"Okay. First I need to know. How'd you turn the PA system on?"
Jack, Samantha, and Cleo were all in the small back office of The Corner Pub. Apparently Sam owned the place. She pulled one of the cooks she had for making finger foods to work the bar so she could go in back to discuss things with Jack. He was sitting on a couch that looked like someone had crashed on it more than a few times, along with an entire 747.
Jack squinted, "I'm a technopath. I just... wanted it to work, so it did."
Cleo nodded slowly as if this information just confirmed her suspicions, "That explains it. You didn't look like the type to have a license."
Jack slowly quirked an eyebrow, "You need a license to use a microphone?"
Sam snapped her fingers, "Oh that's right. You didn't go through school in this universe. You wouldn't know." She was sitting behind her desk and leaned forward in her swivel chair, "Memetic contagions. Infectious thoughts? It doesn't happen very often, but when it does, you need to shut it down as soon as possible."
Jack blinked, "Say what now?"
Cleo nodded slowly, "Oh yeah. Fortunately it isn't usually instantaneously fatal. It takes a while to get going in your head, but if it does, yeah. Things can get weird."
Sam laughed with a tinge of irony, "Last outbreak was in that small town... where was it? Can't remember, but some kid unleashed an infectious meme that made guys horny for her. I guess she really wanted to get laid."
Cleo nodded, "Yeah. That could have turned deadly. It got her sent to WASP juvie. I got a boot porno about it somewhere if that's your kink."
Jack just looked back and forth a few times, "I'm totally lost."
Cleo looked at Sam. Sam shrugged, "I think you can trust him."
Cleo turned back to Jack, "You can't talk 'bout it, but I'm a booter."
Jack tapped the side of his head, "Still lost."
Cleo let out a long 'Ah', "Right. Okay. Most of the stuff on the internet these days is censored and tamed to Hell and gone, then filtered to make sure there's no memetic contagions. There are all sorts of infectious things that can get loose that are transmitted by communicating."
Sam nodded, "As a bar owner, I had to get trained in all of this to get my license. This place is a designated emergency memetic decontamination site." She got up and unlocked the closet next to her desk. Opening it up revealed box after box labeled 'VRCLR'. She gestured to the closet's contents with a sweep of her hand, "As the old saying goes, 'If a thought is causing a fit, say nothing and drink to forget'."
Jack's jaw dropped open, "Wait wait wait... you got... boxes of memory remover?"
Sam frowned, "What? No. Well, yeah, it makes things fuzzy, but the goal isn't to delete memories, just break the thought cycle. It mostly stops new memories from forming while wiping the short term memory. That's where most infectious thoughts hang out." She locked the closet back up, "It's government issued. We have to keep it in case of a memetic outbreak. Every bar has a couple cases. Everyone knows the corner bar is the designated place to go if you got memeticly contaminated. Drinking normal alcohol helps as well, but you got to get rip roaring drunk for it to be really effective, so they give us this stuff."
Cleo sighed, "Thus in the name of safety, they monitor all forms of communication. Normally you have to punch in a code to turn on a PA system or anything of the like. You know, so they have a record of who's using what."
Jack suddenly looked very worried, "Did I get you in trouble?"
Sam made a dismissive hand gesture, "Nah. They haven't been by to inspect the system in years. The law is still on the book, but it only gets enforced retroactively. It's a way of turning the screws when they want to come down on someone extra hard. A lot of laws are selectively enforced like that."
Cleo nodded, "It's how I can get away with my bootlegging business. It's a side hustle I got going on. I got a lot of censored and outlawed media material. You'd be surprised how much people will pay for good TV shows and music." She held up her hands flat to Jack, "Now I'm no heel. I'm not running a huge business here. I'm strictly small time, I sell only to people I know." She crossed her heart, "And I test all my goods personally. You ain't picking up any viruses from my product."
Cleo smacked her forehead and turned to Sam, "Which reminds me, I need another bottle of Everclear. I'm almost out. Got a bunch of episodes of some show called 'The Honeymooners'. Turns out someone spliced in some subliminal shit. I had to ditch the whole shipment and burned through most of my juice in the process."
