UbiquiCity

Real Life Action Hero

by T. Reynolds

The camera zoomed in on a tanned and wrinkle-plagued woman, speaking in a thick sprawl dialect, full of anger, giving an interview. She paused as a crowd marched by chanting soundbite-messages: "We are people! We deserve choices, not just sustainability!" When the crowd passed out of immediate earshot the old woman resumed her speech. "When I was in my twenties, before the corporate charter cities, we struggled against the man, against the environment, against the greed, and against the killers that hunted everyone―but we lived. We laughed, we played, and we danced. We made our own decisions. Now we live in these fabricated corporate boxes they call homes, and we eat food from the same printers that spit out our homes! That’s not living―that’s existing. Why are people being forced to live a mere existence? Even the squatter crawlers have more of a life!"

As the lady spoke the interviewer tracked her with a multi-camdrone, controlling it with minute movements of his fingers. The area was your typical sprawl street, mostly large buildings surrounded by solar pavement. The crowd of marchers were your typical people living on the edge, led by scrumblies seeking to squash their boredom. As the zoom pulled out for a long establishing shot of the protesters it focused on the image of a thin feminine-faced male reporter with shoulder-length red hair. He wore simple pants and a t-shirt, a look that showed he cared little about fash, or lived in a recycling store. The reporter asked his last question: Our UbiFree Network viewers want to know, why you don’t seek that life in a squatter’s town or outside the city?

The lady looked at the reporter. "Success is not the same as opportunity, or enrichment. The corporate AIs say you are good for this or that. We feed you and we house you. The more successful you are, the better the homes and the food. But you are still parts of the AIs’ plans. What if I want to do something that doesn’t match the corporate plans? I can’t do that if I don’t want to live in a squatter town. I want to live in a nice house, a real house, not a corporate fabstack where I can’t even hang a picture on the wall because it blocks ad views! I want fresh food, cooked from natural ingredients; from scratch, not printed out of protein paste. I want to be me, not corporate recompost!"

A hand gestured and the hovering camera turned back to the skinny interviewer. This is Isaac LaQuinn for UbiFree Network, signing off at the Yellow Center Housing Complex in Sunridge.

Isaac thanked the lady as he brought down the camdrone with its white, blue and pink extruded carbon fibers. The buzz of the drone got louder as it touched the ground to download its footage and prepare for travel. With its single center blades locked and lens capped, the arms snapped into place to create a carrying case. Isaac made his way to a neighborhood RemoleCafé™ to begin editing the video he’d shot. These synthetic coffee cafés are famously found around business centers in every city; they attract a variety of clientele from corporate executives and contractors to gigsters and students. As he waited for his simple black coffee to arrive in its recycled paper cup, he shocked a few people by pulling out a late 21st-century tablet, and booted it.

Isaac knew people saw him as a dissenter or even a scrumblie for his use of dated equipment instead of AR gear, but for him this was a matter of art, not culture. AR environments worked well for most people; most of them even had simple video editing UIs, but his old tech gave him a godlike UI. He controlled every frame of the composition, multiple layers of video, sound, and backgrounds, all his to command. He was creating works of art, not random street pictures. It was this idea that had drawn him to the old woman’s protest. The need to be in control of your choices, instead of being funneled by some computer's algorithmic determination. This was the story he would create and share; more than mere news―this was his art.

In a few hours his coffee fund was absorbed and his composition finished. He had to upload it quickly before he got kicked out of the shop for loitering. Shortly thereafter, subscribers began responding. Credits began to roll in, building up his dinner fund. He knew his audience well. Some comments called his art repetitive, others made their point more explicitly, saying things like The old whore should fuck off to the slums!

This material wasn’t going to go megademic; something had to break on the story, some sort of action to give back enough energy for his troubles. But it did raise his Rep and earned him enough creds for the next few days. Now, with the composition doing its job, it was time for Isaac to begin looking for a new story. The comments were right, in a way: he needed action, something to get more viewers. He checked the charge on his archeo-puter and started looking for a fresh lead.

***

Fuck! For crying out loud! Ohreno yelled at the display in his Muni class AR contact lenses. His accounts were getting low as his grant money disappeared. He needed 10,000 more credits to complete the academy course and enter the Municipal Police Force. If he couldn’t find the money he would be stuck on the Sunridge corners with all the other sustainable-livings. Upward mobility seemed like no more than a theory.

