His lips were dry. He resisted the urge to swallow the lump in his throat. He would have to be clearer than that. “I found that I’ve…well, I really care for you.” There it was, at least partially out. Though, it sounded woefully inadequate in describing his true sentiments.
The corners of Katelyn’s mouth dropped, her eyes searching his face for confirmation of his words’ implication.
He couldn’t read her expression. “I mean, I’d like for us to consider being more than just good friends…”
“Kyle,” she said softly, gently cutting him off.
“Yeah.”
She looked at her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. His heart plummeted down somewhere around his feet. She didn’t have to say anything else. He knew what her answer would be.
“You’re a great guy, Kyle.”
Oh no, he instantly thought. Anything but a “great guy.”
“Truly, I’m flattered,” she continued.
“But?” he managed.
She looked up at him, her expression one of reluctant sadness. “But...it’s not the time.”
He tried to maintain a posture of understanding as she continued.
“I don’t know what my future holds. I can’t even begin to guess. But I know I can’t leave anything hanging at this point. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“I’m not asking for any sort of commitment,” Kyle clarified. “I just thought…” his voice trailed off in a futile attempt to find words to complete his sentence.
She felt horrible for him. Despite what she knew were his best efforts, she could tell he was having a hard time. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I need us to leave things as they are.”
Kyle didn’t want to leave but felt foolish in his desire to draw out the visit any longer. Besides, he knew she had an unknown future ahead of her, one that would begin tomorrow. It wasn’t appropriate for him to stay, either for his or her emotions.
Seeing him off down the hall from the doorway, Katelyn went back inside and plopped wearily down on the sofa. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. She didn’t fight the tears that came. Maybe if she had had the time to think things through, if Kyle hadn’t sprung it on her so suddenly, she could have handled it better. It wounded her to know she had hurt him. He deserved better than that. Anger with herself competed with her grief for him.
She also really did care for him. But it would have only made everything more difficult and complicated to have admitted it. Not only was her future so uncertain, but it was the uncertainty itself that frightened her. She had no inkling of what came after one was tapped, only, as was universally acknowledged, that it was an honor to receive the distinction. She also had no idea if she would even come back to the city—and if she did, who knows how many years it might be. He shouldn’t have to wait on her. It would only hold him back and he had so much potential.
She had made the best choice, the only practical choice. But still, the tears traveled down her cheeks. And in an oddly comforting expression of self-pity and regret, she let them.
*****
Reaching the curb in front of Katelyn’s building, Kyle was on the brink of hailing an auto-pod when he caught the steeple out of the corner of his eye. It was tucked between two skyscrapers, an anachronism squatting on prime real estate because of its historical site status. Kyle had walked or driven by hundreds of times. It hardly ever garnered a glance from him.
But now, the church’s two tall wooden doors stood propped open, beckoning the consideration of passing pedestrians. Disregarding his intention to head straight to the office, Kyle crossed the street and made his way toward the structure. He heard the singing from within before he saw the small sign next the sidewalk that read: “Prayer Daily – 7:30 AM.” Walking up to the doorway, he peered in.
After his eyes adjusted to the darkened interior, he saw rows of pews flanking either side of a wide center aisle. A small cluster of people sat in a semi-circle near the front. Their song was beginning to wind down. In thinking back on his actions later, Kyle wondered what had compelled him to stay. The impulse must’ve been born out of a combination of the journal’s fresh imprint, Katelyn’s response and a sleepless night.
He slipped around the pew nearest to him and walked down a side aisle. Easing into a row behind the prayer group, only an older man—probably the minister—noticed. He smiled a welcome to Kyle and then began to address the gathered.
“This morning our city needs even more prayer than usual.”
There were murmurs of agreement. Kyle scanned those in attendance noting that most were elderly ladies and no doubt, a few subs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at a religious service of any kind. During the war many churches served as insurgent fronts, their religious rhetoric used to fan the resistance. Hence, after the armistice all religious organizations had been impelled to register. Those who refused to do so after a stipulated amount of time were shut down, their properties confiscated, and their leaders sent to labor camps.
CENTGOV exercised strict oversight. Every activity and sermon was pre-approved and closely monitored. Unauthorized gatherings were strictly illegal. Teaching children religion of any flavor was a sure way to secure a position at a camp. Not that it mattered. People under 60 hardly attended religious services anyhow. The whole idea of basing one’s life around some ancient writings seemed ludicrous to the younger generations. Besides, most of what that book even taught fell within the dangerous realms of speech-crime.
Kyle politely listened as the congregants began to pray, taking turns as they went. He was slightly amused at how freely they talked to “God”—a concept of divinity he himself had never been able to figure out. At the same time, he experienced certain wonderment at the proceedings. Though misguided and ignorant these people were, the very simplicity and eagerness of their pleas cradled a sincerity he didn’t feel for anything within his own life—except maybe Katelyn.