Sam rolled her eyes, "You know how hard they track that crap! You should have-Ugh. Never mind. Water under the bridge" She clicked her tongue, "Fine. But it'll have to wait 'til next week when I can write off a box and order a fresh case."
Jack quietly listened to the conversation before mumbling, "I can't believe I'm hearing this."
Sam snapped her head to look at Jack, "Whoa! I'm not selling juice to just anyone! I'm not a dealer!"
Jack looked taken aback, "What? No! I'm just... this whole conversation is weird. Why would anyone buy that shit anyways?"
Cleo and Sam looked at each other, then Cleo responded, "It helps you forget. Some people can't afford to get it legally though their therapist, so they get it off the street."
Sam continued, "Not to mention the fact it doesn't taste like anything, so it's popular among rapists."
"My god..." Jack sounded rather disturbed, "I didn't think of that. It's like the perfect mickey to slip in some girl's drink."
Both Sam and Cleo burst out laughing. Jack frowned and looked at them confused, which only made them laugh harder, "Mickey???" Sam cried out, "Slipping a girl a MICKEY?"
Cleo face-palmed then got herself under control, "Now now. Seriously. He's from a different universe." She was still grinning, "Its called a Minnie and ah..." She snorted, "Why would a guy need to drug a gal? All he'd have to do is... I dunno... ask?"
Sam let out a long breath, "SORRY! Sorry. I'm sorry, Oh god." She gave Jack a wink, "You are a laugh riot, my friend."
Jack gave both of them his flattest expression and said simply, "Thanks."
Cleo let out a snort, "Oh, don't be like that. You should smile more. I bet you look amazing when you smile." Jack quirked an eyebrow and, surprisingly enough, did not smile.
Sam's grin faded, "Seriously. You hear about this crap being used on men so I count it every night before I lock up. When I destroy the stuff that expires, I just give some to Cleo here because, well, it's a dangerous business, dealing in bootleg media. We've been through a lot and she's stand up. One hundred percent."
"Wow... Who'd have thought that making copies of DVDs would be hazardous to your health." Jack muttered more to himself than anyone in the room.
Cleo inched her chair closer to Jack, "Which is why we walked to talk to you." She gestured to the door, "Out there. You saw the crowd. You were pulling people off the street!"
Jack finally smiled a little, "Oh... c'mon. That's just singing in a shower quality."
Sam let out a 'pft' sound, "SO? Who cares? It'll sell! I know a gal who's got a pre-war recording booth. You just get in there, sing as many songs as you can remember..." She pointed at Cleo, "She's got the distribution. We'll split it three ways. What ya say?"
Jack held up a finger, "Wait a sec... why do I need to split it with you at all?"
Cleo let out a snort, "What? The government doesn't approve everything that gets published in your world?" Jack didn't say anything. Cleo blinked, "Wait. You're serious?"
Sam let out a low whistle, "Wow. Must be nice." She coughed into her fist, "HERE... you need to get everything past the department of Memetic Review And Safety. They kill about ninety percent of everything that crosses their desks. It didn't use to be this bad, but in recent years they started locking down everything that runs counter to 'The Message'."
Jack frowned, "And what's The Message?"
Cleo shrugged, "Whatever the current political party in charge thinks. Right now, pro-cape, pro-patriot, anti-meninist..."
Sam scowled, "Not that I got a problem with that. Those guys are freaks, but eventually the other party will get in charge and then what was once accepted will become unacceptable and vice versa. When you weaponize the government, it's only a matter of time before it gets used against you."
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, "Wait. Hold it. You are telling me that because everyone is afraid of... mental viruses getting in their head and turning into sex crazed lunatics, that everything gets censored and everyone just... lets it go? Nobody is bitching about the fact that the first amendment has been trampled on?"
"The twenty eighth supersedes it." Cleo cleared her throat, "Infectious Speech is Not Free Speech. Any communication made with malicious intent can be regulated by the federal government." She spoke as if rattling it off from memory, then shook her head, "I'm a free speech radical. I think that amendment was passed out of fear and we have gotten much better at containing memetic contagions. We don't NEED it any more, but unfortunately the way it was worded has been used to justify censoring-"
Jack cut her off, "Let me guess, Hate Speech?"
