by Chris Ayala
He unlocked the storage container with his thumb print and opened the doors. Inside it smelled like the inside of a port-a-potty. Older items always had that stinky odor, Grandpa's basement smelled the same. Dead bodies had that same stench too.
His job could be described as a dream job. Supervising a warehouse included scheduling import and export trucks, managing employees, and organizing stock. A dream job until moments like this. Who knew what was brought in from these container trucks. It was his duty to find out. Most times it was a single object, like a decommissioned car to be recycled for scrap metal. Sometimes it could be a piece of a jigsaw, clueless pieces to a larger structure. Just last week, Willie solved a slew of seemingly crazy metal fragments. Together it formed The Charging Bull, an art piece in the center of Wall Street. Somehow it ended up in the outskirts of Ithaca, almost 250 miles away. Scientists had said the nuclear blasts could've carried debris over 100 miles from ground zeros. That statue proved the estimates were far worse.
Crates lined up the walls of the containers. The truck driver hadn't bothered to secure them, so most of the junk fell onto the floor. It was going to be a long day logging all this stuff. He knelt down and picked up the first item. A half-charred toy, Barbie doll perhaps, but it had no head. Willie photographed it using the camera of the tablet; the computer took only two and a half seconds to recognize it. He was right. Malibu Barbie, to be exact. The head popped off, but if he could just find it he was sure some little girl at the silo would love it.
The silo. He hadn't thought of that place in over a week. Spending almost over night watching television or play video games at home made him forget about his actual home. But did any of the People of Bliss even miss him? No one, including Adam, hadn't even attempted to contact him via letter or secured phone call. He put the doll down and gave up his search.
After two hours, Willie had logged 143 items in this container. Some toys, cosmetics, torn clothing, picture frames with no pictures, hair brushes still with strands, and a few used coffee makers. But just as he went back to the container doors to shut them, something occurred to him. All these useless items had a use. They all belonged to someone. A person. A man or woman. A child. If souls stayed with everything they touched his life, he was about to lock it all away in a container forever perhaps.
Was this the Union's intention of this place? To make the past disappear, the way he made his memories of the silo disappear by throwing aside that doll? Surely the past held more importance than the future. Something grumbled in the pit of his stomach and it wasn't because he was late to lunch. His radio chirped before he could give it more thought.
"Yo," he said into the handset.
Instead of crackling from normal radio handsets, these came in loud and clear. "We got visitors. They need to see the supervisor."
Odd, because he didn't have any meetings scheduled today. "What for? Tell them we got work to do."
"Boss, it's the Tech Czar."
Hoping that the man on the other end of the line had the courtesy to be in a private area, not an area where these visitors could hear him, Willie shrugged, "Who's that?"
"Big wig. Come down. He's got keepers with him."
Willie started wondering if he wasn't the only one that got the shakes around Union Keepers. Reluctantly, he locked the container doors and descended on the lift. A Czar? From the Union? Known as the top of the ladder positions, czars had the final say in almost every decision. Except that of the Supreme Leader himself Marcel Celest. Willie didn't know what to expect. Had they figured out he had been a part of the resistance? How would they know? Even the People of Bliss barely remembered his name. It wasn't possible.
The chip! Adam had placed a dummy chip in his hand to try and bypass Union databases. It would make sense now why the technology leader awaited him down in the lobby. Willie immediately relived that moment in his past, being a juvenile delinquent in front of a judge having to answer for his crime. And just like then, he would have to play dumb.
Downstairs, he followed the long hallway of skyscraper shelving. He checked his watch. It still hadn't turned on since that machine fried all the electronics around it. Project Syncope. He checked the tablet database and it still was located at the dock. Crew couldn't get the damn heavy thing out of the trailer. Since electronics didn't work around it, the electric pallet jacks were obsolete. For now, it had to stay in there.
He met the Tech Czar outside the break room. Surrounded by six Union Keepers, the man seemed fit enough to handle any altercation without their help. His chiseled biceps nearly tore through that fancy polo collared shirt. When he shook his hand, Willie cringed at the tight grip. This man had strength, looks, and apparently to get into this position he had smarts too. "I'm Lester."
Willie had seen some muscle hunks in his life. For some reason, homosexual men set higher standards and strived for perfection. Liposuction, fitness, collagen, manicures, pedicures, whatever it took to look flawless. But Lester fell into a different category. He didn't strive for perfection, he was perfection. So much so that his name didn't seem to fit his physique. Muscle jocks went by names like Kyle, Cody, Max, or Rex. Manly names. Not Lester…
"William. Friends call me Willie."
With his cocked and smile even more cocked, Lester asked, "Can I call you Willie?"
He had been arrested many times in his youth, so he knew a situation was going in that direction. But for now, the threat didn't seem real. The Union Keepers barely paid attention, instead they circled the lunch truck buying snacks. If Willie was in trouble, it didn't seem too serious.
"Sure you can, bro. What can I do you for?"
"Well, I heard through the grapevine there's a questionable machine here. I'd like to take a look at it."
