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January 1, 2318
Syva had two reasons to celebrate the New Year. In less than three hours – precisely at 2:48AM – she would finally be eighteen years old. Her many years languishing at the bottom of her class in terms of grades – her lone shining beauty mixed in with the children of the dregs of society – would soon come to an end.
This was due to the second reason to celebrate the New Year: She would finally become eligible for her own dataport. She had done plenty of research on the GlobalNet, plus she had gone with her father to visit the more reputable dataport vendors across the city to see their offerings firsthand and to attain more specific technical information.
Actually, her father had the technical information. Even before he was fitted with his dataport, his best friend once told her, he was among the best in their school when it came to complex, technical information.
At least Syva’s father had money… and plenty of it. Combining his natural talent for understanding complex information with the many enhanced abilities made possible by having a dataport installed, her father had been able to work his way up through the ranks of theoretical engineers to become one of the most sought-after professionals on Earth.
Now, at 12:01AM, she counted down the minutes – even the seconds – until she turned 18, even as she was partying with friends. She only wished that the drinks were truly alcoholic – she wanted one last good buzz to carry her from minor to major, but that simply would not happen at this party, hosted by her best friend’s parents.
Chanta seemed to rush up to her from nowhere, hugging Syva tightly. She returned the hug enthusiastically, her fingertips gently brushing the base of the small dataport on the lower back of Chanta’s neck. Even in the midst of the celebration, it made Syva realize that she had yet to decide where to have her dataport installed, the back of the neck was most common, but Syva had a preference for having hers installed just forward of her right temple, where it would be prominent for everyone to see.
An hour later, as the party wound down, Chanta led Syva to the balcony of her family’s high-rise apartment. It was not quite at the top of the skyscraper, but even from this height, no sounds from the street could be heard, and the cityscape was breathtaking, especially with the crescent moon hanging just above the profile of the distant mountains. They admired the scenery in silence for a few minutes, slowly sipping the last of their drinks, before the conversation turned toward the inevitable.
‘What was the first thing you did with your dataport?’ Syva asked.
‘Touched it,’ Chanta smiled even as she touched it anew. ‘It felt both strange and natural. Perhaps it is because they program the memory board so that the person believes it is natural, but the brain has functioned for eighteen years without a dataport. so it thinks it is strange.’
Syva seemed to consider this for a moment. ‘But we weren’t born with breasts,’ she noted aloud, ‘yet they still seem natural.’
‘Did they always?’ Chanta countered. ‘Weren’t you embarrassed for at least a few months as they initially developed? Weren’t you afraid that all the guys were staring at you for all the wrong reasons?’
Only then was Syva aware that her arms were resting on the balcony’s railing, her breasts were resting upon her arms. She stood and stepped away from the railing, ostensibly to set her now-empty glass on a small table near the door. Chanta had always had a way with words, and her last use of words once again set Syva’s mind reeling in contemplation.
‘Anyhow,’ Chanta continued, ‘once I had a chance to plug into something for the first time, it was the LearningNet at the hospital. It was really intoxicating to suddenly be able to access more information in a single second than I could physically read from an entire library. Of course, I understood very little of it, and I went through the three-day training program to learn how to use my dataport, and how to sift through all the information available on the LearningNet.’
‘But you have always been incredibly smart,’ Syva noted. ‘Even with a three-year-long training program, I could never be as adept with all that information as you. You know I struggle just to maintain the bare minimum grades required to pass classes.’
‘And I know that the struggle sometimes becomes physical as well,’ her best friend commented softly, in case others might be near the doorway. ‘The dataport will certainly help,’ she said in a normal tone and volume, ‘but just don’t expect it to be the answer to all your problems.’
Syva sat in a chair near the railing. ‘In other words, I’ll still be intellectually stupid, but just not as stupid.’
‘Did I say the s-word?’ Chanta approached and ran her fingers through Syva’s hair. ‘Your talents are simply in other areas. Just think: School will end in a few months, we’ll graduate, and never again will you need to focus on grades… unless you decide to go to a university, as rare as they are now.’
‘True,’ Syva sighed, ‘but I would rather not depend upon my father’s money to get or do whatever I want.’
‘You would rather depend upon your body?’
