“Can’t I just send you another complaint?”
“You can.”
“Would that work?”
“No.”
“Why not?” asked Jake.
“You signed up to the Circuit like everyone else did,” replied Job sternly. “So, you agreed to it.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Ok, so technically you didn’t sign up, but your grandfather did.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Everything,” scoffed Job. “Did he read the terms and conditions?”
“Does anyone!?” laughed Dinah.
Brother Job raised a hand and projected a wall of text into the sky above them in large-sized font. It was titled ‘Circuit Terms and Conditions’. He scrolled through the virtual pages before stopping on page ninety-four.
“Ah, here it is.”
“Here’s what?”
“The small print. ‘By agreeing to these terms any participant accessing the Memory Cloud does so for the entirety of their life and that of all future descendants of their bloodline for a period of one thousand years. Details of the cancellation policy can be found on page seven hundred and eighty-one.’ Seems pretty clear to me,” added Job, reading the page aloud.
“Show me the cancellation policy,” Jake asked eagerly.
After several minutes of tiresome scrolling Job reached the aforementioned page. It simply read – ‘cancellation of your subscription is only possible in a ten-minute period immediately after the agreement is signed’.
“That’s ridiculous. Who’s going to change their mind that quickly and before they’ve even been booked in for the implants, which might be months later?”
“Maybe your grandfather should have read it, then,” replied Job. “Sadly, he didn’t, and you’re stuck with it.”
“Don’t worry about it, Jake,” added Dinah joyfully. “I’m convinced the contents of your letter will be awesome. I’m seeing an exciting career as a Memory Hunter.”
Being a Memory Hunter was a prized role in the Circuit and almost guaranteed your vital importance factor within the system. Hunters were recruited to recover and rebuild memories that were lost amongst the billions of geopbytes of data if a glitch or bug occurred. They were also assigned to monitor the collective thoughts of billions to identify those most likely to engage in any form of criminality. It certainly wasn’t Jake’s ambition to become one. If the Circuit had done its job correctly, he’d soon be reading ‘Boat Designer’ in the pages of his letter.
“Sister Dinah, don’t oversell it,” said Job.
“Whatever it says, it doesn’t look like I have any choice,” said Jake.
“That’s the spirit,” said Job. “Why don’t you go in and find out?”
Jake nodded. “Are you coming in?”
“We’re not allowed,” replied Dinah sadly.
“Really?”
“No,” confirmed Job.
“What if I just stay inside and never come out?” asked Jake, hopeful that he’d found a loophole.
“You could,” added Job, “there’s not a lot we could do about it today.”
The instinctive emotion of relief permeated Jake’s cloud and immediately revealed its hand to Job.
“Tomorrow, though, would be different. Tomorrow is Ascension Day and that means, if we choose to, we have the authority to order a team of weaponised drones to level your house and everyone that’s in it. Tomorrow, you’re our responsibility.”
“I literally can’t wait,” replied Jake sarcastically as he headed back into the house.
- Chapter 4 -
This Is Your Life
If guides were supposed to put protégés’ minds at ease, his had failed miserably. A day that started with a heavy dose of apprehension had been firmly overdosed on panic. Not only was Jake holding his future in his hands, but he also had no way of escaping it or the insufferable Dinah and Job whose contribution would endure until it was no longer necessary. In Jake’s view that moment had passed about thirty minutes after their arrival.
Back inside the temporary safety of the house, the living room had been transformed to recognise the happier side of today. Virtual decorations adorned every wall in bright, bold, glittery colours. Birthday banners, balloons, streamers and music had all been sent to his memory feed by different members of his family. Tyra joined in, although all of her virtual balloons said ‘Happy Birthday Loser’ on them and exploded loudly as soon as he read them. Paddy’s celebratory offering was the only object that physically existed: a tatty birthday horn that produced a rather reluctant spitting sound as he blew through it while simultaneously making no attempt to move from his sprawled position on one of the large leather entertainment chairs.
“Thanks,” said Jake rather reluctantly.
“Happy Birthday!” they replied.
He knew it was a charade, there was only one thing on everyone’s mind.
“Show us!” shouted Deborah overexcitedly.
Jake held the letter aloft like it was an unflattering award for ‘world’s lamest walk’ or ‘first place in very disappointing mornings.’
“Oh, it looks exactly like mine did,” she replied.
“Nice to keep some traditions,” added Kyle.
Paddy snorted. The idea of the Circuit caring about tradition was laughable. There would be a highly practical reason for the continuity: they’d probably bulk ordered a few billion a decade ago when they were on a discount.
“So…what are they like?” asked Kyle. “I bet they’re amazing like Elijah and Rachel.”
“Who?” snapped Deborah.
“Those were my guides, love. Don’t you remember?”
She shook her head, clearly less enamoured by their memory than her husband was. It wasn’t a surprise she didn’t instantly remember. She’d never met or spoken to them in the time they spent in the early part of the couple’s relationship.
“They’re mental,” said Jake, piercing his parents’ minor domestic disagreement.
Outside the house two virtual faces peered through the windowless windows, one scowling and the other attempting a poorly choreographed dance that was somewhere between the conga and twerking.
“Cats don’t make dogs,” offered Tyra.
“Not true,” interjected Paddy, who had removed his hip box completely to avoid further interruptions from nuisance callers. “I hear the Circuit have already perfected interspecies cloning but they can’t find a market for it. Meddling with nature never turns out well, mark my words!”
“You know what I meant,” huffed Tyra. “I meant you get what you give. Jake’s guides are mental and so is he.”
“I wish I was going to be here to pour misery on your Ascension Eve, Tyra,” said Jake.
“Shame you won’t be,” she taunted.
“Have you opened it yet?” asked Deborah, moving the subject back to what most interested her.
“Not yet.”
“I’ll never forget my Ascension Eve,” said Kyle. “I thought I was going to be sick. I was desperate to be rewarded with one of the highest importance levels, nervously curious about my new life but also sad to be leaving my old one behind. God, there was so much pressure not to disappoint the entire family when I opened that little white envelope.”