Connected, Inc.

Chapter Three

Several hours later, after the furor had settled down for the evening, I reclined in my living room, a glass of wine near at hand, and contemplated the nuances of human nature.

That's how I remember it, at least. It's equally likely that I was contemplating the failings of popcorn ceilings. The mind does wander, after all.

It's probably a bit cliché that I lived in a house in the Lower Garden District. I had my reasons. The area is set back from the noise and rush of the main thoroughfares, and the architecture is stunning. Besides, I worked hard to earn my status as a wealthy bachelor living in a house that's much too big for him. Unlike many of my neighbors, I am not "old money." I'm not even a native of New Orleans. I'm from Roanoke, Virginia. My studies led me to New York. My past jobs took me to California and Texas. Genetics brought me here.

New Orleans is a busy, colorful place, built on stories as much as on riverboats and ridges. It's easy to go unnoticed here if you try hard enough; but if you prefer, it's also easy to be yourself, however strange you may be. We locals see enough weirdness every day that nothing makes us bat an eye. For those reasons, things that classify as other-than-human tend to flock to New Orleans and set down roots.

I am part of that number. I'm a direct descendant of Fae royalty. After the existence of post-human beings, known as "Gifteds," was brought to the human consciousness, I moved my company to New Orleans to be part of the zeitgeist. That was nearly six years ago. With our success came increased recognition of New Orleans' excellent entrepreneurial culture as well as its visibility beyond Mardi Gras.

I expected a deluge of phone calls that evening, so I turned my cell phone off after setting everything in the house to my liking. Using my phone, I set the thermostat to a comfortable seventy-two degrees, dimmed the lights in the living room, and selected a playlist to stream over the wireless speakers.

Moynacorp's primary offering is an operating system that connects devices via a network known as the Internet of Things. The current version of the operating system is Epsilon. As I record this, the next version is in open beta, but at the time, Zeta was still in early development. The release date at the time was the upcoming June.

With the atmosphere set, I sat back and tried to let the troubles of the day drift off, at least for those few hours. Some time had passed and I had almost reached that vague place between anonymity and sobriety when the cordless phone rang. Only a few individuals had the phone number to my house--in honesty, I didn't even know what the number was--so I knew I had to answer it. I pressed the Talk button and said, "Hi, Cameron."

"Chris!" My sister sounded as upbeat as usual, but there was a hint of concern in her tone as well. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

I sighed. Cameron had the best intentions, but it wasn't as if I had been in the crash myself. "Everything's fine, Cami. My team's handling everything well."

"Yeah, but everyone's talking about the Bienvilles not being safe and stuff," Cameron insisted. "It doesn't look good, Chris."

"I'm aware," I said.

"No, big brother," Cameron said in a tender tone. "I mean it looks bad on you."

I paused. Did it?

Moynacorp being a software company was something of an accident. I'm a propulsion engineer, and my reputation in that field is spotless. Originally, the company was going to design "smart parts" of larger products, primarily regarding transportation, which we did in conceptualizing the parts that went into the self-driving Bienville cars; but as more companies saw value in manufacturing products on the Moynacorp operating system, we wound up changing strategies as the industry trends required.

All that was to say that I pride myself on quality in anything I or anyone associated with me works on, and especially when my name is on it. Cami was concerned that I might start taking the media reports too personally. In fairness, I've done that before.

"I know, Cami," I said. "I hear ya. But believe me, it's fine. I'm fine. Our car doesn't seem to have been at fault. Once the official report comes back, everything will blow over."

"Yeah, of course, Chris," Cami said a bit absently. She knows I hate being called Chris. "But, y'know, let me know if there's anything I can do."

Cameron was the manager of a club in New York City called the Regency, of which I was part owner. It's a long story. Also, I'm not sure how effective her management is considering she's still in Roanoke. She takes trips up to Manhattan often enough, but mostly she likes being a Roanoke social darling. She took to the scene there better than I did.

"I'll let you know," I said, my mind now wandering along themes of food and my skipped dinner. "Thanks. Is everything good with you?"

"Yeah, of course," Cami said. "Mom and Dad say hi."

I knew they hadn't. "Tell them I said hi back. I'll talk to you later, all right?"

"Okay. Later, big bro." Cami hung up.

I set the cordless phone aside. It was time for some supreme laziness.

"Epps, pause the music," I said. When the speakers beeped and the music stopped, I said, "Epps, play the next movie in my queue."

The smart TV came to life, its screen filling with the title cards of some great film. With the help of a few more voice commands, I had a fish and pasta dinner being delivered to me, my alarm click was set for five AM, and I knew the next bottle of wine would reach optimal coolness in about seven minutes. And I had barely left the comfort of my sofa. That was the brilliance of Epsilon and the myriad products it connected. Easy, almost to the point of laziness. The goddamned genius of it all.

Nothing much else happened that evening, so after the movie ended, I went to bed early. I had an early morning, one that I already knew would consist of politics, drama, and damage control.