The czar was here for the machine! Though relieved this wasn't a visit about Willie's fake chip, it still made him feel uneasy. Surely the czar was a busy man, so why make time to come out here for a machine? And his office was in the Union Castle, that must've been quite a trek. "Project Syncope?" Willie asked, as though there was some other interesting machine in this building full of junk.
"Yes, can you show me it…Willie?"
As if the request could be met with a "no" answer, he answered affirmatively. Without the accompany of the Union Keepers, Willie led his guest through the corridors to the dock where the trailer was still parked. "We still haven't figured out what to do with it. If I were you, leave any electronics on the table there."
Lester didn't listen. Instead he walked toward the trailer with cellphone in his hand. And in seconds, his cellphone screen went blank. Like everyone who witnessed the power of this device, he played with the cellphone attempting to restart it. "Fascinating," was all the czar could say. "It melted the battery."
While Lester opened the doors and circled the beautiful black metal exterior of Project Syncope, Willie got that feeling again. That peaceful feeling of zero electronic waves or pulses in the air around the equipment. What did the czar want with this machine? Willie could only think of two reasons: either the Union would want to destroy it before the resistance got it or use it as a weapon against the resistance. If Doomsday taught anything, it was that governments shouldn't be allowed to get their hands on dangerous weapons. Willie wished he had hid this device or taken more interest in studying it more, but he gotten so sucked into the world of a digital home and detailed job.
"Did it come with anything else? Like, this may seem silly, a manual or something?"
It did have a manual, still in Willie's locker. Just like that day in front of the judge, he played stupid. "No. I haven't seen a manual."
Lester stared at him, reading his "Shame." Lester said. "I'm going to assemble a team of scientists to come by next weekend to study it some more. Maybe figure out what makes it tick. We don't want something like this zapping electronics."
Enjoying the peace of no electrical signals, Willie couldn't help but ask, "Why not?" Once again, his mouth was about to get him in troub
le. His mother used to say maybe consider cutting his tongue out sometimes. It may have been a simple question but also a suspicious one to someone in charge of technology.
Lester squinted his eyes then smiled. "You hungry? I know the perfect burger joint."
After Lester finished ordering from the menu, Willie wasn't sure if he had ordered for the both of them. Even the waitress, in that pink checkerboard outfit, seemed confused until Lester spoke up. "What are you having, Willie?"
Certainly not three full mouth burgers, two order of chili cheese fries, and an extra large milk shake. "I'll have the hamburger meal with fries and no ketchup."
The waitress nodded and wrote on her tablet with a stylus. "Not a problem," she said way more chipper than any server he'd met in New England. Like much of the employment under the Union, people were chosen based on their genetics. And she liked her job about as much as Willie had.
Except for now.
Being a supervisor had its perks, but meeting with bigwigs wasn't Willie's style. He found himself frantically searching his mind for something to talk about like searching for an outfit to wear clubbing.
Lester broke the tone. "Why did you do that?"
"What?"
"Order a hamburger without ketchup?"
Honestly, Willie never had a fondness for the taste or the look; ever since he saw Carrie covered in pig's blood - ketchup just didn't appeal to him. But instead of ruining his boss's appetite, he stuck to the basics. "We're all different, I guess."
The empty diner played some pop music; older pop music since even the saddest of musicians couldn't find solace in writing new songs. Lester grabbed Willie's palm suddenly. He felt that warm tension rise up his neck. Either he found Lester intimidating or attractive. "You still haven't fixed it yet, huh? Your chip. It got broken by the machine." Lester's hands felt like silk sheets. "Why haven't you fixed it yet?"
Rather than be honest and say if he went to get the chip replaced they'd noticed the old one was hacked by the People of Bliss, Willie chose to lie. "No time."
"And your watch too? All your co-workers got their equipment replaced after Syncope busted them. All…except you." Lester pulled his hands away slowly.
Willie shrugged, "We're all different, I guess. What was it that man said? Technology can do so many things, but there are many things technology should never be allowed to do. And the way you not allow it – is not create it."
"Hmph. Elon Musk?"
"No, Tim Cook."
Leaning back, Lester stretched out and asked. "Don't you like being connected?"
The question made Willie feel slightly guilty, like he skipped class and was being questioned if he actually cared about his future. This time he decided not to lie. "But I like being disconnected sometimes do, you know what I'm saying? Don't want to be dumb. If we keep it up, you won't need teachers in classrooms. Just put a poster up in each class that says Just Google It."
A plate of chili cheese fries plopped onto the table between them. Lester smothered the food with hot sauce and ketchup. "I read your profile," Lester said with a mouthful of chili, "Born in Camden, but raised in Philadelphia right?"
Swapping between custody of his mother or father, neither of which seemed interested in caring for a boy that blew up electronics around him, Willie was raised in more than just Philadelphia. But somehow the fact that Lester knew this disturbed him. What else could someone in the Union find out? Were there even secrets anymore? Medical, dental, residences, finances, everything were stored in one place now. Some main server that all these chips connected to. The thought made Willie feel slightly betrayed. As much as he loved tech, he didn't love being watched. "Yeah. Kinda lots of places, know what I'm saying, bod…I mean bud." He immediately wanted to slap himself on the head for the verbal slip.
