The Code of Happiness

by David J. Margolis

  “I don't see how I can help.”

  “Twofold. I can only get the effects to last five hours. With your coding ability, who knows?”

  He guides Jamie around the orb to another machine and a jungle of hanging wires.

  “We need your consciousness to be coded.”

  Jamie's at the end of Blaze's unsavoury grip.

  “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “The Source Foundation was onto something. But they're old school. This is the new way. One day we'll be able to offer everyone this source.”

  “At what price?”

  “A moderate subscription.”

  “And for those who can't afford?”

  “We'll offer a lite version, like old parking meters on the street. Pop in a buck and receive five seconds of bliss. Imagine the happiness. All we're doing is enhancing a code that occurs in us naturally. It's just that we're unevolved. Why wait for millennia when we can have this now?”

  The words of Ray come back to Jamie. Blaze wasn't bad or evil. He was impatient, misguided. Jamie couldn't ignore what he had just witnessed. And his own life? It had amounted to little. Doubts? Yes. A little crazy? Indeed. But what Blaze was saying had an element of truth.

  “I want to teach you about the affectus transfigurantes. I do, truly,” implores Blaze.

  Jamie's unable to make connection to the pathological liar, those who use a grain of truth to spread their malfeasance.

  “Jamie, we can do this without you, but it will take years. Come. Come try it. Don't you want to?”

  Jamie's nerves kick in but not enough to walk away. He still has the power of youth and it comes with the naiveté of trying anything once. He wasn't thirty yet.

  “Five seconds,” says Blaze.

  “Two,” responds Jamie.

  “Deal.”

  Blaze chaperones Jamie to the silver gloves.

  “You'll feel a slight tingling at first.”

  “How can I trust you?”

  Blaze searches for the apt answer; it's not far.

  “Because I need you.”

  And with that Jamie places his hands into the gloves and is zapped.

  Jamie's mind expands. It's wide. Pacific Ocean wide. A setting sun melting into a buzzing golden rod of light as Blaze's lab disappears behind it.

  He hears Blaze. “Do you feel it?”

  Jamie nods, his smile feels as if it extends out of his face and into the space around him, the ocean, the golden rod. He's too numb to realize he's been connected beyond the agreed two seconds. He touches his heart. Love, the forgotten code has entered his dark space.

  “I give you a source from the outside to help on the inside,” Blaze says triumphantly. And with a touch of wickedness, “And now for your consciousness.”

  Jamie drops to his knees.

  “Are you ready for truth? It'll be over in a minute.”

  Men and women march through Jamie's mind in black suits and facemasks. Images flow over them; XXLI unpronounceable but helping you breathe, working to bring you happiness, the old man smiling beneath his burnt brown house, thousands of faces sucked into their Nano devices, and over it all, is Blaze's echoing voice, ‘I give you a source from the outside to help with the inside.’ The beach and the Pacific Ocean return, now being filled with computer parts, his black box of magic tricks, and a venti latte. Warm and creamy, the complex smell of coffee blows his mind. The art, a beating heart, begs him to dive in. It is time to acquiesce, and he plunges into the milky white.

  He'll never leave. He doesn't want to. The whole ocean has turned into a latte, the waste of the modern age eviscerated. Floating in the froth, there's a sense of magic from above, the orange sun, the torus emanating from unknown planets, and flashes of yellow light. He looks down to see the same colors streaming from him, from his heart into the milkiness. Bliss, comfort, the womb. He doesn't need Blaze's voice, yet there it is.

  “For my life I give you bliss.”

  Life? The voice confuses the soft milkiness of Jamie's surrounds and the opposite of life creeps in. Darkness at the edges. Above him the hot desert takes over, bare tree branches searching for life, the rickety barn uninhabited, tumbleweeds waiting for a wind to drive them somewhere new, and Ray's voice. ‘Don't disappear. You have a choice.’ Typical, thinks Jamie, Ray interrupting what little bliss there is in life. And Ray repeats again, ‘Don't disappear, you have a choice.’ Ray, the irritant, aggravates. Now the warm milkiness feels all too real. There's wetness at the back of his neck, trying to enter his ear. It's all square pegs and round holes. Not fitting, not making sense. Fear surges, and its sheer force brings Jamie to consciousness.

  Panic cracks through his spine.

  His breath fogs a mask, hiding his new reality but soon he discovers the truth, his body soaked in murky turquoise liquid, wires pulling at his arms and legs, and worse, bodies float alongside him, their skin pale and prune. He thrashes his way to the surface. He passes the content, the blissful, and the unconscious. He grabs the side of this human aquarium and hauls himself over the edge, twisting his knee as he lands. Blaze opens the door and Jamie flies at him half-cocked only to be swatted back. And then he realizes how sucked of life he is. He lifts himself up, leaning against the aquarium wall. The temptation to climb back in and unhook the disappeared five grows, and he looks up to the wires to see if he can use them to swing over again.

  “No Jamie. You will kill them.”

  It's a struggle to speak, but he must do all he can to stay awake. “They're already dead,” he pants.

