by Anita Ensal
He fell asleep, wondering if he would have the courage to write the letter to her he wanted to write.
Chapter 4
The next morning, as he scanned the day’s news downloads, an article leaped out at him. “Chance Meeting With The Chosen One” was the title, and he saw that the author’s name was E. D. Gray. He wondered if this was Emily, if she hadn’t told him her real name to protect herself, and so started reading the article.
It was amazingly complimentary, discussing how the author, who it became clear to him quickly was indeed Emily, formerly an unimpressed member of the dissidents, had met the Chosen One and had her opinions completely reversed.
The article quoted him frequently, and try as he might, he couldn’t remember saying anything like what was written. I think that there is no higher calling than what I have been chosen for, he read himself as saying. As a race, we have been given an opportunity known to none before us to make our world the best it can be.
Another passage quoted him as saying, …I frequently stop in at unexpected places, such as where we met, so that I can better learn about the people whom my children will be destined to protect and lead…
And, To live as one with the Mother Board and Master Computer is the pinnacle of man’s achievement, and I am humbled to have been given the greatest honor any man could hope for.
On and on it went, with him sounding like a truly pompous ass. He reached the end, where the author stated baldly that she was now completely convinced in the goodness of the Master Computer’s plan, that the Mother Board obviously had chosen well, and that the people had nothing to fear – the Next Generation would see them through beyond their wildest dreams and imaginings.
He was feeling quite hurt by Emily’s seeming betrayal of all that he’d truly shared with her, when the small voice in David’s mind casually mentioned that it knew that Emily in no way thought that the Master Computer’s plan was benevolent. He considered this and agreed – she had been frightened for her life, not convinced that she’d met the messiah.
The voice in his mind, which was getting larger and louder, then suggested that, if this one statement was a blatant falsehood, and he knew that he himself had not said one word in the way she’d written it, then perhaps the entire article was a lie.
He pondered this. Everything she’d said and done while in his presence had told him that she wasn’t impressed with him as the Chosen One – that, in fact, she pitied him. This made him flush with shame, and he wondered at that, but shoved it aside to be worked out later. She had taught him things, had shown him things, had been worried for his safety as well as her own, had thought he was handsome – but impressed to the point of drooling worship she had not been.
So the article was a total lie, to protect herself and him. As he was wondering if it would work, the Mother Board came to see him.
“I see you made a strong convert to our cause yesterday,” she said casually, but all of David’s senses told him to be very careful with his reply.
“I suppose.” He shrugged, turned around, and gave her what he’d read described as his roguish grin. “But that was the idea, after all.”
“Oh?” the Mother Board asked, her perfectly formed eyebrow raising just the right amount, far more perfectly than Emily or the old man behind the coffee counter had managed. Just like a machine, the voice in his head said, she’s doing it perfectly, but not humanly.
He grinned, working to keep his body relaxed. “Of course. I realized she had to be a dissident when I passed her on the street – her greeting to me wasn’t correct for her station or mine. So I followed her, just to see what she was. When I found out she was a writer, and a dissenting one, I decided to have her interview me, to get to know the real me.”
“And, did she?” the Mother Board asked.
He laughed. “Well, she sure sounds convinced, doesn’t she? Between you and me,” he leaned forward conspiratorially, wondering just where all of this was coming from, “I flirted with her, made her feel attractive, gave her some meaningless compliments. She ate it up. It was funny.”
For just a moment the Mother Board looked supremely smug and pleased, but she wiped that expression off her face instantly. However, now David knew that he was on the right track and suddenly everything Emily had said she was afraid of became a real thing to him. He knew, clearly, that if he mishandled this, Emily would be eradicated and he would be brain-wiped. But he was completely calm, though he couldn’t have said why.
“So,” the Mother Board asked casually, as she sat on the couch near him, arranging herself prettily, and too perfectly, the voice in his mind mentioned, “do you plan on seeing her again?”
He shrugged. “Why should I? I got what I wanted.”
She nodded. “But…I think it might be a good thing.”
He was shocked and didn’t try to hide it. “Why?”
She smiled slowly. “This…writer…is one of our few leading dissidents. To some who read the article, it might appear that she has…made too quick a change of mind. If, however, they see her spending time with you, and recording your doings in the breathlessly impressed manner of her most recent article, then the other dissidents might come to believe her.”
“Why wouldn’t they believe her now?” he asked, feeling confused suddenly.
“Have you ever read her articles before?”
“No. Only one she showed me yesterday. That’s how I knew she was a dissident.”
The Mother Board looked up at the ceiling and spoke, but not to him, he knew. “Pull up all of E. D. Gray’s articles from the past several years,” she told the Master Computer. “I believe she began writing ten years ago, after her family was…lost.”
David’s stomach clenched, because he now knew what lost really meant – eradicated. If, his mind’s voice mentioned, her family was eradicated, how and why had Emily been spared? And, if she has a use for the Mother Board as a dissident, as Emily herself had insinuated, then what would happen to her if she was now known as a supporter?
