Even Braver New World State

by Rick K. Reut

  There was a long spell of silence accompanied by plenty of eye contact among the Controllers.

  “Controller Globe, you’re asking us to do an awfully dangerous thing while giving us absolutely no proof that this plan of yours is actually going to work. Personally, I think that trying to implant these retarded individuals into our social organism is too much of a risk for the community. After all, we haven’t got the haziest idea how they’ll behave when we’ve done everything you suggest. Meanwhile, having been turned into rightful members of our society, they will automatically gain access to many strategic areas of the mainland. This means that they will be given a unique opportunity to subvert the very foundations of the world it has taken us so much to build and sustain. I’m sure that most of my colleagues share my concern. And so, speaking for most if not all of them, I believe it would be wise to address my next question not to you but to your little friend here, for we all wish to know what proof he has, if he has any, that none of this is ever going to happen.”

  “Alright. If that’s what you want, let’s ask Mister Marx,” said Controller Globe. Still holding his slightly shuddering shoulder, It walked around Adam and stared him straight in the eye.

  “Adam!”

  He started. It was the first time Its Freudship had used his first name.

  “Tell us the truth. Do you like our society? I mean our transsexual way of life.”

  Adam did not answer at once. He was still too scared to speak and needed time to come back to his senses after the hot bath of debate he’d just been dunked in. There was a long pondering pause in course of which the Controller’s grip on his shoulder tightened, twisting it like a vice.

  “Yes… I… like it… very much,” he stuttered, staring straight into the Controller’s eyes and feeling fully under Its Freuship’s control.

  Controller Globe was going to ask another question and even opened Its mouth to speak, but was interrupted in mid-word.

  “And do you consider yourself a part of this society?”

  “Well,” his wandering eyes froze on Gianna Globe’s stone-cold face, feeling the steal hand on his shoulder squeeze it even harder. “I’ve been here only a few weeks,” he muttered, hanging his head and dropping his eyes on the floor. “So, I doubt it would be honest to say yes.”

  “In other words, you don’t?” pressed the anonymous Controller.

  “I’m sorry, but no.”

  “There is no reason to be sorry,” said someone.

  “Actually there is,” Adam hurried to add, raising his eyes again.

  “Really? Why is that?” wondered the Chairtran.

  “Because I would really like to become a part of it if I’m given such a chance.”

  “So, you would like to be one of us after all?” asked another Controller, skeptically.

  “More than anything in the world,” said Adam, seeing the frozen face of Controller Globe melt with a sunny smile.

  “May we ask why?” wondered another member of the Council.

  “Because,” he hesitated, looking around, “I want to be happy. And nowhere have I come closer to it than here.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The room they were taken to was right across the hall. The walls, as well as the windows and doors, were totally soundproof. All they could hear was the hungry hum of the air conditioning system mingled with their own heavy breathing. Neither the traffic nor any other street sounds seemed able to seep inside.

  At the dawn of the First Coming, the KGB had sometimes used these chambers to interrogate political prisoners. Now it was transformed into a VIP rumpus room that looked like a crude cross between a luxurious cocktail lounge and a penthouse suite with a retro-style virtual reality trans-sex-machine showing interactive porn movies on a wall-wide screen behind a huge vintage bed-shaped stage for ritual orgies right in the center.

  As for the former KGB building itself – the one in former Independence and current Dependence Avenue – it had been converted into the Solidarity Service Center. Official purifying orgies took place there every day, from seven in the evening to eleven at night, with most of the rest of the time used to clean up the mess. All the orgies were wide open, which meant that anyone who wanted to could come in any time and take part absolutely free of charge. Since money had been officially abolished on the Eve of the Second Coming, everything in the even braver New World State was free of charge.

  The Service Center was also one of the main Minsk meccas providing permanent access to adult and adolescent entertainment along with miscellaneous public houses, cocktail bars, night clubs, and, certainly, the Ford and Freud Cathedral in Dependence Square, where the grandest of all purifying orgies of atonement traditionally took place every Saturday and Sunday.

  It was the edifice of that cathedral, also known as the Trans Temple, with a colossal “T” letter – a ligature of two F’s backing each other – on its top, that the European Controller was now staring at through one of the soundproof windows, while Director Downing was dreamily sipping Its she-male shake through a thick cock-shaped straw, sunk deep in a cozy scrotum-shaped coach.

  Adam was restlessly pacing round the rumpus room like a hushed human pendulum, his nervously ticking feet muffled by the thick carpet that covered each square meter of the rhymeless floor.

  Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer

  The slings and arrows of outrageous for–

  “Gianna!” the voice of Director Downing interrupted his internal monologue.

  Controller Globe was standing by the window. Motionless, absolutely absorbed by Its own thoughts, It looked like a statue of an Ancient Greek Goddess staring into the distance of a giant aquarium, where the intersecting traffic veered and swerved like packs of migrating plankton pouring in swift undercurrent silence from the rushing river-like street to the whirlpool-shaped square in the billowing sea of glass, stone and steel.

