The weather was projected as a self-sustained hologram in the corner of the room. There was actually a sun orbiting, with the digital temperature output, dew point, and percentage chance of rain floating in the air below it. Averting one’s eyes directly left from the digital sun, was the actual sun through the windows that divided the wall of digital output. The irony was lost on all but one in that room. Half the time, a bright digital sun would twinkle, while torrential rainfall opened from the heavens behind it. If we can, we might as well was the mentality. Digital representations were produced for the sole purpose of maintaining a record, no matter how trivial.
“Sir, we need to transfer the current surveillance video of corner forty-four onto the central server to make room for additional live feeds that are being recorded now,” stated one of the committee members. “The feeds include high definition video and 3D generated data of the internal sections of apartments that surround this corner. There were a few open windows and doors, which caused us to record internal snapshots of these domiciles. I must say,” the man cleared his throat, “there are certain situations that have been, how do I put this delicately, transferred onto digital media, which may infringe upon certain citizen rights, depending on interpretation of privacy regulations.”
Sam paused, thinking back over the countless times he had discussed issues such as this. “So you saw two people fucking or a topless lady, and you want to know if we can transfer and analyze this collected data?” snipped Sam.
The committee members didn’t flinch, but it was rather unorthodox for a manager to quip about matters this delicate.
Sam sighed. He had been analyzing data for fifteen years. “We have been over this before. What is the purpose of the cameras on corner forty-four?” queried Sam.
“Well, they are to ensure the common security of that city block,” responded a woman dressed identical to the man.
“Yes, and if common security is deemed necessary, which it always is, we can collect and replicate data recorded inadvertently in the process,” Sam responded. “In fact, because the people did not take precautions themselves to avoid the cameras and 3D replication, it is actually their fault that we have now observed them in day to day activities.” Sam rubbed his forehead as he stared at the digital weather once again. “This is a non issue, and you have every right to transfer the data.”
Sam was tired of explaining these issues to the business suits that kept coming to his office. He was amazed they did not understand these processes. Maybe they did. It was clear the actual information he was providing wasn’t what they were interested in. Regulation 104 pertaining to Data Collection and Analysis required a checklist be filled out and filed for further referral should privacy issues arise in the collection of security data. And so, as he rambled on about what was and was not legal, their undivided attention remained his. Every few moments, in reaction to certain key words, they would all look down and check an item off their list. Then they would look back up and resume their endless head nodding. This went on for the next ten minutes until midway through a particular sentence they marked a final check mark based on something Sam said, rolled their digital tablets, and thanked him for his time. He was still talking, slower and slower, as they each walked by him out of the conference room.
“Come back anytime,” said Sam, as the last one passed through the door. If he had any balls at all, he’d let them know his true feelings. Unfortunately his true feelings had no place in City 55. Once upon a time, they had, when San Francisco had been great, a place that welcomed those who thought and those who didn’t fear expressing themselves.
Sam was finally able to sit and relax in his office. He had work to do and holding the hands of incompetent people was detracting from his ability to do his job. He wasn’t here to fix their problems. This wasn’t a volunteer gig. He needed to make some headway.
“Where do we stand with the analysis completed today?” Sam asked his assistant.
“Sir, we are currently ordering it. Office 609 was the last one to send up their reports for the day. The projects should be categorized within he next thirty minutes.”
“A bit late don’t you think? Get it to me as soon as you have it. I need to get it to Istanbul ASAP.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Did you tag everything with 55?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Did our offices as well or did you have to fix their work again?”
“Sir, everything is in order.”
“If our people are not operating correctly, I need to know. The labels are a pain in the ass. I understand that, it’s a new process. But now, this is the way everything is. We need to abide with what is pushed down to us.”
There was no response.
“Get 609 on the line,” said Sam.
“Yes, sir,” Sam’s assistant said as she dialed the office. “Here they are, line two.”
Sam picked up the phone. “I’m coming up.” He listened to the gibberish on the other end of the line. “Yes now, I don’t give a shit.”
Sam walked into office 609 five minutes later. He made eye contact with the office manager and pointed to the conference room. The manager followed him in. He pulled down the map of City 55 with a grid system overlaid.
“You need to—” Sam began.
“Sir, I don’t have time—” the manager interrupted.
“This is not a two way conversation. Be quiet and listen,” Sam said as he placed his hands on the table in front of the manager. “As I was saying, you need to incorporate the MGRS system, labeling the analysis you produce. The reason is because it streamlines—” Sam paused a moment. “Listen, the reason is because that’s what the big boys want. Okay? If you don’t, then I get someone up my ass about it. I have no desire to hang out at work to fix your crap.”
“Yes, sir.”
“From now on, use the system.” Sam paused for a moment, looking at the man. “Do you understand it?”
“I think so.”
