“For courting, yes, but do you know what chance has provided? Do you remember the coincidence of the annual dance, the event that brought you to my parents’ shop?”
“My eighteenth.”
“Yes, and people used to celebrate their birthdays with friends and family before digital socializing replaced real time, before video chat replaced the need to meet in person.”
“What does all that have to do with courting?”
“You are eighteen, and have been since our first meet in the tall grass after the dance. Turning eighteen used to mean something, a cause for gathering and celebration, but also more. I discovered the historical significance in a book from the collection, and my digital research proved some meanings held.”
“I thought you were offline? I thought you’d sworn.”
“I did, but for you, for us, I had to make an exception. I practically flipped my desk over in anger when I logged on, but how else could we confirm the loophole, that at eighteen you are free to marry? Though forgotten in the wake of new customs, the right was never repealed. Once we are married, the Mod must honor our union.”
“How will I work? Where will we live?”
“If we’re already married, my parents will let us live on the third floor among the collector’s treasures. I can continue to sew dresses, and you can make the jewelry you’ve been designing digitally, crafting new pieces out of old rings and necklaces the collector left behind. My parents’ shop is grandfathered; they can sell anything related to annual dances or weddings as long as we have enough raw materials from the collection or from objects received in barter from those who visit the shop. There are plenty of materials remaining in the collection. How do you think my parents made all those dresses despite citizens being careful in bartering for handmade when they can opt for machine made clothing at a fraction of the price? My parents cut old sheets of fabric from the collector’s items or unstitch old dresses. The collector vacuum sealed all the fabric to preserve it. There’s enough material left to last two lifetimes, so the practice is sanctioned as efficient and reasonable. Your contribution will function the same.
"The collector saved chests filled with jewelry, tools for disassembling the stones and a contraption where the gold and silver can be melted down and reformed. You can learn his craft from books in the collection, and we can continue to sell to those who visit the shop so long as some citizens are willing to trade portions of their allotment to commemorate annuals and weddings. While we won’t be completely free of the actuator, we can reduce our reliance on it, using even less actuated product than my parents once we learn how to grow more than roses.”
“Then it all comports with the rationale?”
“Better than that. Wait until you see the treasures we will live amongst: packages of rose and vegetable seeds, bits of wood, music boxes, record players and piles of records. Ice cream makers are only the beginning. There are popcorn machines, if we can find some kernels, and tape players and tapes with music recorded on miles of ribbon. Kites for flying in the wind, sleds for riding over snow, if we can find a hill come winter, and a jar of pennies for your thoughts.”
“Pennies for my thoughts?”
“People’s thoughts, not just their logic and programming, used to be considered valuable. Anyone who loved you would trade a penny, a fraction of allotment, for your thoughts.”
“They’d give up part of their allotment for that?”
“I would.”
“Put a penny on it,” I said, extending my palm as Marco guided me through a door in the roof and down a ladder that extended into the third floor of his parents’ brownstone. After helping me down, gingerly in the dark, Marco lit a candle from the collection; and we found our way through gilded light reflected off mirrors and suits of armor and large picture frames and a chandelier and mirror ball for dancing and a bronze bicycle for riding through the streets and drums for making sound and a tall wooden device with white and black keys for striking music and wooden horses for children to rock on and miniatures of pre-digital homes for children to house their miniature dolls and other forgotten items too big for actuating, but not considered as essential to justify old-fashioned delivery as bed frames, mattresses, desks and the elliptical.
The collector’s flat extended deeper through the years than the building’s exterior suggested possible with paper books lining most walls: how-to books and poetry, historical novels and the plays of Shakespeare, treatises on mechanical engineering and jewelry design, biographical and culinary works, horticulture and cartography, maps and atlases and adventure tales from the pre-digital age, the works of Bengtsson and Melville, religious texts and two books written by the collector himself, and works with visions of the future (some that predicted it right, some that did not). The collection went on, but we stopped beside a jar of coins where Marco produced a penny for my thoughts.
“And?” he asked.
“Yes! Yes, yes and a thousand more yesses. This is how I will live, and whatever the compatibility tests would have determined, you are the only with whom I will live.”
