Page 82 - Tales Apocalyptic and Dystopian

Cannon’s Last Case

managed to avoid getting one or have illegally disabled it; that’s your
business—, a retinal scan and a code one can change if it has been
compromised. Thus the Complex—the ultimate and absolutely
reliable source for everything—has this one interactive aspect, the Me
Museum, in which the individual’s right to manage the presentation
of self is tied to confidence in the entire system.”
“And?” Spike prompted, when it became obvious she was having
difficulty choosing words.
“Three weeks ago I received something that should no longer exist:
an anonymous hand-written note left under my door threatening to
erase my presence in the Me Museum, beginning with my personal
add-ons, unless I left a certain quantity of cash at a location—I
believe it is called a ‘drop’—also specified. I considered it a silly joke
from some friend or colleague and disregarded it.”
“Let me see the note.”
“I didn’t save it. I wouldn’t have given the prankster the
satisfaction of knowing I’d risen to the bait by showing it to other
people. But a week later my best friend told me she had gone to see if
there were anything new in my exhibit, and found that a portion of it
was deleted, replaced by this text: ‘Gone and irretrievable. Follow
directions.’ I quickly went to see myself—I mean my exhibit—and it
was true. Not merely was my latest version damaged but I was unable
to call back any prior versions. Someone has violated the integrity of
the Complex and I am the victim. I need help.”
“Why not go to the authorities, whomever or whatever they are?
Isn’t everything supposed to be out in the open now? Couldn’t
someone discover where and when this break-and-enter occurred?”
She shook her head.
“Too many questions, Spike! You don’t understand what it means
to my generation to have one’s faith in the Complex shaken this way.
I don’t want to be subject to the kind of remorseless investigation
reporting this incident would trigger: I’ll bet you have no desire to be
singled out for scrutiny.”
“But I might have something to hide, or believe I did. According
to your descriptions of contemporary culture, you shouldn’t.”
As Mary Chase rounded the end of a row, the dim midday sunlight
illuminating her face was eclipsed, preventing Cannon from getting a
clear view of her features.

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