[Fiction] Magic, Inc.
In a world where every breath is precious, Harriet, the woman who clawed her way out of the open-air toxic dump of rural California and into the pristine Palo Alto dome by climbing over just a few bodies, now has the next trillion-dollar idea: sell synthetic magic using a new bracelet app loaded with mood-controlling drugs. Yup, everyone loves the bracelet! But what price will the real magic of the world make her pay to breathe such rich air?
Chapter 1
The meeting was the last of the day, the best time to optimize the link to the ship. Harriet swished the red sludge of protein in her mug and squinted as the next early-stage founder took her seat at the conference table. Harriet didn’t remember putting this company on the pitch agenda for the day. Why didn’t she remember? She didn’t even know this woman’s name.
“Welcome, Ms., uh?” Harriet tried not to breathe.
Michael’s face blinked onto the four walls of the room through his connection to his ship. “Harriet, I’m here. Where are the financials? I didn’t get the deck.”
Harriet didn’t know what to say. There was no deck. There wasn’t supposed to be a meeting. She glared at the mystery woman instead of Michael’s enormous head.
The woman shrugged but didn’t break eye contact with Harriet. “My company’s name is Skillz, if you like, and you don’t need a pitch deck. I’m bringing magic back.”
“Back?” Harriet repeated, faintly.
“Mmm-hmm,” Michael seemed unfazed. “Is this a subscription model? Advertising? Walk us through the financials.”
He thought this was a real pitch, Harriet realized. He had every right to think this was a real pitch. Harriet slowed her breathing even further in anticipation. Michael’s venture capital boutique in the Redwood dome was known for its foresight in supporting God Tech unicorns. Christian apps, VR and dome experiences were a $3 trillion industry, all of it majority-owned by Redwood, Inc. Anyone coming in to pitch would normally have already cleared five levels of pre-screening thanks to Harriet’s management, which meant the financials and business model were always airtight. Harriet muttered at the assistant on her wrist to punish whoever on her staff had not done their job properly this time.
The thought wasn’t wholly unpleasant.
“Harriet, I need the deck with the money. Now.”
The woman’s face wavered slightly, growing darker as she considered Michael, but just for a second. All her attention was still focused on Harriet. “Yes, magic will come back, and there will be a new currency.”
Michael bristled on the screen; he had once calculated his time as worth $5K per word spoken. “I already own the majority share of all the profitable currencies: oxygen, water and Bitcoin. Tell me why the fuck I should care about Skillz.”
“His question will haunt you for the rest of your life, Harriet, won’t it?” the woman laughed, ignoring Michael entirely.
Harriet blanched just as something yanked hard inside of her, like an old-fashioned bathtub plug being released. Harriet glanced discreetly at her pants to make sure she hadn’t pissed herself.
When Harriet looked up, she expected to see Michael’s face glaring at her, but instead, she was inexplicably in a pulsing kaleidoscope of arms and legs and beats out in the clear, open air. The Redwood bio dome, where she’d lived for the last 10 years, was gone. Harriet’s chin slid across a chest, her hip a leg—no, that was someone else’s hip—no, it was hers and someone else’s. Harriet’s mind exploded: she was not alone in her body. She was there, she was Harriet, but she was also every other state and implied state of this massive field of flesh electrons gathering and gathering friction in the cool moonlight, something small and alive in her arms. A ripple, an interregnum, buzzing and humming and ripe with power. Her/their head tilted back and gulped in the air, and/or an eye. She could breathe in this kind of open sky; she was this breathing sky and this grass, an infinite number of voices agreed. Wait—was she?
Harriet was ripped out of the other bodies. She jerked forward and fell heavily onto a sharp rock.
“Harriet?” Michael’s voice cut into her head. $5K.
Abruptly, the smell of the stale dome air was back, and Harriet was back in her hard seat in her airless dome office, staring at Michael’s frowning face over the shoulder of the Skillz woman. But something fleshy and prickly lingered just above her skin.
Michael’s voice was loud and flat. “Lady, I don’t fund concepts, I fund gods. I don’t have time for this bullshit.” His screen went black. It was a $75K decision.
Harriet’s personal assistant bracelet buzzed with an incoming warning about her air supply being cut; this was Michael’s way of punishing his favorite manager for wasting his time. Harriet forced herself to go completely still, a natural self-preservation strategy.
“Thank you so much for coming in, Ms. uh …” Harriet couldn’t reconcile the feeling of being in two places at once, but she stood up and walked to the door anyway, the woman silent behind her. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions. Security will escort you to the outside.”
The woman stepped around and hugged Harriet. Harriet recoiled in shock, but her arms burned and held Harriet in place. The woman's voice was a hiss. “That’s your air. Not his.”
Harriet stepped back and tried to pry her arms off, and the woman laughed and held on even tighter. A ripple of what felt like electricity passed between them, immobilizing Harriet.
The woman’s voice grew even harsher. “You sold your real magic to get into this dome, and you aren’t even very good at negotiating, are you, Harriet? It’s too bad you’re the only one who can get close enough to kill him now. I know what you did to get here, girl.” She sent a ripple of pain and then pleasure through Harriet that landed in the younger woman’s lungs. “Still, I need Michael’s death to bring magic back and make us all rich. His last breath will finish the spell.”
The woman kissed Harriet’s cheek and let go.
“That’s your fantasy, isn’t it, girl, to breathe free? Call me if you ever kill him.”
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