A computer hacker wrangles stallions to coral company steer in digital fields. These spurs were used to train the AI horses to obey commands typed into the keyboards. The same keyboards now more antiquated than the disused metal spurs. This jockey liked the heft and feel of the metal variety--his Meissner's corpuscles would be justly activated--something the new kids forgot with their shiny slick corporate gear: The tactical feedback was better than the all mesh, fiber optic slip-skin you could get shipped for a couple credits, but that everyone had. That is what made this man the best at what he did. Company livestock was the vitality of any zaibatsu, and his was no different. This was far from the prismatic skyscrapers of raw shimmering crystal—a cold lapis lazuli—where the corporate secrets were housed. They had been built block by block of seemingly nothing but laser light, jutting out of the horizon. Around their feet the dancing beasts grazed in the fields of data. They had offspring and these would grow and would eventually be brought to market, where they were sold, providing the conglomerate owners with greatly prized dividends.
These spurs were an advancement in technology—from a long line starting at the ancient gardens of Babylon and the first irrigation of water. Bespoke, it was designed and wrought to fit the intricate form of his own hand. Italian in origin, it required precise measurements to fit and dynamically move with his slender bones and musculature. They had demanded cash up front for the commission of the work. Each of the stamped metal spurs were crafted of lightweight titanium. Emblazoned with his call-sign: ’razorsedge’, it was customized and polished until it had a cool blue sheen: each letter of the script was etched with a flourish that danced in the firelight. The next best thing was to be jacked directly into your parietal lobes, so each nerve impulse was perfectly recorded—transmuted—cerebral and quick. That was only if you could afford it. He liked the old ways. The old ways were still the best.
The
spurs were held in the strong hand, and once the five gleaming trackballs took
direct feedback from his fingers to pilot five separate steeds. The spurs themselves responded to the slight upward
flick of the finger to goad on the horse, clinking in song. Of course hardly no one would fully utilize
all five of the horsemen at the same time.
This was only for the elite: razorsedge
was elite, most the time. The old ways were still the best.
The hacker hung up his spurs long ago and they are tarnished and rusted with age. The glass that made the fiber optics that connected this input device to the digital net, has flowed away in time, as glass is a liquid, and liquids like making rivers.
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