Daydreams In The Land Of The Magic Pill - CHAPTER 7
My 2022 novella serialized in nine parts
CHAPTER 6 RECAP: In Chapter Six Beatty stews in the aftermath of his meeting. He and Mar Vel talk about his options and consider plans for leaving town. He takes a deep dive into reading about the company Bios and their Upthink device, read more about what dreamlinking is like. We learn more about how the meeting affected him and his inner turmoil over the situation he stumbled into.
“They said what?”
Rayford’s head whipped away from his computer screen and met Beatty’s sullen face with a bloodshot glare.
He had already been grumpy when Beatty asked to meet with him first thing that morning. It was report filing day and that meant Ray would be chained to his computer from sun up to sun down. Adding a meeting into the mix was greeted with the same attitude as being asked to cut off a finger. Ray’s overriding curiosity over what had happened at the meeting was the only thing that had gotten Beatty in the door.
“They’re going to use my idea, but instead of focusing on helping people who are dreamlinked, they’re going to use it to randomly serve them ads.”
Rayford skin sallowed as the corners of his mouth began to droop. “You’re kidding me? Are they stupid? People are going to hate that.”
Beatty made a gesture of agreement.
“And they want to bring you on to help?” Ray added for clarification.
“Apparently. Don’t know what they think I can do. It’s a shit idea. It’s not even my concept anymore.”
Rayford continued staring, completely frozen except for a blink now and then. Finally, he released a deep sigh from his nose and leaned back in his chair.
“Those greedy bastards, trying to steal one of my best people,” he muttered. “Cutting out the middleman.”
Hearing that Rayford considered him one of his best helped soften the blow a bit. If anyone was in a position to help him, it would be Ray. He was the kind of guy who knew people, people who owed him favors. The question was, how big was Ray willing to go?
“He threatened to hurt Alora and Mar Vel if I say ‘no’.”
Ray’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Who’d you meet with?”
“Fitzpatrick Em. Old doughy white guy, grey suit, balding, crows feet around the eyes?”
Rayford nodded. “Yeah, I know him. Lemme see if I can talk him out of this.”
Beatty toyed with the idea of mentioning that Mar Vel had an alternative in the works as well, but decided it wasn’t a good idea. There were no sure things, but with two possibilities Beatty felt his despair lighten a little.
“Alright,” Ray snapped suddenly. “You go be brilliant so I can make a call and get back to work. I’m gonna be here all night at this rate. I’ll ping you if I get anywhere with Em.”
Rayford reached for his tab as Beatty nodded and spun toward the door. As he was pulling it closed, he heard Ray begin his performance.
“Fitz! What’s this I just heard from my guy about your meeting yesterday…”
He was tempted to press his ear to the door and listen, but Eeep was standing nearby and decided to spark up a conversation.
“Hey, man. How come you were out yesterday?”
Beatty wasn’t sure if he was supposed to talk about the meeting with his coworkers. Obviously Alora knew. He couldn’t keep something as big as that from her. In fact, at that very moment he could see her staring at him just beyond the right side of Eeep’s ample physique. Her eyes were worried and filled with questions.
“I had an appointment. Rayford cleared it.”
Eeep’s lip twisted slightly as he took a sip from the lidded cup he was holding. “Oh, ok. Someone said it was something to do with your last proposal.”
Beatty shook his head. “It was personal. All’s well though.”
Eeep eyed him over the lid of his cup for a moment. “Ok then. Glad to hear it.”
Normally a convo with Eeep was hard to escape, but this time he was the one to break it off. Beatty was left behind, wondering if everyone in the office knew. Eeep didn’t seem very convinced by his story.
Beatty made his way back to his desk. This time no one made eye contact as he passed, which was weird. He tried to shrug it off as he approached Alora, who’s gaze was fixed on him.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
“Ray’s on the case. Talk at home?”
She reached for his hand and gave it an affirming squeeze. “We’ll figure this out, Beatty. Whatever it takes.”
