Read Online Sycamore (Near-Future Dystopia) by Craig A. Falconer - Free Book Online
Authors: Craig A. Falconer
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didn’t know at what length a car became a limousine and the luxury black vehicle Amos sent to bring him to Sycamore’s headquarters tested the boundary. His twenty-minute journey to the Quartermile was refreshingly comfortable. Within a few weeks the world would be enjoying Kurt’s creation and he was already enjoying the fruits of his labour.
Amos stood in the lobby of Sycamore’s imposing HQ. The building had been erected in the months before the UltraLenses launched. It rose only 33 storeys — less than any other within the city’s exclusive Quartermile development — but its architectural design set it well and truly apart. The lower section was straight and narrow but the middle floors protruded bulbously from the centre. The upper section then tapered back in to a peak, creating the rudimentary outline of a leaf. Never having had reason to visit, Kurt had only seen photos of the building from a distance. He was surprised to be even more impressed up close. It didn’t look cheap.
Kurt walked through the glass doors and Amos greeted him. “Mr Jacobs! Welcome to Sycamore, for real this time.”
“Thanks,” said Kurt. “Minion said I’m going to be the first to take the chip. I’m ready.”
“Of course. It’s waiting for you upstairs, fully loaded with the operating system and, once injected, fully operational as a trackpad. We’re calling it The Seed, though. Chip sounds a bit too… robotic. And, you know, Sycamore Seed. Our marketing materials can tell consumers to sow the seed of progress. Who could say no to that?”
Kurt nodded. It was progress, and Amos seemed committed to it. “So I’m going to be the first to be seeded ,” he considered. “That does sound better than chipped.”
Amos led Kurt into the elevator and pressed 22.
“What’s on 22?”
“It’s my floor. Office, meeting room and lounge. It’s just before the widest point.”
“So what’s above you?”
“Nothing for you to see. Anyway, did you read much online after the contest? Your performance was so magnificent that some people thought it was a set-up! As if I could have set up a performance like yours, sweeping its way across my stage like a hurricane of fresh air. You did very well keeping quiet when everyone was talking about you.”
“I just turned my phone off and didn’t look,” said Kurt. He had quite enjoyed being switched-off.
The elevator stopped gently and Amos stepped out, directing Kurt towards the meeting room. The expansive floor was largely empty. Amos’s office was on the east side and his meeting room on the west. The rest of the floor appeared to constitute his lounge, with leather sofas strewn here and there. “Seems like a waste of space,” Kurt commented as they walked.
“It does,” Amos conceded, “but it’s not. Anyway, there are four men waiting for us. One is a doctor who will inject your Seed and then leave. The others are our top men. We’re going to have a team meeting to discuss our plans for the launch and beyond. It’s important that you conduct yourself professionally.”
“Who are we meeting, the head coders?”
Amos tried not to laugh. “No, only the important people: Heads of Marketing, Data Collection and Communications. You already know Terrance — he heads up DC — and you’ll probably recognise Gary and Communications Colin from the contest. These men make Sycamore tick.”
“What do their departments do?”
“Very briefly, then. Communications is as it sounds — they’ve been porting the SycaPhone’s revolutionary messaging system and do a lot on the social network side of things. DC gather and analyse user data with a view to leveraging. Marketing sell the Sycamore brand but don’t deal with incoming ads. That’s all DC.”
“DC sounds important.”
“It is. Most of our operations go through Terrance. He’s brilliant. There’s a lot of you in him.”
Kurt looked disgusted. Minion had been two years ahead of him at university and was not
Amos stood in the lobby of Sycamore’s imposing HQ. The building had been erected in the months before the UltraLenses launched. It rose only 33 storeys — less than any other within the city’s exclusive Quartermile development — but its architectural design set it well and truly apart. The lower section was straight and narrow but the middle floors protruded bulbously from the centre. The upper section then tapered back in to a peak, creating the rudimentary outline of a leaf. Never having had reason to visit, Kurt had only seen photos of the building from a distance. He was surprised to be even more impressed up close. It didn’t look cheap.
Kurt walked through the glass doors and Amos greeted him. “Mr Jacobs! Welcome to Sycamore, for real this time.”
“Thanks,” said Kurt. “Minion said I’m going to be the first to take the chip. I’m ready.”
“Of course. It’s waiting for you upstairs, fully loaded with the operating system and, once injected, fully operational as a trackpad. We’re calling it The Seed, though. Chip sounds a bit too… robotic. And, you know, Sycamore Seed. Our marketing materials can tell consumers to sow the seed of progress. Who could say no to that?”
Kurt nodded. It was progress, and Amos seemed committed to it. “So I’m going to be the first to be seeded ,” he considered. “That does sound better than chipped.”
Amos led Kurt into the elevator and pressed 22.
“What’s on 22?”
“It’s my floor. Office, meeting room and lounge. It’s just before the widest point.”
“So what’s above you?”
“Nothing for you to see. Anyway, did you read much online after the contest? Your performance was so magnificent that some people thought it was a set-up! As if I could have set up a performance like yours, sweeping its way across my stage like a hurricane of fresh air. You did very well keeping quiet when everyone was talking about you.”
“I just turned my phone off and didn’t look,” said Kurt. He had quite enjoyed being switched-off.
The elevator stopped gently and Amos stepped out, directing Kurt towards the meeting room. The expansive floor was largely empty. Amos’s office was on the east side and his meeting room on the west. The rest of the floor appeared to constitute his lounge, with leather sofas strewn here and there. “Seems like a waste of space,” Kurt commented as they walked.
“It does,” Amos conceded, “but it’s not. Anyway, there are four men waiting for us. One is a doctor who will inject your Seed and then leave. The others are our top men. We’re going to have a team meeting to discuss our plans for the launch and beyond. It’s important that you conduct yourself professionally.”
“Who are we meeting, the head coders?”
Amos tried not to laugh. “No, only the important people: Heads of Marketing, Data Collection and Communications. You already know Terrance — he heads up DC — and you’ll probably recognise Gary and Communications Colin from the contest. These men make Sycamore tick.”
“What do their departments do?”
“Very briefly, then. Communications is as it sounds — they’ve been porting the SycaPhone’s revolutionary messaging system and do a lot on the social network side of things. DC gather and analyse user data with a view to leveraging. Marketing sell the Sycamore brand but don’t deal with incoming ads. That’s all DC.”
“DC sounds important.”
“It is. Most of our operations go through Terrance. He’s brilliant. There’s a lot of you in him.”
Kurt looked disgusted. Minion had been two years ahead of him at university and was not
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