The Anarchists

by Brian Thompson

  “John. . .”

  “Devon. . .”

  “. . .I’m a thief. . .”

  “. . .white collar criminal. . .”

  “. . .gang member. . .”

  “. . .quadriplegic. . .”

  “. . .wife beater. . .”

  “. . .I’m terminally ill. . .”

  “. . .and we’re beginning again.”

  The commercial ended with the Genesis Institute logo and a phone number, 1-888-BEGINAGAIN. Madison redialed every few seconds she spent alone, while Damario rehabbed his new synthetic arm and eye. Adharma’s advice proved true. The miracle drug stimulated healthy growth of the severed nerves to bond with the artificial ones wired to his new appendages.

  When he slept, she assumed the dreams were vivid, as her husband’s moaning indicated pleasure. He’d awaken and stayed mum on what he had seen. The object of his enjoyment was his college sweetheart, Robinne Glasse. They broke up prior to Damario accepting his internship at G.R. Cooper and attending business school at Stern. Robinne lived in Philadelphia.

  With the busy signal operator in view from Madison’s holophone, Damario entered the room. He employed the use of a crutch and wore sunglasses to hide his eye, which looked like an antique LED. Soon, it would be fitted with synthetic skin to make it appear normal. “Still busy?”

  She snapped the display shut. “How’s therapy?”

  “If I didn’t know any better,” he said, limping towards the bed, “I’d think you were hiding something.”

  “Have me investigated then.” She snapped her fingers. “Sorry. You already did that.”

  “Ouch,” he winced with sarcasm. “Those lines are going to be jammed up forever. Everybody in America wants to know what ‘beginning again’ really means. The advertising is a little deceptive, but brilliant.”

  “I think you wouldn’t be half as high on life, if they stopped giving you that drug.”

  “I’m healing.” Damario sat at the edge of the bed and swung his good leg into it for leverage, then his sore and bruised one. “I have sensations other than pain.”

  “Good for you,” she said, while loading a virtual magazine.

  “Look, you don’t have to be here, Maddie. The bedside vigil’s really not necessary.”

  “I guess not, since you have Robinne.”

  He sighed. “Will you stop it with the Robinne stuff? Seriously!”

  “Stop dreaming about her, D. Stop whispering her name in your sleep. If you want to reconcile, I did my part. I apologized, I severed the relationships. You do your part.”

  Damario wondered if he could control the dreaming. Thus far, he had not tried, thoroughly enjoying each rendezvous with Robinne – the picnics in the quad, the college dances, and impromptu dates. Each journey lasted longer the previous one, and all ended before the physicality got extremely involved. Madison did have a point. Internally, he wanted a free pass to do what she had done. “Alright.”

  “Don’t sound so enthused. It’s just our marriage.”

  “I’ll do it,” he joyfully resigned. The change in tone satisfied her. “Do you have my holophone?”

  She passed the silver object to Damario. “Here. Why?”

  He dialed 1-800-BEGINAGAIN. “Let me give it a shot.” To his surprise, the phone connected right away.

  “Hello, and welcome to the Genesis Institute and the Begin Again Initiative.” A brunette female greeted him. “Please wait while we verify your identity with an iris scan.”

  Damario removed his glasses and hoped that the prosthetic had been coded with his genetic information.

  “Good morning.” The holographic image arrested Harper’s attention. Other than a few blips in its presentation, the administrative professional looked authentic. A few of her curls even wobbled as her head moved. “Welcome to the Genesis Institute. May I have your full name?”

  “Harper Charlotte Lowe. I have. . .had a 9:30 meeting with Dr. Adharma, but the crowd outside. . .”

  “You’re fine,” she reassured. “We allow an extra 45 minutes for his appointments. The excitement surrounding our “Begin Again” initiative is spectacular, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but what is it exactly? And why do people want it so badly?”

  “Everything in time, Miss Lowe,” said the annoyingly pleasant program. “Follow me, please.” She rose from the projection machine seated in a high-backed office chair. As she did, the hologram replicated itself at the desk. Harper wondered how the hologram’s stiletto heels clicked against the black marble floors, as if the secretary actually existed.

