Chapter 4 #2
I ignored it. While I had very little exposure to amps—there weren’t more than a few people with them through all of Dreswick—I didn’t like them because you couldn’t trust them.
Whatever they saw or heard went straight back to whichever corporation owned them, which in the case of anyone living on TerraSoft-11 was Softbiotics, since that corporation produced every amp available in the star system, not to mention they owned every planet and moon in this system. Which meant…
My steps slowed. “You’re a Softbiotics-made amp. Everything I say is getting sent to them as we speak, isn’t it?”
I am not transmitting any data. I am unregistered.
I chortled. “I don’t believe that for a second.” A woman passing by eyed me strangely, and I realized just how crazy I must’ve looked talking to myself.
You are my host. My existence is dependent on your welfare. Lying to you does neither you nor me any good.
“Withholding info is the same as lying,” I muttered, rubbing my mouth as I spoke to not draw any more attention to myself.
I am not withholding information. I have verified that I am unregistered, and I have very little data on this Softbiotics that you are speaking of.
“That’s impossible.” Then it hit me. “Oh, I get it… you’re a jailbroken amp like Grandmother’s. Someone must’ve taken you off the grid.”
I do not have the ability to speculate, but I can confirm I have never been registered to any corporation. I have never been on a grid.
“You had to have been registered at some point. Someone must’ve erased your data.”
If you say so.
“Are you arguing with me?”
I believe it is you who is being argumentative… or hardheaded.
I scowled. “Oh, just shut up already.”
I jogged across the street and down a full block before the silence got to me. “Byte, are you still there?”
There was no response.
“Byte?”
You instructed me to be quiet. Do you wish me to speak?
I could’ve rolled my eyes but kept my focus on hustling to work. “You’re like a kid. Wait, you’re an amp.”
How perceptive of you.
“Every amp is specialized. What kind of amp are you?”
I do not understand the question.
“Are you a project management amp like what my boss has got, or a journaling amp like Grandmother’s got. What are you?”
That sounds limiting. Why would an amp be restricted to a single specialty?
I frowned. “You mean you don’t have a specialty, like you’re generic?”
I am designed to enhance my host.
“And how, specifically, are you going to do that if you don’t have a specialty?
” Up ahead stood the battery plant—the largest building along the river, employing over three hundred people.
Normally, the front doors were packed for shift change.
Now, not a single person stood outside—everyone was already inside working.
I am designed to enhance my host using my full capabilities.
“Which are?” I asked as I approached the front door.
At this time, I can communicate with you.
“Gee, that’s great. I’ve got an amp to keep me from getting lonely.
I could buy an hour with an Erotech sex bot for that.
” I blew out a breath. “All right, time to go quiet. I’ve got to work and can’t afford to look like I’ve gone nuts.
” I stepped inside and tapped my employee ID number on the screen to clock in.
A red alert flashed, and the system announced, Callum Bennett: You are three hours and eight minutes late.
Your next paycheck will be docked four days.
I guffawed. “Four days? But I was only three hours late.”
The system replied: Per an update in Powerworks Manufacturing employment manual, any tardiness beyond a full hour will be rounded up to the next full hour .
“That’s bullshit,” I muttered, and I considered hanging out for another fifty minutes since I’d already lost another full day’s pay, but I decided I couldn’t leave Nolan in the lurch like that.
And so I trudged inside. The doors to my right led to each of the sections in the factory’s assembly lines.
I walked nearly all the way down to final assemblage.
Nolan and I had earned this section after surviving seven years in the factory.
Mortality rates were much higher up the line, and they’d only gotten worse lately.
The factory had been pushed to produce thirty percent more, which meant that every section was short-staffed, so even we were getting stuck with rookies.
I was curious if Franklin had sent down the next New Guy yet.
Franklin’s amp was efficient, but as amps went, it was bottom of the barrel (though I guess it was leagues better than mine).
Franklin came from one of the poorest Aberdeen families, which was a lot better off than any low-towner.
Having an amp guaranteed him a decent job, but his status still stuck him in a plant that no respectable high-towner would take a step inside.
And I think he held a grudge against every one of us for his mediocre luck.
When I reached my section, I found Nolan struggling to keep up.
No new New Guy yet. The two of us had enough experience, we could handle the work of three, but Nolan was sweating hard, and the belt was backed up nearly to the start of our section.
I grabbed my rubber gloves out of my locker and slid them on as I ran to the line.
When I’d first started here, the conveyor belt had been a long, single line, and if one section had to stop, it shut down the entire line.
But now, the conveyor belt could stop or start in three-foot sections—it was smart engineering that was obviously a brainchild of some amp.
Right now, an open barrel filled with acid was waiting every three feet along the entire line in our section.
Nolan didn’t notice me until I fitted a cap and locked it down with the pneumatic sealer. His look of relief was quickly buried by a scowl. “Damn it, Cal. Don’t do that to me again. I thought you went and got yourself disappeared by those enforcers last night.”
“Nah. They busted out of the alley,” I said.
He frowned. “Alley? I was talking about the riot at the market.”
“Oh yeah, that.” And then I filled him in.
When I was finished, we’d caught up on sealing barrels at a frantic pace and had settled into our normal, simply rushed pace.
When Nolan finally spoke, he said, “That’s… nuts. You got an amp up in there?” He tapped his temple.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“What’s it do? Please tell me it’s gonna make us rich so we can get out of this hellhole.”
I considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “It doesn’t really do anything. Just talks to me.”
Nolan seemed confused. “That’s it? It just… talks?”
I capped a barrel. “Yeah, pretty much.”
He looked dubious. “You sure it’s an amp?
’Cause it makes a lot more sense that it’s one of those bionanites they’re always advertising.
You know, the ones that they inject into you and then they can monitor and diagnose your health.
Could be one of those providing emotional support or something.
Makes sense, you know, being a lunger and all. ”
I decided to ask my amp, “Byte, are you an amp or one of those bionanite things?”
I am an amp, of course.
I grunted. “I think I hurt its feelings.”
“You named it Byte?” Nolan asked. “I think you’re going to have a knack at hurting its feelings.”
I shrugged. “Seemed like a good name at the time.”
“It’s better than Betty at least.” Something drew his attention, and he muttered, “Speaking of Betty, here comes our wonderful boss. Looks like he’s about to give another tour. Time to look pretty.”
I glanced up at the second level railing where Franklin often strolled, watching the entire line while doing one of his favorite things: looking down on his employees. Only this time, he wasn’t alone. He was emerging from his office, along with two men in suits.
Enforcers were like pigs. No matter what clothes you put on them, you could spot them from a mile away. These two were enforcers. Worse, they were the pair from the alley.