Freedom Incorporated

by Peter Tylee

  “What about uni?” Samantha was one year from finishing her degree in social science, just like Jen, except Samantha was majoring in history.

  Jen hadn’t considered that. She could barely believe she’d been in a lecture theatre earlier that day.She checked her watch; it was approaching one in the morning. Well, yesterday.Her studies seemed so far removed from the bizarre reality her life had become. “I don’t know. Maybe we can get advanced standing and finish at another university.” She doubted it. If they needed a clean break from their current lives, applying for advanced standing would go against the rules. On the other hand, even if they’d finished their degrees they wouldn’t be able to use them after switching identities. “Maybe our new identities will already have degrees.”

  Samanthacrossly shook her head. “No, I want to earn it. I’d rather have credit and finish my degree properly.”

  “We’ll look into it.” Jen wondered where they’d end up. On the coast?She fervently hoped so. With a boat?She doubted it. Not unless we win the lottery in the next few days.Determination gritted her teeth. But first we have togive UniForce the slip.“Come on, are you packed?”

  “Nearly.” Samantha broke their huddle and tossed a few more items of underwear into her bag. “I wish we’d done the laundry yesterday.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Jen helped by carrying Cookie’s bag, dumping it next to hers.

  Dan and Cookie hadn’t moved. The bounty hunter was still looking out the window and the hacker was still hunching over his terminal.

  “What about my LectroLogic?” That was the series name Global Integrated Systems had assigned to his model of computer. Cookie refused to budge. “I can’t just leave it here.”

  “Bring the computer and keyboard, but leave the monitor,” Dan suggested. The monitor was thin and light but it was still an awkward size. “I’ve got a seventeen inch XRM at home, you can use that.” The computer itself was barely larger than the plugs that connected to it and, though heavy for its size, it had the dimensions of a dainty shoe.

  “Okay,” Cookie said reluctantly. “Just give me a few minutes. I’ve gottastart a few apps or our tunnel won’t be there when we’re up and running later.” A taskbar of scanners popped up on his screen. Of the nine circular indicators, seven were red and two were green. With a whir of activity and enough flickering to send an epileptic into a fit,Cookie setthe appropriate parameters and launched the remaining applications. After five minutes only two red dots remained.

  The others waited in silence, having nothing further to say. Samantha thought it seemed a sad way to leave their abode. But when the shit hits the fan, what’re you gonna do?she thought, tuning her spirit toward the positive in theirsituation. I can be whoever I want… I can recreate myself.She was a bit stung that she couldn’t say farewell to her other friends, but she shoved that thought as far from her mind as she could and focussed on the good things instead. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…

  “Okay, I’m done.” Cookie stood while waiting for the computer to gracefully shut down. His fractal-bacteria screen oozed to a shade of algae brown when the signal from the box faded and he yanked the plugs roughly from their sockets before bundling the computer to his chest like a father would cradle a child. “What now?”

  “Do you have any chips you’ve never used?” Dan asked.

  “I have one,” Cookie offered, “but it’s not linked to any active accounts so you can’t do anything with it.”

  “How about chips you haven’t used for a long time?”

  Cookie nodded emphatically. “Yeah, heaps,” – he fished into his pocket for his chip selector – “but they’re all in here, so we’d have to break it open if you want more than one.”

  “He doesn’t get out much,” Samantha offered by way of explanation.

  “I can see why,” Dan muttered so softly under his breath that nobody caught his fleeting words.

  “I have one I haven’t used for over a year. I’ve been saving it for an emergency,” Samantha said, then added in a whisper, “I suppose this qualifies.”

  “But I don’t,” Jen said ruefully.

  “I know.” Dan looked displeased while trying to think of an alternative. “And you definitely can’t use the identify you used in Albury.”

  Cookie, with his analytical mind, generated the solution. “It’s simple! I go through with Samantha and come back on a different chip, bringing Samantha’s selector with me. Then I switch to a third chip and Jen can use another of Samantha’s instead of her own.”

  “Do you have one I can use?” Jen asked.

