The Masq

STANDING AT THE CURTAIN'S EDGE, he could already feel the heat from the spotlights. Rubbing his palms down the legs of his pants, he fought to ignore the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His body was shaking before he’d even stepped on stage.

Inhaling a deep breath, he released it twice as slow. Upon hearing his name, he flinched into action, then walked in front of five hundred people, knees knocking each step of the way.

The conference hall felt infinitely larger from the perspective of a presenter. The fifteen-minute practice session granted to him yesterday was nothing compared to standing in front of a live audience, with a thousand eyes all focused on him. But TechUp was the biggest conference in the world for technology startups. Just getting the chance to present was a feat in itself. It was no time to freeze.

Francis Tipple needed two things to happen. Make a splash. And get funding. But there was no need for him to be nervous, for he was confident he was going to do both. Otherwise he wouldn’t have used the last of his cash to attend the conference. He’d spent the past seven years slaving away in his father’s garage, perfecting his technology. In secret, without any outside help.

It was all his. And it worked.

So why am I so nervous?

He nodded and smiled, shaking hands with the man who called him out on stage. Jack Feller. Industry big wig and Silicon Valley superstar. Worth billions, Francis couldn’t imagine why the guy was on stage, introducing nobodies. Jack gave Francis a pat on the shoulder and made his exit stage left.

Taking a sip of water from the glass on the podium, he immediately wondered if it was his. A few snickers from the front row told him it wasn’t.

Adjusting the microphone down closer to his mouth, he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming today.”

He could hear the quaver in his voice and he needed it to stop. Looking around the audience, he began to picture them all, every single one of them, with their faces blurred out. They soon became nothing but a room full of pixelated blobs on bodies. The trick helped him relax.

“For decades now, the camera has been a ubiquitous part of out lives. Most of you have never known a life without a cellphone. Many of you might not believe there was a time when they didn’t have cameras in them. It’s true. It wasn’t even too long ago.”

The audience appeared to enjoy his opening line, giving him a dose of much needed confidence.

“From cellphones, to webcams, to security cameras, to traffic cams, and on, and on. The list is endless. Cameras are everywhere. And in some ways, that’s a good thing. They’ve helped solve crimes, convicting criminals and even putting bad cops in jail. Or at least suspending them with pay.”

Thankfully, the dig at law enforcement was well-received. Some people laughed, while others murmured in agreement, outraged at social injustice. It’s exactly what he was aiming for.

“But the world isn’t cops and robbers. We’re not all criminals or crooked police. In fact, the vast majority of us are not. Are we?”

More agreement from the blurry crowd.

“Here’s a question for you.” He paused, with a pondering finger touched to his lip. “How many photos do you think you are in? And I’m not talking about the pictures you’ve posed for, the pictures that you know you’re in. I’m talking about all those other pictures. The ones where you’re in the background—or maybe not—doing mundane things, that some stranger happens to catch on camera.”

His confidence bolstered, he surprised himself when he stepped out from behind the safety of the podium and started to walk around. Leaving his index cards behind, he spoke freely, as though having a conversation with the crowd.

“But let’s say you’re doing something that isn’t so mundane. Or something embarrassing. Picking your nose, scratching your ass, falling down and having your skirt fly up. And there’s a stranger to catch it all on camera. And not only a picture, but video too.”

The lights dimmed halfway, and familiar images appeared behind him. A montage of the internet’s most notorious and shameful moments filled the giant screen.

“That stranger decides to post it online, and suddenly you’re a meme. Famous overnight, for all the wrong reasons, and you are forever digitally enshrined on the internet.”

If somebody had a pin to drop, it would have echoed throughout the room. He had their attention.

“Some photos are in good fun. I mean, we all like a good joke, right? But other photos are downright cruel. Some have even driven their subjects—or should I say their victims—to suicide.

“Well, I say no more.”

Mentally unblurring the audience, he looked around the room to reveal a sea of captivated faces. Drifting back to the podium, he picked up the small remote and pressed a button. The room darkened amid curious whispers, and the screen glowed bright white before dissolving back to black.

He repeated the phrase with convincing authority.

“No. More.”

A single word appeared in a bold white font in the centre of the screen.

Masq.

“For decades our fears lay in the looming threat of an unchecked, unrestrained, oppressive security state.”