Plotting his next move, he paced around his one-room efficiency apartment, its minimal furniture and ad-heavy walls signifying his relative unimportance. A floating display flashed a sky-blue alarm as its soft automated voice spoke to him: "Senior Crime Scene Imaging class begins in one hour. Time to go, Ohreno!"

Ohreno called up his aug-butler, who appeared waiting by his side. Banks, order me a 1:30 northbound tube ticket from Central Tube to the Municipal Police Academy, he said. He shaved and brushed his teeth as his public app suite loaded up. Did you change my toothbrush?

Banks, who was linked to all Ohreno's home systems, spoke in his slightly-stilted way. Remember sir, your first molar is experiencing flaking from a developing cavity. I ordered a toothbrush that releases a temporary sealing resin and the domobot delivered it today. Would you like me to schedule a dental appointment?

He was trying to save credits, not spend them. No thanks, Banks. Remind me in a week.

Academy dermals on, Ohreno combed his buzzed black hair and selected a playlist for the ride. Ready to go, he picked up his backpack and headed for his bicycle.

The quick bike ride to the Central Station always gave Ohreno a good warm-up before his afternoon classes. He followed his normal route through the noisy desperate streets of Sunridge. He lived here because he had no choice; he needed to save up and his grants only covered so much. On corner after corner as he rode by, people could be seen hustling for the fast cred or hovering like ravens, waiting to pick on the dead for deals. Those not hustling were wrapped in AR avatars and holograms, hoping to be recognized as something more than themselves.

Ohreno had long ago realized that the fame game wasn’t going to give him true security, and he had decided instead to become security. Now he was near the end of his Municipal Police Academy training. With his commission he would work for a few years gaining solid Rep, and then leverage it for a corporate security job. Not one of those merc jobs; those were for dead-end killers. Just something to pay the bills in Paradi―or maybe even The Meadows.

Distracted by his thoughts, he found pedaling up the ridge to the Paradi bike trail a bit hard today. The Paradi Development Company had created the route at the height of a bike craze several years back. It ran from the ridge all the way to the Central Tube Station. One got to the tip of Sunridge, then biked downhill to the tube. The route wasn’t just a downhill breeze, it was an escape from the sensory overload of the city. Once you entered the shopping district of Paradi, trees lined the street, creating real shade. The shops with their long glass windows designed for viewing on the go were spaced at intervals where bikers might stop. The advertisements were casual, trendy. The restaurants and bars―once high class establishments―were now middle class hangouts. But it was still a fashionable place to get repairs or shop for high-end bikes and paraphernalia you couldn’t get from garage printers. Ohreno even caught himself occasionally stopping for a minute to windowshop. Yeah, this was his type of place. He took dates here when he could afford it. One day he would live in a tower on the street, maybe above his favorite bar.

He arrived at Central Station just as his display announced that he was running behind. Unlike the peaceful tree-lined ride of the bike route, Central Station was a corporate dreamland. With its floor-to-ceiling bulletproof smartglass, the place was full of mind-numbingly colorful projected ads, both real and virtual. Some areas were complete virtual realities―corporate dreams designed to catch the eyes of tourists. Like all locals he maneuvered quickly through the glass station to get to his objective. This wasn’t a tourist trap for him, just the means to get to the field training grounds. Getting to the elevator he took it to the red level to await the northbound tube out of the city.

***

It was a dark night, darkened even further by shadows. The flashing lights were like dying stars circling the black hole at the center of the Milky Way. This time though, the light came from 3D scanners in the hands of crime scene investigators who were circling a mangled body. That very light was blocking out Isaac’s main cameras, forcing the smart sensors to switch over to infrared. He cursed under his breath; the images were really pretty useless from here. Then the IR cameras picked out a lone figure outside the starfield, handling equipment for the others, who seemed to be sneaking a few unapproved shots. That would be his source. He highlighted the target on his screen and set the drone to tracking mode, then went for coffee.

