He looked to the right of the doorframe and saw, what should have been obvious in the first place, a data receiver. He raised his forearm one more time.
Click, snap and the door started to open. Jon stood there, still lurched forward with his arm out as the door opened all the way. Beyond the entryway was a solid white wall with what appeared to be a desk at the top. There sat an older woman just staring at the man lurched over in the doorway.
“Are you lost, sweetheart?” she asked Jon.
He looked up at her and quickly realized how silly he looked standing there. He straightened himself and entered in to the entryway. The door quickly closed behind him, startling him and causing him to jump.
“What is it I can do for you, young man?”
“I uh.. I was just curious what this place was. I didn’t actually think I could get in here,” Jon replied.
“Uh huh. This is what is called a library.”
Jon was puzzled, and it showed.
“You do know what books are, don’t you? Are you sure you’re a party member, or did you steal somebody’s encrypted data?”
The confusion on his face only grew, as he looked what was behind her, rows and rows, stacks and stacks of books. They were all lined up side-by-side. They looked neat and clean.
Outside of places such as school or even work, books were a rare sight. He had seen small piles of books in his classroom as a child. Though most training was on a computer of sorts, he did study from books while training for his job, but he had never seen an entire room full of them – let alone stacked upon every single shelf. Books had largely become an outdated source of information in the age of the Capital. Most relevant information was sent directly into the home data receiving center that came issued with each living quarter. Any other relevant information was learned on the job, or by simply growing up and going to school.
The lady let out a cough, a suggestive cough.
Jon came back into his own mind, “I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, I’m new to the party and I have never seen so many books in one place.”
“Oh, okay. You’re new and you’re just curious,” she stated. “Come over here and let me scan your data.”
He followed her orders. He approached the tall desk the woman was perched upon. He raised his forearm for her to retrieve his data.
“Uh huh,” she began. “It says here you’re low-level, a Sequestered Private. Which means you’re probably on your way home from the detention facility.” She didn’t ask a question but Jon felt prompted to answer.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Am I in some kind of trouble for coming in here?”
She let out a short but loud laugh, “Hardly. But you did waste your time coming in here.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re a Sequestered Private which means I can’t really let you look at anything that you haven’t seen before, which is just about everything in here.”
“Well, what can I look at?”
She let out a sigh and rolled her eyes. “It’s late and you’re the only person I have seen walk through that door in about a millennium so I’ll humor you. Follow me.”
She led him past the large open room with the great wooden shelves covered in books. She took him to a small sectioned off part of the room where there were smaller, metal shelves with books.
“This is what you’re allowed to read. If you want to see anything else, get a promotion.” With that she turned around and headed back to her desk at the front entrance.
Jon was a little excited at first. This was something new, something he was not expecting. He started scanning the shelves to see what he could find. There was a math book that looked similar to the one from grade school.
He kept scanning.
There was the history book from preparation school that gave the account of the history of the Capital. He even found the same book that was available at his work. It was a guide to computer programming and mechanics.
There was nothing new here.
Jon’s curious smile quickly turned to a look of disappointment. What was the purpose of this place? As soon as that thought had crossed his mind he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He gazed through the thin and wiry, metal shelves and out into the main area. On the bottom shelf, closest to him, he saw a brown, leather bound book that seemed to stick out from all the rest. It had gold leaf writing on the binding.
He looked up to the front desk to see what the lady was doing. She seemed like she was nodding off to sleep. Her head was down and her eyes were heavy. Jon looked back to the book and then back to her. He made a quick decision and slowly, but very quietly, started to make his way out of the sectioned off area and over to the shelf that was holding this curious book.
Getting ahead of himself, he forgot to look down and tripped over a rug. With his fall came the loud gasp of pain as the air from his lungs was forced out from the impact of the ground. He looked back to the front desk to see if he had disturbed his new acquaintance. He had.
She was staring straight at him without an expression on her face. It was as though she was expecting him to do what he had just done. She let out a sigh, pushed her arms onto the desk and pulled herself out of her chair. Then she began her slow, seemingly frustrating, walk over to Jon.
Quickly he looked up at the book that had caught his attention. He was close enough to not only read the title of the book on the spine, but to reach out and grab it. He gave one more glance to the approaching library attendant. She had her head down as she neared his position. As fast as he could he reach out, he grabbed the book and looked at the title.
“Cowboys,” he quietly said to himself aloud.
That was all it said. There were no author markings and no other branding on the book. There was only the gold leaf writing on top of the dark blue binding.
As the lady came within a few steps, Jon hurried and opened the book to see if he could read anything, anything at all. He just wanted to know what was different about this book. All that was racing through his mind was, why are there all these books? And why are we not allowed to see them?
He just opened the book wherever his fingers could grip the page. The book flipped open to about the center. Jon quickly looked inside and read one, short line.
“Howdy partner.”
As soon as the words processed from his eyes to his brain, Jon felt a not so subtle kick in his gut.
