New fiction: Chapter 1 of a cyberpunk story I've been working on...

My mind usually goes numb the more gray smoke I inhale. A thin stream wafted up from my workbench. I pulled apart circuit boards, cut and fried wires. I soldered motherboards together and blended computer parts into three-dimensional configurations. Thousands of other workers like me sat in a giant hangar doing the same thing. All of us seated in front of workbenches in vast rows that stretched out as far as you could see. The hangar's arched metal roof, a hundred feet above, featured cut-outs where massive steel fans spun like plane propellers.

Buzzing filled the air. Every worker created little zaps as they worked. It sounded like a beehive in the hangar, and really that's what we were, worker drone bees creating and reshaping components for the queen – the mother corp. Rivetech, an enormous multinational with its tentacles in nearly every facet of the world's economy. I was but one small peon in this planet-killing machine. No, check that. I was smaller than a peon. I was a tiny cog in the gears that made up a peon. I was nothing. As worthless and expendable as dirt. Still, I had a job, which is more than I could say for many. Robots displaced many of what had been considered human jobs. For better or for worse, my fingers were still dexterous enough to process parts more delicately and efficiently than a machine. Though, I knew that too would likely change, and soon.

One particular morning, I don't know what it was, but the odor of scorched wires and the scratchy buzzy sounds actually got to me. My head pounded. Well, alright, it was more than just that morning. It'd been a few weeks that I'd felt like that. A bit more run-down than normal. Not quite myself. I noticed my heart beat a little faster when I reached the top of the stairs from the subway platform. I'd get dizzy spells now and then. I had this scratchiness in my throat that wouldn't seem to go away. Sure, the air outside was polluted. I could've blamed the poisoned sky. Smog hovered above the megacity like looming death, but it was always that way. Regardless, I was 27 years old and felt as though I was 60. Or, well, I imagined that was what it felt like to be 60 anyway, that is if you lived on the wrong end of society like I did and couldn't afford an eternally healthy, youthful body. But I'd been putting away money whenever possible. Squirreling away small bits of my minuscule paychecks to afford a nano enhancer. Someday I'd have one. Unfortunately, at that moment on that morning, I felt crappy. I'd managed to secure an appointment with a doctor for that day at no small expense. It had eaten pretty substantially into my savings, but with the way I was feeling, I had to go. Of course, Rivetech wasn't going to give me the time off required, and my twelve hour shift always ended long after the doctor's office closed, so one advantage of working in a giant hive is we, the faceless drones, could sometimes sneak out and cover for one another without being noticed. It didn't always work and I had witnessed first hand people being fired and thrown out into the street on the spot, but I was sick enough that the risk was probably worth it. Plus, I had Jose covering for me. He sat two workstations over and was a master at slipping between desks at regular enough intervals that to anyone performing surveillance in the corporate offices it always looks like everyone was right where they should be. Maybe it's because he was so small in stature that he could move around barely being noticed, I'm not certain, but I'm glad he agreed to help me out.

“Thanks for doing this, man,” I said to him. “You're a life saver.”

“Don't mention it. I hope the doc says you're alright.”

“I'm sure it'll be fine. How did your wrist thing work out, by the way?”

“Pretty good. He said it wasn't broken. Just a sprain. Rivetech hasn't said anything about my pieces, so even though I can't move my hands the same, they don't seem to notice.”

“That might be because Bluehead's been on vacation though, right?”

“Who told you he's on vacation?” Jose said. “I heard he got transferred to Berlin.”

“I hope that's true.”

“You and me both.”

I grabbed my shoulder bag and slid off my stool with Jose sliding in right behind me. I gave the workers in the stations around me a slight wave and rushed down the narrow walkway between rows. Once through the heavy doors at the back of the hangar the odor changed to a more pleasing wet concrete smell and the buzzing in my ears gave way to the clicky-clack of trains passing over rails above and below. I showed my laminated bathroom privilege card to the guards. It's a forgery made by my friend Margo, but the guards never took the time to check the system to see which of the thousands of worker bees had actual bathroom privileges and which ones didn't. The unfortunate souls who didn't know someone as clever as Margo were forced to wear expensive adult diapers to work. You could always smell them on the subway.

