David cut him off. “I know these world monopolies eventually became the founders of my world.”
Domin explained while sipping his hot, flavored water, “We believe, and you should feel this as well, that all humans are valuable because we were created with dignity and are born into this world to discover truth, beauty, passion, and love—most importantly love—and if people open their hearts, then our lives can serve as a tremendous benefit to others.”
“How does this relate to senior people running around instead of working in a sweatshop?” David asked.
Arc stepped in, “Age doesn’t change a person’s rights. It comes down to personal choices. Freedom to choose the right path and not just walk whichever path that you want or feel. Old or young or useful or not useful are not prerequisites or differences.”
Domin changed tactics. “The spiritual leaders of our day believe humans have a brand inside. A conscience and a soul, which connect us with a Creator.”
Mop said sarcastically, “Crazy religious partial truths. My bro says similar things.”
Gimp finished the idea. “We desire this Creator and search for him. Imagine internal road signs that we try to follow. These pathways are truth, goodness, and love. They precede something we call happiness.”
David scoffed slightly but regained his composure for the sake of the argument. He stifled his need to be correct until he proved his point more clearly.
“Aha, I catch a glimpse of intelligence in your conviction.” David had learned that a compliment could be used to make a person more prone to listen to the truth. He said, “But I’ll point out a couple of major errors.”
Mop actually agreed with some of his points. He wasn’t what he dubbed “a religious freak.”
The thrust and parry of the conversational duel went back and forth smoothly this morning. It was very enlightening, as both sides seemed to let down their guard allowing for an equal exchange of ideas flowed back and forth. They didn’t agree, but at least they listened to their counterpart prior to refuting a premise.
David tried to ignore Domin’s continuous spilling of hot water and said, “I also believe freedom requires tremendous discipline of will to make the right choices. For example, we nurture with the brand such traits as motivation, energy to a good cause, discipline, health, fitness, decisiveness, determination, pleasure, gratification, and happiness. On and on the list goes our owners—”
“I still can’t get over that you are branded like cows.”
“Don’t interrupt, Mop,” Arc chided.
“Xchange has identified virtue strands in the makeup of the human psyche.” Tara and Domin traded a knowing look but let David finish. “The parasitic nature of laziness, the selfish relational reliance, and the fluctuating, often emotionally unstable internal motivation of the person give way before the brand, and the acquiescent human-doing is enabled to follow a more comfortable and natural path to productivity and completeness.” David rubbed his brand and moaned in pleasure as it shot a wave of energy into his spine, warming his core.
“Disgusting compliance.”
“I’m proud to have a brand. There are many vices that undermine us. We must do and do and do well by others and ourselves. It’s then that we can use, appreciate, accept, and possess one another and ourselves.”
“You could start a religion.,” Mop said. “He puts my brother’s dedication to shame.”
David continued, “Love, as you call it. Love as we understand it is a complete submission of oneself. And ultimately some people are better contributors than others. Better lovers.”
“We aren’t agreed on the terms for love. But continue,” Arc said.
“The Xchange stock system merely rewards those that help society to grow and become stronger for everyone.”
“Enough about us.” David switched his focus to what he knew about Tri-Coalition. Time for some ad hominem jibes. “Your system allows for weakness to fester. Quality is compromised under your pathetic laws. It’s like an ‘equality for the quantity’ instead of a ‘quality for mankind’ approach. It seems to me that Tri-Coalition is wasting the most important thing humans have been given, our best asset: our life.”
Arc and Gimp shifted to the edge of their seats, ready to respond.
Mop cut them off. “He’ll never understand. Stop trying to convince him, Tara and Domin,” Frank said, as his frustration overwhelmed his ability to listen to their captor. He rubbed his hand through the bush on his head. “Tara, my fanatic missionary brother, Pastor John, felt the same way as you and your husband, Patrick—always believing people could be reasoned with and taught. I still can’t believe I went to visit my brother last week. What effing horrible luck.” His fingers kept getting caught in the tangle, which jolted his head as he spoke. Between breaths the man enjoyed a long stare at one of the lab assistants, his eyes following her contours appreciatively.
“I see you have some similar habits to us?” David noted the behavior. He was happy one of the slaves was normal.
“Integrity, Frank,” Arc chided him. She got a dirty look for her effort.
Domin chuckled, his laughter diffusing some of the tension, and shifted his gimp leg. His positivity was invasive. It made David relax against his will.
David was still in shock that this guy had a positive attitude in his precarious position. David scratched his peculiar fist-shaped birth defect on the lower right side of his neck.
Domin completely changed the subject, “I find it fascinating that you treat this tattoo in a similar way to what we call a conscience.” He spilled more tea, this time on Arc.
David got fed up with it. “Take that cup from him.”
Unperturbed, Domin said, “I’ve wondered if every human hears and engages in an internal conversation in their mind.”
Mop chimed in, rolling his eyes. “Here we go again.”
“Do you feel a moral code etched into a dynamic and ever-expanding internal dialogue?”
Arc explained the concept, “Our church teaches that a conscience is our guide to knowing what a right choice is—a connection to the soul, if you will.”
“Soul?” They started to lose David when he mentioned the word “soul.”