“Everything now is about efficiency, informational transparency, and accurate geolocation. This system gives us the ability to be precise. And guess what? When we’re precise, I don’t get phone calls.”
“Yes, sir.”
****
The main cities around the globe were now referenced by number designation, since the previous names enjoyed by their respective citizens seemed superfluous to the World Government. The names served no purpose and with the advent of the numbering system, each could be quickly delineated and referred to. The numbers were in order of population and thus in the World Government’s eyes, a more appropriate label. Jakarta was now City 2, New York City was City 8, Istanbul was City 21, and of course, San Francisco was labeled City 55.
City 21 housed the main office of The Corporation, while the remaining three acted as hubs for efficient information flow. This design came about from the mergers of the remaining top Fortune 500 companies in the second decade of the current millennium. Competition was deemed inefficient despite the obvious objections many capitalists ventured to suggest and therefore eliminated. The World Government governed the world, using the main hubs as a means to ensure a compliant population.
To further categorize locations, The World Government divided the Earth into different sections to control the globe from one central station. This central point was located in City 21, utilizing the surrounding seas to cool the massive electronics while providing the much-needed power.
This central point housed the main control area that used the Military Grid Reference System, or MGRS, to pinpoint and locate sections of the world, each capable of being narrowed down to that one by one meter accuracy. City MGRS codes organized the world’s inputs up to the main hub. The lower city numbers had priority for consistent tracking and display. The organization may not have been initially intuitive, but once one mastered the grid system used and visualized how that system would overlay a globe, it became second nature to reference the appropriate section. The
imposing sight resembled the conference room at building 10.1 of City 55 but to the extreme. The massive building, composed of one room on one level, would tower above the forty-eight floors of building 10.1. All the information required to govern, existed within a single area.
The walls were digital screens, surveillance feeds and data streams displayed from throughout the world. This consisted of traffic cameras, HD cameras, corporate and government unmanned drone collection, cell phone data, and much more. Any form of imagery, signal, and even human intelligence was fed into data centers and regional hubs, while also flowing to this main building. Data transfer and processing happened real time as the scenes unfolded on the digital monitors. Little platforms transported workers, sending them from point to point within this massive area. Their job comprised solely of routine maintenance on the systems within the room.
The Corporation was developing protocols to eliminate this inefficiency. Everything within this building could function with minimal human interaction. The data displayed on this grand scale had become superfluous, as the people who processed and managed the bulk of the information hardly ever set foot on site. They worked from satellite offices that served as funnels between the world and this accumulation of information.
Duplication of effort and unneeded human interference had nearly been eliminated. The most coveted job people held was that of data compilation to feed the substantial information requirements. The rest lay with one entity. Never referred to as a being or something alive, The Proxy sat within those four walls, data surrounding its consciousness. A single presence representing the world’s subconscious. The World’s reaction to any event was The Proxy, and The Corporation was the sole means to observe how The Proxy worked.
Ministerial regulation no. 55 (coded 318524890) issued by the Thoughtful Central Communications Service.
1. All forms of electronic communications will henceforth be routed through The Corporation’s Communications Server:
(1) This service is a requirement for all public forms of communication to be used by every citizen of this world.
(2) Routing through alternate forms of communication will result in the offender being ordered to visit the local court offices for hearing.
(3) The use of this single medium for communication has proven to increase efficiency by 23%, resulting in 16% more of the population included in electronic forms of communication, thus providing a .001% increase in overall world GDP.
2. Should any dispute arise regarding a means of communication, timeliness of communication, communication quality, or what communication entails, please submit a request for review through the Communication’s Service website.
(1) Each request will be accompanied with a unique tracking number.
(2) Potential delays could occur.
3. Any questions, please call our automated hot line, with your unique tracking number. Your question will be answered in due time.
(1) The phone call will be accompanied with a unique tracking number prior to hanging up.
Given this 31st day of May, (2034)
Take effect on 15th of June, (2034)
CHAPTER 3
GOD’S FLESH
Charlie struggled with all his might. He strained, digging deep down within. He remained relentless, determined to be the master. Come on man. COME ON! Fuck. Stupid thermos. How in the hell did the top weld itself completely stuck? He desperately needed another. He had spent last night whipping up an authentic Eastern European goulash he’d come across in one of the new trendy eat magazines. He had invited Dan over, but Dan had been called away to one of the pop up bars on the west side of town to deliver another package. Charlie had no idea what they would need at that time of the night, but he assumed it was important. Dan was constantly on the move. Charlie was surprised how busy Dan kept himself with his business. With all the automation, stress on efficiency, and myriad of robots taking over every last job, Dan kept at it with his bike courier gig. People relied on that last minute delivery, any time of day or night.
He finally flagged down Jenny, his paramedic partner tonight, who was able to open the thermos for him.
“You sure you want me to open this?” she said. “It might raise suspicions about your manhood.”
