Complementing Morgan Pt. 01

No, he did not want to let Google NavMaster, Landa Captain or, god-forbid, Apple iCruise, seamlessly take control of the vehicle and let him relax in comfort while en route to his destination. It wasn't that he didn't trust the algorithms to navigate properly, but rather that sitting passively in his seat with the auto-nav engaged made him feel like an irrelevant passenger rather than the driver.

That was the key, if he was going to get involved with a felon he needed to be the one in the driver's seat, in control of the situation. If what Adelaide said was true, this Complement, might ensure that. On the other hand, Adelaide seemed to have a few screws loose, so it probably made sense to read the literature she had handed him when he got home.

Home was an old, renovated mansion on a large, wooded lot where he lived and worked alone. He felt a sense of relief at being back in his own space, as he always did when he walked in the front door.

He sat down in front of the enormous oak desk that dominated one wall of his office. The polished surface was bare except for a keyboard, a mouse, a docking station for his mobile, and a coaster for his coffee cup. A trio of forty-inch monitors were mounted on the wall behind his desk.

Sitting right here, at this desk, he had amassed his small fortune. To be fair, he was well on his way by the time he bought this house and designed the desk, but he had done it working quietly at home, by himself. Derek was still the sole proprietor and only employee of his lucrative business.

He had been away for a few hours, so he pulled up his email. Anything critical would have been forwarded to his mobile immediately, but now he took the time to peruse the latest status updates. There were eleven new orders, two of them for over a thousand dollars worth of furniture. The robo-factory in Brazil had completed the latest work order and was transporting the completed product to a warehouse. There was also the monthly invoice from the shipping company he used.

Nothing there that required his immediate attention. Even the invoice would be paid automatically. Everything was running smoothly.

There weren't any new orders for one of his desks, though. That didn't surprise him, it was just disappointing. On the other hand, if it weren't for his frustrations with selling the desks, he would never have met Morgan.

Of all the furniture he had designed, he considered the desk his best work. The desks were constructed with a secret compartment in a random location, which was different in each piece. Like all his products, the desks were produced by a completely automated process, but a randomization step made each one of them unique.

The robo-factories in China and Brazil that he contracted to build his furniture could take one of Derek's CAD designs and produce a hundred copies of an ornate desk, table or cabinet, all identical. No manual labor required, just computer code. The furniture was shipped to his clients and Derek never had to leave home.

Unfortunately, the large factories couldn't handle the randomization step in the code for the desks with the secret compartments. As a result, two thirds of the first floor and the entire basement of Derek's home was taken up by his own workshop, a miniature, under-powered replica of a robo-factory. He had initially been concerned that orders for the desks would overwhelm what his small workshop could handle, but soon learned he needn't have worried.

Much to Derek's disappointment, there was little demand for the desks he had spent so much time designing. The big orders came from corporations who wanted upscale, cookie-cutter office furniture. Derek's desks with their secret compartments didn't fit the bill. Months passed between orders for his special desks, while he sold dozens of his other products each day.

It irked him that what he had thought was a brilliant idea turned out to be such a dud.

That's why, when a division manager at Konnor Interactive named Morgan Heller ordered one of his special desks three months ago, he decided to deliver the desk personally rather than having it shipped by a third party. Most packages got delivered by drone these days, but it wasn't at all unusual for heavy objects like furniture, especially expensive furniture, to be accompanied by a person. It added a human touch, and in a world full of automation, human touches were frequently what distinguished the luxury items from more pedestrian equivalents.

Morgan's office in downtown Columbus was less than twenty miles from where he lived. Derek generally disliked people, was reclusive to the point where he shopped for everything online, even clothes and groceries. But he wanted to meet the woman who ordered his desk.

He had first imagined Morgan Heller as a stern older woman in her fifties or sixties. His plan had been to casually ask Ms. Heller why she ordered this particular desk, since his company didn't get many orders for them. He considered offering her a discount in exchange for her comments if she seemed taken aback. He had not anticipated that Ms. Heller was a stunning bombshell in her late twenties.

