Just Business (A ‘Slipgates’ Short Story)

Just Business

W.U. Middle levels of the California Sprawl, 2128

Juan Gonzalez was shaking with excitement. Or, perhaps the cocktail of drugs he habitually jabbed into his veins, but either way, he was elated. It had worked. Seven months of effort, seven long months of sleepless nights and constant work, inventing a whole new system of code to get into a little known and very secret server buried deep in the corporate darknet. But he had found it, paying attention to the little hints and implications of his various contacts and dealings, finding whispers of data amongst millions of forum posts and intercepted conversations… and had finally managed to back trace the source of all their funds. From there it was simply a matter of figuring out how to get in. Granted, that was actually incredibly difficult, as was evidenced by the all the needle holes in his arms and dark bags under his eyes, but he had finally managed to find a back door. He stared at the screen, its soft glow illuminating his sunken features, making his dark skin tinged a strange sort of green in the sickly light. He looked around his tiny apartment, with the slab of foam on the floor he used as a bed when he absolutely couldn’t stay awake any longer, using primitive AI to keep trying to get in even while he was sleeping. That had been another clever invention of his. He certainly didn’t have the resources to make his own Ghost, but he had figured out a way to take a piece of himself, the bit that was obsessed with cracking the lock to this magical chest of wonders, combine it with his knowledge of coding and a dash of fervent zeal to get the job done, and he had managed to make a basic AI that was all too eager to please. Like a puppy, really. A puppy he had been training to hunt with him. He had even made it have an avatar in his jacked-in mind of a cute dog, just on a silly whim. Pepe, the rather boringly named AI he had created, had finally gotten in with him. They had done it.

He sat and continued to stare at the screen. The stench of rotting food, long forgotten, wafted around him, but he ignored it. His own unwashed stench too was ignored, as were the sounds and sirens of busy city life outside. He was in his own world, the mess of cables going from the base of his neck and side of his head connected directly to various server towers scattered around his cheap room were the only thing really connecting him to reality. For he was inside the code, here with Pepe. His simple AI pal wagged its tail in his mind, seeking approval. He smiled, unconsciously moving his arm to stroke a dog that wasn’t actually there, only in his mind. But the AI flopped over to be petted regardless, and his various implants provided the feedback of a warm fuzzy belly to rub. His fingers groped at the empty air for a minute, scratching the imaginary tummy, still staring fixedly at the screen. He was in. he was actually IN. He couldn’t believe it.

On the screen was nearly seven BILLION units of various crypto-currencies. Electronic coins that were just as legitimate as cold cash. But, all the same, he preferred cash. Harder to trace, easier to launder, and less questions asked. He gazed at the glowing screen, almost seeing a holy light coming from it, hearing a glorious choir of angels in his mind as he beheld the vast fortune at his fingertips, unable to believe what he was seeing. He would be rich beyond his wildest dreams… assuming he could get away with this.

Hmm. The trick now was to grab it and run, and turn it into something else as quickly as possible. The e-currency would go back into circulation and be gone before the megacorps even knew what was happening… if he played his cards right. He thought about the people he knew, who might be able to help… He had met a man a few months ago in a bar, and the man supposedly worked for Atlas, a rival megacorp to the one he had broken into. Some palm greasing plus the ability to fuck over some competition should be enough to get this deal made. He called up the man, and a moment later the man appeared to be in the room with him. Though, of course, it was just a projected image from his mind. The man was sitting at an ornate desk, with a crisp black suit, a perfect haircut, and alabaster skin. it was quite an odd sight in Juan’s dingy abode. The man arched an eyebrow slightly. “It’s… Juan, right? …how can I help you?”

“Hey, mister… How would you like to make some money?”

The man gave him a slightly bemused look, and saw through Juan’s own eyes the squalor he lived in. “From you? Doubtful… but… Well, I’m listening. What do you propose?”

Juan pushed the imaginary dog away, who went off and sulked in a corner of his room, though, of course, only in his imagination. “I’m in. Remember that project I told you about? I did it. I’m in. Really. Right now. I can see it all.”

The man from Atlas raised an eyebrow. “Really.” He said flatly. He stared off into space for a moment, doing his own scans of Juan’s work in his mind. After a pause he said, “Well, it would seem you are right. Again, what do you propose?”

“Fifty-fifty.” Juan said, too eager to worry about haggling. He certainly didn’t need ALL of it, but he did need to launder it, and quickly. “You turn it into something better, maybe W.U. Dollars, you keep half, I keep half, we go our separate ways.”

The pale man frowned. “Hmm. I don’t know, that’s a lot of money, but a lot of money raises a lot of questions…” He trailed off.

