by Michael Dodd
As such, there was no unauthorized propagation in Omni. No child in the last 25 years could say they knew their parents, only the “counselors” at the community residences where they were raised and taught to conform to Omni standards. All women, other than Vestal Virgins, were sterilized when they reached physical maturity.
The planet, now named after the man who governed it, was a very different place than just prior to the turn of the century. It was at that time that the lingering effects of the global nuclear war of 2070 had created an environment that allowed the creation of a single, worldwide government.
This government, formed out of the remnants of a devastated humanity, seemed like the world’s last chance at survival. Only through a single world leadership, it was believed, could humanity stop its incessant drive toward extinction. As a single people, they hoped, there would be no need for war and conquest, giving the dystopian society the opportunity to heal from the devastating effects of global nuclear war.
At first, this government was quite benevolent. Its chosen first leader, Caroline Sheppard, was a kind and concerned governor; anxious to create a world of peace, security and prosperity. Unfortunately, her untimely death—under highly suspicious circumstances—created a void that was filled by a man whose intentions were not so pure.
The man called, Omni, wrestled power from those who wished for a societal mandate and became the de facto dictator of the world, soon even changing its name to reflect his total control. Since that time, some 25 years prior, Omni—the world and the man—controlled every aspect of life on the planet formerly known as, Earth.
Among those things which were eliminated or severely controlled, were religion, procreation, economics, choice of occupation, freedom of movement and privacy. Each citizen of Omni was required to have a microchip inserted on the back of their right hands. This chip was used by the citizen to purchase goods and services and for identification purposes. The government used it to track its citizen’s movements, purchases and habits. Ifa “crime” was committed by a citizen—meaning, an action that the government considered “improper”—the chip could be used to deny employment, the ability to purchase, and as a quick and easy location device. The penalty for removing the chip was death.
Pets were considered to be wanton extravagances, using up valuable resources that could be better used elsewhere. Dogs and cats were virtually extinct. However, genetically engineered animal clones constituted the bulk of protein consumption.
All living quarters were under audio surveillance at all times. An overzealous comment or a wayward conversation could land you in prison. Discerning judgement in the expression of one’s thoughts was paramount in Omni. Should someone criticize the Omni government or decry its injustices, the IQ unit would immediately notify Omni’s central propaganda ministry. Xylon and Juno lived in fear of Victoria’s burning ears. The “company” Xylon worked for, Omni Image, was the planet’s propaganda arm.
“Juno,” Xylon called out after finishing his bacon and eggs, “I’ve got to go, darling! I’ll see you tonight!”
“Okay,” Juno replied from the bathroom, “Don’t embarrass the family!” Juno had a sharp wit, usually walking a thin line between humor and treason. Xylon was more practical. He left without reply.
Being an “up -andcomer” at Omni Image, Xylon was allowed a few perks, one of which was a particularly racylooking automobile. It was a Mercedes Orion, the latest version of the popular sports car; however, Xylon was not afforded the opportunity to actually drive the vehicle. As a truly, “auto”-mobile, it did all the driving for him.
“Omni Image,” Xylon said, once he seated himself in the back of the car, “and hurry up, I’m late.”
“55BXD0314,” the automobile’s IQ responded, “you are scheduled to begin work at 0800 hours; we will arrive at Omni Image by means of a nominal speed. There is no need for urgency.”
Xylon hadn’t bothered to adjust his vehicle’s IQ. The voice was as boring as it was unemotional. “Very well,” was all he said. He wanted to mention the possibility of a compensation increase, just for conversation purposes; but, he knew anything he said to his IQ would soon find its way to his manager and possibly undermine his chances.
In Omni, all IQ units, whether they were in apartments or automobiles, were interlinked. Those government members with a clearance of 12 or over were privy to all information collected by the IQ units. In addition, Xylon’s mobile communication and information device, called a Compact—people just called them, Comps—was monitored with the same efficiency. These “Comps” resembled today’s iPhones, though they could perform a host of additional functions, including image projection, 3D printing and even medical assistance.