Once past the guards I descended a wide set of stairs to an underground concourse filled with people dashing in all directions to catch their trains. I went down two more flights of stairs to reach Platform B, deep underground. Train 94 runs there and services the downtown. It's always packed. On the train, I couldn't find an open seat, so I was forced to cram in between two larger men, both soaked from the rain. A woman seated in front of me continually shook her umbrella, throwing droplets onto my face. Normally, this might upset me but it actually gave me a bit of relief from the pressure I felt in my sinuses. I closed my eyes and tried to drown out the near constant nasally female voice coming through the speaker above, listing stops and connecting trains.

I stepped off at Station C-117 and drifted through the crowds toward the end of the platform. Hundreds of us climbed the long stairway up into the open air. Heavy rain cascaded in sheets. I rushed from the top of the stairs, heaving for air, to stand under an awning at the base of a towering skyscraper. The city buildings reached beyond the thick cloud cover. The sidewalk teemed with people. Traffic was constant. The afternoon was as dark as ever. After a few minutes the torrent diminished to a sprinkle. I walked four blocks to the Hadulen building. It was one of the nicer buildings in the area, with a spacious marble and glass lobby and pleasing emerald low pile carpeting embossed with Hadulen's corporate logo. I chose a doctor in this building figuring they'd have to be the best, right? To have an office in a building this fancy? Right away I think one of the security officers recognized I didn't belong.

“Can I help you?” She spoke in that kind of tone where you know helping me was the last thing on her mind.

“I'm here for a medical appointment.”

She looked me up and down like I was an insect. “I'm assuming you have proof?”

“I do, actually.” I pulled out my phone, clicked on my screen and held it up to show her.

She looked away from me, almost disgusted. “Mm-hmm.”

That was that, I'm pretty sure my cheeks were rosy from embarrassment. I shuffled to the bank of elevators and tried to disappear from her view as quickly as possible.

Dr. Poli's office was on the 18^th floor. I passed through the glass door, walked up to the high granite counter and was met by a man holding a clipboard. No greeting of any kind, just 'take the clipboard, fill out the form'. This is the world we live in.

I filled in as much as I could about my medical history. I never knew my parents, they died when I was very young. I was raised by my uncle who passed when I was 19. His wife had died before I was even born. He never remarried. I had no siblings. No grandparents. No cousins.

“James Lam?” Said a female voice from the far end of the waiting room. I stood up and walked behind her. A heavy set woman in purple scrubs. “You can wait in here,” she said, setting the clipboard into a compartment hanging on the door. I sat in a padded chair looking at the beige linoleum, the beige walls, a beige ceiling and a beige padded table covered with a crisp white sheet of paper. I removed my damp black jacket and folded my hands in my lap, I hoped by folding my hands to cover the callouses and burn marks around my fingertips. I was trying to look as though I belonged in this building even though my rough hands, the dark circles under my eyes and my frail appearance told a different story.

Dr. Poli entered ten minutes later. He grabbed the clipboard off the door and glanced at it without even looking at me. Actually, the entire time he spoke it was as though he was glancing at someone just left of my face. I suppose I wasn't worthy of eye contact, I'm not sure.

“So, what seems to be the trouble?” He said.

“Well, I've been having these headaches lately. And I've been getting dizzy spells and noticed some shortness of breath. Also, certain sights and sounds and smells have affected me more.”

“How is that?”

“I don't know, like I'm extra sensitive now or something.”

“Uh huh.”

He looked back at the form I'd filled out on the clipboard. He flipped the page without saying anything, then set the clipboard on the desk next to him. “I'm going to run a quick test,” he said. “Sit tight, I'll be right back.”

A quick test, I thought to myself. What kind of test?

Dr. Poli returned holding a small rectangular device with Rivetech's logo stamped on its side. He removed a small plastic square from the device and held it in the palm of his hand. “Here,” he said, “I need you to swallow this. There's water here if you need.”

I took the plastic square from him, put it in my mouth and poured a bit of water into a paper cup. Swallowing the water, I could feel the edges of the square jab my throat as it worked its way down.

“Alright,” Dr. Poli said, “I need you to lay down.”

I kicked off my shoes and laid on the padded platform. The sheet of paper crinkled beneath me. I laid my head back and squinted at the fluorescent light.

“Now if you could just lay still here for a few minutes. I'll be back to let you know the results.”

