Sycamore (Near-Future Dystopia) (5 page)

He cleared his throat. “Any questions?”

~

Amos raised his hand. “I have a question, Mr Jacobs. An important one.”

“Ask away.”

“I like this, but what makes you think people will accept the idea of being microchipped?”

“Aside from the standing ovation?” said Kurt. Even Amos smiled. “But seriously, people like convenience. You know that. They don’t mind trackers in their phones or cameras in their games consoles; as long as the tech is good for something, it doesn’t matter if it seems invasive.”

“Okay. Now an even more important question. The UltraLenses were sold cheaply. At a loss, in fact. We expected substantially greater returns from targeted advertising than we have seen thus far. I want you to tell me about revenue. How would this thing earn us money beyond the initial selling price?”

“To begin with, I think you should offer the chip for free.”

“Free?!”

“It’s not an act of faith,” Kurt explained, “just good business. The revenue opportunities are unparalleled and the more hands the chip is in, the more we stand to gain. Potential revenue streams can be split into four broad groups. Number one is the sale of digital content. This would encompass subscriptions to a cloud-based service for storing visual data at whatever rate you consider reasonable; people will pay well to relive their memories and experiences. On top of that we have sales of first-party software and also commission on sales of third-party apps and media through the newly-created SycaStore. 20-30% is the industry standard rate. The combination of endless possibilities and a massive user base will ensure an avalanche of content from day one. Everyone will want a piece of this, and 30% of their takings come straight to us.

“Number two is advertising. I know it hasn’t quite gone to plan with the UltraLenses but we both know why that is: people take them out. When there are incentives to keep them in — use of Sycamore’s new network for telephone and online functions naturally depends on the relevant data being displayed — well, people will keep them in. I don’t have to spell out what that means in terms of information gathering and targeting.” Kurt wasn’t a fan of invasive advertising but he understood that some level was necessary to keep core services free and felt that the ads people received might as well be for things that would interest them.

“Third: beyond metaphor, the chip will function as an
actual
digital wallet. Stores will accept chip-based payment from users’ bank accounts and Sycamore would be acting within common practice in levying a convenience fee of 1% per transaction. Or even 0.1%. It doesn’t sound like much — which is why people won’t mind — but 0.1% of everything is quite a lot.”

“And finally, the possibility will arise to cooperate with law enforcement agencies. Sycamore will be in a strong position to win security contracts like those given to CCTV providers. Assuming they use the chip and Lenses, which they will, the communication and movement of suspected criminals could be tracked at ease. Sycamore will own all collected data. The police and other security services would be morally obliged to pay whatever you ask if your data could put a murderer behind bars. This last one is probably the least profitable but perhaps the most significant. We can do good while we do well.”

Amos nodded and wrote something down. “Operationally speaking,” he said, “what powers the chip?”

Kurt answered without hesitation. “A tiny battery. It recharges wirelessly. Automatically.”

“And the sensor... how do you know that it works through skin?”

“I don’t know that it does,” Kurt admitted, “but I know that it could.”

“I admire the honesty. Now, as for selling a subscription to this cloud-based service for storing visual data, as you put it... the kind of storage necessary for that quantity of HD video would be prohibitively expensive. Do you not agree?”

“That depends on your prohibition threshold. Oil pipelines are expensive, but they get built. They get built because oil is profitable enough to justify invading other countries, never mind building a pipeline. You can charge whatever you want for the video storage. I mean, really, who wouldn’t want on-demand access to everything they’ve ever seen? We’re talking about building a billion dollar pipeline to service a trillion dollar contract. The decision makes itself.”

Amos again whispered something to the man on his right, who sat in a conspicuously red tie, entirely at odds with the more sombre black worn by the rest of the front row. The red-tie man had concerns about the digital wallet aspect of Kurt’s pitch.

“Very exciting,” he said, “but I think I speak for the majority when I say that I would not welcome a switch to digital currency.”

