Down the Brink

by Lisa von Biela

  He wasn’t busy now. A little free entertainment might be nice to get his mind off things.

  He tapped the icon to start the game. The graphics were pretty damned impressive. Easy to see how you could really get into the thing and spend a lot of time with it. He settled back on the couch and tapped Go.

  Soon, nothing else existed except the bright red MoonPops bursting up from the moon’s surface. Gil’s thumbs flew as he blasted left and right at the MoonPops that swarmed around him. Over the horizon, a MoonWarrior ship approached. It hovered for a moment, then advanced on him and fired. He veered to the right to avoid the blast, just missing a fresh swarm of MoonPops. He veered left and fired at the MoonWarrior ship. Missed. Fired again. Hit!

  A splash screen bloomed on the display.

  FIRST LEVEL ACHIEVED-CONTINUE PLAY?

  Gil smiled, rolled the tension from his shoulders, and tapped Yes.

  CHAPTER 45

  First Monday in March, 2022

  Washington, D.C.

  “Good idea, Ed. I needed to get away from the numbers for a while.”

  Steve Bixby rubbed his eyes and slumped back in the vinyl booth. He looked haggard from the long hours they’d been keeping, trying to find a way to get GSI back on track.

  “I needed a break, too. It’s just grim. Especially with your projections, my friend.”

  Ed Walters let out a long breath. The past few months had brought the kind of financial meltdown he never would have predicted. Not with their business model—rock solid and innovative. Or so he thought. But at the rate they were going, he might have to oversee the first layoffs in GSI’s history. Not something he wanted to have on his CV if he could possibly help it.

  Steve glanced at the lunch menu, tossed it aside, and leaned forward, hands folded on the table. “I’m trying, Ed.” He shook his head. “I’m trying like hell. I’m working on several models, each with different economic assumptions. It would help if you could bump up the low-occupancy penalties when you renegotiate contracts coming up for renewal.”

  “I wish it were that simple. Word I’m getting is most of the states are barely able to pay the penalties as it is. They’re slashing budgets—and staff—right and left just to keep up. I don’t think they’re bluffing me.”

  “Crap. Can’t they work it the other way—boost occupancy to avoid the penalties in the first place? Then everyone wins.”

  “I’ve sniffed around on that, too. Violent crime is genuinely—and significantly—down.”

  Steve sat up straight and held his arms out, palms up. “Why the hell would that be? We have MoonPop out there, and it’s still as popular as ever. Could something have gone wrong with it?”

  “I can’t imagine how. The behavioral code tested out perfectly. Does exactly what we need it to do. And Benetti put in controls so that it’s always called, never touched. That’s the one constant we have in all this.”

  “How can we be sure nothing’s gone wrong with the program? It’s been a while since it was developed and put into production, you know.”

  Ed waved a dismissive hand. “I know Benetti. That’s why we chose him to run the show over there. He’s been in IT forever. Knows how to run a tight ship. If anyone can protect that asset, it’s him. No, I have no doubts on that front. The problem isn’t coming from MoonPop.”

  “Well then what could it be? Something’s changed.”

  “I wish I knew. No one seems to have an explanation. The cops are still out there, looking for people to arrest. They’re just not there. And with all the mandatory sentencing, those who do get arrested are getting full sentences, so it’s not like the courts are letting them off.”

  A middle-aged waitress in a diner-style uniform approached their booth, pad in hand. “What’ll you have?” She brushed a stray lock of hair from her tired face.

  Steve took another listless glance at the menu. “Oh, ham on rye, and an iced tea, thanks.”

  “I’ll have the same.”

  “Thanks.” The waitress took their menus and sauntered off.

  Steve sipped his ice water. “It can’t keep on like this, can it?”

  “I don’t know. I sure hope not. Unless the trend reverses itself, the only thing I can think of would be to create entirely new categories of crime. I’ve spoken with a lot of governors, and they’re starting to work on that with their legislatures.”