Epic orchestral music pumped from the speakers as the screen came to life. Surveillance videos, police bodycams, and miscellaneous war footage thrown in for good measure. Pump up the violence, stoke the paranoia. Nothing sold better than fear.

“The idea of Big Brother watching our every move has made for great books and movies. But, even though some of you will beg to differ, we’re nowhere near the dystopia so many wonderful writers envisioned. I mean, we’re forty years past nineteen-eighty-four. I bet most of you weren’t even born yet.” He paused, then added his scripted afterthought. “I know I wasn’t.”

A round of light laughter confirmed he hit the mark. Let them relax a moment to catch their breath. Then hit them again.

“But it doesn’t take some totalitarian regime sweeping into power to strip away all our rights. Our right to privacy. To assembly. To freedom of movement. And, last but not least, free speech.”

The plan was to appeal to people across the political spectrum. From the alt-right to the far-left, and everyone in between. But at the same time, he didn’t want to get too political. He wanted to make it about personal comfort and security. The screen remained blank, except for the four white letters in its center.

“It doesn’t take a foreign power, or some network of criminals, or even that scary thing called the Dark Web you’ve heard so much about. Our greatest enemy, that which is working against the most, is us.”

Reaching into his front pocket, he pulled out his cellphone and held it above his head.

“We are the ones who are watching.

“We are the ones putting ourselves at risk.

“We are the security state. Collectively monitoring each other like some Neighborhood Watch program run amok.

“You might be wondering what I’m getting at. What this word behind me means.”

After confidently pacing the stage, he returned to the podium.

“Lights please.”

The conference hall brightened, and he looked around the room. All eyes were transfixed on him, hanging on his every word. And, incredibly, he felt at ease.

He pressed the remote and the screen changed to a live video feed of the stage, the camera zoomed in just enough to capture him from head to foot.

“I’m here to offer a solution. The only thing that can protect us from all these threats.”

He silently counted to three.

“Anonymity.”

Heads turned left and right as people looked to their neighbors for answers. Nobody knew a thing about this young man on stage. He hadn’t approached a single firm for funding, hadn’t run a beta, or made the slightest peep on social media.

He noticed people lean back and cross their arms. He knew what they were thinking. They were expecting him to pitch some virus protection or new security software.

“I’m not talking about software. This isn’t about another VPN or some anti-virus, anti-malware browser. I’m talking about real world, wearable, twenty-four-seven protection.

“There are now twice as many mobile phones on earth as there are people. There are ten times as many cameras. If you’re in an urban setting, you are being filmed. That’s just a fact of life. And it’s a fact that will not change. It will only get worse. People talk about going off the grid all the time but let’s be honest. Just because you choose not to see it, doesn’t mean it can’t see you. There is no off the grid.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removed the pair of black-rimmed glasses and put them on his face. In sync behind him, his larger-than-life version did the same. But as it did, its face disappeared behind by a pixelated blur.

He looked left and right and up and down, then rolled his head in a circle. He walked to the far right of the stage, then back across to the edge of the left. Everywhere he went, every motion he made, his face remained hidden on the screen.

Looking around the audience, it was clear he had captured the attention of half of them. The other half were either on the fence or smirking.

“You may be thinking, so what?” he said, upon returning to the podium. “But let’s take a second look at something.”

He clicked the remote and the notorious videos replayed, this time with the faces blurred.

“Not such a big deal now, are they? Most wouldn’t even become viral. I mean, we want to see their faces, don’t we? The pain, the suffering, the embarrassment. The guilt? It’s hard to laugh or be outraged at a blur. That kid there, probably wouldn’t have shot himself, and that girl wouldn’t have taken pills.”

He let the suicides sink in before he continued.

“You might be thinking, so what? This is just some basic video editing. Let me assure you it is not.”

He looked around the audience and said, “How many of you have a smartphone?”

Every single hand went up.

“If you have it with you right this moment, please keep your hand in the air.”

Not a single hand went down. He would have been shocked if one did.

“Okay, thank you. You may put your hands down. But please take out your phones. Don’t worry about all these No Camera signs everywhere. We’ve got permission.”

The audience chuckled and abided his request. Removing an envelope from his other breast pocket, he took out a stack of bank-wrapped hundreds and waved them above his head.

“This is my last ten thousand dollars. Once this is gone, I’m broke. Absolute zero.” He allowed his words to sink in. “But I will give this entire stack of bills to the first person who can bring me a photo or video of me standing up here, face completely visible and unblurred, while I’m wearing my Masq.”