  Now is the winter of our discontent

  Made glorious summer by this sun of…

  “Your Freudship!?” the Director called out again, this time a little louder.

  “What is it, Darlina?” the Controller’s chest, hollow voice rose from the depths of Its immobilized being.

  “I was just wondering how you assess our chances.”

  Adam, who had ceased pacing at the first mention of the Controller’s name, went tense with worry. Too much depended on what Its Freudship was about to say. His whole life in the New World State could be cut short with one rash move of the Controller’s tongue.

  Yet, for some reason, the tongue did not move. Controller Globe stayed silent, staring out at the soundless scenery. Soundless but not wordless, for one word there was. Written in flashy neon gold paint, it stood out on the paper-grey front of a book-shaped building beyond the Trans Temple’s pointed roof-top, where two massive “F” letters were joined together into one stylized “T”, marking the meaningless matter of time and space with sense.

  It was the same word the West Asian Controller had said before the trial, the same word Gianna Globe had been staring at and thinking about – threaded through Its mind like a needle through thin tissue, stitching Its Feudship’s thoughts together into one stupendous, Frankensteinian idea – while the islanders’ sentence was being discussed by the deciders of the even braver New World State’s fate.

  The word was

  Minsk

  “If there’s any hope here, it will have to be found within the walls of this city,” the Controller spoke up at last.

  “This city?” echoed the Director, putting Its cock-shaped straw aside. “What do you mean, this city?”

  “I mean Minsk.”

  “Minsk?”

  “Yes, Minsk,” said Gianna Globe, turning around and revealing Its face in frowning focus. “When you were waiting in that room before the trial, Tania offered me a deal.”

  “What deal?!”

  The Director couldn’t believe Its ears.

  “It told me It would influence the outcome of t
his summit by swinging the vote in my favor if I promised to give up Minsk?”

  “What do you mean, give up Minsk? It doesn’t even belong to us.”

  “Not now. But they’re planning to move the European border further on East to even out the two Continents. They think Asia’s too big.”

  “They? Who – they? Aren’t you the highest authority around the area?” exclaimed the Director, placing Its half-finished cocktail glass on the nearest side table.

  “I am indeed. But only in Europe. The Council’s majority want to make this territory even more symmetrical. Which is quite reasonable, since symmetry is the geometrical epitome of perfection. Tania, however, doesn’t want that to happen.”

  “It doesn’t?! But for what reason?”

  “That’s the thing. No real reason at all. At least, no rational reason.”

  The Controller stepped away from the window and looked straight at Director Downing.

  “Ever heard of a reason in a Russian? Its reason is sentiment, which is why they so seldom make sense, and have always been so screwed up when it comes to corruption. Russians have neither self-restraint nor respect for the letter of the law, let alone its spirit. Stupid, slothful, self-indulging sentimentalists – that’s who they are. Just like most Slavs, or Slaves as the Vikings had once made and called them. Most of them were also drunkards and drug addicts when there was still something to get drunk on and be addicted to before the Second Coming changed all that. Now Russians are just stupid and slothful, and, as I’ve said, sentimental to self-indulgence. And Tania is no exception to that trend. That’s why this place is so dear to It, even though it has always been economically unstable. Europe could probably impart – or I should say – import some stability into this region. At least that’s what the Controllers are aiming at, and Tania knows it. But It still refuses to let the place go. That’s why It asked me to come up with a couple of acceptable arguments against the area’s annexation next autumn.”

  “So I see,” said the Director, standing up. “And what did you say?”

  “What do you think I said? It cares about this city while I care about something else. Why don’t we care about one another for a while?”

  “So you’re going to help It then?”

  “Well, It depends on whether Tania will help me first.”

  There was a second of soundproof silence and then the door of the rumpus room suddenly swung open and on its threshold grew no other than Controller Trahova.

  The West Asian Controller stopped dead in Its tracks, darkening the doorway. It seemed absolutely still. Only Its shadowy, gambling-green eyes shot back and forth between the room’s occupants, like two Russian roulette bullets. All the three stared back at the West Asian Controller in expectant silence. Finally, the Controller’s lips parted in form of the following words:

  “It’s been decided. Walk with me.”

  Outside, the foursome crossed the seemingly endless corridor, with the West Asian Controller leading the way and Its European counterpart walking right by Its side. Director Downing deliberately lagged behind, looking down at the thick red carpet runner rolling between Its infinitely long legs like credits at the end of a movie.

  Adam was wearily dragging in the rear like the tail of a large, trans-human-sized centipede. The anxieties of the day had sucked his whole body dry, leaving him as worn out as a used condom. The Controllers’ voices, distant and dull, seemed to be coming through a trash chute from another world, getting farther and farther away from him with every next step.

  “I’m not sure your wishes will be totally satisfied,” said Tania, as they were coming closer to the council chamber. “But I did all I can, and I hope that you’ll do all you can for me too when their minds move on to my matter.”

