Jon said nothing. He didn’t know what to say. He just returned a very awkward and pained smile.
Greenwald reached into his coat and pulled out a thin, hard case about the size of a piece of paper. He opened- up the case to reveal a sheet of e-paper. He took the e-paper out of the case and slid it across the table to Jon.
“This is where you are going to record your daily log,” he said. “Anything relevant needs to be recorded. If you see anything out of the ordinary, record it. If you see somebody breaking the law, if you see Enforcement Personnel breaking the law, record it.”
“Yes sir,” Jon replied.
“I don’t want you to send us how your day was, private. I don’t want to see how work was. I don’t want to see how uneventful the day to day mundane is. I want to know what is taking place. I want to know who is saying what, when it is they said it and how often it is being said. All the information entered will be transmitted automatically at 11:59pm, standard time.”
“I understand, sir. Perfectly.”
Greenwald sat back in that chair he was two-sizes too big to be sitting in. He clasped his mouth under his hand and stared at Jon for a moment. He appeared to be thinking, debating even. Then he reached into the other side of his coat and pulled out what appeared to be a data retriever.
“Put your arm out.” Greenwald motioned Jon to put his arm on the table.
Jon hesitated but complied.
The officers grabbed Jon by the arm and pointed a retriever at his arm. It gave off a small beep.
“There you go,” he said. He then sat back in the chair with that big grin pointed at Jon.
“I.. uh.. What did you do?” asked Jon.
“Go to the food distribution center tomorrow and see what kind of goods you can pick up. Maybe they will treat you to something with real oranges in it.”
Jon was a little taken aback. He was ready to be hauled off to a confined cage they so eloquently refer to as an adjustment facility. In a split-second he had tried to come to terms with the idea that his life was over. Yet here sat a general of the Capital Party, offering him more food. He didn’t know if he should be grateful or frightened. There was always an ulterior motive behind the plans of the party, and Jon was sure he knew it.
He was a troublemaker, a troublemaker that the party had use for. If they didn’t, he would have been hauled off the first time around, no questions asked. They had plans for him, and now they were buying off his favor.
Jon couldn’t argue that it wasn’t working. He hated the party. It was a tyrannical and oppressive group of despotic, power-hungry savages. But he didn’t mind being shown mercy when he knew the alternative was a steel cage. He didn’t mind getting to keep his lifestyle, and now with the added benefit of additional food. Jon knew what they were up to, but he couldn’t say it wasn’t working.
“Everything that is transmitted cannot be undone, private,” said Greenwald. “Make sure all information is accurate, and check your spelling. I know I hate it when somebody points out my grammatical errors. “
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”
The jolly smile that Greenwald loved to use to his advantage had washed away. He was now gazing at Jon with a much more-stern look. He leaned over towards Jon and spoke much softer than he had been.
“What’s your business at the library?” He didn’t move a muscle. His face was blank as Greenwald waited for Jon to muster up an explanation out of thin air. Greenwald was more than aware that Jon didn’t have an answer but that he was about to get one anyway.
Jon stared blankly at the officer across the table. That cold sweat began to return. He went from panicked to clueless in less than a second. How was he going to explain this to Greenwald? Did he have to explain anything at all? As far as he knew he was allowed to go into the building, although he probably shouldn’t have tried to sneak a peek at that book.
Jon hesitated for one more moment before speaking.
“I don’t know what to say, sir.”
A little smirk surfaced on Greenwald’s face.
“I know you don’t,” he said with a now, all too familiar smile. He leaned back in the chair with one hand on the table. His index finger tapped up and down on the table as he stared at Jon. “Knowledge is a powerful weapon, Private Ballard. In the right hands it can prove to be the most powerful ally.” He paused, lowered his gaze and leaned forward. “But in the wrong hands, it’s a threat to the established order.”
“Understood, sir,” said Jon as he stared down at the table, nearly refusing to make eye contact with Greenwald because of the fear that had come over him.
“You cannot unlearn what you have learned, private,” Greenwald went on. “Be careful what you feast your eyes upon. There are books in that place that were not meant for the eyes of ordinary citizens.” His eyes were squinted at Jon and they were screaming at Jon to take him as serious as possible.
“Yes sir, I understand clearly, sir.”
Greenwald shook his head in acceptance, “Good.” He leaned back again and the mood immediately seemed to change to more optimistic one. Greenwald had been doing this for some time, that is, he had been messing with people’s heads for some time. He knew exactly what he was doing and how he was going to do it before it was even done.
“I’m not all Mr. Doom and Gloom, you see? No, no, I come bearing great news for you, Private Ballard.”
Jon finally looked up from that cheap wood table and gave the officer the eye contact he was hoping for. Greenwald went on.
“It’s only been a day, but we feel comfortable with expediting your progress in the Capital Guard. You are no longer a Sequestered Private. When I reprogrammed your encrypted data just a moment ago, you were promoted to Specialist. Congratulations, Specialist Ballard.”
