Utopian Uprising: Prisoner of the Mind

by Brian Craft

  Utopian Uprising

  Book 1: Prisoner of the Mind

  Copyright © 2017 by Brian G. Craft

  Cover design by B Craft

  All rights reserved.

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  www.briangcraft.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  ‘Control your mind, or someone else will.’

  <<<>>>

  They were sprinting nearly out of control down the narrow, black-glass corridor when the walls began to split open.

  The black wall segments are actually cell doors, each splitting horizontally across the middle and spreading open like gaping mouths. Emerald green light floods the interiors of the containment cells, where inanimate prisoners hover in midair, trapped in suspended animation by beams of light pulsing into their heads.

  Their faces are frozen in mindless oblivion.

  Orion and Iris race to outrun the breaching doorways when flashes of brilliant green light burst into the corridor from inside the cells. Code Green energy bursts discharge and narrowly miss snaring the runners.

  Cell after cell springs open in sequence as if the black corridor is slicing itself open from end to end. The green flashes strobe the darkness, silhouetting the runners for an instant each time as they run for their lives.

  Doors open faster and faster, outpacing the runners. Each green flash a breath closer to snaring them.

  “Faster, Iris! Run faster!”

  Iris screams, “I’m not going to make it!”

  He yanks her arm to swing her in front and throws his weight into her, launching them forward into the darkness.

  <<<>>>

  Orion’s eyes snap open, drained of color and nearly white. Veins bulge in his neck as he struggles to raise his head, an unnatural tension drawing him down. His shoulders curl to squeeze his chest, as his sputtering breaths gulp for. The audible thump of his racing heart monitor pulses through the dimly lit chamber. The thumping betrays him, and soon they’ll know he’s awake too soon.

  He drags the remote heart monitor off his chest and the thumping silences. His fingers fumble for the nylon safety straps laced across his torso, but they resist his trembling grip and his hand slips further and further off, unable to set him free. He finally submits and slackens into the black syntha-leather pads that cradle him and perfectly conform to his prone body. The curvilinear form of his titanium lounge-like chair seamlessly blends from the sterile white floor. The entire module balanced perfectly as if designed to hold something of exceptional value. It presents him, gently reclined at the optimum angle for a brilliant white beam of light to project from above and into his forehead.

  Through his half-awake daze, a word slips from his lips, “Iris.”

  Pigment floods back into his eyes, the gathering saturation reflects a deep ocean blue that swirls to define a dilated black pupil. The soft light falls around his lean facial features in easy unblemished clarity. Every piece of his manicured hair combed perfectly, swept back and untouched. Although his thirty-year-old face is dressed with confusion, his clothes and self look perfectly uniform, unwrinkled, and untouched.

  Holographic monitors hover in the air, displaying life signs, brain functions, and technical data. Companion holograms display wireframe digital graphics of structures, pulsing water mains, power systems, and mass transportation lines. The wireframe colors reminiscent of the colors in the brain models.

  Orion’s head rolls to the right where he sees a slender woman in an identical chair. Her long black hair perfectly composed, her clothes identical to his and untouched, but her eyes jammed painfully shut, her fingers wrenching into twisted curls, and she's failing desperately to breathe. Beyond her, ninety-seven more insentient people are calmly fanned out in reclined chairs exactly like Orion's, beams of white light link each to the ceiling. The ensemble is arranged in an outwardly expanding spiral contained within a large, circular, domed chamber.

  This is Hivemind, at the core of The Corporation for Societal Services, a government operated facility that handles…everything. It’s the epicenter of sustaining life in the massive, self-contained metropolis that is Paragon City in 2147.

  Hundreds of intricate holographic displays project around the group, giving the look of a busy computer command center. Although the stars of the show, the Hiveminders lay totally still, oblivious to even so much as the passing of time.

  The thick white Hivebeam that projects into and reflects from their foreheads borrows each Hiveminder’s insentient mind. It links them to a central computer to be used as the ultimate processors. The beams sparkle with energy as they surge upward and bend to snake across the room. Each joining together in an energetic glowing web composed of the ninety-nine Hiveminder beams. The web projects a hazy reflection into the ceiling composed of large curving pieces of polished titanium that converge like an aperture at the apex of the dome. The web’s ethereal radiance floats a shallow half-light across everything, making the entire chamber and everyone in it seem to hover in perpetual twilight, between living and dead.

  Finally, the concentrated web converges in the center of the room directly above Orion in chair #1. The combined radiance highlights his position in the spiral as if a skylight is open above only him. The converging web weaves together into one centralized strand that arcs upward and disappears into a gaping orifice in the ceiling. From there, it will branch out like arteries, the glowing threads peeling off again to snake their way into every street, every structure, and every life throughout the entire metropolis.

