“Hello, Mister Coley, and welcome to the Begin Again initiative.” The whitewashed room reminded him of a hospital emergency ward, or what he imagined the seventh floor of the city hospital – the level where they kept the crazies – must look like. To the right were bagels, a bowl of fresh fruit and carafes of imported coffee. He fixed himself a cup, smeared a bagel with strawberry cream cheese, and sat in a padded chair.
Next to him, a young woman – of about 17 or 18-years-old – listened to alternative music from her personal audiodome. She would not be interested in conversation. If not that, the camouflage hat pulled low over her hair sent the message. Two seats down, a heavy, light-skinned woman in pedal pushers used the “audio only” setting on her holophone. She’d wiped her running eye makeup all along her cheeks and kept making reference to someone named “Tay.” In the last seat, a finely-dressed woman read something on a holographic computer screen with great intensity.
Damario checked his watch. 9:15. He hoped that someone would clue him in soon. When that did not happen, he moved his chair next to the reading woman, who repositioned herself. Both of them wore wedding rings, so she would not think he was flirting. But rings do not stop everyone, as he recently learned.
“Excuse me, miss?” Damario forgot about his coffee, and accidentally spilled a little on her and the computer projector. She frantically searched for a napkin, as did he. When one could not be found, he voluntarily fetched a few and gave them over. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she said, smiling. “Clumsiness is an incurable disease.”
“Terrible way to introduce myself. Damario Coley.”
She quickly cleaned up and shook his hand. “Harper Lowe.”
“Nice to meet you.” He nodded his head to the left. “Do you know them?”
“The woman to my left: her name's Teanna,” she said under her breath. “I don’t know the girl’s name at the end, but I think I heard the assistant call her ‘Quinne’ or something like that. Matter of fact, I think it's Quinne. Pretty girl.”
“Do you know why we’re here? I’m assuming you got the message?”
“Yep. Genesis Institute, 9:30 a.m. Wear something comfortable. I know what you know.” Harper and Teanna had exchanged brief notes; Adharma had counseled them both. Just then, a watch alarm beeped. “I’m sure we’re about to find out.”
“Good morning.”
Damario recognized the voice of the beauty in front of him. He first remembered her from the commercials and from the brief time they spent together on New Year’s Eve. Buttoned up in a burgundy business suit and Zara Hristoff high heels, Kareza was still attractive. Damario noticed the light of recognition in Harper’s eyes. “You know her? Kareza Noor?”
“I knew her as my boss,” she admitted, “not the CEO of this place.”
Kareza started with the young girl on the end. “You all don’t know each other, but, in one way or another, I am familiar with every one of you. Everyone, meet Quinne Ruiz.”
“I know you,” Quinne insisted. “But I thought you was a shrink?”
“That’s how I started off my career; psychiatric counseling for troubled people.” She moved down to the next woman. “Teanna Kirkwood, welcome.”
“Thanks.” Teanna dropped her holophone into the pocket of her cargo pants. Teiji’s cursing mad father wanted nothing to do with her.
“And Harper Lowe, who also knows me from my counseling background.”
“CEO?” Harper’s brow furrowed. “That explains a lot.”
Kareza laughed. “Missing staff meetings and the pot lucks? I’ve been personally evaluating each department, one by one, since last year. December was psychiatrics’ turn. My internal promotion to CEO had to be kept under wraps until I finished my assessments.” She reached Damario and their handshake heated his neck and face. “And Damario Coley. Mister Coley and I have seen a lot of each other, haven’t we?”
He smiled nervously at the double entendre. “We have.”
“I gather that you all want to know why you’re here. Follow me, please.”
Teanna, Harper, Damario and Quinne – in that order – walked behind Kareza. Damario focused on the back of her head and not the body he had seen half-naked. None of them had any clue of what type of business the Genesis Institute conducted.