* * *
By six-thirty that evening Beatty was starting to get grumpy. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and his gut kept threatening him by churning up long, aggressive growls. Rayford had let the entire staff off early—at five instead of eight—claiming he needed complete quiet to finish the week’s reports. He seemed agitated when Beatty stopped him on the way out to ask how his conversation went with Mr. Em. Ray gave him a sharp look then offered a husky, I’m still looking into it, and walked away before Beatty could delve any more.
Beatty used his evening off to head to Unigoods for groceries. Fifty credits and all he got was three boxes of spaghetti, a can of tomato sauce, a box of Vital bars, a pack of cheesefood, and a loaf of brown bread. It was all he had until next week.
The route home from Unigoods was silent, dark, and empty. He thought about his conversation with Mar Vel early that morning, when he stopped by to bring word on a potential escape plan. Apparently this guy, Drexel—someone Beatty knew of from around The Crawlspace and various house parties—was the person who might be able to hook them up. There was a commune in upstate New York, somewhere he had lived for awhile and still had close friends. The way they described to Mar it sounded a lot like rumors Beatty had heard, about places where others went when the pressure of living under the Traditionalists became a threat to their lives.
So, despite the ache in his gut, he was riding on the high on the possibility that there was more out there. Maybe there was something better than all this. Maybe this whole nightmare he got himself caught up in was exactly what he needed to get himself unstuck from his current grind.
He lengthened his strides in anticipation of the pasta that he was about to cook up. Brick had made an amazing vegan chili the night before entirely from scavenged food and mentioned using up the rest of the ingredients tonight. That might provide him with something even more exotic than pasta to stretch out his supplies more. His stomach roiled in response.
Halfway there, he told his gut. We’re almost home.
“Beatty Clark?” a voice called out in the darkness. A tall, hooded figure was standing in his path a few yards in front of him. Their voice was low and soft, with a bit of crackle in it.
His heart began racing. The first thing that sprung to mind was that he was about to be murdered. If he ran, he’d be shot. He had to try and talk his way out of it.
“Sorry. Wrong guy,” he replied gruffly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and swerving around them. He’d only taken a few steps before they spoke again.
“Rayford sent me.”
Beatty stopped in his tracks and spun around. The figure took a few steps toward him and pushed their hood back slightly to reveal pale, feminine features and a wisp of grey hair swagging across their forehead.
“What do you want with Beatty?” he asked, adding a hint of aggression to his voice.
“I work for someone who can solve his problem.”
“What problem?”
Her eyes darted around, looking for cameras or other bodies watching, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Not here. Where can we meet?”
Beatty had no clue what was going on and had very little reason to trust anyone as of late. Not with what Panacea had managed to find out about him. He stared, trying to find a hint of truth behind her eyes. She hadn’t attempted to kill him yet; that was a vote in her favor. What would Panacea gain by sending someone pretending to know Rayford? Were they testing him or something? He needed to call Ray.
“You know The Crawlspace?” he asked tentatively.
She huffed in amusement, like his question was ridiculous. “Yeah, I know The Crawlspace.”
“Go to the bar. Tonight. Around nine. He’ll be there.”
The woman nodded. “Alright then. Nine o’clock. See you then.”
With that she pivoted and took off into the darkness, leaving Beatty wondering what the hell he’d just agreed to.
* * *
It was a few minutes ‘til nine and Beatty found himself in his usual booth, waiting on Mar Vel and this supposed distant associate of Rayford’s. He’d called Mar the moment he’d got back to the apartment since Alora was out for the evening and his attempts to get in touch with Rayford had failed. He wanted backup, another brain and set of eyes taking in what this person was about to offer him. Mar had always proven an excellent judge of character, and having a stranger come forward out of the darkness with a plan to solve all his problems seemed too good to be true.
Ag was working the door tonight so she did a quick reading for him—unveiling cards depicting flightless birds, a flood, hands with eyes, and healing herbs. She claimed the message was a good, and with one look at her wise, earnest face Beatty was inclined to believe her. The hand card drawn in the center position meant he should keep his mind open to those trying to guide him. It couldn’t be much clearer than that. Somehow the cards always knew what he needed to hear.
