Cyberpunk

crimping the furry black cord. She gasped and the smile flattened horribly on her face, as if her lips were two ropes someone had suddenly yanked taut. Her head jerked toward the umbilical plug.
    “E-Excuse me.” She was twitching.
    “What?” Comrade glanced down at his foot as if it belonged to a stranger. “Oh, sorry.” He pushed away from the wall and strolled across the room toward us. Although he seemed apologetic, about half the heads on his window coat were laughing.
    The greeter flexed her cheek muscles. “You’d better watch out for your toy, Peter,” she said. “It’s going to get you in trouble someday.”
    Mom did not like Comrade much, even though she had given him to me when I was first stunted. She got mad when I snuck him down to Manhattan a couple of years ago to have a chop job done on his behavioral regulators. For a while after the operation, he used to ask me before he broke the law. Now he was on his own. He got caught once, and she warned me he was out of control. But she still threw money at the people until they went away.
    “Trouble?” I said. “Sounds like fun.” I thought we were too rich for trouble. I was the trust baby of a trust baby; we had vintage money and lots of it. I stood and Comrade picked up my shoes for me. “And he’s not a toy; he’s my best friend.” I put my arms around his shoulder. “Tell Cook I’ll eat in my rooms.”
    I was tired after the long climb up the circular stairs to Mom’s chest. When the roombrain sensed I had come in, it turned on all the electronic windows and blinked my message indicator. One reason I still lived in my mom was that she kept out of my rooms. She had promised me total security, and I believed her. Actually I doubted that she cared enough to pry, although she could easily have tapped my windows. I was safe from her remotes up here, even the housekeeper. Comrade did everything for me.
    I sent him for supper, perched on the edge of the bed, and cleared the nearest window of army ants foraging for meat through some Angolan jungle. The first message in the queue was from a gray-haired stiff wearing a navy blue corporate uniform. “Hello, Mr. Cage. My name is Weldon Montross and I’m with Datasafe. I’d like to arrange a meeting with you at your convenience. Call my DI number, 408-966-3286. I hope to hear from you soon.”
    “What the hell is Datasafe?”
    The roombrain ran a search. “Datasafe offers services in encryption and information security. It was incorporated in the state of Delaware in 2013. Estimated billings last year were three hundred and forty million dollars. Headquarters are in San Jose, California, with branch offices in White Plains, New York, and Chevy Chase, Maryland. Foreign offices—”
    “Are they trying to sell me something or what?”
    The room did not offer an answer. “Delete,” I said. “Next?”
    Weldon Montross was back again, looking exactly as he had before. I wondered if he were using a virtual image. “Hello, Mr. Cage. I’ve just discovered that you’ve been admitted to the Thayer Clinic for rejuvenation therapy. Believe me when I say that I very much regret having to bother you during your convalescence, and I would not do so if this were not a matter of importance. Would you please contact the Department of Identification number 408-966-3286 as soon as you’re able?”
    “You’re a pro, Weldon, I’ll say that for you.” Prying client information out of the Thayer Clinic was not easy, but then the guy was no doubt some kind of op. He was way too polite to be a salesman. What did Datasafe want with me? “Any more messages from him?”
    “No,” said the roombrain.
    “Well, delete this one too, and if he calls back tell him I’m too busy unless he wants to tell me what he’s after.” I stretched out on my bed. “Next?” The gel mattress shivered as it took my weight.
    Happy Lurdane was having a smash party on the twentieth, but Happy was a boring cush and there was a bill from the pet store for the iguanas that I paid and a warning from the SPCA that I deleted and a special offer for preferred customers from my favorite fireworks company that I saved to look at later and my dad was about to ask for another loan when I paused him and deleted and last of all there was a message from Stennie, time-stamped ten minutes ago.
    “Hey, Mr. Boy, if you’re feeling better I’ve lined up a VE party for tonight.” He did not quite fit into the school’s telelink booth;