“I never mentioned currency digitisation. This is just the same as what we have now. You’ve all got touchless credit cards, right? And you all use your phones to pay at restaurants and withdraw cash from ATMs?” Kurt took the audience’s silence as a yes. “Well this is exactly the same except you don’t need a card or a phone. You can never forget your wallet because you’ll never need to bring it. ID? On the chip. Money? On the chip. House keys and car keys? Unnecessary: only
your
chip can unlock
your
doors. It’s all safe. Safer than before! You can’t lose your digital wallet or keys and no one can steal them. I know this all works because none of these applications are new. The only difference is that one thing now does it all. This chip does everything.”

The questioner, who Kurt had taken to thinking of as Red, continued to badger him. “If the chip does everything, we’ll quickly become dependent on it. So what happens if the chip stops working?”

“What if your heart stopped beating in the next few minutes?” said Kurt, visibly frustrated by the increasing stupidity of Red’s questions. “Or what if the auditorium’s roof collapsed right now? It won't, that's the point. It's designed to function.”

Amos interjected with another question of his own. “You say the chip is designed to function, Mr Jacobs, but as far as I can tell there is no tangible design at all. I gather you don’t like the idea of carrying a bulky smartphone around everywhere and I’m not entirely inimical to your goals. But while it’s one thing to criticise incremental decreases in size and weight, it’s quite another to suggest that we can eliminate the device altogether. With no supporting evidence, why are you so confident that we can?”

“Once we do away with a smartphone’s screen and the battery power needed to light it, you’d be surprised at how little we're left with. Ribbons connecting components to the screen, speakers, the battery, a SIM slot, a case that has to be tough enough to survive a fall… all unnecessary. Give me the processor and keep the rest.”

Amos seemed satisfied with the answer and Kurt was pleased with his question. While the other judges were wasting everyone’s time with baseless hypothetical concerns, the man who called the shots was wondering whether the chip could actually function at the suggested size. He liked it.

Red didn’t, and he pressed further. “I’m sorry, but no. This is all pure speculation and counter to the spirit of a contest intended to reward feasible innovation.”

“Well I’m
not
sorry,” Kurt snapped, pointing at the naysayer, “but no to you, too. None of this technology is speculative. The only speculation I offer is that my chip will be in every left hand in the country within twelve months.”

By far the youngest man in the front row, the well-groomed but snakelike creature Kurt recognised all too well as Terrance ‘Minter’ Minion, took joy in dismissing this prediction out of hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, Kurt. The internet, MP3 players and just about everything else took years to catch on. Often the better part of a decade.”

“This isn’t like that,” Kurt insisted. “This is something everyone will buy straight away. It’s like if we were fish and someone came up with shark repellent — we would all buy it.”

“So you’re pitching shark repellent?” Minion made no effort to hide his disdain.

“I’m pitching the future of the human race: a chip that will change the world while it’s taking it over. If Sycamore doesn’t want a piece of that, fine. Have fun missing out.”

Amos tried to restore some civility to the proceedings. “Mr Jacobs, please compose yourself. The ability to handle criticism and field difficult questions is an important one.”

“These aren’t difficult questions, though, they’re stupid questions! And it’s baseless cynicism, not criticism. People always say it can’t be done. If I had told you I could stream video from the Lenses, they would have said it. In fact, they did. Someone said it was impossible because to them it was. But the person who says it can’t be done should never interrupt the person who’s doing it right now.

“I understand the need for skepticism but it has to be founded in reason rather than fear. People fear progress because they don’t know what it means. It questions their assumptions. They worry that aiming for more somehow means that things aren’t good enough as they are... that
they
aren’t good enough as they are. But good enough for what? Good enough for today isn’t the same as good enough for tomorrow. We can’t judge ourselves by the standards of the past, and tomorrow today will be yesterday. Today’s standards won’t cut it tomorrow, so why do we let them cut it today?

