Chapter 5: Jayde

Smith Capital’s headquarters is in the heart of the city, just a few blocks from City Hall. I’m on my lunch break, but luckily Jayde has agreed to meet up. I feel bad because she thinks this is just a friendly lunch—she’s completely unaware that me and Leo are about to ambush her about Smith Capital’s alleged involvement in the ludd disappearances.

I first met Jayde when I worked at the front desk of City Hall. As a lawyer for Smith Capital, she was constantly meeting with councilmembers and other city officials. We saw each other so much, and we got along so well, that we became fast friends. I never told her this, but she was the only friend I made at that job. The only friend I’d made at all, really.

Leo and I are already seated at one of the many tables scattered around the large plaza in front of the Smith Capital building. Each ground floor window has a large poster for each of the products and services the company offers, and the Collective logo sits proudly in the center, right at the entrance. The logo is a white C with an emerald green portion in the space between the tips, making a complete ring. Below the logo, the words 'individuals. connected' are emblazoned in dark black. I can feel Leo’s hatred for the company rolling off his body like heat.

My eyes are on the building’s exit, and Jayde’s profile pops up on my retina display when she comes out. She waves at me, and I wave back. Today, she’s in the body of an extremely tall man. She’s dressed in dark blue pants and a soft pink shirt, and as she gets closer, I notice she has on nail polish and eye shadow that matches her outfit.

“Is that her?” Leo asks. “The guy in the makeup?” I forget he can’t see her profile—only people who’ve joined the Collective have retina displays. I nod and stand up to hug Jayde when she reaches our table. She hugs me back, the silver clutch in her hand pressing lightly into my back. She and Leo introduce themselves, and I can tell Leo’s uncomfortable; he isn’t used to interacting with Collective users like this.

Jayde and I talk for a bit, but I know the conversation we’re about to have will be awkward, so I dive right into it.

“So,” I begin, “I have to confess: I didn’t just ask you to lunch today to catch up.” Jayde scrunches her bushy eyebrows but lets me continue. “Leo and I actually have a question about Smith Capital.” Jayde looks over at Leo as if trying to piece together what he has to do with any of this.

“We have it on good word,” he begins, “that Smith is connected to the ludds that’ve disappeared recently.” I wince at the tone of his voice. He sounds angry. Hostile. This isn’t how you get answers.

“What he means,” I correct, “is that we want to know if you’ve heard anything about that. About Smith knowing what’s happening to the ludds.” I try to frame it in a way that doesn’t make Smith Capital look guilty. You catch more flies with honey, but the damage is already done. I see Jayde’s face stiffen as she gets defensive.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says. I notice her foot begins to bounce rapidly. “I haven’t heard anything about missing ludds, but I’m suret Smith has nothing to do with it.” For a split second, she bites her lip and averts her gaze. Leo and I both notice.

She’s lying.

“You haven’t heard anything?” I probe. “Nothing?” She shakes her head, and I can tell she’s nervous. Her foot is rocketing up and down now.

“Nothing,” she says. “Besides, I wouldn’t even know if they were doing something. I only work on their contracts.”

“I’m sure you’d know, though,” I push. I’m aware she’s uncomfortable, but I need to have some answers for McKinsey at our next meeting. I need to prove that I deserve this job. “You’re one of their lawyers. If Smith is doing something sketchy, I’m sure they’d have their legal team assess the risk and exposure.”

Jayde’s face turns red.

“No,” she snaps, “I don’t know anything. Now excuse me, but if all you’re going to do is question my integrity, I think it’s best I leave.” I open my mouth, but Leo places his hand on my leg. The contact surprises me, and I’m momentarily at a loss for words.

“Thanks for your time,” Leo says, more politely than I’ve ever heard him. “Sorry to bother you.” He stands up and stretches out his hand to shake hers, but he hits her clutch instead, sending it sailing off the table. It clatters against the ground and bursts open, the contents spilling across the concrete.

Leo apologizes and bends over to put the items back in her bag before handing it to her. Jayde is angry and flustered, but she mutters a quick thank you then stomps away. I wait until she’s out of earshot to face Leo.

“What the hell was that?” I ask. I know he’s up to something. He threatened to beat up his neighbor last night; no way he’s going easy on a random person he just met.

Leo heads to the waterfront, forcing me to follow if I want answers.

“Do you know what a specter is?” he asks. His hands are in his pockets, and he’s strolling along the sidewalk a little too pretentiously.

“Like a ghost?” I say, already fed up with his answer. He chuckles.

“No, not like a ghost,” he says. “That’s the problem with everyone in the Collective. You all want the next shiny toy and don’t care about anything else.”

I glare at him. I don’t want a lecture about the morals of joining the Collective; I want to know what game he’s playing at. He picks up on my frustration and stops walking so he can face me.

“This,” he says, “is a specter.” He pulls a small, circular disk from his pocket. It’s thin, about the size of a button, and made of sleek black metal. “It helps us tap into someone’s Collective feed. I put one in Jayde’s bag.” I take a moment to process what he’s said.

