The Monitor
by
Paul Heingarten
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, events and situations in this book are purely fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright ©2017 Paul Heingarten
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decatur Media
New Orleans, Louisiana
www.decaturmedia.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
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About the Author
Other books by Paul Heingarten
1
A sea of brilliant lights danced before me. It used to make me dizzy, but after a few months on the job, it became like a wall to me.
I worked for BOSAM, the Bureau of Safety and Monitoring. I was part of a team that monitored people, everyone in the city of New Damai for the past five years, in fact. We monitored the little chips all citizens had implanted in their necks that tracked emotional activity in the brain.
I adjusted my chair and shivered. They always kept this place cool and on the verge of icy. It made the temps outside seem even hotter than they already were.
The display in front of me got fuzzy. I checked the small compuport on the desk and made a few adjustments. I scanned through the readouts of all the chips in my queue. Each one showed a color that ranged from dark blue to faded green for the emotion. BOSAM was started after the Rage Events caused enough problems, damage and loss of life for the government that all their other means failed.
Maddix called from behind me, "Anything good, Sia?"
"Oh, the usual, people on their merry ways."
All about us were our fellow crew, checking their individual Monitor stations. The air was filled with the sounds of occasional chatter and contacting field agents over the comm.
I don't know all the science of it, but the way they explained in training, BOSAM researchers isolated the activity that led someone to excessive violence. Since the martial law orders the government did in response helped next to nothing to restore any order, they decided it was best to allow BOSAM to quarter off the borders to New Damai with a Magno-Barrier so the "Experiment" as they called it could be contained.
Through the Monitors, we tracked whenever that was about to happen and sent one of our roving units to the scene before things got out of hand. It wasn't an easy sell with people at first, but when everyone was promised the Experiment would raise general safety, they saw it different.
Most did, anyway.
I looked at Maddix. "I see you're on External Patrol tonight."
He nodded and checked his gear. "I hope there's no Rage Events. Got me a hot date later."
"Ooh, we don't want her to be disappointed." I glanced at my screen. I was never sure what caused the Rage Events in the beginning; they had started before I was born. Riots were an everyday occurrence in those days. Those who were able worked and supported themselves to a degree. Others looted and robbed whoever was in their way. Even kidnappings and abductions weren't uncommon nationwide.
"Guess you'll be at home tonight, ya old married broad." Maddix patted my shoulder.
"Hey, I'm two years older than you. And if you weren't so worried about the flavor of the month you might be hitched already." I chuckled.
Maddix shrugged. "Me and marriage don't fit in a sentence. Maybe someday." He slid his helmet on. "I'm on comm band X23. Hope we don't talk anymore this shift!"
I waved him off with a grin. He had been here a year longer me. He rotated between the External Patrols and Monitor Control, like the rest of us.
The Experiment split the entire city into sectors, each with its own patrol. No citizen was ever more than five minutes from a patrol person. And the chips gave us an average seven minute warning before the Rage Event, which had been pretty effective so far.
Of course, not everyone bought into the system. Upon implementation five years ago, people were given the explanation of the benefits and potential for safety. The Experiment mandated every adult got a chip, and kids after age five too. I never had a problem with it since I had lost Mom and Dad in a Rage Event.
Any eligible person who refused the chip was sent to ghettos outside the New Damai borders. And that was it. If you weren’t chipped, you weren't allowed into New Damai. Instead, you fended for yourself, sandwiched between two Magno-Barriers, one to New Damai and the other to the outside world.
People at BOSAM never talked much about those in the ghettos. We called them Breakers; I figured it made it easier if they weren't known as people. Sometimes we had a Border Event, which meant one or more of them attempted their way into New Damai.
My console chirped a warning. On my display, one of the colored shapes shook and blinked. I reached toward it, grabbed its icon and pulled toward the center of my display. The color deepened from yellow to orange, not a great sign.
"Rage Event Horizon passed," the system voice droned.
I tapped the icon, pulled up the name and geo coordinates.
"Comm Band 9101!" I called out. My console displayed a video window with a field BOSAM agent.
"Wilson, this is Sia!" I called out to the screen. "Rage Event in your quad. Estimate ten minutes to peak. Location, food distribution center, copy?"
Wilson held his ear as he listened. "Copy, Sia, will report when threat contained. Out."
The video screen vanished and returned me to the sea of squares or, like some called it here, the aquarium. We each monitored a sector of the city, 5,000 people per each Monitor station like mine.
Some days were slow, but other days were nuts. We handled things with the forces on the ground so far though.
My personal comm channel hailed. I tapped a few controls, and George's face appeared on the id screen. I activated the privacy field and answered.
"Hey honey, had a good day?" I asked.