The Master Computer delivered the articles directly into David’s brain, and he ingested them all. What struck him was that none of them showed him the Emily he’d met, nor did the writing style match what the Mother Board had accurately described as being breathlessly impressed. Oh yes, they were dissenting, if you could call questioning why only two individuals were chosen to create the Next Generations dissent. But the woman with passion and fire and humor, she wasn’t clearly there. But the pattern was – someone constantly saying that things were not, perhaps, quite as good as they appeared to be.
As he was ingesting, the voice in his mind mentioned that what Emily’s articles were really doing was raising questions which required the reader to think for the answers, just as she’d done with him. And it also mentioned that any regular reader of her writings would notice, instantly, that her most recent article almost sounded like it had been written by another person. She’s telling them that it’s a lie, his mind’s voice said, she’s trying to let them know that if she disappears, it’s because she met you.
He remembered how she’d told him that the Mother Board didn’t want him to think, not truly, because he would then realize he was a slave. Slaves have rebelled in the past, his mind’s voice reminded him, he’d read about it in the Ancient History texts. The texts had said that these rebellions were wrong, and that the slaves never won, he remembered. But, his mind’s voice asked him, is that true, any more than what Emily wrote about your meeting is true?
He looked over at the Mother Board. He could tell she was waiting for him to say something. He shrugged. “I don’t get it.”
She smiled and he knew that he’d said the right thing again because it was a smile of triumph, quickly converted into her usual calm demeanor. “I cannot expect you to, David. You are of too high a level to see the baseness of this kind of thing. But, I will need your help, your cooperation, to ensure that this lost dissident truly returns to the fold of our supporters.”
He nodded, remarking to himself that only one short day ago he would have felt important and flattered by her words, not suspicious and disgusted. “Of course. What should I do?”
“Send her a link, requesting that she meet with you again. I am sure she will leap at the chance.”
This was another trap. Emily would not leap at the chance to meet with him, because she’d pointedly told him not to send her a link, but to write a letter instead. But he knew if he protested then they were both exposed.
“But,” he whined, “why do I have to spend time with her again? I’d rather visit Delight. Honestly, I’d rather be with you.”
This was absolutely the correct response and it showed. The Mother Board came to him and stroked his hair. “Oh, David,” she said with her most perfect smile, “one day that will be. When you have fulfilled your destiny, you will be assimilated into the Master Program, to join yourself with me forever. Will you like that?”
He nodded eagerly, not trusting himself to speak, because his mind’s voice was screaming in horror. But the Mother Board seemed to find that endearing, because she hugged his face to her perfect breasts.
“Soon, David,” she whispered. “I picked you, and that makes you mine. Soon we will be together for eternity. But first, I need you to help me change this one dissident’s mind, so the others will follow her. Will you do that for me?” she purred, as she put her hand to his chin and raised his face to look at her.
“Of course,” he lied while keeping his expression worshipful and adoring.
She smiled at him. “That’s my perfect man,” she cooed. “Now, tell the writer to meet you. Pick a place she will feel safe in.”
He nodded. “What about the coffeehouse, or the Old Park?” he suggested, wondering which she would pick.
“The coffeehouse, I think,” the Mother Board said with a gleam in her eye. “That will allow more people to witness that she is with you and therefore more will believe that she does, in fact, think you are the right choice for the Chosen One.”
He shrugged and sent the link, wording it carefully. E. D., liked your article, thanks for capturing me so accurately. Would like to meet up again, to do another. If you’re interested, meet me at the coffeehouse next week, same day and time. D. Chosen.
The Mother Board stroked his hair. “Well worded,” she said calmly. “Professional and interested, yet detached and leaving her the impression that she has a choice. But, I wonder…why a week from now?”
David flashed her a smile, while his mind’s voice mentioned that this was why Emily wanted a letter, because the Mother Board and the Master Computer could access everything sent via the System. “I didn’t want to seem too eager to see her…she might think it was a trap. A week later, same day and time, sounds more…more…” he struggled for the right word.
“Romantic?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, with a relieved grin, “that’s the word.”
The Mother Board nodded. “An excellent idea. Human females are susceptible to that.” She moved away towards the door. “I am very pleased with you, David,” she told him as she left. “You are exactly what I hoped for in our next Chosen One.”
Chapter 5
David waited until he knew the Mother Board was gone, then called up his usual daily downloads, not wanting to appear out of sync with his normal routine. He ingested them all absentmindedly – he was busy trying to figure out what to write to Emily and how to get it to the Old Park in time for her to read it before the next week arrived.
As he was about to disengage from the System, he was alerted to an incoming message. It was Emily and his heart jumped. Thrilled to get the chance to interview you again, she wrote. Will meet as requested. E. D. Gray.