We kiss hurriedly so Marco could take me home. So close to our union, we couldn’t take any chances with time; but before we left, he took a picture of himself from a pre-digital camera that produced a paper copy instantly so I could have him with me until the wedding. He’d found a reliable justice who will marry us, and Marco agreed to use digital tech one more time so you can witness our wedding via video chat.
Oh, Vidalia, now it is your turn. You must know we are being reasonable. Emotion and physicality can exist along with efficiency and reason. Please say yes. Please be a part of our wedding. If you can’t touch these treasures, then see with your own eyes our love and the world where it will grow. You are the only one I trust.
The wedding will take place in the collector’s flat. Marco found an old tuxedo in the collection that suits him, and he already made me my dress.
Please, Vidalia. Please say yes.
Chapter 8
“D8.”
“Sad?”
“So sad.”
“How can you be sad, Vidalia, didn’t you read my emails?”
"That.”
“And?”
“You were right.”
“Then how can you be sad?”
“I should have read them before . . . ”
“Before what?”
“Emmy, I’m sorry.”
“You’re calling me Emmy. You must understand.”
“I understand everything. My fault is not having heart, for not allowing my intuition to surface before the proof.”
“What did you do?”
“They’re coming.”
“Who is coming?”
“The patrol.”
“Not to Marco’s?”
“No, I didn’t forward the emails. They won’t be able to find him. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t find him.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“To tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
“That the patrol is coming for you.”
“For me?”
“You’re not old enough to court. You were talking irrationally. Or I thought you were. I kept thinking about the seduction tales and what would happen to your parents and mine if I were implicated.”
“But we were going to marry.”
“I understand. The loophole is real. I confirmed it after reading your emails, but you’re still not allowed to court, not allowed to circumvent the rationale in that way. The exception has to trigger without courtship. No one explains how. Otherwise the testing would be undermined.”
“Has to just happen? It was going to happen tomorrow night! You were going to be our witness. Then Marco and I would have been free to love each other. What did you do?”
“You’re going to hear a knock.”
“I just did.”
“They’ll explain to your parents.”
“They are. My headset is off. I ca
n hear them.”
“They will want to protect you from crimes against reason. Take you somewhere safe away from Marco where you can finish your studies and internalize the rationale, logic before emotion and efficiencies that benefit all citizens.”
“What about Marco?”
“They won’t find him. I didn’t tell them any details. Privacy rights protect all communications since you turned eighteen. The patrol can’t search our digital archives. They can only protect you from the probability of crimes against reason until you finish college. After that, you and Marco can choose each other if you accept the rationale or go transit if you don’t. As long as Marco stays hidden until then, he’ll be safe and you can circumvent the compatibility tests if you become engaged after graduation. Most students are too impatient to wait that long.”
“He’ll think I’ve abandoned him.”
“I’ll tell him the truth. I’ll find him.”
“You stay out of this. I can’t forgive you, let alone trust you. I’ll never chat with you again.”
“Then turn on your mic.”
“Why?”
“So I can hear what the patrol says when they enter your room. Maybe I can figure out where they’re taking you. Just make sure to ask them probing questions. They’re required to provide the rationale. You’ll be institutionalized until you finish your studies. Marco will never wait that long if he doesn’t know what happened.”
“Stop sowing doubt. Marco will wait.”
“What if he thinks you’re in trouble? How could he survive if he thinks you’ve been hurt by his choices?”
“He’ll visit my parents’ tower.”
“And you won’t be there.”
“My parents will explain.”
“They’ll call for the patrol. They’ll turn him in.”
“I hate to admit you are right.”
“Just turn on your mic, Emmy. Hurry. It won’t take them long to convince your parents. Under the effects of trace your parents will be docile.”
“Now you believe trace exists?”
“I believe everything now, but there are many details I don’t understand. Inconsistencies in the rationale.”
“Marco could have helped you understand. If you didn’t betray us, we could have pieced things together.”
“I can still help.”
“You’ll only hurt us again.”
“Then turn on your mic.”