He sat near the kitchen in our apartment with a pot of something that wafted steam. The scent of cooked onions and spices wafted through the screen, welcomed by my nostrils. I never knew if that feature of the comm was a good or bad thing.
George nodded toward the pot. "Work was OK. I decided to fix dinner tonight."
I zoomed the view in a bit. "Aww, aren't you sweet? Gonna be another half hour before I leave. Hope that's not gonna mess it up."
He turned to the food prep console, then to me. "Naah, should be fine. I'll let it simmer for a bit."
"Need me to get anything at the market?"
"Nope, come on home, dear." He smiled.
"OK, love you!" I blew a kiss to the Monitor as we ended the call.
I popped back to my aquarium. The colors had faded a bit. The colors eased into friendlier shades for the moment. Maybe that meant an easy night. You never knew for sure; if a plant had some new production quotas or something, the pressure rose and some people weren't OK with that.
My comm channel opened again.
"Wilson, calling Central."
"Garrett at central here, go ahead," I replied.
"Threat neutralized."
I scanned to the alert item on the aquarium. "Kurt Chavis, thirty-six-year-old supervisor?"
Wilson nodded. "Wasn't cutting the
mustard. Management had him on notice and looks like he was having trouble at home too."
"He have any weapons?"
Wilson held up some kind of metallic looking box.
"Neuroregulator."
"Damn. He could've wiped out the building with that." I marveled at the device and studied it with mild disbelief. Neuroregulators, what I knew about them, were for military application. This plant was the last place anyone would've needed something like that.
"I thought this tech was contraband."
"Me too. I'm gonna add a note to the system standard review. In case there's more."
"Roger that. Suspect detained and area secure. Wilson out."
I closed the comm. Part of the Experiment with the Monitors involved restricted access to weaponry. It wasn't impossible for the existence of weapons, but it was more difficult for sure.
2
Something with that contraband tech bugged me more than usual, so I ran a query of the BOSAM mainsys for incidents. I watched the subroutine course through the lines of data. I gripped the edge of my console until it dug into my flesh and returned a dull ache to my hand for my efforts.
While the system processed my request, the main comm channel burst to life. The shrill siren indicated a message from Lucien, director of BOSAM.
On my screen appeared the BOSAM logo, followed by Lucien. I'd never seen him, besides in training videos and these agency announcements. I saw that scowl on his face so much, I imagined it was his normal expression.
"Agents of BOSAM, system message X915. Several patrols have encountered various contraband on their routine runs through sectors. You are hereby reminded of your duty to report any and all contraband or suspect items found at any time, whether it be on your shift or otherwise. Failure to report any found items will subject you to disciplinary action."
The image on my screen flickered a moment, then vanished. It its place were the query results for the amount of contraband tech. I rubbed my eyes in case I had imagined things for a bit. A lump formed in my throat, but I hadn't the time for further research. I also wanted no one to get any ideas why I left that kind of search up on my console.
I noticed my relief near me, so I logged out and headed home.
3
George and I enjoyed the food he had prepared for us that evening: seasoned roast with a variety of steamed vegetables.
"When did you get the time to do this?" I munched a bite of asparagus.
He shrugged. "Here and there, ran a few errands on the way home earlier in the week."
I twirled the fork around my fingers. Even errands after work weren't easy for George. He worked at CHEM-870, a chemical fusion plant in New Damai. He had worked there since before we were married.
"How's work been?" I asked.
"Active." He took a sip of his drink and added, "They've been stepping up quotas on us."
"Oh dear."
He nodded. "We aren't quite at capacity, but I'm wondering how soon we'll reach it if they continue."
I grasped his arm and offered a supportive smile. "It'll be OK."
He eyed my hand on his arm and met my gaze with his own smile. "I sure hope so. So, how are things at BOSAM?"
I sliced a piece of meat. "Not too bad. They're sending me out on patrol soon."
"Already? Wow, I thought they waited until you were on for two years."
"Yeah, used to be that. I dunno, guess they're worried about the ghetto activity."
He dropped his fork. "What ghetto activity?"
I searched his eyes. He seemed concerned. I wondered for a second if he maybe knew something about the ghettos that I didn't.
"They aren't sending you in there, are they?"
"I doubt it. It's a regular patrol for Rage Event activity. They don't send us into the ghettos unless there's an attempt to cross over."
He leaned back in his chair. "That's good. It's a waste to put those people in there, anyway."
I watched him for a moment. "You still think the chips are bad?"
He shrugged. "I think any system that keeps people contained for nothing other than noncompliance with the Experiment is bad. My group at the plant is working on some real challenging problems, energy creation and all. Sure would be nice to have input from other people. What if the best ideas came from the very people we're excluding?"
"But the Rage Events. The needless violence, the fear of something happening. We don't have that now."
