Cargo

Depot 13

The Enkron depot is swarming with drones vying for spots on the landing pads. Robotic trains loaded with delivery items zigzag across the arena, passing the cajero's scrambling to do the work the non-human gizmos can't accomplish.

All packages have no information printed on them, just the familiar spiral barcode stamped on each face. Enkron employees receive data and logistics information via their optical implants. No implants mean less efficient ways of doing things. Booking to pick up packages had to be scanned manually with handsets. Implants weren't mandatory, but Enkron makes it difficult for those who refuse them. I just have to work harder, using a handheld scanner. Not too difficult a task, but a huge burden to those who've opted to insert cyberware surgically and neuroject it with their brains.

I spot one of the delivery guys I know, his jet-black hair and subtle tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves, and his preference for wearing the company safety vest over a comfortable jumpsuit with various pockets to hold his delivery gadgets and tools, making him unmissable amongst the other uniformed cajeros.

Jonsa Coffey walks up to me, his abnormal height making it difficult to notice his cybernetic eyes gleaming with a soft neon-blue hue. His mood seems darker than mine.

"What's with you?" I ask. "I thought you were going to hold out."

The shame on his face betrays him. "Shit, man. My wife pressured me into it. She refuses to communicate with me using the old touchy pads."

I raise my hands to show him I'm not upset. "All good. You're entitled to a choice. I can't say I'm not disappointed, but..."

"It is what it is," he adds, ending the topic in the way he ends any other awkward conversation.

I understand, so I let it go. "What else is bothering you?"

"Things are not good," he replies. "My efficiency is down the toilet. Got lost on all drop-offs. Every single one."

I find this strange. His implants should help him receive bookings and navigate through the city. "You have implants now," I say, trying not to sound sanctimonious over his decision to cave to the current fads.

"Today was different," he says. "My eyes seem to be playing up as if I couldn't get a clear signal. I received a booking to pick up a package from an unknown location, the details were just fuzzy."

"Did you try rebooting the implant?"

Jonsa shook his head. "It doesn't work like that," he says, shrugging my ignorance off. "I decided to take the job anyway after the geotracker confirmed the location. I set out on my bike. It paid well and I thought I could do it old-style. As I rode through the city, I realized that I had no idea where I was going. The streets looked unfamiliar, and the address didn't make any sense." He pauses, deep in thought.

"Geotracker glitched, that's all. It happens, doesn't matter what technology you use."

He looks at me gravely, "I resorted to using my touchy pad. The place doesn't exist. No map on the entire internet can verify its existence. Suddenly, the implants turned off and when they came back online, I received a message warning me not to deliver the package."

"Maybe someone hacked them? It's been known to happen."

Jonsa looks at me, confused. "Why would anybody hack into my eyes?"

"Illegal substances?"

"I don't think so."

"What did you end up doing?"

"I just quickly turned around and headed back here. I'm grateful that my implants have finally started working again. I need another score before I finish up today."