Juan rolled his eyes and flailed his arms at the false image of the man sitting in a beautiful desk in his slum apartment. It really was a strange sight…though of course, there technically wasn’t anything to see. “Fine! you can have seventy percent, use the rest to answer the questions raised. Can you launder it? Now?”

The man thought about it. “Can you have the e-coins to me immediately? Transfer them.”

Juan waggled a finger. “Nuh-uh. I’m keeping these babies where they’re safe. We meet in person, then we exchange in person. Deal?”

The suited man considered this for another moment. Juan saw him turn to speak to someone, though due to some firewalls he had never even seen before, while the other man could see inside his head and through his eyes, Juan had never managed that trick with the other man. After a moment the suited man turned back to him. “Alright. You remember where we met? Meet me there in 15 minutes.” And with that, he disappeared.

Juan gazed at the empty space where the man had been, his arms shaking again. He couldn’t believe it! His hands shook even harder as he reached for the controls, and tapped the last few required bits of code. He jerked as a surge of data leapt into the wet-wired computers in his brain, and then just like that, he was the owner of seven billion e-coins in various invisible currencies. He raised a trembling hand and caressed his skull, awed with the knowledge of what was contained within. It was true in this day and age, information was currency… but currency that was information? That was sure as hell currency too! He giggled to himself, and hugged his AI pet who leapt into his arms. His mind provided the appropriate sensations of warm fuzzy puppy, and he looked into the AI’s imaginary eyes. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy! We did it! We’re going to get out of this hole, and I’ll make a whole park for you to play around in. And hundreds of little friends. Won’t that be great boy, huh? Such a good boy!” The simple AI wagged furiously and licked his face. A little part of Juan’s brain was aware there was no tongue actually touching him, no moisture, but he wiped his cheek on his ratty sleeve anyway. “Come on, let’s go.”

He stood up and stretched, various joints cracking and creaking as he did so. He might have to get a personal trainer or something too with all that money. He looked down at his terrible hoodie, full of holes and stains from various take-out meals and over use. He’d get the finest clothes, the finest augs… could go wherever he wanted! Even off-world, to try and get as far away as possible. He frowned then. Though, probably not to an alien world. Just a human colony would be far enough.

He shook his head. Time to get to business. He hurriedly disconnected the various wires from his head and smoothed his hair over the jack ports with his fingers. The shakes were starting to fade a bit, and he took a second to look at himself in the broken mirror in the bathroom. He looked alright, he guessed. And besides, the meat world wasn’t really his concern. Satisfied, he left his apartment, in such a hurry that he didn’t even bother locking up.

Juan Gonzalez pulled his hood up as he stepped outside onto the streets, partly to hide his face, but mostly to protect from the drizzling rain. he hated rain. He longed for the sunny sandy beaches of his ancestors. But he consoled himself with the knowledge that in just a few minutes, he’d be able to go anywhere and do anything he damn well pleased. He moved through the crowd, millions of people pushing and shoving and milling around, looking at shops, going to work, or whatever it was that normal people did. He was no longer one of these small fry. He was big time. He scowled slightly as a mixed group of aliens walked past him, chatting happily with each other and, to his disgust, other Terrans like himself. He didn’t like aliens. Oh, on their own worlds he didn’t much care, but he resented them being here, stealing jobs from honest Terrans, clogging up the nets with their culture and jamming the stores with their foreign crap. He shook his head. Ignore it. In just a few more hours he could be on the fastest ship to a distant Eden colony, far away from the gangs and the rain and the intolerable noise and the filth and, most of all, the filthy aliens.

He ran to catch up with a maglev train just as it was about to leave, and zoomed along in comfort, trying to hide his glee (and most importantly, his identity) from any curious onlookers. He watched the massive sprawl go by, the hundreds of thousands of giant spires stretching up into the sky, the various artificial levels that segregated the gargantuan city, a billion twinkling lights of offices and signs and advertisements and street lamps and all kinds of other bits of artificiality. Rather strangely for a man so disinterested in ‘meatspace’, he actually resented this artificial invasion on nature. He dreamed again of sandy beaches on a distant world, far away from this place and his problems. He had made it.

Just then, the train stopped, and he quickly got out, jogging down a dozen streets and down a few flights of stairs to the little bar where he had met the corporate man. He burst in from his haste, feeling a bit embarrassed as the door banged against the wall. Inside was a fairly pretty if low-key bar, all done in the fancy Western Union style that was an homage to the Art Deco period of centuries before, though with modern affectations. He realized to his mild surprise he was the only one there besides a waitress, a damn alien — they really were just everywhere these days — idly cleaning some glasses… and his contact. The pale man in the impeccable suit lounged against the bar, nursing what appeared to be a whiskey. The man gestured him over silently, and Juan walked over to him, his heart swelling in his chest and thumping wildly. This was it.