“I told you, you’re not allowed over here. Now I have to throw you out,” the library attendant impatiently announced to him.
“No, no, that’s fine. I will show myself the door.” Jon jumped to his feet and clutched his side when the pain started to set in. “You kick really hard, you know that?”
“Out,” she barked.
He put his hands in the air and nodded his head in agreement, but not before taking one more glance at the book he left lying on the floor. The pages had fallen back into place as it was a seemingly less read book. The only thing that was open was the hard blue binding the book was in. The cover page was still visible as Jon prepared to make his exit.
“Cowboys.”
Jon walked passed the front desk and to the front door of the building. Before pushing the door open to let himself back into the cold, dark night, he paused and looked back at the attendant. She had already returned to trying to stay awake but failing to do so at her desk. He let a little smile find its way to his face and he headed back out to the cover of darkness.
It was an odd experience to say the least. What were all those books and why were they all in that one building? What was the book he had seen with the gold leaf writing? Jon let these thoughts consume his mind as he continued on his walk back to his living quarters. So overcome by the thought of what this building meant, he had forgotten that he was out past curfew. He forgot that, not 30 minutes ago, he was trying to hide from any hint of light pointed in his direction.
Suddenly, a blinding light felt like it smacked Jon across the head.
A standard technique used by Enforcement.
The light was almost incapacitating. It took Jon down to his knees, and then it slowly started to fade back into night. For a moment, all Jon could see was a blurry darkness behind the grey his eyes were left with. Then came, what had become, that now familiar tone of voice and phrase.
“Citizen! Remain still while I assist you,” the Enforcement patrol shouted. “You are in violation of city ordinance number 13. All residents are to remain indoors from ten o’clock pm standard time, until six o’clock am standard time.”
“Well where do I begin?” smirked Jon as the officer grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him over to his Atlas Grade 2 vehicle. “Please, I can explain,” he pleaded. “I am a party member. Please, I was just released from the facility as a new party member.”
The officer replied, “Lying about party status is a capital offense citizen. Choose your next words carefully.”
Jon looked down to the ground and felt a sense of panic set in. He stumbled in his mind as he tried to find the right words to use with the officer. Every line that he thought of was thrown out as quickly as it came. That is until one word entered his mind. This one word spoke louder than any plea he could think of.
“Greenwald,” he calmly said to the officer.
If Jon could see through the black visor and the cyborg exterior, he knew the officer had a look of shock on his face. It left the officer motionless.
“General Greenwald just released me from the facility as a new party member. I’m a sequestered private and I had no choice but to walk home.”
“Surrender your encrypted data,” demanded the officer.
Jon obliged his request and raised his forearm. The officer took what he needed and quickly fled back to the cab of his enforcement vehicle.
Sitting in the middle of the road, confused, Jon just stared at the officer, not knowing what to do. Did it work? Did his plea get through to the officer? As the daze and confusion from the burst of light wore off, Jon could feel the panic begin to subside. He felt more confident in his choice of words, or word rather. The name drop of Greenwald seemed to have had the desired effect. It left the officer unsure of his actions and caused him to seek answers from his superiors.
As Jon sat in the middle of the road, he debated if he should just pick himself up and run. He wasn’t about to suffer another visit to the facility. If that is where he was in fact headed, he most certainly wasn’t going to emerge as a party member this time around. No, this time he would most assuredly serve out his sentence.
Before he could make a decision, the officer emerged from his vehicle and took his place standing over Jon.
“On your feet, citizen. Tonight is your lucky night. I have reported the incident to dispatch. You are to continue to your living quarters immediately. You have been given temporary class-one clearance for the remainder of the evening. Failure to observe the curfew on future dates will result in your detainment.”
Class-one clearance was for low-level party members. It enabled them to be out past curfew, but only if they had a stated and cleared destination or purpose. Even party members were under the scrutiny of their own party. Jon was only given temporary clearance.
The officer walked back to his vehicle and started up the motor. He took off back down the road on his way to inevitably catch another curfew violator.
Jon picked himself up and stood in the middle of the road for a moment. He was still confused. He didn’t know if he should feel grateful that the party was letting him get away with he did, or if he was merely the next victim of the party. If he wasn’t under their direct control before, he was now.
He turned and began walking the direction he was headed before he ran into the library, before he was stopped by Enforcement – again. He just wanted to go home. He was ready for this strange night that only seemed to get stranger to end.
Jon hadn’t been out past curfew since he was young, much younger than he was now. He and his friends would always escape the confines of the Group Housing Project to see just how close they could get to being caught by Enforcement – or how far away they could get. At first it was dangerous and exciting, but it quickly grew tiresome. They weren’t allowed to fraternize with girls, and even if they could, they were across the city. Nobody was out past curfew except Enforcement. A crazy night out on the town quickly turned into not getting caught and getting back to housing before anybody realized they were gone. It was fun while it lasted, but it didn’t last for long.