Syva groaned at the politely scathing comment. ‘What can I do to be a contributing part of our society? I know that sewer cleaners are needed to keep our city running smoothly, but if that is all I am fit to do even with a dataport, then I’d rather just jump over the railing.’
Chanta grabbed a fistful of Syva’s hair, causing her to protest loudly. ‘Have you ever thought that perhaps that is what you did in a previous life to be dealt the cards you have now?’ Chanta admonished her sternly. ‘Use what you have, use what this life gives you, and make the most of it.’
Chanta released Syva’s hair and seemed to glide back inside. There were certainly fewer voices than before, so Syva decided it was indeed time to return home.
*****
Syva hugged her father fiercely as she tried to hold back her tears of happiness. She had barely entered the large apartment when he had approached her with a small package. With trembling hands, she had unwrapped it and discovered that it was indeed the very style of dataport she had most wanted when they had gone together weeks before to a dataport vendor.
Unable to hold back her tears any longer, she ran for her bedroom and locked the sliding door behind her. Once she had emptied herself of her tears, she sat staring at the small piece in her hand. It was essentially flat, with a three-millimeter sloped rise from its base to the lip of the connection area. The actual twenty-one-hole connection plate was recessed by one millimeter, allowing only one millimeter of space inside the dataport itself for the physical connections to be made before signals were funneled into the tiny pinpoint of a hole at the center of the dataport’s base, to be fed to a small circuitboard which would be embedded in her skull and attached directly to several points on her brain.
With the exception of the black-colored connection plate, the entire dataport was a bright polished silver, specially sealed so that it would (in theory) never lose its shine. Because most prospective dataport buyers prefer to not call attention to the fact that they have been hardwired, this was the least expensive dataport model the vendor had to offer, and it was still more expensive than at other dataport vendors in the city. However, her father had complete trust in this particular vendor, who had long worked with the employees of governmental agencies when they needed dataports for their highly-classified duties.
By now, Syva knew exactly what would happen a few weeks later. Early in the morning, she would meet for the final time with the psychologist, who would first need to certify that she was mentally sound enough to handle the installation and use of a dataport. Fo
llowing that, she would meet one final time with her own doctor for her approval, and then with the specialist who would be performing the installation later in the day.
After a light lunch, she would be rendered unconscious for the installation, during which her skull would be drilled open with near-microscopic holes to place connecting wires at six points on her brain, then those holes would be refilled. The opposite end of the connecting wires would then be soldered onto the circuitboard, which itself would be affixed securely to the outside of her skull, for easy access in the future should complications arise. Next, the dataport itself would be securely affixed to her face just forward of her right temple, as she wished, and the final connections between the circuitboard and the dataport would be made, with those tiny wires running underneath her scalp and securely affixed to the outside of her skull to prevent them from sliding around due to the distance involved. Finally, her scalp would be sewn together again, and she would find herself in the Dataport Recovery Wing of the hospital approximately four hours after having been initially rendered unconscious.
Numerous safety measures had been built into the dataport system in the eighty-three years of its military and now commercial usage. The triple-redundancy would allow Syva to continue using her dataport for quite some time, even should some connector ports become clogged or damaged. The same held true for the wiring inside her head, with signals split across three near-microscopic pure-data (between the dataport’s connector ports and the circuitboard) or bio-data (between the circuitboard and the brain) transmission wires connecting any two points in the system. Should the circuitboard need to be replaced or repaired, its position upon her skull just above the left ear would allow for easy access. And should she ever decide to have the dataport system removed completely, the six near-microscopic holes in her skull would allow for quick removal of the connections to the brain, then the holes themselves could be refilled easily.
Syva shuddered as she considered the cost of the entire procedure, from dataport selection to psychological and medical evaluations to installation to training. Just the dataport alone, one of the cheapest available on the market, cost more than what most mundane people would earn in their over one hundred years of work before retiring. She knew that the price of the dataport was purposely set astronomically high so that prospective dataport users would be forced to consider all the consequences – it had certainly worked with her, and it was not even her money being spent on the installation and training process.
Feeling fatigue overcome her, Syva placed the dataport back in its small presentation box and set the box itself upon her lamptable. Without even bothering to undress, she lay upon the bed, not even bothering to slip between the sheets, and almost immediately began to dream of the possibilities awaiting her.
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