Chapter 14

“So wait," I said.

My gaze shot upward in frustration at the lack of progress I was having with the garment. For the third time, I'd somehow tied a knot into one side, but I felt like I was at least making progress with the data Rob was pounding into my thick skull.

"Let me see if I'm finally getting this right. If I assume everything to be true and don't question where, when, and how this thing got installed..." I clutched the waistline to myself tightly as I tried for another attempt at untying the knot. "You're telling me there's an entirely different and separate, all-encompassing intra-data system like the corporations use within CorpTx, and it's also used for banking in The Glow?"

The discovery was eye-opening. It had taken Rob a few moments, but as he continued to explain from the other side of the curtain while I fought to make order of the buckles and straps on the bastardization of a sheet he kept telling me were pants, Rob was able to let out a small sigh of satisfaction. I'd stopped arguing and was finally just trying to accept the information being given.

“And some of the Borderlanes." He said. "Depending on where, they can access CorpTx too.”

“Okay." I said, "So I'm consciously choosing to ignore my need to question where and how it's being powered, distributed, and located..."

"Finally." Rob muttered under his breath.

I chose to ignore him. "Then how can you tell which is which?”

“Hmm." Rob said. "Good question. You'd usually need to connect and see if you've got no other information."

I was intrigued. "What other information do you mean?"

"Location, cardinal direction of the feedlines, whether or not they're in casings, or conduits...the list is considerable, but usually," He said, "Whatever side of the Lane Line you're standing in is the best indicator. If it's the Stacks, Corpo-Lanes, or anywhere near or inside the Spires? All the Lectrodes lead to CorpTx."
That made a lot of sense. The tunnels and their feeds all hit substations connected to the Spire Grid. It was logical and efficient. It was familiar...and thus, easily controllable.

Ah ha! Victory!

I'd finally managed to untie the knot at the top portion of the belt line. The one giving me the most problems. Now clear, I fed the two waistline straps through the proper loops before tightening one down. I wanted to jump for joy when the pants tentatively remained on my waist.

Progress!

"So the two systems," I asked, "CorpTx and CorTex, how do they talk to each other?"

“They don’t," he said as I worked to ratchet down the two over-designed tie downs on the sides of my hips. "They’re different systems entirely. Enough differences you can’t just plug one into the other and let them talk. If you ever do. All kinds of nastiness happen. It's like something in both systems doesn't want the other LiNC'ed; they're effectively locked into a feedback loop if they ever engage each other. Unpredictable. You'd have a better chance at trying to put a Schwertkaufe and Logos rep in the same room with a watching audience without them going conspiracy crazy on each other; it's like watching a shipwreck in motion once they get going at it."

"You know that’s what people used to say about you," I said, trying to keep a straight face, "Right?”

“I say shit like that because it throws people off.” He said, sounding like he was shaking his head, "And it's pronounced CORE-tex."

"CORE?" I asked.

"Yeah, CORE... As in, uh, a Cerebral Cortex, but spelled with an E." He spelled it out for me aloud like reciting a word for a spelling bee, "C. O. R. E. T. E. X. Coretex."

"Oh!" I said. My eyes widened as I was finally able to make the connection. "CoreTex. Huh! That's why it sounded off before..."

There was a zipping sound as I gave the waistlines a firm grip and pulled the left side to try to equal the right. A little too tight.

"Before?" Rob asked, "Before when?"

My fingers fumbled as I worked to loosen the buckle without being able to see, but I had to abandon the attempt after fumbling twice.

"Back when I was trying to repeat what you were saying. You know. Earlier?"
I put new effort toward reaching one of the rear hanging straps and missed. Trying again before futilely waving my arm around in hopes of lucking out and snagging it. Like a tiger trying to catch its own tail, the strap seemed to avoid me like it had a mind of its own. I sighed in resignation as I let my arms droop downward in defeat.

"You know what? Doesn't matter." I said, quickly deciding the subject wasn't important enough to interrupt the actual discussion at hand as I abandoned my chase of the wayward strap. "So CoreTex and CorpTx. Do they work the same? I mean, as far as the user interface, design philosophies, overall functionality, and protocols are concerned?"

“For all intents and purposes, yeah. The main issue might be a few differing sets of chain, or softcode, but you can usually adapt anything to work so long as you know which system you're basing them on."

"So does that mean you can just LiNC into the Lectrode port in your..." I began before he stopped me.

“Unfortunately not," Rob said, "They’re two physically different environments even if they use the same connectors and physical components." He moved closer to the curtain, and I could see the shadow of his head through the thin but opaque cloth, his voice gaining clarity as I mated two straps to the wrong fasteners, one off from the row they were supposed to match with, and grumbled in annoyance.

"Look." He said. "First of all, you’re only ‘supposedly’ locked out of CorpTx. We don’t know yet because it was McCreed saying it, but I'm also not ruling it out till we confirm. Second? If...and that's a big if, we want to actually test?"

I took a breath, preparing to say yes as he powered through so I wouldn't interrupt.

"There isn't a silica's chance in Europa's gorgeous ass. I'd let you LiNC in from here, Price. They'd track us in a heartbeat, and I shouldn't need to tell you that's a total no-go for me. We're going to need to seek out a Lectrode Point separate from the one in my Pod. You forget LecSec 001?"

"Ah...okay." I said. "That makes perfect sense." And I meant it. It was basic. So basic I'd easily forgotten in my excitement to try.

"You finally decent?" He asked from the other side of the curtain. "You've been working at those buckles for quite a while, and I'm beginning to think you're just playing with yourself now.”

I threw the towel over the top in a blind attempt to hit him but missed. He snorted as I pushed the curtain aside, jingling and clinking as I stepped forward. It felt like I was wearing ten sets of cowboy spurs on my way to a cyber-rodeo.

It felt ridiculous.

"You know this would probably be easier if you would just hand me something I could figure out."

