by JM Butcher
“Okay, I’m going to upload a few episodes of night thoughts that we have decided best represent your mother. A couple are from the past and one is more recent.” Hayden walks back to the computer station. As he strikes buttons with his fingers, he says, “Here we go.”
Yes, here we go. I wonder which Tara Gordon I am going to get.
Will it be Mom or will it be Mother or will it be a complete stranger?
Chapter 16
Feed 66:
Update: The package was received. Stage II in progress. I kept my promise. Keep yours.
Out.
-Anonymous, 15 October, 2040
Just like I saw Sophia’s face during the first go-around, an image of Mother appears in my head. She hasn’t aged much. Her hair is shorter than I remember, barely covering her ears. Her bangs neatly cover her forehead and nearly reach her nicely groomed eyebrows.
I recognize the dimple. The dimple she passed on to me. And her perfectly white smile. That’s all that’s left of Mom. The rest is Mother. Tara Gordon.
I thought that when I saw Mother’s picture I would cry. After all, I cry over everything else. I don’t cry, though; I am unaffected. The person I see is a stranger, not a loved one. It’s difficult to have emotions for someone I don’t know at all.
Even the voice that transmits her thoughts into my mind is unfamiliar. Mom’s voice was soft, kind, comforting. Mother’s is rough and unfriendly—commanding, even.
She isn’t worth my emotions.
I have a vision that one day we as a people will come together. We won’t have to bear the throes of this unfair, hypocritical nation. A nation operating
under imperialist lust—both abroad and at home.
Abroad, we kill. We steal. We conquer. We take lives and break up families. We annihilate culture and decimate communities. In the name of what?
War? War is the apparatus we use to dominate, control, and contain.
The term “foreign terrorism”: nothing other than ploy to scare people. A ploy to make money and assert power. Did Saudi Arabia ever threaten us? Or did we use the name “War of Saudi Aggression” as some sort of justification for killing thousands, maybe millions? We’re given no proof. We’re just given fear.
Fear. One nation under fear. Fear is God. If we still used physical currency, the slogan “In Fear We Trust” should be printed on it.
At home, we kill. We steal. We conquer. We take lives and break up families. We annihilate freedom and decimate civil rights. We deport and chip. In the name of what? Patriotism? Safety? Patriotism and safety are distractions we use to dominate, control, and contain. The true opiates of the populous.
The United States of America now is a Republic, under the false pretense that these United Republics of America are fair, equal, and united.
Let’s be honest. There really is only one republic. The Union. The Union and its exploited territories with exploited peoples and exploited resources. If an individual doesn’t fit in with the Union’s agenda, they’re gone!
Our nation, once believed to be founded on pure and virtuous principles, is now represented by hatred and terror. It makes me wonder if pure and virtuous principles ever truly existed, or if we’ve always been a country of the powerful few and the rest.
It’s the same abroad and at home.
We cannot stand for this!
I’m new to the whole night thinking thing, but I’m fairly certain night thoughts should not sound so scripted. They’re supposed to be scattered. Billy described jumping from algebra to girl problems back to algebra. Sophia jumped from her parents to the Keepers to the Home back to her parents. And my thoughts have been a straight-up mess.
Mother’s thoughts are organized. They’re linear. It’s more like she’s preparing a speech than randomly thinking.
I consider three explanations for her scripted thoughts. One: Mother did rehearse her thoughts because she knew she’d be sending them out. Two: Jack’s computer programs have already synthesized her thoughts into a narrative. Three: Mother is so extraordinary that she has the power to control her thoughts.
All three options are plausible, but this is not what I was hoping for. I don’t see how any of this brings Mother to me. The organic, personal, and powerful nature of night thoughts is nonexistent.
To resist and reverse the hatred and terror that our nation breathes as natural life, we must fight back. We must unite!
Not as a state, not as a republic, not even as a nation. We must unite as a people! A people with common goals: freedom, equality, opportunity, happiness.
We’ve heard these goals before. The government claims our nation is based on these four goals. Based on their actions, though, it is quite the opposite.
Freedom here is not free.
Equality here is far from equal.
Opportunity is a distraction.
And who here is actually happy?
So what do we do?
We unite! We make these goals a reality. We have to fight. We have to resist. We have to struggle. We have to revolt!
I’m not sure what I was expecting from this little experiment, but I certainly wasn’t expecting to be a part of a pep rally. Jack could’ve given me this same speech. Hell, I’d be more inspired by the political rant if Olivia was going off on Ms. Tatum. That would be entertaining.
Did Jack think that bogus night thoughts would be effective since they’re coming from Mother? From a stranger?
Was I expecting that hearing about Mother would help me remember her? That it would make her Mom? That it would make me feel like I’m part of a family again?
Am I really that foolish?
Jack has no intention of bringing Mother closer to me. His agenda is pretty clear—convince me to help him. I only hope that Hayden didn’t play a role in this phony operation.
Revolutions are not always peaceful. The government loves the passive. The silent, friendly protesters. The loud, yet peaceful protesters. They love signs.