Charlie smiled undeterred. “Want some?” he responded, offering her some of the goulash. She accepted, and he poured half the contents into one of the plastic bowls that lay around the kitchen area the paramedics used. It was either this or she would end up eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich again tonight. Charlie knew that despite the feeble display, bringing into question his virility, one taste of this goulash would make up for it. Charlie watched as Jenny brought the goulash to her mouth, taking note of Jenny’s reaction as she relished his creation. He was right.
Jenny looked as if she wanted to slip her panties off for him right then and there. Charlie winked at her, and Jenny finished the remaining portion.
“Well Jenny, we have a couple hours left. Want to play a little chess?” Charlie asked. Although the goulash was an improvement on the peanut butter and jelly, Charlie had a bit too much faith in his cooking. The virtual panties slipped back on, and Jenny got up to wash the dishes.
“I’m going to hit the treadmill instead,” responded Jenny. “How about you join me?”
Charlie thought for a moment before jumping up to follow her. He chose the stair master. It gave him time to read the newest cooking and wine magazine. The treadmill didn’t appeal to him. He could never concentrate long enough to comprehend what he was reading. There was too much exercise required. Besides, he had to get his butt in shape for his dream girl. He figured she was a butt man. Too funny and nice to be anything else. At least, that’s how Charlie reasoned it.
“Charlie, I never hear you talk about girls or anyone for that matter. You’re always preoccupied with one thing or another, mainly your equipment. You never tell any of us about what’s going on outside work,” said Jenny after they were about ten minutes into the workout. Jenny was actually working pretty hard, not that it showed.
Charlie, on the other hand, needed a moment to think about what he was going to say to keep from hacking up the gourmet goulash. “Jenny,” Charlie paused to catch his breath. “I didn’t know you…cared. I thought you…only wanted…to get the job done,” wheezed Charlie. “I like girls. I do. They’re great. Who wouldn’t like them?” Charlie slowed his already snails pace so that he could talk. “There is actually a girl,” continued Charlie. “But I don’t know what to say. She won’t be into me. She’s gorgeous, and I think she’s smart. She seems nice. She was nice enough to put up with my drunk ass friend the other night.”
“Name?” asked Jenny.
“I don’t know,” responded Charlie.
“You don’t know her name? Have you talked to her yet? At least see what she’s made of. Who knows what she wants or who she’s interested in? You can’t ever tell, no matter what you may think,” said Jenny.
Charlie started climbing the perpetually stationary stair master again, pondering Jenny’s advice. It was a lot easier said than done. He could tell himself all that now with the safety of the stair master to protect him while Jenny stood at his side, defending his honor and reassuring him that all could be possible with this girl. As soon as he stepped off this little sadistic device, then what? What about when the girl looked at him, gazed into his eyes or even worse, what if she smiled at him? He wouldn’t be able to put together intelligible words to wow her or knock her off her feet. It would be a feat in itself if he was able to muster up simple talk. Nah, he shouldn’t do it. Couldn’t do it. And with that, Charlie dissected the hypothetical conversation, determining again that he would not be able to talk to this girl. He finished up on the stair master, neither upset nor happy.
“Jenny, what time is it?”
“About seven-thirty.”
“I’m going into the hospital. I have my transmitter if we get alerted,” Charlie said as he tapped the device under hi
s ear.
Jenny acknowledged while maintaining her pace.
Charlie grabbed a special something from the refrigerator, and then walked into the main hallway of the hospital. He continued up to the fifth floor and walked down to the nurse’s station.
“Charlie, hey buddy. Been a long time,” said one of the nurses.
“Hey Brad,” Charlie said.
“Whatcha doing up here?”
“Just came up to see you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Brought you something,” Charlie said as he handed over the surprise.
“No?” Brad said, as he cracked the top. “Oh man, I’m trying to stay on a diet.”
Charlie shrugged. “You can put them on the nurse’s station counter over here. Everyone—”
“Like hell,” Brad said as he took a bite, placing the rest of Charlie’s homemade brownies in his locker. “Oh man. You are truly gifted.”
“It’s my pleasure, Brad. I do have a favor to ask.”
“Sure,” Brad said as he finished chewing on the sticky mess.
“I’ve come across a few traumas that have involved some brain injuries. I was wondering if you could show me that device the neurosurgeons are working on, the one that tracks brain waves?” Charlie asked.
Brad hesitated. “Yeah, should be no problem. Come on.” Brad led Charlie over to the neuroscience research department. Brad unlocked the door before cracking it open. He looked back at Charlie. “Don’t advertise the fact we came here. The docs wouldn’t appreciate it. I know it’s for a good cause, but these guys have a God complex.”
“You bet, man. Just trying to help out my patients.”
Brad let him in and pulled up the equipment. “So, here we can monitor brain activity, and then here, we can check settings to alert us to when anomalies occur.”
City 55 Page 3