by E. R. Jess
Morgan's team swept in from all sides. Silenced gunfire put the outermost people into the dirt with soundless haste. Someone screamed, people scattered. Morgan ran into the group, tearing people apart with his high-powered automatic rifle, and not pausing to look at their remains. He ran up to his target, the leader of the raid, Manet.
Morgan verified his identity via his Outernet link. Morgan leveled his rifle at Manet's head. “Manet Blanc, you're wanted by the City-State for sedition and terrorism,” Morgan barked.
Manet looked around in horror as his colleagues were being gunned down. He spat. “What the hell is this? Is this your amnesty?”
Morgan pulled his rifle butt into his shoulder and aimed down Manet's chest. “Get up,” he commanded.
Manet stood, but did not move from his spot.
Morgan yelled, “Move.”
“Young man, you might find yourself on that list some day. Remember this when that happens,” Manet said calmly. And his right hand flew over to the inside of his coat.
Morgan fired, putting several shots into Manet's chest, knocking him back. In Manet's hand was an implant, the new conforming implant, the Antikythera.
Morgan called for help. His medic injected Manet with an aerosol syringe, saving his life. “Get him to C4587,” Morgan ordered, “Eliminate the rest.”
The Core
Lucia had just gotten married to her oldest friend, Teral Von. They lived in an area of Urbania known as The Core. Now, when a story like this is normally told, you hear about them being sweethearts in school, getting engaged just out of college, and moving into a pleasant home to occupy time during their careers. Instead, this is a tragic tale. Instead, Teral and Lucia Von were born, raised, and died in The Core.
It all started one silent evening. Teral, then ten years old, an honest and honorable boy, being as honest as he had always been, told a UPC officer about one of his schoolmates crossing the first wall of The Cores outer perimeter. Teral could have sworn he was doing the right thing. All of his instructors in the learning facilities taught about telling the truth. But he had no idea what was so wrong about crossing the wall, “What’s over there?” he would ask people. “Nothing.” they would reply. “Then why do so many people want to cross?” he persisted. No answer to that question was met with any form of a positive. So he stopped asking.
He told on his friend Carlin, a boy who often dared to test the boundaries of his home. After Teral spoke with a friendly genetically engineered peace officer, his friend tried again. He never came back, and Teral got a baby brother.
It was February 23, 2072 when Teral and Lucia said their vows. They found light in each others arms. They had just gotten out of school, and met the social and physiological requirements for matrimony. Teral earned a supervisor position in the info-conductor facility he had worked at since age sixteen, and Lucia applied for a better job as a bio-synthesis tech. They had just qualified for a new home near both of their workplaces, an apartment on the negative twelfth floor. Everything was as good as possible. There was only one class in The Core, middle. Everyone had a salary cap and requirement. Everybody rode public transportation, recycled their garbage, watched UPC Online for entertainment, and slept in perfect climate controlled bedrooms. A few months passed, and the couple thought about having a child. That’s when Teral and Lucia Von grew up.
It's when they found out more about the nature of The Core. A married couple may be qualified to be temporarily removed from sterilization drug treatment in order to bear a child when a position was available. One birth per death of a Core citizen.
The Vons were told that population control was a careful process, and they were among the few who were privileged enough to live in it. They were told to work hard and they would eventually be allowed to bear a child.
Teral was lost. If he was always taught to remain honest, why had they held this from him? Until they thought he had matured? And what pained him the most, the whisper that wouldn’t leave his mind, he was born because someone died.
“I was born because someone died.” Teral, still in his black recycled fabric suit, stood in front of his mirror and was talking to himself. Lucia was working late, though he was not by any means alone.
He got a brother just about when his friend Carlin disappeared. He felt sick with guilt, and fell into a deep confused depression.
Lucia came home to see him with his head in his hands and elbows on the sink. She asked him what was wrong, he replied in reassuring words and in well practiced tones that there was nothing wrong. Teral could see another place, a city on the other side of the wall where Carlin and all his friends and family that he had lost over the years were. That outside of The Core was a safe place for everyone to live.
The immense social experiment known as The Core was the model for UPC's City-State. It was used to test the practicality and effectiveness of conforming, and to observe the effects of people living in such controlled conditions.
Wires in the Free City found some of the research footage of The Core, of Teral Von losing his mind. It was accompanied by narration:
As you can see from the footage taken from the Vons' bathroom mirror, and then the living room vector cam, the husband suffered a systematic loss of cognitive reason, and acted on misdirected anger and confusion, killing his wife and then himself.
By the time the story came out, UPC was dividing up the Free City and City-State. Urbania was restructured so that the elite could live in prosperity and the rest of society would have to make a living off of the ruined remains. The Core was absorbed into the City-State.
The discovery of the footage was the most important event of Kagan's time. That video came in two forms, one partially virtual. Everywhere, normal citizens watched the boring clips of the Vons' perfect life. Watched them walk around in computer generated simulations of what real life should be. Thirty-seven blocks. Exactly one million people. Always.
