Return me safely to my home,” the princess said, “and I shall reward you with your weight in eggs.” Olorun snorted derisively. “You’re joking, right?” The woman’s eyes flitted in embarrassment. “Now wait a minute,” said Helianthus. “We’re talkin’ eggs here. What sort of eggs? Ostrich eggs?” Neferre made an impatient noise. “Hel! She doesn’t have any eggs! Unless they’re hidden in a very . . . delicate place.” Neferre grinned at the princess. “Tell me your eggs are hidden where I think they’re hidden.
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[December’s featured character story from my Patreon - thank you to all of my wonderful patrons! If you’d like to weigh in on who I write about this month, January’s featured character poll is now open for patrons at all pledge tiers.]
“So. You know I hate asking my favorite tech broker not to do business,” said Digit, leaning against Ash’s table with a casualness that absolutely was not backed up by the distinct current of concern that ze was broadcasting.
“Favorite?” Ash asked, mock-affronted. “You got other brokers, Didg? Someone else been finding you implants?”
“Don’t be stupid,” ze scoffed, and not being stupid, Ash let the teasing drop. There were some of his clients who he did have to worry about showing up with some kitbashed circuitry installed by who knew who, but Digit had always been cautious. A single high-end emotional broadcast and receiver gadget that must have cost hir six months’ pay, and frequent debugs and appropriate software updates. Digit was one of his clients who he didn’t worry about ending up hemorrhaging in a seedy cafe somewhere.
It meant that he took hir seriously. Sometimes even when ze was right out in the open about it maybe costing him a commission. He gestured at the seat across from him, an invitation that Digit completely ignored.
Ash sighed. “What’s going on, then.”
“Kid over there’s been asking some really telling questions,” ze said, with a slight gesture of hir chin across the room.
Ash looked up, half expecting he’d need to ask for further clarification; the venue was crowded this time of night. But once he looked, the kid in question was obvious. At least three or four years younger than any of the regulars, dressed down but with a haircut and makeup that positively screamed prep school, sitting incongruously primly on a couch at the edge of the dance floor. He looked back to Digit, rubbing his temples. “Yeah, ok, I see them. Any idea who they are?”
Digit shook hir head. “No clue. But they don’t seem to know anyone else here, either, so...”
“So neither of us is gonna get our heads cracked open for intervening,” Ash finished. God, he hoped not, anyway. He’d had a few close calls when other tech brokers had figured he was poaching their business. Granted, his hands weren’t entirely clean in that regard, either, though cleaner than those of some people he could name. He preferred not to start brawls when he could figure out how to interfere with the competition’s supply chain instead.
And he didn’t take wetware commissions from kids.
“Yeah, thanks for the head’s up,” he sighed, hooking his fabric mask into place as he got to his feet. Not a perfect defense against facial recognition – good software and a comprehensive database would be able to get him from his eyes, heavy liner or no – but a precaution worth taking when doing business anyway. Or not doing business, as the case might be.
The teenager looked up as Ash approached. He opted not to sit, in what was totally a calculated move to maintain some high ground over the kid and not pique over Digit pulling the same bullshit on him a few moment’s before.
“Hey. Heard you were looking for something,” he said.
“...Maybe,” was the reply, more cautious than he’d really expected. Not a bad sign, although to Ash’s view this was maybe a little late for so much caution.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not here for the ambiance, kiddo,” he pointed out, and offered a handshake. “Ash Gray. He, him.”
“Oh, uh. Sammy. Um, she, her?” the kid replied, eyes widening a little at Ash’s introduction, tripping over her own a little. So she’d managed to do enough research to know who he was, maybe – he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one. “I need an implant.” And then, quickly - “I can pay for it.”
He tilted his head a little, watching her impassively from behind his mask. “Need’s a strong word,” he pointed out. “Especially in a place like this. What’re you looking for? You got anything in your head already?”
He doubted it – she didn’t exactly seem at ease in the ‘mote club – but he could be wrong. Sometimes the private school crowd had their own suppliers. Maybe she thought she could get a better deal in a place like this.
“No. My dad won’t even let me get a dental mic.” Sammy hesitated a moment and swallowed, hard, before replying. “I need an emotional dampener circuit.”
That was not the answer that Ash had been expecting. He could count the number of dampeners he’d arranged on the fingers of one hand; they weren’t popular among the networked crowd. Or among over-scheduled teenagers, for that matter, although he was admittedly less familiar with that market. Sammy looked up at him, with the kind of defiant look that generally meant someone had gotten a little mixed up on what they ought to have been scared of, and Ash hissed a sigh through clenched teeth and took a seat at the other end of the couch.
“You really don’t,” he said gently.
She sat up straighter, indignant. “Yeah I do.”
“If you needed it, you wouldn’t be asking me,” he pointed out. “Those things are pretty easy to get through legitimate channels, Sammy.”
Easy compared to other neurotech implants, anyway. There was a generous handful of so-called legitimate medical applications for them – although in Ash’s admittedly only kind of semi-professional opinion, most of the officially accepted uses were more about convenience than therapy. Especially in teenagers. There wasn’t a lot of research on the safety or effectiveness of most neurotech in developing brains, although that didn’t really keep a lot of doctors from prescribing it anyway.
But she shook her head. “The only psychiatrist my parents will take me to reports back to them,” she said. “I’ll… I’ll deal with things when I’m eighteen, I guess? But I need something to keep me level in the meantime.”
It made a certain kind of sense, Ash supposed, or at least it would to… how old was she, like sixteen? To a sixteen-year-old he could see how that’d make sense, getting a brain implant to defer emotions for a couple of years.. It was still a terrible idea.
Ash sighed. “Look, I don’t know what your situation is,” he admitted. “Maybe you are that desperate. So c’mon, trust me to be level with you on this: it’s not going to work. Just flat out. Not going to fix what you think it’s going to fix, and if you get it taken out later you’re going to have more problems with regulation afterward.”
The kid glared. “I’m not stupid-”
“You’re not. You’re smart enough to have tracked down someone who’s responsible enough he won’t help you directly mess with your brain before you’re old enough to vote,” he replied flatly. “And I’m smart enough to know I can’t actually keep you from going and finding someone with fewer scruples, but I’m hoping you’ll listen to reason and settle for letting me buy you a dose of something that’s not going to brute-force a long-term rewiring on your brainmeats while I reach out to a couple of counselors I know who take anonymous clients and see if we can find a way for you to talk to them your folks won’t catch on to.”
“I – you – what?”
Ash half-shrugged, and smiled behind his mask. “Dunno what you’re heard about the ‘mote scene, kiddo, but we don’t just go in for illegal brain mods around here. And full disclosure, I’m not just being nice here. My commission from the shrinks isn’t a big as the one I’d get from a surgeon, but it’s something.”
“Oh.” Sammy seemed to think this over for a moment, averting her eyes and going a little red. “Yeah, that makes sense, I guess.”
“So what do you say, gonna let me buy you a drink and make a few calls for you?”
“...yeah, I’ll try it,” she said – still sounding a little unsure, but with more confidence as she added, “You’re so being nice, though, Mr. Gray.”
“Lies,” Ash chuckled, getting to his feet and offering her a hand up. “Most of the people in here are nice. I’m a serious and mercenary businessman.”
Sammy cracked a small smile, the first he’d seen from her, and let him pull her to her feet.
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