Cleo looked taken off guard, "Well... in a manner of speaking, yes. Odd way of putting it. They call it Malicious speech, but Hate speech..." She stared off into the distance and tapped her lips with a single finger, "Hate Speech. Hate... Speech. I like how that rolls off the tongue."
Jack looked vaguely uncomfortable, "Try 'Hate Speech IS Free Speech'. That'll work as a slogan."
Sam rolled her eyes as she reclaimed the conversation, "My point is, it'll be easier and we'll make more money if we don't do this officially. I promise you, any music from another universe will get stopped by the censors, whereas Cleo here can get it to sell like hot cakes. Some money is better than no money."
Jack scratched his chin, "And... the chances of us getting in trouble are...?"
Cleo waved off Jack's concerns, "Everyone does it. They only come down on you when you screw up and distribute something infectious. Even then, as long as the outbreak isn't too bad, you usually get off with a slap on the wrist. Just the threat of the law is enough to discourage most people from being booters. It's really just an excuse to crap on the little guy. Since we aren't actually dealing in anything owned by anyone on this planet, I doubt we'll attract any attention."
Jack raised a finger, "And what's to stop people from just making copies of the stuff we put out?"
Sam shrugged, "Not much, except for the fact most people who use bootleg stuff come to trust the original source. People who would bootleg this sort of thing will be fighting against that. As long as we dribble it into the market, instead of dropping it all at once, we'll make most of the sales."
Cleo put her hands together like she was begging, "C'mon! You got a goldmine in your head and I wouldn't be scraping the bottom of the barrel with teevee shows from the fifties if I was making money at this. I could REALLY use some fresh material and people are STARVING for entertainment."
Jack scratched his chin a bit more, "I do like money..."
Sam grinned a bit, "Sounds like a yes?"
Jack looked from one to the other, "Oh... Alright. But just because it's not my music anyways. I feel bad ripping off Sinatra, but I guess there aren't any interdimensional copyright laws."
Cleo clapped her hands once, "Awesome. Making money and sticking it to the government. Win Win, for me!"
Sam gave Jack a slap on the shoulder, "Anyways. I'll call my friend. Do me a favor? Let Cleo walk you home."
Cleo blinked, "Whoa whoa whoa! No can do! I'm already late and my hubby is gonna kill me!" She paused, "Unless it's on the way home... because if it's past the way home, I dunno how I'm gonna explain things if he sees me with you."
Jack looked offended, "I got a ride. Don't worry about it."
Sam looked suspicious, "Really? Well, okay then. Let's exchange phone numbers, just as long as nobody actually talks about this on the phone... or texts... or you know what? Give me your address. I'll just stop by in a few days when I got things set up. Give me a week in fact. Next weekend, definitely."
Jack stood up, "Do we really need to be this paranoid? We're just making a few CDs, right? "
Cleo shrugged and pulled out her phone to check the time, "Ehhh... can't be too careful. They don't monitor every phone personally, but they do flag keywords. Get enough flags and someone pulls up your past texts and calls and goes over them with a microscope."
Jack blinked, "No shit." He looked like he was about to vomit. Maybe it was the conversation, or maybe it was the alcohol. Most likely a combination of both.
Sam laughed a bit, "Oh c'mon. It's not that bad." She slapped him on the back, "They are so overworked and understaffed you'd have to be a real danger to get any attention. They ignore little shits like us as a matter of course." She squeezed his shoulder and shook it a little, "Relax. Don't worry about it. It's just the cost of doing business."
After exchanging addresses, Jack left via the backdoor. Standing in the alleyway, he checked to make sure nobody was around before he hit the side of his head a few times, "HEY! ADAM! WAKE UP!"
~Huh? What's up?~
"I'm drunk. I need a flight home... or you can just take over if you slept enough. I'm kind of done for the evening." Jack had a sad tone to his voice that was hard not to notice.
~You... don't sound so good. Something happen?~
"I just..." Jack sighed and shook his head slowly, "I think I just figured out why I'm having such an easy time with the collection agency scam."
~Why?~
Jack looked up past the towering walls on either side of the back alleyway at the dull red overcast sky where no star had the strength to penetrate the omnipresent haze.
"Because this world is so corrupt I'm a goddamn boy scout in comparison."