A murmur circled through the audience, many wondering if his challenge was legit. It didn’t take long for a few of them to spring into action. Chairs squeaked across the floor as people quickly stood to snap a pic. Like a drawn out standing ovation, others joined in, until everyone was on their feet. They moved into the aisles then charged toward the stage, phones aimed at Francis every step of the way.

People shook their heads in disbelief, then in frustration, with some even smacking their phones.

“Can I use this?” a young man called from the edge of the stage. He was holding up a camcorder. “Or does it need to be a phone?”

Francis smiled. “Of course, you can use anything you want. Whatever you’ve got—RED, GoPro, or even an IMAX—whip it out and start filming.”

Hands shot up from the crowd. Francis pointed to a young woman holding a digital recorder.

“What if I want to be in a picture? Do I need to keep taking that thing off my face?”

“Not at all. Every unit has a unique identifier, kind of like a 3D bar code. Its owner will have complete control over it, but still be able to safely share it with others. Using the online app will remove the mosaic from any photo, with permission of course.”

Five minutes later, Jack Feller walked back on stage. He raised his hands and waved at the room. By that time, everyone was out of their seat. Even if they didn’t need the money, they were determined to capture a shot of the face behind the Masq. Francis had even seen Jack snap a few pics himself from the edge of the curtain.

Standing at the podium, Jack leaned into the mic and said, “Okay, people. Back to your seats, please. We’ve got six more presentations to see this afternoon.”

He covered the mic with his hand and leaned back toward Francis. “Not that anyone’s going to be paying attention. Nice show, kid. Nice show.”

BY THE TIME PEOPLE FINALLY settled down and returned to their seats, a full hour had passed since Francis stepped on stage. A young conference worker pulled him from the crowd, ushered him through a service hallway, and showed him to a private lounge.

“This room is reserved for organizers, supporters, and key investors,” she said. “Help yourself to any food or beverages. Everything is complimentary.”

Francis looked around the room. It was furnished with a variety of seating options to suit any meeting style. Tables and chairs, a bar with a long line of stools, and sofas encircling coffee tables. One corner even had those giant inflatable exercise balls that were an office craze a few years back.

Francis sidled up to the long buffet table and picked up a plate. He wasn’t sure why he was there, but he may as well get a meal out of it.

“Try the oysters,” a voice said from over his shoulder. “They’re from Tomales Bay.”

Francis spun around to see Jack Feller standing behind him. He was alone.

“Shellfish doesn’t agree with me, actually. I was thinking pasta salad and these mini chicken burgers, or whatever they are.”

“Tofu.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those burgers are made out of tofu. They’re good, trust me. Give them a shot.”

Francis nodded and put some pasta salad and two small tofu burgers on his plate.

Jack motioned toward an empty table. “Mind if we sit?”

Francis nodded again, then followed Jack to a table. Sitting down, he questioned his decision to bring the plate of food. He was sitting down with one of the most powerful men in the industry. Was he really going to start stuffing his face?

“Please,” Jack said. “Eat. Don’t starve on my account.”

Francis smiled and took a hesitant bite of tofu. “Mmm. You’re right, it’s good.”

“Told ya. That little gadget of yours is also pretty good. You caused quite the commotion out there. People were still talking about your gadget during the next presentation. I pity the guys who followed you.”

Francis cringed at the word gadget but did his best to mask it. Feigning interest, he asked, “What were they pitching?”

“I have no idea. I don’t think anybody does.”

Francis relaxed and scooped up a mouthful of pasta salad. They talked for an hour, until Jack had to go back on stage to close out the day. Twenty-four hours after that, Francis found himself back on stage with Jack, when he was presented with the TechUp Cup.

Awarded to the most innovative and disruptive new product or service at the conference, the TechUp Cup was the most sought-after prize in tech. Its $100,000 cash prize was considered secondary to the amount of free press and media exposure it garnered, as well as the attention of every venture capitalist in the country.

Francis Tipple’s phone didn’t stop ringing for a week, and his inbox was so full he couldn’t keep up. Reporters wanted interviews and VC’s wanted to invest. But there was only one man who got a meeting. The man who got to Francis first. Jack Feller.

In hindsight, maybe Francis should have taken a few more meetings, but he wasn’t a businessman. He was a visionary and pioneer.

