The dangers of the chips

A shadow came to the front of the tent, and muttered something in a foreign language. The old man walked to the door, mumbled something back to the man, and then he came back to Ix. The man then began pulling some curtains that had been rolled up on the ceiling.

“Once again, my opinion is that two trait enhancers is better for you and your health. But since you are set to have three, let me give you the warnings now that you are still conscious.

“It will be painful. Very painful. After, it will be unpredictable what your reaction to the trait implants will be. You may feel as if nothing had happened. Or you may be sick for days. It is best to go to a healer’s hospice, just in case.

“This is just the first few days. The long term results are also unpredictable, even more so when getting three implants. You could be healthier from that point on. Or you could become chronically ill. You may die suddenly.”

The old man began tucking the curtains under the floor rug under the table. “And your mind may take strange turns. Your mind could become calmer and more clear, but it could become more chaotic. You may go mad. You may get new powers, such as hearing people or seeing visions. One cannot tell what will happen. Are you ready to take those risks, young man?”

“I am.”

“Very well. I will show you the chips, and then implant them. Take your shirt off and lie down.” Ix obeyed. “Take this,” said the old man as he pushed a blue, ornate bottle.

“No. Until you show me the chips.”

“Ha, ha! I like you, young man. ”

The old man brought a stool next to the table, put the bundle down very softly, and began to unroll it with extreme care.

“This better not be another show of yours. I will inspect them,” said Ix.

“Quiet.” the old man commanded. His face now showed intense concentration. His hands were eerily steady. He picked the chips with the long ivory tool. “Cover your mouth and nose.” Ix did so. The old man slowly brought the chips to Ix’s eyes. Ix looked at them. He asked the man to turn them around, so that he could see the back. The man slowly tuned the chips in front of his eyes. Ix nodded. The chips returned to the cloth, and Ix turned his body away from them, although keeping an eye on the chips, and started drinking the wine, and lay down on the table.

The old man covered his mouth with a handkerchief. He began chanting and praying as he prepared his tools, as he washed Ix’s body with wine, as he cleaned his instruments in the same wine. He picked up the most precious tool, where he placed the chips in each of its tubes. Ix’s vision blurred. Distantly he heard the old man saying, “This will hurt.” Ix became unconscious at that point.

“AURRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHH!” screamed Ix.

A Change, Part 2

Usually, the lessons progressed quickly. Presenting new data, and explaining it to the students had never been a particular progress for Tomasz, and he always enjoyed the lessons -- firstly, the students often had a view to apply to the topic in question that he himself had not previously considered, and secondly, the lessons allowed a small escape from everyday life. Not to say that Tomasz did not enjoy the daily life, but he would have wished for a simpler one.

This particular lesson seemed to take a long while though. Tomasz's eyes strayed again and again to the file that had been given to him. While not intent to read it out earlier on, after having given the file his wish was to go through it and analyze the points. Perhaps he could even compile a response to suggest how to avoide the possible mistakes displayed.

He had no particular illusions about what could be done -- usually, very little. Every problem he had begun to examine in more detail was based upon a thousand more. It would only be possible to tackle one with plans to tackle them all, especially in this intertwined era. And even if you manage to solve a few, the solutions are always...

'Professor, could you say why...'

'Oh, excuse me.'

Brought back to the reality again. A lecture, and a lecture which needs to continue. No matter what a solution is, to anything -- we need to know what we're dealing with, and knowledge is gained by learning.

'Now, could you please ask your question again?'

In the merchant's tent

Ix sat up from the bed, which rattled the flimsy table which was its base. He opened his shirt and moved his hand for a moment, pulling out a bag. He opened the bag and took out a few small pieces of plastic.

“Legal tender. Not traceable to any source.”

The eyes of the old man widen together with his smile. “How much is it worth?”

“Each one has a different value. In total, close 103,” said Ix.

The old man’s hands slowly trembled towards the plastic. Ix gently closed the bag and said, “So, can I get it all?”

This broke the man’s trance. He composed himself.

“Yes. You could, and some of the best, but I don’t recommended. You should pick only two at the most. Too many traits can do strange things to you. Most people are not able to handle it. Many have died when they tried to get them at the same time.”

“You would get paid the same, father. Why would you care?”

“I care because I don’t want to get in trouble with the government. Too many deaths bring too much attention.”

“And what stops me from going to another tent?”

“Nothing if the fear of incompatible chips won’t stop you.”

“I can get eight traits with that money.”

“Five.”

“No, eight, and high quality ones too.”

“We could make it six… Wait, I won’t give you so many trait enhancers. I told you, it is dangerous. They won’t give you those many at the labs themselves. Two is the most that you can get.”

Ix started playing with the plastic cards, dropping them as if they were a stream of sand. The old man gulped.

“Are you sure?”

“…I could … give you three. But not one more!”

Ix smiled was a wide as his face. Then he said deliberately, “I want enhanced strength, intelligence, and charisma. Give me the best stuff that you got.”

The old man then rolled up the boxes in the cloths again, and put them aside. He waddled to another corner and got another cloth bundled. He unraveled it with great ceremony and care, and showed the chips to Ix. Ix studied it carefully.

