Utopian Uprising: Prisoner of the Mind

by Brian Craft

  “Can I ask what happened to your son?” Orion says.

  GL looks deadly serious. “He’s dead. And I get a cell.”

  Orion rubs his face, thinking hard, but the only thing he can relate to is the death of the Hivemember. There is no memory left of his mother to share. “I saw a woman die. It’s the most human thing I’ve seen in years.”

  GL eases out of her pain a little to respond. “And poof, you’re here.”

  “It was a wakeup call,” he says. His own words set him adrift. He absently adds, “Time to break free.”

  GL gets close to the glass. “You’re in serious trouble then.”

  He struggles to weigh it, like something just isn’t adding up. “There’s some good, right? Society has peace. Harmony.” The words tumble out mechanically, almost like they aren’t his words.

  Her eyes narrow to inspect him. “I don’t feel the least bit peaceful.”

  “At least if we go with it, we have a chance,” he says, staring into space, the words processed like a commercial. “A revolution in evolution.”

  “Think that up yourself?” she says. “You’re a man with a mind that’s his. Unless Dr. Son-of-a-bitch slides it out while you’re not lookin’.” She raps her knuckles on the glass between them. “You want to break free? What’s that mean to you?”

  Orion lays back, confused and unsure. He closes his eyes and images play in his mind of the nature Iris showed him. A memory that is not really his memory, other than viewing it the vision is only an image buried deep in his mind. Safely tucked away, it calls forward now to remind him. Without thinking he says, “Blue skies. Green fields. Love.”

  “Then start your own revolution,” GL states.

  Orion turns to look at her, and then the cell walls turn black for lights out. The sickly green glow of the digital button allows him to see a faint reflection of himself in the glass.

  CHAPTER 12

  High above the city, a hand-sized robotic drone floats slowly upward along the side of a highly-reflective skyscraper. The drone’s small mechanical coupling holds a shimmering metallic tile, hexagonal, and not much larger than the robot itself. As it flies higher, it passes thousands of similar tiles and other robot drones on their way back after delivering their loads.

  The tiny drone slows to a stop next to the unfinished upper edge of the gleaming tile façade. Above that edge, the reinforced aluminum superstructure of the building is visible all the way up and wrapped in a see-through titanium mesh. At the top, several finished floors are already anchored in place.

  The drone carefully positions itself, and then the mechanical coupling releases. The tile hovers in midair, the collected magnetism holding the millions of surface tiles together floats the little tile a few inches to a meet the edge of adjacent tiles. Once close enough, the magnetism of the tiles draws them together. Highly conductive copper circuits embedded in each, thread into its neighbor, connecting them as if they are one unified whole. Each one shifts angles slightly so they all have a different reflection of the world around them.

  Once complete, the entire façade will be a unified, conductive whole. The building insulated by titanium and anchored on a core of aluminum. This building is something more like a lightning rod or transmitter.

  The drone, now satisfied with the tile placement, flies straight away from the main surface and begins to descend. Other drones with more tiles rise slowly past it. The descent seems endless, the tiles of a huge surface all angled, and moving to constantly reposition themselves, give the effect of the surface disappearing in the light.

  The drone arrives at the bottom and disappears into a small aperture inside the massive building it’s helping to dress.

  A personal transport exits a garage below the building and spirits away into the city. The building behind it looks like a towering spike rising into the sky, shimmering in the light until, like a mirage, it mostly disappears from sight. It is the Center for Mind Mastery and it’s nearing completion.

  Burroughs drives quickly through the most high-quality streets in the metropolis on his way toward a huge domed sports stadium. Within seconds, the transport disappears inside.

  …

  Every seat in the stadium is filled with citizens. They clap and cheer but remain orderly as the event plays below them. The centerpiece is a large square field, intense blue with iridescent markings for the competition. Two brightly colored teams oppose each other, running with what looks like exaggerated assault rifles. Most of one team converges quickly on a runner, the trim of his uniform glows vibrantly with his team’s colors, and then suddenly he fires the rifle and his uniform dulls.

  The rifle launches a two-inch diameter glowing ball, arcing outward toward his fellow teammate, sprinting across the field.

  Soaring through the air its iridescent glow trails behind in a long streak. It bears down on his teammate, rifle spun around the opposite direction so the funnel-like butt aims at the approaching ball. He times it perfectly, catching the glowing ball in the funnel where it swirls around lightning fast and is swallowed into the shooter. The player’s uniform instantly illuminates, and the crowd goes wild. Now he’s on the run as the other team shifts course and converges to stop him.

  The thick plate glass ringing the upper levels of the stadium muffles the cheers from the crowd where Burroughs walks alone. The game seems of little interest to him as he passes through a pair of huge double doors.

  The room inside is opulent. Marble tiles trimmed in tasteful bits of gold. Oversized abstract paintings carefully composed and hung on semi-translucent poly-plastic walls penetrated with a high-quality, uniform pearlescence that gives them an intangible depth and inviting life. The pearlescence undulates into pleasing pastels that coordinate with a high-resolution digital sky. The furniture is clearly custom designed to this space and coordinated to work in concert with all the other pieces in the room, each soft, comfortable and inviting.

