A bell tinkled. The woman behind the counter looked up and nodded as she restocked a shelf of Twinkies. Her hair was curly and grey. The store looked like it hadn’t changed in thirty years. Over the counter, a television was on. It was set to a documentary about penguins, itself clearly out of date. A huddled mass of penguins filled the television screen, heads down against a gale of ice and snow. Jones glanced at the shimmering blacktop outside. He liked the clerk’s sense of humor.
Jones spotted a rack of thumb drives attached to key rings on a countertop. As he mulled over his storage options, a thick, muscular woman approached the counter. She dropped two bags of gummy bears next to the register. Jones glanced over. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle. He’d forgotten that there were cyborgs in the store.
There were just the two of them, a man and a woman. Neither of them had exoskeletons like Tasty’s, but both had prominent headgear with large lenses and antennas. Like Tasty, they were dressed in all black. The woman had a leather jacket, while the man had on a leather vest. On his bare bicep, Jones saw a tattoo of an armadillo. Unable to control himself, Jones scanned the ceiling, looking for indications that Beyond Melinda might be present. He had no idea how he would tell. The cyborgs ignored him.
“Can I buy this?” asked the woman, gesturing at the candy.
“I’d like nothing more,” drawled the clerk. She didn’t move towards the register.
“I mean, are you taking payments.”
“I’m not taking cash,” the clerk said. “Visa and Amazon only.”
The cyborg held out a bill to the clerk. “You have to take cash,” she insisted. “It’s the law.”
The clerk folded her arms. “Amazon sent me a very nice letter last week, explaining that since they have cooperated in firing their CEO they are one hundred percent confident in their participation in the Next Economy, and they’re happy to keep accepting all transactions throughout the transition. When the Federal government sends me a letter making the same guarantees about cash, I’ll consider it.”
Startled, the two cyborgs looked at each other. Their eyes glazed over. After a moment, the man grunted. “That was fast,” he said. “Oracle got rid of their CEO too. Also Pfizer. The CEO of Virtual Vegas refused to step down despite shareholder pressure and now she hasn’t been seen in a week. The COO and the board tried to placate shareholders with a televised mass resignation, but the markets are not impressed.”
“Virtual Vegas was always overhyped,” scoffed the woman. “Do you have a Visa?” He shook his head. She clicked her tongue. “Ralston might.”
The clerk walked them through slitted eyes as they stepped away from the counter. The man’s leather jacket brushed up against Jones’s arm. Despite the blazing sun outdoors, it was cool to the touch. Jones tensed his muscles, willing himself not to cringe. Hands shaking, Jones approached the register.
“I don’t have a credit card either,” he explained. “Can we make a trade?”
The clerk raised one eyebrow. “I’m open to it. What do you have?”
Jones looked down at his pants. They were torn and scuffed from his fall in the parking lot. His shoes were in even worse shape. He needed his shirt. He looked up and saw that the clerk was making the same calculations.
“I can bring you something later,” he suggested. The clerk chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment, then nodded, now apathetic.
“You look good for it.”
Overhearing this, the cyborgs doubled back towards the counter. “We can barter too,” the woman said. Without looking at them, the clerk turned away.
“Sorry,” she said, her back towards them. “No barter.”
“But you just said he could do barter,” snapped the man. The clerk didn’t turn around.
“He’s going to do an IOU,” she said. “He looks good for it. You don’t.”
The man clenched his fists for a second, then, at a glance from her partner, relaxed. They turned and walked out. As they left, the woman pushed over a rack of potato chips. The bags scattered across the threshold. The clerk turned around and handed Jones a pen.
“Worthless cyborgs,” she said. “Always causing some kind of problem. This town has too many robots as it is.” She picked up a television remote and changed the channel. Two Bloomberg News anchors beamed out from the screen.
“Thank god for Margo and Jeff,” she said, running her hands through her hair. “Good old fashioned common sense.”
Jones thought about pointing out that Margo and Jeff were obviously robots, but decided against it. He needed the USB stick. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem,” grunted the clerk, not taking her eyes off the screen. Jeff was reporting.
“Shares in Virtual Vegas Holding Company sank in after-market trading yesterday when the corporation dropped arson charges against Fran Kowalski, after admitting that it did not have enough evidence or jurisdiction to prosecute her. Virtual Vegas continues to investigate the recent fire at its subsidiary, Whiskey Pete’s Vintage Casino. The Governor of Nevada has promised his full co-operation with the inquiry. Anyone with information are politely requested to send their leads to Virtual Vegas’ Customer Service department.”
“Just my opinion, but attacking a corporation's capital investments is a low blow," Margo chimed in. “Definitely not a way to promote stability during these uncertain times.”
“Can't argue with that! Speaking of stability, Margo, here’s a report from the United States Geological Survey: The Big One is coming, but not yet.” Jeff chuckled.
“I’m more interested in what Exxon has to say about that!” laughed Margo. “Didn’t government scientists predict a so-called economic collapse?”
“That was government economists,” chided Jeff. “But you’re right, I haven’t seen any economic collapse yet.”
“So there you go! The economy is fine, but the Big One could blow up the earth at any moment. Folks, make sure you check expiry dates in your bug-out bags.” The clerk, nodding her head knowingly, laughed along with Margo and Jeff.
Jones picked his way through fallen bags of potato chips as Margo and Jeff chattered on behind him. On the way back to the motel, he plugged his thumb drive into the poorly modded track console. The green lights on the side glowed as the console unloaded data onto the stick. Jones was relieved. As far as hacking went, this round had been pretty easy.