  “The Genesis Institute exists for the betterment of humanity,” she explained. “Accordingly, we focus our talent and resources on revolutionary advances in the physical, mental, relational, and financial well-being of the international populace.”

  What does all of that mean?

  “In other words,” said the assistant, as if reading Harper’s thoughts, “if there's a way to push mankind to the unlimited depths of its potential, we will be involved.”

  “Does that include the ‘Begin Again’ initiative?”

  The smiling assistant waved her hand in a welcoming flourish, which opened the sliding door in front of them. “Doctor Adharma will see you now.”

  Harper entered the door and watched the assistant vanish into a miniscule light diode embedded in the baseboard of the hallway.

  “Miss Lowe.” A thick Indian accent beckoned her. “Please join me.”

  Harper complied and shook hands with the doctor. “Pleasure to meet you. My boss just raves about you and the work that you do.”

  “Ahh. . .Kareza.” He relished saying the woman’s name. “I would not be able to accomplish much without her helping hands. Please have a seat.”

  “Thank you.”

  The two sat a few feet apart, separated by a thick fiberglass desk. It housed an enlarged computer projection console. To operate it, Adharma wore specialized gloves with memory chips implanted in the finger pads. Harper coveted the technology for her office.

  “I heard your boyfriend had been killed.” The doctor’s words exuded sympathy. “My condolences and apologies.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What’s your mental state right now?”

  Harper tasted the inside of her mouth and paused. “When I close my eyes, I still see the accident. I smell the burning, and. . . it. . .” She stopped to collect her thoughts and to keep from weeping.

  The doctor pushed his fingers a few times in the air on a display that Harper could not see with her naked eyes. “Have you slept?”

  “Barely,” she admitted. “The kids sleep on his side of the bed. That helps me to forget.”

  “Taken anything for the insomnia?”

  “I’d rather readjust naturally. I don’t believe in medicating problems away. Not everything can be cured by a pill or solution.”

  “A peculiar ideology for a psychiatrist.” He swept his hands across the desk and typed on a virtual keypad. “Look at it as a means to an end. Your body needs rest to heal – even mentally. Open wounds get infected and fester. Then, what’s healthy becomes unhealthy.”

  “I understand, but I disagree. What did insomniacs do before drugs were developed? How about different methodologies instead of pharmacology?”

  “They drank themselves to sleep,” he chuckled. “Depressants have existed since the beginning of time, you know. I’m talking about a pill, not a hangover-inducing binge.”

  “And the side effects are a small chance of heart attack, stroke, and blood clots, right? Aren’t there medical cases of insomniacs who die because of sleep aid side effects?”

  “There are more documented instances of insomniacs falling asleep while piloting a transport and killing themselves and their children. Don’t you agree?”

  Harper did not protest further, as she had fallen asleep at a red light a few days ago. When she awoke, the automatic pilot had already taken over. The thought of losing Christian, Gabrielle, or her fetus overw
helmed her.

  “How pregnant are you now?”

  “Eleven weeks.”

  “I can prescribe something safe for you and the baby, with limited side effects. Prevalent among them are vivid, memorable dreams. But you will sleep.”

  Harper suppressed her personal opinions about the subject and consented.

  After administering a battery of questions and mental health tests, Adharma authorized a prescription to the pharmacy of Harper’s choice. “Before you go to sleep, take one pill,” he instructed. “Your dreams will be vivid, palatable. You will remember them, but you will sleep soundly.”

  “Anything else?” She braced herself.

  “Other than a slight aftertaste, no.”

  She accepted the news and walked out. The holographic assistant emerged from the floor and escorted Harper to the lobby. Outside, a throng of people shielded their eyes from the sun to peer into the building. From this vantage point, they viewed the building’s architectural and glorious design. Micah would have loved the chance to design such a magnificent work of metal, wood, glass and polished marble.

