Daydreams In The Land of the Magic Pill - CHAPTER 4
My 2022 novella serialized in nine parts
CHAPTER 3 RECAP: Chapter three opens with Beatty and Alora meeting their new roommate, Brick. We learn more about the neighborhood they live in and about the lingering virus that killed Beatty’s parents. They run into one of the zealots from a growing religious ideology, The True Order, that clog up the nearby City Square. We meet Beatty’s best friend Mar Vel and are introduced to their favorite community hangout, The Crawlspace. Their conversation at The Crawlspace centers around the difference between Elites and Ranks. We get a better understanding of the walls that separate the groups. Beatty says he does not admire Elites and wants nothing to do with them.
Beatty arrived at work the next morning a little more hung over than usual. Mar Vel had been feeling generous the night before and decided to use part of a recent bonus he’d gotten from his cush new job in the Retail District to treat his roommates to a fancy drink or two. Before taking his current job, Mar Vel had been one of Humaneyes’ longest employees. He and Ray had formed an odd friendship over the years, which was the reason that Beatty had been offered a job there at all. It was also why Rayford extended Mar the uncharacteristically generous offer of continuing to rent him a room in their apartment now that he was no longer working for him. Normally he’d use room and board as part of your salary and—as the situation with Brick illustrated—space was limited.
Brick was still gone by the time they arrived home around one in the morning. Mar Vel, having decided to call things off with his new paramour, came with them.
Upon entering, he took one look at the foil bedecked walls and ceiling of Brick’s sleeping space and his eyes were popping out of his head.
“At least I’m not the craziest one in the flat anymore,” he reasoned.
They stayed up way too late and before Beatty knew it the sun was up and he was sitting at his desk, cradling his cloudy, sleep deprived head in both hands. He closed his eyes a moment while his computer logged on to the system and his latest project loaded up.
The idea he’d left on his desktop was for a sleep monitoring pillow. It tracked your movements at night and upload them to the cloud for an AI “specialist” to interpret then give you tips on how to improve your sleep. He’d already pinged one of the two women in Tech Research to make sure they could pull something like this off. Although the thing about Panacea was their products only had to appear to work, allowing for enough plausible deniability to get them out of any major trouble. In a way, it reminded Beatty of things like Collation or the True Order; as long as you had enough people who wanted to believe the thing to be true, it didn’t really matter what the truth actually was. This was the sweet spot that had made Panacea it’s fortune.
“Hey. Beatty.”
He lifted his head out of his hands, cringing at the way everything around him followed along in slow motion. Rayford was coming up behind him. The lightness in his tone signaled good news.
“You look like shit,” he chuckled, patting Beatty hard on the back. “Have a minute?”
Beatty followed his boss back to his office. At the door, Ray extended an arm signaling Beatty to go first, then entered and pulled the door shut behind them.
“What’s up?” Beatty asked groggily as Rayford came around and took a seat at his desk.
“Sucks you’re a mess this morning. Panacea got back to me late last night. They want to talk to you.”
Beatty was non-plussed. “When? Now?”
Ray grinned. “Take it easy. Tomorrow will be fine. Business district. They’re sending you a day pass to get you beyond the wall. I’ll give you the address and the name of the guy you’re meeting with as soon as I confirm.”
Beatty’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of it. “So, they liked it? Or did I mess up?”
Ray leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Oh, they liked it. Enough that they want to speak to you personally.”
Beatty hadn’t thought much past getting the project greenlighted, or that they might want to talk with him about it at some point. Why would they when that had never happened before? The whole concept of going beyond the gates and having to meet with some Elite corporate slag felt reminiscent of an alien abduction movie. He couldn’t help but think about the conversation he and the others had the prevoius night at The Crawlspace, about being given the opportunity to become one of them. His stomach turned queasy. What were the odds?
That’s not what this is about, he assured himself. They’ve got some sort of ulterior motive.
“Do I have a choice if I go or not?”
Rayford was mildly taken aback. “Uh, didn’t think to ask, but I’m guessing no?”
Aware that Rayford had a say in whether he went (he was his boss after all), Beatty took his reply as an ultimatum.
“Why would you not go?” Ray asked, incredulously.
“I don’t trust them,” he replied candidly. “In case you haven’t noticed, we work for a bunch of cheats and liars.”
Ray’s eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly. If that’s the way you see it, how come you keep working here?”
“I don’t really have much of a choice,” he offered, his voice rising a bit. “I need to survive, Ray, and if I’m doing so off the back of a company that dupes naive Elites, I’m not going to let it keep me awake at night. Still, that doesn’t mean that they won’t use me or throw me under the bus the first chance they get. I want to know what they want with me first before I go.”