“But what about the device? How do I get it out?” I asked.

He chuckled in a kind of condescending way, as though I'd asked the dumbest question possible. “It'll dissolve on its own in a few hours. Don't worry about it. You'll pass it next time you urinate.”

He exited the room, I closed my eyes and tried to picture I was anywhere but the megacity. A few minutes later the doctor returned, he had an assistant in sky blue scrubs with him. They closed the door behind them.

“You can sit up now,” Dr. Poli said.

I tried to brush the back of my tousled hair to look as clean and refined as they did. It was no use.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” the doctor said, “but I'm afraid we've detected cancer.”

The word shot through me like a hot spike.

“Cancer?” It was all I could utter in that moment.

“Yes, I'm afraid so. You said you've been feeling ill for a while now, yes?”

“Well, a few weeks or so.”

“Right. Your body's been trying to tell you something,” he said. He looked again at the clipboard. “I notice you don't have an enhancer.”

“I've been saving up for one.”

“I see.” The words fell from his lips the same way a loan officer from the bank sounds when they deny your credit application, disbelieving every bit of information you've given them.

Well,” he said, “unfortunately, this is terminal.”

“Terminal?”

“You have stage IV liver cancer.”

“Is that fatal?”

Again he chuckled. “Do you have your affairs in order?”

“My affairs?”

“Financially? Are you leaving behind any dependents?”

“Leaving behind?”

“Mr. Lam, again, sorry to be the one to tell you, but yes, you are dying. You have a matter of weeks if you're unable to engage with treatment.”

“Engage with treatment?”

“Yes. There are options available. You can speak with my colleague about them. That's why she's here.” He motioned toward the woman beside him in the light blue scrubs. “It was nice meeting you,” the doctor said. “Take care.” He didn't even look at me, simply turned around and walked out, closing the door behind him. The woman in the scrubs sat next to the desk. She pulled a pamphlet from the drawer.

“Before we discuss treatment options,” she said in a soothing tone. “First we must clear up your testing fee.”

“My testing fee? I'd already pre-paid for this appointment.”

“Yes,” she said with a smarmy smile. “But the basic appointment cost does not cover the expense of any required additional testing.”

“I wasn't aware until I got here there'd be any additional testing.” I tried to keep my tone as cordial as possible. I did not want to live up to the stereotype of what we on the lower end of the socioeconomic scale are often saddled with.

“Dr. Poli felt it necessary to run a revo scan. Clearly, given these results, that was the right call.”

“I guess,” I fought to hold back tears. “I just, I didn't know about the extra cost.”

“You would rather not have known what was wrong?”

“No,” I said. “Of course not.”

“Okay, well, here is your bill for the testing.” She turned the computer monitor screen on the desk toward me. 6,781 cryptos! Good god! “Please scan your device under the red light,” she said, “once you've paid we can discuss the options available to you.”

“That's an awful lot of money.”

“Again,” she said calmly, “you would rather have not known your diagnosis?”

“I'm not saying that.” I was starting to shake. 6,781 cryptos was over half of my remaining savings. Buying a new nano enhancer was now completely off the table, especially given what little time the doctor was saying I had left. Defeated, I scanned my digital wallet under the computer terminal's red light. Just like that, all those weeks and months and years of hard work at Rivetech disappeared into the ether.

“Great,” she said in a bouncy tone. “Now let's talk about cancer treatment.” She said it as though she was a travel agent booking me for a tropical vacation. “As you've stated, you don't have an enhancer, so we can start you on an effective pharmaceutical regimen right away. I'm thinking our enhanced plan would be best.” She unfolded the pamphlet that was basically one large picture of palm trees and a white sand beach covered with paragraphs of black text featuring phrases like “wellness strategies”, “managed vitality” and “renewed freedom”.

“The enhanced plan?” I said.

“Correct. That would involve four pills per day. Taken with food of course. You have access to high quality produce, right?”

Did she not know who she was talking to? Vegetables were a luxury on my end of town. Even when I'd noticed a co-worker of mine sneaking food at their station, I'd seen a piece of fruit maybe once in the years I'd been working there.

“Okay,” I said. “Four pills per day.”

“That's right.”

“That's the enhanced plan?”

“Exactly.”