When Xylon’s automobile arrived at Omni Image, it deposited him at the front door before steering itself to its assigned slot in the company’s parking lot and shutting down. It would perform a self-maintenance and then await a signal from Xylon’s Comp before returning to pick him up.
Xylon’s job at Omni Image was to maintain the company’s Information and Communication systems, as well as do statistical analyses with prior statistical years. This allowed him to access information that was restricted to most of the general public. Mostly, the taboo information was of a historical nature. Omni had rewritten most of the planet’s historical information and inserted data that would better assist it in controlling the populace.
His workspace consisted of a small cubical on the second floor of the twenty-story building. It included a three-dimensional holographic panel and an Analysis “Comp” to access all the data he needed to perform his duties.
The building, as well as his work area, was crowded, to say the least. There were over 20,000 people working on the twenty floors: an average of 1000 per floor. Each had a cubicle of equal size to Xylon’s, and each was crowded into one of the few cavernous offices on each level of the building. Most were so used to the close proximity of others during their daily labors that they scarcely noticed.
“Did you hear?” Pogo asked Xylon when he sat at his desk, “They got it!”
Xylon had known Pogo for as long as he’d known Juno. He was raised in the same community residence and was the closest thing Xylon had to a brother.
“They did?” Xylon replied, fully understanding the question and the significance thereof. “How did they do it? Solar sails? Ultrasonic vibrations?”
The question was in reference to the discovery of a mammoth asteroid in 2120. Its flight path put it on a direct trajectory to impact Omni in the year 2126, some 7 months from now.
“Actually,” Pogo replied, smiling from ear to ear, “they used a technique called, a Nuclear Kick.”
“What the hell is that?” Xylon asked.
“Well, apparently, they launched a few nuclear missiles at the asteroid and then detonated them in its path. The idea was to vaporize a thin portion of its surface. That caused hot gases to expand from the surface, pushing it in another direction. I think they had to do it three times before the trajectory changed enough to keep it from destroying Omni.”
“I thought all the nuclear weapons were destroyed after WW III,” Xylon said.
“Well, I suppose they kept a few around in case of emergencies like this,” Pogo said, “Anyway, it looks like we’re gonna survive. If that thing would have hit Omni, it would have destroyed the whole planet.”
Xylon, for some reason, had never been particularly nervous at the prospect of global annihilation. He was a pragmatist, but always assumed that the powers that be would figure out a way to stop the asteroid. “Well, that’s great,” he said, sitting down at his 3D console, “Now, let’s get to work.”
Pogo just rolled his eyes at his friend’s ambivalence and returned to his work. Nothing seemed to bother his longtime friend.
About two hours later, Xylon felt the call of nature and walked to one of the many personal relief stalls on the second floor. They were designed to accommodate one person at a time and to expel any disagree
able odors that might arise from their use. They were also the only areas not monitored by either video or audio surveillance. Even Omni had its propriety.
Once inside the 4x4 foot stall, Xylon reached for the catch on his pants and opened it far enough to urinate. Suddenly, he heard a rather faint, but urgent knock on the stall door. Naturally, he was startled, stopping long enough to listen intently. Did someone just knock on the urinal door? Again, there was a rap on the door. What’s going on?
“Hello?” Xylon whispered, hoping whoever it was wasn’t knocking on his urinal.
“I need to speak to you!” The voice came from the other side of the door. He spoke softly, but with authority. “It’s urgent that I speak with you.”
Xylon was nonplussed. No one had ever knocked on the door while he was urinating. He couldn’t imagine the reason someone would have for doing so. “Look,” he said, “I’m using the facilities. I’ll be out in a minute.”
The persistent voice would have none of it. “It is urgent that you open the door and let me speak with you,” he said, “It’s the only place we can speak without being overheard.”
Xylon suddenly lost the need to urinate. He refastened his pants, flipped the lock to the urinal and opened the door. The man standing on the other side immediately stepped into the stall and closed the door behind him. Xylon was so surprised by this that he didn’t even object.
