“How exactly do you expect the government will use this registration to cause problems?” asked Jason. “They are just a function of our society like the rest of us. They do have to answer to someone, just like we do. They have to answer to us—the voters and the media. It’s not like they can order me to do harm or order you to sabotage machinery. So what if they see more than they already do? There are only nine of them. Nobody has time to watch all the videos created. You’re being kind of silly.”
“Goddammit, Jason,” she said, pushing herself up from the floor. “This is not something I can live with. Stop being so impersonal. You’re supposed to be an Empath. A male Empath, which means you still have balls for god’s sake. What good does it do the government to have access to so much more information? What possible reason could there be?” She turned her back on him.
Jason closed his eyes for a moment and didn’t bother to hold back a smile. “As you know, my dearest Monica, I intentionally do not bother empathizing with your emotions since they are usually out of control. Being dispassionate and logical is part of my function as a Medic. Just because I can feel someone’s emotions and various biological processes doesn’t mean I let them turn me into a raving lunatic several times a week. That, sweetie-pies, is apparently part of your function as a Mechanic. I can’t for the life of me figure out what purpose your wild mood swings serve, but I’m sure being a volatile and emotional nutcase with a strong dose of paranoia is ever so helpful in keeping societal machinery running.”
Monica turned back and gave him a flat stare. Her voice grew quiet. She clearly wasn’t amused. “At least you’re still funny.”
He chuckled. Monica’s biting sarcasm and wit were one of the reasons he loved her so much. She cut right through to the heart of things, often with a very amusing twist to her words.
Jason knew one of his major advantages in life was his calm and comforting appearance. Over time, he’d discovered his smile made almost anyone trust him with his or her life. His long, languidly muscular dancer’s frame was another asset. One he occasionally used to his advantage. His calm amusement and affable good looks weren’t working so well on Monica at the moment, but she wasn’t entirely immune. Her jaw muscle unclenched slightly.
He took a deep breath, analyzing the problem she posed. “As far as a good reason as to why they might want more information, I can think of several. First, with observation abilities of the masses at their disposal, they could discover problems before they became severe. Structural problems with buildings that a passerby might not normally take note of, for example. Observing accidents as they happen and from many vantage points allows faster response and future prevention. Noting strange behavior that could lead to crime or might indicate a problem with an individual is another potentially valuable instance. Compiling social patterns.”
Her intent look didn’t waver.
“This would mean being able to correct something before it became worse, saving a lot of money in the long run.” He thought for a moment to see if he’d overlooked anything. “It would make my job easier in some ways too, quite honestly.”
Her jaw clenched again before she started into another tirade. “Are you kidding me? You’re saying you agree with this? You agree with allowing every person to be heard and seen every moment of their lives? Are you insane? I don’t want them watching me have sex. I don’t want them in my head when I take a crap. Jason, I don’t want them hearing the conversation we’re having right now. This conversation—despite your thick-headed and rather brainless assertions—is valuable to me because it emphasizes freedom to think and speak as I wish. If they heard me talking like this, I’d be carted off to have my skull used for a chemical testing ground.”
The absurdity of her comment almost made him laugh aloud, which would have been a disaster. “You really think they have the time to watch you poop?” he said, controlling his laughter. “As to your claim of being taken to have your head pumped full of drugs, absolutely! I’ve heard of people being carted off whenever they say something controversial. As a matter of fact, I’m sure you could name a few people as examples. It’s happened to so many people we know . . . oh wait. No it hasn’t. Not even one person I can think of.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’m starting to think you’ve been hooked up to your medical gear too long. You’ve lost all sense of perspective. Don’t you see how easy it is to lead us into modern slavery? Step by step they’re eroding our freedoms. I’m not sure why, but something about this seems carefully calculated and planned. They didn’t even ask the populace if they would agree to modification. They simply decreed it and we’re expected to follow orders without recourse. They took away even our ability to vote on something that violates our privacy. A decree implies an imperial order. That’s not freedom, Jason, it’s the opposite. We’re being caged.”
“Monica, be serious. Go outside and look around you. Every citizen is either productive in some way, or they have a valid reason not to be and are cared for. There’s no homelessness, no hunger. We are all fed, and every single person pursues whatever profession they desire. We are more educated, more enabled, and have more freedom to choose our lives than ever before in history. How exactly is the governing class doing something that limits you?”
He watched as Monica took time to regroup. She absently played with some small figurines Jason kept on his desk before she spoke again in a quieter voice.
“I can’t have this conversation in public, first of all. I don’t get to vote on whether or not I augment my own fucking body. How about I’d like some vote on what my body is used for, for starters? Jason, there are tons of things we aren’t free to do. If I wanted to leave work and go to one of the space colonies, I’d be prevented. It’s below my rank in society. They’re limiting freedoms for certain sections of the population, too. Almost like a caste system.”
She chewed her lip for a moment.