IT TOOK A YEAR OF TESTING before Quality Assurance gave the green light, but when The Masq finally hit the shelves, it sold out the first day. With a forty percent stake in the company, Jack invited Francis to dinner to celebrate their success.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Jack said. “Limited production run or not, a new gadget selling out in its first eight hours is unheard of.”

“Six hours is what I was told,” Francis said. “And I wish you’d stop calling it that.”

Jack raised his hands in defense. “I’m sorry, I forgot. I’ve never seen a device sell so quickly.”

“It shouldn’t come as such a surprise. People want privacy and the freedom it affords.”

Francis never doubted people would buy his creation. The world had lost control. State power seemed to carry on unchecked, while crime continued to run rampant. With the internet serving as battleground, pulpit, and courthouse, people needed protection. Something more than virus protection or a VPN. Something more powerful than a gun. There’d been so much over-sharing since the start of the millennium, it was only a matter of time before people demanded that control back.

“Let’s save the freedom spiel for the press and marketing department. It’s just you and me talking,” Jack said. “If people really wanted privacy, the internet wouldn’t exist, and I wouldn’t be a billionaire.”

“Maybe people are changing.”

Jack threw his head back and laughed. “I forget you’re still in your twenties, until you say something like that. People aren’t changing, they’re the same as they’ve always been. People are cyclical and predictable, and they always want what they don’t have. In the summer, they want air conditioning, in the winter they want heat. If nobody’s looking, they cry for attention. If everyone’s staring, they bitch about privacy.”

Francis clasped his hands beneath his chin and said, “Tell me again Grandpa, what life was like before the internet.”

“Funny guy. I can hardly wait until you turn forty.”

“I welcome the day. Hopefully privacy will have long been restored by then. Maybe I won’t need to be such an idealist.”

“I’m not saying don’t have ideals. Just be aware, two things are guaranteed to change them.”

“And what might those be?”

“Money and age.”

Jack snapped his fingers to flag down a waiter. They ordered dinner then began to talk numbers.

“I’ve got two more factories lined up and ready to go,” Jack said, after sniffing the wine. “We’ll do one more run with China before giving the green light to India and Vietnam.”

“Why wait?”

“We still need to see how they sell.”

“They’ll sell. We saw proof of that today.”

“We need to be prudent,” Jack said, a smirk tugging at his cheek. “Besides, China upped their next production run. Tenfold.”

Francis choked mid-sip. “That’s a million units!”

THE SECOND PRODUCTION RUN sold almost as quickly as the first hundred thousand. Faster, in fact, on a units per hour basis.

Jack Feller was so confident with the first day figures of the second batch, production in Vietnam and India started before the last device left the shelves. And once it started, production never stopped.

The year that followed was a whirlwind of press, parties, and more press. Everywhere Francis looked, he saw photos of himself. It felt like he and Jack were on the front page of every major website and every magazine cover in the world. In two years, he went from his last ten thousand dollars to being worth half a billion.

It didn’t hurt that Hollywood was full of early adopters and A-list advocates, and it wasn’t long before the Masq became a staple of the celebrity survival kit. One actress called it more essential than her stylist and more useful than her agent. During his award speech, a leading actor quipped that Francis had singlehandedly put the paparazzi out of business.

When Christmas arrived, sales hit the stratosphere, and they sold ten million units in the month of December alone. From there, it was like a snowball rolling downhill, as Masq kept getting bigger and bigger.

Francis saw no reason their unparalleled growth shouldn’t continue. They had absolutely no competition, for the technology was his and his alone. They’d never sought another round of funding, thus never taken on new investors. They had nobody to listen to and nobody to report to. He and Jack had discussed it, and neither saw any need in going public.

But after celebrating his thirtieth birthday, Jack’s earlier words echoed through Francis’ mind. The two things guaranteed to change your ideals. Money and age.

He wasn’t that much older, and he’d been too busy to spend any money, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of those words. He wasn’t sure what it meant, so he mentioned it to Jack.

“It could be you’re just uncomfortable with success,” Jack said. “We’ve all been there. We can’t believe it’s happening to us, we’re afraid we don’t deserve it, things are going too well, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Really? You’ve felt those things?”

“Of course. And anyone who says they haven’t, is either a liar or a sociopath.”

“So, what did you do? What should I do?”