"Okay. First I need to know. How'd you turn the PA system on?"
Jack, Samantha, and Cleo were all in the small back office of The Corner Pub. Apparently Sam owned the place. She pulled one of the cooks she had for making finger foods to work the bar so she could go in back to discuss things with Jack. He was sitting on a couch that looked like someone had crashed on it more than a few times, along with an entire 747.
Jack squinted, "I'm a technopath. I just... wanted it to work, so it did."
Cleo nodded slowly as if this information just confirmed her suspicions, "That explains it. You didn't look like the type to have a license."
Jack slowly quirked an eyebrow, "You need a license to use a microphone?"
Sam snapped her fingers, "Oh that's right. You didn't go through school in this universe. You wouldn't know." She was sitting behind her desk and leaned forward in her swivel chair, "Memetic contagions. Infectious thoughts? It doesn't happen very often, but when it does, you need to shut it down as soon as possible."
Jack blinked, "Say what now?"
Cleo nodded slowly, "Oh yeah. Fortunately it isn't usually instantaneously fatal. It takes a while to get going in your head, but if it does, yeah. Things can get weird."
Sam laughed with a tinge of irony, "Last outbreak was in that small town... where was it? Can't remember, but some kid unleashed an infectious meme that made guys horny for her. I guess she really wanted to get laid."
Cleo nodded, "Yeah. That could have turned deadly. It got her sent to WASP juvie. I got a boot porno about it somewhere if that's your kink."
Jack just looked back and forth a few times, "I'm totally lost."
Cleo looked at Sam. Sam shrugged, "I think you can trust him."
Cleo turned back to Jack, "You can't talk 'bout it, but I'm a booter."
Jack tapped the side of his head, "Still lost."
Cleo let out a long 'Ah', "Right. Okay. Most of the stuff on the internet these days is censored and tamed to Hell and gone, then filtered to make sure there's no memetic contagions. There are all sorts of infectious things that can get loose that are transmitted by communicating."
Sam nodded, "As a bar owner, I had to get trained in all of this to get my license. This place is a designated emergency memetic decontamination site." She got up and unlocked the closet next to her desk. Opening it up revealed box after box labeled 'VRCLR'. She gestured to the closet's contents with a sweep of her hand, "As the old saying goes, 'If a thought is causing a fit, say nothing and drink to forget'."
Jack's jaw dropped open, "Wait wait wait... you got... boxes of memory remover?"
Sam frowned, "What? No. Well, yeah, it makes things fuzzy, but the goal isn't to delete memories, just break the thought cycle. It mostly stops new memories from forming while wiping the short term memory. That's where most infectious thoughts hang out." She locked the closet back up, "It's government issued. We have to keep it in case of a memetic outbreak. Every bar has a couple cases. Everyone knows the corner bar is the designated place to go if you got memeticly contaminated. Drinking normal alcohol helps as well, but you got to get rip roaring drunk for it to be really effective, so they give us this stuff."
Cleo sighed, "Thus in the name of safety, they monitor all forms of communication. Normally you have to punch in a code to turn on a PA system or anything of the like. You know, so they have a record of who's using what."
Jack suddenly looked very worried, "Did I get you in trouble?"
Sam made a dismissive hand gesture, "Nah. They haven't been by to inspect the system in years. The law is still on the book, but it only gets enforced retroactively. It's a way of turning the screws when they want to come down on someone extra hard. A lot of laws are selectively enforced like that."
Cleo nodded, "It's how I can get away with my bootlegging business. It's a side hustle I got going on. I got a lot of censored and outlawed media material. You'd be surprised how much people will pay for good TV shows and music." She held up her hands flat to Jack, "Now I'm no heel. I'm not running a huge business here. I'm strictly small time, I sell only to people I know." She crossed her heart, "And I test all my goods personally. You ain't picking up any viruses from my product."
Cleo smacked her forehead and turned to Sam, "Which reminds me, I need another bottle of Everclear. I'm almost out. Got a bunch of episodes of some show called 'The Honeymooners'. Turns out someone spliced in some subliminal shit. I had to ditch the whole shipment and burned through most of my juice in the process."
