Free Sycamore (Near-Future Dystopia) by Craig A. Falconer Page A

buying habits, viewing habits, actual behavioural habits… everything. We’ll know who consumers talk to and what they say, what they want for Christmas and what their partner wants for their anniversary.”
    “Private data like that is precious,” said Kurt.
    Minion grinned, exposing a gleaming set of fittingly sharp teeth. “And precious things are valuable. At Data Collection we take that information and offer it to suitable third-parties who will pay whatever we ask. A Premium placement might be for a concert featuring whoever you’ve just been listening to, but Super Premiums are the real story. Say a man has a fight with his wife. Her Forest or voice comms might reveal that she really wants a holiday in France for their anniversary but that she doesn’t think he would do something so romantic. A Super Premium ad would see a Sycamore worker show the man her comment and offer a competitive selection of French holidays. The man wins his wife over, the advertiser gets what they want, and they pay us astoundingly well for the honour.”
    Kurt looked across the table to Amos. He didn’t know what Forest was but hated the sound of the Super Premiums. “This is a joke, right? We’re not really going to be reading people’s messages and watching the world through their eyes just so we can make money from opportunistic advertisers... are we?”
    Amos signalled to Minion that he would handle the probing question. “We are. But only us. I’m happy to sell data and info but I insist on keeping communications analysis and vista monitoring in-house. Advertisers have no right to intrude on consumers’ privacy like that.”
    “And we do?”
    “As per the terms of the EULA, yes — quite explicitly. But we’ll only exercise that right in certain situations. When consumers are in the vicinity of a physical store, for example. Knowing where people look can inform effective store-layout so it’s valuable data. Other than that and the kind of thing Terrance was talking about, DC will analyse a cross-section of consumers’ TV habits to see which areas of the screen they focus on and when; again, producers want that data and are willing to pay for it. But the key point is that only we will ever see the live streams. No one else gets access. Ever.”
    Kurt’s displeasure was distracted. “What about law enforcement, like I said last week? Surely we could make an exception to catch murderers and rapists.”
    “We have something in mind to ensure that we can assist the security agencies without entrusting them with consumers’ streams. The police and so on will have access to the tracking grid, of course, but no more than anyone else.”
    “What do you mean anyone else?”
    Communications Colin cleared his throat before answering Kurt’s query. “A core function of our new social network, Forest, is automatic tracking and mapping of every consumer’s precise location via The Seed.”
    “Wait. What? You can’t share people’s location without their consent. And why track The Seed’s location in the first place? The UltraLenses are already tracked.”
    “Exactly,” said Amos, trying to allay Kurt’s tiresome privacy concerns. “The UltraLenses are tracked anyway, like you just said, so what difference does it make if The Seed is, too?”
    “It makes every difference!” Kurt slammed his fist down into the table harder than intended. “People can take the Lenses out and throw them away. What happens when there’s a chip in your hand that you can’t switch off? Do you not hear how evil that sounds?”
    “There’s no such thing as evil,” Amos said absently.
    “Tracking everyone’s location via a chip under their skin and sharing it without their consent must be as close as it gets. If you launch with that, the press will eat us alive and everything will be for nothing.”
    Amos felt that Kurt was being disrespectful in raising his voice in the meeting room, but his love of money overpowered his love of