Phaethon

By Rachel Sharp

Hackers, fae, and a new breed of corporate greed battle over the future of the human race....

Hacker couple Jack and Rosie crack technology, but the newest device, the Phaethon, isn't like other phones. The parts are junk, yet it can do the impossible. Through gentle prodding and data theft, they learn it's powered remotely.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pandamoon Publishing
• Release date: Apr 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781945502422

Rachel Sharp

Rachel Sharp lives in New York City with several plants and her questionable sense of humor. At time of writing, she is working on entirely too many projects. The previous statement will be true regardless of time of reading. She also lives with chronic illness, plays ukulele, and tries to save the planet. Biography Rachel Sharp is an author and lifetime member of the Somewhat Eccentric Creative Persons Club (which she just invented). Her books include the Planetary Tarantella trilogy, as well as the hacker & fae novel Phaethon from Pandamoon Publishing. Originally from Vermont, she now lives in New York City with her partner, several plants, and her boundless sense of inappropriate humor. At time of writing, she is working on entirely too many projects. The previous statement will be true regardless of time of reading. She also lives with chronic illness, plays ukulele, and tries to save the planet.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Chapter

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Pandamoon Books

Phaethon

By

Rachel Sharp

© 2016 by Rachel Sharp

This book is a work of creative fiction that uses actual publicly known events, situations, and locations as background for the storyline with fictional embellishments as creative license allows. Although the publisher has made every effort to ensure the grammatical integrity of this book was correct at press time, the publisher does not assume and hereby disclaims any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause. At Pandamoon, we take great pride in producing quality works that accurately reflect the voice of the author. All the words are the author’s alone.

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Pandamoon Publishing. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

www.pandamoonpublishing.com

Jacket design and illustrations © Pandamoon Publishing

Art Direction by Matthew Kramer: Pandamoon Publishing

Illustrations by Fletcher Kinnear and Ayush Pokharel: Pandamoon Publishing

Editing by Zara Kramer, Rachel Schoenbauer, and Josephine Hao: Pandamoon Publishing

Pandamoon Publishing and the portrayal of a panda and a moon are registered trademarks of Pandamoon Publishing.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC

Edition: 1, ver. 1.0

ISBN 13: 978-1-945502-42-2

Dedication

To my parents, Rick and Nan,

for letting me read all kinds of weird books

&

the Montpelier crowd,

without whom I would have fewer stories

Phaethon

Chapter One:

A Hacktivist Waits in Line

This is the worst line ever.

Jack capped this sentence with a half-hearted purse of his lips, leaning closer to the side of the building and pulling his inappropriately thin denim jacket tighter around the chest. A candy wrapper slithered down the street. Snow swept up to the brick wall on the wind and came crashing back around in a white, fluffy tsunami of flakes. The tips of Jack’s hair became frosted.

Rosie, her red nose twitching as she suppressed a snort, snuggled up against him. The strangers waiting patiently on either side shuffled a few more inches away from their public display of affection. Rosie stuck her frosty face in his collarbone.

"You said the traffic on the way here was the worst traffic ever. And this morning, the bacon was the worst bacon ever. Bacon, Jack. Are you going to like anything today?"

Yes.

Yeah? What are you going to like today?

I don’t know yet.

Well, hopefully they’re going to let us into this stupid store someday and we can find out. She turned away from him and started hopping up and down, cupping her hands around her mouth and yelling, "You hear that, store? I said hopefully you’re going to let us in someday!"

Rosie was very short and widest at the hips. With her shoulders hunched against the cold and her hands raised to her face, the overall space she occupied on the sidewalk was minimal, but still managed to be striking. For one thing, she was the only Latina in a sea of white male nerds. For another, she was the only one in line showing any facial expression.

To Jack, Rosie’s hopping up and down and wobbling with impatience made her look like a sexy, angry bowling pin about to fall over. He pulled up the collar of his jacket to hide his own huff of laughter. After a few more scowling repetitions, she stopped vibrating and leaned against him again, her pointy shoulder in his ribs. He put his chin on the top of her head.

Why won’t they let us in? she muttered. We only want to buy their stupid phone so we can take it home and piss all over the warranty.

A nearby stranger looked at her, alarmed.

Jack snorted into his collar again.

That’s not a very nice way to put it, Rosie. What we’re going to do is legally purchase this potentially fascinating new device, adopt it into our household with love, and then experiment on it in every way possible until we find out what makes it tick and how to make it do so more effectively, with a possibility of turning a small profit in homemade aftermarket software.

