The Port of Los Angeles continued its "BAU" (business as usual), cranes groaning, containers clattering, as if the chaos the night before had never happened. But in one of the crane towers, tucked high above the yard, the illusion of normalcy had snapped.
Mike, the crane operator, sat at his console slurping down a steaming cup of Clarity-Brew coffee. To him, it tasted like a rich roast with a hint of hazelnut. In reality, it was a viscous plant-based sludge of rotting weeks old mushroom and various plant debris with the consistency and flavor of contaminated dirt water. The F8 Clarity Chip rewired his brain to experience bliss instead of rot. With cup in hand, he tore off a slab of insect protein bar, rubbery and plastic-like, but Clarity convinced him it was a culinarily perfect eggs benedict. He chewed greedily, smacking his lips, savoring the hollandaise sauce that was actually just bug mush, grateful for the illusion. An illusion and spell he wasn't even aware he was under. For the chipped, this was reality, and he'd never know otherwise.
The door creaked open. His supervisor stepped inside, lips clenched, eyes sharpening in on Mike. But his voice didn't come from his mouth. Mind-Link.
"Mike, there's someone important here who needs to speak with you."
Behind him stepped Agent Q. Clean F8 suit, an impressively hard body for his probable age, polished boots, cold eyes and a militaristic demeanor. A man that needed no introduction. The room seemed to shrink around him.
"Hello Mike," Q transmitted smoothly. "From this point forward within our conversation, you will refer to me as Sir."
Mike's oversized head glistened with sweat. He'd seen the wanted poster earlier, and knew he had fucked up. The face of the man who'd called himself Sean, whom he'd interfaced with the night before, projecting all around One-World. He gulped hard. "Yes, Sir. How can I help you?" His lips moved clumsily, but Mind-Link carried his words far more fluently than his trembling voice.
Q flicked a finger. The wanted poster reappeared in Mike's Minds-Eye.
"You've seen this man."
"Yes, Sir. I have."
"In fact, he was here with you. In this very room, last night."
Mike stammered aloud more successfully this time. "Y-yes, Sir, he was."
Q's eyes narrowed. "Did you know that moments after leaving, he murdered one of my colleagues in cold blood? Another highly valued member of the corporation, laid to waste by unchipped resistors."
Mike shook his head violently. "I swear, Sir, I didn't know. But… I do know his name was Sean, he was here, and then next thing you know, he's a wanted man."
The poster being projected in Mike and Q's Minds-Eye interface updated instantly. SEAN flashed in bold beneath Kevin's picture.
Q paced slowly, his gaze fixed on Mike. "Last night, you also gained an infraction. You spoke the name of a state…. From Old America. Florida I believe it was... Tell me why."
Mike's knees wobbled. "It wasn't me, Sir. I know that's a serious offense. He said it. I only repeated it."
"Why?" Q's tone was calm, yet dangerous.
"He… he told me his supervisor needed an urgent shipping manifest change. That container #1328 needed to go to F8-27A. Or Florida as he called it, Sir."
"That's bullshit," barked the Supervisor from behind. But Q held up a hand signalling "SILENCE".
"Clearly. Interesting." His voice dripped with mock amusement. "And what was inside that container?"
Mike hesitated. His lips cracked as he whispered, "Oranges, Sir. He said oranges."
Q's expression hardened. "Oranges. To 27A. A red flag anyone with half a brain would have caught." He leaned closer. "You know, Mike, you are a special kind of stupid. It's no wonder we keep low IQ people like you endlessly pushing buttons moving around shipping containers."
Q's thoughts sharpened as he commanded: Open Clarity. Freeze leg motor functions.
Mike's legs locked with a bone-stopping jolt. He drooled, unable to move, sweat streaking down his temples. "Sir, I told you everything I know," his Mind-Link pleaded.
"And yet, despite your cooperation, you violated F8 law. Bring in 'The Rig.'"
The door opened again. A Vision Officer wheeled in a surgical IV stand, twin fluid bags swaying. One filled with murky brown jelly, the other water. The officer unsheathed two needles, one for each arm.
Mike's physical screams failed to crack the hold the motor function freeze had on his body. "No, no, please!" he Mind-Linked in desperation.
"Freeze his mouth," Q ordered. Mike's lips locked mid-cry, the sound dying further in his throat. Only his eyes bulged wide with fear and desperation.
Q linked to Agent C. "Container 1328's headed to 27A. It logged in Silver City three hours ago. Our instincts to dispatch the drones there were correct. Plan a tactical intercept at San Antonio."
"Understood," came the reply from Agent C. "If the creature's inside, consider it captured. Mr. Xang will be pleased."
Q severed the connection and turned back to Mike. "Now… Time for your new diet."
The Vision Officer plunged both IVs into Mike's arms. Jellified insect protein and water seeped deep into his veins. His eyes reddened, his body quivering as much as it could physically manage.
Q rapped his large hands over Mike's skull from the front of his face. "You'll stand here until he's caught. Days, weeks, months. Motionless. Sleeping in place, defecating in place, pissing and shitting yourself. As you go through this, it's important to remember, this is all your fault." He quickly turned his gaze to Daniel, the supervisor. "And you… You'll mop up every drop, every single morning until the situation resolves. Send Mike's wife a message on Clarity and let her know that he's working overtime for the corporation until further notice. Think of this as… character building."
Daniel paled, bile rising in his throat.
Outside, the port continued it's normal hum of life, moving around various human essentials, as many other unchipped remained in hiding within it's vicinity. Inside, F8 had proven once again: mercy was a relic of the past, and no single person was precious beyond their vision of control.