Cyberpunk

technology—that’s a feature. Al’s cat has got a MEMS tag on its collar. Al can tag every cat’s collar in the neighborhood and run it as a neighborhood service off his web page. When you’re calling Kitty in for supper, you just e-mail Kitty’s collar.

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    From: Programmer
    To: Design Team
    Subject: [no subject]
    AWESOME! I am so with this! I got 8 cats myself, I want this product! I can smell the future here! And it smells like a winner!!

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    From: Engineer
    To: Design Team
    Subject: Current Chip Technology
    That subcutaneous ID chip is a proven technology. They’ve been doing that for lab rats for years now. I could have a patent-free working model out of our Sunnyvale fab plant in 48 hours, tops.
    The only problem Al faces is repeater technology, so he can cover the neighborhood with his radio locators. But a repeater net is a system administration issue. That’s a classic, tie-in, service-provision opportunity. We’re talking long-term contracts here, and a big buyer lock-in factor.

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    From: Marketer
    To: Design Team
    Subject: Buyer Lock-In Factor
    That is hot! Of course! It’s about consumer stickiness through market-segmentation upgrades. You’ve got the bottom-level, introductory, Household-Only tagging model. Then the mid-level Neighborhood model. Then, on to the Gold and Platinum service levels, with 24-hour tech support! Al can saturate the whole suburb. Maybe even the whole city! It’s totally open-ended. We supply as many tags and as much monitoring and connectivity as the guy can pay for. The only limit is the size of his wallet!

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    From: Team Coordinator
    To: Social Anthropologist
    Subject: ***Private Message***
    Susan, look at ’em go! I can’t believe the storytelling approach works so well. Last week they were hanging around the lab with long faces, preparing their resumés and e-mailing headhunters.

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    To: Team Coordinator
    From: The Social Anthropologist
    Subject: Re: ***Private Message***
    Fred, people have been telling each other stories since we were hominids around campfires in Africa. It’s a very basic human cognition thing, really.

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    From: Team Coordinator
    To: Social Anthropologist
    Subject: **Private Message Again**
    We've gotta hit, Susan. I can feel it. I need a drink after all this, don’t you? Let’s celebrate. On my tab, okay? We’ll make a night of it.

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    From: The Social Anthropologist
    To: Team Coordinator
    Subject: Our Relationship
    Fred, I’m not going to deny there’s chemistry between us. But I really have to question whether that’s appropriate business behavior.

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    From: Team Coordinator
    To: Social Anthropologist
    Subject: ***Private Message***
    We’re grown-ups, Susan. We’ve both been around the block a few times. Come on, you don’t have to be this way.

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    From: The Social Anthropologist
    To: Team Coordinator
    Subject: Re: ***Private Message***
    Fred, it’s not like this upsets me professionally—I mean, not in that oh-so-proper way. I’m a trained anthropologist. They train us to understand how societies work—not how to make people happy. I’m being very objective about this situation. I don’t hold it against you. I know that I’m relationship poison, Fred. I’ve never made a man happy in my whole life.

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    From: Team Coordinator
    To: Social Anthropologist
    Subject: **Very Private Message**
    Please don’t be that way, Susan. That “you and me” business, I mean. I thought we’d progressed past that by now. We could just have a friendly cocktail down at Les Deux Magots. This story isn’t about “you and me.”

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    From: The Social Anthropologist
    To: Team Coordinator
    Subject: Your Unacceptable Answer
    Then whose story is it, Fred? If this isn’t our story, then whose story is it?
    Albert’s mouth was dry. His head was swimming. He really had to knock it off with those cognition enhancers—especially after 8:00 P.M. The smart drugs had been a major help in college—all those French philosophy texts, my God, Kant 301, that wasn’t the kind of text that a guy could breeze through without serious neurochemical assistance—but he’d overdone it. Now he ate the pills just to keep up with the dyslexia syndrome—and the pills made him so, well, verbal. Lots of voices inside the head. Voices in the darkness. Bits and pieces arguing. Weird debates. A head full of yakking chemical drama.
    Another ripping snore came out of Hazel. Hazel had the shape of a zaftig 1940s swimsuit