>> 10: Oh. Yeah. Mostly. He’s taking some downtime. The meds patched him up. He spun them a story about falling off a roof, doing stunts, trying to impress a girl.
>> skyward*: i posted the video from your friend’s jacket cameras to the net, by the way. it’s doing the rounds of the jam circuit. already spilling into the mainstream viral content. a colleague in new york sent it to me via her phone, didn’t have the faintest idea of my involvement. she thought it was cool. >> 10: But we haven’t modded it yet. You can see all our faces. That was strictly for your personal viewing.
>> skyward*: don’t worry, it’s all taken care of. we edited it beautifully, distorted your voices, smeared your faces. it’s untraceable, trust me. we rerouted it via an anonyma server in trinidad.
>> 10: Are you sure? Jesus
>> skyward*: it’s all taken care of.
>> 10: No, it’s just. I’ve got a lot of shit going down right now. I mean Emmie and Home Affairs and the disconnect and trying to raise funding for Streets Back.
>> skyward*: do what you have to do. and stop fucking around with the art project. you need money to make it happen. just take the corporate cash.
>> 10: But
>> skyward*: what do you care?
>> 10: It’s tainted. It’s against all our principles. I mean, you talk about making a real impact, what’s the point if you’re doing it dirty, breeding more misery? It’s like terrorists dealing heroin for the cause. It’s a cycle of darkness.
>> skyward*: terrorists? drugs? come now, are you saying we’re on the same level? i expected more of you. what we have here is a world that is more apathetic and more violent than ever. the newscasts are so filtered to individual tastes, people only ever hear what they want to hear. and the genocide in malawi, once the model of peaceful african democracies, not only doesn’t make the front page of the news sites, it barely ranks a mention. and you can’t solve it by marrying a refugee.
>> 10: Actually
>> skyward: i’m not finished. call it massscale compassion fatigue or selfish genes or the obvious conclusion capitalism has always been headed for, but the reality is people don’t give a flying fuck. they’ve seen all the old strategies before. they’re tired and worse, they’re boring. and if there’s one thing our culture doesn’t stand for, 10, it’s boredom. you know that. we have to jolt them, surprise them, it has to be spectacular. we’re competing with media and advertising and promotions and pluslives, all helping people to avoid confronting reality.
>> 10: Okay, okay, I see where you’re headed
>> skyward*: do you? let me put it to you this way. does anything you’ve done compare to what the corporates have done?
>> 10: What do you mean?
>> skyward*: corrupting govts with their own agendas, politicians on their payroll, exacerbating the economic gaps. building social controls and access passes and electroshock pacifiers into the very technology we need to function day to day, so you’ve no choice but to accept the defuser in your phone or being barred from certain parts of the city because you don’t have clearance. you tell me how that compares to you hacking an adboard.
>> 10: So, we’re not doing enough.
>> skyward*: hallelujah! yes. nowhere near enough. we need to jar people from their apathy. we need spectacle. we need to fight the corporates on their own terms. Counter-exploitative.
>> 10: Using their money.
>> skyward*: what better way to subvert them? it’s not just perfect, it’s beautiful.
>> 10: I guess.
>> skyward*: you _guess_? there’s no space for hedging. if you’re not up for the serious work, i can find someone else. it’ll take time, but you’re not irreplaceable, 10. don’t you want to be part of something bigger than you?
>> 10: Yes.
>> skyward*: yes what?
>> 10: Yes, I want to be part of something bigger. I want to rearrange the world for real. Okay? Is that fucking good enough for you? I’m totally fucking committed to whatever needs to be done. Whatever that means. All right?
>> skyward*: you see what i’m saying? trust me, 10, what we have on the horizon is going to be massive. the ripples are going to be felt globally. and we couldn’t do it without you. so, what are you doing thursday night?
>> 10: Sounds like a bad pick-up line
>> skyward*: ha. it’s going to be better than sex, 10. it’s going to be beautiful. the city is a communication system. we’re going to be teaching it a new language.
Kendra
Dr. Precious makes a note in her file and snaps it closed.
‘You can step off the scale now. You’ll be pleased to know everything’s fine. The nano has taken hold.’
‘You make it sound like I’m possessed.’
Andile laughs. ‘Taken hold, babes. Like it’s happy in there. Your immune system is convinced the tech is friendly. No more trying to shoot it down. No more sniffly noses or itches. No problems.’
‘No meltdown?’
‘Tsk.’ Dr. Precious really doesn’t like my jokes. She doesn’t think I’m an appropriate choice for ‘The Project’. I know this because I overheard her saying so to Andile as I stepped from the lift. He replied, ‘What are you going to do? Flakiness comes with creativity.’ Which I kind of resent.
Andile claps his hands together with decisive enthusiasm. ‘Well, now that we’ve got the icky check-up stuff out of the way, we need five more minutes of your very precious time for the doccie. Making history, babes.’ Andile ushers me out of his office, down the elevator to the second floor and through the configuration of desks in the agency proper.
It’s open-plan, the desks partitioned by gauzy white curtains hung floor-to-ceiling, audio dampeners woven into the fabric for privacy. There are interested looks, a couple of heads popping up like meerkats.
‘Just ignore them,’ Andile says. ‘It’s not often they get to see real talent.’ There is a snort of disgust from behind a console. ‘Back to work, you graft-dodging slacker reprobates!’ Andile shouts cheerfully.
The lounge is weighted against the view, suede couches incongruously lumped together with an assortment of beanbags shaped like liquorice candy, pieces I recognise from a design magazine. Slumped on a plump foam sandwich of pink and black candy is a boy, bored, goodlooking and intent on studying the floorboards.
He looks up when we come in, dark hair spiked and swept over his forehead in defiance of the thinning at his temples. Brown pinstripe jacket. White tie. I recognise him from somewhere, maybe from a glimpse of his file on Andile’s desk.
Andile seems surprised. ‘Damian, china! You haven’t interviewed?’
‘No. The camera-chick said, like, ten more minutes?’ The boy slits his eyes at me, waryfriendly, like a cat.
‘Cool, cool. Can I offer you guys some coffee? Tea? Tequila? No, just kidding! Nothing? Okay! Just hang tight, shouldn’t be too much longer. Be cool. You’re ambassadors now. First generation! I’ll just go see how she’s coming along.’
I take a seat opposite the boy, Damian. I’ve realised he’s from a new spectro band, Kitten Kill or Killer Kittens, or some other configuration playing off violent acts towards baby animals. The point is that they’re bigtime.
Maybe he picks up on it, because the first thing he says to me is, ‘So, how’d you get with the program?’ As in, you don’t look the type.
I play it down. ‘I’m a photographer. Fine arts.’
‘Oh yeah?’ he says, not really interested. ‘The rest of the guys are pretty peeved,’ he goes on, just assuming I’ll know who he’s talking about. Unfortunately, I do. ‘That they only wanted me, y’know? It’s swak, hey. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s awesome, but end of the day, I gotta get up on stage with the rest of the band and perform.’