“And that will allow me to live with this cancer?” I nearly choked on the disease's name as I spoke. “LIke, it won't kill me?”

“Yes. It may even reverse it some.”

“How much does it cost?”

She pulled the computer monitor back toward her. She punched a few keys on the keyboard. “So, for the enhanced plan, which we can start you on right now should you give the okay, it looks like that comes to, 8400 a month.”

My jaw dropped. I felt faint. 8400...a month? I could barely speak. “I don't think. I don't make enough for that.”

“Okay,” she seemed bit peeved. “Well, we could reduce you to Plus, but that would negate some of the cancer reversal effects.”

“But it could help me survive long enough to save up for an enhancer, right?”

“Potentially.”

“How much for that plan?”

Again she punched some keys. “That looks like, hmm, okay. That would be about 6700 per month. So, that's a fair bit more affordable.”

I swallowed the lump that had grown in my throat. I wanted to give up, on everything.

“Is that too much as well?” The lady asked me.

“Yes, that's too much. That's way too much. I can't afford that.”

She scrunched up her face as she looked at me. “Oh.” She sounded disgusted, like somehow I'd become an even lesser creature in her eyes.

“Is there anything under the Plus plan? Like, is there a basic plan I could try?”

“Mm-hmm,” there's that tone again. “Let me see.” A few seconds later she turned the screen toward me. “We can get you on with Basic, that wouldn't really treat the cancer itself, but it would allow you an extra year or two of time. And here's the price for that.” She pointed to a number in red with her pen. 4800 per month. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip every framed kitten poster from the walls. Tears welled up in my eyes. My hands were shaking. “Can we start you on this today then?” She said. I resented her perkiness.

“No,” I said, “we can't.”

“Oh, is that too much as well? It's quite a cost effective plan. Is that close to what you make each month at your job? You do have a job, correct?”

“Yes, I have a job. And that's more than I make in a month. Hell, it's more than I make in a year. Two years even.”

“I see.” Her face changed from faux-friendliness to coldly clinical.

“Do you though?” I was beyond scared and angry.

“There's no need to use that tone with me.” She stood up from the desk. “I take it you will not be engaging in a treatment plan with us today then?”

“You take it right.”

“Very well.” She opened the door and left it open as she walked out.

I sat for a moment on the padded bed, staring at my feet. My weak, vulnerable feet. I imagined the cancer cells flowing through me, eating at my bones. I'd forgotten about my headache with all of this new information swirling in my mind for the previous several minutes, but it roared back with a vengeance. Immediately I thought about my body shutting down, that I was losing function by the minute. My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the wall. The heavy set woman with the purple scrubs looked at me with a blank expression.

“If you don't mind,” she said, “we need this room. So, if you could move along.”

Like I said, as expendable as dirt.

“Of course,” I whimpered. I slid off the platform and shoved my feet into my wet shoes. The soles squeaked, echoing down the hallway as I made my way out to the lobby and back out through the glass door. No one at the desk so much as acknowledged my existence as I walked out. I glanced back through the glass wall at all the dead-eyed people sitting in chairs waiting to see a doctor. They all appeared clean, healthy. They were probably there to get their enhancers serviced or to get new ones put in. I hated everyone there without even knowing them. They were oblivious to me and those like me who died everyday from illnesses they'd all left decades in the past.

I rode the 94 subway back to the factory, the darkest of thoughts clouding my mind. Wishing for Armageddon on the spot. Hoping something would smite the entire world, negating the idea that I was going to leave while society happily carried on, and all because I had the poor misfortune to be born on the wrong end of the economic scale.

I climbed all the stairs, more cognizant of every breath in and out than ever. I gripped the railings hard. I watched my feet lift with every step. I was scared to put a foot in the wrong place. Fear had taken over.

I walked by the guards who'd forgotten who I was and didn't register just how long my “bathroom break” had been. I pushed through the heavy doors and skittered between dozens of workstations toward my own. Jose was seated at his own station and he glanced over to see me slide back onto my stool. I have him a thumbs up and tried my hardest to raise a slight smile. He looked at me with warmth in his eyes and a friendly nod. Then we both put our heads down and went back to zapping wires and soldering circuit boards. The slips of electrical smoke drifted up into my face and for the time being the numbness took over and I temporarily forgot about my impending doom.