Hopping up and down to wake up, he shook his hands and waved his arms to loosen up as he made his way down the empty hallway. Computer screens and discreet serving staff were also just waking up. It had been a week without a good workout, and now of all times he wanted to clear his mind of all the internal conversations and questions spinning it around. The gym was spectacular, fully stocked with high-end tech. David found the pull-up bar transformation machine and digital free weight system. He began a warm-up set. He decided to do two box jumps, burpees, and pull-ups in a continuous circuit for five-minute segments. He was halfway through the second segment when another person, glowing purple, joined him. It was Patrick.
“Mind if I jump in? Looks like you got a good burn started.”
“Needed to clear my head, Patrick.”
“I get that. I need to get my mind off of Tara and the others for a bit. The anger is eating at me.”
“Couldn’t sleep? Well this always helps me,” David said. The two appreciated the mutual need for burning some energy.
“I’ll follow your sets.”
“If you can keep up.”
“Interval circuits?”
“Repeaters, but yup. You pick the next round. I have a couple more minutes of these. Just tell the clock display what you want to do, and it’ll add it to the gym task.”
“Let’s go!” They both went at the weights hard, each trying to prove himself.
Between sets David asked, “What’s with the pink shirt and purple pants?”
“Oh, these?” Patrick tugged on his loose-fitting pink shirt.
“Is that in fashion in your missionary town?” David laughed. “Or perhaps similar to your ex-military uniform.”
“Hell no. Boys in the squad would kick my ass if they could see me. I couldn’t figure out how to get any clothes to come out of that closet. It kept beeping and spitting out dresses.”
“I mean, to each his own. But you couldn’t pay me to work out in that combo!”
“I have a wooden dresser back at home. I put the clothes in; they wait for me.”
“You people in Tri-Coalition need to get with the times. Who has time to do take care of clothes?”
“My old-fashioned dresser has clothes stacked where I know they are. I don’t talk to my closet or look through outfits on a screen, and clothes don’t just pop out of nowhere. Who put those clothes in there, anyway? Who folded them? And why were there only dresses in mine?”
“Who cares? Not me.” David explained, “That closet in your room must have hundreds of clothing options. This is a pretty affluent investing suite. I’m sure you could have figured something out. You can even speak to the closet unit and describe verbally what you like.”
“Tellin’ you, computer had me super confused. Half a dress and half a tux popped out at one point.”
“Stop slacking off, losers,” the clock on the wall shouted, displaying stats.
“Huh huh.” Patrick breathed heavily. “I’m winning.”
“Only in energy rates. Not in motion distance,.” David corrected. “Going to take you down.” They doubled their aggressive, competitive workout, each pushing the other, trying to win. The clock updated their stats as they lifted.
As the two exercised together and pushed each other to their physical limits, they began to bond. “Damn, you can drive yourself.” Patrick nodded, pouring water from a machine onto his face.
Leaning over, feeling like he was going to black out, David responded through heavy gulping, “Haven’t competed like that in a while.”
“I’ve been meaning to say, thank you, David.”
“For what?” David asked as he tossed over a cleaning silk that he pulled from a hidden wall compartment.
“Coming to Orns, not letting the captain kill us. Helping this rescue.”
“Kinda looking out for my own career,” David admitted.
“Look, you didn’t have to pick this route. I appreciate it. Tara is my life, and she would be grateful too.”
“Not sure about that.” David thought about his abuse of Tara. Should I tell Patrick about her father and the abuse in the cell? He opened his mouth but…
“David, you’re a good dude. Even though you act like a selfish Xchange monster.”
David decided not to let his secret out. “You seem like a good doer too. I respect that you took control back at Lave Labs. And thanks for the advice with Gayle.”
They started to respect each other. They connected. The mutual understanding of self-discipline, challenging oneself, and the mission stress began to ease their relational strains.
“I love my wife, man. Not sure if you know what that means. She pulled me out of a dark place,” Patrick told David. “I want you to have that with Gayle. I’d die for Tara, but I wouldn’t have known how to set about finding her. I feel so helpless here.” His eyes teared up, and David began to understand what giving everything and anything for someone meant.
Sweating, teasing each other about the gym statistics and red in the face, the two workout partners left the room and walked down the hallway toward the main suite. It was still early, and they could see the sun rising over the balcony as they entered the spacious main lounge. A lone figure was on the balcony. It was Paul kneeling on the white marble. His hands were spread out in front of him as if he was communing with someone above and beyond the railing and in the sky. David beckoned to Patrick and pointed at Patrick’s father. “By the stock, what’s he doing?” David whispered, not wanting to disturb the man.
“Oh, that. Dad takes time in silence every morning to dedicate the day to our creator. He is about to finish.” Patrick flopped onto a floating chair. “How does one ask the walls for food?”
“Is that something like praying? We do that when we ask the stock for blessings.”
“Praying in Xchange might be a little different, but you should ask my dad. See, he is standing now, almost done.”