From what he read and heard from financial sections, it did billions in 2049 alone. Much of that came from the holographic technology and software it had patented. Now, one could not make a call, watch a sitcom, or drive a transport without it. In fact, Damario’s savvy investment in its stock at the ground level afforded him and Madison the luxurious lifestyle they enjoyed.
“Ever have someone you thought that you could not live without?” Kareza asked, while ushering them through a black marble corridor. The area starkly contrasted the completely white environment they had just left. “I did, a long time ago.”
“A long time ago?” Teanna said, perplexed. “You ain’t no older than 35.”
“I’ve aged gracefully,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m older than I look.”
Quinne approached Kareza’s left side. “How old? What’s your secret?”
Kareza wagged a finger. “A lady never tells her beauty secrets.”
People still say that? Teanna stepped up her pace to stay in front, though her knees ached. Thankfully, they reached the elevator tubes.
“Please, step in.” The quartet joined the CEO in one large tube. “Top floor.” Since the building was almost 60 stories higher than their present floor, the trip took longer than the one from the ground. The elevators emptied into a room resembling that of the waiting area, but the floors and walls were black marble with white trails running through it. As the girlfriend of a structural engineer, Harper knew these materials were top notch.
“I made a decision one day and five of my friends joined me. Because of that one decision, I never saw them again.”
Harper touched her pregnant belly. “My God.”
“I swore to myself that if I ever got the opportunity to make things right, I would do it . . .wouldn’t even think twice about it. I never got that chance and still regret it.”
The theme of loss connected with each one of them for different reasons. Quinne broke the silence. “No disrespect, but what’s that gotta do with us?”
“You’re about to get the second chance that I never had, Quinne.” Kareza stepped forward into the range of the retina scanning device, which verified her identity. She placed her hand on an access panel, and said her name.
Harper, Teanna, Quinne and Damario looked at each other.
The door slid open and they all stared in wonder.
“This looks like an old-school dentist’s office on sniff.” Damario’s eyes bulged at the technology-draped ergonomic blue chairs.
“You know what an old-school dentist’s office actually looks like?” Quinne wisecracked. “Never actually seen one outside the History Channel.”
Damario sighed. “I am so freaking old.”
The machinery did intimidate the quartet of volunteers. At first blush, holographic images and scenarios randomly emerged, focused, and vanished – a chorale of monotone, automated voices echoed behind them. Damario recognized some of the equipment, as it belonged next to a hospital bed.
“Welcome to our Begin Again initiative!” Kareza announced with fanfare. “I have a ten o’clock, so I’ll be handing you over to the project’s chief medical counsel, Doctor Nandor Adharma, who's capable of answering all of your questions and concerns.”
Kareza’s departure disappointed Damario, but Harper appreciated it. Suddenly, like her cohorts, she did not trust Kareza.
“Miss Noor.” Adharma nodded. “You are all here under your own volition?”
The group looked at one another, then at the doctor.
“Your attending medical droid will assess you, after which you will be briefed regarding the next step you will take in ‘beginning again’.”
The four splintered of
f into solitary soundproof stations. Harper stretched out her legs into a comfortable position.
“I am Wynter Dawn, of the pilot medical android program. Please start by stating your full legal name.”
“Harper Charlotte Lowe,” she said. “And I’m 13 weeks pregnant.”
Wynter’s robotic female feigned glee. “Congratulations! What is your date of birth, Miss Lowe?”
“July 18th, 2015. I’m sorry, but can’t you just scan me for this information?”
“It is vital to the process of the project to do it manually. Height and weight?”
“Five-foot-six and I weighed 145 pounds at my last checkup.”
“Place of birth?” The questions came quicker now.
“Cleveland, Ohio.”
“Current address?”
“3815 Whisper Lane.”
“Marital Status.”
“Single,” she replied with more remorse than she ever had.
“Single.” Teanna had always been unattached, rarely in a relationship, and never within breathing distance of a marriage, but she preferred it that way since her first “date” 30 years ago. Her mother thought it unusual for a 13-year-old girl to have such an early interest in so many boys.