“Are you 55BXD0314?” he asked.
Xylon was used to seeing his real name in print, but rarely had someone addressed him, as such. “Yes,” he replied, still shocked that he was standing in a urinal with another man. “What is it that you want?”
“I don’t have much time,” the man said, “This is the only way I could speak to you without surveillance. I’d like you to meet me in Jordon Park tonight at 1900 hours. It’s just a block from your apartment, if I’m not mistaken. I’ll explain everything to you then.”
“What’s this all about?” Xylon asked, utterly confused.
The man turned and opened the door. He turned back and said, “I told you, I’ll explain tonight. Just be there at 1900 hours. It’s important.” The man then quickly left the stall and disappeared down the hall. Xylon closed the door, undid his pants and urinated, forgetting to turn around and face the urinal.
‡
When Xylon arrived back at apartment 22B, Juno met him at the door with a broad grin. “Did you hear?” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, “They got it!”
Everyone was elated about the news that the giant, killer asteroid had been rendered harmless. Juno, of course, was no different. Xylon, however, was more concerned with the man he met in the urinal. What could he possibly want? Why did he have to talk to him in a men’s urinal, of all places? “Yes, darling,” he said, pulling away, “I heard.” He walked into the living room and called out to Victoria. “Victoria! Turn on the TV, drop the room temperature to 68 degrees and make me some meatloaf.” He walked over to the couch and plopped down with a sigh that caused Juno to ask what was wrong.
“Nothing, Juno,” he said, “I just had a hard day.”
His girlfriend sat down beside him and said, “I assume you’re down in the dumps because you didn’t get the raise.”
“Then you assume wrong,” he said, “In fact; I got a raise of 25 units. They said I was doing a wonderful job.”
“Well then, what’ s the problem?” she asked. “You got a raise; you’re here with the woman you love, and the world isn’t going to be destroyed. Sounds like a red-letter day if you ask me.”
Xylon wanted to tell her about the man he’d met and the proposed meeting in one hour in Jordon Park; but, he didn’t want Victoria listening in. It was clear the man didn’t want this broadcast to IQ and Omni. The problem was, he didn’t know how to communicate this without saying something that would be overheard. He could enter it into his Comp and let her read it, but Victoria would read it, as well. He’d never even used a pencil or pen.
“Hey,” he said, after a rather unique idea occurred, “I love that shade of lipstick you’re wearing. I’d love to see you apply it to your lips.” As he said this, Juno’s mouth scrunched up and her eyebrows rose in confusion; but, she noticed the “don’t ask any questions” look on his face and played along. All Omnians were well acquainted with the desire to outsmart their IQ units.
“Okay,” she said, “I’ll get my ruby -red shade.” She jumped up, went into the bedroom and retrieved her lipstick, handing it to her lover with a smile of curiosity.
“Okay,” he said, strictly for Victoria’s ears, “Let me see you put it on.”
“Okay,” Juno said, acting the ruse out for full effect. As she said this, Xylon began to use the lipstick to write on the back of a kitchen placemat.
I MET A MAN IN THE URINAL TODAY. HE ASKED ME TO MEET HIM AT 1900 IN JORDAN PARK. I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT, BUT I’M GOING TO FIND OUT. I’LL TELL YOU THAT I WANT TO GO FOR A WALK, OKAY?
When Juno read it, her confused look didn’t abate; nevertheless, she nodded her head to show him she understood and approved.
“Hey,” Xylon said for Victoria’s sake, “I think I’m gonna go for a walk after I eat. I want to get some exercise.”
“Sounds good to me,” Juno said, playing along, “That’ll give me a chance to take a bath. Those kids were a terror today.”
CHAPTER TWO
Jordon Park used to be the place where people took their dogs to do their business, now it was mostly for joggers. About 23 acres in area, it consisted of mostly wooded area, pockmarked with small cylindrical areas of green grass, park benches and gazebos. Once Xylon had arrived at the park, it occurred to him that the mystery man had not informed him as to where they would meet. It was a pretty large area for two people to have a chance encounter. He decided to stop at the first park bench in the first clearing from his apartment building. That turned out to have been the right decision.
