Implanted

by Lauren C Teffeau

  Physical instead of digital delivery of information, the twist being the DNA-encoded blood cells as the new format.

  He taps his temple. “Surely you haven’t been immune to problems.”

  Inwardly, I shudder. My implant picked up a virus last month. The thirty-six hours I was offline repairing the damage were the longest of my life. I can only imagine such inconveniences are so much worse for businesses and their bottom lines. That, combined with the difficulty of keeping information private and free of incursions, snooping, and security flaws… no wonder something like Aventine Security exists. But why does it have to be blood? My stomach lurches.

  “Then why isn’t everyone using data vampires?”

  “We prefer the term blood courier. But to answer your question, for some businesses, it’s financially prohibitive. For others, overkill. No one cares about a beauty parlor’s financials or a restaurant’s internal communications. And some industries require transparency as a result of regulations or the need for public oversight. But the rest? Those competing for consumer dollars or on the cutting edge? Pockets of the government dealing with classified information or data they’ve been entrusted with? That’s where we come in.”

  “This is all very interesting,” I say, implying just the opposite, “but I already have a future.”

  He leans back, looking almost smug. “Ah, yes. Your data specialist degree from the College of New Worth. A respectable field, but it cannot compare to your new role with Aventine Security. Isn’t there part of you that’s always wondered if there’s something more out there?” he continues. “Something I guarantee you’ll only find at Aventine.”

  Harding waits for a reaction that I struggle not to give, biting my lip against his words, too insightful and infinitely more persuasive than anything else I’ve heard so far. Data curation was a safe choice, not my first choice. But I don’t have the luxury of choosing anything else, not if I want to get my family out of the Terrestrial District.

  He spreads his hands wide. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Miss Driscoll. In addition to the fiscal rewards that come with the position, I can assure you, you won’t want for intellectual stimulation.”

  “If working for Aventine’s such an honor, why haven’t I heard of you?”

  His brow wrinkles ever so slightly. “We wouldn’t be very good at our job if you had.”

  “Still not interested.”

  “I’m sorry. Perhaps I wasn’t clear. You’ll work for us because you aren’t in a position to say no.”

  “And how’s that?”

  The look he levels makes it seem like he already knows all my secrets, like he’s simulated this conversation dozens of times and knows every possible contingency to any argument I might have. “Because we know what really happened in the Terrestrial District yesterday.”

  And that’s why they bluffed their way into this meeting after I bailed on Tahir and Diego’s initial summons.

  Harding smiles. I think he means it to be kindly, not the pedantic stretch and flex it really is. “Your… deliberation in catching the subject in the act the other day without his notice was truly impressive.”

  He holds out his hand, and Tahir produces a touchscreen. He momentarily retreats into his implant, his eyes shuttling back and forth under their lids. A moment later, a vid plays on the screen. Spliced surveillance from the Terrestrial District. The only thing that keeps it from looking like realtime footage is the brightness settings filtering out the dim conditions so I can see where I’m standing in the shadows between a bodega and a payday loans center. Breck’s in the opposite corner of the frame.

  Months ago, an item in the news feeds caught my attention. A girl attacked near the Bower, her implant ripped from her body. After weeks of searching, I learned his name, the innocuous-sounding Breck Warner, and started making plans.

  My breath catches as he darts past the cameras, and the past-me moves out of the alley to follow a few seconds later.

  “We have a wide set of parameters we use to determine aptitude of potential couriers since simply having the DNA trait isn’t enough. Things like intelligence and physical ability aren’t always reliable indicators,” Harding explains. “So we have to keep an eye out for that little something extra.”

  “And Aventine found out about this?”

  A new clip, this time of me pretending to shop in a second-hand clothing store as the guy goes past, his quarry clueless. Yesterday’s footage.

  “Stop the playback.” I don’t need to see any more.

  “But we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

  “Now.”

  He sighs as though I’m spoiling his fun. “Very well.” He waves to Tahir, and the playback’s halted. Breck’s oily good looks still fill the screen. I force my gaze away.

  Tahir watches me steadily. “After some sleuthing, we were able to reconstruct the way you targeted him, shadowed his movements for weeks before you were able to get the police involved, catching him in the act. When we saw that, there was no question you would work for us.”

  “And now you’re going to blackmail me into becoming one of your couriers? Your evidence is circumstantial at best.”

  “I wouldn’t be so hasty, Miss Driscoll. Thanks to Mr Warner here, we’ve done some additional investigating.” Harding then reads off a list of seven more names I know by heart. “All scrappers operating in the Terrestrial District who the police found conveniently incapacitated over the last four years.”

  “At first we thought you were one yourself, looking to eliminate the competition,” Tahir adds.

  Never.

  Harding grins as if he can divine my thoughts. “Ah. You think of yourself as some sort of vigilante hero, yes? Or should I say heroine? Is that why you targeted them?” He pauses invitingly for my response.