Sam rolled her eyes, "You know how hard they track that crap! You should have-Ugh. Never mind. Water under the bridge" She clicked her tongue, "Fine. But it'll have to wait 'til next week when I can write off a box and order a fresh case."
Jack quietly listened to the conversation before mumbling, "I can't believe I'm hearing this."
Sam snapped her head to look at Jack, "Whoa! I'm not selling juice to just anyone! I'm not a dealer!"
Jack looked taken aback, "What? No! I'm just... this whole conversation is weird. Why would anyone buy that shit anyways?"
Cleo and Sam looked at each other, then Cleo responded, "It helps you forget. Some people can't afford to get it legally though their therapist, so they get it off the street."
Sam continued, "Not to mention the fact it doesn't taste like anything, so it's popular among rapists."
"My god..." Jack sounded rather disturbed, "I didn't think of that. It's like the perfect mickey to slip in some girl's drink."
Both Sam and Cleo burst out laughing. Jack frowned and looked at them confused, which only made them laugh harder, "Mickey???" Sam cried out, "Slipping a girl a MICKEY?"
Cleo face-palmed then got herself under control, "Now now. Seriously. He's from a different universe." She was still grinning, "Its called a Minnie and ah..." She snorted, "Why would a guy need to drug a gal? All he'd have to do is... I dunno... ask?"
Sam let out a long breath, "SORRY! Sorry. I'm sorry, Oh god." She gave Jack a wink, "You are a laugh riot, my friend."
Jack gave both of them his flattest expression and said simply, "Thanks."
Cleo let out a snort, "Oh, don't be like that. You should smile more. I bet you look amazing when you smile." Jack quirked an eyebrow and, surprisingly enough, did not smile.
Sam's grin faded, "Seriously. You hear about this crap being used on men so I count it every night before I lock up. When I destroy the stuff that expires, I just give some to Cleo here because, well, it's a dangerous business, dealing in bootleg media. We've been through a lot and she's stand up. One hundred percent."
"Wow... Who'd have thought that making copies of DVDs would be hazardous to your health." Jack muttered more to himself than anyone in the room.
Cleo inched her chair closer to Jack, "Which is why we walked to talk to you." She gestured to the door, "Out there. You saw the crowd. You were pulling people off the street!"
Jack finally smiled a little, "Oh... c'mon. That's just singing in a shower quality."
Sam let out a 'pft' sound, "SO? Who cares? It'll sell! I know a gal who's got a pre-war recording booth. You just get in there, sing as many songs as you can remember..." She pointed at Cleo, "She's got the distribution. We'll split it three ways. What ya say?"
Jack held up a finger, "Wait a sec... why do I need to split it with you at all?"
Cleo let out a snort, "What? The government doesn't approve everything that gets published in your world?" Jack didn't say anything. Cleo blinked, "Wait. You're serious?"
Sam let out a low whistle, "Wow. Must be nice." She coughed into her fist, "HERE... you need to get everything past the department of Memetic Review And Safety. They kill about ninety percent of everything that crosses their desks. It didn't use to be this bad, but in recent years they started locking down everything that runs counter to 'The Message'."
Jack frowned, "And what's The Message?"
Cleo shrugged, "Whatever the current political party in charge thinks. Right now, pro-cape, pro-patriot, anti-meninist..."
Sam scowled, "Not that I got a problem with that. Those guys are freaks, but eventually the other party will get in charge and then what was once accepted will become unacceptable and vice versa. When you weaponize the government, it's only a matter of time before it gets used against you."
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, "Wait. Hold it. You are telling me that because everyone is afraid of... mental viruses getting in their head and turning into sex crazed lunatics, that everything gets censored and everyone just... lets it go? Nobody is bitching about the fact that the first amendment has been trampled on?"
"The twenty eighth supersedes it." Cleo cleared her throat, "Infectious Speech is Not Free Speech. Any communication made with malicious intent can be regulated by the federal government." She spoke as if rattling it off from memory, then shook her head, "I'm a free speech radical. I think that amendment was passed out of fear and we have gotten much better at containing memetic contagions. We don't NEED it any more, but unfortunately the way it was worded has been used to justify censoring-"
Jack cut her off, "Let me guess, Hate Speech?"
