Elma's Inheritance Problem

"So is this how you're going to spend the next four years, Elma?"

Elma shielded her eyes from the sudden light. So much for sneaking in. "Jesus, Dad, don't you ever sleep?"

"Are you going to answer my question, or keep deflecting?" he asked, looking up from the kitchen table. "You're supposed to be studying for midterms, and you're out drinking until two in the morning."

"I wasn't drinking, I was over at Chelsea's washing-" she caught his glare as she slurred the words. "We were wa-tching a mo-vie," she finished, tossing her long, honey hair with an outraged sniff.

"Elma, this is the reason," he said.

She didn't ask him "the reason for what?" She knew already -- they'd been fighting about it for weeks now.

"Bullshit," she said, bracing herself on the chairback in front of her and pulling herself up to her full 5'1" not counting the extra 4" of platform. "First you said it was because my grades weren't good enough. Then, 'cuz I'm not going to college. Now, 'cuz I like to go out and relax with friends instead of sitting in the dark waiting to ambush my daughter like some weirdo."

Her father rubbed his temples. "Sweetie, I love you, but you're driving me crazy. All I care about is you showing the responsibility it takes to run a business. I worked hard to have something to leave for you, but I can't do that if you're just going to squander it."

Elma looked away, furious. "I have a job, and I'm very responsible with it."

"Influencer isn't a job, El. It's a hobby."

"Just because you don't understand what goes into it doesn't mean it's not a job! I-"

"Save it, Elma. We've had this argument a dozen times at this point. You can either show me you have what it takes, or I'm going to put my business in the hands of someone who can, understand?"

But Elma had already stormed out of the room.

* * *

"Can you believe it, Kalen? It's such bullshit!"

"Yeah, uh, that really sucks," responded the slender, studious-looking young man with the shaggy hair over his eyes, as he typed away. He had no idea why Elma was pestering him again. She lived in a mansion, complete with its own pool, hot tub, and tennis court, but with the way she hovered over him while he did work for her father, you'd think she lived in a studio appointment. Over the past year, he'd learned the best thing to do was to calmly agree and wait for her to get bored. But today, she seemed unusually determined to distract him.

"Ever since Mom died, he's been so unreasonable. Like the other day-"

She stopped as the door opened. "Hi Sweetie," her dad said, strutting through the door. His eyes brightened. "Oh, hi Kalen! How's that security thing going?"

"Just double-checking everything. I should have it finished in a few minutes, Mister-"

The man frowned. "Kalen?"

"I mean, I should have it finished in a few minutes, Pete," the young man said, smiling awkwardly. Referring to a man he looked up to so much by his first name had never quite felt right. "I can walk you through the new features after, if you-"

"Great, great! That's great! You do great work, son!" he said, clapping the boy a little too forcefully on the back. "Well, don't let me keep you. And if Elma needs any tutoring, just add it to your hours, okay?"

"Sure thing. Thanks, Pete."

"I bet if you were his kid, he'd give you the business," Elma grumbled as the door closed behind her father.

Kalen stopped suddenly.

"What was that, Elma?"

"You heard me. He just doesn't trust me because I'm a woman."

He looked up with sudden interest. She was wearing a fuzzy sweater and worn, form-fitting jeans. She looked cute, in spit of the smug look she wore, pleased with herself for distracting him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd looked at her with anything but mild irritation. "Maybe you're right, Elma. Maybe it's not fair."

"Damn right, it's not. He even pays you for just installing his stupid software."

"You know, there's more to it than just installing software. I designed-"

"Of course you're going to take his side. Who else is going to give you money for hanging out and explaining stuff I already know?"

Kalen sighed. If she already knew the algebra he'd been tutoring her in, it was news to him. "If you don't need anymore help," he started slowly.

"Oh no, you're not going to get out of translating Mr. Johansen's nerd speak that easily. Besides, Daddy likes it when I get tutoring." She paused, twirling a lock of hair. "I don't know how much he'd like it if he saw you staring at my boobs like that, perv boy."

"Uh, just thinking about something," he said, unconvincingly, looking away. What was with him today? Except for the girls in his friend group, Kalen was quite shy around the opposite sex. He didn't oggle girls, and he certainly didn't oggle Elma.

