Episode 1 - The Beam

the person he was talking to that he gave less than a shit about whatever they were telling him, and that they were just wasting his precious time.
    “Run them down,” Doc told the driver.
    “Hey, they’ve got a right to protest,” the balding man in the driver’s seat said without turning back.
    Doc drew a deep breath, then exhaled, watching the line of protesters through the cab’s window. He touched the glass, brought up a tint panel, and dragged a screen across the glass to block his view. The cabbie would, of course, be sympathetic. Here he was, carting some uppity Enterprise man around in his cab while a bunch of his fellow low-end Directorate protested the same uppity Enterprise bastards. Doc wanted to argue — to point out to the cabbie that every single one of those protesters could have chosen to make their own way in the Enterprise instead of accepting a fixed government dole that was barely adequate — but his words would fall on deaf ears and possibly result in an “accidentally” higher cab fare. Directorate members didn’t want to hear that they’d made the wrong choice. And you know what? Doc thought. They wouldn’t move over to Enterprise when Shift came, either. It was easier to bitch about how the system was unfair and suggest taxing the wealthy members of the Enterprise so that Directorate stipends could be increased. All while half of the fucking Directorate sat on their asses and didn’t work at all, because so much could be automated.
    “Look, fella,” said Doc. “I’m not trying to be uppity. But I’ve got an eight-thirty sixteen blocks down, and that parade ain’t getting any thinner. Can we go around?”
    The cabbie looked at the meter and they both watched the fare click up. “Not really.”
    “Can I ask you a question?” said Doc.
    “Hell, you can do anything,” said the cabbie.
    “You don’t have to work. This cab could drive itself. So why do it?” Doc wasn’t trying to be rude. He wanted to know. Besides, Doc — always an entrepreneur and a fierce determiner of his own future — believed there was a little Enterprise logic in everyone.
    The cabbie opened the window and stuck out his arm. “Scintillating conversation,” he said.
    “But it could have an AI driver, and you could sit in your house and…”
    “Sometimes the dole ain’t enough,” said the cabbie. He hooked his arm over the headrest and looked Doc over from top to bottom. Doc was wearing jeans, boots, and a simple suitcoat, but it was all expensive. Doc’s shoulder-length blonde hair had a sheen that could only be maintained by nanos. “Not that you’d know that.”
    Doc wanted to debate, but it was pointless. The cabbie had already judged him, just like Directorate protesters always leapt to judge the well-off Enterprise every six years, in the weeks preceding Shift. He wanted to argue that he’d scraped his way up from the bottom, but he stopped when he remembered that he was talking to a man who’d taken a job that existed solely so that he could take it. If the cabbie died, AI would drive the cab the next day and the city would save money. It was a loop that existed only within itself.
    Doc fished a twenty-credit note from his pocket and pushed it toward the driver. The fare stood at eight-seventy. Doc told him to keep the change and announced his plans to walk the rest of the way. As he exited the cab, the driver gave him an angry look. Doc had meant the tip as a make-peace gesture, but of course the driver had taken it as condescension.
    Doc skirted the protesters, stuffing his annoyance low, figuring they were doing him a favor. Yes, the streets would be thick with assholes for a while, but Doc felt that there was no objective “good” or “bad” about anything. A self-made person understood that it wasn’t what happened to you in life that mattered, but what you did with those happenings. So yes, this all meant opportunity. The protestors wanted an end to decadence and inequality between the rich (who could afford the best upgrades) and the poor (who had no upgrades and accessed The Beam via old consoles and handhelds). Doc didn’t usually sell upgrades to the truly rich or truly poor; he sold mainly to the upper-middle, middle, and lower classes. This hullabaloo meant he had an opportunity to show the poorer of his customers that they could, indeed, afford upgrades on his easy payment plans. And for the upper tier of customers? Well, they’d buy fancier upgrades than