“Enjoy the ride. Who cares if it ends? You’ve got enough put away that you’ll never have to worry about money again. But, you know what? I think you might be the one to end up teaching me something. The stuff I’m reading in the news, it’s incredible. I mean, your gadget might just change the world after all.”

“Device, Jack. It’s a device.”

THE NAGGING FEELING SUBSIDED, but never fully went away. And two weeks into the new year, it came back full force to smack him in the face. He opened his laptop and read the gratuitous headline, praying it was a spelling error, but knowing it wasn’t. Reading the article, the nauseous pit in his stomach grew.

MASQ KILLING: 300 DEAD IN DALLAS

Dallas (NCN)—On a day when thousands of people gathered in Dallas to celebrate the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., horror struck the city in an unprecedented manner. Terrorists, armed with AK-47s and other automatic weapons, descended upon the MLK Day Parade and opened fire.

Each of the nine assailants wore a high-tech pair of glasses called a Masq, a new gadget that conceals the face of whoever wears it. It is not the first time criminals have used the device.

Nobody has yet to claim responsibility for the attack.

Scores were killed in the attack, with initial fatalities reported at 300. That number is expected to rise. NCN will update this story as news comes in.

Francis stared at the screen, mouth hanging open. Stunned and speechless, his phone rang six times before he picked it up. Jack never called that early in the morning.

“I take it you’ve seen the news,” Francis said.

“Dallas? Yes, I’ve seen it. I’ve already been contacted.”

“Contacted by who?”

“I think you’d better get down here. I’m at the office.”

Francis slammed shut his laptop. Thirty minutes later, he was pacing back and forth while Jack sat on the edge of his desk.

“What are we going to do?” Francis said, throwing up his hands. “There’s no way in hell I’m giving the government my code. That flies in the face of everything Masq stands for.”

“They’re talking about a federal ban, Francis. And if it gets banned here, you can bet our other markets will follow suit. We’ll lose all of Europe, probably Canada and Mexico with that new trade agreement, and maybe even South America. Then where do we go? We’ve made very little headway with Japan and we’re years away from getting into China, if we ever break in there at all.”

“What about India?”

“Do really you see India as the answer to our problems?”

“No.” Francis slumped his shoulders and collapsed into the sofa. “What about our lawyers? Have you heard from Bryan?”

“He’s on his way here. Until then, we don’t talk to anyone. Don’t answer the phone, don’t respond to emails. And for god’s sake stay offline.”

THE GOVERNMENT'S RESPONSE was swift and severe. A week after the Martin Luther Massacre, as the tragedy came to be known, Masqs were removed from the shelves of every store and banned from further sale anywhere in the country, online or off.

Congress was set to vote on a bill forbidding Masqs to be worn in public.

Francis, Jack, and their team of lawyers went to war with the federal government. The battlefield was not only the courthouse, but the collective conscience of the American people. Their weapon was the Constitution.

Masq’s chief attorney, Bryan Zelnick, was as passionate as he was brilliant. Still, it was hard to tell which he loved more, the Constitution or the spotlight. Not that it mattered, for he was on their side.

Zelnick organized a protest for the fifth of March in Washington D.C., calling it March for the Fifth. Through his connections, media outlets began branding it the most important demonstration since the civil rights movement. The National Rifle Association called the case as critical to freedom as the Bill of Rights itself.

Francis wasn’t keen on the idea of cozying up to the gun lobby, but he saw no alternative. Their attorney made it very clear that the Fifth Amendment couldn’t stand on its own. The Second Amendment was the only part of the Constitution still bulletproof. Pun intended. And he was right.

The media ate it up. So, did the public. Suddenly, the right to privacy was important again, and Masq garnered support from across the political spectrum. Gun lobbyists cautioned against the slippery slope to a firearm ban, while gun-control advocates feared the government was infringing upon every other right the Constitution had to offer.

One popular activist told TV cameras, “Privacy, expression, assembly, movement. Take your pick.”

The National Mall overflowed, with more than two million people descending upon the nation’s capital. Sister protests in a thousand other cities and towns around the nation attracted five million more.

The news footage was like nothing seen before. Millions of people gathered together, standing shoulder to shoulder, their faces all masked with privacy blurs. Every one of them safe from the prying eyes of government. Every one of them an ardent supporter of Masq. Every single one a customer.

With one battlefield conquered, Zelnick and his team appeared before the Supreme Court with unwavering confidence, for they had the collective support of the People behind them.