Thirteen years later, Teanna became a mother for the first time to a son conceived with a foreigner Teanna’s mother would never meet.
“Annual income?”
“Ain’t got one. Zero.”
“Do you have any prevailing medical conditions we should be aware of?”
Teanna unraveled a mental list. “High blood pressure, diabetes, cholesterol. tendonitis in both knees, arthritis in my joints. Depression, fibroids, and got asthma on top of all that.” She imagined that if Stan Witmore was human, he would have shaken his head at the physical condition of the 42-year-old. Instead, it instructed her to rise and follow it to another part of the room. She appreciated that the Institute had transferred a droid familiar to her. It made her comfortable – as comfortable as one could become with a machine.
“We will need to stabilize you before we proceed.” Teanna hobbled over to a sequestered cot. Soon, an opaque barrier erected itself between her and the others. Stan attached a pack to Teanna’s flabby arm, which distributed medication to control her blood pressure and insulin levels. While she leisurely turned her head, two needles stuck her in the sore spots of her knees and dispensed medicine. She cursed and yelled in temporary pain but, when it subsided, the joints felt better than ever before.
“What’d you just stick me with?” She eyed the three-inch long needle.
“A proprietary solution; anti-inflammatory, pain, and analgesic compound,” said Stan.
“That’s all?” she joked, surprised. Teanna flexed the now-healthy knees. “How long it’ll last? And can I get a case of it?”
Though programmed to act human, Stan failed to see Teanna’s humor. “A case of the medication would provide short-term benefits with long-term implications. Continued injections would result in muscle freeze or paralysis.”
“It’s cool. Never mind, just a joke.”
“I see.” He observed the flexibility in her joints and the improvement in Teanna’s vital signs. “We shall be ready to proceed with your participation in another few minutes.”
Teanna exhaled, dangling her pain-free legs over the side of the cot.
“Do you have any prevailing medical conditions we should be aware of?”
Damario flexed his new hand, and he felt warmth where it connected to his natural tissues and skin. “Two prosthetics. . .right arm and the right eye.”
Ellis perceptibly shifted modes, from one of an inquisitive nature to that of an assessor. “Please stand by for evaluation.” Without warning, the machine scanned Damario’s entire body from top to bottom, with particular attention to the improved areas. Ellis had done the exact same thing in the hospital. What made him uncomfortable, though, were the permanence of the attachments and the idea of being something other than blood and bones.
“Your prosthetics continue to bond and adapt well, and should no longer be compensatory, but complimentary, almost human.”
“Great,” he deadpanned.
“This does not please you, Mister Coley?”
“I’d rather be myself, or at least have the choice not to wear these things.” He knocked his right knuckles against the frame of his metal chair, and the sound of metal against metal repulsed him. “Electricity isn’t pain. It’s a current; like licking an alkaline battery. This looks like my skin, but it’s painted to look that way.” He stood up and swatted a hologram with his artificial hand. “It’s not real!”
His outburst drew Adharma into the fray. “Settle down, Mister Coley.” His voice, sounding ruffled, heightened in pitch as he talked. He laid a hand on Damario’s left shoulder. “You’re making a scene and frightening the others.”
He clasped the wrist of the doctor with his right hand, releasing only upon realizing that the intensity he intended was not the grip with which the hand responded. Damario released him. Adharma rotated his own wrist until the circulation returned.
The first to finish the questioning, Quinne sat in an empty chair. I ain’t gotta STD!
Overjoyed, she observed the others. The eldest of them all, or so she assumed, would finish next – her face downcast and worn. Damario – she remembered his name because of his cuteness and she liked his dreadlocks – concluded his study by throwing a tantrum and nearly breaking the doctor’s wrist. And the fat woman with the loud voice did not finish at all, but a droid remitted her to further medical treatment. When the loudmouth cursed about a needle, Quinne stifled a laugh. Whenever she thought about it, even minutes later, it caused her to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Harper asked. She occupied the chair to Quinne’s left.