When Derek asked about the desk, Morgan brushed him off. She said that the style appealed to her, and failed to elaborate. Derek could have pointed out that he sold desks for a significantly lower price in much the same style. At that moment, however, he was just the delivery guy to her, and she probably wouldn't have believed the truth about why he was interested.

He tried a different strategy. It was something he rarely did, but it occurred to him that he had nothing to lose. If he asked Morgan to dinner he might get a straight answer about the desk, and maybe even a little bit more.

He never got an answer about the desk, but he certainly got more than he'd bargained for.

Derek knew he should be working on his new table design with the intricate wooden inlay pattern, but his mind kept wandering back to Morgan. He pulled out the literature Adelaide had handed him and began to read.

As Derek read he was simultaneously disturbed at what they were going to do Morgan and surprised that she would trust him with this responsibility. They hardly knew one another. It seemed that Adelaide had failed to mention a lot of important information.

Derek found himself scanning a section in the instruction booklet on Complement customization. He was just re-reading now, not absorbing any new information. He set the booklet down, and then retrieved a small box from where he kept it in the secret compartment of his own desk.

He opened the box. The ring was just as ugly as he remembered from two years ago, when his relationship with Lydia ended. The large, central, blue diamond extended almost a quarter of an inch above the platinum surface of the ring. If the central diamond were mounted as a solitaire it might have been attractive, but there were far too many additional diamonds and sapphires, the settings protruding from the ring like a bizarre fungal growth.

Box in hand, Derek went to fetch some needle-nosed pliers from the rack of hand tools he kept on one wall of his workshop. Then he proceeded to take the pliers and rip the hideous ring into bits.

— 02 — Morgan —

It wasn't until Lorelei came to visit that Morgan finally snapped.

She should have known better than to meet with her sister given their history. Morgan probably wouldn't have made that mistake if she hadn't been going stir-crazy.

Confined to her apartment, she was so bored she was now trying to distract herself by learning how to cook. Her, Morgan Heller, baking pies? It was ludicrous. After a few months cooped up, talking with no one but her lawyer, even a chat with Lorelei started to seem appealing.

After her initial arrest, the police released her on bail with a tracking bracelet that prevented her from leaving home. The prosecutor had insisted on the tracking bracelet as the stolen money had not been recovered, which allegedly made her a flight risk.

Morgan was fired immediately after she was arrested. She was charged with stealing nineteen point seven million dollars from her former employer, Konnor Interactive. On top of her legal problems, she had to contend with the loss of her job and personal relationships with everyone from her old company.

Over the past few years she had become a bit of a workaholic. With her academic background, she needed every advantage, needed to work twice as hard as the competition just to break even. No one ever gave her a break she didn't earn twice over, and that meant focusing everything she had on her job. It also meant that almost everyone she knew had now turned against her.

Kevin Rollins, her on-again-off-again boyfriend, another employee at Konnor, actually testified against her in front of the grand jury, a sort of preliminary hearing to determine if there was enough evidence to prosecute her. They had not found in her favor. Now her lawyer was trying to convince Morgan to accept a plea bargain, to confess to the crime in exchange for a more lenient sentence.

Her sister clearly thought Morgan should take the deal.

"You know I'll help you any way I can," Lorelei said, "but don't sit their and play innocent, at least not with me. It never worked when you were in high school and it won't work now."

Same old, holier-than-thou Lorelei. Three years older than Morgan and aways just a little bit better. Where Morgan was too tall, too skinny and too brunette, Lorelei was a natural blonde with a few extra curves in exactly the right places. When Morgan was getting suspended, Lorelei was on the swim team and graduating as Valedictorian. While Morgan attended classes at community college, Lorelei was being accepted to medical school. There was never any question who had been their parents favorite.

"So I grabbed a few bottles out of a liquor cabinet over ten years ago, big deal," Morgan said. "I'm an adult now."

Lorelei put her hands on her hips. She was using that haughty, exasperated tone which always got under Morgan's skin. "And now that you're an adult, you've graduated to embezzlement. Different year, same bullshit. Go ahead, play innocent for the judge and jury and see if they believe you. I never did, and before the accident Mom and Dad never did either. What makes you think complete strangers are going to be any different?"