The Crawlspace was mellow that evening. The hallways were mostly empty and the bar was only hosting one other group. They were gathered at a distant table by the door and caught Beatty’s attention with their frequent bursts of cackling laughter. He liked seeing people happy. Their elation broke through his cynicism, bringing a smile to his lips as his gaze drifted back to the glass in front of him.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Trust was a hard thing to muster when the world had let you down so many times. Control was something he’d clung to, especially over the past few years, making him more reserved and cautious. He’d felt the last sparks of rebellion he’d tried to hold on to almost go out a few times—another piece of his identity cleaved away, rounding off all of his sharp edges until he became the bland and shapeless nothing they wanted him to be. That terrified him. Losing what made him him. He might as well be dead at that point.
“You’re lookin’ pretty happy for a doomed man.”
Beatty’s head whipped up just as Mar Vel slid into the bench across from him. He was stunned to find Mar dressed like old times, wearing a tattered, dark grey hoodie with the sleeves pulled up to reveal his tattooed forearms, slim-fit black jeans, and a backwards neon green ball cap covered in black skulls.
“Living in the moment,” Beatty responded to Mar’s observation, then gestured with his chin. “Cute hat.”
“Thanks. I’m trying to look intimidating for our meeting,” he explained in a deep, growly, ‘don’t mess with me’ voice.
Beatty grinned. Mar could really put it on when he wanted to.
Right then, Beatty felt a presence and turned his head to see a figure standing tentatively at the end of the table. She had her hood down this time, revealing light silver hair fashioned into two looped braids on either side of her head. It’s color was a stark contrast to her smooth features—which revealed a few more stray lines than Beatty’s face, but still appeared far too youthful to match such a mature hue. She slid into the booth beside Mar Vel.
“I’m Luella,” she began, looking at Beatty. Her tone was much more jovial than their first encounter in the alley.
Now that he had a name, Beatty moved forward with introductions. “Mar Vel, this is Luella. Luella...Mar Vel.”
They both responded to one another with a subtle nod and muttered acknowledgments.
“So, you know Rayford?” Beatty asked.
“Not directly. I know of him,” she admitted. “Like I said, my client knows him. I’m acting on their behalf.”
This was already making Beatty anxious. Too many layers. He shifted a bit in his seat, trying to control his nerves. “Ok. Fine. So what’s the deal?”
She smiled at his brusqueness. “I’ll get right into it then.”
She glanced over at Mar Vel, who nodded, then dove into her pitch.
“So, I work for someone who works for a company called Insight Integrations. They have an interest in damaging Bios’ reputation and hopefully removing Upthink from the market altogether. We think Beatty here may be able to help make that happen. In exchange, we’re offering to get Panacea off your back.”
Mar Vel’s brow furrowed in confusion as he turned to Beatty. “So wait, she’s your boss’ associates’ employee who also works for someone who works for Insight Integrations...a company I’ve never heard of?”
“I know,” he replied defensively. “I’m trying to be open-minded, Mar. It’s not like we have a ton of other options.”
Mar shot him a scolding look before turning back to Luella.
“Are you an Elite? You don’t look like an Elite,” he noted suspiciously. This got a faint smile from her.
“I’m not.”
“Then how…”
“I’m an independent contractor, of sorts. A go-between. I have a lot of clients, both Ranks and Elites. Sometimes I use my connections to buy information from people like you two and get it to those who can use it.”
It all seemed vague and conveniently timed. Could it be a set up? Beatty hadn’t been able to get in touch with Ray to verify her story. It was hard to think clearly with this person sitting right in front of him. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.
Mar Vel noted his distress and took over. “Ok...so what’s the deal then? Why does this company Insight even care? What does Beatty get in return for supplying them with what they want to know?”