  I’m no hero. A hero wouldn’t feel so much exhilaration in the moment, so guilty afterwards. But my reasons are my own. Maybe the only thing they don’t know about me. And it needs to stay that way.

  He busies himself with adjusting his shirt cuffs. “No matter. Please know you’re welcome to spurn our offer of employment, Miss Driscoll, but if you do, we’ll be forced to turn over this evidence of serial stalking and assault. Not only would you be risking jail time, but it could also affect the case against Mr Warner and all the others you’ve brought to justice in your own way.”

  Undoing all I thought I’d accomplished. The malice of it robs my breath. “No,” I whisper. “You wouldn’t.”

  He finally meets my gaze. “I’m afraid we would. But keep in mind that you will be well compensated for your work with Aventine. Enough to move your family out of the Terrestrial District.”

  “The Understory?”

  A gloved fingertip points to the conference room ceiling. “Higher.”

  When I received my acceptance to the College of New Worth, my parents were thrilled. I was too, but I also knew it would fall to me to help them ascend with me. And it’s so damn tempting to no longer have that hanging around my neck like a millstone if Aventine’s as good as they say.

  “What assurances do I have you’ll hold up your end of the bargain?”

  “Well, we’ve already settled your school loans,” Harding says. “Of course, that can easily be undone if you choose not to cooperate.”

  He waves to Tahir, who pulls up the interface for my bank account on the touchscreen. The obscene balance is gone, and it’s no illusion. The digital watermark ensuring no fraudulent activity or faked transactions shimmers over the screen like a protective glamour. Thousands of credits, wiped clean just like that?

  “We view all our couriers as an investment,” Harding says at my open-mouthed shock. “We ask much of you, it’s true, but we reward you accordingly. Now, if there are no more objections…”

  My stomach’s full of ice cubes. This whole conversation could’ve been lifted out of a storyline from one of the arcade’s espionage-tinged immersives. Recruitment into a secret organization
by any means necessary. If I can’t be bought, blackmail always does the trick. With what they have on me, I can’t say no, and the smug look on Harding’s face tells me how well he already understands that.

  “Please know we look forward to working with you,” Tahir says.

  The good cop/bad cop routine’s really getting old. “Aww, that sounds almost sincere. It’d be easier to believe if you didn’t have to strong-arm me into working for you.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a mutually beneficial arrangement between adults,” Harding says.

  I squeeze the hem of my shirt in a fist, as if I can disintegrate the nanofilaments through sheer will alone. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

  “So that’s a yes, then. Excellent.” Harding gets to his feet. “Aventine started out as a government initiative spearheaded by the secretary of Economic Development. But we became an independent contractor approximately eight years ago. Our charter comes all the way from the City Council itself.” A rotating body of elected councilors tasked with governing New Worth until the day when the dome comes down.

  Given how deep Aventine’s reach is, that doesn’t surprise me, but I’m still relieved we’re not operating beyond the city’s purview. Aventine may have forced me into joining up, but at least they aren’t asking me to do anything illegal now. I hope.

  “I don’t like your methods.”

  Harding chuckles, then sobers. “When I was tapped to replace Aventine’s founder a few years back, I soon realized I wasn’t put in this position to make my employees like me. I’m here to create an elite group of couriers who are more reliable than anything the New Worth network can offer.” He adjusts his gloves. “And I’m very, very good at it.”

  Tahir clears his throat. “Now, there’s one more piece of housekeeping we need to take care of. By necessity, we need to wipe your implant. Now. Because of the nature of the position and the proprietary training you’ll be receiving, all our employees must have their identities reset for the duration of their contract with Aventine.”

  “But losing my identity–”

  He holds up a hand for silence. “Is necessary to keep you safe, an asset to Aventine.”

  “An asset, not a real person.”

  Harding sighs. “A small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things, I assure you.” He begins to pace, his movements as precise and controlled as a dancer’s. “Indulge me for a moment. Think of every person you’ve come in contact with over the course of your implant’s life, however fleetingly. Now, consider all the entities you’ve interfaced with across New Worth. Arcades, restaurants, your school. Every train ride, every checkpoint you’ve passed. Each interaction a potential security threat.”

  He pivots on his right foot to face me once more. “From our standpoint, the only responsible choice is to reset our employees’ identities. We back up everything, of course, should you wish to revert to your old life once your obligations to Aventine are met. Once we’re satisfied with your progress, you’ll be able to reestablish contact with those dear to you on a case-by-case basis, if that’s what you want.”

  I inhale through my mouth. But to give up my identity and my connections for who-knows-how-long to my family and friends? And Rik? I held off contacting him this morning – we both needed time after last night – but now I’m regretting that decision.

  Tahir’s gaze remains unreadable. “We give our couriers a clean slate so they can become who they need to be without interference from old attachments,” he says. “It’s not an easy process, I know, but once the shock wears off you’ll quickly find out which people from your old life still matter, and which ones are just noise.”

  In other words, which ones are really worth the effort of securing Aventine’s approval for. “But the emotional trauma…. It’s so cruel.”