  “Really? I can’t picture them going for it. Too worried about votes.”

  Ed gave a short, caustic laugh. “Under normal circumstances, you’d be right. But the financial strain from the penalties has changed the landscape. The politicos are willing to entertain all sorts of things to stop the pain. Problem is, even with everyone on the same page, the process just takes a long time. Maybe too long for us.”

  “I wish there were something we could do in the short term. Seems like every way we turn, there’s a brick wall.” Steve clenched his fists on the table. “I’m doing everything I can to avoid having to recommend further cuts, but if this keeps up for much longer, I’ll have no other choice.”

  “I know you’re trying, Steve. We all are.” Ed gazed at the television screen on the wall across the room. The mid-day news report had come on. “Look at that. The country’s gone all to hell. Nothing makes sense anymore. Crime’s down and the place is overrun with do-gooders. It’s like aggression in any form has taken a holiday. No one’s signing up for the service—and those who already had are deserting. Hardly anyone’s out fighting the wars any more, not even the remote drone operators.”

  “It’s weird, and it’s trashing the economy. So much depends on the military industry—as well as the prison industry.”

  “That’s right. The problem’s bigger than just GSI. Without aggression, I don’t know how our economy can survive long-term.”

  CHAPTER 46

  First Friday in April, 2022

  Nampa, Idaho

  Zach Winters seated the restored hard drive in its bay and screwed the cover back on. Mentally crossing his fingers, he opened the laptop and hit the power button. And…nothing. Damn. It was an old box on an old operating system, so it might be dead for good. Or it could be a wonky disk controller. Might be able to bring it back to life if it just was a bad controller—and if they had the right part sitting around in the half-dozen boxes of spares they kept in the back room.

  He stretched his shoulders and gazed at his work station. Parts and tools lay scattered about, next to a stack of laptops in various stages of repair. Never dreamed he’d have to fall back on hardware repair, not with his programming skills. He sighed. His career—and his life—had taken turns he never could have imagined back on graduation day.

  First that despicable job at GSI, then what seemed to be his dream job at MoonPop. And Sammy. Nothing had been the same since—and likely never would be. All because he stuck his nose into that damned Payoff module.

  Now he lived each day looking over his shoulder, wondering if and when they’d come after him for what he’d done. Back last November, he felt pretty sure they were onto him. Sure enough to panic and blow town—and leave Sammy behind.

  Someone had gone through the stuff in his apartment. And there was that weird meeting with Benetti, and that guy hanging out in his apartment parking lot all the time. Couldn’t be a coincidence. At least he thought so at the time. He’d been careful since, wandering from small town to small town, lying low and spending his savings carefully. But you’d think with all their resources, he wouldn’t be that hard to find. He shrugged. Probably should just be thankful they hadn’t found him, and leave it at that.

  He took out his cell and scrolled through text after text from Sammy. She still texted him—though not quite as often as she did at first—asking where he was, was he okay, why did he leave like that. He couldn’t bear to delete them, but he didn’t dare answer them. She’d left him plenty of voicemails, too. He couldn’t bring himself to delete those, either. Sometimes in his motel room at night, he’d listen to some of them, to bring
her back to him in some small way. But he always felt worse afterwards, hearing the worry and strain in her voice. Knowing he caused it, and knowing he couldn’t be with her.

  His finger hovered over her contact entry. He smiled at her picture. Chin thrust out like she had the guts and nerve to take on the world singlehandedly. That blue ponytail. It would be so easy to touch his finger to the screen, to dial her. No, that would be stupid. And unfair. Better to keep her out of this. He quickly put the cell away before temptation could get the better of him.

  Zach slid open his work station drawer and started putting away his tools, each one in its designated spot, all neatly aligned. He liked to start and end each day with a clean work station and his tools all in perfect order. Then he took out a lint-free cloth and wiped off the work surface until there wasn’t a speck of dust. Dust and static—the worst things to have around when you had a computer opened up.