  “They're in bliss,” proclaims Blaze. “People like you. Alone. Nothing to care for. Never cared about anything, or anyone. Looking for the ‘extraordinary’ experience. Now they have a purpose.”

  Blaze lets Jamie pass, the sign of a confident man, then presses a silent alarm.

  “No one will believe you. You'll be left on the margins of society.”

  “Then I'll be fine.”

  “And bankrupt like Ray.”

  Jamie's turn to pick a sweet delivery. Enough to make Blaze think.

  “And like you.”

  Jamie struggles through Blaze's reception area, his condition alarming. Blaze's assistant getting the message it's okay, and a suitable excuse; Jamie had a reaction to the scotch and threw himself into the shower. Jamie has one last hope. New faith is about to be tested. He's out of sight from people—and he prays—the snooping cameras.

  A door opens to the stairs. Faith rewarded. Grace is inside the stairwell. She had been waiting for a while. Jamie too is full of excuses for his appearance. The details will have to wait but the faint smell of formaldehyde wasn't his doing.

  “Did you bring it?” he asks her.

  Grace hands him a thin cobalt key.

  “I have to get as close as I can.”

  “What will it do?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I'm here.”

  “I'm shutting the place down—well—phase two of project happiness.”

  Grace tries to compute. She can't. A decision she can't make. For a moment she has no idea how she ended up inside these concrete walls talking to a man who appeared a stranger ready to rip her world apart.

  “I can't believe I'm doing this.”

  “Because you know you can't carry on doing the same.”

  “And if I decide not to see you, to turn you in?”

  “I can't control you.” He pauses as a truth presents itself. “I don't want to control you.”

  Winning words. She hands him car keys.

  “Parking lot 4402. It works on a good day.”

  She trembles with uncertain nerves and gives him a new ring; one to help get down there and avoid detection by security.

  “I'll wait, if you want to come.”

  “It's better I stay here. I'm you HR specialist. I can deflect and monitor the situation.”

  She steps onto Blaze's floor, now an accomplice, leaving Jamie to descend to Phase Two. While the floors
weren't marked, he'd figured out coordinates while working there—an amusing security oversight he thought. Finally he had a chance to put his oft-praised skills to some good. The cobalt key would activate a virus, set XXLI's project happiness back months at a minimum.

  The elevator doors won't close quick enough for Grace though. She has Blaze for company and hopes he doesn't ask what she's doing. She doesn't belong in this area of the building, and Jamie is probably the worst excuse she could give. Her wish is granted but her end at XXLI the unpronounceable corporation, fast approaches.

  “Good to see you've found your heart, Grace.”

  She's still well-trained and waits to see if he elucidates. He doesn't. And when Blaze leaves, finality is confirmed.

  “You'll get a good reference.”

  Grace's classic black hatchback awaits. He has two hopes; the virus activation and Grace showing up. There's a third. Hoping her old car starts. He'll give her five minutes, enough time for a latte. The cheek of it appeals, and so he watches Lucien, the random barista, deliver a latte sans art. If there was value in procuring this cup of coffee, there was more in the belief of another human being. Waiting was a risk worth taking. He'd hang around longer than the five minutes. ‘Judgment’ thinks Jamie, and smiles to himself.

  *****

  “He called the dogs off.”

  While Blaze had a penchant for the theatrical, he preferred the trickier moments to be handled privately and quietly. He may have wanted Jamie but was prepared to let him slip back to the status of a nobody. Nobodies weren't a threat. Jamie would be another worker to have a breakdown. An addition to the book of urban legends. Blaze had calculated for failure too. In creating unpronounceable and growing it into a behemoth he had become untouchable. The world was too reliant on his recession proof corporation to bring it down. Wild stories would always be, just that.

  Grace inspects Jamie. He's not fit to drive—at least her classic, which requires more attention than the wet dream. They change places, walking around the car. He wants to kiss her but thanks her instead.

  “I'm not sure what I'm doing yet,” she says.

  “Driving me home.”

  “Is that safe?”

  “They called off the dogs, didn't they?”

  “Well he's not going to cause a fuss inside HQ.”

  It's a pleasure to watch her drive. The chassis is old, the journey rough, the car from an era when there were still wind down windows. The engine had been replaced, but she didn't take it out much. She liked the simple body and wanted to preserve it, a family heirloom of sorts handed down by her grandparents. The bumps and cracks in the road are noticeable, giving pause for thought about the day's events and where they were heading. Close to his apartment they're interrupted by a request from Po. She hates asking but she needs his help. Ray has locked himself in at the old Foundation building.

  “Can you drop me off at twenty-first and Beaufort?” he asks Grace.

  “What's there?”

  “I have a friend who needs help.”

  Grace thinks about this.

  “Good. You have a friend. When do I get to meet him?”

  “Her. She's a little strange.” He doesn't want Grace to race to conclusions.