“Why?”
“To make me suffer. You know we were bests. You know it’ll hurt me to hear what they’re doing to you.”
“Fine. Have it your way. And I hope you enjoy it.”
Chapter 9
“You don’t look so intimidating.”
“We’re not here to intimidate you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To reason with you.”
“Is that what you did with my parents? Reasoned with them?”
“Your parents are reasonable people. My partner and I are reasonable people, and we think you can grow into one yourself.”
“I’m not reasonable?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out.”
“Why do you keep saying ‘we’ if he never talks?”
“My partner provides solidarity. Members of the patrol support each other just as the Mod supports the citizens of City. We’re here to support you through the remainder of your studies, to persuade you of what is best for you and your parents.”
“So this is like good cop, bad cop?”
“Read that in a paper book, did you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s not a term familiar to your generation.”
“What term?”
“Good cop, bad cop.”
“Did I say that?”
“Yes, you did, and we’re all good cops here.”
“Do you have a record of my comment?”
“You’ve done your studies, young lady. You know we can’t record our conversation without your consent.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe we can record the conversation?”
“Maybe I’m familiar with the reg. And, no, you can’t.”
“So you read about good cop, bad cop in a paper book?”
“I didn’t say that I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“And why are you both wearing sweaters? It’s not cold in here.”
“Why are you wearing a camisole, jeans, and flats?”
“I’m a girl. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s late summer, and nights are getting chilly outdoors. But you know that. You’ve been going out.”
“Don’t patrol cars have radiant?”
“Of course they do, but we’re a government entity. Wouldn’t be appropriate to use more energy than necessary.”
“So you rely on pre-digital fashions to stay warm?”
“Can’t recharge the patrol car via an elliptical until we return to the station. Pre-digital solutions, such as sweaters, are acceptable when they are more efficient than the alternative or already in existence and easily stored.”
"Like books that were printed before the digital age?”
“So you admit you’ve read one?”
“Just making a point. No crime in reading a paper book.”
“Not on its face, but was it this young man we heard about who introduced you to paper books?”
“What young man?”
“Perhaps Vidalia was telling a lie against you. Hard to believe that a young man adverse to tech could exist in today’s age. You’ve never met such a man, have you, Amelia?”
“The name is Emmy.”
“Emmy? When did your name become Emmy?”
“It is my true name.”
“Your true name is Amelia Lee, and you’ve never met the type of man described to us by Vidalia Palmer, have you?”
“You won’t get me to deny my one true love.”
“We didn’t want you to deny him. We needed an admission of his existence, to corroborate Vidalia’s testimony.”
“You cheated.”
“No, we conversed using the terms you’d established.”
“I didn’t set those terms.”
“Yes, Amelia, you did.”
“Show me the record.”
“There is no record, Amelia. You refused our request to take a record, which protects both parties, and now you have admitted to being under the influence of underage courtship, to harboring affection from a man guilty of crimes against reason.”
“I didn’t say any of that.”
“You didn’t need to, Amelia. You only needed to demonstrate that your testimony was less reliable than that given by Vidalia Palmer, a respected and rational upper class student. You are very young and don’t understand the complexities of emotion you’ve waded into without the appropriate prerequisite studies or compatibility tests.”
“Must everything be governed by a test?”
“We’re not here to discuss everything. We are here to discuss underage courtship and your exposure to irrational pursuits and extraneous physical endeavors.”
“I’m eighteen. The code permits me to marry.”
“That it does, but that same code prohibits you from courting.”
“Then the two regulations are irrational in relation to each other, in which case both are nullified and I am free to court Marco.”
“His name is Marco?”
“You’re not going to trick me again.”
“We weren’t trying to trick you. You offered the name on your own volition.”
“That’s because it is his true name.”
“You mean his invented name and thus useless to us?”
“Precisely.”
“So you are catching on, Amelia.”
“About those regulations, officer?”
“You can call us officers. We like that.”
“I just did.”
“No, you called us officer. There are t
wo of us.”
“And only one of you talks, so I’ll call you officer.”
Actuator Page 4