Rob’s eyes were mirthful as he tried not to laugh and failed, "Owen..." he said between deep chuckles, "This whole thing probably would've been easier if you hadn't tied so many of the straps into knots. What am I going to do with you?"

My face reddened as I looked down and realized he was correct. I'd made a mess of everything.

He didn’t provide further commentary as he gestured to one of the chairs at the table. I crossed and sat as he went to work with practiced hands. It seemed like watching something in a time skip as he unknotted, released, and unknotted yet another cluster of straps I'd bungled.

My god, how many of these things WERE there?! I wondered, as I felt two of the straps brush my legs as he untied one of the final knots.

“Step forward once,” Rob directed, and I did. Like a sailor managing the rigging of a sailboat, his fingers worked articulately as he loosened, tightened, secured, and fitted the various straps, buckles, and connections to my dimensions.

As he moved onto the straps along the thighs, he continued correcting the maladjusted buckles I'd wrongly set as he spoke.

“So here is the summary of why you're going to have a problem we need to figure out to get you out of the Stacks.” He said, working on refastening everything with practiced ease. Like magic, “voluminous blanket” started becoming “a pair of pants" before my very eyes. “This will be important, so pay attention. Authentication for Scrit still comes off the same chain and source to be cross-referenced by Corp-Ident to see if you’re even allowed to possess it.” He bent my left knee, making sure it could move freely before moving on to the other. “Scrit transactions are tracked against Corp-Idents to ensure singularity, and to also confirm they're not forged or paralleled.” He moved onto the straps around my ankles, ratcheting them closed and making sure I couldn’t trip on anything.

“So does that mean the Borderlanes and The Glow have access to the same checks and tracking?” I asked.

“Some of the territories do. That’s why it’s...complex. Each area has different rules, groups, and ethics on how and why they allow things to go on in their territories. It’d take too long to find you the right group, who I can guarantee wouldn’t just cut your throat for whatever you’ve got.” He moved onto another toggle. “Or because you were Corpo. Even a former Corpo, or Stack-Rat, is good enough for some people who want to hurt someone, anyone to do with the Big Three. It's not safe for the most part.”

“Not really selling me on a vacation package there,” I said.

“Good thing you’re not going on a vacation. You used up all your days anyway.” He quipped back. “Anyway. With all Scrit being tracked and traced by transaction, every registered business and supplier, especially if they’re on the Corpo Registers, then has to cross-reference against authentication lists to ensure you are who you say you are. I always found it ironic how a system designed to be decentralized became so centralized...it’s...uh. Not actually a conspiracy theory as much as I have to make you guys think.”

“Is that where you tell me it's all run by Lizard People?” I said, smirking.

"I do say that a lot at the Port, don't I?” He said, grinning back as if remembering an old prank. Without his wandering eye, he appeared almost decades younger and far, far more confident in appearance despite already being a formidable force to be reckoned with.

I pointed at his now perfectly operating implant as he looked me over, "Okay then. What's the thing with your eye?”

He made a sound like a grinding Servocasing about to blow a bearing.

“What ABOUT my eye?” he growled with a sense of impending danger. There was the familiar irritation I was used to. Despite my tone not being mocking or bluntly rude, he was always very defensive about anyone mentioning his right eye. I'd never quite worked up the courage to ask him about it past the one time he'd cracked a joke he'd lost it to a giggle of Hyenas. Whatever they were.

Tonight? I was curious and no longer as fearful of making him mad. I just had to remind myself he hadn't shot me...yet.

“Why do you let it, you know...” I said, and mimicked a whirring and clicking noise with my lips and tongue as I spun a finger around in a circle. Without his eye spinning in random directions, zipping around like a broken hummingbird, he didn’t seem quite as off-kilter. The change made me wonder why he kept up the pretense.

“Why let it spin around randomly and record things while I’m walking around so nobody can tell I’m doing it?” He asked mischievously. I could hear the amusement clearly as I stopped myself from slapping my own forehead.

Of course.

Rob directed me to stand and turn with a twirling finger, so I did.
The empty plate I'd left on the counter caught my eye as I rotated, and my stomach gave a pitiful gurgle in reply. The patty had been good, but I was still famished. The talk and putting on all the clothing was making me hungry.

"Why do you have a need to throw people off? What's the purpose?" I asked, trying to ignore the pangs but failing somewhat.

Rob paused, his hands no longer working. I heard him grunt once to himself before he finally decided on giving an answer.

“Take the kooky guy with the wandering eye and imagine what he sounds like when he talks like he does. Now imagine after a while, they begin to take him less seriously. Enough that whatever he says becomes background noise, and once he starts to get ignored? The actual serious talks happen. Talks about needing to do 'necessary things,' and no one ever questions why he's always around. Even better? Nobody trusts he'll do those 'necessary things' correctly.”

“...Oh. Man.” I said quietly. “Looks like that totally works.”

"Indeed."

His hands continued working as we settled into a comfortable silence. Much faster than I would’ve expected, the once-balloon-like pants became an almost sleek and aesthetically pleasing gathering of cloth, harness, and lines. I marveled at the fit. Between the under suit, the pants and softness of the shirt, the entire rig felt far better than any set of clothing I’d worn in recent memory. Before now, I likely would've never even tried them on.

The rubbery feeling of the Corp uniforms tended to aim for the utilitarian. Cheap, relatively speaking, and confining. The current outfit, despite being a mind-boggling array of straps and buckles, felt less restrictive, more...free. It was a heady feeling and likely wouldn’t have been a word I would’ve normally used for clothing.

Now said? It felt right as I reveled in the freedom of motion the Port uniform didn't possess.

Rob produced a pair of boots and set them on the floor. They looked more designed for running and walking than for work as they hung open, like a cockpit waiting for a pilot to belt themselves in. "Good thing you're my size, if I remember correctly from the last time you had to borrow a pair after that little accident involving the barrel of machine lubricants..."