  The last of winter's rain escorts them around the dull streets of The Source Foundation. The splattering on the bonnet seems to be an approval from the gods, the storm clearing way for the new. Jamie doesn't explain what happened with him and Blaze. It's less believable than the dentist's chair. He needs evidence to remind him in future years what happened was true. One option was to keep the clothes but they reeked. A better option required the help of another. He asks Grace what he smells like and requests she remember. It will help avoid madness he suggests. It's peculiar, she thinks, but Grace is getting used to Jamie. In a way it keeps him more interesting, and she's attracted to that. He smells like an old laboratory is her verdict. Saying that piques her interest but the old Grace is still there, the one preferring safer, conservative decisions, and she chooses not to ask more, but as she pulls up she's curious as to the skinny figure clad in black.

  “That's Po,” says Jamie.

  The wipers squeak against the windshield. They haven't figured out what to do next, or where to go, and Jamie doesn't want to involve Grace in this failed old 'sorcerer's' nonsense. The Source Foundation was about to be consigned to history, so it was best to let things play out. They fall to silence. He doesn't want her to go, but he's not brave enough to ask her to stay. She offers to wait but Jamie insists—a fair point—she might want some time alone. It almost bursts out from Grace. She's always alone. His eyes speak now. He won't abandon her. He looks over to Po. He should go. Her wet clothes have stuck to her like cling wrap.

  “The fool's locked himself in and won't talk,” Po says. “He's been in there for hours.” She sniffs. Doesn't like what hits her nostrils. “You smell like formaldehyde or something.”

  “Yeah. I'll tell you later. I'm taking you didn't want to call anyone?”

  It doesn't need answering.

  “We could do with an ax,” she says.

  “Not something I keep in my back pocket.”

  “Ha,” comes the sarcastic reply.

  “Does Billy have a way in?”

  “He scooted off to Memphis weeks ago.”

  They shout and bang against the black door but it holds its own. It's all old-fashioned bolts and locks, and no way for a former wonder kid hacker to override the circuit. Options are limited. They're going to have to call emergency. Jamie assures he can pay. He was a fat cat after all.

  Then, an explosion devours the air.

  Sailing backward. Jamie, Po, and the black door.

  Jamie lands in a deep puddle, Po less fortunate, her head meeting concrete, the door crashing behind them.

  “Po!”

  She's battered, blood trickles from who knows where. She's ripped black cloth and grazed skin, and fortunately coming around. Jamie checks the cuts—nothing deep—and he looks back to where the black door used to be and is now furnished with a bright orange glow. He speaks to her, reassures, tells her to stay still. Emergency will be on its way for sure. He finds time to joke. He didn't have to call.

  Flames bounce and rip through the air. Inside the old building the walls are smothered in a blanket of white orange. Ray's a lone silhouette, ceiling timbers falling behind him. He walks at ease and past Jamie.

  “Haven't lost my touch.”

  An assassin, thinks Jamie.

  “All things come to an end. It's the only way we can start again.”

  It seems an inappropriate place for Ray's digressions and pocketbook quotes. And with a creak from the ceiling he becomes at one with his handiwork. Jamie's stunted screams only adding to the searing crackle.

  Other lights are behind him. Red and blue merge together. He's dragged away by a man in yellow, never taking his sight away from Ray's lifeless eyes. His body may be there but Ray has vanished.

  They won't take his claims seriously, and Jamie is unsure how far to push. He can see the looks and hear the comments. He'll be consigned to the world of crazies, one of the Underground. They say they'll check Blaze and XXLI but he knows they won't. There's nothing in it for them. Blaze would never give them access anyway, and tarnishing Blaze Malone would only come back to haunt them. The paramedics want to clean Jamie's lungs of smoke, but wearing an unpronounceable mask brings fear and repulsion, and he keeps them away. Language and vehicles. The ceaseless rain. All blend together while his heart takes center stage. Each pump echoes. He wants to hear it. A beating heart. Confirmation of life. The paramedics recognize his body is in trauma and settle him back. He's left to watch Po being carted off in a neck brace, her eyes searching, frustrated for the lack of answers. The death of Ray, the disappointment of him losing ‘fight’ will haunt. Ray, the man who had spotted himself in her had left without saying goodbye. It's a sorry night. Grace won't hear from Jamie. He worries she'll turn away, and return to unpronoun
ceable.

  *****

  The ceremony is simple. Billy showed up along with several people from Ray's past. Blaze was an exception. Jamie places a stone amongst the flowers. His eyes meet Po's. She's fragile and unforgiving in her looks, still days away from a full comprehension of events, not only of that night but also from the moment of Jamie's first appearance into her life. Jamie, for his part, had been racked by ambivalence toward Ray. He hadn't deserved to die, but a question hung over his deception. Ray, so caught up, was unable to see it himself. Jamie's guilt at his lack of sadness would remain his own. It was an elderly man though who took his attention. He was talking to Po.

  They met at his building two days later. Touching ninety, Grant Edmonds still held an office at Kendall's law firm. His tastes were of clean lines and maroon leather. Sincerity masked his face of rubber cheeks. Jamie and Po listened, perhaps for the last time hearing someone utter the words ‘John Charles Cavour.’

  “He was a meticulous man. He understood all things coming to an end necessitated a beginning.”

  The conceit of Mr. Cavour was astonishing. He had factored in the demise of Ray's version of his teachings. There were millions on offer to rebuild. Jamie and Po were to ignite a new group based on his work if they so chose, under the stipulation it had to be both of them together.