“From what I understand, Insight Integrations is developing a more ethical external linking technology, one that can be worn then removed, allowing for better control by the user. They’ve also been studying Upthink users to try and work out the problems some have been experiencing, like dreamlinking, to make sure their device doesn’t cause a similar side-effect.”
“Doesn’t Bios ban users from seeking third-party interventions?” Beatty interjected. There was something he remembered, a clause deep in the terms and conditions that he’d read during his recent research on Upthink.
“My guess is the people who are coming to Insight for help aren’t too worried about voiding their warranty. They’re probably just desperate to get the things out of their heads,” she reasoned.
“But what difference will knowing about the ad tech they’re developing make?”
“My client at Insight says they can use it to damage Bios’ reputation, by leaking it early and painting for what it is...another obnoxious invasion of privacy that has no benefits to the user.”
“Your client?” Beatty said. “You’ve already told them about me?”
“I had to make sure they were interested before we met. I didn’t want to waste your time,” she explained.
“Right,” he capitulated. “Say I agree. What do I get in return? If Insight’s plan works will I be safe to stay here or will we still have to leave?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” she offered. “My client is willing to front you credits, sign papers, whatever...to get you and your friends relocated if that’s what you want. I know folks who can set it all up. But we may be able to make it look like it was someone else who leaked the information, hand them a fall guy. They’ll most likely get so distracted by the scandal anyway; they’ll quickly forget you exist.”
Beatty’s head twitched backward in shock. “Fall guy? I don’t want someone’s life to get destroyed just so I can stay in this shit city.”
She smiled a full smile for the first time. “I’m sure we can work it so no one actually gets hurt.”
Beatty just stared, his brain lagging on a million questions he was pretty sure she wouldn’t answer. He looked out across the bar, buying himself time as he tried to process everything. The group that had been there when he arrived was gone now. He missed their laughter.
Mar Vel cut in to his thoughts. “I mean, we knew that we might have to disappear. Right? At least this gives us a slim chance of staying.”
“I thought you were supposed to be the skeptic here?” Beatty groused.
“Hey,” Mar said, palms up in surrender. “Unless she’s working directly for Panacea...like they’re trying to test you or some shit...I say she’s the best shot you have right now. Two birds with one stone.”
Beatty scowled and sighed. Mar was right. With this plan, instead of just running away, he might actually be able to fix what he had done. He could stop something evil from spreading.
He leaned back, crossing his arms, and glared at Luella. “I’m gonna need proof you actually know Rayford. I haven’t been able to contact him since I left work earlier.”
Luella nodded in understanding. “Sure. Hang on.”
She pulled a tab out of her pocket and tapped the screen a few times then handed it to him. On the screen was a brief string of messages between her and Ray. He tapped Ray’s name at the top of the screen and the number displayed was correct. As she put out her hand to take the device back, he tapped the number and put the tab up to his ear.
Luella sighed and rolled her eyes. The line rang and rang. Most people didn’t tend to answer calls anymore, but Ray was old fashioned like that. After the tenth ring, Beatty hung up.
“No answer.”
“You said you couldn’t get him either,” she noted. “Maybe he’s busy.”
“Can I maybe have a day or two?” he pleaded in frustration. “I really want to confirm this with him first.”
Her lip quirked in a way that insinuated irritation, but she relented. “Yeah. No worries. Hit me up by the morning after next though. I doubt Panacea is going to wait much longer.”
* * *
A short while later Beatty and Mar Vel emerged from the underworld to find the alley glossed with pools of rainwater. They moved quickly in the darkness, flanked by decaying brick walls. They passed one of Beatty’s early, six-foot tall LUCID pieces. Noticing the abstracted eye he’d painted inside the D, he made a note to add that element to his next big mural, wherever he ended up painting it.
As they reached the mouth of the alley their eyes darted out in all directions, taking the lay of the land. No Guard agents or True Order nut jobs in sight. They shared a quick glance then stepped out, only to be stopped almost immediately by a loud “Ugh”, then a yelp from Mar.