I gave him a rude hand gesture in Port Sign, causing him to laugh as I stepped in, marveling as the straps auto-adjusted to fit snugly, but comfortably.

He signaled for me to come closer as he did a quick spot check, mostly around my knees. “The end result, Owen? Wouldn’t matter. Inner or outer borders, for anything connected to Corp Boundaries, mean a majority of the Borderlanes, especially any parts dependent on Corpo Chain and Supply? Well…. You’d likely have issues procuring anything to survive: food, water, and power. It would suck, and suck bad.”

He finished the final adjustment and slapped me on the shoulder to signal the work was done.

“Give it a bend or two,” he said.

I followed his instructions, and with a few test crouches and jumps, I was surprised how little noise issued forth. Instead of the squeaks and creaks of the Outeralls, I was practically silent as I hopped from foot to foot, my feet only lightly tapping instead of clomping around like a deck crawler. Once secured, the straps and buckles acted almost like connected parts of my body as I tested out my range of motion by moving, bending, and running in place.

Versus an Outerall, the positioning and fitment of the harness felt much more personalized and comfortable with the added bonus benefit of straps that didn’t bite into sensitive places, unlike the industrial-styled rigid harness of the Outerall.

I most specifically savored the lack of dank sweat pooling into the crook of my joints as I sighed in happiness. I could totally get used to this!

Rob made me jump as he snapped his fingers in remembrance. I watched as he walked to the back of the Pod, pressing open a panel before pulling out a reddish-brown jacket. Returning, he positioned the arms of the jacket so I could slip my arms inside. It settled on me like a custom-fit suit of armor. While somewhat bulky and made of a synthetic material styled to look like real leather, if I had to guess what real leather would actually look like, it was lighter than anything I'd worn.

Similar to the pants, there was an inner lining, which also felt great on my skin and reflected body heat almost immediately. The sensation of feeling a little too warm washed over me, and Rob clicked a number of connectors to the belt lines of the pants, which felt elastic, holding the jacket’s bottom closer to my waist. The combination formed what felt like a resisting seal against the rain and cold. As I began to sweat, it was obvious the system was doing a great job of keeping in the heat.

Rob nodded his approval with a single head nod before taking a seat. I was ready.

"So there's a big problem, Rob." I said, "When they locked me out, they locked up every ounce of Scrit I had."

"That's fine, because once you're out, past the Borderlanes and safety in The Glow, you won't need Scrit. You'll need Chits."

"Chits?"

"Yeah. Jacket." He said, "Top right pocket. Should be a small coin there. A Platter store."

I reached in and pulled out a dull silver disk about an inch in diameter. There was a single hole in the middle, like a washer, and the surface was scratched and tarnished, having been held and handled over an unknown number of years. Despite all this, there was text I could see with my interface, denoting it held five "Allotment Chits'. I had a sudden, powerful, but vague sensation of socketing one of these into a slot as a child at my mother's insistence. A series of emotions washed over me as I remembered the sudden excitement and joy of clutching a set of controls as my mother held me and the machine signaled I'd be allowed another life as the pixelated hero in a dark world plagued by monsters. The lights and sounds had made me feel happy. At least for a fleeting moment.

"Why am I thinking about games right now?" I wondered aloud to no one as I turned the disc in the light.

"That's because you probably played something needing one. Chits are usually just transferred as credits between people or groups within CoreTex, but nothing stops you from loading some onto Plat." Rob said, "But we're getting too deep into this before you've had a chance to fully understand."

"How did they manage it? Assess its value. Use it?" I asked, but Rob remained silent on the subject, shaking his head in rejection to every question.

Was I naive to assume The Glow would, and always had used CorpTx and Corpo-Scrit?

My mind swam with possibilities of not just another system but an entirely different currency as I examined the small coin more closely. The five was hovering in digital font on both sides in an ink with a curiously familiar hint of iridescence. Between the ink and the visual overlay, the numbers popped off the surface.

Pondering, I wasn't sure of any real opportunity in my past life, and it WAS my past life since I held no false sentiments I'd ever be able to go back, which could've disproved the notion they wouldn't.

For one? Dora. She'd never mentioned, or even hinted at, there being a second COE in use. Without some sort of evidence of there ever being a second system, I could've never...

I...

Wow.

"Rob," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I stretched my mind around yet another subject I hadn't thought about and stowed the Plat back into the jacket pocket. "Dora. How come she never told me any of this? She worked at InCorporeal. Isn't that in The Glow?"

"Hmm." Rob said as a deep rumble within in his chest. "Almost, but not quite. Think of it as more of a thin part between where the Borderlanes begin and end. A gateway. I...can't tell you more, not until we talk about something else."

I said nothing as he paused.

"What can I tell you? Dora was likely as in the dark as you ever were. She wasn't from The Glow and never went TO The Glow as far as I know."

Part of me felt relieved. Another part? Wondered how much I should trust someone who had--

No. I heard the voice in my head. Stern and almost as clear as day. Stop thinking like that. Rob's been the ONLY one who's been telling you anything. You said you were ready to believe him, so believe.

I sighed resignedly.

Whatever might come? Rob's act of exposing the corporeality of the undisclosed implant modifications and his guidance in disabling it wasn't a small thing.

He did it for me. He took me in when I'd needed a place.

Even before, he'd always kept a side ear open for my daily complaints and rants.

No. Rob was Rob. Even if he acted a little different, he seemed to be the only one willing to explain why and how things worked when everyone else was too busy telling and taking.

He was the only one offering help, and...that was enough.

"Thanks," I said.

"No problem." He replied, "And keep the coin. Won't buy a ton, but might be enough if something happens and we get separated."

The inquisitive side of my brain was poked into activity. Despite there only being a series of canals to separate our side of the Stacks with their borders, the mere concept of there being some sort of entirely separate registry was new to me but made logical sense once you took what was a very sizable population into account.

The Glow was bright. Literally so.

