City 55

by William Pinecroft

  “I knew I could count on you both. Such excellent ideas,” Charlie said.

  ****

  The government had increased its presence across cities throughout the world. City 55 and City 17 saw the largest increase in activity, as Guardian Element teams swarmed the streets, searching out any infraction. Surveillance swelled to include every major corner of the two cities. The government started to install supplementary overt systems, aimed at additional deterrence. In the eyes of the government, a citizen grateful for the increased presence meant they were hardworking contributors to society. If they were wary of the constant observation, the person was likely up to subversive actions against the regime. Either way, constant surveillance at the cost of personal civil liberties was in the best interest of all hard working individuals.

  Curfews were enforced once again. Mom and Pop shops were shut down. The population received tax breaks and kickbacks on items located in the megastores. Freedom of expression was free as long as it benefited the majority. This remained the guiding principle. The world was becoming easier to live in. Technology removed many of the hardships of the past. Each person gave up a little individualism to have their needs and wants catered to. It was a small price to pay for some, an insurmountable obstacle for others. Too bad the others weren’t in charge.

  Pam arrived at work the next day. Nothing was right in the city, but at least the last three days were something she would have forever. Her, Charlie, and Dan out together, free from having to look over their shoulder at the next threat. Poor Fred. She wondered what had happened to her old friend. She walked up to the microbrewery at seven that morning, ready to get started on a new creation. She could take random ingredients, mix them together and voilà, create something that was hers. Hers to enjoy and share if she desired. She reveled at the prospect and at the unknown that lay before her.

  The lights were off and the building closed, which wasn’t particularly unexpected at that time of the morning. Pam fumbled with her keys to find the one for the side entrance. That was the key that all the employees had. She strained to unlock the door but the key wouldn’t turn. She tried again. Nothing.

  Pam walked around to the front of the building and peered in through the darkened glass. There had been two large brass vats on display, visible through the street windows as a means of advertising for the brewery. They were no longer there. As she peered in, she realized the space was empty. Now, all that stood were the walls and the ceiling. Dirt and papers were strewn across the barren concrete floor.

  “Joe, I’m at work. What happened?” Pam asked when she reached him by phone. Joe didn’t sound so good. Pam went over to his house to see what had happened. She had been working there for almost two years. She did have her issues with the mundane tasks they expected of an assistant brew master, especially an assistant brew master that was better than the head brew master. Of course, this was Pam’s opinion, but it didn’t change how devoted she was to the work.

  Joe gave Pam the details of the last few days. The brewery was violating copyright and patent laws by producing recipes that were not sanctioned by the state. Their permit applications were denied months ago. Even though they had not received the verdicts from the administrative offices, they were still liable as it was their duty to follow up. Of course they hadn’t. What with the fact that they didn’t give a shit about the paperwork and that life over the past few months had been an awakening for creative minds, this all came as a shock to the brewery. The decision to close was immediate. The authority to confiscate all materials was absolute because the brew masters did not perform their due diligence.

  Pam left Joe’s house. She had nothing. She had friends she couldn’t see and now, she’d lost her job. What was she going to have to settle for now? Pushing buttons on some electronic screen somewhere for some purpose. It might as well be that vague. There was likely a program that already accomplished that for a fraction of her wages. Maybe she could analyze data. That seemed to be popular. She almost broke down right there at the possibility of her life behind a desk looking over other people’s lives, helping the world to assimilate into one “superior” being. God, she was pathetic. She went back to her apartment to drown her sorrows. She’d figure out what to do tomorrow. Right now, it didn’t matter.

  ****

  Dan raced across a main street of San Francisco before diving down a side lane, up through an alleyway, and then back onto another feeder street. He had been riding nonstop for the past two days, dropping off payments in the north, and then delivering an envelope in the east before handing over a package in the west. When he finally thought the day was done, someone new needed him to move vital information, as they called it, immediately. Dan could never pass it up either. The more time sensitive, the higher the payout, the more illegal, the greater the reward. He had never been so busy. With the crackdown over the past few weeks, paranoia had swept through his customers. They tightened security and relied on what was proven, Dan. He delivered information to anyone, anywhere, at any time.

  The streets were a war zone. Dan was constantly changing his routes. Guardian Elements roamed up and down streets, keeping up appearances for their employers. On certain days, they concentrated in one particular section of the city before moving on to another. Dan always had incriminating evidence on him, so he spared little when it came to covering his tracks. Only seldom did he take main thoroughfares, and then when he did, he was immediately off darting through a minor artery of San Francisco. His routes remained indirect and random. He strove to conceal all starting and ending points, especially if Elements were around. This was extreme, even for the crazy fucks that ran everything. Frankly, he figured they were all out of their minds.