The Free City, at the time trying to sort out its own governments and fighting amongst itself, was not ready for what was found. Watching as Teral tore apart his wife bare-fisted. Being there as each blow bruised and broke the young woman. Smelling the sweat off of Teral's forehead. Seeing the blood swim through the air. Feeling the pieces of Lucia's scalp tear off under his nails. Millions caught their breath when Teral smashed a dark red fist into and through his mirror, and saw the vector cameras. Everyone, everywhere screamed when he dragged the glass across his arms.
It was addictive, like some violent porn fetish. Crowds of rioters would project it on the sides of buildings. During the purge, The Core was brought up as the prime example of why UPC didn't have the moral authority to assert its will. It was a new national anthem.
It was a general consensus that the Core experiment had run long after the events in the recording and that UPC had done, and continued to do, far worse. The people of the carefully controlled City-State, however, were never able to view the footage of Teral and his wife. Even if they had seen it, the conformity would make them change the channel.
0
The lake bed was a graveyard for ships. Pleasure boats and cargo vessels lay on their sides out in an expansive plain. Cracked earth and canyons of mud splintered the valley. The pacifists worked their way along a treacherous shore.
Kagan and Eight were feeling physically better. The mood of everyone was dim, but the prospect of the path ahead kept them positive. They were to circle the bottom half of the lake and travel through an industrial sector known as TerraOne, the remnants of a factory park designed to be self-sufficient. Shades of The Core, was the first thing on everyones minds. From there, the steep turn north.
They were able to travel a little longer than usual with the help of Vorn's UA-X. The younger and older folks didn't have to march the entire way, they were able to trade places in the old troop transport occasionally. The next camp they made utilized a series of over-sized concrete pipes strewn in a chaotic pattern. The pipes were large enough for the UA-X to roll in, and more
than large enough to provide good shelter.
Sam had the privilege to distribute some of the new supplies from the ill-fated town of Noble. She handed Alessa a toiletries kit, at which Alessa nearly broke down into tears. Everyone received travel-sized bottles of soap and shampoo. They felt like real civilized people for a while after that.
“I guess I should have brought my suitcase,” Makz said to Eight as he tugged at his clothes. They stood by a small fire in an upright pipe.
“Sam has some clothes, even some armor,” Eight replied.
Makz leaned against the curved wall and got comfortable. “I'll keep that in mind,” he said absently, kicking the ground and acting casual.
“What do you want, Makz?” Eight asked.
“Well, you can mess around in people's brains, right?”
Eight sighed a little, “Something like that.”
“Then I could use a little help. I got this implant that messes with my emotions. I like the way I am, but I would also like to see if someone can't reset this damn thing,” Makz said.
Eight crossed his arms, “Makz, look, I know you Pulse, or would if you could find any, but you're out of luck. What you're going to ask me is if I can make your brain release more of its natural chemicals to simulate a Pulse high. That's Jenna's department. I don't know how to hack into your implant.”
Makz laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, “See, you're the man I need to talk to. You're in there, in my head, and I bet you know more about me than I do.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Eight replied.
“Right. But in addition to the implant, I got this mental conditioning. When I was a security officer they went in and covered up a bunch of memories. Think you can root them out?” Makz asked.
“Sometimes it's better to keep memories where they are,” Eight said coldly.
“Makes sense. Just do me favor, could you read the memory and tell me whether or not I want to know it?” Makz inquired with a small amount of pleading in his voice.
“Makz,” Eight began, “You don't have to stay with us, you're not our prisoner. I know you think everything we're about is bullshit and we're sick of hearing it. Don't act like you want me to fix your head to get on my good side.”
“I guess you know all the angles,” Makz said, disappointed.
Eight rolled his eyes. He stood upright and said, “Fine, just try to be less of an asshole. Hold still.” Eight began to delve Makz. He sorted through his memories, looking for ones he had not previously seen. He raised his eyebrow at one in particular. “You worked for The Elder.”
“Yeah, not the best employer, never really met him,” Makz said.
“You were going to kill him. Couldn't do that job either, I see,” Eight said, simply to annoy Makz.
“Yes, now find the memories I don't remember,” Makz said sarcastically.
Eight wove around in his mind for a while. He didn't see anything new. Violent past and present. Addictions and vices abound. If he had any mental conditioning, Eight was convinced it was either well done or already faded. “Makz, your mind is clear. Your conscience, however, that I can't help.”
“Thanks doc,” replied Makz, “So how are you feeling since that town? Headaches gone?” Makz asked, making small talk.
“I'm sorry, I don't know how to explain this nicely, there is nothing that you could possibly say that would lead to an interesting or informing conversation. I could guess what you're going to say every day for a week from now,” Eight said, rubbing his eyes.
Makz gave a mock salute and left saying, “Thanks anyway.”
Jenna ran into Makz outside. She turned up the pleasure center of his brain to allow a quick wash of chemicals. Makz caught his breath and grinned ear to ear. “Hello to you too,” he said to her.
“Any luck?” she asked with a smile.
“Yeah, Eight didn't detect anything out of the ordinary. Or at least he didn't say he did. Are you going to tell me what this is all about? I passed your test,” Makz said impatiently.