Mop chimed in, ducking as Arc slapped at him. “Believe me, as a scientist, there is no empirical proof of a soul.”
“Let Domin explain himself, Frank.”
Domin said, “I believe every person has this aspect of humanity and that each person’s conscience has a similar chord that rings true. Our conscience is a medium between the heart, soul, spirit, and mind. Not everyone listens to their conscience.”
Mop said, “I don’t. I call the voice ‘memory.’”
“No wonder your brother invited you to the camp. Said he needed to redeem your wayward theories,” Arc said.
Domin kept talking. “Not every conscience is formed the same way. Even human beings in Tri-Coalition choose to ignore their internal dialogue.”
“Don’t look at me like that, Domin,” Frank said.
Domin said, “We tend to make ourselves busy and crowd the internal voice out with noise.” He shifted the gimp leg again.
David thought for the hundredth time, That gimp deformity is really annoying to be around. Urgh. David shifted his preoccupation with the gimp leg back to focusing on the dialogue, forcibly moving his eyes to focus on other aspects of Domin and trying to listen.
Domin continued calmly, “We make excuses to this conscience when we go against the voice.” He sounded excited as he spoke. “What is your experience, David? Do you have an internal voice?”
“I wouldn’t tell you if I did.” The gimp is fascinated by the pursuit of this topic. David noted this on his tablet.
The other two from Tri-Coalition rolled their eyes, even Arc; they had obviously been privy to such debate before. Gimp said, “But can any human alive deny that it exists? I wager if anyone sat quietly long enough and thought about life, they might recognize this internal brand on their heart
and soul. It seems more motivates us than just our pleasure nervous system.”
“That’s speculative and not scientific, Domin.” Mop added his two cents as he ate a chicken.
Tara nodded. “If you—yes, even you, David—observe other human beings in your world, you may see this soul.”
“It’s still up for debate,” Frank whispered as he looked at the female lab assistant again with possessive eyes.
David stood, slapped Mop hard in the face. It felt good to release some tension. “Bad slave. You aren’t high enough on the corporate pole to stare so often.” He looked at his technician and smirked. David shook his head before sitting, ignoring the glares, and said, “I watch Storyworld.”
“Oh, you’re a fiction geek too?” Domin asked.
“What’s Storyworld?” Arc asked, putting a hand on Mop’s shoulder to calm him down.
“Clubbing events and binging on live episodes is a controlled but passionate hobby of mine. Storyworld is like watching fish in a lit-up tank. Actors have cameras on them. They film this entire world for us to watch. We watch a medieval land.”
“Kinda like a fairy tale?” Arc asked.
“Nope. The people are real. They don’t even know they are being watched.” David chuckled. “The episode producers secretly follow particular stories. I watch many episodes. I currently follow a knight from the kingdom of Alexoria named Phel.”
“You have a bunch of humans pretending to be knights? That’s nuts,” Mop said, baffled.
“They aren’t pretending. It’s a huge cage.”
“Wahh…” Domin was thunderstruck. “These humans have no idea their lives are a lie?”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” David said with excitement that they were grasping the concept. “Entertainment at the next level. The fools live archaic lives; they have no brands, much like the old world. History recreated, some say.”
“History was bad enough—why recreate it?” Arc said.
“My point is that I spend more hours watching humans live than any of you. Their world is filled with evil and goodness in equal parts, but more chaos than anything else. So I disagree with you, Arc.”
She gave him a severe look at the use of the derogative nickname, and he gulped. “Tara.”
Much to his embarrassment, he’d agreed to call them by their self-pronounced identification labels. Acquiescing is in the benefit of scientific discovery, he thought.
Tara asked, “What is clubbing?” She giggled in a moment of humor. Her surprising laughter filled the room and warmed the sterile environment. “Clubbing in our world is going out dancing. We call watching TV ‘watching shows.’”
David kicked himself internally, realizing that they were still not totally grasping the profundity of his major life passion. He was proud of Storyworld. He believed it was the single greatest contribution to human-doing entertainment. The greatest accomplishment of Orns.
“Clubbing is the greatest entertainment product in Xchange, in the world.”
“I doubt that. Ever heard of football?”
“Sounds stupid.”
“How dare—”
“Even better than Orns relationships. Even better than Tertain’s Real World ’cause fantasy computer-simulated realities will never outperform live entertainment. Orns has an enormous contract to create a world where human beings live from birth in a medieval setting. They send in film crews to film interesting episodes in the lives of these human beings. I pay for a subscription,” he explained. “Real people, desperate lives, and the struggle to survive make the best stories.”
“You’re shittin’ me,” Mop said with interest.
“Seriously?” Arc added, shocked.
“You are finally getting it!” David was elated.
The others tried to conceptually grasp a world where an entire people was used for entertainment without knowing others were watching them.
David continued, “Medieval Storyworld is so much better than Tertain’s Adrenaline Junkie series or the tamer live team sports. It is much debated if Storyworld or Real World is the greatest achievement of modern entertainment. To be honest, I don’t even buy a subscription to those other products; this says a lot, I think. I only watch the occasional featured events or holiday episodes.