Drinking the warm beverage, Isaac watched the drone dutifully track its target for several hours. The first clear shot was of a young man wearing Muni Academy dermals. Perfect: a rat in training. If Isaac could get to him early, this guy might be a great source within the Muni. The drone tracked the team to Central Branch. The cadet spent so long inside, the drone needed to roost on a nearby rent-a-charger. Finally he exited HQ and got on a bike. A bike, thought Isaac, who the fuck rides bikes these days? As the drone followed the pedaling target through Sunridge to a cheap but quiet apartment complex, Isaac started tracing his datawake. Hello, Ohreno Schmitt.

The next morning Isaac sent his drone to watch Schmitt’s apartment and bike, and called for a green Derova taxi to whisk him to the Marshals Apartments in Sunridge. The bubble-like autocab had four seats that swiveled to facilitate talking. Only a small emergency console remained as a sign of the days of the oil wars. Over the monitored auto-roads the trip was fast and stress-free, if you could ignore the continual stream of advertisements on all sides and even on the ceiling of the cab. On the way, Isaac ordered his drone to go higher for a wide-angle establishing shot of the area, setting up for the first encounter.

At about 9 a.m. the drone’s cameras caught the tall, muscular, black-haired guy exiting the apartment and carrying his bike. Isaac called out and waved, Ohreno Schmitt, over here! Right over here! The drone's cameras kept pace with Ohreno as he stopped, turned, and walked toward their operator.

Um, yea, who are you? What do you want? Ohreno asked. He was already scanning the hovering panels of the stranger's 'face.

Isaac made a few subtle hand gestures to keep the cameras zoomed in on a steady shot of the cadet, then pulled out his press badge and held it up. The NIN of the badge was linked to his public profile. In Ohreno's AR a green dot appeared at the bottom of the profile panel, authenticating the reporter for Ohreno’s system. I’m Isaac LaQuin, freelance reporter for UbiFree Network. I saw you at a crime scene last night, I wonder if we can talk?

Ohreno pulled up the police ARL and shifted his stance, taking his time as he checked out the man’s credentials. He was trying to decide whether or not he should talk to the press. He wasn’t an officer yet so there weren’t any protocols standing in his way, and he knew that some reporters paid their sources handsomely. Might it be possible to score some credits off this guy? If so, maybe he could take Illora out, or get that new bike seat. If the pay was good enough, he might even be able to get that warrant he’d been unable to afford, the keystone of his thesis report. He responded callously: What are you offering?

Expecting this, Isaac flashed a businessman’s smile. Typically, if you go on the record, UbiFree Network pays one hour of your salary per hour of the interview. If off-record, I pay half of my subscriptions earnings from the interview. But in this special case, I'm willing to do both.

By the time Isaac had finished stating his offer, Ohreno’s AR background check was returning a detailed profile. Isaac LaQuinn had last violated a city code before he entered adulthood, so his police record was clean. He had done a few police beat stories with Muni and his reputation there was clean too. Critical of city council decisions on spending and appropriations; not surprising. Nothing to red flag an interview. The Rep scores on Isaac’s videos indicated a middling success trying to level up his game. If he was any good, a popular story might make them both some creds.

Ohreno shut off the police layer and looked LaQuinn in the eye. I accept that offer. I have the day off, he said.

Great. I’ll let you know when I’m starting the clock, Isaac replied.

Isaac used his wristwatch―old-fashioned, Ohreno noted―to summon a Sunridge taxi. As the reporter waited for the cab to arrive, Ohreno went inside to ditch the bike and grab his police kit. When he came back the two men sat for a minute in silence, each in his own private world. Isaac was keeping his eye on the street, occasionally peeking at his wrist rig and monitoring his drone, while Ohreno pulled up a few ARLs and fired up some apps. One app tracked the taxi map. To another he began to feed the news that he was about to be interviewed, and by whom. This would build anticipation among his influential friends and provide a digital trail, should anything go sideways.

When the dull orange beat-up Sunridge taxi arrived the two men climbed into the passenger compartment, trying to ignore the stains and smells. "Enjoy new 'SweetMemories' flavored NutriSnax™ today, the dashboard told them, You deserve it!" Neither man paid any attention to the ads; they sat in the silence of their own virtual domains. The autocab took them north through the Bosing squatter towns into the Kaishi industrial area, then westward under the freeway and into Cerillis. This area was dominated by the massive twisted glass towers of Ashvin, one of the original stakeholder companies of Ubi City.

