Adam said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m a terrible former employee. I didn’t really want anything, but I had a weird dream and you were in it. In the dream, you sent me a memo that I never got, or at least never read. I came into work early so I could figure it out, but when I came to meet you at your desk it was gone.”

  “Gone? Hmm,” Nate said, rubbing his chin. “Not that I know of. Still here every morning when I come in. Was there anything in place of my desk?”

  “No,” Adam lied, not wanting to discuss the contents of the boxes with Nate or anyone else. “Just an empty desk.”

  “Ah,” his former boss said shrewdly. Adam felt Nate knew he was lying. As if providing him a chance for honesty, Nate asked, “Well, what was the memo about?”

  “Ever heard of Ensyn Energy?” Adam asked. “It was something to do with a presentation. I never found out if we were giving a presentation to Ensyn or about Ensyn. I never even saw the actual memo.”

  Nate shrugged and gestured to a stack of papers at the far edge of his desk. “Tell me about it. I’m pretty sure some of the memos on the bottom pre-date your tenure at Adaptech. It’s hard to keep up sometimes.”

  Adam chuckled. “Even worse as a manager, as I’m sure you know,” he said with a wink. “I just had to check it out. Sorry to bother you.”

  “Not a bother at all, Adam,” Nate said. “Thanks for coming by. Don’t wait so long to visit next time.”

  They shook hands and Adam went to room 4C to begin his workday.

  In the week after the election there were scattered riots, most of them small and spent within a period of several days, but the newly elected government had not marked the end of civilization, contrary to the most dire predictions of the loser’s supporters. Eleven months, gone in a blur, had put the Regions in more precarious positions. Cascadia Corp’s CEO started his third term and continued the aggressive expansion east that had been the hallmark of Cascadian policy for the past two decades, in sharp contrast to the Cascadian Charter goals of “Peace and Prosperity through Unity”.

  The Confederacy had ousted its president, an elderly, devout man who had spent the last three five-year terms focused on religious doctrine, setting up what he believed to be the dominoes that would one day fall and lead to the return of his warrior deity. While he focused on scripture and prophecy, the citizens of Arizona voted by an almost four-to-one margin to adopt the Cascadia Charter and escape the dismal economy brought about by the President’s lack of fiscal responsibility. The remaining voters in the Confederacy had approved a rising star from the business class, a bespectacled man whose squinting eyes suggested a shrewd approach to governance. The would-be preacher-king had been replaced by a smooth-talking, smiling suit who promised prosperity through increased dealings with the Cascadia and Metra Regions. The United States had continued their economic free fall, ceding more territory to their geographic bookends on each coast, reportedly pulled under by the costs of their social programs and fiscal mismanagement. This stood in stark contrast to the prevailing attitude in the Corp Regions, where financial solvency was the primary goal, along with the acquisition of profit, the poor viewed as inconvenient baggage. The consensus in the Corp Regions was that the poor deserved their lot in life due to bad decision-making and laziness, at least according to the media. Otherwise, why would they be poor?

  The newly elected CEO of Metra Corp, Tim Montery, had formerly been the head of operations for TeleVice, a media conglomerate with holdings in all Four Regions. Mister Montery was one of the people who lived squarely in the middle of the intersecting spheres of power and influence in the continent’s society. He was rumored to have an influential voice among the other media powerhouses. There were no rules demanding financial disclosures or barring conflicts of interest, and Montery hadn't freely offered any information. An outspoken advocate for corporate expansion, Montery said the fiscal irresponsibility and religious fervor of the United States and Confederacy, respectively, were impending dangers to the citizenry, dangers that could only be protected against by strict adherence to management and profit, the benefits of which were obvious. Montery had argued during the campaign that the problems plaguing the Four Regions occurred despite strong business growth, not because of it, and that an increased market capitalization, along with ever-decreasing social programs, represented the only long-term path to widespread prosperity.

  Cora Slate, young but known for business acumen and her ability to say no to all requests, said to include declining her mother for a kidney, was declared Vice CEO. Slate’s defense was that her mother was feeble and would be so even with a new kidney. The old woman had a limited ability to offer any financial recompense for the body part, Cora’s father having left his considerable fortune to his protégée and only child. Cora had established a reputation that inspired equal parts of reverence, fear, and hatred. Her beauty awed only half as often as her ruthlessness. Many said she inherited the trait from her father, the sort of man who would leave all his money to his daughter just so his estranged widow would die in rags.

  Montery selected Roman LaMont as his Executive of Commerce, a prestigious position many viewed as a stepping stone to Vice CEO, then CEO. LaMont chose to remain as CEO of Adaptech, not wanting to abdicate any of his hard-earned influence for a cushy Metra Corp executive position. He had, however, immediately started to use his new title and power to funnel money to Adaptech and himself, slowly at first but more with each passing month. Most of his time was spent at Metra Corp headquarters. He only appeared via video node on the rare occasion when something at Adaptech absolutely required his attention.