She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. He gently forced her head back down with his chin.

Okay, he said. We’re going to take it home and piss all over the warranty.

Rosie nodded her head and made a decisive sound.

The candy wrapper danced in a whirlwind between parked cars and flew off into the sky.

Jack sighed. Rosie grumbled. The line held.

* * *

Looking up and down the row of waiting bodies, Rosie wondered about the people who had arrived even earlier than she and Jack. Most of them were probably just gadget junkies who had to have the newest, shiniest thing. A few were obviously personal assistants or news gophers, sent out so that their more important bosses didn’t have to brave the slushy Boston winter themselves. The gophers could be identified by the total lack of enthusiasm in their eyes and the plethora of communication tools already strapped to their bodies, making them look like minimalist suicide bombers: plastic around the ear, on the belt, in the hand, in the pocket, all waiting to make a noise and assign the gopher a new purpose in life. The pure technophiles kept all of those things in expensive carrying cases, hidden discreetly, treated more like a James Bond spy tool than a cell phone or an e-reader.

Rosie looked down at herself and saw no sign that she fit in with these tech-toy overachievers. Cheap little black boots. Long skirt. Wool sweater. Nothing strapped to her that went beep. Her only concession to dressing like a hacker princess, the title Jack sometimes used for her, was a waterproof 32 GB thumbdrive necklace. All the good stuff was in her leather day pack.

She wasn’t a hacker princess, or a hacktivist, or any kind of genius, really. She was just a science nerd who specialized in electricity. Jack said that live current danced under her fingertips, but she insisted that she was just a mutant housewife. Her main skills were cooking, cleaning, and soldering.

Still, she and Jack made a good team. Anything she could build or rebuild, he could program and teach to sit up and beg. As far as the traditional American family was concerned, she and Jack were the ultimate degeneration. People used to get married and have kids. Large swathes of their generation were getting married and raising dogs or cats. She and Jack got married and settled down to have a large brood of reprogrammed Giga Pets, mutated Furbies, and digital fish.

Rosie wondered if they should clear out some of the Furbies and get a real animal, but before she could decide which of the mohawked little robots she could bear to part with, there was movement down the block and the line surged forward.

Jack grabbed her at the hip. The woman who had been so distressed by their threat to the warranty shuffled forward and stepped on Rosie’s foot. All eyes down the line turned pair by pair to the open doors at the end of the block. A little girl, sticky with something blue-flavored, started yelling and fled her parents, running head-first into Rosie’s leg. Rosie decided to keep the Furbies forever.

* * *

Jack and Rosie were swept along Boston’s frozen urban reef and deposited in the tide pool of the new Phaethon store. As the stream of people parted at the door, a new pattern of polite milling about shaped itself. The designer had gone so far into modern that he had somehow come out the other side. Ninety-degree angles and traditional human-cradling shapes were nowhere in evidence. There were no windows. Strips of LEDs were distributed systematically along the walls to provide a permeating, sterile glow. Everything was made of fiberglass or concrete. Fiber optic threads hung from the distant rafters. A small, white neon sign on the ovoid central desk read Phaethon in clean script. The flood of customers, trying to look comfortable and savvy, couldn’t keep their eyes from darting right and left in search of the actual merchandise. There wasn’t any.

Jack sat on a lump of black fiberglass that was either designed as a couch or a bookshelf. He couldn’t tell which. His wallet, usually so comfortable in its back-pocket groove, pressed too hard into his pelvic bone.

This is the worst store ever.

Rosie wedged in beside him. So, you really just aren’t going to like anything today.

Okay, how about ‘This is the worst propagation of over-design and desperate cool-factor-seeking that I’ve ever seen, and I hope the person who drew up the plans chokes on their aesthetically pleasing lunch.’

Yes, that’s much worse. She absently rubbed the back of his neck. You’re right, though. This sucks. Show us the silly phone, yeah?

"Yeah. How does a new company think that this is the best strategy? To tell people that they made the best thing ever and then not let anyone see it until they buy it. Feels like a hoax. Every other phone released, ever, was shown in demos at the big conventions and advertised half to death. We’re going on abstract commercials and one press release. Did you notice that? That every source that covered this thing linked back to the same press release? Phaethon didn’t send out any test devices for reviews, not even for celebrity freebies. It’s ridiculous." Jack drummed his fingers on the probable couch.