The taxi came to a stop at the previous night’s crime scene, causing the pair to finally share the world together. They got out and stood at an intersection of four freight routes. These roads weren’t used very often by anything other than the occasional large cargobot. Because these bots are too heavy for the solar roads, the streets here were of orange terracotta-reinforced cerament.

Ohreno’s lenses picked up redlines surrounding the area. Using his police kit to silence the alarms and disable the virtual tape placed there by the investigators, the two men looked at the bloodstained ground. Here near the corporate headquarters of Ashvin, the real-world streets were clean of all but the blood. Rodents and strays were kept at bay by the snatch and grab bots one rarely saw in Sunridge. Isaac asked Ohreno to wait just one more minute while he got the drone overhead and the cameras configured. Finally he raised a finger and pointed silently at his wristwatch before taking a position beside Ohreno.

Smiling for the cameras, Isaac began speaking in his on-air voice. This is Isaac LaQuinn, coming to you with a breaking news report. Late last night, UbiFree Network got infrared video of a Municipal Police investigation taking place under the shadows of Ashvin Tower. He gestured in the air at the spot where he had programmed the inset shot to be positioned. "As you can see here, the IR video could barely capture the scene, as the police lights blocked nearly everything from view. What we can see, however, is a badly mangled body. To add some depth to this story I have invited Ohreno Schmitt, a senior cadet from the Municipal Police Academy who was present at the scene, to give us his view of the incident."

After the introduction, Isaac turned to face Ohreno and quickly asked three questions: Cadet Schmitt, can you tell us more about yourself, why you were here last night, and what you saw?

Ohreno felt a moment of stage fright grip his body, but as the display in his lenses began scrolling his personal notes from the previous night, he cleared his throat and began to speak. Well, I’m a student, currently undergoing advanced training in criminal investigation at the MPA. Since I’m taking field classes in senior crime photography and optics, I am sometimes called in to work with CSI teams on night duty. In this case, I was brought in to help with photography. He glanced over to the spot where the body had been found, then turned back to face LaQuinn’s camdrone.

The report came in to the Municipal Police Department at twenty-two hundred hours, he said. We discovered a mangled body that was determined to be a little over 24 hours cold. It was a female, dressed in some sort of armored suit. Based on the nature of the damage to both body and suit, it seems as though a corporate cleaner bot malfunctioned, dropping her during its disposal process –

Isaac interrupted him, Do you know any more about whatever this person had been doing?

I cannot comment on any suspected details due to corporate security and privacy laws, Ohreno weakly stated. Given the body armor and location near the corporate center, people can draw their own conclusions. That’s all I can say.

Prodding his target, Isaac asked, Do you have any clear pictures of the body that we can see? It will be a better report if you do. Our viewers would truly appreciate it.

Ohreno shot Isaac an angry look. How did he know? The reporter’s camdrone must have tracked his work last night as he snuck his shots in. Damn, thought Ohreno, this guy is trying to blackmail me on the air! But he had to admit LaQuinn was right: more information would definitely add creds to the online response. Meanwhile Isaac was looking at him intently, goading him on without saying a word.

He thought of the credits and bit the bullet. I do. Just a moment and I will upload them to your node. He gestured with his fingers and spoke a subvocal command to access his personal account, retrieving the files and sliding them to Ohreno’s cam icon in his AR display. As you can see here, the body was badly mangled and we believe her to be a merc, possibly a Black Glove operative, he finally spat out. He shook his head subtly, shocked by his own candor, and quickly covered up by running his hand through his short hair. The money better come through with this reveal, he thought.

Sensing the story breaking, Isaac quickly asked, Black Glove you say, and who are these people?

From deep within Ohreno’s family consciousness he remembered a saying: In for a penny, in for a pound. He took a breath and continued. The Black Glove is a merc org, a criminal organization for hire, known for doing high-tech B and Es. Break-in and entry, he explained.

Isaac curled the index finger of his left hand, commanding the drone to come in for a close-up of himself for the closing shot. You heard it here first, viewers. In summary, we have a criminal gang, operating with impunity right under the nose of corporate monoliths like Ashvin, who may be enforcing their corporate law…―dramatic pause― With corporate murder. That’s it for now on this breaking story. More news as it develops. This has been Isaac LaQuin, for UbiFree Network. He flexed his hand open and the drone zoomed back into the air.

