by Drew Cordell
I walked into the kitchen of my flat and opened one of the drawers which held my vouchers and spending credits. Roughly twelve hundred credits, three water vouchers, and two food vouchers. Assuming I needed to drink a minimum of half a gallon of water a day, I had roughly six days to live without the help of anyone else and without breaking into my credit reserves. Education was out of the question now; the next lesson would have to wait while I tried to figure out how I was going to survive. I opened one of the lower cabinets in the kitchen and pulled out the large steel safe I had purchased from a traveling caravan the previous year. After dialing the combination into the safe, the door popped open revealing a small brown paper bag filled with all of my credit savings I had been putting aside throughout the years. In total, it was just over three units, enough to keep me holed up in my flat for a couple months.
I would be able to purchase food and water vouchers on the streets from individuals with my credits at a better rate than purchasing food and water for credits directly from the Government. At best, I could manage three months without going to a Collection Parlor, or resorting to becoming an entrepreneurial criminal. Surely Mr. Barton could help me come up with a solution within three months. One thing I was certain of was I wouldn’t take anything else from him other than advice, and I would work to repay him for taking care of me in my time of need.
Content with my plan, I replaced the brown sack in the safe and put my remaining vouchers and spending credits back in the drawer. The fear I had ruined my life in a few hours’ time was slowly fading and I went to sleep with mixed feelings and jumbled dreams.
In the morning, I ate a quick breakfast and packed the book in my backpack along with a few of the texts Mr. Barton had lent me. Today was the day I would tell him of what I had done and hope for the best. If anyone could help me, it was him.
I pulled the bandana over my face and exited my flat into the dark streets of the Slums. Though I was tempted to visit Mary, I knew it wasn’t a good idea—I had too much on my mind and didn’t want to involve her in my mistakes or put her in any danger. The Sculptors, like many other things, had always seemed like stories invented to keep people off the streets and working to further Absolute Knowledge. Things were entirely different now that I actually had reason to fear them. It was as if they had become a very real, tangible thing, and I had given them a reason to take me away.
I walked over to Mr. Barton’s flat and knocked on the heavy steel door. My heart was already pumping in my chest. My biggest fear was not that my life was in danger, it was that I’d lose Mr. Barton as a friend. Mr. Barton opened the door and quickly motioned me inside.
After taking off my bandana, it was clear he could see something was wrong with me.
“Are you okay, Jake?” he asked.
“I honestly don’t know. I uh … I bought a book from a traveling merchant and don’t think I was supposed to read it.”
Mr. Barton’s expression went blank. “Do you have the book with you?”
I nodded and pulled the book out of my backpack. His expression changed instantly; first it was shock, then anger.
“Where did you get this?” he hissed with venom in his voice.
“I told you, a traveling merchant,” I managed, sounding weak. My legs shook.
“How much of it did you read?” he asked in the same tone, a mix of fear and anger.
“All of it.”
“The Sculptors will kill you for this. I assure you they’re very real.”
Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt my strength and courage fade. “What can I do?” I said, looking down and avoiding eye contact.
Mr. Barton sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. He was silent. The only noise suppressing the deafening silence was the burbling of the coffeemaker.
“I suppose I’ll need to teach you a few things,” he said, sighing again. He looked defeated. “I’m not going to let you die because you know a bit of truth.”
A grave silence filled the room as the coffee machine completed its brew cycle.
“What you managed to read is one of the most treasonous pieces of literature you could have possibly found, a book worth about thirty units on the black market. The author’s name is John Locke, a British philosopher.”
I didn’t know what British or philosopher meant, but knew the book was worth about five months of income as a Thinker, an unthinkable sum of money.
“Was the book actually written before 2039?” I asked.
“It was written almost five hundred years ago in another country,” he replied. “This copy is still extremely rare; I’m surprised it survived so long.”
“Is there truth to the book?” I asked.
“Yes, more truth than anything you have ever read. Almost everything you know is a lie. All the history and literature you have read is a lie. The only truth you know is the laws of English, mathematics, and science.”
I was taken aback by this. More questions filled my mind; the hunger for truth was sharp and frantic. Before I could ask anything, Mr. Barton was already talking again.
“It’s time we start your first lesson, Jake.”
I nodded. We’d probably be going over new books or New York’s real history. I frowned when Mr. Barton pulled out a Collector canister and set it on the table.
“We’re going to see how poisoned your mind is from reading Mr. Locke’s work.”
I nodded again and sat still while he attached the electrodes and neuro collectors to my head.
“Do you have a trash bin I can use?” I asked, worried about the vertigo from the connection.
“You won’t need it. Collectors were refined long ago. The pill they give you does nothing. It’s another way for the Government to reduce what they pay for thoughts. When you choose to take the pill at a Collection Parlor, the Collector doesn’t send a harsh jolt of electricity to targeted areas of your brain.”