  If only Miles Chu had not laid him off.

  Despondent, Teanna rolled her head towards the sunlight. A few geometrical yellow shapes warmed her forehead, nose, and across her cheeks. She whispered dim and the tint on the hospital window darkened to a higher grade. The ceiling lights barely illuminated the room beyond an auburn glow. It remained that way until the doctor or Stan Witmore, her attending medical droid, entered. Then, the lighting matched that of a sports stadium.

  “. . .wife beater. . .”

  “. . .I’m terminally ill. . .”

  “. . .and we’re beginning again.”

  The holovision played the Genesis Institute commercial ad infinitum. It ran before and after every major show, as well as during the news. Teanna let it run. Today, she would return to an empty home cleared for habitation a day ago, when a policeman notified her that they had cleaned up the crime scene. They buried Meleasa over a week ago, and Stan sedated her after delivering the news. But he could do nothing about the construct of her mind; something Adharma told her, as well. Erasing the past took time. Teiji did not wish for her to contact him. She imagined word had reached his father overseas and that he would finally come to see what a mess his former lover had made of their son’s life.

  “Good morning, Miss Kirkwood.” Stan greeted her warmly. “You will be discharged today at noon; approximately one hour and 15 minutes from now. Please prepare yourself and your things. I will come at a quarter until noon to sign you out.”

  Teanna rubbed sleep from her eyes and entered the shower. As the hot water dribbled across her body’s full contours, she thought about her next move. She could not stay in the house alone, where Tiny and Meleasa had died. In a matter of days, the state would pull its aid due to her discovered drug use. Then what?

  For one reason or another, she had alienated her friends. No one came to visit her – not even to settle a score or to curse her out. The satisfaction of her failure could be discovered from a distance. She had chosen a boyfriend over her children before – only to later discover that they had told the truth. If I’d believed Tay, or done somethin’, he’d be goin’ to his internship and Meleasa would be alive!

  She had barely gotten dressed when Stan returned. “Good morning, Miss Kirkwood. Please affirm your signature on the following release documents by pressing your thumb against the plate located on the front of my arm.” Teanna did so without reading them. “Thank you. Please follow me to the exit.”

  “I thought I got a final check up with Doctor Adharma?” she inquired to Stan’s back. He continued to move forward but swiveled his head around to address her.

  “Please feel free to visit him. He has offices at the Genesis Institute.”

  “I ain’t gotta make an appointment?” she asked, still following.

  “No. He marked you as a priority case.”

  Priority case? What’s wrong with me? Teanna waited for a public transport at the corner. Two transfers later, she would be dropped off on the same street as the Genesis Institute. She hoped that whatever the doctor told her, it included more of that blue drug that gave her sweet dreams and a pleasant taste in her mouth.

  Cee Cee had been to the women’s detention facility a few times to visit her best friend, but Quinne would not have her. This time, she noticed the inmate from afar, dawdling about the yard. When Cee Cee drew close enough to call her name, Quinne glowered back and said nothing. Her stare quieted everything conciliatory her friend could have thought. The bigger woman cornered Quinne and projected enough hostility to impose her will. “Sit or stand.”

  Quinne did not speak, but cursed Cee Cee with an evil grimace. You turned me in.

  “I commissioned a lawyer to speak with Kareza Noor and the judge regarding your release. Good behavior alone will get you reduced to 45 days.”

  Wasting my time. Quinne crossed her arms and sulked.

  “I identified your dealer and they caught him.”

  You snitched? Her eyes widened.

  She held a hand up. “It’s anonymous. But he turned on his supplier, who they’ve been trying to catch for a while.” Cee Cee’s voice bubbled. “Noor made a big deal out of it, so my lawyer negotiated an earlier release for you.”

  When?

  Cee Cee noticed the wonderment in her friend’s eyes. “Counting time already served. . .next Wednesday.”

  Quinne contained her excitement with pursed lips. “Can I still enlist?”

  “She talks!” Cee Cee snapped her fingers. “Expunged record! Yep. Forgot about that.”