“Nothin’,” she said, still laughing between syllables. “One of them things, where you just remember it later and laugh? Ain’t funny to nobody else but you.”
“Ah, got it.” Harper folded her hands onto her lap and tapped her foot. “You wouldn’t happen to see a bathroom around here?”
“Nope. You may want to ask. Looks like we might be here a minute.”
Harper did so and Ellis escorted her to an unmarked door at the corner of the room. She did what she needed to do. Quinne did the same. Satisfied, the two sat down again without a word passing. Soon, Damario joined them, sitting to Quinne’s right. He shook his hair and secured it in a ponytail.
“I love your dreads,” said Quinne, with much enthusiasm. “You don’t see them much anymore.”
Damario brushed off the compliment with aplomb. “Thanks.”
“What made you grow ‘em? Just curious.”
Still irritated, he clipped his answers. “A girl.”
“Nice. She your wife now?”
“No,” he bitterly said. “I’m not married anymore.”
“O-kay.” Quinne rolled her eyes. “Forget I asked.” She turned to her left. “What’s your name again?”
“Harper Lowe.”
“Harper, why you think we here? They keep saying, ‘Begin Again’ like it’s one of them catchphrases and such. . .like that dude's gonna lead us into the desert somewhere to worship him and then kill us all before we can prove him wrong.” She eyed Damario when he laughed. “Somethin’ funny?”
“No, no, not really,” he smirked. “Just reminded me of something.”
“Actually,” Harper interjected. “I’m a counselor and there’s this breakthrough psychotherapeutic research developed in Europe that I’ve read about in medical journals. It’s extremely experimental, though. The government has to sign off before we even think about using it here in the US.”
Eavesdropping on the conversation, Damario’s interest increased. “I’ve been doing some currency work with banks in Europe to replace the Euro. Do you think it’ll pass – this research?”
“It already has.” Adharma smiled and revealed a set of coffee-stained teeth, which were otherwise per
fectly groomed and straight. “Please, join me.”
The Indian man indicated that they should flow to his right. Quinne touched one of the chairs and the suppleness of the material amazed her. Damario and Harper tried it for themselves. The material sank around their fingertips. After a few seconds, Harper snatched back her hand.
“Electronic muscle stimulation, Miss Lowe. As you lie here, every muscle in your body will be electronically massaged.”
Harper’s face screwed with worry. “What are you planning to do to us?”
“Not do to you, but do for you. Each of you endured a major life change in the past month.” Adharma was insistent but not condescending. “That life change resulted in an unhealthy response; a habit, a behavior, injury, or death.” His voice hung on the last word death, as he briefly paused. “That, plus a number of other factors and a bit of mathematical luck made you eligible for the Begin Again initiative.”
Before any of them could ask, he answered. “The Begin Again initiative is a practical study,” he said, while producing a blue vial. “In one form or another, it’s a drug you have all had exposure to. It has anti-inflammatory and dopamine-boosting properties and it possesses a neurotransmitter stimulation protein. We believe that protein will allow us to guide and stimulate unconscious thought and behavior. We affectionately call it, ‘The Solution’.”
Most of the language escaped Quinne, except for the “guiding unconscious thought” part. “Mind control?” she asked.
“Not controlling the mind, Miss Ruiz. Stimulating it. Say you like to smoke cigarettes but it negatively affects your health. We’d use The Solution to guide you through your subconscious memories to the first time you had a cigarette. There, you will exercise your choice to decline it. By severing that mental and behavioral tie, when you return to your conscious state, the appetite for nicotine has left. You have never had it, as far as your mind is concerned. When you return, your world will be different.”
Teanna’s ears perked. No more addictions? It sounded too good to be true.
Skeptical, Damario raised his hand. “But, what if you don’t have an addiction?”
The Anarchists Page 11