  Samantha thumbed through the identities on her selector and said, “Here’s one I haven’t used for six months.”

  “Perfect.” Dan snatched a bag from the floor, leaving Samantha and Jen to carry their own while Cookie clutched his computer.

  “Hang on,” Jen said, frowning. “What about you? You’re chipped, right?”

  “Yes. That’s why I’m not portaling with you, as a precaution. The Raven saw us drive off together at the mall and there’s a record of me portaling to Tweed Heads. Besides, for all we know he might have watched us climb the downpipe.” He slowly shook his head. “There can’t be any record of my chip mixed in with the new ones you’re using. I’ll find an alternative means of transportation to Brisbane, portal home, andmeet you in town.”

  “Mind if I ask where ‘home’ is?” Cookie raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

  “Andamooka.”

  It drew three blank stares. None of them had any idea where Andamooka was. Nobody did. That’s why Dan liked it so much; it was out of the way, his own private nest.

  “Come on.” Dan headed for the door, duffel bag in one hand and Colt in the other. “The Raven’s gone for now, but he’ll be back when he realises he’s on a wild goose chase.”

  He noticed the fried security alarm on his way out and wondered just how close they’d come to clashing with death. And he wasn’t the only one to notice; Jen pointed it out to Samantha, who silently mouthed a prayer of thanks for their timely deliverance.

  None of them spoke as they lugged their bags through town to the supermarket where Dan and Jen had arrived only hours earlier. It was dead at 1:20 in the morning, and for good reason. The sane members of the community were sound asleep. There wasn’t even much activity from the petty criminals and thieves since the Department of Justice logged their actions and ordered police follow-ups for individuals who exceeded the tolerance threshold. Rapes were unheard of since the introduction of mandatory chipping. Indeed, rape was the primary epidemic crime microchip proponents had sought to eliminate. And they’d succeeded. Now rape lived only on film and in history texts where it served as memorabilia from a brutal society. Women, and men, could purchase small recorders that would register the Universal Identification Number of anybody who stepped within its operational sphere. They were so small that rapists could never be certain whether they’d searched thoroughly enough through their victim’s possessions to uncover such a device. Consequently, a string of rapists had either been incarcerated or incinerated – depending on where the crime had occurred – which had stemmed the ugly tide of rape. Everyone, even the grumpiest microchip antagonists and the most diehard activists, had to grudgingly admit that there were some good things that mandatory chipping had fostered.

  Dan handed Cookie his bag and watched him juggle his armload of equipment as he stepped inside the white circle. Then he entered the code for Andamooka’s lonely portal station and stood back for the pop. Next, he waved Samantha forward and repeated the service for her. She waved briefly before also popping away.

  “The Andamooka portal is at the front of the Dusty Andamooka Inn, which is open 24 hours. I know the proprietors.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “They’re a bit… peculiar, but I once used the inn as a watering hole and they’re amicable enough.” He gently touched Jen’s shoulder, again astounded by the fire in her skin. “You should stay there tonight. It’ll take me a while to
reach you,” he said, looking apologetic. “I don’t have a car.”

  Jen nodded understanding, chilled by his icy touch. “No sweat.” She meant it in the archaic sense, the meaning it had held before the word mutated into an anti-globalisation rallying flag. “You’re a long way out of town?”

  “A fair way, yes,” Dan confirmed, removing his hand when Cookie popped into view and stepped from the portal.

  The self-professed computer geek fidgeted with the two chip selectors before handing one to Jen. “Man, it stinks in Andamooka.” He screwed up his nose.

  Jen ignored Cookie and said to Dan, “You should use the main portal station in Surfer’s Paradise. It’s far enough from Tweed, big enough to find easily, and busy enough to stay anonymous. It’ll just add another hour to your trip if you go to Brisbane.”

  “All right,” Dan said, standing erect. “I’ll do that.” Then he entered Andamooka’s portal code twice more and watched as Cookie and Jen popped from view.