  ****

  Charlie and his fellow paramedics roamed the streets at night in their blaring ambulance. They were witness to the repercussions The Proxy delivered in response to the unknown challenge of its authority. Charlie knew why these measures existed. The rest of the people in the ambulance were only privy to the disparity in their own lives. At one point, they were happy and then in another, they were not. What mattered most was how they were affected personally. Charlie, on the other hand, knew the reasons why everything was the way it was. He analyzed the why instead of moving from one job to the next, one victim to the next.

  The work of the enforcers each night was plain to the medical teams. As the enforcers swept through the city, from one assignment to the next, collateral damage mounted, left for public services to clean up. If victims, of no interest to the Guardian Element teams, stemmed from these operations, it was a team like Charlie’s that responded to fix everyone back up. Those nights were full of radio calls followed by wailing sirens, directing Charlie and his team to move from this location to that building. Reports of gunshots, possible casualties on the scene. Multiple traumas requiring first responders filled the radio waves. Ambulances darted around the city covering the carnage that multiplied night after night.

  It was no different for Charlie and his crew. They were directed to a residential district in response to an emergency call fed through their dispatch. The area was already cordoned off, but the medics entered through a controlled path cleared for them, directly to the victims on the first floor of the apartment building. As Charlie walked in, he noticed the scene was surprisingly ordered. The apartment was pristine. No bullet holes riddled the walls. There was one victim sitting on the couch in the living room. The Element team had used a military quick clotting package to stop the hemorrhaging from the victim’s arm. The contents of the package are extremely effective at stabilizing the initial wound, preventing the victim from bleeding out, but it did devastating long-term damage to the surrounding tissues, as the substance burns everything in place. It was used for crude, time sensitive, medical care, when alternate options are either not available or practical for the situation.

  The Guardian Element teams were sensitive to public opinion and so minimized civilian casualties to the maximum exte
nt possible. In this case, the victim had lunged in front of the team to intervene for a targeted family member. They responded with a single precise shot to the victim’s shoulder to incapacitate him, as they continued the mission. Public relations workers would follow up to quell negative public sentiment. Public opinion tolerated minor collateral damage, as long as the government captured the target or achieved the stated objective. Statistics were vital when spinning any situation. Success and failure were seldom black and white. Rather, the way a mission or scenario was spun, largely determined the conclusions drawn.

  “Sir, can you hear me?” Charlie asked the victim.

  The man didn’t respond.

  “I’m going to clean your wound and get you set up. Don’t worry about a thing.” Charlie set to work dressing the victim. The quick clot stopped the bleeding, which was the immediate concern. Even so, Charlie wanted to stabilize the man before transporting him to the hospital. He took his time cleaning the wound and binding the area, while the others fed him supplies. The Element members were still clearing the area, questioning a man and woman who were present during the raid. They were developing intelligence that would be fed to The Proxy for a decision on the fate of the target captured. He was currently sitting in the back of one of their vans, zip tied with a black bag over his head. Charlie struggled to eavesdrop on the team’s conversations. He continued his care but slowed to capture as many of the salient points as possible.

  It was strange how they conducted the questioning. Each question was leading. He could tell when a team member received an answer they supported because that line of interrogation shifted to a new avenue. When they received answers contrary to their apparent objectives, the team members would continue to press, rewording the questions in an effort to prove a contradiction. The general direction of questioning only altered after the team member’s perception of the situation was buoyed by a plausible explanation. The teams entered the data into devices they each carried, which in turn, transferred to the conglomeration of data that would eventually drive the decision regarding the targeted individual.

  Charlie finished with the gentleman on the couch. “All right, sir. We have provided you with follow on treatment that should provide you with a comfortable ride to the hospital. We have given you half a dose of morphine based on your medical history and tendencies. There is no indication that you will become addicted to this type of medication. Your genetic markers show further use should not be detrimental. The staff at the hospital will be able to draw your information automatically and will be ready for you when you arrive. Is there anything else we can do for you?” asked Charlie.

  The man didn’t seem altogether coherent. Charlie knew it wasn’t the drugs, as he had just administered them. It seemed the man just wasn’t interested in what was happening around him. The man didn’t seem like he cared anymore. The events that evening had taken more than a physical effect on his person. Charlie wondered who the victim in the van was, and if the two of them would ever see each other again.

  Tonight had been a string of traumas for Charlie and his team to respond to. The hospital had kept them on overtime because they didn’t have the manpower in the early morning hours to replace the crew. Each scene was a carbon copy of the last; a planned surgical raid with minimal collateral damage resulting in a target transported off to a black hole for his soon to be very short existence. By the time Charlie arrived home, the sun was coming up, highlighting the fog covered San Francisco morning, struggling to lift the darkness and death of the night before. Charlie walked the final half mile up to his apartment. He enjoyed this part of the day. It allowed him to decompress from the night before.