Rayford lolled his head in frustration at the request. “You’re killing me. I’ll try and ask but...if they don’t want to tell me, you’re still going. Don’t make me can you.”
* * *
Ray managed to glean a bit more information from Panacea later that day by saying that Beatty was “excited for the meeting” and wanted to “make sure to come prepared”. The further details provided included their excitement about his track record and discussing areas they might like him to do further research in.
“And they can’t just send me a message with all that in it?”
Beatty was at his desk again and Rayford was standing over him with his hands on his hips. Ray was getting exasperated and paced a little circuit while shaking his head.
“Just go to the meeting, Beatty. That’s an order.”
“Can I at least get the afternoon off to go buy some nicer clothes?”
He looked down at the knee-torn grey jeans and faded black and blue op-art t-shirt he was wearing. He’d never had to go to a meeting in his life and had only been on the other side of the gate once. Rayford eyed him up and down and capitulated.
“Fine. I’ll even transfer you a few credits to cover it when I’m back in my office,” he offered begrudgingly. “And pick something normal, please. If you’re not sure what that means, ping Mar Vel. He’ll know.”
It was true. Despite Mar Vel’s outlandish garb, he knew how to dress like an Elite. Beatty had been planning to visit The Crawlspace for an outfit, but maybe Mar would know of someplace better.
By that evening, Beatty was back home with a crisp, collarless, light blue button down and fitted charcoal grey slacks. Mar Vel had jumped at the chance to play dress up and managed to weasel his way out of work for an hour to meet him at the thrift shop and work his magic. Leaning on his expertise in Elite fashion, they decided to keep his outfit as basic as possible and not push Beatty too far outside his comfort zone with elements like neckties or blazers. Still, he felt uncomfortable enough in the outfit that he immediately stuffed the garments into his packed closet and shut the door, not wanting to think about them again until he absolutely had to.
Looking for a way to calm his nerves, he decided to go out painting that night. A few days prior he had scoped out a dumpster near Civic Square, tucked away behind a small, abandoned grocery store. The tight ring of buildings on all sides should be enough cover to avoid being caught on Observer’s video feeds, despite it being just off the main drag. It was the perfect thing to distract him.
He set out a little after ten, weaving his way down the usual side roads. The streets he took were lined with a mix of housing and storefronts. Businesses were all closed for the night and most of the houses had their lights either dimmed or out. There was no real way to tell whether or not anyone was watching but, when he reached the route that would lead him to his destination, he checked the street for signs of life and ducked down the long, dirt driveway.
Keeping tight to the side of the house, he slipped behind a huge prickly shrub that had engulfed a good portion of the backyard. From there he hoisted himself awkwardly over the chain-link fence, cursing at how big his feet had grown since he was a child—they didn’t fit into those little wire diamonds anymore.
On the way down, he snagged his hand on a sharp metal burr, an imperfection in the wire where he’d grabbed on. The gash ran across his palm, trickling with blood. He brought it to his mouth to stem the flow.
When he finally spun around he dumpster was there waiting. Knowing his time was limited, he hurried and got to work. The new piece took a little under an hour and Beatty noted how much faster he was getting each time. The formerly brown dumpster was soon emblazoned from top to bottom with the word LUCID painted in angular blue lettering.
He took multiple photographs, using his abnormally good cover to get artsy with it. Then he whittled them down to the best shots—trying to save on data—and sent them off to his personal file on the server at work.
He was so absorbed in this task that he didn’t notice right away when two guys, not much bigger that him, emerged from an alley. He had just slipped his tab in his back pocket when he looked up and caught them standing there watching; one with a blank stare on his pockmarked face, and the other wearing an evil sneer and what looked like a horrible rash creeping up his neck.
Beatty’s heart thudded as he leaned down to grab the strap of his bag. That’s when one of them sprang to life and began walking toward him.
“What’s up, man?” the spindly guy with the rash said, like he was trying to convince his target that this encounter was going to be friendly. His voice had an awkward twang to it, something Beatty couldn’t place. Definitely not local.
“I’m just leaving,” he replied casually, pulling on the zipper of his bag and reaching a hand inside.
“Nope. Not yet you’re not.”
The man lunged at Beatty, wrapping his bony hand like a vice grip on his upper arm. Not knowing what else to do, Beatty pulled one of the uncapped cans out of his bag and pointed it at the man’s face. As soon as the paint hit his eyes the man screamed and let go.
The sound of his wailing would be picked up by Observer’s mics nearby. The Guard would be there in moments. He needed to get out as quickly as possible.
