AfterLife™

Chapter 7

Leaning against the brick wall outside our favorite café, Paul huddles close like we're doing a drug deal. His breath smells like ass, courtesy of those intense espressos he always orders. It takes all my strength not to grimace. Even his strong spearmint lozenges can't mask the stench this time.

Quite an achievement.

This dude seriously needs to stop thinking he can replace calories with caffeine. He's already turned into a string bean.

His gaze darts left then right. When he's sure the coast is clear, Paul pulls a small package from his pocket. It's an empty tin of his mints. He hands it over to me, wrapping my fingers around it like it's a precious jewel.

Inside lies the tiniest silicon device I've ever seen.

"Thank you, Paul." I stare at it in awe, the first time I've ever seen this little criminal up close. "This will really save my neck."

Not difficult to see how the tiny drone got its nickname: The Fly.

"Quick!" he hisses under his breath. "Hide it before someone sees."

"All right, James Bond." I snap the lid shut and dump it in the pocket of my faux-leather jacket. "Cool it."

"If someone catches you with that—"

"I know, you don't exist."

What is this? A bad spy movie?

"Damn right I don't."

"Look, relax."

I understand his apprehension somewhat. The Fly entered the free market innocently enough. MicroBook designed it to make lifelike 3D holographic recordings and live streams for important events and family get-togethers. Grandparents in nursing homes and college students on campus could join family and friends whenever they wanted.

Their slogan? Be a fly on the wall.

Once people began to use the devices for more nefarious purposes, MicroBook pulled them from active retail. Now they're illegal. Imagine that! Our government can still work once in a while. Like controlled substances, only a registered list of approved professionals can use them.

One of the perks of being in the associated digital press? You get access to this shit once you've proven your loyalty. Only Paul has signed a social contract to use this kind of power to benefit Big Money.

Not to shove a stick up its butt.

If this got traced back to Paul, it would destroy him.

"Any idea how many laws I'm breaking to help you?" His Adam's apple bobs in protest. "If anyone finds out--"

"They won't."

"--I lose my career, my marriage, and possibly my life."

"Hey!"

I swat him on the shoulder.

"Jeez, the flick was that for?"

"If you keep staring at every stranger like they're Steeltoes on a manhunt, the drones will arrest you on principle," I say in an angry whisper.

"That was uncalled for."

"You know what I mean."

"Still."

"Well, cut it out!"

Our little spat results in a staring contest, which I win. It pisses me off that he doesn't trust me after all this time.

For flick's sake, Paul. I'm not one of these callous interns you work with.

We're friends, damn it.