It is ridiculous, Rosie agreed, her solemn face wobbling in her attempt to suppress another laugh. An actress, she was not. It’s almost like they’re afraid someone would figure out how to jailbreak it before it was released. Like there’s some evil cabal who are just waiting to break down the security before their morning Cheerios. Her face became more genuinely solemn. By the way, we’re out of Cheerios back at evil cabal headquarters.

Rosie, don’t say jailbreak, Jack said. He leaned his head into the tiny hand that was still rubbing the back of his neck. Jailbreak makes you sound like an iPhone user. Just say root.

Does it matter? It’s all…whatsit. I haven’t memorized your rant. ‘Dissolving artificial scarcity and utilizing technology in the proper…’ Aw, whatever. It’s all your thing. I don’t need to know any of that. I just crack the things open and play with their guts.

Just say root, Rosie.

Root, Rosie.

Thank you.

They waited for the mystery product to appear. Rosie started drawing on the fiberglass couch with the light coat of WD-40 still on her fingertips from earlier in the day. Jack smiled and called her a grease monkey. She seemed not to notice. Another ten minutes passed. Jack blew a loose strand of hair out of his face.

I’m starting to think they’re so scared of us messing with the new device that they’re just never going to release it.

Then why did they let us in the store?

It’s secretly a gas chamber.

Way to make the total lack of windows seem even creepier.

Someone in the far corner of the store tried to start a chant. We want the Phaethon! We want the Phaethon! No one joined him.

Finally, an employee appeared at the ovoid desk. As human color morphs went, his was uniquely bland. His hair, skin, eyes, and clothes all seemed to wash into each other. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming! If you’ll follow me into our presentation room, we would like to introduce you, and the world, to the Phaethon. He smiled, turned, and exited through a round door in the back.

Rosie turned to Jack. Gas chamber?

Jack shrugged. Probably. Let’s go find out what this stupid thing looks like.

His deadpan delivery was strictly for humor’s sake. Inside, he was a bundle of anticipation, speculation, and glee. He was going to get a new toy today. If a new chance to use his highly specialized skill set was released every day, Jack would be the happiest man on earth.

* * *

Wedged through the rounded door with the rest of the crowd, Jack and Rosie found rows and rows of uniform, recognizable, old-fashioned theater chairs. Each person was sinking immediately into the nearest cushion, relief and gratitude on their faces for this return to furnishing sanity. Jack gravitated toward the farthest corner in the back. Rosie followed. The place for people like them had been well established since high school, and some things a person never outgrew. They settled down in the dark and obscurity.

Around them, people looked for pamphlets to rustle or gift bags full of junk to paw through. A balding man with a Bluetooth earpiece on leaned all the way under his chair. Rosie pointed him out to Jack.

If he looks any harder for the free goodies, he’s going to stick his head up his own ass.

Jack failed to respond. She looked over at him in the near-dark. He hadn’t noticed her subtle pointing; he was too busy stuffing his hands in the crevices of the chair, looking for his own free junk ration. Rosie rolled her eyes at him and laid a comforting hand on his leg.

Don’t worry, hon. You’ll get your new toy soon.

He harrumphed and crossed his arms.

A collective grumble was rising in the dim auditorium.

"Don’t know how to handle a release," the mob said.

"Unprepared."

"Mistreating customers."

"Stupid thing is probably still in beta."

"It’ll be full of bugs."

A blogger pulled out his current phone to start venting wrath immediately.

The lights disappeared. Silence fell. The last electronic devices were turned off. They waited. Rosie tried very hard to sit still. Finally, Jack’s voice came low and grumbling from her left.

This is definitely a gas chamber.

Then the lights came up on the stage.

* * *

Ladies and gentleman, what is the ultimate goal in the advance of personal consumer technology? To have a single device that does everything. Existing devices on the market started off as telephones, and added one feature at a time: a clock, a camera, a calendar. In a world where we have waited too long for our flying cars and robot maids, we are expected to be excited about a calculator that can also play videos. Because that was the American dream, right?

The man onstage paused for the obligatory laugh. Like the desk clerk, he was bland. He had black hair, dark skin, dark eyes, and no feature that would stick in the long-term memory. When he smiled, he became a stock photo of happy-businessman-pitching-good-product. His teeth were too perfect. Rosie scrunched up her face, but knowing that the prize was coming, the excitement had started to infect her as well. She crossed her legs and bounced her foot in the air. The announcer disassembled his contractual smile and continued.