I was baffled. Mr. Barton flipped the switch on the Collector and the light indicating a secure connection turned green. There was no nausea and no sensation of my brain being ripped in half.
“Now, what you’re going to do is not think about An Essay Concerning Human Understanding,” he said simply.
As soon as he said the name of the book, another light started blinking red.
“You thought about the essay. If this were real, the Government would know what’s in your head, and you’d be dead within an hour after they scour your brain for everything you know with horrible torture.”
This made me mad. “How the hell would I not think of it when you say it?” I shouted, the lights on the Collector continuing to blink red.
Mr. Barton pointed at the lights with anger in his eyes. “Every time that light flashes, the Government knows you know something you shouldn’t. Every time that light blinks, the Government will wipe you off the face of the Earth without leaving evidence you ever existed. Your flat will be cleaned, someone new will move in, and you’ll simply disappear forever. You will be nothing but an insignificant memory to those that cared about you. Even those you consider among your best friends won’t question your death or go looking into it; they know better than that. When that light blinks, you will cease to exist. Not even Mary will go looking into your death.”
That last attack sent anger flooding through my veins.
“How can I not think about something when you say the name of it? It’s impossible. And Mary would look into it, just like I would for her,” I seethed.
“You’re referring to a Catch-22, and I assure you this isn’t one.”
“A what?” The anger I felt was growing into hot fury.
“It’s an expression coined by Mr. Joseph Heller in 1961. A Catch-22 is a situation that is impossible to escape. In his novel, he presents the idea in the example of fighter pilots in World War II. While I know you don’t know what World War II or a fighter pilot is, just know they were people with an extremely dangerous job during an extremely dangerous period of history. To try to get out of doin
g their jobs, these individuals would go to a doctor to request a mental evaluation for insanity in the hopes they would be found insane and incapable to do their assigned work. Unfortunately for the pilots, by seeking a psychiatric evaluation in the first place, they had demonstrated their own sanity and could therefore not be declared insane.”
It didn’t make any sense. “That’s just as impossible of a situation as not thinking of something when you hear it,” I responded.
“How could the pilots have gotten out of their jobs?”
“They couldn’t have. You just said it was a Catch-22.”
“Was there something different they could have done to avoid their situation and the infinite loop of impossibility they faced?”
“I suppose they could have had their friends ask for them to have their evaluations done,” I responded as I tried to fight the frustration that was creeping up again, threatening to take control of my actions.
“Well, yes, but that probably wouldn’t work either. If their friends also wanted to get out of the job, which I assure you they did, then by requesting their friends have an evaluation for insanity, they had to be sane enough to recognize insanity and therefore couldn’t get out of the jobs themselves. If they asked someone insane to ask for them, then the insane person, who would still be flying as I mentioned before, couldn’t be taken at their word. They wouldn’t be able to recognize insanity, but if they could recognize insanity, then they wouldn’t be insane, and both individuals would still have to fly. In the end, everyone did their jobs and no one could be deemed too insane to fly.”
This was too much for me. “So there was no way for them to avoid flying?”
“No. That’s why it’s called a Catch-22. It was an impossible situation to escape.”
I slammed my fist on the table and glared at Mr. Barton, ready to either walk out or hit him.
“So how is my situation different from theirs?” I asked, my voice low and cool, anger and frustration boiling my mind.
“Because I can help you break the infinite cycle. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding.”
The light on the Collector didn’t blink red.
6 UNLOCKED
∆∆∆
“The better to understand the nature, manner, and extent of our knowledge, one thing is carefully to be observed concerning the ideas we have; and that is, that some of them are simple and some complex.” - John Locke.
“Do you know what you just did, Jake?”
I shook my head. My anger calmed as I realized he had been using an exercise designed to draw out my anger and make me lose clear thought. For the most part, Mr. Barton hadn’t meant what he said.
“You were able to avoid thinking about something specific despite hearing about it. The way you did it that time was by concentrating all of your thought on something else. You were trying to think of an answer to prove me wrong and your concentration was fueled by your frustration.”
It made sense, but after talking about it again, my thoughts automatically drifted back to the book I read and the light began to blink red again.
“Thoughts are layers and projections of external stimuli and past experience. They are created by reflecting on our past and personal knowledge pool and by combining any number of simple thoughts. By learning to layer our thoughts and hide critical knowledge beneath harmless ones, we can protect ourselves and our knowledge from those who would seek to take our lives away from us.”
“How can I learn to do that?” I asked. It seemed reasonable on paper, but it didn’t seem like an easy ability to learn.
“Let’s start with something basic. This is a simple layering exercise that will create a basic layered link in your thoughts.”