  But, at this moment, Orion is watching his companion die. He tries to speak to the suffocating Hiveminder, but his voice is frozen as Hivebeam continues to hold sway over his mind.

  Her breath gets shallower and fainter until she goes slack. Orion strains to see across the chamber where the Hive techs, behind the glass-windowed control rooms, seem oblivious as they go about their work.

  Orion lays back and lets his eyes drift closed, helpless to do more and fearful for the first time ever of his employment at Hivemind.

  Outside the main chamber doors, a droning hum emanates from Hivemind. Its seductive refrain filtering into every hallway, filling every space, surrounding every person, and blending everything together inside a timeless bubble that insulates them from the world. The large holographic digital clock under the main entrance to Hivemind counts down, not quite three minutes until animation of Prime Shift.<
br />
  Scores of technicians scurry around like ants, moving purposefully in all directions as they prepare for shift change. Their pearlescent-white uniforms, laced with titanium threads as insulation, blend in with the sterile white floors, white ceilings, and white corridors that curve away around what appears to be an enormous circular structure.

  Dr. Burroughs marches quietly down the center of the hallway toward Hivemind, a deadpan look of sunken disgust anchored on his face. The glossy shine from the overhead lights slips back and across his slick black hair as he passes with the weight of the world pressing his back into a slouching fight with gravity. Many techs recognize him and casually look away from possible eye contact, quickly faking a necessary turn into an adjacent room where they casually duck to avoid him. Others caught in his wake, stop and stare in a kind of reverence for the creator of Hivemind.

  Unfazed, Burroughs approaches the main observation room, where a beautiful young secretary with a big plastic smile graciously opens the door for him. He returns the goodwill with a tight-lipped grin, barely raising the edges of his mouth.

  The secretary states in her brightest, most professional tone, “Welcome, Dr. Burroughs! Day shift is scheduled to animate momentarily. Director Pace will be here to meet you in a few minutes.”

  Burroughs acknowledges the information with an icy side-glance and then glides past her and into the room.

  The door slides shut behind him, narrowing the outside light into a sliver until it disappears altogether. The same ethereal half-light from the main chamber leaks in through a large observation window. Holographic projections of ninety-nine brains float on the glass in front of Burroughs as he approaches to peer in at the ninety-nine insentient Hiveminders. Bright, specific color-coding segments the brain models in blues and reds and yellows, designating scientific function and highlighting ongoing activity. Looking through the brain models, his gaze falls on his greatest creation and the handpicked members about to animate.

  His eyes step across arcs of the spiral and quickly zero in on Orion and the Hiveminder who’s gone slack next to him.

  Orion is perfectly still now, but Burroughs stares at him, unblinking, unflinching, watching for any movement, like a predator waiting for prey to mistakenly give away its hiding place.

  Inside Hivemind, the dome begins to glow. The ambient light increases as the holographic displays fade away and disappear altogether. The room now decidedly dull inside. Overhead light spreads a glare across the observation room window until Burroughs is totally obscured from view.

  The energetic web overhead withers, unthreads itself into individual thin streams, then the streams fade and disconnect, prompting each Hivemember to wake. Overhead the titanium dome pieces press closed in aperture rotation.

  A pleasantly upbeat computer voice echoes across the animating Hiveminders, “Awake. Current time, five-thirty P.M. Your next shift begins at eight o'clock A.M. All accounts will be credited for today's work cycle. The Corporation for Societal Services thanks you for your continued employment. Good night.”

  Chest and leg restraints recoil into the Hiveminders’ chairs, and each of them sits to shake off the inert fog caused by Hivebeam. They stretch and bend limbs, pushing out the stiffening atrophy. One by one, they swing their feet to the floor and carefully stand, making sure they feel their weight before taking a step. Once composed, each silently joins the rest as they file out of the chamber.

  All of them except the woman next to Orion. She’s motionless, not breathing, not animating like she’s supposed to.

  Orion can only take one step toward his motionless co-worker before a Hive tech intercepts him, “Orion! Control monitored a sentient mind interrupt. From your—“

  “Free will disconnect is impossible.” Orion tries to sound calm as he cuts the tech off.

  “You’re obligated to report any memory after—“

  Orion shoves his heart monitor into the tech’s hand, “Here, you should make sure those stay on better.” He glares at the tech. “I animated like everyone else.”

  He as he pushes toward the inanimate woman, the tech puts his arms out to bar Orion’s path, but careful to not touch the #1 chair of Prime Shift. “Beam released. Why isn’t Aoki waking?” Orion presses.

  Unnerved and a little shaken by Orion’s display, the tech quickly glances over each shoulder to check that they aren’t drawing attention, then grumbles, “Listen, it’s just burnout. Chair #2 is not your concern.”