Beatty turned to see his friend leaning with his forearm propped on the window of the vacant storefront. At his feet was a darkly-clad body slumped on the ground with their legs out straight. Their back was limply propped against the brick foundation, eyes wide and vacant. Taking a step closer, Beatty noted the familiar humming.
“I didn’t see him,” Mar reasoned, eyes wide and full of regret.
“Me either.” Beatty crouched and waved a hand in front of the man’s face to confirm what he already suspected. “Dreamlinked. You recognize him?”
Mar Vel shook his head. “Nah. I kicked him pretty hard though.”
“He won’t remember,” Beatty insisted calmly.
He fished around carefully looking for the man’s device, but came up empty. “No tab. Probably uses his implant.”
“Look at his shoes,” Mar said, gesturing toward the man’s feet with his chin.
“What about them?”
Mar Vel gave him an exasperated look. “They’re Vandi? High end. He’s got to be an Elite.”
Beatty replied warily, “When have I ever given you the impression that I know what rich guy shoes look like?”
Not waiting for a reply, he turned away and gazed into the man’s eyes looking for signs of life.
“What do we do?” Mar Vel asked anxiously, knowing full well there wasn’t much at their disposal.
“Hey!” Beatty hollered directly into the man’s face, then gently slapped his cheek. You had to be careful when people were in deep. Sometimes the cognitive dissonance of being woken out of a dreamlink caused them to go violent. Beatty slapped him a little harder and yelled again then stood and took a step back. There was no response.
“Let’s just go man,” Mar Vel begged. “I feel bad but…”
“Yeah,” he relented. “I’d ping Outreach, but Alora said they got shut down awhile back. The Guard hauled them off for “contributing to vagrancy” or some garbage.”
The two lingered a moment, hoping some other solution would come to them. It was always hard to see someone dreamlinked, even when it was an asshole Elite.
Pulling themselves away, they passed two more dreamlinked catatonics out on the main drag. One guy had bare feet; another had clearly had his pockets rifled through. Most people didn’t dreamlink out in the open like this. It was dangerous.
They jogged across the wide berth of steaming asphalt and hopped up onto the sidewalk. On the other side of the street they had to dodge a few late-night zealots who must have missed the bus.
Beatty could feel the pent up energy building in him, excitement mixed with frustration. Mar Vel’s agitation radiated off of him too.
“Hey. Maybe that’s how Panacea knows all that stuff about you,” Mar theorized, gesturing with his head to one of the omnipresent cameras strapped to a streetlamp pole. “You’ve got the trackers on your tab masked, right?”
“Of course,” Beatty scoffed. He wasn’t stupid. They definitely hadn’t tracked him from the device in his pocket.
“You think Panacea has access to Observer data?” Beatty asked skeptically.
Observer was supposed to be a closed government system. Although, with all the tech, servers, and servicing being provided by PrivaTec, it wouldn’t really suprise him if that was all lies.
“You really believe that PrivaTec wouldn’t find it in their best interest to sell your, and probably a bunch of other people’s data to the company it’s trying to buy?”
Beatty shrugged. “Still though. It’s not like I paint in front of the cameras.”
“Yeah, but they’re definitely following you on the way there,” Mar explained, stopping a moment to stagger backward in frustration at Beatty’s naivete. “You know Observer is some crazy AI shit. Mix that with Guard reports of vandalism...I bet it’s easy to figure out what they need to know. It took the press of a button for them to put it together and deliver to Mr. Em, or whoever cares about coercing you.”
Beatty stopped, peering up anxiously at the camera hanging over his head, before stuffing his hands into the pockets of his faded black jeans.
“Let’s just go, Mar. It’s all theories. We’ll never know the answer,” he said, lowering his voice.
His friend swiveled toward him with fire in his eyes—looking just like the wild fifteen-year-old kid he’d met all those years ago. When they’d escaped the Shepherds of Light and were back in the city planning to troll the white vans that were snatching kids off the streets, the anger and adrenaline had hit both their systems like a drug, leading them into a frenzy of infinite possibility and immortality. It was a sensation Beatty hadn’t felt in forever.