“Why would he do that, pray? Paul is a powerful government official in your land, like a CEO. That is a posture of a plebeian employee in Xchange. A CEO would never shame himself that way.” David was fascinated and taken aback.
Paul stood on the balcony, an expression of serenity, peace, and strength filling his features. His eyes were closed. He held both arms out over his head, spread wide as if receiving a gift from something so large it could not be contained in the sky.
“He gets his strength, wisdom, peace, and freedom from surrender to his maker. He always ends his prayer with that stance. His gesture of freedom. Hands spread wide to the heavens. Has always done it, ever since I was a kid. He does the same motion also whenever he sees something new and beautiful out in nature. It’s as if he is connected to deep love, truth, and being.”
“He seems happy. Deeply happy.”
“We call that kind of happiness ‘joy.’ It runs deep in my father. I’ve never met anyone who is so full of life, so vibrant as him, and so deeply surrendered to the Creator. I try to do that, too, you know. I try to take time each day in what the missionaries call the classroom of silence. It’s not easy.”
“Kinda like a ‘rest day’ for the mind?” David tried to relate the practice to gym methods for his body.
“Not a bad analogy,” Patrick said, tapping on a blue section of wall and whispering, hoping to activate a food machine. “It’s similar to what we just did in the gym. Pushing ourselves where only discipline can bring growth, reward, and strength.” Patrick pointed to his father. “But Dad—and I agree with him—believes we need to develop all areas of the human person, and an important part of that is the spiritual.”
“We don’t discuss the spiritual much in Xchange. Not like that. Spiritual means ‘career development and best wishes’ here.” David thought hard.
“Not at all? What about the priest with us?”
“He is more of a mental doctor. A couch.” David tried to explain.
“You seemed to understand the Tri-Coalition concept of a Creator.”
“W
ell, in Medieval Storyworld, the kingdom of the Sonz has believers in a single deity they call God. They hold to many of the beliefs you and the other slaves—I mean human beings—talk about. It’s very similar actually. They have temples and worship this guiding being of light. But in Xchange we are taught science and business, not mystically tainted versions of reality.”
“Is this Medieval Storyworld the tour that was discussed today?”
“Yes…oh stock!” David looked at his timepiece. “Damn the market, we have to be ready for our first tour in ten minutes. Your changing room is that way.” He pointed to a side hallway. “I’ll send captain to help you select clothes from the human accessorizing closet.”
“Food, bro?”
“Stop teasing the machines in here. Ask the captain to help you find the correct wall for food.” David shook his head—so inept.
“OK, deal, if you teach me how to use this kitchen later,” Patrick said, then held out an arm. “I meant what I said about being grateful for you helping us. Maybe we can be friends one day.”
“Friends?” David asked, confused.
“People who trust each other, have the other’s back, and get along. All great places to start.”
“To friendship, then.” He felt appreciated and guilty. I won’t tell Patrick now that Tara hates me.
They parted ways to hit the cleaning rooms and get dressed for the day. David spoke to himself in the shower. “I wonder what it feels like…” He raised his hands and closed his eyes and let the hot water stream over his body, just to see.
“Speak to me, oh mighty being.” Nothing. Silence. He didn’t feel anything. His brand didn’t react either. “Freedom from inside. How strange.” He recalled the expression on Paul’s wrinkled face.
“Happiness,” Patrick had said. Something like wholeness.
David said, “I want what that man has.” He slipped, falling, and bumped his arm hard on one of the four waterspouts; blood issued from his elbow. “Shit.” He lost the moment of reflection amid the sharp twang of pain. “So much for a god, I guess.” David moved on with his dressing, the initial curiosity fading with the business of the day.
Chapter 40
Market Path
Quarter 1, Day 20
“Doc, what do you think? My son and I were discussing the dilemma of these brands on everyone’s arm.”
“Paul, it’s not a dilemma.” The golden-robed monk was seated, legs crossed in the dining area, sipping on a steaming cup. “What’s his deal?” He pointed at Patrick, who was sliding an ear along a crack in the wall.
“Searching for the meaning of this kitchen. Where is the damn food button?”
“Oh,” Doc Gus said, before looking back to the father, who sat in an opposite chair. “Employee tattoos are the stimulant overcoming the tragedy of humanity. A victory over selfish interior mechanisms. The slothful machine is the dilemma, and the brand a correction.”
“Is that how you see it, Doc, or is that what you preach?” Paul surmised grimly. “You’ve worked with these people for a long time. What is your spiritual and medical opinion?” Doc Gus paused to gather his thoughts, so Paul filled the silence and said, “Let’s hear my son’s theory.”
“Pa, not the time. I don’t debate philosophy on an empty stomach.”
“Theory seems to be your wife’s passion. I guess her dad did a better job than me with educating you.” Paul laughed at Patrick’s snide look, then said more seriously, “Hope Tara’s dad is OK.”
“Oh wall of power, bestow your gift of food on me.” Patrick kicked a blue-looking protrusion. Water sprayed in his face. “Open, oh maw of feeding.” He moved to another section. “Damn, kitchen, give me food.”
