Chapter Twenty-Four
The Chairperson
Chantel had been held in isolation for what seemed like hours. She knew that a faceless hoard of people were watching her every movement and remote sensors were tracking her brainwaves and blood pressure as she repeated her reasons again and again for spitting on the Chairperson’s image.
“No, I do not mean the Chairperson any disrespect,” she repeated calmly. “On the contrary, I came here to deliver a message for the Chairperson that is too important to be passed on second-hand. I need to speak to the Chairperson directly. Very serious breaches of the Human Integrity Act have occurred that the Chairperson needs to be informed about. I won’t go into the details at this stage but from what I have witnessed, I think an investigation needs to be launched immediately.”
Chantel repeated her diatribe to each person that interviewed her with tact and honesty. She had felt terrible for defiling the Chairperson of Pangaea and apologised profusely for going to such lengths to attract attention. However, she knew that it was the only avenue available to her to get the opportunity to speak to the Chairperson. Finally there was a breakthrough. A person who identified themself as a representative from the Chairperson’s office visited Chantel in her room and upon hearing of what she had to say, immediately demanded Chantel’s release. Chantel breathed a sigh of relief and followed this person through the back corridors of the Parliament building into what she imagined must be the Chairperson’s office.
The office was situated in what appeared to be the prime location at the very top of Parliament tower. Heavily tinted windows deflecting the heat and glare of the powerful sun kept the room at a pleasant temperature, despite the searing warmth radiating above at this altitude. The décor of the setting was tasteful and not too regal, belying a preference for aesthetics that aligned with the importance of the office without betraying an excess of grandeur. Various official looking projections of the Chairperson posing with other similarly unrecognisable dignitaries adorned the shelves and tables along with elaborate plaques and memorabilia, no doubt gifts from other members of the global five. As the last of the sun’s rays disappeared behind the vertical shutters of never-ending skyscrapers that lined the outskirts of Shanghai metropolis’ horizon, Chantel slumped exhausted into one of the elaborate, firmly-cushioned chairs located opposite to the seat of the Chairperson.
It was hard for her to believe that she was seated in the office of the Chairperson of the World, a place that seemed so remote to her from the satellite metropolis of Sydney. She thought about all the life changing decisions that had been made in that chair, the cordoning off of the various zones, the advent of new technologies such as the chip implant and the hologram viewer, the alliances that were struck between various members of the global five to retain their control of the world. Before this moment, Chantel had been acutely aware of the damage that she was about to wreak upon Utopia’s reputation. She looked around her at the various artefacts displaying the emblems of the global five. Utopia’s symbol, an emblazoned cloud with sun streaking through its silver lined edges, seemed prominently displayed among the collection of items on display. Chantel felt a pang of doubt about what she was about to do. What if the Chairperson did not believe her? What if Pangaea was dependent upon Utopia for its support in the global Parliament and to reveal this secret would upset the delicate balance at stake between the main corporations of the world? Just when she had finally reached the capital and was about to speak to the Chairperson about the issue, Chantel felt a surge of panic about whether the global regime would actually pay credence to her word, particularly when to do so would change the entire dynamic of the government.
She looked around for the stern-faced ministerial representative that had escorted her to the Chairperson’s office. Perhaps she could get an idea from that person about whether the Chairperson was likely to believe her story. Just when the niggling feelings of uncertainty were starting to pervade Chantel’s belief in her mission, the door of the office opened and Chantel found herself face to face with the Chairperson. Like the image in the projections, the Chairperson was as generic a person as could be. Chantel found herself induced into a greeting that was perfectly balanced between warmth and hostility, an introduction that seemed to suggest the other person was neither friend nor foe. She observed the Chairperson’s flawless porcelain skin and cropped brown hair, tightly adhering to a slim but muscular frame which fit comfortably into an immaculately manicured pinstriped suit.
‘This person is such a perfect human being they could be an android,’ thought Chantel, before dispelling such thoughts about the Chairperson from her mind.
Out of nowhere, Chantel suddenly felt that she would have to be careful about what thoughts entered her mind in this vicinity. Then on second thought, she dispelled such notions was fanciful.
‘It must be Beren’s paranoia rubbing off on me,’ she dismissed.
The Chairperson certainly did not exude the affableness that Chantel had felt when she met Julie or Auntie Bessie; but nonetheless she felt she could trust the Chairperson.
“I have been told that you would like to tell me something important,” remarked the Chairperson. “And that you thought the best way of doing that was to spit on me.”
Chantel felt, at that moment, like she could break into a million pieces from shame.
