by Anthony Puyo
“What potential.” That phrase will go down in infamy if we have to dump this technology because of evildoers.
Some of my favorite memories are when my Dad would pick me up from my crib. My soft, fragile little limbs would shake with no purpose. He often kissed my little plump cheeks. Smiled at me with his soul written on his face. His warm hands would circle the rim of head. And he would always sing this little tune: A wise old owl lived in an oak. The more he saw the less he spoke. The less he spoke the more he heard. Why can't we all be like that wise old bird? The oak is the house in which the owl owns. He flies at night for it’s not to be known. What’s in the dark is for him to judge. When they don’t know, there will be no grudge.
I still hum it today.
When my mother died, I was only fifteen-years-old. Both me and my father were total wrecks. Seeing that I was struggling with everyday activities, my father got more involved. He got strong for the both of us. He could have given up. Sometimes that happens when people who love each other get separated through death. And for a time, that did happen to him. But he managed to see my mother again, he told me. He saw her in me. He got closer to me, making sure I was emotionally okay. He would go to all my school activities, watched all my sports games. He never let me feel I was alone. I love my father.
Leaving the warehouse, I had much to think about. Everything my father worked for could be in jeopardy.
I sit in the hover taxi, David’s Thin Chip rests in my palm. It hasn’t left it since Jason gave it to me. The sweat of my palm has made my skin latch to it. I think of my feelings for Jason. They’re so strong. He told me he loves me. Do I feel the same?
Love will be everywhere when everybody has the Thin Chip and they are connected to the mainframe. I know how that sounds unbelievable, but that’s because you don’t know the Thin Chip’s and the mainframe's capabilities. What some people gradually absorb in a relationship over time, the mainframe allows the same in days. The feeling of oneness is almost unexplainable. And though I know Jason has withheld some things from me, he has shown me enough to know that I would spend my life with him.
My father told me the whole world will feel what Jason and I feel. It’s so devastating to hear this will not be the case. Much of it still doesn’t make complete sense to me. Nonetheless, I’m sure all the answers will come in due time.
However, I can’t bury the future of something this special without seeing what my father’s company has done to ruin it.
I get off at a coffee shop across the street from BillBoard News; the biggest news station in the city. They’re the ones with huge screens on some of the tallest buildings. If this chip carries on it what Jason says it does, then it will certainly play on these four-hundred foot screens littered throughout the state of New York.
I sit at a small round table off in the corner of a small cafe. I can see the neon lights of the surrounding scenery through the large street window. The life is vibrant as usual out there. Many people, many races and cultures; all unaware of what’s going on. Maybe Jason was right. We have become so shallow as a race that we don’t even know what is going on behind the veil of our fixed reality.
My coffee is brought and put in front of me by a friendly smile. I pull out a slim insertable USB cable from my purse. I make a clearing underneath my thick strands of hair in the back center of my skull. A treasure from my old implants. I put one end of the cable there, and the other into David’s chip. This will give his chip power from my body’s own wattage, plus allow entry into any memory files he allowed to be opened. Anything that he wanted kept away can only be retrieved by individuals he allowed access to.
His chip’s circuits pulse and shine the colors of green and blue. I close my eyes to get the best visual. In the red, orange, and black wall of my mind, a square screen appears with David’s interface menu. That’s a key he knew what he was doing. He wanted the world to know something, so he organized it for easy use. My stomach lining tingles on presumptions of what might I see.
Thirty minutes go by and my eyes are still closed. I flutter and gasp with tears. I can’t believe what my father’s company has been doing. The sorrow it causes me is too much. I try holding it in but I can’t; my cries escape me. I hear voices around me asking if I’m okay. I even feel someone's hand touch me with a genuinely caring cadence. I just can’t open my eyes and look away.
A crowd of five people: two men and three women, one being a server of the cafe, finally get me to restrain from the sorrow. They stare with droopy and caring eyes.
“Mam, are you alright?” The server, a thin Asian woman, asks.
I nod, my eyes red around their rims I’m sure. I sense a few tears roll down the sides of my cheeks. With my breaths still jagged, I unhook from David’s chip. And stand up wanting to run, but I don’t. I just need some air.
“I’m fine everybody. Thank you. Thank you for your concern.” I say.
“A loved one,” one of the men asks.
“Oh, those are so sad.” One of the women, sixtyish in age, inserts, shaking her head no to the man while doing so.
I nod hastily in agreement and walk past them out the door. But I don’t stop thinking of them. Humanity is still good. There are those who still share compassion for one another. Jason is one of those people. That’s why he fights. I second guessed him before but now I see where he’s coming from. I was blinded to horrors such as these. I can only wonder how many there are.
I imagine something more awful than what I saw is coming. What is it, I don’t know. However, if Matson was studying human mind control, then the alternative must be worse. There is one thing, though, I still have hope that my father can do something to stop this.
In the night, pulled back by the large screen and lights of the BillBoard News building, I walk across the street and into their guarded lobby.