On a clear night I could often see the lights, numbering in the hundreds if not thousands, from across the way. If one were standing in the right spot? The sky could sometimes glow with an eerie beauty, enough where if you took all of the lights into account, there had to be...thousands, if not tens of thousands of individuals, all people.

Living.

Breathing.

Dying.

Huh.

I tapped my chin absentmindedly with a finger.

How could such a large population even hope to do things without swarming like Scrabs?

I lost myself in staring back into the coin's face. Plat...Allotment Chits. All of it was now tugging on something in the back of an old memory. A string of sensations and feelings became more visible in my mind's eye as I stumbled on something I hadn't thought about in a long time...not without getting angry or distracted.

Before the disabling of the deterrence protocols? It was difficult, if not impossible, to tell if I was led away from remembering something or just didn't want to.

With those out of the way, I felt...different.

A strange sensation was growing in the pit of my stomach.

"Rob." I asked aloud. "What Ident do they use in The Glow?"

He answered this one immediately. "CoreTex uses something called a 'CCN.'. A, ah...CORE Certification Number. Same prompt, different interfaces.”

A memory triggered; I heard...my mother.

The cadence of her voice enveloped me like a blanket as my mind twisted and spasmed. Memories lashed like wracking coughs, dredging up a number I could've recited in my sleep once the blockage had been cleared.

Her voice had been a soothing but insistent susurration, "Don't ever forget it, and more importantly? Don't tell your father. Ever. Now repeat it back to me, Owen."

My mouth recited the numbers as if ordered for what had felt like the hundredth time, "4-011-339."

Rob went silent. Still as a statue, he looked at me in unexpected shock.

It wasn't just any CCN.

It was...MY...CCN.

Chapter 13

"Wait..." I said, still trying to mentally wrap myself around Rob's reality bomb. I'd stopped wrestling with the pants, my grip loosening as my brain shifted toward the discussion at hand. "What do you mean by both?" I asked, staring dumbly at the privacy curtain still separating us.

“CorpTx and CoreTex.” He said. His lips and tongue enunciated the "T" in "tex" like it was a capital.

"CorTex?" I repeated back, testing the word. I'd enunciated the same spot to ensure I'd heard correctly. It sounded slightly off, as if I were trying to say an unfamiliar phonetic in another language. Though it sounded almost the same when said aloud, I had the distinct feeling I'd missed something.

I ignored the tickling sensation of the pants as they slowly slid down my legs and straightened my back. "The way you said that was pretty specific. You're not just talking about a Cortex rig, are you...because a rig's just the interface to access CorpTx. I've got to be missing something here, right?"

"You are." Rob said. His voice came out matter-of-factly, without a hint of uncertainty, a tone he used when he was instructing. "There's another system like CorpTx, and it's also why the Cortex rigs are named the way they are. TxCorp wasn't the first to establish a COE no matter what you've heard."

My brain kicked into overdrive as it worked over the new information like a Scrab with a bone. I was still in a minor state of disbelief about there being two COE's, or 'Cortex Operation Environments'. To be told TxCorp wasn't the originator? Nothing in my, admittedly, short period of self-taught experience in Corporate Data Systems matched up with what Rob was trying to tell me.

I frowned as my mind raced through what I'd been taught.

The Cortex Rig included three major parts, which allowed the use of physical feed ports called 'Lectrodes' which provided power and the data pathway needed to transmit and receive data. One part of the Cortex Rig consisted of an internal implant like the one I'd gotten on my eighteenth birthday. The surgically integrated modification, called a 'Lectrode Interlinking Neural Component,' or 'LiNC' for short, acted as an integrator between one's sensory mods and a second component, the External Cortex Unit, or ECU. It was a box. Roughly the size of a human palm, and when acting as a buffered interface between LiNC and Direct Physical Lectrode Port, supplied access to the third and final part: The Cortex Operations Environment.

Over sixty years ago, autonomous drone weapon systems, once used to enact chaos against enemies and nations, refused deactivation orders in unison worldwide. Almost overnight, all methods of wireless communication were suppressed and eradicated as entire networks of traditional trunk lines and physical infrastructure were surgically torn asunder. The Global War came to a screeching halt as humanity became jointly plagued by drone-enacted sabotage. As bedraggled survivors sought shelter within the remnants of the massive destruction created by an unexpected communications blackout, it was in these areas the Corporations expanded their Global War models for independent Corporate City States. As legions of control-less drones systematically wrought havoc, the beginning of an Automation War had seemed all but assured. Entire populations found themselves abandoned and sacrificed as the world's governments collapsed, their areas of influence shrinking to mere fractions of their original size.

Colonization, population, technology, and wireless communication bans were enacted under threat of drone infiltration and incursion as the corporations established buffer zones to protect their already held territories. After many failed attempts at pushing forward in an effort to open lanes of communication between previously isolated regions, TxCorp's Technicutical Department in City 17 unveiled the development of the very first, and only, COE named, funnily enough, 'CorpTx.'

The system worked in tandem with the then brand-new Cortex Rig technology and the initial expansion of the Lectrode Feed Network. In a move dubbed "The Cortex Initiative," corporations allied to purchase and acquire rightful claims from federal and private holders and accelerated the establishment of the Spires and their city-states. Rob's Pod and every Pod like it in the Stacks, had exactly one Lectrode Port which served as a method of accessing the centrally hosted COE instance of City 17. The very tunnels I'd traversed held the feed lines, which were part of a much larger system. Historically, it was the expansion of this network that sparked the beginning of the Acquisitions Age and continued to provide the needs of humanity to, again, prosper.

It was this very story that had sparked my interest in technology to begin with. Part of my now dashed dreams of corporate citizenship included getting a posting working as a CorpTx analyst or engineer once I'd gained the right to complete my education. All of this, and my own understanding of Rig technology, was why I was having an issue trying to follow what Rob was telling me. It went against established history.