"Maybe it's because they aren't already convinced that I'm lying. How long have you been waiting for a chance to say I told you so?"

Lorelei looked her straight in the eyes. "With you, Morgan, I never have to wait long."

That did it. After losing her job, losing her friends, and facing the very real prospect of prison time for a crime she did not commit, Morgan's temper finally boiled over. A strawberry pie, fresh out of the oven, sat on the counter. Morgan grabbed the pie and smashed it into her sister's face.

She only intended to humiliate her sister and maybe ruin her clothes, but the pie hadn't had time to cool. Lorelei shrieked in pain from contact with the boiling-hot pastry.

The neighbors heard the yelling and called the police. Lorelei had to go to the hospital and Morgan's bail was revoked.

As bad as the ankle bracelet and house arrest had been, the county jail was worse. They stripped her naked and subjected her to a thorough, humiliating cavity search. That was followed by an ice-cold shower that left her shivering.

All the guards were women — crude, obnoxious women. They found it amusing to make Morgan wait before allowing her to dry off. She was forced to stand there after the cold shower, dripping wet and freezing. The utter helplessness and humiliation she felt standing, waiting for the guards to bring her a towel was almost as bad as the cold. Her skin was covered in goose bumps and the cold turned her nipples into two hard, little marbles.

"Perky Princess, here, is all wet," one hulking guard commented to another, her subordinate. "Why don't you go get me a cup of coffee along with her towel. Come to think of it, get yourself a cup of coffee too. No need to rush."

It was ten minutes before the guard returned. Instead of allowing her to get dressed, the guard who seemed to be in charge, the same one who had found it so amusing to let her freeze, marched her down a hallway and into an exam room.

Morgan's escort addressed a nurse as they walked in."Twenty bucks says this one has an incurable. Paperwork says the bitch attacked her own sister with a pie. I'm guessing they were fighting over a man — that's a crazy skank move, right there."

The nurse examined Morgan briefly, drawing some of her blood, swabbing her mouth and between her legs. The nurse used an eyedropper to place her blood in various places along what looked to be a long, white strip of paper. The swabs were brushed against other spaces on the same strip. Within a few minutes the entire length turned color. A series of blocks appeared along the strip, each a slightly different shade of green.

The nurse turned to the guard with a smug smile. "Pay up, O'Reilly. She's clean as a whistle."

The guard grudgingly handed over a twenty.

Morgan was finally provided with clothing and ordered to get dressed. The clothes provided were orange, baggy and unflattering but at least she was no longer naked.

Before escorting her to a cell, O'Reilly went over the long list of rules all prisoners were expected to follow. Morgan was expected to eat when they told her to eat, shower when they told her to shower and instantly obey any order from a corrections officer as if it came down straight from the mouth of God.

"Oh, and one more thing," O'Reilly said. "Lights-out is for sleeping. There's always a few pervs who can't control themselves and think night time is play-time. You a perv Heller, or are you going to keep your hands out of your panties?"

"I won't cause trouble."

"That's, I won't cause trouble ma'am," the guard sneered. "I'll let it slide this time, but speak without proper respect again and you'll regret it."

The remainder of her first day in jail was a nightmarish blur of guards barking orders and barely edible food. Even the sharp orange smell of the disinfectants used here got on her nerves.

Morgan now had a towel, but the prison showers were still downright unpleasant. The air was suffused with the scents and sounds of other sweaty women in various states of undress. Some of the other inmates, maybe one in six of the women present, had genital piercings. It was probably a sign of allegiance to a criminal gang in here. She shuddered at the thought of someone doing that sort of piercing with only the equipment available in prison. Ouch.

For breakfast the next morning, the cafeteria served a banana along with yellowish brown sludge that might have been processed potato. Morgan wolfed down the banana, the only real food she'd seen so far.

She was tentatively picking her way through the potato sludge when another inmate sat down next to her. "Heard the guards talking. Did you really hit your sister with a strawberry pie straight out of the oven? Got a sister of my own, real piece of work, so I know how it goes. I'm Hunt, by the way."