The group was preparing for the day; David was still in the other room changing. Captain Jonathan had already selected outfits for Paul and Patrick. All three matched in crisp black-and-navy-blue uniforms with long cream lapels, as similar to a QC officer’s uniform as the captain could find.
The monk had mercy on Patrick and activated a pantry robot in the wall. The machine served toasted buns and eggs with a glowing energy juice, chilled just right. As he munched on them, the monk said, “So you choose to study people in school too?”
“Philosophy was a required class.”
“Interesting, I thought choice was paramount to your culture?”
“We choose to get in but not always what we study.”
“I need to learn more about your world,” Doc Gus said.
Patrick said, “The cost of our choice schooling sent me to the military just to cover the loans.” Between hungry munching, Patrick explained, “An argument I heard in college was those tattoos were evil. But we used to wonder if the brand, even though it is a horrible indignity, could be perceived as a blessing in certain circumstances. Imagine if humans received a physical stimulus each time they did something that would hurt another human being or themselves. If right and wrong were clearly known, would such knowledge be worth the small discomfort of pain or stimulation of pleasure? If we could trade that pain for clarity, it could guide our actions just like our conscience is meant to guide our soul. Freedom, as I see it, is having the ability to choose what is right, not what is simply easy.”
“You mean like a feedback loop?” Doc Gus proposed, still sipping on his juice. “We use the tattoo to train our products with immediate workplace feedback. In addition to work, there are many powerful applications in the mental and cultural fields.”
“I believe this is an immature way to understand these brands.” Paul added his two cents. “The brand configures the wearer and trains him or her to respond in certain ways. It’s not so much of a warning as it is a fogging over. A clouding of what we call the conscience.” Paul nodded to Gayle, who walked out of her room, ready for the day. “Gayle, you’re the only one we’ve met since our visit.
“‘Visit’ is a nice word for our trip here,” Patrick said, bitterly.
“Gayle is the only one to live with the brand and then choose to let the tattoo fade away to almost nothing. What is your opinion?”
Before she could answer, Patrick interjected again, inspired by his theory. His type A personality demanded a central role in the conversation. His father rolled his eyes, but in a paternal manner, letting his son speak. “If a person disagrees with the propensity of the provocation, there is also an answer, because with self-knowledge comes power. If you know it acts in one way, then you take its cues and act the other way.”
The Mindmonk added to the conversation. “Been studying the effects of the brand. My data is inconclusive, sorry,” he explained. “The brand is without a doubt very effective at building a utopian society.”
“Paul seems to be getting at the effects on the individual, not society as a whole. There are a lot of flaws with our country, Donk. We’re slaves to our work,” Gayle said with conviction. “We abuse our children by forcing them into a strict mold.”
Doc Gus waved his finger at her in partial agreement. “I also share a long-term concern with the side effects of branding.” He looked at Paul. “Have your scientists proven the existence of this conscience you claim the brand is fogging? I’ve read extensively about the conscience theory in our histories.” The captured missionaries had put confidence in the idea of the conscience as well. “Manda told me as much.”
The group argued back and forth as they finished their breakfast, which the pantry robot continued to serve in the suite lounge on glass trays: scones, toast, energy juice, coffee, butter, eggs, and bacon. A tower of colorful fruit stood on the blue stone bar at the corner of the room. “Where does it keep coming from?” Patrick asked the hole in the wall. The group devoured the food hungrily and waited for the signal to begin the morning’s tours.
David entered the room as they were breaking fast and talking. He munched on the bacon and toast but didn’t feel like engaging with them, but he listened to the arguments. He listened and thought. The swollen bruise on his elbow irritated him. He looked at his ow
n blue brand. The fact was it had crippled him in pain when he had decided to break the law and sneak into Orns in direct defiance of the Code of Proper Property Conduct Act, a law set clearly in black and white for every human-doing. He ate and pondered all that had taken place.
The tours began with a welcome invitation from a silver-cloaked man and woman who led the invitees to the tour facility through a confusing maze of hallways. David and Gayle were allowed to choose one of their companions to come along. Doc Gus declined, and they chose Patrick because he was the youngest and strongest—plus he was very anxious to locate his wife.
When they arrived at the tour facility, a large room roofed in solid glass with blue and red arches, they were met by Alejandra, who wore a muted pink dress. Her silver heels clicked officially along the tiled hallways and onto the floating taxi, which transported them swiftly to an employees-only portion of the Orns campus.
“Welcome, welcome to your private tour for investment options. Please be aware that Orns is considering your recent success and popularity as a reason for hiring you directly. Your personalized tour package includes a trip through portions of Medieval Storyworld, the Thrill Series, and lastly a look at some of Orns’s never-before-seen entertainment products, which will premiere in the next marketing holiday. You’ll journey into the heart and soul of our land to see the nuts and bolts that make up the prodigious company of Orns.”
David, Gayle, and Patrick shuffled to the center of a screened room as they moved off the taxi. A gray-cloaked plebian from Orns indicated a place for them to stand.
A Tale Of Doings Page 56