The Beam: Season One Read Free

know, if you’d use video like a normal person.”  
    “Not everyone wants to be on video all the time, Isaac. What if I’m naked?”  
    Isaac made an impatient noise and continued. “Anyway, I was going to say that Natasha is hurt . Not like injured, but like… well, you know how she is.”  
    Nicolai knew. Natasha had practically grown up in the spotlight, and appreciation was, for her, like blood to a vampire.  
    “I understand.”  
    “The rioters were from our own party, from the Directorate. I don’t like it. It makes us look like a mob.”  
    “Of course it was our people,” said Nicolai. “Enterprise don’t riot.” And it was true. There were plenty of Enterprise members in the rabble (there were more Enterprise than Directorate below the line, actually, seeing as Directorate received support from their party whether they worked or not) but those poor Enterprise were starving artists, not disgruntled workmen. Artists didn’t rise up. When artists took a gamble and failed their way into ghettos, they sat in dark corners, slit their wrists, and listened to Morrissey drawl on from a century in the past.
    “What does that mean?”  
    “Nothing, Isaac. Is she okay?”  
    “She’s fine. But I have a speech tomorrow. A speech to these… these fuckers .”
    Nicolai couldn’t help but chuckle, keeping the sound low in his throat. He paced his apartment as Isaac’s voice followed.  
    “I’ll rewrite your speech,” Nicolai said. “This could be good. Don’t worry. I can spin anything.”  
    Isaac blurted. “How could it be good?”  
    “Unrest over inequity should actually work in our favor , not against us. Sure, Natasha is your wife and you’re Mr. Directorate, but where’s most of the wealth outside of Directorate leaders? Is it in the Directorate?”  
    “Well… no…”  
    “Of course not. So do you see what I’m saying?”  
    Isaac was probably nodding. It was an affect some people had when they took most of their calls via video.  
    “So get some rest,” said Nicolai. “Tell Natasha I said it’ll all be fine. I’ll get you a new draft of the speech and you’ll see. This is good. We want the Directorate upset. If they aren’t upset, they might decide to go Enterprise when Shift comes. But if they are angry and make noise, then not only will it solidify them against a common opponent and make them want to stay where they are, but their bitching will also raise the antenna of some of the complacent Enterprise — folks who are living below the line and might move to us just so they don’t starve. You’ll see.”  
    Isaac mumbled, mollified.  
    Nicolai said his goodbye and then swiped the air, ending the call. A beep said he was alone again, so he made another circuit of his apartment, looking out over District Zero.  
    As he paced, Nicolai looked at his piano — an astonishing black and white trophy appropriate to a man of his station. The thing was worth thousands upon thousands of credits — and was, as Nicolai saw it, a giant status symbol begging in vain to be used for the creation of art. Nicolai didn’t have room for any more art in his life, though. He told himself for the millionth time that his scattered bursts of creative writing were enough. They would have to be. Eventually, he’d find time for music, just as he’d find time to birth a painting on the decorative easel that now supported a plant.  
    He plopped onto his couch, swiped a square in the air with his fingers, and watched as the overhead Beam projector gave him a screen. Then he reached over and grabbed a keyboard from the endtable beside him. A canvas as expensive as Nicolai’s could project him an airboard, but Nicolai had never understood how people could use those things. It was neat to wave your fingers in the air as if hitting keys, but without tactile feedback, the experience was clunky at best. Such failures of common sense understanding were almost standard in a lot of modern