Processing what he’d just heard, Ohreno opened up on Isaac, What the fuck was that last bit! You just called out the Muni, the Black Glove, and Ashvin Corporation―all in one shot. Do you want to get me fired, or even killed? Isaac remained calm, fiddling with his wrist device. He seemed to be calling another cab. Pointing his finger at Isaac, Ohreno continued shouting: Shit, you’re insane, man! No one calls out one of these groups―let alone all of them at once!

Isaac let Ohreno finish venting before he spoke. Check my site and tell me what you think.

Ohreno did as suggested. Despite the feeling of a death sentence over his head, what he saw was over a day's salary, the numbers climbing quickly and still climbing. Not as much as he needed for a warrant, but definitely enough to go out on a nice date at a lux club.

Isaac smiled and nodded. "This is only raw footage you gave us, and its owners can’t be substantiated. But listen: my viewers love conspiracies, police dramas, and stories about the power of company fathers. Thanks to you, we got the whole trio. If this story gets the traction I think it will, you’ll be very happy, I promise. Better yet, you’ll make some deep creds. I’ll edit this together to get to the true art of the story. A pair of small autocabs could be seen entering the driveway to the south. I’ve already called two taxis to get us home, he added. You can thank me later."

***

Back in Devora, Isaac got out of the taxi and headed to his apartment in the Egg. The apartment door responded to his palm and let him pass. Once inside he breathed a sigh of relief. Ohreno was an exhausting man.

The place wasn’t big, just a large living room with a small bed, and a bathroom. A small window through which the noise of the streets below was often annoyingly audible. The living space held a tiny kitchen area, a rest spot and his work area. He walked through the living room to the fridge and grabbed an individual winebox, then changed into some comfortable workout clothes and settled in for work, winebox in hand, booting up his powerful workstation. First came tons of emails from UbiFree, full of questions about the story. This was followed by fanmail and hate messages, to which he gave minimal responses. With his chores finally done he began to get to work, editing the rough film from last night with the Ohreno interview.

He decided to search for an IR editing app that might be able to clean up the original footage. He found one he thought would work, but it would wipe out a dinner budget. He shrugged to himself, ordered it, and took a few minutes to download and install it. The UI was pretty easy to use for anyone familiar with layered editing and filtering techniques, and after a while he started to get some images of the body that were clear enough to be used in the edited version. He zoomed in for a dramatic detail shot and made a surprising discovery: the body was missing its left hand. Isaac got curious. He sampled the color scale from the right-hand glove, loaded all the night footage into RAM and set up a color search. This would take a while.

After an hour of hard work the machine started to spit out time references. He skimmed through them, hoping to find the missing hand. Nearly all of the footage was of the body and the investigation itself. But as the drone peeled away to track Ohreno it caught an extreme long shot of a matching blob. Isolating that footage, Isaac went to work on cleaning up the image. Sure enough it seemed to be a glove, maybe a whole hand. He then set up a program to geolocate it from its proximity to known surrounding architectural features. A few minutes more and bingo: he had found the missing glove.

Isaac left the Egg complex with his shades on, his drone in carrying mode in his right hand and his old tablet in his backpack. He made it to the station just before the Ashvin express arrived. Once onboard he spent the ride trying to contemplate, but was continually disturbed by the woman in the seat in front of him who flung her arms wildly around as she played some intense AR game that only she could see.

The tram ride was an express to Ashvin, making a few stops in the housing area to pick up cleanroom workers before it took a straight shot to the imposing and iconic towers. Isaac got off with everyone else, keeping his head down, and then quickly doubled back to the scene of the crime. Once there he deployed the drone. It maneuvered in the air, flashing a dim light to guide him to his geolocated destination. After a few minutes of walking down the clean abandoned alleys of the Ashvin complex he reached the spot.

There, on top of several neatly stacked boxes and out of reach of the floor-level cleaning bots, sat the mangled and gloved hand. Isaac looked around and steadied himself, pulling out a clean plastic bag and a can of dermaseal. After spraying his hands to create a skintight hypoallergenic layer, he approached the glove and picked it up carefully. It seemed to have a band on its ring finger. He peeled the glove off the grisly hand to reveal a beautiful gold ring, one diamond and two sapphires neatly mounted in a triangular pattern. He removed the ring and put the other items in the plastic bag.

