by IMAN K. F.
CHAPTER 3
Lucas is still looking at me a little uncertainly, but settles into the chair, his tape recorder back in hand. He motions for me to go on.
“My flight landed in Panama around midnight. I was super nervous, but didn’t face any issues at customs. Everything actually went pretty smoothly. As per my instructions, I walked out of the airport and through exit #2. A wave of hot air hit me. I remember clearly, because I wasn’t expecting such weather for that time of the year. I waited beside the curb, watching fellow travelers arriving and disembarking, my duffle bag slung over one shoulder. A strange feeling, to be in such a crowded place but still feel completely alone.” The recollection comes out of nowhere. I’m feeling a little hazy. Probably the drugs.
“Within a few minutes a white minivan with fully tinted windows stopped in front of me. The car’s door slid open, and I got inside. No other passengers were inside, and there was a barrier between the back and front seats so I couldn't even tell if there was a driver or a fully computerized car. Anyways, I started asking questions in my limited English, but got no response.
“I’d been in the car less than a minute, when out of nowhere I heard a hissing noise behind me. I turned and I saw an automated canister releasing a stream of foul-smelling white gas. Knocked me out instantly,” I say, and tap myself on the right temple, and twist my neck sideways. Lucas smiles with one side of his mouth.
“When I came to I was on a relatively uncomfortable bed in a medium-sized white room, with no windows. Except for my underwear, I had no clothes on, and my belongings were nowhere in sight. The room was completely bare except for the bed and a small toilet in the corner, and a metal door in the far wall with no visible handle. My nose burned from the smell of cleaning chemicals. ‘What’s going on?’ I demanded, but again, no response. Then the fear started to settle in. Maybe these guys weren’t legit after all. No one knew I was here; they could do whatever they wanted to me. My panic escalated, and I started to imagine worst case scenarios. What if Cyrus set me up? What if they were human-body traffickers, and were going to sell my body parts? Hours passed with me fidgeting, examining every corner of the room, trying not to completely lose it. But nothing happened.”
“That sounds terrible,” Lucas says, voice concerned.
“It definitely wasn’t much fun,” I reply. “I remember how terribly long every minute felt. At that point I was certain I was in trouble. Finally I lost my patience, and started yelling like a maniac and banging on the door. It didn’t do any good, so once I’d tired myself out I sat on the corner of the bed for some time, trying to hold back tears. I can’t explain how painful that experience was. I know I wasn't physically being tortured, but mentally, I was devastated. It’s crazy, feeling so helpless, with no idea what might happen to you. Then all of a sudden I heard a hissing sound again, and saw a similar stream of gas being released in the room through the vents. I lost consciousness again.
“When I woke up I found myself still on the bed. Immediately, I looked at my body, searching for any surgery stitches. Everything seemed to be intact, which was a good sign. I got up and started to yell again. This time two people finally entered the room. They were wearing masks I recognized—Guy Fawkes masks from an old classic movie; I think it was called ‘V for Vendetta.’ I asked them what was happening in broken English. One of them stopped me by placing his hand on my mouth. He then turned on a small device he held in his hand, similar in shape to hockey puck but about half the size.
“When he started talking the device translated what he said into my mother tongue, Farsi, sentence by sentence. They told me I could speak in my mother tongue and the device would translate. That made communication quite a lot easier. It would have been even better if they had Brain-Link, though.” I squint at Lucas. “I am impressed by its auto-translate feature. It seems you understand me quite well. Have you even noticed that I’ve been speaking mixed Farsi and English?”
“I only notice it if I look at your lip movements, or pay attention to your physical expressions as there is a little bit of a delay. Other than that it works great,” Lucas responds.
“Fascinating,” I say, and rub my chin in amazement. “”But I digress. The smugglers, who I’ll refer to as Vendettas, said they’d get me across the U.S. border, but only if I explicitly followed their instructions, and after I was there I’d be on my own. They gave my belongings back, along with some water and snacks. I put on my clothes and ate the snacks like a hungry bear. It’s amazing how much better I felt no longer being mostly naked, and with a little food in my stomach.