These forms of revolution are great for media. They’re great for the peace of mind for the people on the protest lines. They can feel like they’re doing something worthwhile. And it’s great for our fascist leaders, who don’t have to get out of their chairs to watch the protesters slowly scatter to their suburban homes when it’s dinner time.
Who isn’t it great for? The others. The majority. The workers. The ones who look different or act different or love different or pray different from what is considered “expected” and “natural” and “normal.”
It’s not great for the youth.
The youth is the future. The youth is what will change the nation. But how can that happen if they can’t vote? If they can’t live? If they can’t even come together with one another because youths in groups are dangerous to these false notions of “expected” and “natural” and “normal.”
We should expect love and unity and freedom and equality and opportunity. And happiness. That’s natural. That’s normal.
We are normal!
To get what we as human beings deserve, we cannot be apathetic. We cannot sit idly by. We must act.
If silence doesn’t work, we talk.
If talking doesn’t work, then we scream.
If screaming doesn’t work, then we fight.
Peaceful action is ideal, but when has the ideal succeeded?
When have signs provoked change?
If violence is what is necessary, then we use violence.
We are already marginalized, already outcasts. Even if not labeled by the law as such, we are all Unfavorables.
We can only gain favor by demanding favor. By fighting for favor.
If this means we are Transgressors, then so be it.
Let’s show them true transgression.
I can see why the resistance admires her. She’s convincing. She’s even inspiring. But this isn’t even Mother. This is Tara Gordon. That’s what I asked Jack for—to hear the tale of the Tara Gordon. The heroic Transgressor.
I wasn’t careful about what I wished for. This isn’t Jack’s or Hayden’s fault; it’s my own. My naiveté got the best of me. It’s time to grow up.
My daughter was taken from home yesterday. My Maggie.
My husband was shot. My son Tyler left an orphan.
Times like these make me question my life decisions. Should I not have left my family? Should I have drastically altered their futures? Should I have given up my duties as a mother?
This proves she’s alive. But “my Maggie”? Now, I’m her Maggie? I’ll never be her Maggie.
She just admitted that she voluntarily left us. The Gray Coats didn’t get her after all. But Jack said the eyepatches was a new thing. He must have lied.
Or, he was lied to.
Why would Jack want me to see this? Why does he want me to know that Mother intentionally left?
All for what?
For freedom! For equality! For opportunity! For happiness!
The truth is that I don’t regret my decisions. Times like these really just fire me up more. They make me more committed to our cause.
If the government wants to take my daughter because she’s an Unfavorable, because she’s a potential threat, and because her mother is a Transgressor, then so be it. They’ll get what’s coming for them!
Because I was taken by the government? What? If Tara Gordon is really what everyone says she is, then she knows the government didn’t take me. There’s no way. Jack may not think much about my intelligence, but he’s not so stupid to think I wouldn’t catch this.
Why would her night thoughts suggest that I was? Is she convincing herself that the Gray Coats took me? What is her end game here?
What is Jack’s end game?
Fight with me! All of you! Take to the streets!
Pick and choose wisely, but the Coats must go down. The government must go down. The colluding corporations must go down. Any accomplices must go down.
Help me avenge my daughter!
No! Don’t do it for me. Don’t do it for her. Do it for your moms and dads! Do it for your brothers and sisters! Do it for your friends! Do it for you!
For our freedom. For our equality. For our opportunity. For our happiness.
I have a lot to do this for. Now, my Maggie is another reason!
“Stop!” I yell. “Get this off of me! Now, Hayden! Now!” I don’t cry. I don’t tremble. I don’t shake. I don’t struggle. I just yell. It’s a command. “Let me out of this now!”
The machine stops and the restraints release me. I immediately jump out of my chair.
“You bastard!” I call Hayden. “What was that? That isn’t Mother! That’s not Mother! That’s not my mom! You’re a liar!”
I fall to my knees, and the trembling begins. The trembling is followed by tears and wails. “That’s not my mom. Not my mommy. What was that? You said I could trust you.” It’s not until I notice that my hands are starting to swell in pain when I stop hitting the floor.
Hayden reaches out his hand to help me up. “It’s okay, Maggie. Let me help you up.”
I stand up, but not with his help. Wiping my tears away with the back of my hands, I continue my verbal assault on Hayden. “You are a jerk. No better than Jack. How could you do this to me? You said you’d show me Mom. Not some scripted speech! You’re a liar! Get away from me!”
I pound his chest until he pulls my head to his heart. Just like when I first met him. I don’t feel safe in his arms like I did then, but I feel too powerless to do anything other than let him stroke my hair and tell me everything is all right.
Following a minute or two of no talking, Hayden says, “That is your mother.”
“No!” I push him away. “That is a terrorist. That is a woman who abandoned her family to go on some secret mission. That is a Transgressor who chose violence and hate over the love of her family.”
“You already knew all of that, right?” Hayden asks. “You just wanted it confirmed. That’s why you wanted us to tell you about her. Well, that’s her. That’s Tara Gordon.”