His boss made no reaction and rested his perfectly sculpted arms on the table. There wasn't even hair on them. "I'm from Jersey myself. Short Hills. See? We're not so different. We've got a lot in common. I got my master's at Rutger's then completed my PhD at Kean. We're from the same area. We are going to be good friends."
The median price of a home in Short Hills was in the two million dollar range. Willie lived under a train station in Philly. He hadn't finished High School, failed his GED test twice, worked at a tire recycling yard for six years until he had enough money to move out of his old man's place. They couldn't be more than different. "Hmph yeah, boss. Not so different."
After a long uncomfortable silence, he wished the waitress would hurry up with that burger. At the diner's bar, a quick place for a quick meal, Willie listened to a conversation with a patron and the waitress. Agitated and fed up with the patron, he could hear her repeatedly say "Chip purchases only." She even pointed to the sign. The patron, some guy with long dreaded hair and unkept beard, clasped his hands in a begging manner. Willie had met many homeless people living in Philadelphia. There were three stages of desperateness, on the verge of death, anger, or tears. That man was on the verge of tears. After a minute, a manager appeared and gently but forcefully pushed the homeless man outside the door.
With that same sly smile, Lester whispered. "Are you with the resistance?"
Unsure how to answer that, Willie paused. Blunt questions usually left him like this, with mouth half open and eyes completely open. Before he denied it, which of course he had to, Willie wondered if he still was with the People of Bliss? Sure hadn't felt like it lately. His assignment was to gather intelligence but Willie found himself every night relaxing on a comfy couch watching the game on a large screen television. And every night he slumped into his pillow top mattress, he wondered if the People of Bliss even thought of him. Perhaps he could answer this without seeming like he was lying. "No. No, I'm not."
Wiping the bottom of the empty plate with his finger and licking it, Lester said. "I think you're with the People of Bliss."
Willie could feel his chest pulse up and down. From what he heard, martial law had been declared. And to save the paperwork, Union Keepers were just shooting first. Piles of dead bodies sometimes were left on the side of the street, not because they didn't have time to clean them up but instead to send a message. "Huh?"
"I'm just busting your balls, Willie," Lester snorted. "See? I got you to smile. We're going to get along just fine."
Maybe this was an interview for a best friend. Whatever the reason he was here, Willie couldn't help but notice the seats were becoming more uncomfortable. Finally, the waitress appeared. His plate had one burger and fries, while Lester's had three burgers. "That's quite an appetite, Chief."
Lester finished the first burger in four bites. Willie couldn't help but wonder what the secret had been to staying in great shape with a devouring stomach like that. Lester's forearms looked primed and lean as his hands grasped the second burger. "I couldn't help but notice," he said, mouth still full of food, "that everyone seemed panicked by the machine. Everyone…except you." Being that it was neither a question or accusation, Willie decided not to respond. "So," the Tech Czar swallowed what was left of the food, "Why not?"
"Well, you know, it doesn't seem like that big of a deal." Willie said, barely touching the fries on his plate.
"Not big of a deal?" Lester snorted again. "Are you kidding? It's a doomsday device."
Sarcastically, Willie replied, "We already had a doomsday, am I right?"
Lester finally stopped eating and glanced out the window, watching taxis and busses pass by. "I remember when I was a kid, my grandfather told me this story. He said he used to work this crappy job at a hotel when he was a teenager. The job was to go down a list of names and room numbers, call them, and wake them up at the specified time. He hated it. Said that people hung up on him, grumbled, were bitter and rude. But then, technology comes around and he got replaced with a machine that dialed the numbers for him and played a recording more polite than he could ever sound at five in the morning." With his elbows on the table, he sipped on an empty cup of soda loudly as though wasting even
the ice cubes was against the law. He continued, "There's so many jobs that technology has taken from us, to ease our lives. Can you believe there used to be people that bagged food at grocery stores? Tellers at banks? Check-in personnel at airports? Tech has saved us from utter boredom. My department at the Union has created a convenience cloud system. Health records, you can bank and bills from one credit card, single payer system for all utilities, one grocery chain, one communications company for emails phones texts and letters…I mean, the world is much better. Even the Press has been replaced with computer systems, reporting accurate news for once."
Hearing about the Press just reminded Willie of her. Sirius Dawson was a reporter and she became the voice of the resistance. If she had been replaced by a computer, the People of Bliss would've never been born. The Press, no matter how people felt about it, was important. Willie shoved aside his plate of food, no longer hungry.
Lester continued, excited like a jockey talking about horse racing, "I used to be this fat tub of a man, in a wheelchair. I broke my left kneecap from the weight. Diabetes had caused me to get Peripheral arterial disease. So, to say the least, I am grateful for the Union. We have a department focused on the science and technology of stem cell research."
Willie lost an uncle to heart disease several years ago. Doctors had told them stem cells could save his life, but unfortunately due to governmental regulations, they couldn't perform the procedure. Flip-flopping back and forth with the legal restrictions, depending on the leadership, stem cell research showed signs of become a life changing science. Now, without those governmental regulations gone, Lester was a prime example of how the "perfect" someone could become.