Episode 1 - The Beam

ever if they thought their rights were being threatened. They’d consume out of fear. They’d consume to justify their previous consumption. And they’d consume to raise their middle fingers — to show the protestors that they intended to do whatever the fuck they wanted.
    Doc cocked his arm and the nanobot-generated tattoo reappeared on his wrist, seconds ticking off near where his forearm began to thicken. He had fifteen minutes. And there wasn’t a cab — hover, wheeled, or pedi; human- or AI-driven — to be seen. The rails would take him too far out of his way. He’d have to run, and he was going to be late.
    Doc hoofed it toward Xenia Labs, referring to his wrist every few minutes like a compulsion. Twelve blocks left. Eight blocks. By the time he had five blocks remaining, his time was up and he was sweaty as hell. He sold an upgrade that short-circuited perspiration and cooled the user via a rather toxic coolant circulated and (hopefully) contained by nanos, but Doc didn’t have it. Now, approaching Xenia, he wished he did, despite the occasional disastrous side-effect. He was going to look and smell disgusting. Then, because he decided he might as well embarrass himself fully, Doc tapped his ear and rattled off the voice message to Nicolai that he kept forgetting to send. Nicolai had been bugging him for days. Doc let him know that his new upgrade was in and that he could stop harassing Doc about it and come pick it up. With Doc running, Nicolai would get the message and hear his dealer panting. Not exactly the professional image Doc hoped to convey, but what the hell.
    He kept running, his boots smacking pavement. He arrived at Xenia ten minutes late, rushed into a bathroom, and splashed cold water on his hot face. The bathroom didn’t have a groomer, so he ran his fingers through his blonde mane. His suitcoat was dark. Hopefully it would hide his sweat-stained pits. He took a final look in the mirror, trying to feather his hair away from the sides of his face where he refused to stop sweating. He failed. Doc’s hair stayed plastered to his skin like a dark blond halo.
    That done, he crossed the hall to Xenia’s suite and trotted up to the receptionist. The girl behind the desk had three different clips on her ears. Doc wondered if she ever hit the wrong one and ended up rattling off her hilarious drunken stories to her boss instead of her girlfriend by mistake.
    “Hey, sweetheart,” said Doc. “My name is Thomas — although people call me Doc — and I’m here to see…”
    “Oh, yes!” the girl said brightly. “You’re the salesman. You’re early. Mr. Killian is in with a distributor. I apologize that he’s a little behind. He’s been tied up with a bunch of loose ends. The other day, some protestors beat in the door of our warehouse and disturbed a swarm of nanos that had been developed for police use. It was almost a disaster. You wouldn’t believe the mess, but luckily nobody was hurt, and now…”
    Doc held up a hand. “Hang on a second, darlin’. I’m here to see Mr. Nero.” Every other Friday, Doc stopped by to see Nero for more stock and to see what was new, if anything. Nero was a prick of immeasurable proportions and despised even the slightest delay, but he also cut Doc a tremendous wholesale deal since Doc moved so many upgrades. When Nero wasn’t being pricky (which was rare), he sometimes told Doc that none of the other independent salesmen could sell to the wide spectrum that Doc did. Most of the reps who sold Beam-enabled personal upgrades catered to the low or high end of the market, but Doc could sell to both and everyone in between. Doc sold rudimentary tablets and handhelds to people below the line, but also sold memory and creativity enhancers to those near the top of the food chain. He didn’t discriminate where profit was concerned
    The usual desk jockey — an uppity little cocksucker named Templeton — knew Doc and would have rebuked him for his lateness. But Templeton wasn’t here, and his replacement had no clue.
    “Oh, Mr. Nero isn’t here,” said the girl. “He’s dealing with the police. The swarm, like I said. You’ll be meeting with Mr. Killian. Have a seat over there.” She pointed to a chair in the waiting area, near a plant.
    Doc’s heartbeat was still coming down from his run, so he forced himself to breathe slowly and sit. While he waited, he tried to fan his armpits and cool off. He wasn’t late after all. This Mr. Killian