He shook his glass until the ice cubes rattled. "No, we do. It's under control, so to speak."
I watched him for a few moments. People don't like to talk much about the times before BOSAM, when things were much more dangerous, but I always felt like I was better the more I knew about what had happened. I guess I figured maybe if I or anyone knew the history, we could stop it in the future. "Don't you ever wonder why the Rage Events happened and why it took them so long to start BOSAM?"
He wiped his brow. "I do. My parents never talked about those years. It's anyone's guess. I mean there were food shortages in those days, I remember. How long can people be expected to accept rationing when so many are starving? Was that all it took? But now, even with BOSAM, there's this ghetto situation. Are we supposed to accept people being penned up without being allowed to leave for the sake of the experiment?"
I played with one of the food utensils on the table. "I don't like the quarantine either. But at least BOSAM sends rations during the Experiment. Remember how bad the looting and kidnapping were years ago?" I paused before I added, "And you were taken from your family when you were how old?"
The memory made him wince. "I was ten." His eyes flashed the memory of that pain. In the four years I'd known him he hadn't said a whole lot about losing his family, and I also didn't want to pry too much. Most had lost one or more in their family in the Rage Events before BOSAM, and I worked hard enough dealing with the loss of my parents.
I hated how these conversations about the past made George feel, but for me the knowledge that there were parts of our families and our histories floating out there was worse than seeing the ache of that void in his eyes. The uncertainty of if they were alive or not bothered me most of all. I always felt this gap in me, this void that could only be filled by their return.
George stood and grabbed our plates off the table. "All I know is the Monitors let them know what's happening, but not how to fix any of it. Way I see it, they've got more of a handle on us than before."
"We've agreed to ten years of this," I remarked. "We're halfway there."
4
The next week, I rotated to street patrols. We moved in units of six, each with pulse rifles in case of Ragers. It was hot outside, but thanks to the BOSAM issued suits we wore, we were kept comfortable for the most part. If we didn’t have these, the heat would’ve made things much harder to tolerate.
The comm radio in my helmet squawked to life with random static and some chatter from the Monitor.
I was in the middle of the pack. Maddix took the lead as we strolled down one street in our sector. The glare of the late afternoon sun found a few surfaces that reflected its little shards of light on us whenever we passed the gaps between structures.
"So is anyone gonna ask Maddix about his big date the other night?" I asked. That got a few chuckles from the others.
His eyes on the street in front of us, Maddix replied, "Oh it's like that, huh? Sia Garrett's gotta get some dirty details on my personal life?"
Wilson, next to me, remarked, "I wasn't aware we were allowed a personal life," and glared my way for a second.
I shrugged Wilson off. "Aww, come on, we have a few more hours. Let's make them interesting."
Maddix cleared his throat. "There's not a whole lot to tell. We ate, had a few drinks at the rec facility, and I showed her the penthouse."
I laughed. When Maddix referred to the "penthouse", he meant his personal quarters. Not a high luxurious penthouse. He over-exaggerated th
ings a bit; it was part of his charm. Of course, he lured more than a few women his way so at least some of them bought it.
I almost said, "Long as you had fun," but the alarm rang in our helmets and stopped us short.
The alarm was followed by a Monitor notice. "Rage Event Detected. Team Bravo 13, sector GH45. Food processing facility."
Maddix replied, "Copy, proceeding to location. Report with sitrep, out."
He waved us forward, and we took off in a trot. The HUD in our helmets activated with details on the location and the place of the Rage Event. As we neared the location, more squawks came over my comm, but this time I heard a voice. It wasn't Maddix, or anyone else in the group. Of course, what they said made no sense anyway:
"The count is the frequency... robin, sparrow, indefeasibly."
"Anyone else hear that?"
"Hear what?" Maddix barked.
"Something about a... frequency?"
Maddix replied, "Negative. Maybe bleed in from a nearby plant."
The rest hadn’t heard anything either. It didn’t matter soon anyway; the odor of the food production facility greeted us before we caught sight of it. The stench with the discards from the plant always smelled pretty rank. I imagined having to work in that kind of stench all the time would’ve made a Rager out of the most sane person.
We rounded a corner and saw the food production facility ahead. "Up ahead, shift right!" Maddix called out. "Stay close."
We proceeded in the front door of the facility into a small foyer area where the overseer greeted us. The e-tab in his large hand looked like a tiny speck. His name registered on my HUD as Mick.
Maddix asked Mick, "Any containment issues?"
Mick glanced at his e-tab. "No, no. None that I can figure. You need anything else from me?"
Maddix glanced around. "Can you seal the external doors?"
Mick checked his device again. "Uh- yes. Wait, no. Door 923 is down for maintenance. Southeast side."
Maddix looked to us. "Wilson, that's you. Nothing gets past that door, got it?"
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