  Chapter 5

  Overtime horror stories pour out of the export processing zones, regardless of location: in China, there are documented cases of three-day shifts, when workers are forced to sleep under their machines. Contractors often face heavy financial penalties if they fail to deliver on time, no matter how unreasonable the deadline. In Honduras, when filling out a particularly large order on a tight deadline, factory managers have been reported injecting workers with amphetamines to keep them going on forty-eight-hour marathons.

  Naomi Klein – “No Logo”, 1999

  Thursday, September 16, 2066

  16:33 Groningen, The Netherlands

  Heavy smoke stifled the air in the pizzeria. It was a dank, dingy little place that Hans had found well out of the way. The few local patrons he’d ever seen there tended to be ragtag and surly. That made it the perfect place to escape the confines of his apartment, even if for only a few hours.

  He’d just ordered a ‘tropical delight’ pizza from the menu, but knew from experience it would more closely resemble ‘sub-tropical infestation’. Regardless, he was in high spirits. Getting away from the seemingly endless cycle of experiments always cheered him up. He hugged a corner of the room, always with a watchful eye on the other pizzeria regulars. Most of them were puffing on a pipe or cigarette in flagrant disregard for the multitude of laws explicitly forbidding it. There were seven, all single men. He couldn’t imagine the owners were encouraged by the lack of patronage, but it suited Hans perfectly. Yet he vaguely wondered whether he looked the sore thumb jumbled in with such a crowd. He mentally shrugged. I must get out sometimes or I’ll go crazy.He was already going crazy, he knew that. He would’ve loved to take a walk after his meal. Hewas tired of heading straight home. What about a movie?He would have personally traded a thousand movies for one decent walk around his beloved city. Two thousand!But though the cinema was dark and anonymous, it was just as perilous as a stroll. Indeed, since the movie house was across town it amounted to the same thing anyway.

  A plump waitress bustled to his table and slapped his pizza onto the protective mat before hurrying back to the bar, nestled in the opposite corner. He didn’t know why she made such an effort to look busy. How long can it possibly take to dry one plate?Hans had watched her repetitively rubbing a grotty tea towel around and around the same plate for close to half an hour. Hmm… I thought so – sub-tropical infestation.It looked dissimilar to the fresh steaming picture on the laminated menu card. The cheese looked stringy and his palate blandly informed him that it had seen better days before reaching the pizzeria’s oven. Probably mouldy,he thought. The base was dry and too thick for the meagre topping, and the tomato paste, which the Lebanese cook had applied sparingly, was brittle from overcooking in their wood-fire furnace. Overall, it was little wonder the pizzeria was hazardously close to going out of business.

  He ate slowly, savouring every second away from his post. Only after he’d scraped the last of the burnt cheese off the platter did he consider leaving. He stood reluctantly and smiled at the waitress as she scanned him for the bill. She smiled warmly back, as if she had to thank each sponsor individually for braving the establishment. Two months ago her smile would have caused a stirring in his groin and he’d have vied for her affection in a passionate one-night stand. But the strain of constant fear had taken its toll. Tonight he merely checked the amount on the display to make sure she hadn’t overcharged him before heading into the evening outside.

  It was already dark. Only a hint of the fading glow in the west remained to signify the death of twilight and the onset of night. He was dragging his feet, ambling as slowly as he could through the back alleys to his tatty little apartment, breathing deeply to clear the smoke from his lungs. He was nervous when walking home, or when he was anywhere outside for that matter. Cameras were everywhere and he had to remember to shield his face. Microchip scanners were even harder to evade and he had to squeeze down the tightest alleys to pass them unnoticed. Sure, they were great for eradicating crime in Groningen. But what about the innocents who are presumed guilty?The system had faults, but wasn’t one of the demons he was willing to wrestle. Nope, he’d chosen a bigger, more dangerous foe. Mandatory microchipping was just an extra hurdle for him to jump, one more obstacle on the road to a safer planet.

  Hans sneered.