He hadn’t meant to sit down, much less stay for long. But when the minister suddenly closed the session with an, “Amen,” he realized he’d let more time than he’d intended to pass. He certainly didn’t want to be cornered by some religious weirdo. As he was figuring out how to discreetly make his exit, one of the senior citizens slowly stood and made her way to a position where she could address everyone.
“Let me tell you why this has happened,” she began, finding her voice in the process.
Why what happened? Kyle thought. The bombing?
He suddenly was very nervous. Had he stumbled on to some underground resistance cell? Was this a bunch of old, disgruntled fogies biding their time as they nursed past grievances against the state?
“I’m not talking about the bombing last night,” the lady clarified.
Kyle started. But she wasn’t looking at him.
“I mean everything that has happened to our nation,” she continued.
Kyle really needed to get out. She was treading on some very questionable ground playing with words like this. He glanced toward the minister, wondering if he too was concerned. Instead, Kyle observed that he was nodding his head in anticipatory agreement.
The lady at the front lifted a hand to wipe a tear from her wrinkled cheek. She sniffed and pulled a used tissue from her pocket. Blowing her nose, she managed to regain her composure before she said with conviction, “It’s because we forgot God.”
“Amen,” chimed a few voices. Kyle wanted to run. But he couldn’t budge.
She closed her eyes and began reciting the strangest passage. “If My people, which are called by My name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek My face, and turn away from their wicked ways; then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” Opening her eyes, she announced, “Our land has been sick for as long as I can remember.”
Kyle couldn’t take it anymore. He found his feet. In his haste to extricate himself from the pew he kicked the sideboard. Much to the
astonishment of the attendees, he tripped and stumbled out into the side aisle. Managing somehow to regain his composure, he didn’t pause to gauge the reaction of the onlookers. Keeping his head down, he quickly exited the den of fanatics.
9
Kyle stepped off of the elevator onto the thirtieth floor. But instead of going left toward his department, he turned right toward the caf. As he walked down the hall, the feeling he’d had on his way to Katelyn’s earlier that morning returned—but this time it was a sudden need to talk to Lloyd. Work would still have to wait.
A ping on his ACAD alerted him that he had mail. He hit the sync button and fifteen red-flagged messages flooded into his head. Ignoring this mental intrusion, he stepped into the caf and scanned the tray window. Not seeing Lloyd, he directed his steps toward the kitchen. By now the staff was not as surprised observing him make his way toward the balcony.
Flinging the door open, Kyle anticipated being met by the pleasant aroma of Lloyd’s burning tobacco. Instead, he met no one. Wandering back into the kitchen, he asked the nearest cook about him. She only shrugged. Another, overhearing from across the room, called out, “He didn’t come in today.”
Kyle stood for a moment, contemplating his next step. He went back out onto the balcony and closed the door. Pulling his ACAD out, he typed a message and hit “send.” There was one person who might be able to tell him what had happened, for he was reasonably sure that something was amiss.
He didn’t have to wait nearly as long as he’d expected. Gazing out across the city, his back to the door, he heard Baines say, “Of all places to meet.”
Kyle turned. “Did you come alone?”
Baines nodded, gently pushing the door closed behind him. “Is this your office, then?”
“It’s been feeling like it lately.”
“Nice view,” Baines noted as he came and stood beside Kyle.
“Did you find out anything about the sub?”
“Yep. But why does it matter?”
“He’s a good guy.”
Baines’s expression revealed he didn’t believe it. Shrugging, he continued, “He was old.”
Kyle nodded.
“Somehow he must’ve slipped through the cracks.”
“What do you mean?”
“He should have been retired several years ago,” Baines told him.
“So the system caught up with him then,” Kyle said more to himself than Baines. “Do you know where I can find him now?”
“You don’t get it, man,” Baines returned flatly. “He’s been retired.”
Reality cascaded over Kyle, followed by a torrent of unexpected sadness. Of course subs couldn’t be kept around after they were no longer needed. It was too much of a drain on the healthcare services. Kyle realized that Lloyd must’ve known his number was almost up. It’s probably why he’d given him the journal. The book now all of a sudden meant so much more.
“You look like someone just ran over your best hunting dog,” Baines observed.
“Huh?” Kyle stared blankly at him.
“It’s an old joke. You really cared about him.”
“I guess I did,” Kyle admitted aloud. “Thanks, anyhow. I owe you one.”
“I’ll remember that,” Baines said, slapping him on the back. “Where’re you headed?”
“Time to get to work,” Kyle said. Though really, he was trying to figure out how he could get back home.
*****
Kyle perused his inbox on the way to his department. One from Sheila caught his attention:
I’ve got something you really need to see. Swing by when you get a chance.
Sheila’s office was several halls over. Adjusting his route, he headed her direction. The whole floor was a hive of activity. Employees ran to and fro, shouted across hallways and bounced back and forth between attentive dialogues and neuro-trances. Assessing data for the purposes of threat assessment trumped the usual focus on market figures.
Kyle poked his head in Sheila’s doorway and saw her sitting at her desk, deep in work-related interface.