Elma rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Look, I'm gonna-"

"What if I could help?" Kalen blurted out.

"Huh?"

"What if I could help you earn your dad's trust so you could get the business?"

"And just how would you do that?"

"What if I could teach you to be more responsible?"

She snorted. "Oh, yeah, that's just what I want -- my dad's errand boy lecturing me on how to kiss butt."

"What I mean is, what if I could help you convince your dad you're more responsible?"

"And just how should I do that? Call him 'Pete' while I shine his shoes?" she crossed her arms, smirking at him.

She flushed a little at Kalen's calm smile. There was something suspiciously calculating in his look as his eyes his eyes flicked to the small, gray dot behind her ear, like a little matte metal mole. "I've got something a little more high tech in mind."

* * *

Elma locked the door nervously behind them. She wasn't much of a respecter of rules, but grabbing the bulky, rugged-looking transmitter/control system from the attic was on another level. She'd been told in no uncertain terms not to mess with her implant since she was very young, that it had seemed out of the question, even to her.

Elma had been a small, nervous child with a severe stutter that resisted all attempts at treatment. In desperation, her parents had convinced her to have the cutting edge NeurActiv8 implant installed to treat the disability. It had worked better than anyone could have hoped. Inside of a week, her stutter was gone. Then the doctor has turned the device off, and it had played no further role in her life. Until now.

"It's just a little medical thing for speech defects," Elma groused, hiding her nervousness. "How's this thing going to convince my dad I'm responsible?"

"It's more than that, Elma," Kalen said, carefully. "It's a platform designed to regulate activation in the brain."

"So what? How is brain activation going to convince my dad I'm responsible, Einstein?"

Kalen gestured at the transmitter. "Okay, so when you got the implant, your therapist would talk to you while using this thing, right?"

"Get to the point."

"I'm trying to, Elma, just... just tell me about it."

"There's nothing to tell you about. We'd just talk, he'd tell cheesy jokes, and tweak the little dials or whatever."

"And the buttons?"

"Yeah, the dials and the buttons too," she started peevishly, "so what? He-" she stopped, stroking a strand of hair thoughtfully. "Actually, he would mostly only press buttons at the beginning, and when I wasn't stuttering, which I thought was weird. I could kind of feel it, you know, in my head."

"How did it feel?"

"I don't know, calm? Nice? And it sort of underlined what I was already feeling, too. Like, I'd feel the same as before, only more so, if that makes sense."

Kalen nodded. "When you stuttered, you had too much activation in certain parts of your brain and too little in others, and it would get in the way of you producing words correctly. What he was doing was recording the activation in different parts of your brain. When you were speaking fluently, the device would learn how much activation each region had. Then, it could encourage your brain to operate more like that in the future, so you'd stutter less, see?"

"Fascinating," Elma said, rolling her eyes. "So what?"

Kalen took in a deep breath. He needed to tell her just enough, and in just the right way. "So, your relationship with your father is sort of like your stuttering. He puts out signals and you react in ways that set him off and make him distrust you."

"Yeah, it's called arguing, egghead."

"Yeah, but it's a pattern that's leading him to not view you as responsible. And you both reinforce each other."

She crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently. He could see he was losing her.

"Sorry, Elma. My point is, the device could help you pick up on what signals make your dad view you as responsible, so you can change his view of you."

"What, like sweet talk him? You think I haven't tried that? Mind games don't work on him."

"No, it's- actually, yes," he said, smiling ingratiatingly. "I think it can help you hone in on what works on him, and what doesn't, so you can show him, uh, your value."

"'Show your value'" she said, making air quotes. "You even talk like him now."

"Who better to teach you how to reach him," Kalen replied.

She squinted at him for a long moment. "Oh, you mean how to manipulate him, don't you?" Elma smirked.

Kalen cringed. "Not how I'd put it, but yeah. Uh, it'll help you manipulate him."

"Okay, so what's in it for you?"

Kalen shrugged, nonchalantly. "You know me. I love a good tech project. And-"

"So my brain is your tech project? Yeah, no thanks. Time to go."

"And, I really look up to your Dad, okay? He's done a lot for me. I want to see you succeed, because it would make him happy." He felt a pang of guilt. Her father might appreciate the results, but he would not approve of the plan that was forming in Kalen's brain.