“It’s been nearly one hundred and forty years,” Zelnick said, with a flamboyant wave of his arm, “since the Honorable Louis Brandeis wrote those indispensable, dare I say foundational, five words regarding our nation’s Constitution. The Fifth Amendment guarantees our right to privacy, and that includes, as Judge Brandeis so succinctly declared, the right to be left alone.

“The world has certainly changed since 1890, but we still hold dear our constitutional rights, do we not? We don’t simply rip up the Constitution because technology changes, do we? If that’s the case, then I guess it’s time to do away with the Second Amendment. We all know the Founding Fathers didn’t have AR-15’s when drafting the Constitution. That argument’s been made ad nauseum for the past century, and it’s been proven again and again to be nothing but balderdash.”

Zelnick cleared his throat before delivering the kill shot.

“My client has created a device that not only protects a person’s Fifth Amendment right to privacy, in this day and age, it fundamental in ensuring their right to be left alone. If you take away a person’s right to wear a Masq, you may as well take away their right to bear arms.”

Murmurs rumbled throughout the courtroom and the judge’s adjourned to confer. They reconvened a mere twelve days later with their opinion. The Supreme Court’s decision was unanimous, with all nine justices finding in favor of Masq.

FRANCIS AND JACK MET AT THE STEAKHOUSE for a dinner that had become a monthly ritual. They sat at the same table every time and took turns paying the bill. With their company accounts, of course. There was always business to discuss.

“We should really send the Feds as thank-you card,” Jack said.

“For the contract?” Francis snorted and shook his head. “Embedding Masq into agency-issued sunglasses was your idea, Jack. I’ll leave the card to you.”

“Not the contract. I’m talking about that ban last year and the hearing with the Supreme Court—you can’t buy that kind of publicity.”

“It hasn’t bothered you at all, aligning with the gun lobby?”

Jack laughed. “A billion in the bank, and still the idealist.”

“It’s hardly in the bank,” Francis said. “Besides, a lot of wealthy people don’t like guns. It doesn’t make me an idealist.”

“I know. I’m just busting your chops.”

“From a business standpoint, it could come back to bite us in the ass,” Francis said. “You’ve seen the same numbers I have. The number of crimes committed with a Masq continues to grow. It’s only a matter of time before there’s more backlash again. If we’re in bed with the gun lobby, that could hurt our credibility.”

“Good point. Very pragmatic of you.” Jack smiled. He looked impressed. “Maybe you’re not such an idealist after all.”

“It’s something we need to stay on top of. We should keep our distance,” Francis said. “Anyways, enough about that. I’m working on something new.”

“New frames? Don’t tell me you’re unhappy with the design department again. We’ve got six new styles for spring and twelve for summer.”

It was Francis’ turn to laugh.

“I couldn’t care less about the frames,” he said. “They’ll be obsolete in a few years, if everything goes according to plan.”

Francis watched Jack’s imagination kick into high gear. There was practically a light bulb above his head.

“No frames?” Jack snapped his fingers. “Contacts, right? You’ve designed contact lenses.”

“I’m not talking about contact lenses, Jack. It’s much bigger than that. Or should I say, smaller.”

Jack raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve been working on a device you’ll never worry about losing or having stolen. You’ll never forget to put it on, because you’ll never take it off. And best of all, nobody will know you’re wearing it.”

“Out with it, Francis. While my steak’s still warm.”

“Fine. It’s a subdermal implant, inserted just below the skin of the temple.”

“An implant?” Jack shook his head. “No way. You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know what percentage of our revenue comes from repeat business? No, of course you don’t. So, I’ll tell you. Our first year in business it was ten percent. Pretty incredible considering we only sell one product. Year two, it was almost twenty-five percent. Last year, thirty-five. And it continues to climb.”

Francis lifted his wine glass and settled in for another one of Jack’s business lectures.

“Quick fact. You’ve only got a thirteen percent chance of making a sale with a new customer. With a repeat customer, your odds jump to seventy percent. Seven. Zero. So tell me, once all our customers have their set-for-life Masq installed in their cheek—”

“Temple.”

“Whatever. My point is, we need repeat sales. And fashion trends offer us a rather stable recurring income.”

“There are eight billion people in the world, Jack.”

“There sure are. But three billion live in markets we can’t sell in, and another three billion can’t afford our product in the first place.”