“Mam, do you have an access pass?” A security guard asks. The tall overweight, African American wears a ball cap and a two-piece blue uniform. He sits behind the glass of a small tower blocking the entrance. Two more security men stand twenty feet back, close to the tinted glass doors of the building’s entrance. They pretend to not take notice.
“I don’t have that—but I do have a big story. I need to talk to a producer.” I reply, trying to resonate confidence with my tone, hoping this will help in bringing forth positive news.
The guard's eyes fidget as he gives a couple of ums. “Okay, just give me a second.” He picks up his phone, looking past me both ways as if to see if this is some sort of a trick.
“Yeah—I have a woman here who says she has a big story. What do you want me to do?”
I watch, showing his prying eyes the Thin Chip with the wave of my hand.
He sticks out from behind the glass. “What’s the story? They want to know.”
“Tell them I have David Casper’s chip.”
I wonder if their faces will look as shocked as his.
We walk in like ducks in a row, me following Fin Colby, the producer of the night show, his assistant, Villa Knox, who chews gum with her mouth open, and two hefty security guards.
“Just to let you know, if you are a loon or a practical joker I will have you arrested.” Fin says, talking over his shoulder with a hand that’s active while he walks in quick steps.
We get to a station behind all the cameras where many electronics and small screens are at. Fin sits behind a desk, all business like, while the rest of us stand.
He reaches to insert but stops inches short of the USB drive. His long neck pokes high above his red vest, his glasses sit right underneath a sweaty, thin, blond hair head. He says. “Not one report we ever had says David was Adamed.”
“That’s why it’s a big story.” I give a shy grin to all the eyes that are on me.
“Fair enough.” Fin replies ready to insert.
The phone rings crazy and Fin stops reaching.
“What is it now!” he flusters. He rests his hand on the black table amongst clipboards, pape
r notes and pens, and answers the phone.
We all stare at him, but I believe mine holds the strongest beam.
“Yes . . . Yes I do, Mr. Peck . . . I understand.” Fin hangs up the phone, and for a brief few seconds while he sighs and rubs his eyes, all I hear is Villa chewing her gum.
Fin grips the chip tightly. “You have to leave, Myra.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
He turns to me, deflation showing in his limbs, “I can’t play the contents of the chip—and I’ve been told to excuse you. I’m sorry.”
“No. Why? You can’t. That chip has Matson dealing in some serious treason against the American people. You have to show it!”
“I’m sorry. We’re not allowed to show it.” He turns his head to security. “Please escort Myra out of the building.”
They come and stand side by side of me.
“No! You have to show what’s on that chip to the public. Lives—all of your lives,” I gaze at them all. They all gaze back, “are at stake. Don’t you want to know what you— we are getting into with the Thin Chip?”
“Myra, that’s enough,” Fin snaps his fingers. “Guys, cover her mouth and escort her out.”
I punch and scream, being held by stronger arms than mine. “You spineless—give me the chip?!”
Fin just covers his mouth with his thumb and bent index finger, shaking his head no. He shrinks as I get pulled away. And I don’t see him anymore as the elevator doors close.
I’m taken off the premises and left out near the driveway. A black limousine is parked out front. I peer at it, having a feeling it’s for me. The driver opens up the back door and a man I only had a few words with during special occasions comes out.
“Hello, Myra, I’m here to pick you up.”
I’m literally stunned to see him here. Why is he here? “Did my father send you, Michael?”
He grins to side of his mouth, looking slick in his fashion sense, expensive black suit.
“No. But that’s where we’re headed. I think it’s about time we all had a little chat, don’t you think?”
15 Myra
I arrive at my father’s extremely upset because Michael did not answer any of my questions on the way over. Instead he tried to talk about normal life things, like the elephant in the room did not exist. In return, I ignored his obtuse behavior.
As we pull up to the manor that’s far away from the city, I can see my father waiting for us by the front door. Agnes, the maid, stands right behind him, hands folded. He wears a brown vest and slacks to match. His white collared shirt with pinstripes is bright enough to be seen in the darkness.
Once we stop I jolt out of the backseat and run into my father’s arms.
“Dad, I’m so glad I’m here.” I say into his chest.
“I’m glad you're here, also.” He replies.
I get out of his embrace and point stiffly at Michael who’s coming up to us. “Dad, I want you to fire Michael. He’s been involved in nefarious dealings at work.”
Dad gasps in a way that lets me know he want me to slow down.
“Calm down, Myra. How about you come on in and we’ll have a nice talk in the study.” He turns to Agnes. “Agnes, could you get us a nice bottle of La Mission in there.”
“Why yes, Mr. Matson, I can certainly do that.” She answers before making her way in.
The study is a nice sized room filled with books of law and business. There’s an oval table that can sit up to eight people in the middle of the room. A couple of leather sofas and couches to the left, a pool table beyond that near the back end of the wall. And to the right of the entrance is an eight by ten-foot television screen mounted between two Greek goddess statues whose hands look to showcase.