Jon now walked blatantly in view of anybody who drove down the street or looked out the window. He had his temporary clearance and he was going to use it to its fullest. He walked with his arms behind his back and lost himself in thought. Walking down those dark – and quiet – city streets left him with a strange feeling. Every few minutes he would look up and catch a resident looking at him through their window. They would quickly black out the tint of the window and pretend they hadn’t seen him. They didn’t know who he was, and they probably were better off not knowing if he was anybody at all.
That’s how it always was in this town. It was just best not to know. Knowing meant you were in trouble, and trouble mean you had to deal with the party. Apparently, Jon was in so much trouble the party decided it was best to make him one of them, in-order to keep a watchful eye on him.
Those towers. Those towers that stood in the midst of the black night were cold. They were even colder than the night. Those streets. Those streets were empty. This night felt colder than it should. Jon felt more alone than he ever had before. Wandering the labyrinth alone with his thoughts was not how he had pictured the end to this day.
The irony. Along the city streets were streetlights, but they weren’t lit after curfew. They just stood in the darkness only offering contrast from the concrete behind them. They were adorned with the usual party propaganda. From each light flew one of three flags. The first was a black and white photo of a man working in a steel mill. It stood in front of a deep red background and on the top, in big bold, white letters it read, “duty.” The second was very similar, it had the deep red background but the black and white photo was of military personnel. The big block letters on top read, “service.” The third flag that was flown down every street was a photo of Premiere Lawrence. He stood in triumph, as he always did in photos, looking onward. Above him, in those bold white letters, read, “honor.”
It was all enough to make Jon’s stomach turn. The only color this city had to offer was the propaganda from the Capital. He continued his walk to his living quarters. He was only a couple of blocks away now. The hour was late, too late to get any reasonable amount of sleep. But all Jon wanted was to just feel the warmth of his pillow. If he could only get one hour of sleep then that was all he needed. He just wanted to feel that pillow resting under him.
His steps turned from walking into stumbling. For a while he was able to stay focused and keep his body warm with his constant movement. Now he was slowing down, he was freezing. Tonight, it was colder than most nights. It seemed less like the beginning of autumn and more like the beginning of winter. The pillow wasn’t enough now. Now he needed the warmth of his blanket, that thin brown blanket that he hated so much, but he wanted it more than ever now. He was begging for his standard issue pillow, his standard issued blanket, his standard issued bed in his standard issued living quarter. After today, he just wanted some normalcy.
Finally, finally he would feel that warm bed. He had reached the corner of 9th and A. He was standing at the base of his living quarter, the Blue Towers. He never did understand the name. These towers were greyer than grey could ever possibly dream to be. He just knew they needed a name, and they were given the name, Blue. He pushed open those dirty, lobby glass doors. It was a small lobby, if it could even be considered a lobby. It was more of a hallway with three elevator shafts on each side. At the end of the hall was a data receiver. All the residents had to scan their data in-order to operate the elevators
and to confirm residency. Jon walked down that dark hallway and to the data receiver. He lifted his forearm and placed it in front.
In a cold, robotic voice came, “data received. Please stand by.”
Jon rested his head on the wall and let out a sigh. This was the last obstacle between him and his warm bed.
Then the voice came back, “curfew violation overridden. Class-one clearance confirmed. Please proceed to your living quarters, Jon Ballard.”
Jon took in a deep breath as one of the left-hand side elevator doors opened. This set of elevators would take him to his side of the building. The elevator had two sets of doors. One facing the lobby and the other facing the floor he would exit on.
He took his place inside the boxy elevator and waited for his slow ride up the tower to begin. He lived on the twenty- seventh floor of a fifty-story building. It wasn’t high enough to have a view of the city, and it wasn’t low enough to enjoy a quick trip from his quarters to the street below. It seemed just about right.
Then came the moment he was dreading. The elevator message began playing.
More propaganda.
At least it was a pleasant female voice and not that cold robotic one from the lobby.
“Welcome back to your living quarters, Jon Ballard of Pinnacle City. I hope your day was a productive day. May you spend your evening on reflection and may your tomorrow be full of progress. Please be mindful of all statutes, codes and laws. Your contribution is most appreciated.”
The recording was set to loop. Jon had the entire thing memorized. At any point, of any day he could recite it, word for word. It was not something he was proud of. He stood there in the poorly lit elevator as it slowly took him to floor twenty-seven. The elevator shook as it was lifted-up the shaft. It was old and unkempt. If there were a maintenance crew present in the building, it had been some time since they paid any mind to this particular elevator.
“Your contribution is most appreciated,” the recording ended again.
Jon let his head fall back and slam into the thin metal sheet that coated the doors. It was just hard enough to leave a permanent indent, and also hard enough to let Jon know he let his head fall back just a little too hard. He let out another sigh, but didn’t pull his head back. Instead he sat there with his head on the doors staring at the digital numbers, waiting for 27 to appear.
The Cowboy of Pinnacle City Page 4