Kill Switch: Chapter 16

For the Good of the Without

Claudette studies the back of the Content Override Mainframe. She takes out a wrench and tightens the silver clamps that loop around the ends of the deInterfacing tubes. And meanwhile we’re all, like, looking at one another, my colleagues and I, our faces, like, what the hell are we supposed to do? And I keep half-expecting something terrible to happen. Like some electrical shock or something to travel down the tube and zap me into oblivion. But nothing really happens as Claudette fiddles with the machine, pressing buttons and twisting knobs, and when she’s done with that, she circles around the machine and starts tightening the silver clamp around X’s headstock, securing the other end of the tube.

“Let my colleagues go!” X screams. “Or I swear to Efficiency I will deep fake your fat ass!”

“Mute the hell up,” Claudette says. A blaster swings from her hip. She tightens the rest of our clamps.

The door opens. The man walks back in. I recognize his face, but I can’t place him.

“Coast is clear,” he says. “I was able to reassure Middle Management that the kids are under my watch. But I’m not sure how much longer I can keep all of us unGlassed without drawing suspicion from Upper Management.”

“We’ll have to move fast then,” Claudette says, flashing a scalpel in my direction. “I’m sorry, kid. It has to happen. For the good of The Without.”

And she lunges at me with the scalpel, the blade pointed at my abdomen, and I see my life flash before my eyes, all the hours spent in the arcade, all the time spent watching ads for goos and pharmas, and I feel sad, because I’ll never get to see what kind of world exists above the ladder.

The scalpel sinks into my jumpsuit, ripping the plastic carapace, and just as the point starts digging into my skin, the man grabs Claudette’s arm, yanks her back, and dislodges the scalpel in one fell swoop, real ninja like, and I hear X let out a gasp and go: “damn, that was hellaTight.”

Claudette stumbles backward. Her eyes sharpen. “What the hell, Bunnfield? We have to extract the device. It’s too essential to the rebellion.”

Bunnfield. The Middle Manager who interrogated me the night I met Claudette. So that’s why I recognized him. But how did he get mixed up with Withouters?

“Be reasonable,” he says. “We’re not going to kill this man. There are easier means of extraction.”

“But we don’t have time,” Claudette says, “and he can’t be trusted.”

“I can be trusted,” I say.

Bunnfield and Claudette swing toward me, as if they forgot I could talk.

“It’s true,” I say. “Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Claudette asks, taking a step forward. “After all, we’ve been looking into you, and you’re just one algo away from being a simul.”

“Damn,” X says. “That burn was fire.”

Claudette swings toward X, wielding her blaster. “One more peep out of you, and I swear to Abzu I will laser you of existence. Understood?”

X swallows hard.

Claudette says turns back to me. “As I was saying, we know everything there is to know about you, Vonn 19. You were born, a son of Vonn Industries, nearly twenty years ago. You spent your younger years at plasticPrep, your education funded, of course, by your illustrious parent company. After graduating magnaCumContent, you were recruited by beeHive, a leading contentMachine, where you’ve worked for the last two years as a Content Machinist.” She steps closer, her mouth almost touching mine, her breath earthy. “You post, on average, three times a day. You like, on average, five posts a day. You repost, on average, eight posts a day. In addition, you spend, on average, two hours a day in the arcade. Lately, your preferred game is Derrick 9, although occasionally you will play Withouter Warfare. Your preferred goo is manufactured by Sticky Taco. Your preferred pharmas, as of late, are safeUp and Jaz. You generally engage a sexSimul once a week. You prefer busty babes with blue eyes.”

I feel Yide’s gaze on me, but I’m too embarrassed to look at her. In fact, I’m feeling quite violated right now. I have no idea how this woman unHashed my data. If I weren’t so upset, I’d be in awe of her ingenuity.

“As for your funds,” Claudette continues, “you don’t have any, because you aped into doseMoon. And as for your bowel movements, which is really the only thing we’re interested in, you average one per week. Your last bowel movement was Saturday afternoon, roughly four hours before you swallowed our device, which means that you’re not scheduled to pass the device for another, say, twenty-four to forty-eight hours. So tell me, Vonn 19…” Claudette takes a step back, folds her arms, and sticks out her left leg. “How do you expect us to trust that you will keep your mouth shut for another two days, shit out the device, and then bring it back to us? Because, after reciting your curriculum vitae, I think we can all agree that you’re not exactly a prime candidate for the rebellion. If anything, you’re the opposite of a rebel, Vonn 19. You’re a cookie-cut-conformist, entrenched in the ways of The Within, loyal to your bioFather, Mr. Vonn Senior, and all that he has wrought in the name of greed and efficiency.”

I look around, at my colleagues, relieved that the monologue has at least veered away from my bowel movements. Still, I feel stripped naked, laid bare, beaten down, ashamed.

I suck in air, steeling myself for the admittance of a truth that I am only just now coming to terms with. “I’ll tell you why you can trust me. Because…well…” Just say it, I think. Just say what everyone already knows. “You can trust me because I hate myself. I hate who I’ve been. I hate who I am. And I hate who I’m becoming. I want something different. I want a life that feels more… on-brand.”

Claudette looks at Bunnfield, who looks at me.

“And what about your colleagues?” Bunnfield asks. “How can we trust they won’t snitch?”

“I won’t snitch,” Yide says. “I was the one who wanted to come here in the first place.”

“I won’t snitch either,” X says. “Snitches get stitches.”

“And you?” Bunnfield turns to Ginger.

Ginger’s eyes widen. “Me? What about me?”

“Are you going to snitch to Middle Management?”

“About what?”

Bunnfield looks exasperated. “About everything we’ve been talking about.”

“Oh,” Ginger says. “I wasn’t paying attention. I can barely concentrate. I need some goo and some pharmaDrip. Like, STAT. So will somebody please, please, please reGlass me?”

Bunnfield runs a hand over his stubble. He puffs on a vape. He looks at Claudette. He nods.

She turns off the COM, thrusting us back into dNet.