Agnes brings in the wine but my father pours it.
“Come sit, everyone.” My father says pointing to the oval table.
We all do.
“Okay, Myra, I know you have plenty of questions. I will do my best in answering which ever ones I can.”
Sometimes when you kick and scream to get in a door, you don’t know what to do when it’s finally opened.
I tuck my strands of hair behind both my ears. “I want to know why David Casper was experimented on?”
My father rubs his forehead. “This was a decision done by others in power. I had no stake in that. There are those who believe that this was the easiest way to sway all of the citizens to get implanted without a fight.”
“Why is that so important, Dad? You told me it was all about love, not the slaughter of innocent people and children.”
Michael blurts in. “Because we don’t have that kind of time anymore. The love thing could work—”
My dad interrupts. “No. It would work.”
Michael stops talking out of respect for my father, but the squeezed muscles of his jaw tells me he doesn’t share my father’s opinion on the matter.
Michael stares at me. “Here’s the thing, Myra.” He tells my father to play the video. “There’s things happening to this planet that the average person cannot understand. And maybe it’s best they don’t.”
I peer at the screen. What is shown is disturbing. The footage is of men with white biohazard suits on, walking through an African village where the people seem severely sick. Mutations and lesions of the skin, people with disfigured faces, missing limbs, sunken in stomachs, all laid out with aimless stares as the men in suits do medical analysis on them. More footage shows them walking into their wheat fields. The wheat itself appears terrible. It too is mutated and bugs I’ve never seen before feast upon the grains.
As the camera goes lower to the ground, a hand palms some soil. Worms the color of slick, translucent milk move wildly.
“The world is dying, Myra. What you see here is happening around most of the globe. All the fertile lands are heavily contaminated with years of layered manmade chemicals. Things don’t grow as much, not without the help of guess what, more chemicals. The earth is just not able to sustain to the current capacity anymore. The high tides, the water where there shouldn’t be, not enough where it should, all this is a sign of a very fast moving future. One with no one left if we don’t do anything about it.”
I’m stunned, confused heavily. I try and make sense of it. I’ve never heard of the severest world problems until now. I can’t help but wonder if it’s all a lie concocted by Michael and my father.
“Why is nobody talking about this?! Why aren’t other countries talking about this?!” I ask, both elbows on the table, hands stretched by my head.
My father answers. “Because it was decided years ago, when most of the scientific minds concluded there was nothing we could do to change the course, to not let the public know anything until we came up with a solid course of action.”
I gape as the realness of the situation starts to dawn on me. “Is that why the media got less trustworthy? Were all the scandals done on purpose to cover the truth of any of this getting out.”
They both nod yes.
“So what’s going to happen if you say the world can’t sustain us? Has the course of action been decided on?”
My father turns off the television. He sighs before answering. “Yes it has.”
“By who?”
“By people with great power.”
I feel the reluctance to tell me what I’m about to ask before I open my mouth to do so. “And what is the course of action?”
16 Jason
Three weeks have passed since I’ve heard from Myra. I’ve tried to dial in through the mainframe in spots where I could leave quickly if need be, but I get nothing. No heartbeat, no emotions, no memories, no messages, it’s as if she doesn’t exist. I try and resist the thought of something very terrible happening to her. I search for other explanations other than that. No matter how hard I try, though, I can’t come up with anything else that makes logical sense.
When the news stations never ran the treacherous dealings of Matson, all I could think about is what Phil t
old me he would do to her in order to get his hands on David’s chip.
As David did before me, I sleep under the ground, but only I do it with a small traveling community. I run because I’m a wanted man, they run because they are in the minority that has taken the run rather than to get chipped.
I have not showered in seven days, nor have I shaven. I once had a very nice state of the art condo in Midtown. These days, though, I live more like a rat; scavenging for leftovers in trash cans by night, and sleeping in the moist, dark catacombs of the city where no man goes unless he’s hired to by day.
It’s a rough, shitty life that I knew would someday come. However, I did not see it coming in my lifetime, not before the Thin Chip was branded upon the world.
The word on the street was the government was going to give the last of the unchipped a final chance to get implanted by the end of the week. And whoever dodges this deal after will be put to death on site.
It’s strange how the outcries over this have been very few. I think the world has grown quite cold over the rejection of the few. It doesn’t make sense to them. They gaze upon the minority as if they’re nothing but troublemakers.
The first week people would stop and help the unchipped. Giving them food and water, sometimes even a place to stay. That generosity is all gone now. If an Adamed or Eved person so much as think there’s an unchipped person walking about, they inform the authority immediately. Therefore, we scavenge at night.
I miss all my friends and the times we’ve had. The nights at the bars with Rob and Dave. The smoking of pobs with Leonard and Jake. I haven’t seen Leonard. My feeling is he risked his life that day at Jake’s house.