  Most of the exquisitely-dressed guests barely notice Burroughs enter. They are quietly discussing the sporting event below. The event is really only a reason for them to network across the upper echelon and show themselves off. They are dining on an amazing spread of real food, drinking delicate and aromatic liquids that seem to radiate color, and generally enjoying the fruits of the upper stratum of life in the city. They seem to have not a care in the world. Even their skin displays a polish that easily rivals the sheen of their perfect clothes.

  Burroughs passes without so much as turning his head and aims for a room deeper inside the little elite haven.

  He enters a smaller room with a large boardroom table filling most of it. Director Pace is present on a video monitor, already speaking to the three other members present. These are the city planners, the innermost circle of the inner circle. They fly above everything, they coordinate the systems, they write the laws, and fly above those, too.

  Pace is deep into a long-winded speech about the importance of Societal Services, the others in the room endure it. The expressions on their faces say ‘we already know this.’ Coming to the conclusion, Pace states, “I won’t allow Hive to be tampered with!”

  Easing into his seat, Burroughs, he casually undermines Pace by stating, “Great advances require great vision.” He slowly rotates to address the elderly woman to his right, “Advocate Abbey,” he says with a bit of suspicion in his voice. “What pressing cause are you advocating this week?”

  The elderly woman displays a kind of carefully composed grace. Flowing clothes, sewn from the best materials, and bits of more naturalistic jewelry. Her wizened eyes already piercing him, and she doesn’t look away as she states, “Pace and I told Governor Roman and Controller Pau about your ideas.”

  Burroughs eases his chair back, allowing his chin to rise so he can look down his nose at Abbey. “I wish you would have let me.”

  “This vision you’re pushing only serves to narrow ours and expands your own,” she states. Her unflinching gaze met by Burroughs’ own.

&nbs
p; Burroughs deflects the moment with a casual tilt toward the others. He says, “It’s this kind of out of control paranoia that—“

  “Burroughs, explain it to me like I’m a child,” says Governor Roman. His enormous square head is accentuated by elaborately coiffed hair parted down the middle. His granite block jaw bulges at the corners, the muscles overworked from tension. Shoulders to match and filling a rigidly smooth suit that looks like it can deflect bullets. “How is this better than Hivemind now?”

  "Governor." Burroughs stands to circle the table as he speaks, "Reduce the number to six. Each perfectly conditioned, without imperfection or will to think past its purpose. Indefinite use without interruption." He pauses behind the video image of Pace, so the director can't see him. He softly situates each hand on the monitor and slowly drops each finger individually like a countdown, pausing extra long with his index fingers, flourishing them in the air a tiny bit before dropping. On the beat, he continues, "Eliminate Hivebeam and broadcast a crystal-clear message from Hive to the minds of the entire population. Like a beautiful blanket billowing out and settling gently, quietly over all beneath it." He continues around the table and stops to look through the window overlooking the stadium filled with citizens. "Everyone instantly harmonized," he adds. "Utopia."

  Abbey scoffs, throwing her hands in the air. “Unfettered, unsolicited, mind control!” She can hardly look at Burroughs out of disgust. She glares at Roman and states, “That is a human rights abomination.”

  Pace chimes in, “Hive is for managing resources!” It’s another lame attempt. If he can’t advance the ball he’s going to lose his position on the team. The frustration on his face is readily apparent as he sits back and his image shrinks on the monitor.

  Controller Pau achingly shifts his extra weight to sit forward and drop his elbows on the table. The others wait as he formulates an opinion. He says, “I see. Marry thought with action. Balance. Population synchronized with resources. It’s the last piece for perfect resource management. Harmonize the users with what they’re using.” He nods approval like he is giving the okay to pave a sidewalk. “Perfect status quo.”

  “For everyone,” Burroughs says with a self-satisfying grin, as he exaggerates pointing toward the upper crust mingling in the next room, as if it’s a benefit to securing their status indefinitely.

  “As human services advocate, I must vote no.” Abbey tries to stem the flow of this conversation, but the others look as though they expected her vote, and they barely react.

  Governor Roman stands to join Burroughs by the window. “Who handles this message?”

  “You.” He smiles. “Via Mind Mastery, of course,” he finishes.

  Pace tries to inject himself again, and loudly states, “We should not even consider this.”

  Burroughs demeanor changes to pounce on Pace, he says, “Two decades ago, that argument was muted when Hive worked wonderfully.”

  Abbey slaps her hand on the table to demand attention. “Altruism and city services has overstepped its bounds since then.” Her glare grows more and more threatening.

  “Boundaries holding us back. But I’m about to break through,” Burroughs announces, “and elevate our society.”

  …

  Three figures dressed in all black run through a darkened passageway under the stadium. Disembodied cheers from the crowds above echo through the building.

  They stop at a closed door. Evo pulls back his hood and produces his electronic lockpick. In seconds, he has the door open and the group is through, door closing behind them.

  They enter an immense room, ceiling no higher than any normal room and covered in loops of cables hanging from the underside of the stadium field. The entire ceiling glows like a faint mirror image of the event playing above. Colorful, hazy images of players run this way and that. The ceiling and the field it supports is a giant digital display.