“Good evening, 55BXD0314,” the man said as Xylon approached the bench on which he was seated, “I’m glad you could make it.” He stood and shook hands with Xylon.
“Please,” Xylon said, “Call me, Xylon. It’s much easier to say.”
“Very well, Xylon,” the man said, seating himself back down on the bench and gesturing for Xylon to do the same. “I’m afraid the personal information I accessed didn’t include nicknames.”
Xylon sat on the bench beside the mysterious man. While he was a bit unnerved by the whole cloak and dagger situation, he was also intrigued. He couldn’t explain it, but he had an inherent trust for this man. Perhaps it was the way he looked at him—like a concerned friend, perhaps— but he felt the man meant him no harm. “What’s this all about,” Xylon said, asking the obvious question.
“My name is Mick Jagger,” the man said, “and what I’m about to tell you will sound utterly fantastic. In fact, I’m sure you’ll think me mad, but trust me, what I have to tell you is the truth.”
“I’m intrigued,” Xylon said, “Go ahead.”
Mick Jagger was dressed in an unusual manner, at least, from Xylon’s perspective. Rather than multiple articles of clothing, i.e., trousers, a shirt, socks, shoes, etc., he wore a single and complete article from his neck to his feet. It was reminiscent of those who worked with hazardous waste.
He was quite small, as well. Xylon guessed that Juno was probably taller and likely weighed as much. He looked a little wan, even pasty-faced. His eyes, however, were clear and determined. When Mick Jagger looked at you, you knew you were the only thing on his mind.
“Xylon,” Mick said, “I have come here from the year 2180, some 55 years into your future. In fact, I traveled back 60 years, to 2120. I’ve been here for five years.”
Xylon remembered Mick’s assertion that he would probably think him mad; he was correct. Yet, there was a sanity in the man’s eyes that belied his fantastic words. He would not jump to conclusions. He continued listening.
Mick, after realizing that Xylon wasn’t going to flee the s
cene, continued. “In my history books,” he said, “that asteroid you just rendered harmless, in fact, collided with the planet and virtually destroyed it. I was sent back here to prevent it. As you can see, that’s just what I did.”
Now, Xylon worried that this man was insane. “Are you saying that you prevented the asteroid from colliding with Omni?”
“I’m saying,” he explained, “that I assisted the people of this timeline in spotting the asteroid in time for them to alter its trajectory. The reason it collided with the planet in the first place was the fact that, by the time astronomers saw it coming, it was too late. I helped them to spot it a full five years before impact.”
Xylon didn’t know if time travel was actually a possibility; but he didn’t discount the idea. Einstein, as well as Virillian had both proven it to be feasible. However, that did not mean that Mick Jagger was a time traveler. “Mick Jagger,” Xylon said, unpracticed in the etiquette of surname use, “Assuming what you say is true; why are you telling me? What possible reason could you have for telling me about your time travel exploits? I’m certainly not important in any way, and I wouldn’t understand the complexities of a machine that allowed you to travel through time. Why me?”
Mick smiled reassuringly and responded, “Firs t of all: Call me Mick. You don’t have to use the whole name; secondly, the means of time travel is not a machine. I’ll get to that later. Thirdly, the reason I’m contacting you is that you are the most likely person I’ve found to take a trip to your past and right some wrongs. That’s what I did; I righted a great wrong.”
Xylon’s head was spinning. He could not explain it to himself; but he believed this man’s assertions. He spoke in such a confident manner. There was nothing about him that did not elicit trust. While he wasn’t sure any of this was real, he decided to continue with the conversation as if it were. “So, you came back from the future to stop an asteroid from destroying Omni. What would I be going back in time to prevent?”
“The global nuclear war of 2070,” he said without batting an eye. “If you can prevent that from occurring, it’s likely that Omni would never have taken over the world and you would now live in freedom, instead of this dystopian nightmare.”