He smirked. “Other than watching the air-surfing twins and important games, I never liked sports.” He puffed his chest out, ignoring the gasps of understanding. “I tell my many friends there is a clear list of criteria that must be met before I will pay to view a lame sporting event, such as your football. The list includes all of the following: the sport must feature my favorite side, it must be on sale, viewing must be convenient, and the event had better be the most significant match of the year. If these criteria are not satisfied, I won’t watch.”
“I love football. I live and die for my team,” Frank quipped.
“Not the time for a sports debate, Frankie,” Tara said.
“Yes, not helpful,” Domin added.
Frank got serious and grimaced, ignoring David for a moment. “See, Tar and Domin, these people use human beings for entertainment. That is all we are to them.”
Turning to him, Mop accused, “What do you say, stock boy? Are you held accountable to a greater power like Domin thinks?”
David answered, “A CEO, yes. Obviously.”
Mop didn’t stop his rant. “Do you engage in internal dialogue, or are you truly created by a stock market and motivated only by pleasure, minimalism, and individualism?”
“Keep your tone civil,” a guard at the door warned. David felt condemned by the tone but not the words.
“Image, power, and pleasure aren’t the only things in life that a human craves. You just want to eff us all up, isn’t that it? Put all of Tri-Coalition in one of your viewing bubbles. I’d love to switch positions with you and test you. We could see if you have a conscience. I already know that you don’t.”
Tara ignored Frank’s antagonism and continued to encourage the dialogue by saying, “Domin, only you could turn slavery into a philosophical intrigue.”
“You’re so like my bro. You should have gone to seminary too,” Mop said.
Tara said, “Also, like my Patrick.” She turned to David. “I think every human can recognize when love is abused. And you, David, sir, are abusing all those people you have locked up. In particular, my people. You must let my people go and then work to free all those Storyworld people.”
“I don’t have that sort of power,” David complained. “Or desire,” he added, to save face in front of his listening team.
She would not be put down. “You must release us all from our storage unit jails.” She stood, and there was a passion in her eyes. “Let my people go!”
David corrected her. “These are not storage units. These are home units.” It was exasperating for him to explain things twice. “Productzens live in storage units. I already explained the important distinction when we discussed nomenclature. By the stock! It’s frustrating to have to blunder over and around your blatant violation of the English language. It’s as if you people, on the other side of the divide, just invented a dictionary to fit your sadistic social norms.”
Color rising to her cheeks, Tara countered with a bit more edge. “These are jails, not homes. I’d be horrified to be in a relationship with someone such as you.”
“Good thing you don’t have a choice,” David retorted.
“You miss the entire point of personal sacrifice and self-gift.” She looked seriously at David and then out toward the hidden cameras. “My husband would give anything to find me. Would you even understand that kind of sacrifice?”
Frank chimed in, “Tara, you ain’t getting through to this dude. And, Domin, I am not sure everyone in Tri-Coalition agrees with your opinions, so good luck here.” He swallowed what remained of a bluish drink. “I could go for a nice steak. As I said before when those actors fake tortured me, I’d like a steak before you kill me. A good meal would go a long way.”
Tara and Domin both attempted to silence Mop’s rant. But he wouldn’t be quelled.
Frank spun in his chair and looked all around. He declared, “Honestly, Domin, what’s wrong with avoiding some of life’s bigger, unanswerable questions? It’s a lot of grating effort, grinding work, and tiresome worry to reflect and think on a deep level. Aside from the fact that there is no guarantee you’ll find an answer. Life itself will be the greatest question until we die.”
David thought a bit as the others chatted. His mind was either going to implode from his constant nagging internal dialogue or explode from overinput of information. He scratched his scalp and ran his fingers through his long blond hair, wondering if imploding or exploding would happen first.
A buzzzz on his wrist signaled a shift change. It was sundown and time for him to stop work and go refuel at the cafeteria.
“Recharge and refuel,” he said, ignoring the glares. “Time to gain my energy back for tomorrow’s workday.”
“Good night to you as well, strange man,” Frank quipped sarcastically.
“Do you mean sleep and eat?” Domin questioned?
“Animals eat, Gimp”—David corrected himself—“Domin. Humans refuel. We serve a higher purpose than mere survival.” David was hungry and didn’t bother to hide the condescending, lecturing tone.
David never said good night. That was not an Xchange practice. It seemed like an archaic Storyworld tradition or something free people might say to one another. Instead, he said matter-of-factly to the two Lave Labs assistants who joined him, “Put the slaves in their home units for the night.”
“Yes, manager.” The assistants were also in a hurry to be finished with the day’s work. Their own shift was ending for the evening once the property was stored safely away.
David handed his tablet with his notes to Manda, who entered as the session ended. He grinned in a fulfilled way. “On your way to refueling, drop this off for analysis. Then check out from your shift. Good doing, Manda.” He appreciated her lips. Her smile.
“Good doing to you too.” Manda had an introspective gaze as her soft hands reached to hold the tablet. It slipped, and she dropped the tablet. David looked at her askance, but she shook her head and picked it up. “Back to reality,” she said, and bustled off toward the data room.
A Tale Of Doings Page 38