“It wasn’t out of lack of respect,” she stammered. “I just—“
The Chairperson disregarded her utterances with the wave of a delicate hand.
“It was an ingenuous tactic and one that I’m impressed you came up with Chantel. I can see that you are truly Pangaea material.”
Chantel sat back in her chair, relaxed at having received affirmation from her highest superior.
“So you want to tell me something about Utopia, do you?”
And with that leading question, the Chairperson directed Chantel to convey her story. Chantel nervously told the Chairperson about her journey across the oceans to Freetown and the facility of slaves. She described the callousness of the Creator and the complacency of the guards about the way in which the purebloods were used. She recounted the facts of the events without embellishment or elaboration as the Chairperson listened, emotionlessly engaged in every word. The eyes of the Chairperson were so intently focussed on Chantel as she spoke that she truncated the story to only those details which took place in Freetown, wanting to get the information out as soon as possible. When the Chairperson finally spoke, she found herself unable to answer any of the questions asked.
“What nerve did the Creator isolate to control the purebloods?”
“How long had the Creator been working in Freetown?”
“Where were the other locations of the generators?”
Just when Chantel was starting to feel distressed about her inability to answer any of the Chairperson’s queries, she remembered the recording she had taken on her hard drive.
“I have footage,” she beamed. “I almost forgot! I recorded hologram footage of our meeting with the Creator. It’s on my hard drive implant.”
The Creator’s eyes lit up.
“Why, that’s perfect. Would we be able to do an extraction to access that footage?”
Chantel nodded vigorously, relieved that she was able to appease the Chairperson in this regard by providing evidence of Utopia’s wrongdoing. The Chairperson made a communicator call to the stern-faced assistant who appeared instantaneously at the door to the office.
“She needs to have an extraction performed,” the Chairperson ordered, to which the advisor simply nodded and beckoned for Chantel to follow.
Chantel followed the representative out of the office, down a corridor and into another room in which a sturdy surgical chair was the centrepiece, much like the CCC. Chantel saw the stylus tool and various other microchips sitting on the bench next to the chair and remembered the process that she had been through on the Kazaa. She hopped into the chair and tilted her head back, waiting to f
eel the contact of the stylus touching her head. That was the last thing Chantel remembered.
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When Chantel awoke, the stern-faced assistant was nowhere to be seen. Chantel sat upright in the chair and looked around the deserted room. She had no idea how long she had been asleep for, all she knew was that her head was throbbing like a chunk had been taken out of it. She jumped out of the chair, immediately regretting the effect of the sudden movement, and poked her head into the hallway to see who was around. As she raised her hand to her head to massage her temples, that’s when she felt it. Bandages were wrapped around her head securing a wad of padding where her chip should have been. When she placed her fingers on the padding, Chantel could feel the stinging sensation indicating that an open wound lay beneath the bandages. Chantel screamed. They had taken her chip.
Chantel reeled in horror at the realisation that all her intellectual property had been removed from her skull. It was then that she caught a glimpse of herself in the metallic surface of the workbench. As she suspected, her head was wrapped in bloodied bandages which explained the reason for her aching head. What she hadn’t expected was the monstrosity of her reflection. Half the hair on her head had been shaven, bearing a lopsided looking skull that was smudged and stained with the marks of her own blood. Her hair, her beautiful long, brown, wavy hair clung to only half of her scalp; the other half was gruesomely exposed underneath a crude layer of stubble. With trembling fingers she started to unravel the clumsily bound bandages, knowing already what they were covering. As the last of the dressing fell away, Chantel gasped when she saw the gaping hole in her head. She let out an almighty wail of pain and disbelief that would have resonated throughout the corridors and attracted the attention of anyone in the nearby vicinity. But there was no response.
When no one came, Chantel stumbled down the corridor like a deranged being, sobbing as much from pain as from the loss of her hair and hard drive chip. She burst into the Chairperson’s office in a jumble of blood and tears.
“What have you done to me?” she cried.
Both the Chairperson and the advisor were unperturbed by Chantel’s dramatic entrance. She could see that they were looking at the contents of her hard drive chip. The recording taken of the Creator’s laboratory was displayed on a projector screen.
“What do you mean?” the Chairperson replied calmly. “We just gave you an extraction like we said we would. Don’t worry, we’ll put a new chip on the other side of your head so you won’t even need to be without a Pangaea chip for long.”
“An extraction just involves copying the files, not taking them from me,” bellowed Chantel adamantly, her tears flowing freer than ever as a result of the Chairperson’s indifference.
