Below the API (#3)
WEDNESDAY
Below the API is a short story published as part of the 2024 Summer of Protocols “Protocol Incepting Lore & Literacy” program. You can find an abstract for the project, as well as an index to each chapter on the project’s landing page.
WEDNESDAY
Marcie peered around the corner to see if Scott was available. Of course, he was. It was 2 PM, and he was eating cereal, headset plastered on and ragged beard catching the occasional splash of milk. Occasionally, he waved his arm, manipulating some object only he could see. Marcie steeled herself for a distasteful conversation.
Two hundred more orders had rolled in over the last day. Navi’s notifications had been like a drumbeat, always coming right when Marcie started to get tired or her mind wandered. She’d emailed in sick to work and might have to continue if this kept up—she had over twenty thousand dollars pending in orders. Marcie’s hands were stained black from the new clay, and her arms ached from a full day of throwing and shaping.
There were problems with success, though. She hadn’t been paid yet and needed cash to buy more clay. Navi assured her it was a one-time problem—the cost of “bootstrapping” the business—very common. Still, she needed cash, and only one person in the house had it.
She stepped out into the dining space and was about to ask what he was up to. Instead, she got a closer look at his cereal bowl and found herself saying, “Scott, you ass!”
Scott set his spoon down and looked up at her, headset glass shifting from opaque to transparent. “What’s your problem?”
“This is not a cereal bowl.” She grabbed the bowl with both hands and tried to drag it towards her, but Scott caught the other side. “This is art.”
“Screw off. It’s a pot.”
“It’s art,” she said but relented. Not the battle she needed to fight. She let go of the pot, and Scott pulled it back towards him. “But yes, it’s useful, too.”
“Nice analysis, Sherlock.”
Marcie’s cheeks flushed. “Look, I know you’re busy right now, so I’ll be quick.” Scott took another bite of cereal. “I need a loan.”
Scott put down his spoon and considered her. “What for?”
“My business,” Marcie said. “I’m taking it seriously again. I’ve had hundreds of orders. I was throwing new pots until eleven yesterday. Didn’t you hear?”
“Of course, I did. I’m enjoying it now. It’s like the music during the closing credits. I want to remember what it’s like, so I enjoy the silence more when it’s gone.”
“I’m not going to be gone. I’m onto something big.”
“Yet you need a loan.”
Marcie took a breath, calming herself. “I don’t get paid until the order is received, and it takes some time to throw the pot and ship it. I should start getting the first payments on Saturday. I can pay you back.”
“Oh, you’ll pay me back? That makes it interesting.” Scott pushed the bowl away from him. “Ok, sis, I’m a good guy. I’m listening. But due diligence first. Who on god’s earth is buying from you?”
The question caught Marcie off guard. “I mean, I don’t know who they are. It’s not like they’re coming to the house. They’re mostly looking for house decor — black clay stuff. Look, here on my watch, here’s a new order: ancient pot, black clay, text engraving of ‘Bless this mess.’ Another one hundred dollars, just like that.”
Scott snorted. “‘Bless this mess’?”
“Yeah, the messages are pretty cringe.”
“Who ordered it?”
“I don’t know. Navi can’t share personal information —”
“Who’s Navi?”
“Oh, that’s my agent.” Marcie had forgotten how recently she had started working with Navi. She already felt like an extension of herself. “You know, on the wall in there.”
“Ah, that’s it then,” Scott smirked in a way Marcie didn’t care for. “You’re working with an ant. You’re selling through the PEERNet, is that it?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it. Ants are dumb, but they still beat most consumers. If anything, PEERNet is more efficient. But I can’t believe that people would buy this… this….” He held up the bowl.
“Art.”
“Right. That’s the word.”
“Look, Scott, whether you believe it or not, there are still people out there who appreciate history and like having a connection to our past. They appreciate creators and quality.” Marcie was ready to close this out. “Look, I’ve got a dozen more pots to throw tonight. I’ll have the flywheel spinning in two weeks, and you’ll have the money back in a month. Will you lend me the money or not?”
A look of challenge passed between the siblings.
“Ok. I’ll lend you the money. But I want seven thousand in return.”
“How is that reasonable?”
“You’ll have the ‘flywheel’ going, won’t you?” He rolled it around on his tongue. “Flywheel. Bet that came from your ant.”
“Fifty-five hundred.”
“Six thousand. And I’ll give you one week.”
“Two weeks. If I don’t make it, I’ll start paying rent. Or I’ll move out.”
“Fine.” Scott leaned back. “Look at you. A real businesswoman, now, huh?”
“Six thousand, then. In a week.” Marcie stood up. “How will you send it to me?”
“I’ll tell Dante. Let the ants can figure it out.” He waved his right hand. “But.”
“But what?”
“But I’ve got better ways to make that money work than throwing it away on pots. The market’s been on a tear this week. So you better be on time.”
“Fine, that’s fine. ” Marcie said. “Monday is plenty of time.”
“Good,” Scott’s visor clicked closed as he scraped for another bite of his cereal. “Oh, and sis—this cereal bowl’s a little lopsided. Can you throw me a new one while you’re at it? Thanks, sis.”