Кори Доктороу - Make Shift - Dispatches from the Post-Pandemic Future

The customers drink and that’s where I lean in and take notes. The students seem to be excited about the flavors, saying mostly “Umai” but without much other context, just laughing about the experience. Once they finish, they take tentative nibbles out of the cup, some saving the rest for later. We leave the SKIM-1s there for a while, in case they want to order more. Once it seems like they’re done and busy chatting, the SKIM-1s fold back into transportable shapes, get repackaged by the drones, and are flown away.

The success of the pilot run stirs up interest. We tweak, change the cocktails around, update the recipes and troubleshoot quirks. We add more melodies to the repertoire and smooth out the movements.

Before I can digest that my dream is coming true, my small army of SKIM-1s have full schedules, and are getting split up and sent to different parts of town. I’ve signed deals with a larger delivery drone company, StripedCat, to get them where they need to go. All my initial security worries dissolve. The deliveries come in a seal-all pack. If someone who is not the recipient tampers with the package, an alert gets sent back to the sender and authorities. My hesitation to send out my recipes is erased as event after event goes smoothly. Even the SKIMs are made tamperproof themselves, and are equipped with face scanning and age confirmation devices.

I worry less about my bar clients, hire a manager to handle those operations, and put my full attention into the Shared Sake Socials.

WHEN WE DRANK THE FINISHED SAKE, MY MOM INSISTED THAT IT BE A SOCIAL EVENT.She used to invite Ena and me after we’d moved to the city and were no longer involved in the sake process. We’d come back to our rural town for the ritual. Ena would regale my parents with tales of martial arts—perfect tosses in competition and triumph over those who picked on her outside the mats.

Even two years ago, when Ena’s health was declining, no longer positive with ANVID but still suffering from the consequences of it, my parents brought the sake to us. They put a drop in her porridge, after confirming it would have no interactions with her medication. “For old time’s sake.” I tried shooing them away at the door, telling them they shouldn’t be there, but they declared their tests were negative and said it was their right to see their daughter-in-law. We sat around in masks, sitting at a distance but sharing that one bottle.

For once, it wasn’t Ena telling stories, but my parents, clinking sake cups and digging deep in their imaginations for tales that would charm us into feeling better.

OUR SMALL COMPANY, IMAGINATION MIXOLOGY, HAS A GROUP OF PEOPLE WHOmonitor the live feeds of these holos. I duck in every once in a while, as I still like to be “on the ground.”

Our new and improved SKIM-2s have been deployed to more and more locations. Now we’re prefecture-wide. We’ve increased production, but we’re still working with a limited group of employees, as I’m still guarded about our recipes; I have all of the new hires sign nondisclosure agreements. Luckily, the SKIM-2s can’t divulge recipes as they are equipped with the most advanced set of redundant security systems. The memory log is immediately deleted if there has been any tampering and coupled with the benefits of StripedCat’s security features, there hasn’t been an issue.

Everything has been going smoothly and even the bar has been doing better, with people feeling more relaxed as the weather warms up.

Aimi’s on board full-time as our director of operations, coordinating drone flight schedules and simultaneous Shared Sake Socials. I’ve retreated to the role of inventing new recipes and improving the body and aftertaste of the flash ferment and ingredients, as well as cooking up new flavor profiles for various versions.

But I’m restless. I wish I could get my bar back into shape, get people interacting, laughing, and drinking—all in one spot. I thought my bots and these parties on the holo were social enough, but there’s still something eating away at me. I miss running my hands down the bar counter, the sound of chatter and the dishwasher, the smells of colognes and perfumes all intermingling. I want to work toward that goal, but I wonder how.

I pull a jigger from my pocket and roll it across my knuckles. My mind churns. I consider ways to get involved. Perhaps partner with sanitizing companies? Or volunteer with companies developing vaccines? I don’t think it would bring me back my bar or my customers, but maybe it’s worth a shot—if nothing else it will quell my restlessness. I recall Aimi mentioned something about a pharmaceutical company and I make a note to ask about volunteering opportunities.

AS I’M SETTLING DOWN AT HOME WITH A NEW GINSENG DRINK WITH TRACES OFginkgo nut and seaweed, I get a message to enter into the holospace that Aimi currently is in. I down my drink and log in.

It’s a party—of course, they’re always parties—but this time, I see familiar faces. Two to be exact, among about twelve. The spokesperson of Nakamura-Clemont Pharmaceuticals and CEO Ito Yui. I have seen them on the news. Their freeze-dried vaccine has been chosen to be released to the public and received federal approval. They’re drinking cocktails, sudachi sakejitos, from our much sleeker SKIM-2s and chatting through the holos. As I mingle, a drone arrives at my door bearing another SKIM-2 to serve me drinks.

I’m enjoying the convivial atmosphere, the celebration and the handiwork of the SKIM-2s (such skilled pouring and precision placing of straws and green wedges)—when the spokesperson pulls me aside and Yui draws me into a corner space. I can still hear the muffled sounds of laughter.

“Congratulations,” I say. “It’s quite an achievement.”

“Thank you,” she says. She nods at me to take a sip of a sakejito my SKIM-2 has made for me, and I do. I make a note to ask about volunteering before giving her my full attention. She gestures to the crowd behind the masking net. “I asked Aimi to invite you here not just to partake in the celebrations, but also so we could thank you for bringing this party to life. Our researchers have been working day in and day out to make the freeze-dried vaccines work and they deserve this.”

“You’re welcome,” I say. “It’s a pleasure to honor the people who have worked hard to make this vaccine happen.”

“We’ll still be needing your services as we have many milestones ahead and our employees need a way to celebrate. This is only a small portion of our staff. We have many challenges facing us and these socials give them some reprieve between intense meetings.”

“Challenges?”

“We are testing ways to release the vaccine to the public. We are disseminating vaccines to hospitals and conducting home visits, but the deployment is still slow.”

“Might I suggest StripedCat? I have nothing but good things to say about their delivery services.”

“Yes, we are looking at a number of distribution services. My staff is weighing the benefits and risks of each.”

Through the holo, she gazes at me with an intensity that reminds me of my wife before she would execute a judo throw. The holo doesn’t dilute the effect at all. I see the fervor and depth of intention behind the bronze eyes.

Yui’s voice shifts in tone, edged with impatience. “I only wish that the vaccines could come to them. The old, the weak. Some can’t leave their houses. And medicine can’t administer itself. The costs for the ambulance services to bring the vaccines to them have been hefty.”

Her relentless gaze rests on my drink and moves up to meet my eyes. She tilts her chin, and raises her eyebrows questioningly.

I detect a slight vibration beneath my feet, picked up and transmitted by the holos, the signature feel of the cutting edge mixologist’s cocktail shake in one of the physical rooms of these pharmaceutical researchers. From behind the masking net, one of the SKIM-2s plays its signature melody indicating the pour.