  They’ve got no idea what’s going on right under their noses.He wondered whether it was already too late to avert. Maybe it’s all in vain and I’d be wiser spending the remaining time doing things I enjoy.The thought of living in a ticking bomb without knowing how long the idiots had unwittingly set the fuse made him jittery.

  His nerves were taut as he stalked through the streets. The sudden meow of a cat startling him close to a heart attack and he slapped a palm over his chest in a token bid to make sure it was still beating. “Please don’t do that,” he said as the cat rubbed against his leg. He could feel the purr of its tiny inbuilt motor vibrating through his trousers.

  Hans crouched in the darkness and petted the ginger cat with long strokes, which encouraged the feline to rub its head across his bent knees. “Hey, fella.” Hans scratched it behind its ears and rubbed it affectionately under its chin, something that seemed to drive the curious thing crazy with pleasure. “Hey, you live around here?” The cat meowed again. No collar,Hans thought as he stroked its side and felt its pronounced ribs. “Are you a stray?” The cat nudged him harder, nearly disturbing his delicate balance and sending him sprawling across the cold brick alley. Then it looked up with bright yellow eyes, pleading with him for… What?“What is it?” Their eyes remained locked until the cat brushed against him again, in sheer bliss from the sudden abundance of attention.

  “Oh, no.” Hans stood, much to the dismay of the cat. “No, no. I can’t have a cat,” he said, looking apologetically at the soft-furred animal. “I’m not allowed cats in my apartment.” He turned his back and started walking the stiffness from his knees. They always seized up when he squatted or knelt. He deliberately bent his thoughts to something else and quickened his pace before he fell helplessly under the stray’s spell and the benevolent streak that blemished his personality forced him to adopt it. “I’m sorry, but I have enough problems to deal with at the moment.”

  The resulting meow beseeched him to help. It tugged at the very fabric of his heart, the last desperate plea from an abandoned kitten whose instincts forewarned of its impending doom unless it found warm shelter and nourishing food. A devout cat-person, Hans couldn’t bring himself to forsake the animal to whatever fate tossed its way. What if I’m its last chance?He turned to see a cute whiskered face looking forlornly up at him.

  With a sigh, he threw his hands in the air. “Okay, I suppose I’m breaking enough laws to go straight to hell already. One more can’t hurt.” He scooped his new companion into his arms and it restarted its adoring motor, smooching his clean-shaven chin. “What am I going to call you then?”

  He took a quick peek under its tail. “Oh, so you’re a girl cat.�
�� He ran a finger under the animal’s chin and she pianoed his jacket with her claws. He was feeling uninspired and deflated by his recent experimental ill luck, and that sentiment weaved into his lack of creative flair. “How about Kat?”

  She didn’t object.

  “Okay, Kat it is,” he huffed. “So what do you want for dinner, Kat?”

  She purred some more.

  “How about mince?” He thought he had a small packet tucked toward the rear of his freezer,which shouldn’t take long to defrost.“Tomorrow we’ll get you some real cat food.”

  Despite acquiring a new friend, his problems quickly wound up his mind and consumed his thoughts. So his torment continued afresh, just as agonizing as before. His quandary revolved around an issue in the manufacture of the material PortaNet needed to contain a space fold. He’d managed to get his hands on some through Lars Olssen, before he’d been assassinated. Dangerous, dangerous stuff.More shocking was how they were disposing of the by-product. All told, they were heading down a path that led to a catastrophe the likes of which nobody on Earth had ever had the gall to imagine.

  Fear of the inevitable cataclysm kept Hans van de Berg toying with the equipment that crowded his apartment. Fear of being killed like Lars Olssen kept him cautious on the streets.

  As he expected, his apartment smelled like smouldering silicon. The sordid smoke engulfed him as soon as he entered. Great.Kat gave him an uncertain look when he placed her carefully on the carpet. “Sorry about the smell, you’ll get used to it after a while.”

  She spent the next ten minutes exploring her new surroundings, cataloguing where things were, and sniffing all the fascinating scents that humans didn’t notice. By the time she’d finished,Hans had fixed dinner and Kat ate the mince with a gusto that could only come from true appreciation.