Broadcasts from District 12: Ace Tech, Again

Maya left Terry’s office and hobbled over to the 24 hour security desk, planning to ask them to order her a taxi home. In her hand was a piece of paper. Since Ben slipped it to her, she had run it through her fingers over and over until the ink started to blur.

Set threshold to zero.

Of all the things that Ben could have asked her to do, this was the one Maya least expected. For starters, it was illegal and politically dangerous. Terry had made that much clear. But it was also the right thing to do, and that’s what surprised Maya so much. Ben was the person who kept things going. He wasn’t the guy who made tough decisions or went against the flow. He was a bureaucrat. Maya hated bureaucrats.

Maya was about action. No one had ever accused her of overthinking. In all her decisions, big or small, Maya only had one framework: if she could live with it tomorrow, she did it. If not, she stopped.

Everything snapped into focus. Maya stopped fidgeting with the paper in her hand.

She didn’t need to go home, she needed to get a computer where she could access Ace Tech’s code base. Her own computer had disappeared; lost–or stolen–in the crash.

A short and uneventful taxi ride later, Maya walked up to the front door of the tastefully decorated lobby she had filmed in that morning. Unlike this morning, everything was dark. The building was empty, but her badge still worked, the panel blinking green to indicate the door was open. As she entered, motion detectors turned on lights overhead, which extinguished again several seconds after passing through. Maya walked through the office and the darkness followed.

After walking for several minutes, she stopped. She had found what she was looking for. Maya opened an unassigned computer and sat down at a desk. With the computer open, the glow from the screen took over and she forgot all about the darkness. The overhead light blinked off again, and Maya had only the light of the screen to work by. She logged in.

It was easier than she expected, changing the threshold. All she had to do was change a number. Maya typed `0` then `enter`. She sat back.

She wondered how many people were waiting on this change, and how long it would take before anyone noticed.

She logged off and closed the computer. The darkness was complete.

____

Across town, a woman carrying a sleeping child who was too old to be carried, waited at the grocery store as the cashier scanned the items in her basket. She had just gotten off her shift, and at home they were out of, well, everything. She had no idea how much was left on her EBT card, but she hoped it would cover the cart. The new benefits were supposed to come in on the first of the month but they were late, again. Or maybe they were blocked.

She started to get nervous but the teenager scanning groceries just looked bored. The price crept higher with each scan. $7, $12, $17.50. She handed over her card, not daring to make eye contact with the cashier. He swiped it for her because her hands were full. It beeped.

Denied.

“Ma’am, this account is empty. Do you have another payment method?”

He tried to hand it back to her. No, no, she shook her head hard. Her child–not a baby anymore–stirred. Try it again. She pushed the cashier’s hand, still holding her EBT card, towards the card reader. Again. He rolled his eyes and tapped something on the screen. He swiped again. Approved flashed on the card reader and a receipt started printing. The mother practically ripped the receipt out of his hands. The cashier just shrugged and started to close the lane. It was late.

At the bottom of the receipt was the cost of the groceries, and the balance left in the account. The number made her gasp. Three months. Deposited at once. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her child stirred once more, reminding her that it was late and she needed to get him to bed. She slipped the receipt in her pocket, grabbed her groceries, and walked silently out of the store.