Cleo looked taken off guard, "Well... in a manner of speaking, yes. Odd way of putting it. They call it Malicious speech, but Hate speech..." She stared off into the distance and tapped her lips with a single finger, "Hate Speech. Hate... Speech. I like how that rolls off the tongue."
Jack looked vaguely uncomfortable, "Try 'Hate Speech IS Free Speech'. That'll work as a slogan."
Sam rolled her eyes as she reclaimed the conversation, "My point is, it'll be easier and we'll make more money if we don't do this officially. I promise you, any music from another universe will get stopped by the censors, whereas Cleo here can get it to sell like hot cakes. Some money is better than no money."
Jack scratched his chin, "And... the chances of us getting in trouble are...?"
Cleo waved off Jack's concerns, "Everyone does it. They only come down on you when you screw up and distribute something infectious. Even then, as long as the outbreak isn't too bad, you usually get off with a slap on the wrist. Just the threat of the law is enough to discourage most people from being booters. It's really just an excuse to crap on the little guy. Since we aren't actually dealing in anything owned by anyone on this planet, I doubt we'll attract any attention."
Jack raised a finger, "And what's to stop people from just making copies of the stuff we put out?"
Sam shrugged, "Not much, except for the fact most people who use bootleg stuff come to trust the original source. People who would bootleg this sort of thing will be fighting against that. As long as we dribble it into the market, instead of dropping it all at once, we'll make most of the sales."
Cleo put her hands together like she was begging, "C'mon! You got a goldmine in your head and I wouldn't be scraping the bottom of the barrel with teevee shows from the fifties if I was making money at this. I could REALLY use some fresh material and people are STARVING for entertainment."
Jack scratched his chin a bit more, "I do like money..."
Sam grinned a bit, "Sounds like a yes?"
Jack looked from one to the other, "Oh... Alright. But just because it's not my music anyways. I feel bad ripping off Sinatra, but I guess there aren't any interdimensional copyright laws."
Cleo clapped her hands once, "Awesome. Making money and sticking it to the government. Win Win, for me!"
Sam gave Jack a slap on the shoulder, "Anyways. I'll call my friend. Do me a favor? Let Cleo walk you home."
Cleo blinked, "Whoa whoa whoa! No can do! I'm already late and my hubby is gonna kill me!" She paused, "Unless it's on the way home... because if it's past the way home, I dunno how I'm gonna explain things if he sees me with you."
Jack looked offended, "I got a ride. Don't worry about it."
Sam looked suspicious, "Really? Well, okay then. Let's exchange phone numbers, just as long as nobody actually talks about this on the phone... or texts... or you know what? Give me your address. I'll just stop by in a few days when I got things set up. Give me a week in fact. Next weekend, definitely."
Jack stood up, "Do we really need to be this paranoid? We're just making a few CDs, right? "
Cleo shrugged and pulled out her phone to check the time, "Ehhh... can't be too careful. They don't monitor every phone personally, but they do flag keywords. Get enough flags and someone pulls up your past texts and calls and goes over them with a microscope."
Jack blinked, "No shit." He looked like he was about to vomit. Maybe it was the conversation, or maybe it was the alcohol. Most likely a combination of both.
Sam laughed a bit, "Oh c'mon. It's not that bad." She slapped him on the back, "They are so overworked and understaffed you'd have to be a real danger to get any attention. They ignore little shits like us as a matter of course." She squeezed his shoulder and shook it a little, "Relax. Don't worry about it. It's just the cost of doing business."
After exchanging addresses, Jack left via the backdoor. Standing in the alleyway, he checked to make sure nobody was around before he hit the side of his head a few times, "HEY! ADAM! WAKE UP!"
~Huh? What's up?~
"I'm drunk. I need a flight home... or you can just take over if you slept enough. I'm kind of done for the evening." Jack had a sad tone to his voice that was hard not to notice.
~You... don't sound so good. Something happen?~
"I just..." Jack sighed and shook his head slowly, "I think I just figured out why I'm having such an easy time with the collection agency scam."
~Why?~
Jack looked up past the towering walls on either side of the back alleyway at the dull red overcast sky where no star had the strength to penetrate the omnipresent haze.
"Because this world is so corrupt I'm a goddamn boy scout in comparison."