  The Metra Corp Board of Directors, fifty representatives from the various precincts, elected to represent those who had given them the most votes, ratified the results. It seemed to Adam those who gave the most votes were always the rich. Voter demographics aside, there was a certain degree of self-interest, as most of the current Board members had already purchased significant numbers of votes, and could cast that significant number for themselves when the elections came. And so the pattern repeated.

  Wars were different in those days, enlightened as they were. Virtual attacks on capital, hostile takeovers in digital realms that increased and decreased conquered territories without loss of life, had replaced battles wrought with bombs and bloodshed. Most people didn't care which Region held their citizenship, so long as the Region’s politics appeared stable and enabled them to acquire personal wealth. Regardless, a decades-long propaganda campaign had promoted a decidedly pro-corporate attitude among the citizens of Metra Region, many of whom believed without question or evidence that an acquisition by the United States or Confederacy would leave them destitute and begging for scraps in the streets. The media had convinced these citizens that corporate governance provided an easier path to wealth, trumpeting several success stories involving newly acquired citizens or immigrants. As a result of this targeted campaign, many inhabitants of non-Corp Regions had pushed for lower taxes, loosened regulations, and the abolition of remaining social programs. In some cases they had even petitioned for a corporate takeover, Arizona being the largest and most recent. With border zones expanded, market cap increased.

  Adam was aware of all this in an abstract, passing sort of way, as were most Corp citizens. The media played up the elections as prime-time soap operas, with ad zeps flashing node addresses and times for debates and other election coverage. People tuned in and were drawn as moths to flames, or paralyzed deer in headlights, he wasn’t sure which. As important as everyone claimed elections were, they were forgotten almost immediately after as the news marched from one cycle to the next. People cared then didn’t, the 24/7 world and its glut of distraction preventing passion from being sustained. Commercials broke in every four minutes no matter the program, sometimes within the program via product placement. The entire world had become a product placement opportunity.

  It was difficult and ultimately depressing to
think of the world in such stark terms, so Adam tried to avert doing so, instead attempting to lose his thoughts as he stared into the smooth, patternless ceiling above his bed. He knew if he were cornered and forced to confess his views, he would admit he despised almost everything about the world that had provided him with material opportunity and felt as if no one talked about anything important, interesting, or real. Most people he knew primarily talked about the dividends they were after, or the insipid drama shows, sports stars, or the cameras following the real lives of the most despicable people in the Region. These were people who would be in jail if it weren’t for the ignorant masses watching them on the video nodes. It made Adam upset when he thought about it too much. Why didn’t most people give a damn about anything important?

  Regardless, Adam didn’t have room to complain, and the people in his field were more quick-witted than most. As intelligent as Adam’s colleagues in the past seemed to be, they had not usually talked about anything of depth while at work. The weather, new gadgets, amusing mesh videos, and their children or pets dominated pre- and post-shift encounters in the halls, the elevators, the cubicles and after-work gatherings. With the Lightcap project, he didn’t remember any office conversations, if they even occurred. Despite his inability to remember events during work hours that might give him a sense of accomplishment, Velim praised his performance as head of the project in each biweekly meeting and his colleagues treated him as a leader in each monthly meeting, bolstering his confidence as a manager. Room 4C, with its long conference table, became a place he associated with pleasant interactions and contentment. Things for him were better than they had been in a long time, long enough that it made him feel old to think about it.

  Velim had seemed withdrawn since their last encounter in the elevator. She was cordial during their meetings, even lavished him with praise on occasion, but never anything beyond business, no acknowledgment of their previous encounters, and certainly no more late-night visits to his apartment. Adam did have late-night visits from his neighbor Hana, since they began dating again two months after he started on the Lightcap project. For some reason, he had begun spending more time on the roof, even sitting in the covered room on cold nights, and they started having long conversations about nothing necessary, which became conversations about their pasts and aspirations. Hana surprised him one warm night by grabbing his collar and pulling him in for a kiss, cutting him off mid-sentence during a story about a college prank. Adam was caught off guard but not at all opposed, their clothes barely half off by the time they fell into bed after stumbling through his front door, years of pent up tension from flirting in the laundry room and elevator and hallways released in the span of a sweaty, feral night of hair-pulling and bicep-gripping bliss. It had been better than he remembered.

  They had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, each with their respective apartments. His bed had mostly become hers, with the rest of her belongings safely stored in her own abode. She’d even run down the hall to brush her teeth and shower in the morning. Adam liked the arrangement, conversation and a warm bed. She was flexible both physically and intellectually, able to carry conversation on a variety of subjects, would spend the occasional night in her own bed and had never stolen any closet space from him. Hana worked as a lawyer for TeleVice, so she would occasionally have to travel, sometimes even to other Regions, leaving Adam with the solace of solitude. Adam found the occasional absence did make his heart grow fonder of her, though he missed the fresh fruit smoothies she made for him while he worked on freelance projects or read the news and conspiracy sites. He was an information junkie, which she tolerated, if only because it gave them new topics of discussion beyond rehashed personal anecdotes or anything that would be taken as offensive or transformative. He liked her enough.