“I don’t understand. Why am I being promoted? Just yesterday I was choosing between prison or becoming a party member.”
Greenwald didn’t hesitate, “If you like choices then allow me to give you another. You stay here, in this existence with what you have now, in the dead-end job that you will never get out of, or you take the promotion.” He then clasped his hands together and cocked his head as he stared Jon down.
When it was presented that way, what choice did Jon have? Greenwald seemed to be a seasoned professional when it came to getting exactly what he wanted.
Jon replied the best way he knew how, “Thank you for the opportunity, sir.” His words didn’t come out as gracious and confident as he had hoped. It didn’t matter though. That giant grin, brimming with confidence, came sprawling back across the face of his unannounced visitor.
“That’s wonderful to hear,” Greenwald paused as his smile grew even wider before continuing, “Specialist Ballard.”
Jon tried his best to conjure up a smile but any child could see the fear and confusion behind his desperate and phony smile. Greenwald continued.
“The best part of being a specialist is that I get to make up your job as we go along. You will receive assignments and or tasks throughout the day.” He snapped his fingers over his head and held his hand out. One of the armed soldiers handed him a small box. Greenwald opened the box to reveal a strange display.
It had two bands, similar to the band of an ordinary or standard watch. They were spaced apart about two or three inches and in between them, where it would rest on the interior of the wrist, was paper-thin but solid display.
“Hold out your arm, specialist,” ordered Greenwald.
Jon placed his arm on the table and the officer fashioned it to his wrist. Once the device was secured and firm in place a small, yellow light in the right-hand corner turned on immediately. It then let out a faint beep. Then the yellow light turned into a blinking, green light and then it turned into a solid green light before the light disappeared altogether.
“Alright, you’re live,” said Greenwald. “This is where your assignments will come through. They will be sent as they become available, and they are subject to change. All you have to do is follow the
prompt on the display. Is that perfectly clear, Specialist Ballard?”
“Yes, sir. Perfectly clear, sir.”
“Now this device works in tandem with your encrypted data and won’t interfere with any official party business. Better yet, people will know you are not to be trifled with. It will transmit any recorded data to your e-paper, so that you will not have to worry about doing a daily report twice.”
Greenwald suddenly pushed the chair back, making enough room for him to raise himself to his feet. He stood and towered over Jon as Jon remained seated. He extended his hand.
“Congratulations, Specialist. You begin tomorrow. Get some rest.”
They shook hands.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, we have some other business to attend to on another floor.”
Without another word, Greenwald turned around and began heading to the door. The officer standing behind Jon, deliberately smacked into the side of him as he walked by as he followed Greenwald from the living unit. It was strong enough to send Jon a message but weak enough to keep Jon sitting and clenching his teeth.
The rickety door came to a close and the lock was heard as it snapped shut. Jon stayed sitting at the table for some time. He just stared at the glass of orange juice sitting on the table in front of him. For the longest time he just sat and stared. After all that had just happened he stayed fixated on that awful juice. Apparently, it wasn’t even juice, according to Greenwald. Jon couldn’t be sure what it was, if not actual orange juice, but he did agree about the taste. It was terrible, but it was an alternative to the same old, same old. After a long while of debating what was in the contents of the juice, Jon decided it was time for him to retire. He had seen enough today. He now had stories to tell for the rest of his life, and it had all happened in the last twenty minutes.
Jon broke his concentration and paid little mind to the newly acquired party attire that now adorned his left arm. He stood from the table and over to the half-shaded window. He looked out across the way and back into the window where he had witnessed the couple being abducted.
The lights were still on but nobody was home. It was strange. Jon knew the next person to step foot in that unit would be the new tenant, but he couldn’t stop but hope that for some reason the man, or the woman, would be able to return to their living quarters. He stared and waited, hoping that at any moment he would see one of them return to their home, but it just remained empty and lifeless.
Jon looked down to the floor as he raised the tint to black of the windows.
“Lights out,” he said out loud. Then he thought himself to sleep.
5
LET’S TRY THAT AGAIN
The morning rush was stomping its way through the halls outside the door. No alarm was needed with the stampede that rattled its way through the building each-and-every single morning. The shaking of the floor was just enough to remind Jon that at any moment this building could share the fate of the elevator just the day before. It was the same fate he felt he was destined to repeat for the remainder of his days in that shabby little living space.
Jon rolled from his side and to his back to face the ceiling. For a moment, absolutely nothing ran across his mind. It was as blank and empty as the white ceiling above him. Then the daunting reality and the gravity of his new position began to set in.
“Just ten more minutes,” he said aloud. “Just let me sleep for ten more minutes.”
That morning Jon could have sworn the blanket that was draped around him weighed a thousand pounds, if not more. To muster the strength to flip those covers off him seemed to be futile at best. He didn’t even know what the day had in store for him, let alone how he should face it. The party could make him do anything – absolutely anything. The only choice that was available was to comply with the order or risk an unknown fate.