“Chantel, don’t you ever read your licence terms before you agree to them? Of course we take the chip. That’s the whole point of an extraction. You have valuable intellectual property on this hard drive chip and we can’t risk that getting into anybody’s hands. That’s why our agreements always give us the right to remove the implants at any time. This is what you agreed to Chantel, didn’t you know that?”
Chantel was speechless. Like any person with a chip implant, Chantel had never thought that they could actually be removed. If any downloads needed to be retrieved from the hard drive, Chantel assumed that they could simply be transferred without the need to isolate the hardware. Why was it so important that the Chairperson remove the Freetown footage from her head?
“This is impressive material,” the Chairperson praised. “Really Chantel, you exceeded all expectations by going all the way to the other end of the earth to see the Creator.”
Shivers ran down Chantel’s spine.
“And killing him for us as well. That was just a bonus. Still, I always believed in you my dear.”
Chantel felt her nerves chill and muscles tense as the Chairperson continued.
“We thought it would be a long shot. From all your employee reports you were always described as very compliant and diligent. Great for an employee of course, but we had bigger plans for you. You were the only one we could depend on, the only one that Beren would trust to go along with him. And he was the one we needed to break the Creator’s code.”
Chantel’s mind went numb. Could it be that this whole time she had been nothing more than a pawn in Pangaea’s gameplay for corporate espionage? Were they really just trying to get to Beren this whole time?
“But, but,” she choked. “Utopia…what they were doing…how could you allow something like that in this world? Isn’t it illegal?”
As soon as she whispered these words, she realised she was speaking to someone to whom the laws did not matter.
“Dear sweet Chantel, the laws are one thing but power is another. Laws only serve a purpose as long as people care enough to uphold them. Regardless of what the laws is, whoever makes the power, keeps the power in this world. We couldn’t have Utopia firing up these slave-run generators and taking over the world. Thank goodness their crazy Creator was only obsessed with using his programs for this purpose. Who knows what else they could have done with the technology they had? No matter, our teams have already been dispatched to Freetown to salvage what information they can get from the Creator’s creations. The guards that you left to languish in the wasteland didn’t expect Pangaea to rescue them that’s for sure. Good thing for us too because they were all too willing to give us what we wanted and divulge Utopia’s secrets. All they wanted in return was a decent drink and to get the hell out of the place.”
Chantel could not believe her ears. How long had Pangaea known about Utopia and the Creator? What did they intend to do with the mind control technology the Creator had invented? The force of Pangaea’s betrayal weighed down upon her now like a ton of bricks. She asked the question that she dreaded to hear the answer to.
“Why would you want technology that turns people into slaves?”
The Chairperson was nonchalant in his response.
“Why wouldn’t we want this technology? Think of all the things we could persuade people to buy if we could tap into this pleasure nerve. Think of how happy everyone would be with their lot in life. There wouldn’t be any illegal migration, all the jobs that need doing would get done and best of all, there would be no complaints. Remember Chantel, what's good for Pangaea is good for the world. We can make the world a better place by imposing happiness on everyone. The Creator was really an all-round genius for coming up with this solution. Thank goodness we had you and Beren to weasel it out of him. All those guards we bribed for the footage were really just hopeless individuals. Luckily there aren’t many people out there that can outsmart Beren. We’ll need him for the next stage of our operations.”
Chantel’s heart pounded when she realised that it was Beren Pangaea had been after the whole time; Beren, who she hoped was still sitting on the Saharan out in Shanghai harbour; Beren, who she would have to get a message to as soon as she could to warn him to leave. Her mind raced with the need to get Beren away from Pangaea and stop him becoming part of their plan for evil. The Chairperson quickly destroyed any hope she had of doing that.
“Oh, thankfully, we have Beren now. You led us to him as well so thank you for that Chantel. We’ve been tracking you this entire time through your hard drive chip.”
The Chairperson flicked to another projection screen which showed Beren, sitting confused and angry, isolated in a room much like the one in which she had her extraction performed. Chantel felt a swell of anger that Pangaea had kidnapped her best friend. She wished she had spat on the Chairperson now and summoning up all the internal rage she could fathom walked up to the Chairperson and did exactly that, right in the eye.
Chantel’s blood was reaching boiling point at this stage. She expected some sort of reaction from the Chairperson for her impudence – a hint of anger, an act of aggression, a stern rebuke. Nothing. The Chairperson calmly took out a cloth and wiped the saliva away, while the advisor grabbed Chan
tel in a vice grip and dragged her kicking and screaming from the office. Chantel could feel the smooth, artificial touch of the assistant’s skin against her own. The ministerial representative was an android.
Pangaea Page 24