  “You didn’t have to do all that for me.”

  “Yes I did. And you’re right. I haven’t been a good friend.”

  Quinne swiped the corners of her eyes with the backs of her hands. “What do I owe you?”

  “Well, you still have to behave for another week. Can you do that?”

  “In this place? What else is there?”

  “Been going to your meetings?” By “meetings,” Cee Cee meant the addiction support group.

  She nodded. Sat through every gut-wrenchin’ question and discussion. Talked about Troy, our baby, my actions and the consequences. “Yes, Mom.”

  “Noor did insist on one small sticking point and wouldn’t budge from it.”

  Quinne rolled her eyes. “I knew it. What, community service?”

  “Sort of. Without it, the deal goes away. You get the full 120 and it stays on your record.”

  “Shoot, sign me up. What I gotta do?”

  Cee Cee dug into her purse and produced a thumb segment-sized, blood red disk. “You get phone time in here?”

  “Once a night. I ain’t got no one to call but you, though.”

  “You do now.” She handed the disk to Quinne. “Since you wouldn’t see me earlier, you have to respond by midnight tonight. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

  “Wait! What if I don’t get through?”

  Cee Cee smiled and kissed her friend on the cheek. “You’ll get through.”

  That night, phone privileges could not come fast enough. To the amazement of her fellow prisoners, who ribbed her, Quinne jumped in line for the first time, One joked that her man must have visited. Another one had seen Cee Cee kiss her and assumed that she and Quinne were lovers. Quinne endured the jokes without response, which egged on her provocateurs. When her turn came, she dialed the number five times and received a busy signal every time.

  “Try another number, Ruiz,” warned the supervising officer, “or get out of line.”

  She tried one last time, crossed her fingers and held her breath.

  A hologram of a Hispanic male appeared. “Hello, and welcome to the Genesis Institute and the Begin Again Initiative. Please wait while we verify your identity with an iris scan.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  January 18, 2050

  Absolution. Teanna had never heard of it until her psychiatrist used the term to describe her rece
nt emotions. He refused to define it. Instead, he persisted in making Teanna clear up the matter for herself. During their Friday morning session four days ago, she excused herself to the bathroom and looked up the word on her holophone. Satisfied, she returned to the office with bravado.

  “Forgiveness? Could’ve just told me that, Nandor.”

  “Yes.” Adharma manipulated an invisible display. “But what would that accomplish?”

  “Umm. . .not trying to confuse me?”

  “Your confusion lies deeper than you think. I said you needed absolution. However you define it, that's your problem and your solution.”

  It started and ended with Teiji, who had refused to see her. At her last attempt, she asked the man in charge of visitation to show her Teiji’s list of visitors. Only one person successfully saw him – his girlfriend, Kelly Roshenburger. Though multiracial herself, Teanna did not approve of her son’s choice of a white Jewish girlfriend. Yet, Teanna herself did not practice a religion. But something about the girl put her ill at ease. She appeared to be well-mannered and behaved. At the end of that same day around three o’ clock, she approached the girl. “Kelly!” She waved as discreetly as possible. “Kelly Roshenburger!”

  Kelly turned. When she noticed the disheveled black woman walking towards her, she cursed and sped up. Teanna also stepped up her pace too but not enough to aggravate her scabbed-over knees. They arrived at Kelly’s transport at the same time. Teanna laid a hand over the door’s thumbprint panel and locked eyes with Kelly.

  “You're harassing me. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t get a school policeman. One.”

  Desperate, Teanna pled her case. “Hear me out, just this once. I‘m Tay‘s mom.”

  Kelly crossed her arms. “I know. You want a chance, Miss Kirkwood? One more chance than you ever gave me? You don’t even know me, and the first thing you do is ask me for something. You’re everything Tay said you were.”

  “I need to see him, and he ain’t seeing me.”

  “He doesn’t want to see you!” she snapped. “Why do you need to see him anyway? Isn’t it enough that he’s in prison because of you?”