It’s a lie, his mind’s voice told him. She’s not thrilled, she’s terrified. You have to let her know that you’re trying to protect her, not giving her up for eradication.
David looked around for paper and a writing implement of some kind, but there were none in his rooms anywhere. He wandered through the Tower, casually looking around, but nothing was readily available. There was no need for paper or pens. The lower-level workers used them, but no one in the any of the Towers did; they were all paperless.
He wandered out with no real destination in mind. He wandered like this frequently, so he was fairly sure it wouldn’t cause suspicion. But he knew walking into a store and buying writing paraphernalia would, at best, ensure that he was asked questions that he didn’t have good answers for.
He walked the streets for his full excursion time, pointedly avoiding either the Old Park or the street the coffeehouse was on. He stayed away from that section of town entirely, keeping to what would be his more normal haunts, the various Smaller Towers that made up most of the Inner City area.
David returned to the Tower looking as he always did but feeling dejected. He’d found no way to write a letter to Emily, no way to let her know he meant her no harm. He looked at all the Programmers he passed, saw some Engineers and Technicians hurrying by him, observed a group of Operators gathering for a meeting. All of them flashed him huge, welcoming smiles, as they saw him – smiles that never reached their eyes. He wondered if that was what had truly made Emily stand out to him – her smile, however casual, had seemed to radiate up from her mouth and out her eyes.
He felt lonely, for the first time he could remember since he was small. Hugely lonely, as if there was no one in the world who truly cared about him. He meant to go to his quarters but his mind’s voice took over and he told his floater instead to take him to Delight.
He reached her room and stepped off the thin metal plate, telling it to wait for him. She was there, of course. Unlike him, Delight was not allowed out of the Tower. The reason given for this was that she needed the constant protection the Tower offered her. Now David found himself wondering if she wasn’t allowed out in case she met someone like Emily, or the young man from the coffeehouse – someone different who might ask her why she wanted to be the sperm donorette, as Emily called her.
Delight gave him a pleased, but absent, smile. She was watching Vid and that normally occupied a great deal of her time. He glanced at the screen, but there were just the usual colorful patterns moving in time to the approved music. David normally found them relaxing. Now he found that they were making him feel dizzy and sick.
He wandered around Delight’s rooms and, to his complete surprise, he saw a pad of paper and several pens and pencils lying on her bedside table. “Why do you have paper and pens?” he asked, working to keep his tone neutral.
“Oh,” she said, sounding exasperated, “I got some gifts for my birthday from some of the lowers. Proper etiquette says that I have to send them a handwritten thank you note. It’s such a lot of work, though,” she added petulantly.
“Writing’s not that hard.” He tried not to sound like he was leading the conversation.
“I hate it,” she said flatly. “I don’t know why I have to thank them, anyway. It’s just something the Underwriter says has to be done.”
The Underwriter was one of the oldest Programmers they had, and his word tended to be law. Even the Mother Board couldn’t get around him when he was adamant. He was rumored to have a direct line to the Master Computer, outside of the Mother Board’s, which gave him a great aura of mystery. Basically, if the Underwriter said that Delight had to write thank you notes, then thank you notes she would write.
“I could help you out,” David said slowly.
“How?” she asked, sounding bored. He looked over at her; she was staring at the Vid again.
“I could write them for you,” he offered. “I mean, it’s not like they have to be written in your hand, do they? They just have to be handwritten. I can do that, and you can sign them.”
“They’ll know it’s different,” she sighed. “I don’t write anything like you do.”
“How do you know that?” he asked her, feeling suspicious and worried.
“Oh,” she replied, a
s she reached for a carrot and started munching on it, “the writing Teacher showed me some essay you did, one of the ones you wrote to become the Chosen One, so I could tell her what your handwriting said about you.”
“What did it say?” he asked, controlling himself from grabbing the pad of paper and pens and running out the door.
She shrugged. “That you were the right man, I guess. I didn’t pay a lot of attention. Just enough to know that we don’t write anything alike. The Teacher told me that, too.”
“Well,” he said carefully, “I could just sign your name. I mean, it’s not like any of the Programmers are going to read it. Are they?” he asked, suddenly worried.
“Well, the Underwriter can’t, and the writing Teacher isn’t around anymore, so probably not.”
“What do you mean, the Underwriter can’t read what we write?”
She turned from the Vid to look straight at him. Her expression was exasperated. “Because none of those fully linked to the Master Computer can read what’s on paper, not even the Mother Board or the Programmers. It has to be uploaded into the System. I mean,” she added patiently to his shocked look, “they could scan it in, sure. But deciphering each person’s individual handwriting is hard work, and all the original handwriting Programmers passed on and no one felt that their work needed to be continued, and why would they? There’s nothing written by hand that matters any more. Anything the lower-levels might happen to write on paper they upload as soon as it’s ready to go into the System.”
“How do you know all this?” he asked, feeling his world start to both reel around him and solidify at the same time.