“I tried to vacation off-world. I thought it would be fun for a while, you know? Go check out some of the men on the outer colonies. I hear they are rugged. Anyway, the Bureau of Travel denied my request. And seriously, why do we even have a Bureau of Travel? Why can’t I just pay for a seat on a ship and go somewhere? It’s bullshit.” She crossed over to his living room to grab a chair so she could sit with him at his desk, clearly tired of standing over him. “Oh sure, the bureau was nice about it. They flattered me outrageously and gave me a bonus week this year to vacation in one of three pre-selected places. They wouldn’t even let me choose which of those three, they just said when they had an opening in one of them, they’d let me know. An opening? We’re not overcrowded on any world in the colonies, so what the fuck was that about?”
Jason couldn’t help but feel exasperated. He took a deep breath. If there was one sure way to piss Monica off, it was to deny her access to potential sex partners, so he could see why the denial of her travel request would upset her so much. “Okay, just to prove you wrong, and show you we’re totally fine discussing this in public, I’ll say something tomorrow at work about this new policy. Mention I think it sucks. If I’m still around in the evening, I’ll be sure to apologize and then drop the subject. Sound good?”
She stared at him for a moment. Finally, she said “No way. Talking about the issue in public just addresses one aspect of privacy, not the underlying issues. Besides, I think just talking about the new policy changes so someone can hear is a weak way of you trying to get out of this conversation. Clearly, you don’t care. I have a strong feeling you will change your mind if you ever step outside the herd.” She sighed. “I actually hope even a little bit of speaking out about the issue doesn’t get you in trouble.”
“Fine, then. We can talk about this another time. For now, I’ll show you we are free to disagree and we can go from there.” He moved his chair back behind his computer screens. Now, I really have to finish working on my report for next week, so if you could leave me in peace, it would be splendid of you.”
He
r smile seemed forced. “Sure. See you tomorrow.” She moved toward the door and then stopped, turning her head to talk over her shoulder. “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. There’re a few new movies out this week. Wanna go?”
“What?”
She turned around. “The movies, Jason.”
Jason looked at her quizzically, perplexed. “Yes, I heard you. It’s just, we never go to the movies. I can’t—”
“Oh, that’s right,” she interrupted him. “I totally forgot you don’t go to the theater because you can’t stand the reproductions that are filtered. Same crap produced over and over. Same themes approved for release by the government for the masses.”
Jason scowled. It was true. He hated the theater for the very reasons she was pointing out.
Monica smiled sweetly. “Just thought you might like another example of the stagnating and controlled little bubble we live in. See you tomorrow.” The door slid open, then closed with a soft hush as she left.
Three
THE HOSPITAL BUSTLED WITH frenzied activity. Jason moved quickly between sterile patient cubes with a practiced, but hurried ease, and thought back on his conversation with Monica the day before. There had been an accident in Sector 8 involving one of the largest manufacturing facilities of East City. Twenty-four-hundred people had been exposed to high levels of a known neuro-toxin and the hospitals had been overloaded. Sector 8, and Jason’s own Sector 7, had been flooded with incoming cases. His location within Sector 7, but close to the border of Sector 8, often received medical cases from both.
Fortunately, and much to his relief, Jason’s work had become much easier with the biosuits most citizens wore. The suits allowed him the ability to analyze the toxin due to their built-in bio-feedback and to order a binding agent into the bloodstream en masse before the damage became too severe. Each suit came equipped with various chemicals for remote administration from a qualified Medic, cutting down on fatalities enormously. Jason could stabilize a patient and then he or she could then be transported to a nearby facility. The analysis and administration of a binding agent was fast-paced work, but the victims were quickly sent to the distribution centers where the new chemicals were mixed and provided to the biosuits. Out of twenty-four-hundred people, there were only a few casualties, nearly unavoidable given the level of exposure.
As the wave of incoming patients subsided and his day normalized, he thought more about the conversation of the night before. Looking at his patients, it occurred to him the response time on this would have been even faster if the uplinks Monica hated so much had been in place and active. Visual monitoring would have noticed a breach before the deadly chemicals were detected by the environmental sampling modules. A Tech would have analyzed and processed the data and prevented the explosion.
Jason wandered to the bathroom to splash some cool water on his face. He grimaced at the thought of Monica’s reaction to his analysis, but direct observation of the problem might have prevented the toxin release altogether. At the very least, an evacuation could have been ordered before it hit the air systems. Had the Sector 8 Tech been involved, he could have instantly shut down all systems and force-evacuated everyone before the toxin escaped containment. Such was the power of the Techs, that the entire incident wouldn’t have even required their presence. With a mere thought, the entire interconnected systems would have instantly obeyed the Tech’s commands. Monica’s paranoia seemed misplaced, yet even Jason felt the Techs held too much power. He didn’t trust them. Their influence spanned the globe and they could see and hear anything and everything exposed to technology. Pretty much everything, in other words.
As Jason finished washing, he looked up to see one of his fellow Medics enter the restroom. A big smile lit up Susan’s features when she saw him, and a familiar calming and mildly sexual feeling flowed from her specialized nano-bots. Empaths, those with a knack for using nannies to broadcast emotion, tended to radiate a mild pleasure wherever they went without consciously thinking about it. For the most part, the nature of being an empath meant wanting to make everyone around them comfortable. Jason grinned at her and, he knew, the same feeling flowed from his broadcast nannies and were received by hers.