"'I want to make Daddy happy'" she mocked. "Blah, blah, blah. What do you want from me, Kaylee?" she said, using the annoying nickname some of the bullies at school used to tweak him.

He hemmed and hawed for a moment, watching his project go down in flames before it even began. And then in a flash, it came to him. "You make me CTO when you gain control of the company. $150,000 starting salary, paid vacation, and, uh, the works," he said, in his best hard-bargaining business voice.

It seemed to work. He saw a look in her eyes he'd never seen before: respect. "You really think this will work, huh?"

"I'm sure of it. What do you say?"

"Sure, I'll make you TCO, whatever that is. If you get me the company."

"Great! I mean, that's fine. We'll start tomorrow."

* * *

Kalen stretched his arms above his head, peering past the glowing screen into the darkness outside. The NeurActiv8 had been cutting edge when Elma had had it implanted, and still had enough power to do incredible things. But it had been taken off the market for good reason; the device had virtually no security to speak of, and far, far too much access to the subject's brain. The company had mitigated these issues somewhat by disabling every function but the one a particular device was made for, and by instructing therapists to power them down as soon as the issue was cured.

Elma's device couldn't be reactivated by the transmitter on its own -- in theory, it shouldn't be able to be reactivated at all, without special, proprietary hardware. But there was a way around that, via a small patch cord she still had with the kit, and a little electromagnet pulsed near the device to reset the little relay that was supposed to be out of reach.

Still, reading up on the history of the company gave him pause. He was surprised Elma's father hadn't gotten rid of the transmitter entirely, after the scandal provoked by an unscrupulous doctor who'd been able to use the functions for his own depraved ends, and the ensuing legal battle that had led to the company going bankrupt and closing its doors for good.

The articles had been sparse on technical detail, but there was just enough there for Kalen to understand the basics of the disgraced doctor's approach. What he wanted to do was not only possible; it had already been done at least once. The system was designed to simply encourage and strengthen states the patient's existing patterns, creating gradual, but lasting change over a few weeks. That should have limited it, making it much harder to abuse, and preventing anyone from making quick, radical alterations.

But behind the scenes, there were two separate systems: a detection system to read brain states, and an induction system to strengthen or weaken patterns. As long as the two systems were linked, the induction system could only be used as a mild, therapeutic aid. But because of the weak security, it was very easy to uncouple them. And now that he'd hacked the controller, the induction system was freed from its limits, and he could create virtually any state you wanted. He'd even found a biohacker site where a few experimenters had uploaded their own experimental settings.

There were a few uncertainties. The device was powered by body heat, which was supposed to trickle charge it between uses. But with it disengaged for so long, he had no idea whether the battery still even worked. If it wouldn't hold a charge from the patch cable, that would make training her a lot trickier. Well, he'd find out tomorrow -- it would work, or it wouldn't.

He leaned back, crossing his hands behind his head. Now that the tech was ready, he was starting to realize how little he'd figure out his plan to use it. He had a general idea: he'd use the device to make Elma more respectful -- not control her exactly, he reassured himself, but make her willing to accept his guidance when it was important. But then, what? If he could get her a job, it would be easy to get a cushy position, guiding her from behind the scenes. But having her heading the company would only help him so long as he stayed as well.

And what if it didn't work? Elma had been a brat for years. Even with the device, it would be an uphill battle to convince Daddy she was really ready for the job, not to mention the risk. Of course, if his "tutoring" made her more respectful, he might be able to gain more favor with her father, but that would only take him so far; it's not like he'd hand his company over to Kalen, fresh out of high school, simply for teaching his daughter respect.

Her image floated into his mind, unbidden. She was wearing the same fuzzy sweater she'd had on today, but now she was on her knees. With a teasing smile, she unzipped his fly, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his manhood. Then she bowed her head forward, her lips opening, and....

No, he shouldn't even be thinking about that! What he was doing might be morally questionable, but he was still, technically going to get her what she wanted. But if he used her for sex, that crossed a line he couldn't rationalize. No, he definitely wouldn't do it, he resolved. Still, he decided, reaching into his own boxers, there was nothing wrong with a little fantasy. It was just a fantasy, after all.