“Once I was ready to move, they blindfolded me and we left the room. The Vendettas were super cautious to ensure I couldn’t see anything or find out any details about them—everything they could do to avoid getting caught. Anyway, they led me into another vehicle, and this time I could hear other people speaking different languages. Seemed like the Vendettas were going to smuggle a group of us across the border all at once. And guess what? Shortly after the vehicle started to move, I heard that awful hissing sound again.
“’Wake up!’ someone shouted. Not the most pleasant alarm clock, and this time I felt like I’d been unconscious for several hours. The vehicle was no longer moving, and the Vendettas ushered us out the door, and once outside, uncovered our eyes. We were in what looked like a desert, in the middle of nowhere. Around me were another three refugees, three Vendettas and a cylindrical construction robot. The robot was relatively small; about the size of a garbage can. One of the Vendettas pointed to a spot on the ground and said to the robot, ‘Drill.’
“The robot worked efficiently, drilling while sucking up mud. I wasn’t sure why they wanted it to dig, but multiple possibilities were going through my mind. At least I wasn’t scared anymore: If they were going to kill us, they would have done it already. I wanted to yell and ask what the heck was going on, but I didn’t have the guts, so simply waited.
“Finally, the digging was done. The newly made hole was a few feet deep, and at the bottom I saw a manhole steel cover. The robot reached down two thin metallic arms, and pried the cover open, then lifted and placed it a few feet away. The Vendettas gave us each headlamps, then went in the hole first. We followed down a ladder through the manhole into a shaft so narrow the dirt walls pressed against our shoulders, and so deep I couldn’t see the bottom even with our headlamps. We climbed at least ten minutes, maybe fifteen, and my hands ached so bad I had to take a few breaks before we finally reached the bottom.
“The Vendettas turned a few lights on, and what we were able to see was impressive. They had made a small underground station. Six single-person, driverless capsule-looking vehicles sat on underground tracks, like a railroad, extending into a pitch-black tunnel. I believe it was in the 2020’s that the bored underground tunnels and tracks became common. I can't remember who the visionary behind the idea was but I remember reading about how much it helped the transportation during that time. The boring machines became very efficient and cost effective hence, lots of these underground tracks were made. I think the reasons they became less popular was due to costly repairs and complex maintainability issues. But in my opinion, the main issue was probably the fact that many people had a phobia of travelling long distances underground, claiming to feel claustrophobic. So the focus shifted back towards above-ground infrastructure and advanced air travel systems. Regardless of the shift, the underground tracks were a brilliant idea for their time.
“You know, Lucas, I admire the visionaries behind such influential ideas. Not the businessmen purely after the money, who introduce products or services that have minimal impact in terms of bettering our lives, but the true visionaries who risk everything in order to make meaningful, long-lasting improvements. It’s true that they probably made a fortune as well, but along the way they had to work extremely hard, and take not only great financial risks, but also emotional ones. This is no easy feat. In fact, if we were in their shoes, many of us would have ne
ver taken such heavy risks. One might argue we all make sacrifices, but the truth is the majority of us, including myself, take risks mostly for selfish reasons.”
Lucas interrupts me. “But is it wise to compare yourself and others to extreme cases? You’re talking about visionary prodigies, geniuses. And sure, there is little doubt that most of us are selfish. I think it’s in our nature to put ourselves first in that regard, before we think of others. And I’m not saying we shouldn’t try putting others first, but to what extent? I’m not sure how effective it is to compare ourselves to extremists that have made significant sacrifices. Would it eventually improve our behavior or would it be more self-damaging, trying to hold ourselves to standards we’ll never reach?”
“I get what you’re saying,” I respond. “But we have responsibilities—towards ourselves and others. We need to keep the balance between the two, and the key question is how. Anyway, given my circumstances, I shouldn’t be thinking about such matters. Let’s just talk about what happened next.”