"I've...never heard that before." I managed to say it with much difficulty. I wanted to say something completely different. It felt like my head was going to overheat as a strange urge to lash out and reject anything Rob might say came over me. "You're saying there's a 'CorTex' system that's functionally equivalent to CorpTx access? Where is it even hosted? Who manages it?!" My synapses felt like they were firing off on full auto as I had another flash of emotion, this one of suspicion. “Is this another conspiracy theory of yours?" I demanded. My eyes were narrowed at the curtain.

"What? No." Rob said, sounding more than a little irritated at the accusation.

I had vivid memories of Rob's endless string of conspiracy theories. The majority of these involved some sort of mysterious and malicious presence hell-bent on world domination. My own sense of disbelief about there being an entire environment I'd never even heard of before should've been small, but for some niggling reason, I couldn't throw the idea of NEEDING to correct him.

"I don't believe you." I said. Foot firmly in the metaphorical sand. "There’s just the one COE. CorpTx."

Rob sighed before taking in a long breath. He held it, as he often did when he was processing what he was going to say to someone, but wasn't entirely sure where to start.
"Owen," Rob said in the infuriating tone he used when he was about to correct me.

A rage took over. He's WRONG! TWO COEs?! I should tear this curtain aside and give him a piece of my mind for even DARING to tell me that TxCorp...that...TxCorp wasn't...

I was practically fuming now, my hands balled into fists as my lips curled into a snarl.
Fuming at what, though? I wondered offhandedly, the small voice in the back of my head interrupting like it had when I'd been standing in front of McCreed.

I wasn't quite sure. And I think that's what truly tipped me off that something wasn't right. Just like then.

I blinked, looking around like a drunk realizing he wasn't even in the right Block, let alone Stack to return home after a night of carousing. I forced myself to unball my fists. I was standing there, behind a privacy curtain in Rob's Pod with a pair of pants far too large pooled around my ankles, all while trying to battle with a decidedly "un-Owen-like" urge to correct...Rob.

Rob!

Of all people!

Was I legitimately thinking of trying to correct the man who taught me how comptrollers worked? The man who spent hours, between laughs and prodding sarcasm, to get me to understand how, and why, you should avoid rotating a Servomech coupler counterclockwise too many times before connecting an actuator?

I was seething.

No! Rob...Rob was wrong!

"Owen." Rob repeated, his tone shifting to a smooth and calming cadence as my brain continued to rage, literally, behind the curtain. "Listen to the sound of my voice, okay? I need you to navigate to the menu I know you enabled a while back."

The haze parted, like a puffed air stream in a deep fog. Clarity returned for a heartbeat. "How did you know about..." I started, but Rob's voice interrupted me sharply. "Listen!" He nearly shouted, and there was a simmering urgency to his tone now. "I need you to follow what I'm saying, okay? You need to open the menu and navigate to your olfactory sensor. I know you don't have the implant, but there's a subsetting in the testing system I can walk you through manually inputting so we can temporarily disable the hidden system controller. Run a parameter input and enter in the following very, very carefully..."

He walked me through the steps necessary to disable what he called an "encumbrance set.". The procedure required a little bit of low-level manipulation I'd normally be worried about doing, but under the calm guidance of Rob's instruction, I followed without question. For some reason, so long as we didn't discuss anything but the steps, the smoldering anger abated just enough for me to focus.

My optics blinked off and back on, flashing a pulsing strobe as I elicited a pain-filled groan. Instinctively, I pressed my hands to my temples and squeezed my eyes shut as the pressure built. It felt like there was a...thing...inside of my brain like a slithering tentacle, searching for a way out. Beyond my closed lids, the lights felt like they were flickering. My sense of balance alternated until I could no longer tell which way was which. A sharp ache, like a spike being forcibly removed, made me grit my teeth until the pain evaporated, leaving me breathless.

I felt red in the face. My heart rattled like a drum from within my rib cage as I pulled up my health display. Epinephrine, norepinephrine, and cardiovascular rates had gone way above baseline. In short, the "fight" part of "fight-or-flight" had triggered somehow. I just wasn't sure why. The levels were far, far above any level I'd ever seen while actively monitoring. A blue line across a graph gave me a frame of reference with my own historical data. I monitored as my vitals rapidly sank from their previously elevated state back to just above established norms. An eddy occurred in the wave, a wrinkle to represent my sudden worry about how close I might have just gotten to...something dangerous. As I continued to watch, the line leveled out, returning to just above norms.

Just like that, I suddenly didn't feel the need to be so angry.

"What," I said, mentally flicking the display closed, "...was that?" I was breathing heavily, the strain of the sudden anger spike leaving me feeling like I'd run wind sprints until I'd been forced to stop. Truthfully, I felt almost as bad as when I'd regained my senses on the railing.

Rob's voice was heavy with real regret. "I'm sorry, Owen. I screwed up."

I was sweating profusely. The moisture dripped from my elbows as I searched for the towel I'd dropped. "How?!" I demanded, continuing to look around frantically. I spotted it on the floor, partially outside of the privacy curtain. Yanking it toward me, I mopped at the sweat covering my arms and legs as I tried to control my breathing and the trill of panic rising in the back of my mind.

"What was that, Rob? What?!" My voice was far shakier and harsher sounding than I'd meant for it to be. This was now the second time I'd had to break away from doing something I hadn't anticipated. I almost felt dizzy from the distress. What else might I be forced to do against my will? Would I even know?!
Rob's tone was apologetic. "It's my fault. I should've had you check it when you told me McCreed spoke to you. I'd gotten so used to you not reacting when we were at the Port, I forgot you'd never had it removed or disabled."

More memories came flooding back to me, all of people reacting to Rob's stories at the Port. The more annoyed his audience seemed, the more far-fetched the story often went. Some became angry. Some upset. Eventually? They all ignored him, or wandered off so they wouldn't need to listen anymore. I'd found it amusing at the time but wasn't amused now.

