Security

“One small mocha. That’ll be $7.50.”

Harry groaned.

“These price hikes are killing me,” he said as he bent towards the retinal scanner attached to the front of the counter.

The barista shrugged as he wrote Harry’s name on a cup.

“Supply and demand, man.”

“Uh-huh.”

Harry held his head still as the red light darted out and scanned his eyes. A little chime and a green light indicated that his payment had been accepted. Harry stood back up and put his SmartGlasses back on.

“Thank you, sir, have a nice day,” the barista said with a fake smile.

“You too,” Harry said as he walked away to the other side of the counter to wait for his drink. He could hear the barista sigh in disappointment when he realized that no tip was added to the payment.

Not with these prices.

Harry stood among the throng of customers waiting for their orders, all wearing SmartGlasses and seemingly staring into space. He flicked on the screen on his own SmartGlasses, and instantly various holographic screens appeared before his eyes. Five emails from work awaited him, but he was not going to deal with them before he had his coffee. Instead, he reached out and clicked on the news screen and began to scroll through the headlines.

California President Julia Hernandez-Cortez Signs Historic Trade Treaty with Republic of New York

United States Dollar Weakens as Country Enters Third Year of Civil War

Homeless Movement Spreads Across the Country of California

Harry hovered over the final article. Who would voluntarily become Homeless? To turn away from the retinal scan system and lose access to everything—your money, your home, your social security number? He chuckled. What an absurd notion!

A message pinged on the screen of Harry’s SmartGlasses: HARRY SMITH, your SMALL MOCHA is ready.

Harry walked up to the counter, swiped up the cup without looking at the name, and walked out of the store. He had wasted enough time there already; it was time to go home and log into work. He had three assignments to catch up on in addition to the emails that he was ignoring.

Harry took a sip of coffee before pulling up one of his work emails. He rolled his eyes at the sender: Cynthia.

Harry,

I hope you had a great weekend. I have some questions on the Jorge Luis case—

Harry was snapped out of his reading by a hand grabbing his arm and pulling him to the side.

“Be careful there, sir,” a young man’s voice said. “You really shouldn’t be wearing those SmartGlasses while walking. You almost got yourself run over.”

Harry turned off the screen on his SmartGlasses to find himself teetering at the edge of the curb, cars rushing past him without a care. He shifted toward his savior.

“Thank you so much—“

He stopped as he took in the young man’s appearance. While the young man was decently groomed, he wore dirty blue jeans with rips in the knees and an equally dirty, oversized T-shirt with a graphic from an old TV show—Rick and Morty—fading on it. He held paper—where did he get paper from?!—pamphlets in his free hand, and his baseball cap proudly displayed the letters HC.

“Homeless,” Harry muttered under his breath as he took his arm back.

The young man must have heard because he blushed slightly and nodded.

“Yes, sir, I am a member of the Homeless Community,” the young man said. He grabbed one of the pamphlets and held it out to Harry. “My name is Percy, and I am here to warn you about the dangers of retinal scanners.”

Harry hesitated before, out of politeness, taking the pamphlet.

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing safer than the retinal scans.”

Percy shook his head.

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Not only does it leave all your information vulnerable to hacking in one fell swoop, but the government uses the retinal scans as check-ins to keep tabs on where everyone is at all times.”

Harry laughed and stuffed the pamphlet in his pocket.

“I hate to tell you this, young man, but you have been sucked in by the corrupt thoughts of a cult. The government has multiple security measures in place to ensure that our information cannot be hacked, and they would never keep tabs on their own people like that.”

“That’s what the people of the old United States said a few decades ago, but they were proven wrong, weren’t they?” Percy said, staring Harry straight in the eye.

Harry swallowed against the hard knot that had formed in his throat. Then he shook his head and held his hand out, palm facing Percy.

“You’re paranoid, kid. It’s just a conspiracy theory.”

~ ~ ~

Harry was in the middle of his second case when his SmartGlasses pinged him, alerting him to a chat message from his work colleague and friend, Josh:

OPEN YOUR NEWS APP!!!

Harry scrunched his brow.

Why?

JUST DO IT!

Harry shrugged and brought up the news screen. Immediately, he knew which headline had Josh so on edge:

Russian Cyber Prodigy Hacks Into Over 100,000 Californian Retinal Scanner Records

The color drained from Harry’s face as he read the article.

The Retinal Scanner Records of over 100,000 Californian citizens were hacked today by a 15-year-old Russian prodigy, whose name has yet to be released. These records include bank account routing numbers, housing access, work access, social security numbers, medical records, and other information crucial to everyday functioning. Government officials are currently working on contacting affected individuals and stopping the sale of any information on the black market, but these and other follow-up steps could take days to weeks to complete…

Harry’s eyes could no longer focus on the words in front of him. He found himself reading the same sentence two or three times. His breathing became shallow and quick, and his hand trembled as he tried to close down the article. His mind wandered to Percy’s words. He shook his head fervently.

“No,” he muttered to himself. “There’s no way that he knew this would happen. It was a freak coincidence; that’s all. It doesn’t mean that he’s right about the retinal scanners.”

That’s when another headline caught Harry’s attention:

SmartGlasses Gets Contract With California Government for BrainChips to Replace Retinal Scanners

Harry shook his head.

“Don’t look,” he told himself. “It can wait until later. It’ll just up your anxiety right now.”

Curiosity won out, and Harry opened the article.

SmartGlasses, the creator of the popular AI spectacles, has won a contract to create their new BrainChips through the Californian government. With this contract, the BrainChips—implanted into the user’s skull—will not only provide all the fun and entertainment of classic SmartGlasses but also the practicality of retinal scanners. No longer will you need to take off your SmartGlasses and bend over to have your retinas scanned for every purchase and every time that you want to unlock your house. Now, you can access transactions, housing access, and more with a single thought command. Your information and entertainment go wherever you go…

Harry gulped. Wherever you go. If the information followed you wherever went, and the government could access this information, did that mean that the government could access you wherever you went?

Was this chip actually a tracking chip?

Harry shook his head and ran his hand through his hair.

“Stop it. Stop being so stupid and paranoid. They wouldn’t do anything like that.”

That’s what people of the old United States thought, Percy’s words echoed throughout Harry’s mind.

He pulled Percy’s pamphlet out of his pocket and turned it over in his hand. On the back was a map to a nearby Homeless Community encampment.

He crumpled up the pamphlet and threw it across the room.

“No,” he said. “I won’t.”

~ ~ ~

Harry held the sack of clothes and personal possessions over his shoulder as he walked up to the Homeless Community encampment.

Before him stretched not the homeless disheveled homeless encampment that his father and grandfather told him about but a fully functioning farm, with crops, functioning wells, and rows upon rows of makeshift tents. People all around wore either homemade clothes or old hand-me-downs. They worked the land, washed and made clothes, and took care of the children. Their faces were caked in dirt, and callouses had grown on their hands, but they seemed content in their ways.

Harry smiled slightly as Percy ran up to him.

“Hello, sir!” Percy exclaimed. “I don’t suppose that you’re another reporter interested in our way of life, are you?”

Harry chuckled.

“Not really.” He shifted the sack on his back. “I…I’m here to live. Like you.”

Percy’s smile broadened.

“Fantastic! Come with me. I’ll introduce you to our leader.”

Harry felt a shiver through his spine at the mention of a “leader”, but he motioned for Percy to lead the way. With one last look back down the road that he had come, Harry followed, ready to embrace his future.