Francis nodded and put his glass on the table.

“Okay, fair point. But that leaves two billion. What’s wrong with selling a couple billion implants?”

“Francis, we’re going to ship a hundred million units this fiscal year. And even though thirty-five million will be repeat sales, we’re still attracting a lot of new business. But let’s think long-term. Five years from now, we won’t have this kind of growth in new business. Even with a hundred percent market saturation, we’ll hit a wall eventually.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely. Besides, wouldn’t we be wandering into med device territory with that kind of product? You expect our customers to get surgery?”

“It’s nothing like that. It’s barely more than pin prick. The procedure for implanting a subdermal contraceptive takes five minutes. You can get body mods at tattoo shops. It’ll be a little more than getting your ears pierced.”

“Except it’s your temple,” Jack said. “Can you imagine what hoops the government would have us jumping through? They hate us enough already. And every country’s going to be different, let’s not forget that.”

Francis leaned back, weighing Jack’s words. His points were more than valid, but Jack had long since lost his passion for technology. Francis was still driven by that need to set the bleeding edge. He was a vanguard and visionary, taking the People into the future. He’d figure out a solution.

IT TOOK TWO YEARS OF TESTING, and another year of greasing government palms, but the iMasq finally made it to market. Almost overnight, every hair salon and tattoo parlor with a piercing gun added implants to their menu. Most of them were even accredited by Masq Inc.

When videos began appearing online demonstrating the DIY approach to implanting the small device on your own, Bryan Zelnick urged his client to take immediate action. Jack called a press conference to tackle the situation head-on.

“Starting tomorrow,” Jack told the room of reporters, “every iMasq purchase will include a voucher redeemable at any accredited implanter.”

A young reporter shot his hand into the air. Jack nodded at him.

“And how many of those are there? These so-called accredited implanters?”

“Firstly, we have a stringent accreditation process. And secondly, to answer your question, nationwide there are thousands. And that number is growing every day. Any city with a six-figure population is bound to have at least one, if not several.”

Another hand shot up. This time a woman, recording on a cellphone. “And those in smaller cities or towns? What recourse do they have?”

“As I said, our accredited implanters are growing in number every day. I’m sure nobody will be left out. Thank you all for coming.”

Jack smiled and waved, deflecting further questions, then quickly left the room. Following a brisk walk down the hall, he entered Francis’ office without knocking. Pacing back and forth in front of his desk, Francis had never seen his partner so upset.

“This is going to hurt us bad,” Jack said. “We launched a cottage industry with these implants, and now we’re going to be paying for the whole damn thing. And it’s no surprise that the price of implanting just went up. We’ll be losing eighty percent profit on every unit sold. Eight. Zero.”

Francis calmly leaned back in his chair. “I guess we’ll just have to increase sales, won’t we?”

“Seeing as we’ve essentially put an end to repeat business with this new device, I’d love to hear how you think we should do that.”

“I have a feeling we won’t have to do much,” Francis said.

And he was right.

To curb the number of botched DIY procedures from getting out of hand, video sites began removing and banning such content. But not before those videos had spread around the world. And that turned out to be a very good thing for the iMasq.

SELLING THROUGH A NETWORK of foreign partners, online sales of the iMasq skyrocketed when they began shipping to new overseas markets. While still not approved for sale in China, South Korea, or Japan, the iMasq was breaking records in Taiwan and throughout Southeast Asia. People in countries where the iMasq wasn’t available were simply going on vacation, getting the implant, allowing a week for the incision to heal, then returning home safe, sound, and secure. To many local economies, implant tourism was a bigger boon than honeymoons.

On the other side of the world, implant tourism in the Baltic states was helping the company grow in another huge market they’d yet to penetrate. Russia. Once again, business was booming.

Sitting at their regular table, Jack selected a bottle of Cabernet and they ordered a couple of steaks.

Jack said, “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Francis. This implant was a stroke of genius. There isn’t a country on earth that can keep us out. And the best thing about these gray markets, nobody redeems the voucher.”

Clinking glasses, Jack laughed while Francis smiled.

“Let’s not forget that we’re finally serving those markets where we’re needed most. Countries that don’t even have a fifth amendment to fight for.”

“Of course,” Jack said. “Privacy is paramount. It’s the cornerstone of Masq, after all.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Francis said.