The trip back was uneventful. The returning migrant workers were too focused on getting home to mess with anyone, and half of them actually slept. It was getting late in the day.

Arriving back at the Egg, Isaac kicked off his shoes and slid the new footage to his table CPU for editing. He had a few more establishing shots now, as the drone moved from the original crime scene to the glove and zoomed in. He edited out the prep work but kept the discovery of the ring. He couldn’t help but include a dramatically lit high-angle shot of his own hand, holding it between his fingers.

He pulled the ring out of his pocket and looked at it closely. On its interior surface, an inscription could faintly be seen. He copied the words down into an old-fashioned notebook which he stashed in a desk drawer, then turned his attention back to his video editing.

At last the work was done. After thinking about it a bit, he had ended the segment with an animated message that crawled in a slow marquee across the bottom of the screen:

Who does the ring belong to?

Isaac leaned back and smiled at his art. So far he had discovered a concealed crime, interviewed a Muni cadet to verify it, and now he might even be able to identify the body itself. All totaled he had ended up with nearly 10 minutes of fantastic video. Much more and there might even be a documentary to get out of it. He posted his work and waited for the creds to roll in.

Although he felt exhausted and probably looked like hell, he had done pretty well for a day’s work. He decided he deserved a snack, and headed into the kitchen to activate his small food printer. He hated the printer, actually, but he had nothing else in the apartment to eat at the moment. That protester was right, he thought as the printer spit out his unimaginative meal layer by layer: choice matters.

He polished off a plate of bland Nutri-cookies and was drinking his dessert from a red winebox when his computer alerted him with an unknown caller chime. Crap, not a visual call, he thought. He didn’t feel like it. He switched to text-only mode before answering.

The display filled with words, My name is Morgan. Is this Isaac LaQuinn, the reporter doing the story on the body found at Ashvin?

Isaac spoke succinctly as his computer converted his speech to text on the screen. Yes I am. Did you enjoy it? Do you have something to contribute?

Morgan responded quickly: Well, I found it interesting, and yes I do. But I want the ring in exchange for the information.

Isaac considered this. It’s a very nice ring, he said. You'd better have something good to say. What is it?

I’ll only tell you in person, after I have the ring. But I will connect some of the dots for your story, and I am willing to pay you 100,000 credits, Morgan finished.

He thought for a moment before responding: Okay. Where do you want to meet?

Three Blind Mice, 18:00 hrs.

A trash fash bar in Cerillis. Fine, I'll see you there.

After the conversation faded from the screen, Isaac took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before sending out another message. He hated doing this, but he needed real muscle this time, just in case. Ohreno―It’s Isaac. I need your help again.

Long pause. Finally Ohreno replied: You are kidding.

Isaac shook his head, knowing he deserved it. No, not kidding. I need help with a follow-up to the story. It will bring you more creds. And the Muni might be interested in what I found. This will help you out with them too.

Stop playing. Just give me the facts. Ohreno seemed to be switching into Muni mode. Couldn’t blame him.

Deciding to lay it on the table, Isaac answered: Fact 1: Found the gloved hand of your victim. Fact 2: It had an engagement ring on it. Fact 3: A woman named Morgan contacted me and she wants the ring. Fact 4: We’re meeting in 2 hrs at Three Blind Mice. Fact 5: I need you as backup. Fact 6: You get the hand for Muni to ID the body.

No response.

Fact 7: I’ll give you 40,000 creds.

That got Ohreno’s attention. I’m supposed to protect you from the Black Glove, and in return I get a body part and 40k creds?

Basically, yes, Isaac said. Come get a drink and I’ll give you a hand!

I’ll be there were the last words he saw before he got ready to go to the bar.

***

Isaac was the first of the three to arrive at the Three Blind Mice. He used to come here back when it was Amor Verdadero but old José couldn’t turn a profit on the place. He had heard the establishment was doing better under its new management―not so new anymore―but he just couldn’t bring himself to betray José until now. Walking into the joint, he saw that much of Amor Verdadero was still around. The more things change,