Jenna eased his pleasure dosage up slightly. “Yes, good dogs get bones. I want you to keep an eye on Alessa. If the group splits up or there's trouble, I want you to be near her at all times. If you see an opportunity, like if the group is attacked, I want you to take her.”
Makz looked shocked. “And what do you want me to do with your darling sister-clone?”
“When the time comes, I want you to take her to a secure place. I'll tell you more later,” Jenna said gravely.
“She has something you want. What is it?” Makz asked half-heartedly.
“We will run into trouble by the time we get to TerraOne, I've been monitoring the Outernet there. You will keep her safe and do as I say,” Jenna said, ignoring his question.
“Sure boss,” Makz said, “And what if these folks give me trouble?”
Jenna laughed inwardly, “They're pacifists, Makz, what kind of trouble do you expect?”
“Well, one of these pacifists can kick my ass without blinking. And besides, they're not bad people, dumb as all hell, but they keep to themselves and don't cause any trouble. I usually don't mess with people like that.”
Jenna's face twisted with rage. She pulled three fingers across the air and made a fist. The somatic commands sent Makz's implant reeling. He heard a high-pitched squeal and his skin felt like it was on fire. “Snap the fuck out it. I hired you because you are a remorseless killer. Not because of your street smarts or how fast you are with a gun. I hired you because you are a sociopath, a sociopath who happens to have a built-in leash. Just get this done and you'll never see me again.”
Makz grit his teeth. He lowered himself to the dirt. “And why am I not killing you in your sleep?” he asked angrily.
“That's an easy one,” Jenna replied, “Do that and you'll be stuck just like this for as long as your body can stand it. Without me around to tune your implant every few hours, you'll be trying to dig it out with a spoon.”
“Not bad, Jenna,” Makz said, “you're not a helpless little girl anymore.”
0
In a turn for the worse, Kagan began speaking nonsense. His memories were coming back to him jumbled up and twisted. He lay by a fire with a fever and a wild look in his eyes. The Antikythera program seemed to be letting his mind fend for itself as it fought a new series of infections in his body.
Sam and Alessa watched over him, taking turns to keep him fed and keep his fever down. Eight and Jenna were called to help, but Eight couldn't do anything. He stared blankly into Kagan's mind and found the chaotic mess. He debated wiping his mind and starting over, but Eight was in no shape to attempt that again. Jenna said she still had no luck hacking into his implant. Kagan was on his own.
Dernen entered, looking over the familiar sight; his friends worrying over Kagan. He choked up briefly, having a hard time with the stress.
Sam said, “We can do little but wait. Kagan's immunity problems are causing trouble for the program. AVID is a tough disease. I guess the implant is not perfect.”
“No owner's manual came with the thing?” Jenna asked incredulously.
Alessa's eyes went wide. “No, but there might be one. What if we could get into the City-State and find the information we want?” she asked to the room.
Eight gave a hard smile. “Wrong direction, among other problems.”
“Not directly, by way of the Outernet,” Alessa said to Jenna.
Jenna shook her head, “Not possible. There's a steep difference between the Outernet still active out here in the Free City and the one in the City-State. Manifest is hard as hell to get around safely. It's worlds apart and really difficult to hack into. Even if I could, I'd be found immediately.”
Sam added, “And we'd be found shortly after you.”
“But not me. I was a citizen. I bet I can enter their Outernet and find what we're looking for. My bar code is still active, is it not?” Alessa asked, excited.
Dernen replied, “Active yes, but what if you're on some kind of
list, like a Redlist for people who have left the City-State and beat the conforming process. Your digital semblance would be discovered and tracked to its source.”
Jenna paused them, “Actually, this may work. Every citizen has a standard issue avatar to represent themselves. Alessa's would become active and she'd just be another face in the crowd. She might be on a list, but her avatar is simply a shell standing lifeless somewhere in the Outernet waiting for use. I'm telling you, no one would know or care.”
Sam said, “You wouldn't know where to look. The City-State is huge, Outernet or not, and we don't know who built this implant, where they built it.”
Dernen cursed and said, “We have, and many have, underestimated UPC before. Our arguments have always been that UPC and UCM are too big to see one person. We always pay for this ignorance.”
Alessa answered, “We have to risk it. Kagan is getting worse.”
“Then we should prepare your data port. I doubt it's been used in a while,” Jenna said, fishing out cables from her pockets.
“No,” Eight said at once, “not that way.”
Alessa smiled and nodded, “He's right. I'm not ready for that.”
“I don't see why. It would be easier,” Jenna said.
Eight answered, “We've spent the last year culling her memories free in a careful process. Hooking her up to an interface could negate all of our work. It could reset her for all we know.”
“That's superstition. It amazes me that so many people think that UPC is some great specter that is everywhere at once and can control our minds with some great switchboard,” Jenna mocked.
Dernen chimed in, “Kagan would seem to prove that.”
Jenna shrugged, “Not quite the same, but I understand,” She turned to Alessa, “You'd have to use my interface suit, it fits me, so it'll fit you. And you'll need a crash course on the Outernet,” Jenna said.
“I don't remember much about the City-State, I might get lost. I'm still trying to get it all back,” Alessa said.