  Charlie grabbed a beer and sat down on the couch. The stillness spooked him. Maybe it was his state of mind, but he felt alone, isolated from the world with a spotlight directed at him. He turned on the TV to occupy his mind. As he flipped through the channels, stories from last night were breaking. In each scenario, “The trusted Guardian Element Teams had once again proven their worth as they fearlessly protected the public from the criminals threatening the good citizens of the world.” It was funny. Charlie hadn’t gotten that impression as they sped from one disaster to the next. It didn’t appear that the commandos were selflessly committed to protecting the interests of the city’s innocent citizens.

  Here it was on TV again, feeding those images back to the public, proving the righteousness of the operations last night. For every victim, there was an explanation, along with a public hero promoted before the public stage touted to be vital to our safety. Never was the concept of doubt or the question of intentions brought up. Rather the stories were presented as facts for the public to learn from.

  Charlie sat still for another hour watching the sequence of stories retell the events of the night, letting him relive what he had previously seen. He experienced them as another person though. He came away from that hour with an entirely different perception of the previous night.

  The teams were doing a good job. Each of those victims did deserve what happened to them. If we want a safe society, then the public must ensure our interests are monitored and enforced. Who cares that a civilian was shot when trying to subdue a targeted individual. It was only one. They were all clipped, never with the intent to kill, and then administered state of the art medical care to fix them up as good as new.

  The teams protected public property. Nothing was ever stolen and detailed logs of every operation were recorded for later review. Charlie reflected how lucky the world was to have such an advanced method of government and organization. The Proxy administered verdicts on a completely transparent basis, allowing the public access to all decisions. Why were we trying to change everything? Representation may not be perfect but what in life is? This could be the closest we ever get to a true and unbiased form of governance for the masses. There is seldom a time when everyone can be happy.

  Charlie slowly drifted off to sleep, laid across his couch, as the TV continued to broadcast the public news channel. He mused to himself how immature all of them had been to try to change the world to be something in their image. This is good enough after all. As he closed his eyes for the night, the final advertisement flitted across the screen in front of him.

  It read: Thanks for your attention. We are here to provide you with the one and only unbiased account of events.

  In small print, along the bottom of the screen, there read: An affiliate of The Corporation, with home offices located in City 21.

  CHAPTER 11

  PINK LACE AND HANGOVERS

  Dr. Buscher picked up the western hemisphere newscast summary as she walked over to the espresso machine in her office. She flipped open the manila folder to scan the statistics across the first page. She read the summary of major newscasts that covered all operations supported by The World Government. As she did so, she prepared her morning espresso. She pressed the espresso grounds firmly, and then fit the tamp into place. She turned on the machine and within twenty seconds, a piping hot espresso was sitting before her.

  She had given up on the coffee provided by her office downstairs. They had bought a $6,000 espresso machine at her request or demand, depending on how you viewed the memo she drafted. Despite such an expensive system, those idiots downstairs produced an espresso as bitter as bark or as sour as a lemon. Now, she made it herself. She tasted the coffee. Perfect.

  She scanned the inputs her office provided the newscasts. The news agencies had incorporated each into the news feeds. Since the fiasco in City 17 with those hippies, Dr. Buscher employed a team to ensure specific information and images were integrated into news reports covering operations in support of The World Government or against individuals deemed a threat to world security. The bottom of the daily report’s second page included a public opinion poll concerning the operations conducted. The general consensus regarding these types of operations had been steadily improving since the inclusion of these persuasions, as she termed them. As of today, the oper
ations had an eighty percent approval rating. This was up eighteen percentage points in less than a week. Dr. Buscher wrote a note for the team in charge of the suggestions. Good job. Don’t stop reformulating until we are in the ninety percentile. She then walked back to her desk and finished the espresso in one gulp.

  ****

  Charlie woke with a start to the afternoon sun grinning through his window. The previous seven hours of uninterrupted tranquility had been a pleasant surprise after the many weeks of restless nights. Charlie slept, devoid of worries, dreaming of his future life married to Pam in a virtual utopia. All his doubts wafted away, leaving the calm prospect that his life was going to be fine.

  Despite this, he couldn’t help shake the feeling that something was amiss. For so long, he had been questioning everything and now, all of a sudden, the world beckoned him with unending opportunity. He wasn’t even worried about his friends or what had happened to Fred and the gang. It was strange the fact that he could one day be overcome with anxiety, and then the next, content. Charlie shrugged it off and decided to concern himself with things that mattered, like his afternoon coffee.

  As Charlie stood by the kitchen counter, grinding the coffee beans, a loud knock preceded the door crashing open. Charlie jumped as it slammed against the wall. The adjacent hallway blocked his view of the turmoil. Charlie stood in stunned anticipation of the nightmare that was materializing around that corner.

  “Hey man,” said Dan as he rounded the corner.

  “Jesus Dan,” responded Charlie. “You sounded like the fucking army coming through that door.”

  “Oh sorry man,” said Dan. “I was worried about you. You haven’t responded to any of my messages and last night we were supposed to meet about everything that’s been going on.”

  “Yeah, my bad. I chilled on the couch. Now, everything is right with the world. I think my brain needed to turn off for a bit,” said Charlie.