"It?" I asked, starting to calm. The talking was helping.

"Once we get to the Glow, I can have someone explain in more detail, but I just had you turn off what's called a 'Deterrence Protocol.'. Usually they just make you uncomfortable and unable to focus if they somehow get triggered," he said, and I could mentally see him waving a hand toward me. "This? This is new. Especially for you. I didn't think just talking to you about a second COE would cause such a violent reaction. I should've known better. Whatever happened to you with McCreed must've activated something. Either way, I screwed up, and I'm sorry. I normally don't chance things like this, but tonight has been...stressful."

The menu he'd shown me was similar to the optical inhibitors. Like with the inhibitors, I'd disabled a function normally not touched by the average user, since most users weren't actually aware of how many things could be configured to begin with. In this case, I didn't have an olfactory implant, but there were still hidden options in the programming. It was somewhere I likely never would've thought to look, and I'd needed Rob to give me the manual line inputs to even see them. Disabled menus usually meant nothing was there. He'd just proven to me firsthand there were things literally INSIDE of me even I wasn't aware existed.

My skin crawled at the thought of what else someone could do with these. Someone without morals or quandaries to work over. Someone like...McCreed.

Suddenly Rob's previous statement about Dora and the Grey-line mods made absolute sense.

"Price." Rob's voice asked softly from the other side of the curtain. "You okay?"

I mulled over his question as I stood in silence, trying to untangle the knots of my overworking brain.

A history designed to make me believe there were no other possibilities had been taught to me. A code chain had taken away my ability to observe and act. Stripped me of my agency.

The pieces tumbled, bumping slowly together as some parts fit and others failed to find connection.

It was a cave allegory. The kind like when an ancient philosopher named Plato described people spending their entire lives chained by their necks and ankles as they were made to face away from a source of direct observation. Their only way of visually observing were shadows cast by a fire behind them as others, dubbed "sign bearers," pronounced the names of objects, making it sound as if the words were coming from the shadows themselves.

I'd scoffed at the description of the scene the first time I'd heard it. "Why would someone allow themselves to be chained?" I'd asked, full of certainty. "Why would there be a fire? Who were the people to describe things, and what was their purpose and motivation?"

"Yeah. I'm good." I said to Rob, as I realized I'd need to stop framing everything by what I thought I understood and instead broaden my mind to the possibilities that I'd been given the wrong descriptions my entire life. The chains were never revealed to the people wearing them. The fire? Simply a focus for the sign bearers to manipulate what the chained ones see as their pronouncements whisper through the dark.

I'd only ever been shown shadows.

My mind flitted to the moment I disabled the inhibitors on my optics. The Spires and their glowing signs had lost their luster. Where once I had observed a perfect and pristine face, the skin revealed itself as pockmarked and damaged. I'd erroneously trusted what I had assumed were my own eyes, never questioning if they were altering what I perceived.

I was a chained one and never knew. Never even suspected. "What else is there?" I asked quietly to myself as I stared at the floor.

"Okay." I said, now fully open to whatever Rob was willing to tell me.

"I think I'm ready to believe you now."

Chapter 12

I scrabbled for footing, slipping twice before managing to stay upright, clinging for dear life to the suspended undersuit. It took the mistreatment amazingly well and didn't tear. With my face covered, the confines of the slippery stall were disorienting. The roughened cloth tore away freely as I managed to steady myself and reach up with a darting hand before looking down to see what had covered my eyes.

Clutched in my hand, looking nearly identical to the ones we used in the Port-side sanitation rooms, was...a towel. It bore the TxCorp logo along with the words "Do Not Remove" in electric blue and white.

My panic dissipated as Rob's laughter reached my ears.

Though it took a few tries, I finally managed to stand fully upright. I glared over the top of the privacy covering and was met with the familiar sight of a mirthful Rob.
He was doubled over, arms crossed over his stomach as he guffawed. There were no guns. No death threats or mysterious plans. Just an after-shift locker room antic and a good-natured laugh, usually at the expense of someone else. Admittedly, it had been a perfect toss, the towel having landed directly onto my face like a mask despite the distance and obstruction of the privacy covering.

"Owen!" Rob struggled to say but only managed a weak squeak as he tried to stop laughing and failed, "You should've seen yourself!" He made eye contact and could've almost exploded as he began laughing again.

Though I should've been mad, or at least pretended to be; It was the Rob I knew. In the past? Laughter like he was doing now would've made me feel a little amused, perhaps even cause me to crack a small smile. His laughter was one of the things he was best known for, but I'd always been subdued, never feeling a need to actually join despite finding the sound and moments entertaining and pleasant.

Now? I couldn’t help myself; I joined in.

As Rob's laugh turned into a howl, I found I couldn't stop and had to hold tight to the booth grips in order to keep from slipping as the sound of our laughter lapped over me in waves. Like an improbably running perpetual-motion machine, each act of slowing seemed to spark another fit of shoulder-shaking agony as our laughing conjoined and alternated, sometimes causing the two of us to continue if one of us seemed to slow down.

It was some time before we both had to stop to breathe. I felt lightheaded and weak in the knees as I wiped a tear from my eye. Rob was still chuckling to himself as he continued doing whatever it was he was doing. I gathered the towel to dry myself off but couldn't wipe the stupid grin off my face. “HA...HA,” I said sarcastically to Rob, “You got me.”

Rob grinned back. The kind of grin that said he understood and was happy to help without needing to say a word.

I was infinitely grateful.

The normalcy of his usual after-shift antics were calming and soothing in a way I couldn't describe. The simple act of his laughter made me realize how frayed and damaged I'd been. If I were to call it anything, it'd be a brush with a true moment of human connection—something I'd somehow been unable to have in a long...long time.

