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“The party’s going to be a ripper,” Danielle whispered into Emily’s ear as the two walked together through the crowded school hallway. They were surrounded by students wearing identical blazers, flashing fireworks displays of colors and text, images and symbols.

Everyone’s clothes made a statement about the wearer. Not just a single fashion statement, but however many statements the wearer wanted them to make. It was hard sometimes to keep up with the whimsical changes that occurred as a wearer’s mind and needs changed.

Danielle, Emily s best friend, had just cut through the crowd, guided by the flashing green locator beacon of Emily’s blazer. Emily had activated the e-ink coating on the sleeve of her blazer to flash Danielle the message, “what time 2nite?” and was surprised when Danielle bent over to speak into her ear instead of just flashing a message back.

Emily almost dropped her e-book at the word “ripper.” She suddenly realized why Danielle didn’t want to generate an e-record of this conversation — if Danielle’s parents read about this in their daily report, the party would be over before it ever began. Rippers were dangerous. They were illegal. Emily had heard about some kids in her school who’d had a ripper. They were all sent away for rehabilitation.

 

“I thought it was going to be a silent chat party,” Emily whispered back, referring to a party in which everyone sits around and lets their clothes do the speaking for them. Someone would flash a topic or opinion to the group. Sensors in everyone’s clothes would detect the message and route it to embedded chips that would flash responses back to the group. No one would even have to think of an answer. They’d just sit around reading what everyone’s clothes came up with.

“Well, I bad to say that,” Danielle responded.

“Isn’t it going to be at your house?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, but we can have it in my basement. You’ll still come, won’t you?”

“I guess so.” Emily had never thought she’d be invited to a ripper, though secretly she’d always wanted to go to one.

“Remember, it’s my birthday, so you have to bring me a gift,” Danielle whispered conspiratorially. “Clothes.”

Emily understood how a ripper worked, but talking about it made her nervous. It was too late to ask Danielle any more questions — the RFID reader in the doorway of their next classroom was already scanning them, recording their presence.

After school, Emily stopped by Veritables department store to buy the gift. As she passed the shelves and racks, readers scanned her RFID chip, and the disembodied voices of the e-hawkers began vying for her attention.

“Emily, I’m sure juggling your schoolwork, soccer practice, and a social life is stressing you out. I’ve got something that can help you organize….”

“Emily, you’ve just got to smell the new Insomniac perfume. It’s the perfect complement to your own….”

“Hey, Emily, don’t you think this sweater feels even softer than real cashmere?”

Emily walked past them. She didn’t want an algorithm telling her what she was supposed to like. Most of the time, the e-hawkers suggested things she didn’t want, but they annoyed her even more when their suggestions were right on target. She didn’t like the feeling that they could see right through, straight into her heart.

She removed a pair of jeans from a shelf and headed for the lone gift purchase terminal by the exit. If she were buying the pants for herself, she could just walk out the door and let the RFID reader in the store’s doorway scan her and the pants. The reader would send a message to update the government’s central database, Emily’s bank would deduct money from her debit account, and the garment’s manufacturer would update its records to show that Emily owned the pants. But these pants were not for her.

At the gift terminal, she stated, “Gift.” The terminal quickly responded, “Thanks, Emily. I’ve processed the pants as a gift purchase. Please remind the lucky recipient to register them at her earliest convenience.”

When Emily arrived home, the reader-greeter at the door scanned the RFID chip in her blazer and announced to anyone in the house, “Emily is home,” in its mellifluous, comforting, and completely artificial voice. Then it added, “She’s carrying an unregistered pair of blue jeans.”

She walked into the kitchen, the lights glowing to life as she passed the threshold, and opened the refrigerator.

“Hello, Emily,” the refrigerator greeted her. “Your pants tell me that you’ve gained one pound, nine ounces, since yesterday.

They’re feeling a bit snug. May I recommend the celery stalks and cottage cheese?” Emily reached for the container with the leftover Indian food as her father entered the kitchen.

“Emily?” her father asked. “Did I just hear the reader-greeter say that you’re carrying an unregistered garment?”

“Yes, Dad. It’s a gift for Danielle. Today’s her birthday.”

“Oh, OK. You know it’s dangerous to go around with unregistered objects.”

“Yes, Dad, I know. Don’t worry.”

Later that night, Emily arrived at Danielle’s house carrying a box wrapped in clear cellophane. Just as the reader-greeter at Emily’s house had done, Danielle’s announced that Emily was carrying one pair of unregistered blue jeans, ruining any possibility of surprising Danielle with the gift.

Danielle greeted Emily and led her into the basement. Three other friends were standing around, talking. One of them, Thomas, held a pair of old scissors spotted with rust.

“Where’d you get those?” Emily asked.

“My grandmother had them in her knitting basket,” Thomas answered.

“She knits?”

“Yeah, she’s always been kind of a rebel.”

“They’re really chip-free?” Emily asked.

“That’s right. No one can track what you cut with them.”

“Wow,” Emily mouthed.

“Let’s get started,” Danielle said eagerly, as she unwrapped the pants that Emily had brought. She picked up a hand-held reader and passed it along the length of the pants. When it reached the waistband, a red light went on.

“The chip’s here, at the back of the waistband,” Danielle announced, handing the pants to Thomas.

He took the pants and cut into the waistband with the scissors. Immediately, microscopic spinnerets in the garment sprang into action, weaving strong fibers to repair the cut.

“Well,” said Thomas, “we knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Now what?”

As they were thinking about what to do next, they heard the muffled sound of the reader-greeter upstairs. “The police have arrived.

Everyone please remain calm.”

The friends all looked at Danielle, still holding the hand-held reader.

“I thought it was offline. It shouldn’t have set off an alert.”

“Of course!” said Thomas through clenched teeth. “The hand-held reader’s tagged, too. One of the other readers in the house must have scanned it when we used it.”

The door at the top of the stairs burst open. Police in riot control gear scrambled down the stairs, the one in the lead shouting at the friends to remain still. Emily now wished that she actually were transparent, completely invisible. She knew that if she could shed her RFID-laced clothes, she could run through the streets undetected by the readers that stood sentinel, guarding every doorway and intersection in town. She imagined herself running, running past the eyes that never shut.

RFID — Radio Frequency Identification — A method of identification for objects, animals, or people that uses radio frequency and does not require direct contact or line-of-sight scanning

By: Artinian, Zareh MacPherson, Odyssey, Sep2006