  Each day at Adaptech started to blend into the next, each week into the next, each month into the next, punctuated by the occasional weekend, and those were sometimes filled with freelance work, personal projects, and the rare day-long crash, a seeming side effect of long days and late nights bent over a notetab. The disorienting dreams, headaches, and exhaustion were things of the past, which left only the boring monotony of life. Lately, even the biweekly and monthly meetings had seemed like carbon copies, the same words rewound and spoken again in slightly different arrangements, tongue against teeth more practiced than spontaneous, letting him daydream about other things, his mind stuck on repeated thoughts about the futility of trying to change the status quo.

  Adam began to feel like a sellout, with all the self-loathing the label entailed. For the most part he didn’t think about it, instead choosing to enjoy his status as a manager at one of the most stable companies in the Region; and the beautiful woman who slept in the crook of his arm almost every night, her warm breath playing across his neck with each deep fall of her breast. What more could he possibly want? There were plenty of people who would kill to be where Adam was. With Hana sleeping beside him, he listened to the news, his dome softly whispering in his ear. Things were mostly calm, expansion and acquisition reflected in small market gains over the past several months. People were generally in a good mood, and even those who usually wore the most sullen faces around the office had a bounce in their step much of the time.

  The issues they had all first experienced when getting used to the Lightcap—the headaches, disorientation, and restlessness—were all gone, replaced with appreciation for the days free of politics and problem-solving. Those aspects of corporate life certainly still existed, but were played out in a dream state and not remembered. Every three months they were given a psychological evaluation, apparently to determine how well the tests were going, how well the subjects were adjusting to what could only be considered an unprecedented work experience. Velim had given him an overview for the team after each evaluation, assuring him they were all performing better than expected. He had observed the team, too, watching with interest as they met jovially each morning, then—seemingly whisked through time—back in their seats nine to ten hours later, where they talked and laughed about their plans for the evening and the weekend. No one took work home. Even if they’d had the desire to obsess over the details of the v6 programming they wouldn’t have had the ability, which made this the least stressful project Adam had ever worked.

  Adam slipped out of bed. Hana gave a muted groan as her arm fell from his shoulder to the soft pillows and sheets. He tiptoed around the room, silently slipped clothes over his slender limbs, and pulled taut the strap of his messenger bag against his jacket. His door screeching was not enough to rouse Hana from her slumber, wheels sliding along rusted tracks, echoing off brick walls, as Adam left the apartment and started his day.

  Adam’s commute had become second nature as well. The subway pumps, finally fixed, had worked for a near-record number of days in a row. Adam slept more soundly most nights now that his life had settled down, and he used the time on the subway to catch up on world events, local news, and market forecasts. He still scanned the crowds on the platform sometimes, his eyes narrowed and attention focused, hoping to catch a glimpse of the unkempt man, though he didn’t even know why. Adam had not seen him since the night of the election, and he’d recently started to wonder if he suffered from an overactive imagination. The man could simply be an externalized phantom representing the apprehension Adam had felt about his changing life. He didn’t think someone was playing a joke on him.

  Even still, he could not help but look every time someone bumped him, as the bodies bounced left and right with the subway along its track, and to shove his hand into his pockets in a frantic search for a note slipped in secret. His sudden glances always ended in disappointment, hands drawn empty out of pockets, no notes ever found. Why am I even looking for these things? Adam would wonder. They can’t possibly be real. He began to wish he could target his Lightcap on his memories of the man and the note and erase those as well as every other day's programming work.

  The repetition Adam felt for almost a
n entire year on the Lightcap project broke after an otherwise ordinary day. At the end of the day, all the team members took off their Lightcaps in separate rooms. This struck Adam as odd, but he assumed it represented an extra layer of security for the v6 software they were programming, preoccupied with thoughts of his dinner date with Hana as he left work. The next morning Adam became actively alarmed.

  Adam sat at the head of the conference table in room 4C. After the team sat down, two absences glared at the rest. Every day Velim had filled the seat opposite Adam, but that morning she was gone. The other absence, a seat to Adam's left and four away from him, was that of Damen Theda, a fresh-faced young man who was eager to prove himself a capable member of the group. Damen was not the sort to shrug off work. Sometimes Adam had wondered if even the loss of a limb would cause Damen to call in sick, as he seemed so dedicated, yet he and Velim were absent for the first time on the same day. An uneasy silence settled over the group as the clock moved past seven. Eyes shifted between the two empty chairs, noses sniffling and throats clearing preludes to the question on everyone's mind. The seventeen team members remaining occasionally looked to Adam, who had nothing to offer beyond what they already knew.

  Finally, after five minutes of anxious silence that felt like hours, the door and frame parted to reveal Sera Velim. Her demeanor was unchanged from the previous morning, even as her eyes scanned the room with no acknowledgement of their missing colleague. She began her usual morning routine, giving updated figures on company earnings and market reports. Aria Hines raised her hand, but Velim did not notice it for several minutes as she read aloud. When she finished reading, she looked up but did not respond to the silent request.

  Aria took Velim’s lack of response as approval to speak. She stood and asked, “Where’s Damen?”