MINDLYFT

PROLOGUE: BrainStorm (part 2)

"Jennaberry June," she says, sitting across from me. Day Two of the interview. I haven't had any coffee this morning. Didn't want to be nervous. Or more nervous than I already am. Don't want her to notice my hands shaking.

I nod in the affirmative to answer her question. Wonder what she is thinking. If she can see right through me. Read my thoughts. The ones I'm not openly projecting. Pushing like the left handed chorus of a piano tune while the real thoughts beat out like the right handed finger toting melody in soft keys beneath.

I'm exhausted and not sleeping well despite the SleepWare that keeps me sedated six hours a night with guaranteed REM time. Most of my REM time is spent in nightmares. 

I'd hacked my Cap in a desperate attempt to free myself from the overwhelming burden of work responsibilities and social judgment, but the reality is that in many ways the Cap makes all that easier, and limiting its capacity only makes my life more difficult. The only real solution might be to disconnect entirely. Only that means banishment, poverty, or worse.

"What is your synchronicity?" Her tone is bland. Non-accusatory, but nothing more.

"In sequence of determination, a mode for objective completion, and in line with daily routines," I respond, without hesitation, looking her in the eye. I've answered that question a thousand times. It erupts from me without a second thought. The will of a heart beat.

"Your mission objective?" Her right eye deviates from the forward gaze. Twitching upward and to the left. A clear sign that she is scanning records. Perhaps a side conversation to something completely unrelated. Or a double check.

"To satisfy the customer," I say. Been asked this question a thousand times too. "To exceed management expectations. Increase sales of DharmaPlain, and follow through, fulfillment and inventory replenishment within cycle limits."

While Integrated Humans like me, or Borgs as the non-conformists sometimes call us, retain all of our brain functions, the ThinkingCaps are an ever present and increasingly intrusive element of our lives. Non-conformists or Fleshies among other terms, are becoming fewer and fewer in number. 

The requirements of the Caps are increasingly onerous, and hacking one could mean termination from a job, all the way to prohibitions from working, to imprisonment, depending on the circumstances. It goes without saying that I'm stressed out. With a fully functioning cap I can't think straight. I have no life. Totally absorbed in work thoughts twenty-four seven. Having hacked my cap I worry twenty-four seven about being caught.

"Encountered problems?" She leaning in, staring into my pupils without blinking. 

A trick question. The first non-routine, routine, in the whole interview process. But I'm ready for it.  "No problems. Only challenges. I have solutions for all of them. Shall I lay out details?"

"Iterlink and upload," she commands.

I lock retinals with her. Blink twice and our data streams interface in the dusty light mid-way between our gazes. A millisecond later I'd send her the file. A millisecond after that she's read it, deciphered it, summarized and concluded.

"Something isn't right," she says. A deep breath. Both eyes are twitching now. "Do you have a cerebral malfunction?"

"What do you mean? All functions are green. Would you like to interface?" That last part is a risk. I decide to volunteer what she might have asked for anyway. Hoping she'll decline in the interests of time and energy. It would cut the interview short if she accepts but triple the probability I'll be detected.

One of the saving graces of the Cap is that I can connect to my SocNet followers with it. I've racked up millions of them in the last few years. I post thought streams throughout the day and sometimes even in my sleep. I receive endorphin rushes from jolts transmitted via the net called AdaBoys or AdaGoes, and on a few occasions I scored exclusive club and concert entries there.