Francis always knew that he and Jack lived by a different set of rules. They had different values. Francis chased after liberty, while Jack was driven by money. But as time went on, he understood Jack’s position a little more each day. Nothing happens without money. Including liberty.

Even altruism has its price.

JACK'S HEART ATTACK CAME AS A SHOCK to everyone, striking him barely a week after his fiftieth birthday. He was far too young to die.

“Doc says too much red meat,” Jack said from his hospital bed. “I say not enough red wine.”

He looked frail and his voice was weak, but he still had the strength to joke.

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” Francis said. “You’re going to be alright, right?”

“Sure, I’ll be fine. I’m going to have to take a step back from Masq, though. Anne’s been complaining I work too much, anyway. She’s been begging me to retire for years. Now she finally has her trump card.”

Francis looked at the floor. He couldn’t imagine running the company on his own. From day one, Jack had been more than an investor. He became more than a partner. He was a mentor. And a friend.

“You’re not coming back? I don’t know how—”

“Relax,” Jack said, slowly raising a hand. “You’ll do fine. You know what you’re doing. Hell, most of the ideas have been yours anyway. I’ve just been along for the ride.”

“But the business side—”

“Is in very capable hands. Besides, it’s not like I’m dying, I’m just stepping back.”

FRANCIS WAS SURPRISED AT HOW much he enjoyed the business side of things, and under his command the company did more than just grow.

In five years, the iMasq implant did more to transform the world than any technology of the new millennium. Many considered it more important than the cellphone. Some went so far as to call it bigger than The Bomb.

Uprisings, protests, and social movements across Africa and throughout the Middle East led to regime change in no fewer than fifty nations. The government of China finally closed the book on communism, and Russia became an economic union of thirty-one independent states with a new shared currency.

Francis tried being modest, but it was hard to downplay the influence of his invention. The world was undergoing its greatest transformation since the Second World War, and the iMasq was a major contributing factor. It was more than simply a product, much more than just a gadget.

Francis had been right. But so had Jack.

Their growth rate slowed approaching five billion units, but after achieving that incredible milestone, it practically came to a halt. Production lines closed one by one, until they were operating with just enough capacity to meet the trickle of new sales.

When the accountants told Francis that R&D costs needed to be cut, if not canceled entirely, he told them he’d find the money. And he did.

FRANCIS INSISTED THERE BE NO big celebration, and Jack respected his wishes. He didn’t even order a birthday dessert. They sat at their regular table, just the two of them. Jack ordered chicken, and for the first time, Francis selected the wine.

They clinked glasses.

“Happy fortieth,” Jack said.

“Thanks.”

Jack smiled. “Tell me again Grandpa, what life was like before the Masq.”

“Very funny.”

“Come on. I’ve been waiting twelve years to say that.”

“Fair enough.” Francis grinned. “But I don’t know who you’re calling Grandpa. You’re the one who had the heart attack.”

“Ouch.” Jack laughed. “Touché.”

Jack took a sip and put his glass on the table. “To be honest, when this all started I really didn’t expect to still be in the picture. I certainly had no idea Masq would take off the way it did. And most of all, I guess you proved me wrong.”

Francis choked on his sip of merlot. It wasn’t like Jack to admit he was wrong.

“Really? And how did I do that?”

“Money and age. They didn’t change you. You’ve still got your ideals.”

Francis nodded and forced a smile. He hadn’t told Jack about the lethargic sales approaching five million, or the steep decline thereafter. He hadn’t told him about the solution. Only those directly involved at the highest levels knew the measures Francis took to save Masq. And if all parties complied with their nondisclosure agreements, nobody else would ever know.

With unrivaled data on two-thirds of the world’s population, the offers had been coming in for years, but Masq was always in a position to turn them down. With the company’s future in jeopardy, Francis knew what he had to do.

The confidential deals struck with corporations and governments were a necessary evil, the cost of doing business. The cost of freedom. They kept the company alive and the R&D dollars coming in. Governments only used the data against serious threats to public safety, and he only decrypted the identities of users who were known criminals.

But government contracts were still not enough to keep Masq in the black. Francis tried his best adhering to his ideals. He did his due diligence and was selective in his choice of corporate partners. What harm was there in revealing a little marketing information if it brought liberty to so many people?

Hearing Jack’s words gave Francis pause. It might not be money or age, but something had changed him. Whatever it was, he had to admit that Jack had been right. Ideals don’t last forever.