Lucas is scratching at his coverall again, but still smiles. “Please continue.”
“The Vendettas told us we were going to take the high-speed capsules, and with them it would take approximately two-and-a-half hours to reach our destination in the U.S. Once we arrived, there’d be a ladder we’d need to climb to get to the surface, where more of their reps would be waiting for us. ‘From there, after they drop you off, you’ll be on your own,’ one of them said.
“We followed their instructions. I don't remember much of the ride since they again gave us the sleeping gas. This time they had given us a heads up, so it wasn't a surprise at least. They claimed that being unconscious would make time go by faster for us, and also help with not feeling claustrophobic during the trip.
“At the end of our underground trip we climbed up another long ladder. The climb up was even more physically demanding than our former climb down. At the top a truck had parked over the manhole. A round doorway at the bottom of the truck opened up and we passed through. It was fairly dark inside, as there were no windows. The four of us found a spot to sit, and we waited for more sleeping gas to be released. We were told it was better for all of us: The more unconscious we were, the less we’d remember and know about The Vendettas.
“When we woke up, we were laying on hard ground in total darkness. No sign of the truck or the smugglers. The Vendettas’ services were complete. They had suggested walking towards Freer, a town about a thirty minute walk from the drop off point. The Vendettas had left us old GPS units to help with directions, at least. The four of us grabbed our bags and started towards Freer. We were all scared of getting caught, so we had decided to travel without any light whatsoever. I almost twisted my ankle a few times, stepping on rocks, into potholes.
“We were probably halfway there when I spotted a few small, red lights flying above our heads. Chasing us. Before we even had a chance to react, a circle of the red lights surrounded us. Drones made of a silvery chrome metal, and about as big as fully grown crows hovered in the air. One of the guys tried to run, one of the drones immediately fired several warning bullets, stopping the man short. Another of the drones then projected a hologram of a policeman. He asked our names and the countries we were from, then in each of ours native languages, said, ‘Follow the drones, and don’t do anything stupid.’”
“Yikes,” Lucas says.
“We all did as he said without any hesitation; what choice did we have? I was terrified, and had no doubt that I’d be deported right back to New Persia. The whole ordeal felt so worthless. I’d squandered my parents’ fortune, and my relationship with them, for nothing.
“We ended up walking for roughly fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours. The drones led us to Freer police station, where we were immediately arrested and taken to separate rooms for interrogation.
“Just like in the movies, it was a plain room, with a door that locked with a buzzer, and nothing inside but a table and two chairs. I was in handcuffs, hands trapped behind my back, the metal biting into my wrists. Two police officers dressed in plainclothes, one heavyset with a full beard, the other skinnier than a beansprout and clean-shaven, drilled me with questions about the smugglers, but I had nothing. That knockout gas and the Guy Fawkes masks had done their jobs. I did tell them about the underground paths, but I don’t think it was very useful information. Firstly, I had no idea where they were. Secondly, it would be a difficult task to locate these unrecorded paths since no accurate locating tools existed for such deep applications, and lastly, there are so many other underground tunnels and other infrastructure, such as pipes, sewer lines and cables, that any tool would likely not able to pick them up, and would only return false information if they did.
“The police tried a series of tactics on me, including the good old ‘Good Cop Bad Cop’ routine, but I had nothing more to share. Thankfully, in current modern society, investigation methods are mostly nonviolent; they are more drug based. I even went through advanced hypnosis, where they tried to extract information from my subconscious memory. Can you imagine a few decades ago they used to put suspects through physical abuse during interrogations? I wonder how many people lied simply to stop the pain. In my case, I think it was pretty obvious I didn't know much. I am sure they’d probably caught others before me, and had similar results.
“When I was given a chance to use the phone, I contacted Cyrus to see if there was a way he could help. He pretended he didn't know me, and informed me not to bother him again.”
“Really! What a douchebag,” Lucas says as he shakes his head in disappointment.