  He swiveled his chair around, shook out the cloth, then folded it into a tidy square and put it back in the drawer. He wished he’d minded his own business and left the Payoff module alone. Then he wouldn’t be in this self-imposed exile. Wouldn’t have lost Sammy. But he couldn’t stand by and let whoever was responsible mess with people’s brains and lives, just so GSI could rake in the profits. He owed that much to Raymond, after what the prison-industrial complex had done to him. Killed him just as dead as that drug buyer’s gun.

  Still, he’d taken an awful risk handling it the way he did. He’d never coded in that language before. Worse, there was no way to test what he’d done before releasing it. And judging from recent news stories, his changes went much further than he intended. He shook his head. Outrage and ego, a dangerous combination.

  Violence and arrests were way down, but the pendulum may have swung too far. A lot of people—likely the heaviest MoonPop users—had become abnormally passive. They were dropping out of jobs that required some degree of aggression, like law enforcement and the military. And volunteerism was up. Way up. In a way that was good. More people than ever before were helping others.

  Trouble was, the drop in crime didn’t just hurt GSI, as he’d intended. Businesses of all kinds depended on GSI’s operations in one way or another—either directly by contract or from GSI employees spending their paychecks. With GSI downsizing its operations and laying off, the effect was snowballing throughout the economy. And too many people were losing their jobs, falling into debt, losing their houses.

  It was obvious to him this all happened because of what he’d done to the Payoff module. But that’s what puzzled him. They seemed to have suspected him of something, but they must not have figured out what he actually did. What the hell did they think he’d done, then? Otherwise, why wouldn’t they have reprogrammed it by now?

  Zach sorted through his open work slips, rearranging them in order of priority. Depressing to think just how much of the economy depended on violence, crime, and aggression. He’d never thought about it like that before, but it was true. Always had been, to one degree or another. Like the way a war always boosted the economy. The MoonPop and GSI people just took it to a new, very lucrative level. Brilliant, even if it was reprehensible.

  He gazed out the storefront window at the waning late afternoon light. What a crazy few months it had been. One dinky motel after another in one dinky town after another, living off his savings until the money started getting too low for his comfort. He got lucky in Nampa, stumbling across the little ma-and-pa repair shop while he was wandering around town looking for a grocery store. Their tech had just quit, so they hired him on the spot.

  With the economy the way it was, people paid to keep their old PCs running rather than tossing them aside for the latest model. The shop got a lot of business from Boise, so much so they always had a backlog. The job paid enough to cover his expenses and let him negotiate a cheaper monthly rate at the motel. He could even set some money aside in case of an emergency. Not too shabby, all things considered.

  Zach glanced at the wall clock. Nearly quittin’ time. And Friday, too. Although, the outskirts of Nampa were not known as a hub of entertainment. Far from it. But that was how it had to be until he could be sure he was safe.

  Trouble is, he didn’t know how or when he could ever be sure.

  CHAPTER 47

  Second Tuesday in April, 2022

  Seco, Texas

  Gil grabbed a cup of coffee and headed to the living room for a quick game of MoonPop. Amazing how much better he’d gotten at it in the last couple of months. He’d never even made it to the first level before. Now he was up to Level Five, and gunning for Six. The thing was as addicting as hell—even more so, with each new level you achieved.

  “What are you doing?” Aggie came in, arms akimbo and a disapproving scowl on her face. She looked that way a lot these days.

  Gil sighed, paused the game, and glanced up. “Just a quick game, is all.”

  Aggie huffed. “Must be nice to have that sort of spare time. Wish I did.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’m lucky to have a job at all, I suppose. Miguel let a couple people go last week. Now I have to take on more work for the same pay and hope he doesn’t have to make more cuts.”

  “You’ve been there a long time. He won’t let you go.”

  “Don’t bet on it. Business is down. A lot. I don’t know how long he can go before he has to shut the place down entirely.”