* * *

"So, what am I supposed to feel?"

"Nothing yet," he said, "I'm just going to give you some simple instructions to calibrate and test the NeurActiv8, okay?"

"Fine, but I don't want to spend all day on this," she grumbled.

"Good. Think about something you really like. Your favorite thing in the world."

She smirked. "You're not looking into my brain or anything?"

"Nope. I can see what regions are activated, but nothing else. Are you thinking about it?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Good. Now I want you to make it stronger," he said, tweaking a dial.

"What do you mean, make it-" her eyes grew wide, and she let out a gasp, her face flushed. "Stop," she breathed. "Kalen, stop."

He clicked a button labelled S1, saving the setting, then turned it down again. Normally, the system was supposed to only allow one state at a time, but he'd hacked it. Now, he could stack multiple settings, controlling their strength, independently. He knew from the documentation that the effect could persist for some time -- turning a setting off would merely stop reinforcing it, allowing the effect to fade.

"Did it get stronger, Elma?"

She shook her head to clear it, then quick as a flash, slugged him in the shoulder. "What the fuck are you doing with my brain, you pervert!"

"Pervert? Elma, what exactly were you thinking about?"

"It's none of your business!"

His eyes grew wide. "Oh, sorry," he stammered, "I don't know why I said, 'favorite thing in the world.' I should have said-"

"Nevermind," she grumbled. "Just move on. And don't do anything pervy."

He took a deep breath. You're in control, he reminded himself. Stay in control.

"Okay, Elma, let's try something different. Focus on me. Nice and alert, your eyes wide open. Good," he said, fiddling with the transmitter. "Now, we're going to relax your body. Take a deep breath, in and out. Feel your body relax. All the tension draining out, while you stay completely focused. Good."

He watched her sink into the desk chair, a skeptical look still in her open, alert eyes.

"Okay, I'm just going to lift and drop your hand to test the relaxation," he said, picking up the hand. He shook it, his eyes involuntarily flicking down to her breasts in the fitted, pale turquoise top. Even with the sports bra compressing them, she had a distractingly appealing figure.

"You're doing great," he said, lowering her hand and pressing S2 to save the relaxation setting. He moved the transmitter a little closer to ensure the patch cord had some slack. "Okay. Stand up."

He watched her. Her eyes widened, and the chair creaked as she shifted forward, almost imperceptibly. That was it. She sat there, silent,, alert, and impassive.

"Shit. I mean, great. You're doing great, Elma -- even better than expected," he said in as calm a voice as he could muster. "How do you feel?"

He looked at her. Her breath was coming faster, her chest heaving, and he could see sweat starting to bead on her forehead. A stress response. He immediately realized his mistake: he'd started with the values way too high. Her body was ignoring signals to move, almost entirely, save for a slight quivering in her lips.

He lifted her hand again. It was still completely limp. "Interesting," he muttered to himself. She managed to make an angry little cough.

"You're doing great, Elma. It's just, uh, re-calibrating. Here, let me-" he stopped, his hand an inch from the control. If he turned it off, it would be the end of it. There was no way she'd let him continue, knowing how much power the device could give him. And who knew what she'd say to her father. He watched her lips trembling, then turned down the power, ever so slightly, and move his ear to her mouth.

"OFFFFF!" she whispered in his ear.

"I'd like to, but, uh...." he stalled, shifting nervously. And then, without really knowing why, he grabbed her breasts through her shirt, squeezing and pressing them together. He caught her eyes for a moment, catching an unmistakeable look of outrage.

He managed to stop himself from apologizing, but only just. His stomach was twisting in knots. This was very much not part of the plan, so why had he done it? Could he make her forget it? Bribe her into letting it go? Convince her father she was making it up? And then, just as he was on the verge of panic, there was a knock at the door.

"You kids okay? Hello?"

And in a flash, Kalen knew he'd already made his decision. He quickly moved the transmitter onto the floor behind her, and opened the door.

"Hi, Pete," he said quietly, putting his finger to his lips.

"What are you guys doing in there?" the man asked, suspiciously.

"I'm teaching her a meditation practice. It's really good for self-control, but it took her a long time to get into it. You know how hard it is for her to focus."