“It’s usually just one person,” Kurt continued. “One person has an idea and is shouted down by the likes of your friends here. But the creator can’t hear them; he can’t afford to listen. Sometimes there are two creators. Little over a century ago, men of science wrote entire volumes decrying the folly of attempts to create a heavier-than-air flying machine.”

“So?” asked Amos, confused by Kurt’s tangent.

“So I guess the Wright Brothers didn’t read those books. That’s the point: almost everything we take for granted was once impossible to almost everyone. And even when the possibility was aired, it was dismissed out of hand. Flight
was
impossible to the naysayers but that didn’t mean it was impossible for everyone. Likewise, we weren’t sitting around in the 1700s arguing about whether lightbulbs would work, because what the hell was a lightbulb? Reality is emergent in nature — something emerges and it changes everything else.” Kurt intensified his stare at Amos and prodded his left palm with his right forefinger three slow times. “This is one of those things.”

Minion spoke again. “It’s really not, Kurt. You’ve wasted enough of our time. This is genuinely impossible.”

Kurt had tried to stay calm and he had appealed to both reason and faith in human ingenuity. But still, baseless cynicism was being thrown his way from all angles. “You’re not just wrong,” he snapped at Minion, “you’re stupid.” Kurt ran his finger along the front row, closed the laptop and stormed from the stage, shouting as he went. “All of you are idiots. Dinosaurs and idiots!”

Blind rage carried Kurt down the auditorium’s central aisle and only spite stopped him at the front entrance. With nothing to lose he felt like he might as well take Sycamore down with him. “Oh, and by the way,” he said to everyone and no one in particular, “the girl who’s pitching last is going to tell you about the SycaPhone. Her name is Kate Pinewood. She already works for Amos and he’s been planning it for months. I’ll post his pre-written press release online when I get home. This whole night has been a sham and I dare anyone in the front row to deny that with a straight face.”

No one followed Kurt outside. It was still raining but he couldn’t feel it. All he felt was stupid for throwing away such a golden opportunity. Snapping at the judges wasn’t like snapping at Randy; this time Kurt wanted to go back inside, but he couldn’t. So that was it... everything for nothing.

Back in the depressingly familiar situation of being out in the rain with no bus fare and no umbrella, Kurt had no option but to traipse home. The shortest route from the campus didn’t involve passing the flattened cat, so at least there was that.

A text alert popped up in Kurt’s vista and he hesitated to open it after seeing it was from Randy. But it would have taken more effort to dismiss the flashing icon than expand it, so he read the message. “What the hell did you just do? You’re such a goddamn child!”

Oh well. And then another flashing envelope. What this time? Did Randy forget to say how much Kurt had let everyone down? He glanced at the icon and saw that this one was from Julian. He was probably gloating after their argument but Kurt read it anyway, thinking he could hardly feel any worse. The message from his only nephew went a long way towards cheering him up. “I thought it sounded like a good idea. Maybe the world just isn’t ready. JJ.”

Kurt smiled in the rain and reached into his pocket for his phone. He typed a response and hit send before quickening his pace to get home while he could still feel his feet.

“Thanks, kid,” read his reply. “Tell Sabrina I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.”

3

Kurt tossed his wet clothes into a pile in the corner of his bedroom and started running the shower. It was piping hot by the time he stepped in after making short work of the last Lexington Blue in his fridge.

The hot water was so much better than the cold rain and it made him forget everything until an irritating telephone icon appeared in his vista. Kurt never took his Lenses out, which came in handy at times like this. Although he couldn’t hear or answer his phone — it was on his bed — a quick glance at the icon identified the caller as Randy.

Randy’s text after the pitch had made his feelings clear and Kurt was in no mood for another argument. He ignored the call. Randy called again immediately and Kurt began to wonder if something was wrong. His wonder remained insufficient to merit leaving the warmth of the shower.

Some ponderous minutes later he stepped out of the bathroom and picked up his phone with the intention of calling Randy back. It started to vibrate. Professor Walker. What did
he
want?

“Hello?”

“Jacobs! Switch your TV to TVBytes. Channel 43.”