Today, I will be introducing you to the Phaethon. Yes, it is a phone. It can browse the internet, play games, and has the best digital camera on the market. I could tell you about these things at great length, but we have more important features to cover here today, so I will ask that you please visit our website for any specifications not covered in this presentation. Phaethon! He looked over his shoulder, waiting for something to come out of the dark.

At first, Rosie saw the flying object on the edges of the spotlight and thought a bat had gotten into the auditorium. Then it came to hover over the announcer’s shoulder. The next label for it that surfaced in her mind was metal hummingbird, but soon her brain caught up to her eyes. Hovering on stage was a chrome faerie. It was about five inches tall, shining and smooth, like a figure on a trophy. The shape was androgynous, humanoid, with dragonfly wings beating madly on its back and possessing perfect stability. Except for the wings, it appeared to be one piece. Arms were shaped to the sides. The legs were fused together. From this distance, Rosie could not have distinguished fingers or toes, but she suspected it didn’t have any. The eyes were a deviation in light instead of shape—two faint glows in the tiny, silvery face. As she squinted at them, trying to see more detail, the lights flashed off and on again. She leaned into Jack.

Did it just blink?

I don’t…what?

Rosie was beginning to suspect that all their speculation about this device may be streaming out the non-existent windows.

The announcer took several steps forward on the stage, and the Phaethon hovered after him. The crowd was leaning further and further forward. Rosie could see the shadows of a new line of people joining the stage, each with a small pair of glowing eyes over their shoulders. The announcer spun on his heel, ending up facing the audience again in a surprisingly flashy pose that made Rosie think he needed a top hat and cane. The Phaethon followed him perfectly through the turn. He took one more step forward and it followed him again.

For starters, he said, You’ll never lose your phone again.

The audience laughed, but this time it wasn’t because of the implied social contract. There was surprise in this laugh, and maybe a little nervousness. Still, they leaned ever further forward. Rosie realized that she was leaning with them and sat back in her seat out of sheer contrariness. She wouldn’t be a sheep, no matter how green the grass looked. The announcer glanced in her direction, but launched back into his script without pause.

You will also never charge the battery again. The Phaethon contains one battery that will last for the rest of your lifetime. This technology has been in development for the last ten years, and in this device, it is commercially available for the first time. Phaethon, screen mode, please.

The chrome faerie spun around, clicked open like a Venus flytrap, and fell into the announcer’s hand, displaying a square screen with rounded edges like any other phone. Several members of the audience squeaked in surprise.

Phaethon, call the members of this audience.

Nothing happened.

Okay, Rosie said to Jack, "Somewhere out there is a billionaire who’s either pranking us all or hugely delusional. There’s no way this thing can work. Well, it can’t do that, anyway."

Similar comments, at elevating levels of sarcasm, snaked around the room.

Then, in Rosie’s bag, her phone started to buzz.

Ringtones slowly replaced sarcastic whispers.

Rosie and Jack looked at each other, wide-eyed in the dark.

Huh.

* * *

The announcer went through the rest of his pitch. Much of it was what they had expected, adding small improvements to the stats currently on the market for basic things like screen resolution and storage space. It supported every file format known to man. Most functions could be started and stopped just by talking to it. Facial recognition was an optional security measure. Winding down his statistics speech, the announcer paused.

Of course, he said, this is a list of the stats that are default on every model. Now, I know I’m running the risk of overwhelming some of you, but I would like to introduce the rest of the line.

More spotlights rose silently on the figures behind him on the stage. The crowd said, Ooooh.

Each model had a different Phaethon over their shoulder in a primary or secondary color and each was dressed theatrically to match their device. The first woman was wearing a frilly blue dress with blue and white striped socks, white boots, and blue hair with jay feathers beaded into it. Her Phaethon was also blue and white. The man next to her wore red and black, with his own matching Phaethon. Down the line, each model was wilder than the last, with makeup and jewelry that made them look like the world’s classiest selection of circus performers. The model for the green and black Phaethon had her entire face painted in a combination of camouflage and lace patterns. The closer Jack looked at her, the more he suspected that it may actually have been a tattoo. The announcer approached her.

"To keep your selection simple, we have opted to color-code our models. Green, shown here,