  “We have to work fast,” Iris states as she searches the ceiling for a junction of cables and electrodes.

  Evo swings a soft, cylindrical pack off his shoulder. He crouches and shoves the pack to let it unfurl across the concrete floor. He and the other man snatch tools from it and join Iris at a junction she's found. Evo climbs on his friend's shoulders to reach the ceiling and they begin to jack into the junction.

  …

  Director Pace’s frustration bubbles up as he pushes his face to the monitor again and raps on the camera from his end. “I want to see it. No tinkering with Hive. We can’t afford crashing the system.”

  Roman gets close to Burroughs, a move that clarifies his authority and emphasizes that doesn’t need the approval of the others. “What are we really talking about here, Burroughs? No one can leave the city. It’s been so long that everyone is conditioned to believe they can’t. They believe what they’re told. So why push it?”

  Burroughs looks away before he delivers his carefully composed lie. “Because that line is being stretched,” Burroughs, points out. “Once control is lost, everything will fall.”

  “And what’s to gain?” Roman asks.

  “Perfection,” the doctor replies.

  “If this causes any problem, I’ll wash my hands of everything. Including you.” Roman walks away. “You have three weeks.”

  Burroughs objects, “That is an impossibly fast schedule!”

  Suddenly, there’s a collective gasp from the crowd outside, and Burroughs turns in time to see the entire image of the field fluctuate. Then the players all disappear in a wink, drawing another gasp. They were only holograms.

  People in the stadium stand there staring at the field. Their sports stars aren’t even real. Across the entire playing field surface, a word appears:

  ‘RESIST’

  The crowd grows quiet as they register the message. Confusion gives way to a slight panic as many of them start to move toward the exits.

  Burroughs dramatically scowls. “Deviants.” He smiles to himself as he marches toward the door, leaving the city planners behind. The message is all the proof he needs to cement his plan. A plan that goes farther than he’d ever let on.

  …

  Iris and Evo run under the stadium field. The glow of their ‘RESIST’ message lights their way as they aim for escape. By the time they reach the door, heavy footsteps are already echoing through the corridors from security teams swarming toward the under-field room to capture The Resistance.

  Unsure which way is best, Iris decides, “The steps aren’t as loud this way!” She sprints away, Evo and their companion right behind her. The tunnels under the field are a labyrinth of dark corridors and locked doors.

  Evo turns into a passage he thinks is better as Iris runs ahead. He yells for her, “Iris, this way!”

  Iris spins to follow him. By the time she reaches Evo’s hallway, she can see flashlights coming up the tunnel from the way they escaped came. She chases Evo. Sprinting down the darkened passage she spots him slip through a doorway at the end of the tunnel. Before she can reach it, it starts to slide closed automatically. Evo grips the edge and pulls as hard as he can to hold it open, but the mechanism is too strong, and the door clangs shut. Iris freezes as the sound echoes around her, announcing her location.

  Iris doesn’t miss a beat. She may still be able to get back to the first corridor before security arrives. She bolts into the dark.

  CHAPTER 13

  Orion paces his cell from end to end like a caged animal in an endless loop. It’s been days since he’s seen anything other than the artificial light inside Mind Mastery, and the green half-light glow in his cell has turned the space from a cave-like haven where he can disappear with his thoughts, to a claustrophobic theater for his struggling mind.

  The treatments from Burroughs have bent his mind into a foggy vacuum of blank spots, broken memories, and unsettled emotions he can’t make heads or tails of. Pacing and pacing, struggling to jog his mind into remembering what he’s certain is supposed to be there, he finally stops in front of the glowing green button.


  A menacing look curls into his eyes, his fingers ball into fists and, finally, out of frustration, he punches the glass door right next to the button. The impact splits his knuckle a little, and splatters blood on the wall. A trickle of blood trails down his finger and drips onto the floor. He deliberately closes his eyes and breathes to calm himself and zero in.

  He still has control, for now.

  “It’s happening to you,” GL interjects. The little clear window through the black glass from her cell to Orion’s frames her eyes right next to his.

  Orion keeps his eyes closed as he flatly responds, “What’s happening?”

  “You’re changing,” she states calmly. “Everyone I’ve seen here has gone the same route. First, they try to go along, thinking maybe they’ll get free by pleasing their jailor. Then they get confused, like you. Then comes the anger, like Scryberg.”

  “I’m not like him,” he demands, and then moves away to lie on his bunk.

  GL’s little window disappears, and then reappears next to him on his bunk. She says, “Not yet. But it’s happening. Scryberg isn’t bad, he’s just changing. He’s leaving anger and starting to go into the fear.” That finally gets Orion’s attention, and he turns to face her. She continues, “You see he’s afraid of you. It’s because he can’t put things together in his mind anymore. Like being lost in the dark.”

  “Where are you?” he asks.

  “Resisting,” she says. “I’m not really sure how long I’ve been in here. I know I’ve seen people come and people go. They burn out. Burroughs breaks them with his experiments. Then they don’t come back as far as I know.”

  “Why are you able to resist?” Orion asks. “What’s the secret?”