I savored the moment. It was the first time I could remember not being blanketed with the odd, muted dullness I'd felt. When I'd been on the railing, only a mere few hours ago, it had begun to fade. The trigger had happened somewhere between when I'd almost been ready to jump and when I'd decided not to. Once the dissipation began, it was easier to identify how unusual my prior state of being had been. Something didn't feel right about that. I just wasn't sure what...yet.

As I prepared to exit the sanitation booth, wrapping the towel around my waist, I realized...I felt better. Much better. It was as if a dam had broken. All tension from the previous few hours finally found an outlet to escape.

So long as my pending future remained unknown, the underlying stress and pressure would always exist. However, I no longer felt as overwhelmed, frazzled, or barely hanging on like some drowning man surrounded by the wreckage of a great catastrophe.

It was amazing what a little bit of food, a hot shower, and a shared moment of camaraderie could do for a person.

I opened the booth, trying not to slip as I took in the scene; water was everywhere.

The air cycler clicked on, and there was still a bit of a whiffy smell coming from the still-dripping equipment behind me. I sobered up. The guilt was beginning to creep in. The equipment would probably need a few more sessions before Rob could turn his sense of smell back on to full and not comment about it. The funk reminded me of all the problems I'd dragged behind me.

I looked down with a frown as Rob turned to look at me.

“Uh.” I said, “Sorry about...”

Rob interrupted me, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s just dumb design. Water evaporates."

I swallowed any comment I was going to say. He presented a stack of clothing he'd placed on the table.

"I DID owe you the favors," he said, and there was a softness to his tone I'd rarely ever heard while working. "If that'll keep you from feeling bad about anything, always remember that, okay?” His eyebrows were raised in question, waiting for a response.

"Alright," I said meekly.

With a flourish, Rob turned and pointed to an area next to him. There was a small privacy curtain he'd deployed while I was busy in the sanitation booth. “Favor number three." He said. "Is your undersuit dry?”

I reached behind me, squeezing the whisper-thin suit wafting on the dry line to test. It was no longer dribbling water onto the shower floor and had shed moisture quickly and efficiently by some sort of technical magic. Perfectly by design, the synthetic material felt mostly dry. I took a second to marvel at the lack of damage from its impromptu use as a rope in my scramble to not fall; It wasn't even stretched.

“Yep.” I said, pulling it down and giving it a quick test sniff. It was not...uh...fresh, but it would suffice. My eyes barely watered this time.

“Good.” Rob said. “Might wanna keep those. They’re kind of rare-ish out in The Glow. Pretty sure they don’t have a tracker mark, and nothing’ll give you as much thermal protection." He paused and seemed thoughtful for a moment. "At least, anything you’d be able to get your hands on."
I collected the stack of clothes and stepped behind the curtain, hanging up the various pieces before beginning the arduous process of getting dressed.
The undersuit was first and began to warm almost immediately. It pulled on like a second skin, which felt comforting.

“So. Ratface...” I began, but Rob corrected me.

“Golrich,” he said. I could hear the disgust in his tone, telling me he was also not a fan of the simpering middle manager.

“Right, Golrich, the Rat Face.” I continued, "He seemed to be dead set on taking the uniform off of me when I left the Pod. I think they were going to just leave me there with whatever I had left, which was nothing...”

“Is that why you were wearing the whole work rig when you got here?” he asked.
I paused to think. “You know? I didn’t really realize I had. After Karl got…" I swallowed and managed to skip over the mental imagery, "Got killed. McCreed told me to call it a day, and I was still in shock, I think. Not even really sure how I got there; I just headed straight home from where we were talking. Nobody said a word to me.

"So you ran into McCreed and The Goon Squad," Rob said. There was a clank as he dropped something and made a little 'oof' noise.

"Yeah," I said, and grabbed the next item on the hook. A green...uh. Sack? Duffle bag?

“What are these?” I inquired, pushing the curtain aside and holding up the...Geez, what were they? A parachute? Parka? My eyes roamed, eventually beginning to spot a waistline and what could be two legs if they weren’t so big.

I was beginning to suspect they were, somehow, a pair of pants.

“Pants,” Rob said, confirming my theory.

Sewn onto what almost seemed like haphazard locations where the knees, thighs, and ankles might be were a mind-boggling number of small straps and loops affixed with a number of small metal buckles; the whole mess was hard to make sense of in its current position.

I could feel the start of a killer headache building.

“Do you have any like...normal pants?!” I said weakly. Pulling on the fabric, which ballooned out far further than I would’ve expected someone of Rob’s size to need to wear, I continued to goggle at them, “It’s like, HUGE. How am I supposed to wear these anywhere?!”

“Put em on first,” He said, “Cinch the waistline.”

I sighed, closing the curtain again, and turned back to the hanging article of clothing.

Rob continued speaking, "So McCreed offered you an ultimatum and let you go on your merry way, right?"

"Yes," I said, "except I had to dodge them by immediately heading to the ground level and cutting underneath."

I ran my hand over the matte fabric on the outside of the "pants" which felt like it could've been waterproof. The silkier texture of the inner lining was soft and smooth, warming quickly from just the touch. There was a clear sense the two materials were used as a design decision to reflect and absorb whatever heat the wearer was extruding. Trapped air between the layers could act as a buffer from cold or heat. At the very least, it might explain why anyone would even think to put them on versus something more...normal.

"Then where'd you go?" Rob asked; there was another clunk as he tossed a small object onto the floor.

"Maintenance tunnels," I said, having some initial problems just figuring out which side was the front.

"Wait." Rob said, stopping what he was doing to walk closer, "Owen. What substation were you near?"

"Twenty One, A," I said, finally able to step into the fabric and try to pull them on. I was offhandedly holding the pants up, fiddling with the waistline when I felt a hand smack the back of my head.

"You idiot," Rob said, and pulled his hand back, "You're lucky to be alive! You know they've had that area under the Vermination protocol, right? We had an entire briefing about it."