Mr. Barton went to the kitchen and brought over a bag of coffee beans. He set the bag in front of him and continued.
“When you smell the coffee beans, I want you to think about tea. While this is a very watered down layering technique, it will help you as we progress.” He pulled out an old datapad and typed ‘tea’ in one of the parameters. As he opened the coffee bag, the light on the Collector started blinking red. He closed the bag and modified the parameter again.
“Good. Now I want you to think about tea and not think about An Essay Concerning Human Understanding.”
I nodded, and he adjusted the parameters on the datapad.
Mr. Barton opened the bag of coffee beans, and the light began blinking red. We continued this for almost an hour without success. I was frustrated but continued because I had already seen slight success in layering my thoughts with the whole Catch-22 argument. He typed something else into the datapad and sighed after a couple of minutes as the light continued to flash.
“Do you know what I typed?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Mary. You’re thinking about her almost nonstop. I need you to concentrate.”
I let out a frustrated groan. “It’s hard not think about her. I’m worried I’ll never see her again,” I admitted.
“That’s a very real danger if you don’t focus.”
I nodded and tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but it was hopeless.
Mr. Barton raised his hand, and I stopped concentrating. He turned off the Collector and took off the headgear. “That’s enough for today. We aren’t going to get any further with this.”
“Am I going to learn any history today?” I asked, frustrated with the complexity of the layering exercises.
“No.”
“Why?” I was shocked at his swift and emotionless response.
“Because you aren’t going to learn anything new until you can properly conceal what you already know. We do, however, need to talk about your living arrangements and expenses.”
I winced. “I’ve got enough savings to live three months without visiting a Collection Parlor.”
“Jake, you’ve got three options. I don’t care which you choose. Take your time and think on it and go with what’s best for you. Option one: you train with me until you are able to effectively bury what you have learned about An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. When you are able to do so, you will never read another book purchased from a merchant without first consulting me. You will continue your life on the surface of New York, but you won’t be able to work as a Thinker. Option two: You train and study under me for an undetermined time period. When I am confident you are ready, you will be free to apply your skills in any way you’d like. Option three: Everything will be the same as option two, but you’d have the choice to work with my organization and make something more of your life and learn the truth.”
“What will I do if I can’t work as a Thinker?”
“That’s up to you. I’m teaching you to protect yourself if you absolutely need it, but it’s not worth the risk to put your protected mind in danger every day.”
“What’s your organization?” I asked, my head swimming with thoughts.
“That I cannot tell you until you are ready. Until I know you can layer your mind indefinitely, they will only be referred to as my employers.” Mr. Barton frowned. “We’ll refer to them as my colleagues. Our relationship is more complicated than that of an agent and principal.”
Mr. Barton sighed. “Think it over and let me know tomorrow. Until then, no Collection Parlors and don’t even think about telling anyone else about our conversation—not even Mary.”
This was a big decision. I had always sought to improve my knowledge; I hungered to learn more and hone my mind, but I didn’t consider myself a criminal. If I accepted Mr. Barton’s offer of teaching me, I’d be considered worse than the drug dealers, worse than the thieves—I’d be considered the worst sort of criminal there was. I already knew enough to be killed on the spot, would devoting my life to learning the truth put me in any more danger than I was already in?
My fate as a criminal was sealed when I read An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. I then felt a wave of uncertainty come over me. Could I turn back and erase my mistakes? Co
uld I return to being a regular citizen free from treasonous thoughts? I looked down at the cast that covered my wrist and was angry. For the first time in my life, I was angry at the Government. Why should I be punished for helping a friend and stopping a thief? Why should the truth be kept from me? Who were they to say I couldn’t know what had actually happened in the past? Who were they to decide what books I couldn’t read, and what words I couldn’t know? I wanted more, I craved the truth, I craved the knowledge that Mr. Barton could offer.
I had nothing left other than Mary and Mr. Barton, and a future with Mary without help would be impossible now. This was the only logical decision. There was no point waiting until tomorrow to decide.
“I would like to start with option two. If I am seeking to learn more or make use of my skills within your organization, I would like the opportunity to switch from option two to option three at that time.”
“I think that is a great choice for someone of your intelligence. I need you to know this is a life of danger, you will be a criminal, and if you’re caught, you will be killed by the Government. It might be scary, but you’ll be serving a greater purpose and fighting for something bigger than yourself. You can make a difference in the world.”
I nodded intently.
“Let’s talk about your expenses. In exchange for your copy of An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, you will be absolved from your debt of the medical expenses I incurred from your wrist injury. In addition, I will pay you two units per week for the duration of which you are studying under me until you have been paid a sum of twenty-six units. At that point, you will be presented with new opportunities for income or, should you be deemed ready, the ability to return to live your normal life on the surface, without being able to visit Collection Parlors, of course.”