  Other Hive techs surround Aoki. Her chair flattens and elevates. The padded surface recedes leaving her on the hard surface of what looks more like the slab of an exam table. A new beam of light projects into her chest. Another flash of light scans her, and the holographic displays examine her body and heart as the beam zaps it.

  Her body spasms from the shock, then she goes slack again. Another shock, spasm, then slack. The techs simply observe Aoki pass away like they are waiting for a defective light bulb to dim and burn out on a control panel they are casually trying to repair.

  Orion freezes, visibly shaken by what he witnessed. “Help her!”

  His tech breaks decorum and physically pushes Orion away, trying to draw down any attention he’s causing. “Just continue your routine. Her metro functions will be rerouted.”

  Orion shoves him off and follows his fellow ninety-nine, minus one, out of the room. He presses past the slow movers and disappears down the hallway away from Hivemind.

  CHAPTER 2

  Dr. Burroughs scrutinizes the remaining workers as they separate and exit Hivemind for the night. He studies each of them like an engineer hunting for slightest weakness in a circuit, ready to snatch them out and replace them.

  Director Pace strides down the hallway, his precise movements and confident smile composed around a pillar of protocol. The lines of his immaculate suit contrast the youthful greetings he eagerly delivers to the Hiveminders as they exit. He gathers himself and reframes his charm as he approaches Burroughs. He casually slips his hands under the hem of his suit coat, and a quick tug insures its lines.

  He greets Burroughs like an equal. “Dr. Burroughs. Long way from your new Center. A virtual visit would be more convenient. Less interup—“

  “Remote eyes can’t see like I can. My presence is more revealing,” Burroughs says, refusing to look Pace in the eye. “Hive perfection requires diligence, Director Pace.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve got the facility running like clockwork,” Pace replies, right as the techs wheel the dead Hiveminder out from Hivemind. Pace hides behind his hand, scratching his nose as he registers his own mistimed statement and swallows his pride like a bitter pill.

  Burroughs sidles away, throwing a tiny glance back to leash Pace and drag him along. “Seems surrendering my brainchild to lesser minds has retarded it. Society cannot suffer any hiccups in Hivemind, Director.”

  “I assure you, Hive priority is intact,” Pace states, trying to salvage the moment, “though, I have some new ideas.”

  Pace’s attempt at redirecting the conversation triggers Burroughs to look Pace over like maybe he is the weak circuit.

  The two men pass through frosted sliding glass doors to enter another tech hub labeled ‘Holography Center.’ Pace hurries ahead of Burroughs in an attempt gain control of the moment. He leads the doctor around an elevated glass observation catwalk circling a miraculous room below.

  Several dozen service-techs carefully manage a fantastically detailed holographic model of the entire city. The expansive diorama covers thousands of buildings and roadways, all animated and moving in real time. Maglev trains running along winding rail lines, and a color-coded power grid pulses in all directions highlighting usage and resistance nodes. Sprinkled through everything are millions of tiny dots representing citizens. They are the only pieces moving independently, scattering here and there, moving about their lives, and spreading throughout the model city like bits of self-animated sand.

  Branching through all of it, an intricately detailed arte
ry, bright white and pulsing, the Hivebeam delivers information and feedback to everything and every person in the metropolis. All combined, it’s a utopian vision that has been planned, constructed, and metered to astonishing perfection.

  Pace puffs up with pride at his own model addition to the corporation. “Water rationing to transit timing. Including sleep direction and mood enhancement for millions of citizens. Every bit of this staggering precision and profound integration represented here in real time for us to monitor.”

  “A frivolous false reality,” Burroughs scoffs. “Human minds interfaced to power unlimited computer processing at a near quantum level, and this is what you come up with? Stakes are higher than city services.”

  Pace absorbs that hit but stands his ground. "Dr. Burroughs, your engineering of Hivemind was practically a miracle. Using human minds as a collective, connected to central processing is—"

  “Genius.”

  “Yes. You can call it genius,” Pace concedes. “No computer ever built could have managed to leap into such magnificent abstract thinking. Using the human brain as a processor to access more than we could ever dream is genius. But the operation of it is management.”

  “Self-exalted bureaucrats.” Burroughs pricks the label into Pace’s attempt at seeming grandiose.

  “We bureaucrats maintain order.” Pace gestures to redirect attention to the model again.

  “Small minds misled by small visions.” Burroughs gets uncomfortably close to Pace’s face, forcing him to look away at the holographic diorama below. “Imagine if you can, Pace. Unifying thirty-two million minds. The unordered, ordered. Mankind, elevated through singular streamlined thought and action.”

  “Society is orderly and managed now,” says Pace.

  Burroughs fixes his eyes on Pace and a grin splits across his face. “But not perfect. A plague of deviance infiltrates our ranks. The people need to be controlled. Like the city they live in. Symbiosis. Singularity. For everyone.”