“I think we handled the disaster rather well, don’t you?” Susan combed a slender hand through her long hair. She draped her blonde curls over one shoulder so she could wash her face.
“Seems so. Of course, the new suits really help. It seems almost impossible to imagine not having them. They’ve only been mandated for what, three years? Funny how quickly great technological leaps become integral. The Director really earned his tenure with inventing the suits.”
She pooled warm water in her hands and submerged her face. After a moment, she toweled dry and sighed deeply. “Tenure. Pah!” For a moment, he felt annoyance flicker from her. “If he succeeds in putting through his forced interconnection for all citizens, I’m not sure I will hold him in such high-esteem. His love affair with tenure makes me more than a little nervous. His newest appointment is outside my comfort level.”
Jason raised an eyebrow, startled. To hear Monica’s sentiment echoed by one of his peers disconcerted him a little. Carefully, he said, “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I haven’t looked at it much, but it can’t be that bad. With visual augmentation in those workers, think of how quickly we could have reacted today.”
She looked at him for a moment. “Jason, there are benefits and curses to every advance we make. The problem isn’t what benefit the registration will provide. Undoubtedly, it can do great things. The problem is the hands this power falls into. I’m just . . . not comfortable knowing the thirteen members of the Council will know our every thought and deed. It’s one thing if the responsibility is shared, but this is giving them too much power without any balance. It’s actually scaring me.”
He shrugged, trying to hide the fact her thinking unnerved him. “So? We’ll just vote them out, right? I mean, they are kept in check by the elections. If they abuse their power they will be removed and replaced. They are only a function of our society, not an edict.” He laughed. “They can be fired, just like anybody who doesn’t do their job.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and her mood changed discernibly. “You haven’t seen the secondary order, then.”
Jason looked at her, confused. “What secondary order?”
Susan glanced at where the cameras were prominently watching their every move. “They can’t be voted out. The Council also announced they were tenured. They are now a permanent appointment, much like our Supreme Court. That’s what I meant by Director Faust’s love affair with tenure. He’s been appointed as a permanent Council member.”
His heart skipped a beat. “Permanent?” Their power was only acceptable because it was limited in duration. “This is highly unusual,” he said carefully. Permanent appointment was a direct violation of The Construct, the societal agreement to appoint leaders who were granted limited governing powers specific to their specialty. They were replaced in rotation, one each thirteen years—sooner if one died, became corrupt, or was ineffective. A call to vote could be initiated by enough signatories at any time. This balance of power kept them moderately uncorrupted. A permanent appointment could damage the system meant to keep their power in check.
“Unusual is putting it mildly. Director Faust is a major part of the movement. Something is going on and I’m not sure I have it figured out yet.” She hesitated, then, leaning forward she whispered, “And there is some sort of advanced research project going on that they’re keeping from everyone. I’ve seen the orders from Faust to convert the old suit fabrication facility to a high-security research center.” She paused and then continued, uncertainly. “After the accident with those doctors a couple of months ago, I’m not sure I feel comfortable with secrets. I hate to sound conspiratorial, but really? Building a secret research facility after a whole team of our best are found dead from a secret project? All of this is awfully coincidental, to put it mildly. Way too strange for me to
feel comfortable.”
As she moved away from him, Jason clenched his jaw slightly to keep his face impassive. He recalled the incident. Several high-level research doctors had been killed during an experiment with mind-altering drugs. Or so the story had been. There were several pieces which didn’t seem to match up, such as the fact no new data had come out of the fiasco. For example, the forbidden research about longevity. What had become of all the research leading up to the tragedy? Whatever they were working on had never been fully disclosed. The media pushed hard to investigate further but got nowhere. The Council constantly blocked investigations with legal maneuvering, which gave conspiracy theorists all kinds of fodder.
“I’m not sure there is anything to be worried about,” he said, finally. “We do need the extra research space and the fab is already retrofitted.” He forced himself to smile. “Besides, we both know who will be asked to head up staffing. You have a knack for finding quality people, my dear.”
She moved away from him, her gaze thoughtful and her anxiety still palpable. “I hope you’re right, Jason. I don’t know what . . . I just hope you’re right. Something seems really odd about all this. Especially these changes with tenure.” She lifted her chin with resolve. “I’m planning on voicing my objections to the administration.”
She finally dried her hands and left the restroom, giving him a wave of farewell. He grinned at her, radiated calm, then dried his own hands and went out into the hall. For a moment, he felt a sense of disorientation, as if he was a stranger in the hospital and not one of its master practitioners. He watched the bustle and frenzied pace of the staff as they hurried from sterile-cube to sterile-cube, carrying objects and materials which were suddenly foreign to him. The movements of the staff and support robots reminded him of insects performing some elaborate process deep within an anthill, scurrying about, busily enacting the wishes of their queen.
Sector Seven Page 4