I blush and look to the ground. What Hayden says is one hundred percent accurate. I already knew she abandoned me. I hoped that she was taken and didn’t just leave. But ever since these people talked her up like a hero, I knew that it was her choice not to come back—whether arrested or not. She could’ve come back.
I say, “She is a liar, using her daughter to manipulate others to join her cause. That’s the idol you all are following? Why would you even show me that? Why would you show her to be a liar?
“I’m sorry, Maggie,” Hayden says. I let him hug me. “At least now you know what she’s been up to. You have some memory of her.”
I violently release myself from the embrace. “No, I don’t have memories of her. Don’t act like I’m dumb. Those weren’t thoughts. Those were well-rehearsed speeches. You uploaded my brain with Transgressor propaganda.”
Hayden stares at me with a blank face. Maybe he does think I’m that dumb.
I say, “Either you synthesized her thoughts or she sent them like this. But all that organic thought crap you preach about is not what that was.”
“That’s what we have,” Hayden replies. “I guess we don’t really know her. We only know what she lets us know. I guess you’re right.”
I can’t tell if Hayden believes what he’s saying, or if he’s trying to reel me back into his whole trust thing. I don’t really care.
“Erase it,” I say.
“Huh?” Hayden doesn’t expect this. “Erase what?”
“Erase what you uploaded. Those are going to be a part of me, right? Well, I don’t want them. I don’t want her in my chip. She’s not me and I don’t want to be her.” I climb back onto the chair. “Strap me in and let’s erase it.”
“Get down from there,” Hayden pleads, reaching out his hand. “Even if you wanted me to, I can’t.”
“Get Jack. Jack can, right?” I start strapping myself in.
Hayden removes any restraints I have managed to put on me. “We can talk to him together. Come on, Maggie. But we can’t erase them without deleting your whole brain.”
“What?” I ask. “That deletion stuff is real?”
“Yes,” Hayden says.
“And Jack as the power to do it?”
“Yes,” Hayden says again.
The thought of deletion brings goosebumps to my arms and legs. “Why can’t you just erase that part of the chip? And not my whole brain?”
Hayden sighs and puts his hand on the back of his head. He’s nervous. “I mean, I guess we can remove that data from your chip, but her thoughts will still be in your brain. You won’t forget them. Just like you won’t forget Sophia’s. Unless you go through a deletion sweep.”
“You sure about that?” I ask. “People forget things all of the time.”
“Not uploaded thoughts, Maggie,” Hayden says, “Once uploaded, your brain essentially downloads them. That’s the way the brain works.”
“And you never told me this?” I turn around and kick the chair. My throbbing shin lets me know I lost that battle.
“I thought it was a given,” he replies.
I’m not buying what Hayden says. He didn’t tell me for a reason, just like Jack didn’t tell me for a reason.
“Well, it wasn’t!” I retort. “Whatever. Where’s Jack? Let’s go talk to him. I’ve got a few words for him.” I head for the door without waiting for Hayden.
Second time getting thoughts installed into my mind. Second time I run out.
As I’m making my ascent up the dark, narrow stairwell, Hayden’s voice echoes through the tunnel. “He’s gone. We’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
I don’t reply, and he doesn’t come after me. I hope he consciously decided to give me space out of respect, but I suspect he’s not following me because he has to turn off all of the equipment.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but I feel betrayed.
***
I’m puzzled as to why Jack isn’t in tonight.
I understand why he’d choose Hayden to run the upload by himself, but I figure that Jack would be anxious to speak with me immediately after. In case the upload was a disaster, which it was, he’d want to be here for damage control.
I also told Jack I was willing to help. If we are scheduled to start tomorrow, he should be here to prep me tonight. It’s the logical thing to do. Oh well.
I walk past Jack’s office to the door that leads to the outside world. For no real reason, I decide to confirm that it is locked. But it’s not. It’s cracked open. It’s as if someone left it open on purpose. I don’t question why this would be; I just continue to the circular door on the ceiling. It’s cracked open as well. This makes me a little bit curious. Maybe someone else is outside.
Exiting the compound, I scan the riverbank. Nobody appears to be out here. I made sure to leave both doors open so that I can get back in.
It’s actually a little creepy outside. Ominous clouds blanket the stars and roll across the sky. The clouds are thin enough for the outline of the half-moon to peek through, but not enough for the moonlight to reflect off of the motionless river. Skyscrapers provide enough light for me to see where I’m going.
I walk to the edge of the cement dock and sit down, letting my legs dangle above the Cuyahoga. There’s a small of pile stones next to me. After investigation, I see that none are flat enough to be good skipping rocks, so I don’t even try to skip them. I just throw them in the water and measure the ripples that radiate out. These tiny waves make a perfect circle, but they don’t travel far.
I try not to think about Mother—without much success.
There are so many questions that I have for Jack. How were mother’s thoughts compiled? Why were they so scripted? Why did she say, or think, that I was taken by the government when she clearly knows it’s not true? Most importantly, why would Jack allow Hayden to show me that part of her thoughts? He had to know it would be counterproductive to the cause, if anything.