Unfortunately, Beatty hadn’t noticed the other guy sneaking up on his left. A dense, meaty fist made contact with his face before he even knew it was coming.
Beatty had been in plenty of fights in his life despite making every attempt to avoid them. Desperate times brought out aggression in people—especially when they were looking for someone to blame for the miserable state of their existence—so it was hard to not end up the victim of people’s misery every now and then.
The pain was instantaneous and jarring, radiating from his eye socket up into his brain cavity. As he reeled sideways from the force of the blow, he felt a tug on his pack. These guys wanted stuff to sell. The only thing in there was his paint, and he’d be happy to sacrifice it if it gave him a moment to escape before they remembered the tab in his pocket.
He loosened his grip on the bag, but the blow had his vision swimming. His damaged eye was dripping with tears while his good eye seemed unable to focus on the objects in from of him. He staggered as best he could, serenaded by the tragic chorus of the thin man howling and crater face cursing over the sad contents of the pilfered backpack.
Stumbling blindly into the alley of an adjacent building, he tucked himself in the crook of the wall and a large metal utility box in order to catch his breath. The haunting squalk of the Guard’s siren ricocheted off the surrounding buildings. Beatty’s wonky eyes darted around, wondering if this spot would be enough to hide him. Unsure, he stood slowly, testing his head for signs of imminent betrayal. The pain was still throbbing, but he had his bearings again. Creeping to the end of the alley, he scanned the road he had traveled in on for signs of the Guard’s ghost-like vehicles.
Finding the road empty, he kept low while darting across the painfully wide street. A thicket of overgrown yews that ringed the front yard of a neglected Victorian townhouse was his next destination. From there, he managed to snake his way through a few backyards before he found himself expelled onto a sidewalk. The dimly lit road looked familiar, so he headed in the general direction of home.
Arriving back at their apartment, he was annoyed to find everyone was home and awake. He felt stupid and didn’t want to be fussed over, but his bedroom door sat adjacent to the threshold of the living room. They were all sitting and watching a pirated movie on Mar’s laptop. He thought maybe they’d be distracted enough that he could slip by, but then Brick, who was sitting in the one chair that faced in Beatty’s direction, looked up with a gasp that made the other two leap from their seats.
“Holy shit!” Alora freaked. “Are you ok? What happened?”
Recaps and fussing and too many bodies crowding into their coffin-sized bathroom ensued. Washcloths and bandages came out, arguments over whether the wound needed ice or heat. He was annoyed and embarrassed, but it also felt good to be loved.
Movie forgotten, they all eventually returned to the living room. Mar Vel had made Beatty an ice pack and a cup of mint tea.
“You’re gonna look like a walking disaster at this meeting tomorrow,” he chided.
Beatty groaned, then revised. “You know, maybe that’s good, actually.”
Mar Vel squinted at him. “You sure you didn’t let this happen to you on purpose?”
Beatty huffed with amusement. “You think I summoned those guys, like some masochistic wizard, to punch me in the face?”
Alora and Mar Vel exchanged a look.
“Since when are you two so concerned about meetings and appearances anyway? Is everything we used to stand for just dead now?”
Brick, the only one who hadn’t scolded him, spoke up. “Hey man, I’m with you. If you’re not out there doing what you love, it ain’t worth being here at all.”
“Thank you, Brick. See? He gets it.”
Alora averted her gaze to the contents of her mug. Mar Vel was silent too. Beatty felt bad that he had barely spoken two words to Brick over the past few days. But, to be fair, Brick was hardly ever around. Who would want to be, with that coffin-like room he had to sleep in?
“Hey,” Beatty said to Brick, still feeling brazen from the adrenaline rush earlier.
“Yeah?” he replied.
“What’s with all the foil?”
It took Brick a moment to boot up. In the interim, Mar and Alora donned looks of panic.
“Oh, you mean my room? I’m just trying to reflect the light, make it brighter. It was like a cave in there with all the bare wood.”
The three others absorbed this for a moment then traded amused glances.
“Couldn’t you have just painted it all white or something?” Alora asked.
Brick shrugged. “Didn’t want to have to run it by the boss first. Plus, I found an industrial size roll of foil while dumpster diving the other night and thought, This would make great wallpaper.”
What a weirdo, Beatty thought to himself. Luckily, he liked weirdos.
“Amazing,” Mar said, then flattened his palm and offered it to Brick. Brick nodded and pressed his palm to it. It was a greeting he’d seen a few Ranks doing, less of a “good job” high-five and more of a “welcome to the family” type of thing. It was a warmer alternative to a business-like handshake, but wasn’t a hug. Apparently Brick was now part of their crew.