Page 32 of Grimdark Magazine Issue 48

"You can call me what you like, Auntie." Vivian said, dutifully. Auntie had always insisted on respect.

Vivian wondered why Auntie would use the apartment system rather than projecting from her PIP. Security issues, maybe? Vivian pulled the three beers from her bag and handed them over.

Auntie tsked. "Such cheap beer, and only three?"

"Hard times up there," Vivian said, shrugging. "I was supposed to get a sixpack, but they stiffed me half."

Auntie opened the first and started drinking. "So why are you here?"

"You always know the best secrets, Auntie."

The old woman cackled. "That I do. Here to find out where to get your PIP out? You're not so close to the termination line as most of the desperate souls that straggle in."

"You had your PIP removed," Vivian whispered. Suddenly the apartment security system made sense.

Auntie pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "I don't like to make mistakes, and I thought I had a read on you."

Vivian raised both hands. "I hadn't thought You really know people who can remove the PIPs? Everybody says if you cut them out it kills you."

Auntie sighed. "There's some truth to that. Installation is pretty straightforward because the chips release nanites that build the rest of the system once they're inside your body. It's a nightmare application of the self-replicating nanocomputing tech that got me tenured, back when it was still safe for me to show my face at the university. The PIP system is tied into your metabolism for power, and there's a pocket of coolant installed right up against--"

Auntie stopped abruptly and shook her head. "Removing PIPs is a delicate business at best, but that's not why you're here."

"I'm a Shade on the ZimCorp line, and I want to know what I'm making. We lived in the same neighborhood, back before the shadow prisons. And then after that you let me use your terminal sometimes, for beer--"

Auntie finally relaxed. "Oh, yes. Now I remember you. It's been a long time since your last visit. Better beer back then. The terminal is in the closet, under the pile of bras and underwear. Keepers never want to touch an old woman's underthings. Don't like the idea of someone so old as me naked." She cackled. "Except the ones that want to take a tumble with old Auntie!"

Vivian blushed. "Thank you, Auntie."

"Put it back the way you found it when you're done."

It didn't take long on the rumornet to find what she needed. ZimCorp was working on an add-on to the PIPs, some kind of memory revision tech. It was bad enough that they controlled the realities of the present; now they wanted to filter people's past. Steal away any memories that made them fight against the system.

"Ah yes, that is bad," Auntie said from the other room, reminding Vivian that even though she wasn't there looking over her shoulder, nothing went over her terminal without her knowing about it.

"But what can we do?" Vivian asked. This was worse than she expected, but sabotaging the work at the factory would get her terminated, in more ways than one.

"If you can get me one of those new chips, I might be able to hack it, or get it to someone who can," Auntie said, thoughtful. "We're pulling people out of the system as fast as we can, but there are only so many surgeons with the skills to remove the PIPs. We're not ready for this new level of hell."

"You want me to steal from ZimCorp." Vivian stared in disbelief.

"I know, child. It is a lot to ask." Auntie took a long pull on the last of the bottles of beer. "If you get me what I need, I'll set you up with my surgeon, get your PIP removed."

Freedom from the shadow prison, and all she had to do was risk everything.

* * *

To get a finished chip, Vivian needed access to a different wing of the factory complex--the end of the assembly line. There were offices there--hiring, medical support, university and college applications. If she had five thousand points, she could have gotten in by applying to take courses at the community college. As it was, her best bet was a workplace injury. That would give her access to the med lab. The trick was finding the right injury--serious enough to get her into the other wing, but not too much permanent damage.

There were safeguards to prevent injuries, but the machines were old.

When her line supervisor was on the far end of the assembly room floor, she snapped a handguard loose by leaning into it with her elbow. The shades to either side of her on the line didn't notice, or pretended not to. Face forward, no talking, do your own work. Anything else could cost you points.

Vivian used the broken handguard to cover the sensor that tracked whether her hand was clear of the machine. She placed a metal plate in the designated groove on the work surface, and pressed her hand, palm down, over the plate. She watched as what was left of the handguard rotated, the broken plastic scraping her skin but not pushing her hand out of way. The external sensor registered green, mistaking the broken-off piece of handguard for her hand.

The awl plunged down through her hand.

The machine detected an error. It paused and emitted a series of high pitched beeps. Vivian stared at the metal extruding from the middle of the shadowy outline of her hand, unable to make sense of an image so obviously wrong. Her PIP filtered away the sharpest sensations of pain, replacing them with a strange pattern of throbbing designed to call attention to the wound without being excruciating. She'd never sustained this level of injury before, and the experience was more surreal than distressing.