  “What good’s a new identity if you’re still beholden to your old life? Haven’t you ever thought about starting over? It can be quite freeing, escaping the expectations other people place on you,” Tahir says.

  It can be. There’s even a procedure for it called digital fugue, where you voluntarily purge all your old contacts and start over like some kind of mental cleanse. But I never expected to do one myself.

  Tahir steps toward me as Harding watches on. “What we do is not without risk. Not only to yourself, but to anyone close to you. Think of it as protecting your friends and family by disappearing. That way they can’t be targeted to get to you and the data you’ll be carrying.”

  Spycraft 101. No attachments.

  Harding waits until I give him my full attention. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the consequences if you fail in holding up your end of the bargain. Diego here would be happy to escort you to the nearest police station, if you wish it. No? Well, remember this. We only take the best, and as such we expect the best from you. If at any point we feel you are not living up to your potential, we reserve the right to terminate this arrangement.”

  “Terminate how?”

  “You’ll be downgraded to the Terrestrial District, for starters.” I inhale sharply. I won’t go back down there. Not willingly. “You’ll be given a job that’ll keep you out of our hair,” he continues, “and I’m afraid we’d be forced to alter your implant to ensure you retain no knowledge of our operation.”

  “And what’s the success rate on that?”

  “It’s not very good, admittedly.” Which probably means the procedure incurs lasting damage of some kind if they don’t kill me outright. “That’s why it’ll be best for all concerned if you simply embrace this opportunity. If nothing else, remember your contract lasts for ten years. After that, you’re free to pursue your own interests with our blessing and a significant retirement package.”

  He holds my gaze as if daring me to voice any more complaints. They haven’t laid a hand on me, but they don’t need to. Impersonating the police, implant interference, blackmail, smuggling secrets through the city.

  And blood. Can’t forget the blood.

  My mind churns with it all.

  “Well, I think that covers everything. I’ll leave you in Tahir’s capable hands. He’s your point of contact going forward.” Harding moves towards the hallway and gives me a wink. “Oh, and welcome to Aventine.”

  Diego looms in the doorway, blocking any possibility of escape from a nightmare of my own making. Though I’m not sure where in New Worth I’d be out of Aventine’s reach. For a moment, I wonder if having to work for them is fitting punishment for helping the system along in bringing scrappers to justice. But I never dreamed I’d have to give up my implant.

  Tahir pulls out a touchscreen. The display bathes his face in a blue-white glow, making him appear older than he really is. ||| Are you sure you wish to strike Emery Olivia Driscoll from the public registry? |||

  The words await an answer. All that I am, all that I’ve achieved, folded up neatly into the characters of my name: Emery Olivia Driscoll. I can only stare. At the letters separating me from the men from Aventine Security.

  Tahir’s finger hovers over the screen for a long moment.

  “Wait–” But it’s too late as his index finger stabs the “Yes” button.

  My birth and school records, places I lived, physical description, GPS check-ins, handles and content for my linked profiles, connections with all my friends and contacts. And Rik.

  ||| Action complete. |||

  All gone in three and a half seconds. I count. The system allows erasure so easily. I never knew that before today. And I never expected it to hurt with the twinging awareness of a phantom limb.

  When it’s done, Tahir looks at me grimly. “Note your implant’s signal.”

  My implant flares back to life, whatever hold the room had on me now gone. My digital death’s nearly as devastating as the real thing. It would’ve been kinder if Aventine dug my brain out of my skull with an ice cream scoop. I’m hollowed out, devoid of everything that matters. My old life – everything that made me me in the eyes of others –
gone with the press of a button. The magnitude of what I’ve given up surges hot and choking in the back of my throat as I gingerly run through my implant’s settings.

  My signal’s scrubbed of any identifying info. I assumed I’d get a new, Aventine-approved ID. Without one… “How am I going to go anywhere like this?”

  He wags his index finger at me. “Precisely. Think of it as our insurance policy. Because your signal isn’t assigned to an identity, you’ll draw plenty of attention from checkpoints and security personnel.”

  I’ll look like someone with something to hide at best. At worst, a criminal. “How will that help me be a courier?”

  “Ah, that’s the beauty of it,” Tahir says. “When you’re on official Aventine business, your signal will cycle through a randomized set of identities, making it impossible to track you. But if you deviate from protocol, the anonymous setting, which isn’t anonymous at all in practice, will be all that’s available to you.”

  His voice softens. “Remember: in this business, you can be anyone or no one, but regrettably not yourself.”

  Chapter Five

  With my digital identity dismantled and put into cold storage, I am but an empty vessel, my mind stripped bare, so I can be remade in Aventine’s image. I should be angry at the loss and the manipulation – and I am – but it’s buried under a layer of icy shock.

  Tahir watches me for a long moment, then turns to Diego. “I’ll handle things from here.” After a sharp nod, Diego disappears down the hall after Harding.

  “So you’re my official babysitter?” My voice scrapes slightly, but I’m grateful that’s the only indication of how upset I am.