2043 A.D.

by Edward M Wolfe

  “Where would you like me?” she asked with a smile.

  Drake was struck dumb. This was almost surreal.

  “I guess in the bedroom,” he said, and pointed toward the hall that led to his room.

  “Great!” she replied. “Do you want to go straight there, or do you want to talk first? Some guys like to talk for a few minutes. But just remember, time is ticking…” She tapped her wrist as if she were wearing a watch.

  “Go on in. I’ll be there in just a second.”

  She said okay and walked down the hall. Drake admired her tiny ass as it swayed in the shiny purple material of her skirt. But then he realized that as visually pleasing as it was, he wasn’t getting turned on by it. In fact, he could feel himself going soft.

  It must’ve been that remark about the time. Damn her. Why’d she have to say that? She brought the fact that he was paying and had a time limit into the forefront of his mind. He didn’t mind seeing her as an object he could purchase, but at the same time, he didn’t want her seeing him as just another meaningless customer. Couldn’t she have just kept her damned mouth shut and let this play out like it was real? Let a guy have a little bit of fucking dignity?

  He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath and tried to flush the angry thoughts out of his head. He turned to the front door and said, “Do not disturb. Two hours.” He saw the availability status light on his autohost turn to red. He took another deep breath and walked to his bedroom, thinking, “You ruined it, you stupid whore.”

  Thirty

  When the isolation chamber hissed and the door began to rise, Deron was much more disoriented than he was the first time. He knew it was time to get out of the thing, but he just laid there in a daze of mental static. It’s as if his mind was saying, “Let’s get out now,” and he was responding, “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do that,” but he made no move to get up and had no desire or inclination to move. He was aware of the strangeness of it too. He knew he wanted to get out, and felt his lack of desire to do so.

  He moved his right hand, wiggling his fingers in the water, just to demonstrate to himself that he could; that he wasn’t paralyzed; because that’s what it started to feel like. He was afraid he couldn’t get out, despite wanting to. Since he was able to move his hand, he willed himself to sit up.

  Okay, so I’m not paralyzed, but I don’t feel right at all.

  He slowly climbed out and went behind the partition to dry off and put on his clothes.

  “Welcome back, Deron! How are you doing?”

  Deron thought of saying, “Fine,” but just like getting out of the chamber, he didn’t feel like saying it, although he wanted to. As he put on his clothes, he became more aware of how dull his mind felt, like he was a brainless robot putting clothes on a body that had little to do with him. He wondered if they were drugging him in the chamber. If there was a drug in the water, could he absorb it through his skin? His mind felt wooden, and it took great effort to even form these questions. He was trying very hard to have awareness of what he was feeling mentally and physically. But it was hard. He just wanted to sleep. Or sit down and be still and quiet.

  “Deron? You alright back there?”

  Could Gerald just shut up and leave him alone? He was getting dressed for god’s sake. Isn’t that what he was supposed to be doing?

  “Yes,” he managed to say in a dull, lifeless tone.

  Was that me? That didn’t sound like me.

  “Okay. Great! Just checkin’ on ya.”

  Yeah. Whatever. He didn’t care that Gerald was just checking on him. He didn’t really care about anything right now. Once he was fully dressed, he just stood there behind the partition, staring at it like a complete moron. He knew he should walk around it and perhaps sit down where he usually sat on the opposite side of Gerald’s desk, but, whatever. Standing there seemed perfectly okay too.

  After a minute of standing still, Gerald poked his head around the partition.

  “Good, you’re dressed. Why don’t you come on out and have a seat?”

  I don’t know why not, Deron thought. But okay. Since you say so.

  He followed Gerald around the partition and back to the main part of the office. He sat in his usual chair and sighed. It seemed to take all of his energy to have gotten dressed and then to have walked all the way over to the chair. Like maybe ten steps.

  “How are you feeling, Deron?”

  Deron turned his head toward Gerald and stared at him as if he didn’t know who, or even what, Gerald was. He let the words echo once in his mind. How are you feeling, Deron? He knew all of the words, and therefore he was able to identify the question for what it was. He mentally understood that this person across from him was inquiring as to the state of the entity called Deron, which was him.

  His mental response to the query was, whatever, and he looked away without saying anything. Gerald clapped his hands together one time making a sharp sound that bounced off the walls. Deron could visualize the sound wave bouncing off the wall. He looked at Gerald, annoyed.

  “What?”

  “How are you feeling, Deron? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Hmm. I’m not convinced. How was your session in the chamber?”

  Deron took a deep breath. He felt like it would take a lot of energy to answer Gerald’s question.

  “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

  Gerald quickly got up and helped Deron out of his chair and down the hall to the restroom where he vomited. Deron found it interesting that he wasn’t distraught about vomiting like he normally was. It was more like it was happening to someone else and he was just a guest in their body. Like it had nothing to do with him at all.

  Thirty-one

  When Charlie arrived at Kathleen’s, he was in a huff. He had really worked himself up on the drive over, determined to tell his daughter his thoughts without his usual regard for sparing her feelings. Deron meant a lot to Charlie, and the fact that Kathleen had casually thrown him to the wolves was intolerable.

