LOG 2.0 LOG: XSPU SURVEY VESSEL AETHEL
AUDITOR: ZYD
LOCATION: SECTOR 62 MEDICAL MAINTENANCE NODE (HOSPITAL TRIAGE)
STATUS: REMOTE UPLINK // HAPTIC SENSORS ENGAGED
“Following the distribution network, near where the priests reside,” Zyd reported. “Transitioning haptic simulation to a new environment: Hospital.”
DATA STREAM CONNECTED.
“I’ve accessed the internal optical sensor stream; the simulation is running.” V’lar said
The taste of the air shifted violently. The ozone and wet wool of the subway dissolved, replaced instantly by a sharp, chemical sting. It tasted of isopropyl alcohol, burnt coffee, and underlying rot.
Zyd stood in the digitally constructed lobby of the facility. Based on the stock valuation she has just seen in New York–trillions of currency tokens moving at lightspeed–she expected a cathedral of high technology. She expected sterile efficiency.
Instead, she saw grime.
“This environment does not fit with my expectations, Commander,” Zyd noted, adjusting her hapti sensors to filter the noise. She reached out and let her fingers trail against the virtual waiting room chair. The vinyl was cracked. The foam padding was exposed at the edges, yellowing with age and repeated use.
“The data indicated a sector of immense wealth,” Zyd said “Yet the infrastructure is failing. Look at the lighting.”
BzzzzzT
BzzzzzT
The gas-excitation illumination system flickered overhead, strobing like a dying star. “Non-coherent. Inefficient. The ventilation system is recycling airborne pathogens rather than filtering them. This is not a repair bay; it is an incubator’’
“Isolating the ventilation system, specifications are listed on the global database.” V’lar said. ‘There is a filtration system present; its capabilities are within reason for this environment. Accessing maintenance records.”
“This is interesting, the system is maintained by yet another organization.” V’lar continued. Maintenance responsibilities recently changed hands. That itself is not the error; the new maintenance provider has only committed a fraction of labour. Significantly less than previous.”
“Commander, they are purposefully running the filtration system out of specification. Filters should have been changed, the system cleaned and updated. The logs show no resources have been spent.”
“Where is all the wealth then? Perhaps the wealth is not spent on the facility, but on the infrastructure, the stockpile and the labourers.” Ky’rell said.
“Tracing allocation patterns now” V’lar noted.
“Commander, look at the choke point,” Zyd answered.
She scanned the room. Thirty biological units sat in broken chairs. They were coughing, bleeding, and vibrating with pain and sickness. But they were not moving towards the repair technicians. They sat, waiting for some sort of lottery to access the facilities.
“Triage Desk” Zyd observed, reading the translation.
She focused on the attendant. He wasn’t a medic, he was an administrator in scrubs. He wasn’t holding a diagnostic scanner; he was holding a credit card terminal.
“There is the filter,” Zyd realized. “The facility has the capacity to repair the units. The repair technicians and healers are present. The tools are idle. But the units are held in the queue.”
A female unit approached the desk. She was shaking. Her skin pallor suggested a critical lack of glucose regulation.
“I need to refill my prescription,” the woman whispered. “I’m out, and my doctor is closed.” She pushed the folded, empty box towards the attendant.
“Thats the asset,” Zyd noted. “The product that drove the recession Hex, is used for glucose regulation in faulty subjects.”
The attendant didn’t look at the patient. He looked at the screen. “Coverage card please.” He swiped the card through a slot on the reader. A few moments later the attendant looked up at the woman, slightly crestfallen. “I’m sorry, but you’re out of network, and your insurance declined the coverage. That will be 300.”
The pale woman gasped at the figure. “300? It was 40 last month!’
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“I’m sorry, you’ll need to find an in-network provider.” The attendant leaned in conspiratorially. “If you were here last week, you would have been in-network. Your insurance provider is reducing their network coverage; the company isn’t doing well. Maybe shop around?”
The woman held back tears, “I’ve been everywhere….I can’t…”
“Lies,” V’lar hissed from his station. “I’ve assessed the value layer they were trying to access. The organization has significant value stores, and records a historically high value accumulation.”
“Because of the Hex,” Zyd realized, the logic clicking into place. “The value dropped in New York because ‘wellness’ was up. So the industry reacted to protect its value stores. By denying this woman access to the value layer, they do not need to expend resources. They are extracting theoretical lost profit from this subject’s desperation.”
Zyd walked through the holographic simulation, through the desk–her ghost form shimmering in the flickering light–and stood in front of the payment terminal. Her optical sensors analyzing the plastic gatekeeper.
It was a small, grey box. Chipped plastic. Grease-stained keypad. The connection cable was frayed, held together by electrical tape.
"This is the engine," Zyd whispered. "This primitive, dirty machine. It is the valve that decides who gets repaired and who is liquidated."
"Audit the product," Ky'rell commanded. "I want to know if the price reflects the complexity."
"Scanning the records” V’lar said. "Initiating Bill of Materials breakdown..."
Zyd moved towards the pharmacy, crouching down to a small metal box. The contents were cold and lined up efficiently.
She focused her sensory array on the small glass bottle sitting on the counter. V’lar’s findings flowed into her mind as she tore it apart atom by atom in her mind.
AUDIT LOG: ASSET CLASS - BIOSYNTHETIC STABILIZER
- Container: Borosilicate Glass (Standard Grade).
- Est. Cost: 0.75 Credits.
- Stopper: Butyl Rubber.
- Est. Cost: 0.10 Credits.
- Fluid: Synthesized Peptide Hormone.
- Feedstock: Yeast/Bacteria culture.
- Process: Fermentation (Scalable).
- Est. Cost: 2.05 Credits.
- Packaging: Cardboard/Ink.
- Est. Cost: 0.25 Credits.
TOTAL BOM COST: 3.15 Credits. ADJUSTED LANDED COST (Transport/Labor): 4.05 Credits.
She looked at the glowing screen on the payment terminal.
RETAIL PRICE: 300 credits
"Commander," Zyd whispered, her voice tightening. "There is a math error."
"Explain."
"The markup," Zyd pointed a trembling finger at the shelf. "The manufacturing complexity is trivial. The feedstock is abundant. The glass is sand. Yet they are pricing it at 75 times the Cost of Goods Sold."
"Perhaps there is a shortage?" Ky’rell suggested.
"Negative. Inventory is at 98% capacity. The shelves are full. There is no scarcity."
The woman at the counter began to cry, "I'll die without it."
The attendant shook his head; sadness played out across the man's face. “Here’s what I can do” He said, sliding a credit card application form towards the woman.
"That is the variable," Zyd realized. The logic clicked into place, cold and horrific. "They are not pricing the glass or its contents. They are not pricing the liquid. They are pricing the Failure State."
"The failure state?" Ky'rell inquired.
"They know the unit will cease to function without it," Zyd said, horrified. "They have calculated the exact threshold of total bankruptcy the host can endure before termination, and they set the price there. This is not a marketplace transaction, Commander."
The attendant took the credit application from the woman and began entering her information.
The woman turned away, her legs shaking as she walked toward the exit, clutching the precious glass vial that would keep her alive just long enough for the interest charge to accumulate.
Zyd watched the remaining vials sit there in the fridge. Inert. Useless.
"It is a hostage situation," Zyd concluded. "The System would rather let the inventory rot on the shelf than lower the margin to save the asset."
She looked at the credit card terminal, the dirty, chipped plastic box with the grease-stained keypad. It sat between the dying woman and the 4-dollar glass vial.
"That machine," Zyd noted, "is the deadliest predator on this planet."
LOG 2.0 END.
Who does The Market actually serve?