“Well, you can’t really blame him. Of course I was disappointed, but not mad. After all, he also had entered the country illegally. I could’ve got him into trouble. I might have done the same thing in his shoes. I try to see things from everyone’s’ perspective. This helps me justify and even predict others behaviors, to some extent. In general, I have learned to have low expectation for humans.
“Speaking of which, it was interesting how much artificial intelligence was used in the police department instead of humans. I probably interacted with more robots and drones than real people. I guess you couldn’t blame society for advocating this setup since it had minimized the influence of human emotion during police interactions and duty. It was believed that this would avoid racist or sexist judgments and behaviors.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Lucas says, “but don’t you think there’s something also lost, not having human compassion in the decision making process?”
I scratch at my bumpy chin. “Maybe. But I guess they decided compassion wasn’t worth the other risks that human emotion sometimes brings.”
Lucas grunts, reclines back in his chair. I continue.
“Each of us was put into relatively small, individual cells. Food was delivered by drones and during our breaks we were watched by drones. There were even robots responsible for cleaning. Their philosophy was, the less human interactions with criminals, the less danger the staff and human officers would be in; plus it minimizes discrimination against criminals. I have to say, they did reasonably a good job. Sometimes I purposely made a big mess, just to see their reaction, but they didn't care; they did what they were programmed to do. However, I did come to miss humanly conversations. I had interactions with the other refugees kept in our section, but they were limited to only the few short breaks we had.”
Lucas frowns, looks skeptical. “So, it doesn’t seem you had a very harsh experience in the jail.”
I shrug. “Overall, my nineteen days of imprisonment weren’t too bad, except for the constant fear of deportation. Mentally, I was devastated. It was only matter of time, I believed. I’d burned so many bridges and hurt others to get here, and all of it would have been for nothing. I stressed about what would happen so much that I feel like I almost gave myself an ulcer.
“Then on day fifteen of my captivity, I was escorted to a meeting room by a drone. In the ro
om an attractive brunette lady in chic black business suit waited behind a table. She stood when I entered, and shook my hand and introduced herself as Donna. The handshake was solid— she meant business. ‘I’m here to represent you in legal matters, if you’ll have me. I think we can prevent your deportation,’ she’d said. My heart soared with hope at her optimism, and for the next couple hours we went over a detailed plan. She had me sign a contract that would give her ten percent of my income for a maximum of ten years, once I’d found a job. She called it the Ten/Ten agreement. I was thrilled and, without hesitation, I accepted her proposal.
“I had to agree to some physical and psychological tests, and spent the next two days undergoing them. Fitness and blood tests, hours of computer-generated behavioral questions, and finally, an interview with a psychologist.”
Lucas holds up a hand to cut me off. “I’m confused. Why’d you have to go through tests, and what was the plan that Donna offered you?”
“Patience Lucas. Patience. I was about to explain it all but I really think we should take a break,” I say with a joking smile on my face.
“Oookay,” he says, though his grimace makes it obvious how unhappy he is.
“I’m just kidding, Lucas. Let's continue for another five or ten minutes and then we’ll take a break.”
He chuckles inside his mask, a hollow sound, and nods for me to continue.
“Donna informed me that the government had introduced a program that allows physically and mentally fit refugees to obtain conditional residency. Upon passing these tests, I would be released and given the opportunity to stay at a subsidized refugee center, and would then have one year to find a job. She mentioned how the U.S. government was concerned about a declining population, and wanted to open its doors to qualified refugees as a solution, but all the past mass shootings and terrorist attacks had left them very cautious. She went off about how all the technological advancements had reduced interactions between humans, many now preferring relationships with human-looking robots rather than the real thing. Not to mention most of the people in pure-human relationships had decided to have no kids. She added that, also thanks to technology, finding a job had become horribly difficult, and the majority of families struggled to make a living. Whatever the reason, I was fortunate to have such an opportunity, and luckily I was able to pass all the tests.