“Mister, I said I wanted the best. You know very well that this is a worse lot than what you first showed me.”

The old shook, and quickly rolled up this bundled, this time without care. He then walked to the door and called out for someone. He mumbled a few words, and then came back to Ix. He patted him on the shoulder.

“It is going to take a while, son. I don’t keep that merchandise here. It is not safe.”

“Of course it wouldn’t. The market is filled with thieves.”

The old man nodded. “That is right. The market is not what it used to be. At one point most merchants were honest, but little by little the good ones died away. Now most are out there to cheat you.”

The old man looked at Ix. They both smiled.

A Change, Part 1

The room was dim. If a person had entered, he would have had to spend time to adjust to the low levels of lighting. But, in this dim environment an old man was furiously scribbling line after line. The computer screen beeped every now and then when the man deleted a line here, and then continued on, fixed in his thoughts. He had consentrated into his work with such force, that the timed alarm he had set up earlier almost frightened him. After glancing a quick look at the digital display, the usual thought went through his head, 'I can jot down a few more lines. Just a few more... just a few!'
Just as strong as the urge to continue writing was the man's need to leave the room now. The numbers on the clock moved forward with atomic precision, and the old man let out a sigh of relief. He grabbed his coat, and before leaving the room managed to mutter under his breath, 'About time to get out...'
The room was all but empty after the presence of the old man had left. Though there was a clear passage to the desk that the man had occupied, and to the computer display on it, there were several older screens as well as piles of papers which cluttered the room, and barely left room for a few pictures -- one of which showed the great lower house of the planet, and the other which displayed the setting sun of this world reflected by the stormy seas so common here.
The computer screen continued glowing dimly for a few more minutes before it turned itself off and left the room in complete darkness.

The man had moved upwards a few floors and then out to the street. He would only need to cross it to enter his destination, and he hoped to get by without any troublesome interludes.

'Hello, Tomasz.'

Apparently, today was not his day. But, polite as ever, he stopped and turned around, gave a slight nod with his head, 'Long time no see, Matthew!'

'Heading out to your class again?'

'The time was about right for that. Should make it there just as usual. Time enough to speak a few words. How have you been lately?'

'Oh, me? Humpphhh. Fine, I guess. I actually wanted to get your opinion on one paper that was presented to me. Would you be so kind as to read it?'

'What's it on? Not one on... domestic policies again?'

'I'm sure you'll find it quite interesting. Thank you very much! Now, I've got a lecture of my own to go to, but I'll be sure to see you later this week!'

The old man received, though it was apparent from his body language that he did not want to receive it, the paper in a printed form, and continued on on his path. As little as he wanted to admit it, a small part of him longed to read the paper. After all, perhaps it was a similar work to one that he himself had written so many years ago.

Still holding the printed files in his hand, he entered the lecture theatre opposite the place that he'd just left, and moved to confront his students in today's lecture.

Ke’aba Market, at two suns noon

Ix squeezed and pushed his way through the slum’s street market. The number of people seemed greater than ever before, but then, maybe he was just imagining that. It could be that it was the same size, and he, with his anticipation, imagined that it was bigger than it was. In any case, he had to navigate through the mob’s bodies and smells to reach his destination. The heat and humidity seemed like yet another body, one that pressed him and the rest down, just as he was pressing against a series of human and humanoids to reach the tent.

Ix saw a guard at the corner. He felt a sudden fear, but then he relaxed. There was no way that the guard could know where he was going and what he was about to do. Not if he were alone in the market, and not now, where there was a sea of cloths, armor, and exoskeletons flowing through the dirt stones of Ke’aba. Yes, it was all in his mind. He smiled. The mass of people was his cloak. It was his cloak, and the cloak of every single person who had come to Ke’aba’s market. Besides, it wasn’t as if the authorities didn’t know what happened there; they just let it happen in this outskirt, as they did all over the galaxy in certain places. And from as far back as people remembered, Ke’aba was always one of those places. Disrupting traditions like these were not the ways of the current regime.

Ix finally reached the part of the market where the opened tents were sprinkled with closed ones. Anything could be exchanged behind the thin cloths. Ix looked around at one where he could see the silhouettes of the people inside it, moving around, practicing ancient arts only fully known to the client and the owner of the tent, imagined by everyone else. Ix just had to let the waves of movement push him to his destination.

Ix swam out of the people and stood at the edge of a tent. An old man sat next to the door, looked up at him, and gave a smiled. Several teeth were missing. He offered his hand so that Ix could help him stand up. After getting up, the old man patted his cloths to shake the dirt. He then moved his head towards the tent. Ix helped the old man to walk into it. Was he really going to put his future on his hands?

“Disrobe and lie down,” ordered the old man. He sat next to the bed, and began unrolling a bundle of cloths. Within it were different ivory cases. He began opening them, showing tiny electronic chips. Next to it were a collection of strange looking knives and needles that had elaborate designs in their handles.

“So what does the young man want?”

“Strength. Intelligence. Charisma...”

“He, he,” the old man giggled, and then he leaned forward and said, “How much does the young man have?”