Author: Mark Renney

Jackson needed to decompress. The Hyperion delegation had lingered over their coffee and his afternoon schedule had been so tight he hadn’t managed to grab as much as five minutes alone. And now Jackson was parked in a side street, a kilometer or so from his office and the city was gridlocked. Jackson was stalled and going nowhere, and desperately needed to decompress. The tension was everywhere, in his arms and hands, legs and feet, chest and back. He was burning up and his jaw felt locked shut, his teeth ached, and his face felt as if it were trying to pull away from his skull.

Jackson desperately needed to decompress, and he was tempted to do it where he sat, in the car, to reach around and pull the data chip from its port in the small of his back. But Jackson suspected it would be at least an hour before he would be strong enough to re-insert it. He needed to be somewhere safe and free from prying eyes. The only option, he decided, was for him to walk back to the office.

Jackson realised he had made a grave mistake. He shouldn’t have ventured from the car. He should have locked the doors, pulled a blanket over himself and hunkered down on the backseat. The pain intense, so all-consuming, his body had almost locked tight, and he could hardly move.

There was a homeless man sitting in the doorway of an abandoned shop adjacent to where Jackson stood. The man was watching, an amused look on his face.

‘You need to decompress, grandad,’ he called.

‘Can you help me?’ Jackson replied wearily.

The man jumped up and, taking Jackson’s arm, guided him slowly into the doorway. Jackson sat, slumping forward.

‘Will you remove my chip and watch over me for an hour? That’s all I need and I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll pay you.’

‘You’ll pay me, will you?’ the man replied. ‘How much?’

‘A thousand. I’ll pay you a thousand.’

Jackson looked at the ground as he spoke, inert legs stretched out in front of him.

‘How old are you?’ the man asked.

‘Does it matter?’

‘Tell me.’

‘Eighty. I’m eighty.’

‘Man,’ the man chuckled, ‘your time is up. That chip’s wasted on you. Why shouldn’t I just take it and sell it? I’d get much more than a measly thousand.’

‘I’ll pay whatever you want.’

Jackson wished he could turn his head and look at the man. Plead with him properly.

‘Maybe I’ll keep the chip for myself.’

‘What? Do you even have a port?’

‘Of course I do,’ the man answered angrily, ‘do you think I’ve always been like this?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jackson said softly, ‘but you’re still young, you don’t need a chip.’

‘Yeah, but I could go back and start again.’

‘But it doesn’t work like that. It’s surface only. You’ll look younger, yes, but it’ll still be you. You’ll just end up like this, you’ll end up back here again.’

‘No! You’re lying. It doesn’t have to be like that. Yeah, I will look younger, but I will also be stronger, every day, all the time, every minute, every second I’ll be stronger. I can do whatever I want, I can be whoever I choose to be. This is my chance, my time.’

Jackson grimaced. ‘No, you won’t,’ he gasped.

The homeless man lifted Jackson’s jacket and pulled his shirt free of his waist band. Jackson felt the man’s hand on his back and the touch was cold and already he could feel the sweet release.