  “Don’t worry about something that hasn’t happened yet. Besides, you can always find something else.”

  “That easy, huh? If it’s that easy, why haven’t you found a paying job by now? All you do is play that goddamned game and go off working for free!” She pointed an accusing finger at the cell phone in his lap.

  “You don’t have a criminal record hanging around your neck.”

  Flushing, Aggie dropped her bag to the floor and flung her arms up. “Maybe not, but they check credit reports these days. And we’re behind on so many of our bills, I don’t even want to know what my score is now.”

  Gil jumped to his feet and poked his index finger into his chest. “And my score’s gonna be any better? What the hell am I supposed to do? The one time I fuck up and don’t have my papers with me, they grab me.” He clenched his hair in his fists. “Just like that. Then it’s off to prison and forget about ever getting a job again. I tried! You know I tried! No one would hire me. No one!”

  Aggie folded her arms. “I suppose you did. You say so, anyway.”

  “I did! Every single day. Nothing.”

  “So now, instead of trying to get a paying job, you work for free. That doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  “My work at Mending Lives is important. I shouldn’t have to defend it to you. I do it well, and the people we help need those repairs to keep their homes safe. They’re elderly, disabled. They can’t do it themselves, and they can’t afford to hire someone, either.”

  Aggie jabbed her index finger at him. “Well, it doesn’t help pay our bills, does it? If anything, it costs us more money than having you just stay home, with gas and all. And I know you’re paying for some of the materials out of your—our—pocket.”

  “How would you feel if you were in their position, with no one else to help?”

  She bunched her fists at her sides. “I’m not old or disabled, but Gil, we’re getting close to not being able to keep this house. Do you understand that? It’s gotten that bad!”

  He waved a dismissive hand at her. “Everyone’s having troubles these days. Just call the mortgage people and ask them for a little extra time to make the next payment. That should give us some breathing room.”

  Aggie clenched her jaw as she spoke. “I already did that last month. Or did you forget?” She snatched up her bag and stormed off. “I’d better go. We’re talking in circles again, and I’d better not give Miguel a reason to make me next on the chopping block.” She slammed the front door behind her.

  Gil stood, taut and trembling. Not a day went by that Aggie didn’t needle him about
money one way or another. He glanced at his watch. Almost time to go meet the other volunteers out at this week’s project.

  He smiled. Nice older couple. Husband on dialysis, wife on her second round of chemo. Barely making it on disability and public benefits. House had a roof like a sieve, and the rainy season had done a number on the interior already. Sad. But they’d have a new roof by the end of the week. One less thing for them to worry about.

  He never would have believed volunteer work could make him feel so fulfilled. Why he ever wanted to work for someone else and fight and scrape to save enough to open his own business, he couldn’t remember anymore.

  CHAPTER 48

  First Wednesday in May, 2022

  Nampa, Idaho

  Zach elbowed the motel room door shut and rubbed his eyes. What a long, long day. Must have fixed seven or eight PCs today alone. One right after the other, no breaks, no lunch. At least business was booming for the repair shop. And that bode well for his bank account, at least for now.

  He set the bag of take-out on the rickety card table. The aroma of pork in garlic sauce wafted out, touching off an impressive series of grumbles from his stomach. Good thing there was a decent Chinese place only a couple of blocks from the motel. It came in handy when he didn’t feel like mustering up some make-do hotplate dinner. Which meant it came in handy most nights.

  He pulled up a chair and turned on the TV news. Famished, he ripped open the paper sack, grabbed the plastic fork, and started eating right out of the take-out carton. The stuff was good, nice and spicy. Good as anything he could get back in Los Lobos—and a hell of a lot cheaper, too. Who knew?

  Zach froze, fork poised in mid-air, when the talking head put on his most serious professional face and announced the new federal law going into effect at midnight.

  After reaching an unprecedented and unanimous agreement with the governors of all fifty states, the President today issued a broadly worded emergency executive order making any and all pacifist acts a federal crime.