  He pulled up to the curb with the driver’s door facing the house. He got out and walked across the lawn, neglecting to use the driveway and sidewalk in subconscious protest of his daughter’s preferences. He rapped his knuckles on the door three times and breathed through his nose with his teeth clenched while he waited. He was prepared to argue if necessary, but hoped he wouldn’t have to.

  “Dad! What are you doing here? I was just about to go out.”

  “That’s fine. I just need the address to where they’re holding Deron and I’ll be on my way.”

  “No one is holding him.” She turned and walked further into the house, leaving the door open behind her as a passive invitation for Charlie to come inside.

  “I’m not here to argue the semantics of it with you. Just tell me where the place is. I want to see my grandson.”

  He followed Kathleen down the hall and stood outside the bathroom she had entered to resume the application of her makeup.

  “They haven’t informed me that he can have visitors yet, so it won’t do you any good to try to see him.”

  “How can this place be for therapeutic rehabilitation without allowing visitors? Even prisons have visiting hours. This is just one more reason I don’t like this. Not at all, Kathleen. Just tell me where he is and I’ll deal with their stupid policy when I get there.”

  Kathleen dropped the eyeliner pencil on the bathroom counter, turned to Charlie and said, “You are not going to go over there and make a scene, Dad. In fact, since they’re trying to help Deron integrate with society, you’re probably the last person who should be visiting him right now.”

  “Just what is that supposed to mean?

  “If you want to know the truth, you may be a big part of the problems Deron has.” She walked out and squeezed past her father on her way toward the dining room. “You’re anti-government, anti-people, anti-progress… you’re anti-everything, including society!”

  Charlie shook his head as h
e followed her. This was going worse than he had expected. He knew she’d resist and argue, but he didn’t think she’d come out with a complete indictment of him. Of the many times he had momentarily felt like turning his back on his daughter, he wondered if this would be the time he finally did it. Maybe they’d let him take Deron out for dinner and he’d just never bring him back. They could disappear somewhere.

  “I am not anti-everything, and you know it. Just because I speak up against things that are wrong does not mean I’m against all things. That’s ridiculous, Kathleen.”

  She passed the dining room table and turned into the kitchen. “It is not ridiculous. It’s the truth. Do you want some goddamned coffee?”

  “I thought you were on your way out.”

  “I was, but for some reason I’m not in the mood for fun right now. I’ll see how I feel about it when I’m done fighting with my father.”

  “We are not fighting. You’re just being unreasonable and hypercritical. Tell me where Deron is and you can go get drunk and stupid with your friends. I don’t want to keep you from the things that really matter in your life.”

  “Dad, that is so unfair. Having friends and wanting to spend time with them does not mean I don’t care about my son. In fact, it’s because I care about him so much that he’s in the place where he is. I want him to have a real life. A meaningful life with his own fun and friends. If you had your way, he’d be a shut-in, cursing the world and hating his life.”

  “It’s amazing that you’ve managed to know me for thirty-four years and still haven’t gotten a clue about who I am.”

  “I know exactly who and what you are. You’re a holdout, Dad. You want the world to be the way it was before. I’ll never understand why though. How could anyone prefer racism and crime and poverty? Just what is it that you find so appealing about the way things were? Why do you hate modern society and modern technology so much anyway? What do you have against progress?”

  Even as she railed against her father’s preference for the past, she indulged him by making coffee the old-fashioned way with a coffee-maker she kept just for him. But she was not going to grind the beans she’d purchased earlier for a possible special guest. She took two cups from the cabinet and set them next to the coffee pot.

  “Kathleen, you’re not old enough to know what it was like before. It wasn’t all crime and poverty. And we had plenty of technology. Where do you think it all came from? Everything you enjoy today came from the advances in technology from before the war. We just didn’t let it run everything in our lives back then. It was a tool.”

  “It must’ve been great to have to mow your lawn all the time,” she said, scoffing as she poured the coffee. “Technology frees us from menial tasks. We have more time to live now, Dad. That’s not a bad thing.”

  “Like I said, you don’t know what it was like before. You have nothing to compare to.”

  “I know that people were killed and raped all the time, and I don’t need to experience that to know life is better now. Would you really like it if things were the way they used to be? Drunk drivers, child abuse, serial killers? Everyone running around with guns. How could anyone want that?”

  “Obviously, I don’t want the worst of the way things were. That’s a pathetic way to make a point and you should know better. But yes, there were bad things that needed to be addressed and the government at the time did a piss-poor job of it. But that doesn’t mean the way they’re going about it now is right.”

  “Have you looked at recent crime statistics, Dad? Crimes against people are practically non-existent in the redeveloped areas. So I definitely vote for the way things are now. I’m happy. And you could be too if you weren’t so stuck in the past. And I want my son to be happy like me. Not bitter and hateful like you. And that’s why he is where he is. If they can help Deron have a happier life, I want that for him, Dad. Don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. But not like this. Did you ever wonder where all of the criminals went, Kathleen? They didn’t just reform. They disappeared.”