He sat gingerly on the stool next to the man, who then put down his drink. “Juan Gonzalez?” He asked politely, and extended a hand. Juan’s trembling fingers groped for a second before actually shaking the other man’s hand. “Y-yes sir.” He nodded.

The man nodded to a briefcase on the bar. “Your cut.” He said simply. Juan reached out and caressed the leather of the case for a moment, before carefully opening the lid. He gazed, enraptured, at the millions of W.U. Dollars there, all fresh and crisp and new. All his.

Meanwhile, the man in the suit was pretending to watch this while gazing at the inside of his own head. The DNA scanner hidden inside the flesh of his mostly artificial hand was verifying this was indeed the right man. After a couple seconds, he got confirmation of a match. He turned back to his ratty little connection. “So, we had a deal. The coins?”

Juan grinned at him and tapped the side of his head. “All in here. On a secured drive. Wet-wired into my own head, pretty clever huh?” He smiled hugely, but his face was twisted somewhat by unhealthy living and a lifetime of chemical abuse.

The pale man smiled faintly at him. “Very clever. And, unfortunately for you, a bit of a problem.” He took another sip of his drink and then placed the glass on the counter. Juan watched the ice cubes clink against each other, wondering what this could mean, and before he even had time to speak the man drew a large caliber pistol from his jacket and shot him straight in the heart at point blank.

Blood splattered the counter and Juan fell to the floor, not even managing a scream. He looked up at the man, who looked down at him with a cold, impassive face. “You really should have known better.” He said simply, and then sighed. “However, what’s done is done.” Juan tried to speak, to protest, to beg, but the man pumped the trigger into Juan’s chest until the gun clicked empty. A dozen large holes oozed blood onto the shiny polished floor, and the man sighed again. He turned to the waitress, a Drail girl who appeared to be completely unmoved by this turn of events. She leaned her elbows against the counter, propping up her chin on her wrists. Her purple skin, covered head to toe in ornate swirling light tattoos was a curious contrast to her serene, pupil-less golden eyes that had watched the whole ordeal. “Need a To-Go bag, mister?” She said casually, the small tear-drop shaped antennae on her forehead swaying idly. She realized a bit of Juan’s blood had gotten onto the counter and wiped it up with a rag without really thinking about it.

The man in the suit dropped his gun in a bucket hidden behind the bar, full of a mix of chemicals that would remove any trace of DNA or fingerprints. It was an unregistered gun anyway, but you could never be too careful. After a second he removed it with tongs, shook it dry, and placed it on the floor next to the dead man. “Mmm, thank you, yes.”

The alien woman retrieved a bulky box from behind the bar and placed it on the counter top. The man opened it with a hiss of escaping gases, and a faint cloud drifted lazily out from the lid. Then without the slightest hesitation he flicked his wrist, a tiny surgical saw sliding out of a concealed panel in his false arm. He proceeded to slice the corpse’s head off, careful not to splatter or sever anything important. He then hefted the surprisingly heavy head and placed it into the cryogenic container the waitress had offered him, sealing it tight. She gave him a mildly bemused smile. “You know, I don’t think he was completely dead. I could have sworn he looked at me just now.” Her featureless golden eyes sized up her pale Terran customer.

He returned an impassive stare and a small shrug. “Good. Makes it easier.” Then he opened the briefcase and handed her a large wad of cash. “The usual thanks.” He said simply.

She smiled faintly and counted the money quickly before sliding it into a concealed compartment. “Thank you. Always good to do business with the Atlas corporation. And as usual, I was in the back taking stock when this unfortunate incident went down, so I didn’t see anything. And a damn virus has corrupted my security system, probably sent by this low-life hacker here staining my floor, which means there’s no record of it either. A shame.”

“A shame.” The man repeated, with a slight grin. He hefted the two cases and began to leave the bar. He paused as she spoke again.

“You know, not to criticize or anything, but, where I come from, most disputes are about power and are settled by clan wars, duels, or assassinations. Not this… money laundering and trickery. And trade disputes are handled by the lawyers, not hit-men.” She waved the hand holding the blood-stained rag casually at the case he was carrying, flicking a stray strand of long light blue hair out of her face at the same time, which caused her sleeve to fall back a bit. A careful observer would have noticed the Atlas corporation’s logo mixed in with her cultural tattoos. “Not to mention, our trade very rarely involves a severed head. You Terrans and your cybernetics technology, it’s so… unholy.” She saw his impassive stare and grinned. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just observing. No offense meant. It’s just we try not to get so… personal… about money. We take politics quite personally, as I said, but, well, trade is just trade.”

The man turned to look at her, and her empty golden eyes bore into his glittering green ones. Then he flashed her a small smirk. “That’s just it, madam. It’s not personal. It’s just business.”