He raised his arm to look at the new merchandise fashioned to his wrist. The screen was blank, but the little green light was still lit up. It seemed to only be there to let him know that he is being monitored even closer than before.
“Good morning, citizens of Pinnacle City.”
The morning broadcast had started and Jon hadn’t even rolled out of bed.
A first.
There was that now familiar blonde, standing in his living/bedroom. She seemed to be a little more confident today. She didn’t seem rattled this time around. That must have meant she was there to stay.
The fate of the usual brunette would remain a mystery, as with everything else in this city.
“If you would all kindly stand and take your place in front of your audio processors, we will begin with the party creed.”
Even with the threat of another altercation with Enforcement Personnel for not standing and reciting the party creed, the weight of the covers did not waver, and Jon could not bring himself to stand. He barely even recited the words that were fused into his brain forever. It was more of a loud hum than actual words.
“The future is distant. The past is past. Here in the present, we will outlast.”
As far as Jon could tell the audio processors could not decipher between properly annunciated words and a loud humming noise that flirted with making some sort of sense. This was the first piece of good news, and why hadn’t he thought of it sooner?
If there weren’t any sudden and unwelcomed knocks on the door in the next ten minutes, Jon decided that this would be his new morning routine.
He turned to face the near perfect hologram of that brightly lit blonde standing in his living quarters. She certainly was a pretty face to look at. Jon had tuned out any word that was being uttered by the pretty hologram and just focused on her eyes for a moment. Then he rolled back to face the ceiling. There was never any sense in dreaming of a woman. Such a dream could have him end up at a work participation camp, or at an adjustment facility, or at some other ironically labeled government prison.
He looked back down at the party jewelry adorning his wrist. There was still just a little green light and nothing more. When were these tasks going to appear? What exactly was Jon supposed to do – or not do? Had an order already come through and Jon missed it?
He finally found the strength to raise himself out of his bed and stumble across the room into the kitchen. He treated himself to his usual breakfast of milk and toast. He stared forward and ignored everything that was being said by the pretty blonde on the helevision.
On this morning, there was nothing comforting about the food he had to eat. The milk tasted like it was turning sour and the bread felt stale, even after it was heated up and lathered in butter. Jon put the toast down as he finished only half of it.
He wasn’t sure what it was he was supposed to be doing – if anything – but he was at least going to be dressed for it. He cleaned himself up in the bathroom, put on his regular, bland clothing and headed for the door.
He came down the hall and to the elevator. He scanned his data on the receiver and began pacing back and forth as he waited for the doors to open.
A few moments went by and Jon attempted to scan his data one more time to ensure that the computer recognized him. Then he finally realized that he had flirted with death just the morning before in that very elevator. Despite the words of Greenwald promising to get the thing fixed, Jon knew how this city worked. That elevator would probably remain out of operation until the building was ready to be demolished.
He headed for the stairwell. At least it was twenty-seven flights of stairs going down. He didn’t let the fact that he had to walk back up that same twenty-seven flights later in the day enter in to his mind.
Entering the stairwell, Jon leaned over to take note of the long descent that awaited him. It could have been worse. He could have had somewhere to be, and be there at a certain time.
Nothing had appeared on the display yet. Not knowing what to expect or when to expect it, Jon began his journey down the switchback-like staircase. He didn’t let up for the entirety of the journey downward.
Twenty-seven f
loors? Going down?
That was the easy part. It would be going back up – day after day – that would wear him down and probably even cause him to question his existence on this spinning orb of a planet called Earth.
He came out into the alley that led from the stairwell and onto the grid. Ah, that wonderful early morning city smell. There was nothing quite like it to perk a man up in the morning. It was a sharp chemical type smell. Jon never knew exactly what it was, but anything that smothered the smell of the rotting garbage was welcomed.
Public transportation was up and running at capacity and individual drivers, as always, were kept to a minimum. The grid was bustling with those morning commuters.
Jon reached the walkway between the buildings and the grid, then just stood and looked around. It was a strange feeling not having anywhere to be – and on time. He watched as people boarded the transit system and went on their way. Everybody was rushing to be where they were designated to be. This was the first day since he could remember that he had nowhere to be.
It was an odd feeling to feel as though he was missing out on something. Jon hated his job at the repurposing facility, but he wanted to climb on the transit and head over there. Maybe it was just the habit that had been drilled in to him. Maybe he felt like he had been part of something and never realized it.
But not today. Nope. Today he worked for the government. So far it seemed the “choice” to join the party was proving to be a viable alternative to a jail cell. So far.
Then Jon felt something warm, gently vibrating on his lower arm. He pulled back his sleeve to reveal the display that Greenwald had given to him. It had finally turned on.
Other than its remarkable ability to bend, there was nothing seemingly high tech or fancy about the device. The screen turned on with a white display and simple black text came onto the screen.
It read, “Observe the morning commute. Report suspicious behavior, record unusual activities and report.”
The screen stayed lit with the message for a minute or so before going blank once more.
The Cowboy of Pinnacle City Page 8