As they reached a small intersection on the edge of Civic Square, Mar Vel noticed one of Observer’s cameras mounted in relative isolation down a side street. It was pointed in the opposite direction from the main drag.
“All this bullshit has put me in the mood for a little nostalgia,” he declared ominously, while reaching in his back pocket and pulling out a thin, jersey-knit balaclava.
“Mar,” Beatty said, sounding like a warning. “Were you even listening to yourself a moment ago? They’ll use the other cameras to pin this on you.”
“It’s fine. Just one, I promise.” He shot Beatty a huge grin. “Besides, we’ll probably be long gone before they even come knocking.”
“So we’re leaving?” Beatty asked.
Mar shrugged. “Maybe this is our wake up call, huh? Maybe it’s time for us to start over regardless?”
Beatty sighed. “Fine. Just one.”
It’s not like they hadn’t done this exact same thing plenty of times before, back when they were teens. Why would they suddenly get caught now?
Observer’s camera was about ten feet up, perched above other various boxes and straps that were either part of the system or ones people had added to the pole as footholds to climb high enough to reach it. It was a nice addition, in case one might want to get up there and, say, cover the lens with spraypaint.
Mar approached the pole from the back and hoisted himself up on the first foothold. When he reached eye level with the camera he swung around so his hidden face was directly in front of it.
“You’ll never win,” he declared, distorting his voice to a low growl.
Message delivered, he swung sideways out of the camera’s view and pulled the hammer out of his belt loop. He smashed the shit out of the lens, then went on denting the metal overhang that was supposed to shield it from the sun’s glare until it was completely folded downward over the front.
Watching it happen felt cathartic. Beatty couldn’t help but smile, despite the danger it might put them in. By the end of Mar’s assault it was barely hanging on by it’s metal strap.
Mar climbed down quickly, leaping the last four feet or so and taking off at a jog back toward the main road. It would be easier to get lost in the crowd out there. Beatty followed along, lagging slightly behind.
Back on their original route Mar Vel, now unmasked, stopped in his tracks to let Beatty catch up.
“That was loud,” Beatty chuckled quietly while shaking his head.
They set off walking again, fast as they could without calling attention to themselves.
“Where’s Alora? Is she home?” Mar asked once they were further down the block.
“Don’t know. She wasn’t home when I got there.”
Mar Vel opened his mouth to respond when the sound of a Guard siren cut in. Both of them paused to try and locate where it was coming from.
“Beatty!” Mar Vel said in a loud whisper. He had already tucked himself in the shadow of an alley. Beatty walked backward, making sure no one was watching and slipped in behind him. They were far past the main drag now, the streets no longer crowded with pedestrians, just a few stragglers.
“What’s happening?” he asked Mar Vel, who was peering around the corner for both of them, eyes facing in the direction they came.
“Damn,” he gasped quietly. “They’re everywhere. Further up toward the main intersection.”
“Who?”
“The Guard.”
“I don’t hear the sirens anymore.”
“They’re on foot,” he explained, then broke into a disjointed narrative of what he was seeing. “Where did they come from so fast? Oh shit! They just grabbed some dude and threw him into a wall. Some other guys are dragging a lady. I don’t see any coming our way yet but something is going down.”
“You think it was cuz of us? Just now?”
“Naw. I doubt it. This is something else.”
The screech of feedback reached them from a distance, piercing through the darkness. It was followed by a male voice delivering an announcement in monotone.
“Citizens. A new curfew has been instituted. Everyone must be in their homes between 9 pm and 5 am until further notice. Please head home immediately or you will be rounded up and detained.”
“What if people don’t have homes right now, asshole?” Beatty replied snarkily.
Mar slipped his head back behind the wall. “Damn. I hope not. Maybe this is another sign not to stick around?”
“We need to get out of here,” Beatty urged. Mar Vel agreed with a nod. They headed deeper into the alley rather than risk being seen on the street again. The back roads toward home were just a fence hop away.