“You’re going to spy on her?” I finally say. I didn’t sign up for this. I don’t want to betray my friend’s trust, and I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, anyway. Leo just shrugs.

“You could call it that,” he says, “but I prefer the term ‘gather intelligence.’” He smirks, but when he sees I’m not happy, he gets serious.

“Look,” he says, back to his somber self I’m used to. “She obviously knows something, and she wasn’t going to tell us. I slipped a specter in her bag, and in a few hours, once it hacks into her signal, it’ll give us access to her Collective feed—both what she’s currently seeing and any stored data she may have.”

This feels incredibly invasive, and I consider running back to Jayde to let her know what Leo’s done. But I don’t. It may be wrong, but we need answers. So far, we don’t have anything except the word of an alcoholic ludd.

“Won’t the Collective’s security be able to tell she’s being hacked?” Leo laughs again.

“Like I said: no one at Smith Capital cares about old technology—they’re always looking to the future, never to the past.” He sees I don’t know what he means, so he continues. “Specters broadcasts data over an old network that hasn’t been used since before the Collective. It’s how all the ludds communicate, actually. Smith doesn’t monitor for that type of activity because they think it’s obsolete.

“In fact,” he says as he pulls out what looks like a bundle of electrodes connected to a small, silver box, “I meant to give this to you.” He hands me the clump of wires and metal, and I take it begrudgingly. “This’ll give you access to our system. Now that we know Smith is involved in all this, we should communicate without Big Brother listening in. Contrary to popular belief, us ludds don’t have a problem with technology; we just don’t like when one company is controlling everything.”

I’m reluctant, but he’s got a point. If, in fact, Smith is involved, we don’t want to take any chances. It all feels a bit paranoid, but what other word describes ludds better?

Leo quickly explains how to use the object he gave me—which involves attaching the electrodes to my head then essentially uploading the ludds’ system to my retina interface—then we say good-bye.

Right now, it’s just a waiting game. Time to see if Jayde knows anything, after all.

* * *

I’m home, reading in bed, when the news finally breaks: ludds are going missing in Capital City. It’s not news to me, but it is for the rest of the city. I turn the volume up on my TV as a woman reports the story.

“This afternoon, Michelle and Jesse Harris, well-known Capital City socialites, made a desperate plea to the public: ‘Please, help us find our daughter.’ Amanda Harris, who drew national attention six months ago when she postponed joining the Collective in order to live the ‘ludd experience’ for one year, was reported missing today by her parents.” The video cuts to a clip of Michelle and Jesse speaking directly to the camera.

“We just want our daughter back,” Michelle says with tears in her eyes. “If you’ve seen her, please let us know.” The camera cuts back to the reporter.

“Other members of the ludd community say Amanda’s case isn’t unique. According to one source, over a dozen ludds have gone missing in just the past few months.” To my surprise, a video of Evers pops up on the screen. His locs are down this time, and he’s wearing a tan turtleneck.

“Amanda going missing is a tragedy,” he says, “but we’ve been trying to bring this to the city’s attention for too long now. We want Amanda safely returned, as well as everyone else who’s disappeared.” It cuts back to the reporter.

“Authorities say no foul play is suspected and that, unfortunately, they can’t do much to help.” An interview with a police officer pops up next.

“When it comes to missing ludds, things would be much easier if they’d joined the Collective. Without a CollectiveID, it’s much harder to track people down when they go missing,” says the officer.

“Unsurprisingly, this answer hasn’t sat well with the ludd community,” says the reporter before the camera cuts to a crowd marching down a street. With a jolt, I realize it’s a street just blocks away from City Hall. Things must be more serious than I originally thought if the ludds are already this worked up. The protestors shout as they raise their signs in the air, but I can only read two of them: Keep Ludds Safe and Cops Don’t Care. The audio fades, and the video cuts to another interview.

My jaw drops when I see Leo.

“This is outrageous,” he says. There’s a fire in his eyes, and the protestors chant behind him. “Ludds shouldn’t be treated like second-class citizens just because we decide to keep our autonomy. The police would never treat members of the Collective like this. The city can make excuses, but their message is clear: they don’t care about us. If we want to be safe, we’ve got to take matters into our own hands.”

The video cuts back to the reporter, but I mute the TV, still trying to process what I just saw. I get where Leo’s coming from, I really do. His friends have gone missing, and no one seems to care. But all anyone will have just seen on the news is an angry ludd who sounds like he’s willing to take justice into his own hands, regardless of the consequences.

I activate my retina display and click into the communication program Leo gave me earlier today. My plan was to send him a message, but I notice he already messaged me about an hour ago. It’s two sentences with a single file attached: We’re reviewing Jayde’s stored data. Look what we found.

I hesitate momentarily. Is this a line I want to cross? Is whatever he found worth invading Jayde’s privacy? I bite my lip.

Then, I open the file.