  “What’s so bad about that?”

  “I guess it depends on what is defined as a crime, and who gets to do the defining. And now look what they’re doing. They’re taking people who aren’t even criminals and they’re trying to reform them. Shouldn’t Deron be free to be who he wants without someone judging him and trying to change him before he’s even become who he’s going to be? And what happens to him if he doesn’t turn out the way they want? Have you thought about that? Maybe he’ll just disappear one day because there’s no place for people like him in this modern fucking paradise.”

  “Dad, this is a voluntary program he’s in, designed to help him. The jackbooted thugs of your nightmares didn’t come and take him. It’s voluntary!”

  “It wasn’t voluntary for Deron. What choice did he have in this? You see, Kathleen, we don’t have freedom today. Everything we do is regulated, monitored, controlled, recorded, automated, and mandated. We’re like lab rats and we don’t even know it. As long as we have plenty of useless luxuries and meaningless sex, what more do we need, right? Life is grand!”

  “You just have a general mistrust of government. No matter what good they do, you’ll find something wrong with it.”

  “You’re goddamned right. Because to them, we’re just objects to be controlled. I’ll take my freedom with risks over being a rat in a shiny lab. Deron should have the same choice. Are you going to tell me where he is or not?”

  Kathleen opened a drawer and took out a seldom used notepad. She uncapped a pen and tried to start writing, but the ball-point was dry. She shook the pen and scribbled for a few seconds, then, looking at her communicator, she copied down an address and handed the paper to Charlie.

  “Here. Go see him, and try to be civil. And try not to get yourself arrested. You’ll be in a government facility, surrounded by government employees. I’m sure that’s your worst nightmare.”

  “No. My worst nightmare was when jack-booted government thugs killed your mother.”

  Charlie slipped the paper into his pocket and left.

  Thirty-two

  While Deron was cleaning himself up in the bathroom, Gerald summoned a medical doctor to have a look at him. He went over Deron’s treatment plan and then the log of his actual treatments. He swiped his finger one way, then the other, comparing the two documents.

  “This doesn’t match up. If this log is correct, he’s spending too much time in the chamber and getting double-dosed on his medications.”

  “That’s correct,” Gerald said. “Dr. Fielding verbally ordered the increase but hasn’t updated the treatment plan yet.”

  Dr. Carson scrunched his eyebrows and examined Gerald as if trying to make sense of what he’d said. “But that is an utter deviance of the accepted and safe protocols.”

  “I know,” Gerald said, feeling guilty and wanting to say that he was just following orders.

  “We spent months on these protocols until we’d determined maximum efficiency with the least adverse impact on the mental and physical health of the subjects.”

  “I know.”

  Dr. Carson stared at Gerald, expecting an explanation.

  Gerald just looked away, not offering one.

  “Is there a reason why?”

  Gerald glanced at the glass display in the surface of his desk, reassuring himself that there was no open communication line or recording software running. He spoke quietly.

  He spoke quietly, just above a whisper. “I can’t say for sure, but I think Dr. Fielding is pushing Deron out of personal animosity. Deron assaulted him, and I think the doctor is sort of—well, this will sound petty, but I think he’s getting revenge. He’s personally angry at Deron.”

  “That’s untenable. He shouldn’t even be involved in Deron’s treatment after that incident. In fact, I argued against him being both an administrator and a practitioner at the same time.”

  “But what can we do? He’s the director.”

 
“That’s exactly my point. That makes him his own supervisor in terms of medical practice. And we obviously can’t report him to himself. But this needs to stop before this kid overdoses or has a mental breakdown.”

  “But I have to follow Fielding’s orders. He’s my superior.”

  Deron entered the room looking much better than he had left it. Dr. Carson saw him and smiled, then turned to Gerald.

  “We’ll come back to that later.” He turned to Deron. “Hello. I’m Dr. Carson.” He extended his hand and Deron shook it. The doctor asked Deron how he was feeling, then proceeded to check his vital signs and peered into his eyes and ears.

  “Just a little spot-check. You seem to be okay. You’re probably going to be very hungry, but I’m going to recommend that you try to eat a light dinner. Let your stomach get settled. We might have a bug going around.”

  “Is he okay for counseling, or should he get bedrest?” Gerald asked.

  “He’ll be fine for a short counseling session. I’ll talk to you more later.”

  Dr. Carson left and Gerald asked Deron how he was feeling.

  “A little better.” He plopped down in his chair and yawned.

  “You’re supposed to have a two-hour counseling session, but I’m thinking one hour sounds good for now with an hour of unofficial free time for you to do whatever you want before dinner. But you’ll have to stay in here so it looks like you’re having a two-hour session. I’ve got some video games on my slate you can play.”

  As far as Deron knew, Gerald was being extra nice because he’d thrown up. He didn’t feel sick, but if he was going to get some free time, he didn’t mind Gerald thinking he was still sick. He leaned back, slouching in his chair.

  “Okay,” he said. “Now what?”

  “Now we have just a normal counseling session. Have you ever seen a counselor before, or a psychologist or anything?”