“Knock, knock,” he called out.
Her eyes shot open, accompanied by an annoyed expression. She was obviously as busy as everyone else. But when she realized who it was, she smiled. “Glad you made it. Things are crazy. I’m surprised you got away.”
“What’s up?” he asked.
She picked through a small stack of papers on the side of her desk. Pulling out a file folder, she motioned him over. “I have a friend down in Archives. I asked him to be on the lookout for early studies in neural tech application.” Extending the folder to him, she said, “Take a look.”
He reached out to grab it, but before she let go of her end she told him, “I can’t let that out of my sight. It’s gotta go back.”
Kyle glanced down at the folder. It had been stamped “unclassified.” Since someone had bothered to send it to Archives, it was probably the only copy left. As she finally released it, he said, “No problem. I’ll just settle in and take a quick look.”
“Page 63 in particular,” she told him as she turned inward to her work and he sat down.
The report detailed particular sets of experiments performed on mice. Minute electrical pulses had been relayed remotely to the rodents’ brains through tiny probes surgically inserted into their skulls. Scanning through the first section which mainly covered test parameters, Kyle then slowed down and looked carefully at the section dealing with the actual experiments.
The test subject was put in a cage with two separate bowls both containing the same type of food. One bowl was black and the other white. When a mouse attempted to eat out of the black bowl, it received a pulse at a frequency that stimulated the part of the brain associated with gratification and contentment. However, if it chose the white bowl, it experienced the opposite sensations of distress and sorrow.
It did not take the mice long to learn which bowl was the more desirable. The interesting factor in the experiment, Kyle immediately realized, was the fact that food was the constant. An animal experiences an instinctively pleasurable sensation when it satisfies its hunger. But these mice were quickly taught that something as seemingly mundane as a color not only negated, but actually turned natural and necessary desire into something to be avoided.
Kyle found what Sheila had referred to on page 63. In summing up the findings, it read:
These experiments have conclusively demonstrated it is possible to neurologically alter an instinctive inclination to fulfill a legitimate need with painless electrically-induced impulses.
Someone, presumably someone involved with the experiment, had penciled in a comment in the margin.
Our concern should be that this is one very small step away from the ability to exercise complete control over an individual—to channel his thoughts in such a way that he will never have any conscious conception as to why he feels negatively about one thing and positively about another.
Kyle flipped back to the title page. Noting the date he whistled. “Whoa. This is pre-war.”
Looking up, Sheila nodded. “It’s obvious how it fits into what you’ve been looking into.”
“Sure is,” Kyle replied, suddenly rising and looking agitated. “I couldn’t get my mind around how a neuro-chip could be used to so drastically alter perception. It sounded way to kooky to imagine some guy sitting in front of a monitor and punching buttons, making a person do whatever he wanted—like some kind of biological puppet.”
“It seems to be a much more simple explanation than that,” Sheila agreed.
“Doesn’t it bother you, knowing that your own thoughts might not really be your own?”
Sheila smiled and shrugged. “We don’t really know that if in fact neuro-chips are being carefully controlled by some outside entity. And even if we did, what could we do about it?”
Kyle was surprised at her non-cholance. “But you’ve seen the results. Individuals have literally become different people after they received neuro-chips—and
that at the most fundamental level of existence, their thought life.”
“Yeah, I know. But what if those changes are ultimately for the best?”
“The best for who?” Kyle asked in amazement.
“The best for everyone…for society.”
Kyle didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t believe Sheila was blowing the implications off so easily. He was already questioning continuing to interface via his neuro-chip, but now he was downright petrified at the very real prospect that opinions he’d formed or views he held so dearly might not belong to the real Kyle at all.
“Thanks, Sheila. I gotta run.”
“Sure, no problem,” she returned just before she zoned back out.
*****
Kyle headed back to the elevator, hit the button for the ground floor and thought about his next move as he descended. He was making his way toward the front door when Markus intercepted him.
“Hey, Mr. Bennett! That was amazing!”
Kyle stopped and stared blankly at him, at a loss as to what the security guard was talking about.
Undeterred, Markus continued. “I’m having to pull a double shift. But that’s no big deal.”
Grasping at enlightenment, Kyle guessed, “Oh, looks like you landed the day position.”
“I did,” Markus replied, beaming. “Whatever you said, it worked.”
Kyle made a pathetic attempt at grinning. The guy’s job had been the absolute furthest thing from his mind. “Sure, glad I could help.” He stood impatiently for Markus to get out of his way.
All of a sudden, every ACAD in the building pinged in unison, a supernatural sound reverberating ominously down countless corridors followed by a compounded echo bouncing wildly through the lobby. Both Kyle and Markus jerked their heads up at the audible intrusion.
Yanking their respective ACAD’s out, Markus commented with zest, “Looks like they got a suspect.”
Kyle didn’t hear him. He was staring at his own screen in detached disbelief.
Backland: Insecurity (Book #2) Page 7