ABIA

“I remember when this was all farm land.”

Danny looked up from his palette and surveyed the landscape through the Audi Q7’s tinted windows. The SUV was creeping along the elevated lanes of the 130 tollway; a sign indicated an exit for the 290 tollway. Although they had passed Austin proper, the proximity of Old Downtown meant an influx of traffic coming from Houston, mostly old beaters without toll tags who would rather chance a run-in with the police than sit on the access roads for hours.

“There wasn’t even a toll road then.”

“What?” asked Danny.

The driver looked at him in the rearview mirror. “It was just empty. Austin didn’t extend this far out. When they first built the toll road, you could bypass 35 for a flat ten bucks. Save you a good hour or two on the worst days.”

“Sorry,” said Danny, lifting his palette in explanation. “I’m trying to prepare for a meeting.”

“Ah,” said the driver, nodding. “Apologies. I’ll leave you to it.”

Danny nodded and swiped at his palette. A small dot flew up from the bottom of the screen, hit a couple of squares, and then exploded in a dizzying array of pixelated fire. The squares quivered and disappeared. With the last of the squares cleared, the field reset and the next level appeared.

The last thing Danny needed was a history lesson on Austin, Texas. He knew the city’s love-hate relationship with the tech companies that had built it up only to abandon it in its time of need. He knew hundreds of disheveled engineers showed up on its doorstep every day with their student loans and CCNA certificates hoping for a job with one of the few tech companies that remained. They flocked to the campuses of Dell, Pattrn, and Nixle Chronos, but more often than not ended up in Old Downtown with all the rest of the unused talent.

Network Engineers worked the serving line at Subway.

Developers wrote code for lighting systems at cyberpunk night clubs.

IT guys worked backend systems at VR brothels.

There were still a few tech jobs to be found outside of the Big Three, but the startup culture that had quenched Austin’s thirst during its period of growth had mostly dried up, leaving the city parched. The few startups that did try to break through the concrete soil rarely passed the Vinestead benchmark; that is, they were either acquired or run out of business when Vinestead stole their ideas.

Danny thought about the streets of Old Downtown, its potholes and long-abandoned construction signs, its abundance of zombie-like pedestrians shuffling from one synth fix to the next. What the city really needed was a day of MotoSlaughter, a one-time event to help rid Old Downtown of its infection. The skyscrapers that had been built there in there 90s were still standing strong. Places like the Austonian and Monarch could be used again if the right people came in.