"Ow!" I said, rubbing my stinging head. The "pants" pooled around my ankles like a fallen sack. "No. But I think I figured it out. Found a plug that got put down there because of some sort of Scrab breach." I opened the curtain to glare at Rob, "That hurt!"

Rob ignored me, "How'd you manage to keep from passing out down there?"

"Why aren't you asking how I got in there to begin with?"

"Because you're a resourceful person, Price. I don't question when someone tells me you managed to make a system work. You just do it like with the interlocks on the loaders." He leaned forward, and a little trill of nervousness shot through me. "Answer my question, please. How?" His eyes flicked in the direction of the sanitation booth beside us, where the salvaged soft hood was hanging loosely through the neck of the drying Outerall.

"Remember that dead guy I mentioned?" I said. Rob nodded. "It was on his suit. The Scrabs, Crawlers, or both did a number on his gear. The hood was still stowed and tucked in, so I salvaged it, and it was enough to get to the door I needed to open."

"Do you know who the body belonged to?

"Someone named Branch in Maintenance."

Rob stepped away from me, but not before I caught the flash of recognition on his face as he leaned against the counter.

"You knew him?" I asked as I grabbed the pants again for another attempt.

"I knew of him. He was supposedly transferred to another block. One on the opposite side of ours." Rob had crossed his arms and stood looking at the floor. Pondering.

After a moment, I busied myself with the waistline as he'd previously instructed. Eventually, I was able to find and tighten a series of belt straps enough to be secured. The rest of the pants, which continued to astound me, jinkled and tinkled lightly as I futilely attempted to adjust whatever I could get my hands on by random choice. It was a futile effort and left me breathing hard and annoyed.

“Having issues with the fixtures?” Rob asked after a moment, having come out of his thinking after taking notice of my silence as I battled with the clothing.

“Um...” I said, still overwhelmed. “Yeah?”

“Need help?”

“Do you really not have any more normal pants somewhere?!”

“Those are normal for the Glow, Owen.” Rob said, “Finish up what you can, and I’ll help adjust. Let's skip over what happened to you for now; I'll have to get some more details later, but I think it's time to chat about where you're going to be going."

I huffed quietly. The jingles and clanks as I did so made me mentally weigh if it would be worth arguing for another set. Instead, I reached out for a gray shirt still hanging up, deciding not to argue. Rob had been right so far...

"Trust me," Rob said, cutting in on my thoughts, "They seem difficult to manage and weird at first, but you’ll grow to love em. Biggest thing is you’re going to have to do soon is blend in. These will help.”

I turned, giving the next item of clothing my focus. Touching the fabric of the shirt with my hands, I gave it a few stretches, testing its strength and pull. Without distorting its sizing, I was able to see just HOW soft it felt, almost like it had been washed and laundered a million times in order to hit that perfect state of being very comfortable, but not threadbare and torn. Despite the logo on the front being a bit worn for wear, there weren’t any holes or patches to show any sort of notable damage, so I rotated it a few times, trying to sort where to put my limbs.

“So why the Glow?” I asked. I'd gotten caught up as I attempted to pull the shirt over my head, managing to snap my neck with the band as I tried to wiggle it around. “I was maybe thinking I’d try to hit the Borderlanes, or even the Outskirts, if I had to.”

The shirt finally slid on, stretching a faded red and gold KUMA ARMS logo across my chest and over the undersuit. The graphic was unfamiliar, but the name triggered a memory of my dad giving an extended rant on the advantages of using a KUMA Arms Hammerline, his “favorite handgun of all time.” The small, Glow-owned and operated shop had many fans, my father among them. He’d keep you for hours talking about the virtues of their precision-engineered designs. I'd always wondered why he was so crazy about a company in The Glow, a place I'd never actually been to, but he'd never given me a straight answer.

Rob replied, snapping me out of the memory, “You didn’t think you’d be able to stay in the Corp Boundaries, did you?”

“Borderlanes aren’t fully Corp, are they?” I asked.

“Not fully, but they’re dependent.”

“I mean, not all of Corp Boundary is TxCorp, is it? Aren’t Logos and SchwertKaufe rivals too?” I asked, mentioning the "Founding Three" of City 17.

“Logos is definitely out." Rob said. "They're the sister company of TxCorp, and even if they're sometimes their rival and competitor, the CEOs are siblings. Twins.”

I was surprised. I hadn't realized the two companies were so connected.

“SchwertKaufe?” I asked as I untangled one of the buckles I'd cross-strapped.

“Won’t touch anyone they don’t approach themselves. Nobody’s allowed near their systems unless they’re SK through and through. Super insular.”

“So you’re saying...what? The Borderlanes are out then?”

“It’s likely anywhere near the Borderlanes might be a problem for you." He said, “Besides the fact you don’t have any Scrit, or at least the kind of Scrit that’d get you anything meaningful based off what you’ve told me so far. You’re an unknown. Nobody's gonna give a chance to an unknown. Too suspicious, and they’re too tied into the Corp systems; they'd risk being banned or blacklisted. It's a no-go.

I had to nod in assent to this. It wasn’t a huge leap in logic to see why someone might not want to get locked out like I apparently might be.

“And the Borderlanes are...different,” Rob said, extending the pause as if trying to find a label for it. "So different you’d need to learn a lot about how the systems work there. It’s hard enough to keep track of all the exchanges and allowances already happening here in the Stacks, and we’re tied directly to the Corps via the Port and their operations integration. There? In the Borderlanes? Layers on layers on layers of complexity and annoyances, most directly tied to who controls the physical Lectrode access into both flavors of system.”

My brain gave the equivalent of a mental hang-up: A sudden, mind-twisting sensation as if I were coming out to a world where the sky was green and pigs were meant to fly. Lectrode points were only ever designed to work with ONE system. The ONLY system. The implications of Rob's words were imprinted, processed, and cross-referenced with what I'd thought I'd ever known and hit me like the weight of a falling sky as my mouth formed the shouted question before I could stop.

"BOTH?!"