"I'm Heller." Morgan extended her hand toward the older, heavy-set blonde next to her, only remembering at the last minute to give her last name. No one used first names in here.

"This is Amato," Hunt gestured to the thin, dark haired woman sitting across from them. "She's in for assault too, but her weapon of choice is a two-by-four."

Amato looked young, probably not more than a year or two out of high school. She wore a sour expression, but broke into a grin as she spoke. "Strawberry pie? I have to ask, does that count as a deadly weapon?"

"It was a pie." Morgan got the distinct impression Amato was making fun of her.

"No, seriously," Amato said, still grinning. "Ask your P.D., it makes a difference. Lawyers in suits are going to be arguing over the legal status of that pie."

"P.D.?"

"Public Defender," Amato explained. "The braindead clown who pretends to be your lawyer while you get fucked over. Rich snobs get real lawyers, the rest of us get P.D.s. Yours will show up soon, not that it'll do any good."

Morgan was one of those rich people. Pretty much everyone in here were probably fritters. Then again, she'd been fired, so she was now technically a fritter as well.

She tried to steer the conversation away from her lawyer. "I'm not actually in for assault. My sister said she wasn't going to press charges, but I was already out on bail so they threw me back in here."

"You're sister's nicer than mine," Hunt commented.

There was a pause in the conversation, an uncomfortable silence.

"Embezzlement, okay?" Morgan blurted out. "The people I worked for say I stole a bunch of their money. I say they're full of shit, but no one believes me. I actually managed to put together enough money for a snobby lawyer, but evidently I was just pissing my cash down the toilet. All my lawyer seems to do is use big words to tell me I'm totally fucked."

That was stretching the truth a bit. Morgan had easily been able to afford a very good attorney. He had not, however, been particularly helpful.

"Hey, calm down Strawberry," said Amato. "You're in jail. Some of us couldn't even afford bail. We're all fucked in here. " The sour look returned to her face. "Or, rather, not fucked. Embezzlement is a felony, right? Know who you're going to pick?"

"Pick?"

"You know, for the Comp," Amato said, "when you get transferred to Marysville."

Morgan, just stared back, confused.

"Oh shit," Hunt exclaimed. She turned to Amato. "She doesn't know."

They explained. Morgan listened. She didn't believe them. They were just messing with her, the naïve, new girl. She got up and walked away.

That day she met with her lawyer. He once again advised her to take a plea bargain, insisting that her chances with a jury were close to nonexistent.

When the stolen money left the company account it was immediately converted to cryptocurrency, making it completely untraceable. To make matters worse, the only other person with access to that account was in a meeting with a dozen other people at the time the transfer was made. According to twelve witnesses, she didn't touch her mobile once throughout the meeting.

A plea deal would make the difference between three and up to ten years in prison.

Years. In Prison. Her world had turned upside-down, she didn't even know why, and that wasn't even the worst of it. After shifting awkwardly in his chair, her lawyer indicated there was one more thing he needed to mention about the plea deal he was suggesting. Then he proceeded to confirm everything Hunt and Amato said that morning.

The plain, clinical way her lawyer explained the Complements and what they could do scared Morgan to the core. Things like that were real? Yes they were real, and yes, the state had the legal authority to force this on her.

The idea that some bureaucrat trying to save a few tax dollars could take away her ability to satisfy her most intimate, fundamental needs was utterly unthinkable. And yet, that was what was happening. She could just imagine some crusty old men sitting around a table, their tiny cocks shriveled up and atrophied under their business suits: Orgasms? Women didn't need those, did they? Nah, no big deal, we can get rid of those and save a few bucks, no problem.

Why hadn't she heard about this? Where was the public outrage?

Evidently, there hadn't been any outrage. The economy kept deteriorating and every new round of corporate layoffs corresponded to an increase in the crime rate. Morgan vaguely remembered a politician not too long ago that ran with the slogan "Fritters = Crime." At this point, voters simply didn't care about the rights of convicts, they just wanted low taxes and a system that was "tough on crime."