  “Well, we’ll see how hard you’ve tried,” said Gianna.

  Tania only had time to give Gianna Globe a glaring glance, for the door was already open, and it was too late to turn around and try to talk that thought through. Reluctantly, the West Asian Controller came into the council chamber, followed by Controller Globe and then the rest of the trans-human-sized centipede.

  Inside, the council chamber was immersed in solemn silence. Everyone wore a face of ice-cold imperturbability. It was a dangerous game the Controllers were playing. Losing it could mean the end of the entire Brave New World State. A win, however, was expected make it even braver. And so, they thought it was worth a try.

  As soon as they walked in, the West Asian Controller took Its seat at the round table while Gianna Globe and Its train stood in a line like defendants at a trial. And in a way, it was a trial, at which Controller Globe was the advocate, Director Downing Its assistant, and Adam the accused. All the other Controllers were there to play the parts of the prosecution, the judges and the jury.

  Now was the time for the final finding to be announced. And again, it was Controller Trahova as the Chairtran of this Summit that had to do it. The West Asian Controller slowly rose from Its seat, with a facial expression entirely different from the one everyone was used to. It no longer even looked like a living face. It was more of a mask of alabaster or marble that hardly had one human feature. As It stood up, It seemed to be transformed into a statue of the Ancient Goddess of Justice through whom the Law Itself spoke in a ruthless, imperative voice of pure reason.

  “On the case of converting the Isolated Islands’ inhabitants into Intelligent Transsexuals, the New World State’s Controllers’ Council has found the following. Due to the dangers this process is fraught with, there will be no compulsory conversion of those individuals who do not express such a desire. On the other hand, those individuals who are willing to be converted and clearly wish to do so will be subjected to a special examination. Those who are deemed both physically and mentally fit for the transformation, will be allowed to undergo the procedure, and will consequently be kept under constant surveillance for a period of time to be determined in each individual case. As for the Isolated Islands themselves, their status will remain unchanged until further notice.”

  “What concerns the case of Adam Marx,” for a second, the West Asian Controller shifted Its dark, emerald-green eyes to Gianna Globe and Its puny protégé, “the Council has decided to let him pass the procedure, after which he will also be kept under constant surveillance until now he and hence It is considered capable of socializing on Its own. The procedure will have to take place here in Minsk City within the following few weeks, during which time now he and hence It will also have to remain in the Minsk region within reach of the proper supervising authorities in form of a personal body and mind guard that will be assigned to now him and hence It individually. To execute the part of such a mind and body guard temporarily responsible for all and any of the subject’s actions, the Controllers’ Council appoints the Director of the European Hatcheries and Conditioning Center Darlina Downing, in whose custody Mister Marx must be moved to Minsk’s Central City Clinic where his preparations for the forthcoming conversion will commence as soon as this summit is over.”

  The Chairtran briefly eyed the audience and, after an eloquently short spell of silence, continued.

  “With this finally settled, I suggest that we proceed to other important issues. But before we do that, I’d like to take a brief break and ask everyone to adjourn to the rumpus room across the hall for an active civilian orgy.”

  To this the rest of the Controllers’ Council reacted by rising from their respective seats and starting to clear out of the council chamber one by one.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The door of his room on the twenty-second floor of the one-hundred-and-one-storied Hotel Belarus was wide open – as if welcoming anyone who wanted to come in.

  The Director and the Controller looked at each other before they entered.

  “Adam!” one of them called out.

  From the bathroom came the sound of running water, followed by a refreshing toilet flush. А second later Adam appeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but
a wet towel wrapped around his thin waistline.

  “Is everything all right?” wondered Controller Globe, watching him closely.

  “What?” he asked absentmindedly, looking a little lost in a large wardrobe mirror across the room.

  “We were just wondering if everything was okay,” Director Downing said slowly, stretching each syllable.

  “What do you mean?” Adam kept looking round the room, like an animal at bay.

  “We mean you. Are you all right here?” asked the Controller.

  “Right here?” it took him some time to process the words. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” he said finally, switching his seemingly sightless eyes back to the madman in the mirror.

  “You tell us,” the Director stared at Adam, suspiciously. “You’ve been down here for so long. The Controller and I were beginning to worry. We’re getting a late for your first procedure, you know. The trans-copter’s been waiting on the roof for more than an hour, and you haven’t even begun to get dressed yet. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “More or less,” Adam looked at them and then back at his bare-backed copy in the looking glass. “Just a jot jumpy.”

  “Why’s that?” wondered the Director.

  “I hope you’re not hiding anything from us, Mister Marx,” said the Controller, coming closer.

  “Of course not!” he looked at Controller Globe, anxiously, starting to back off to the bathroom doorway with his double doing the same thing in the glass gaol.

  “Are you absolutely sure? Because if you are hiding something from us after all, now is the time to come clean,” said the Controller, still coming towards him.

  “I’m not hiding anything,” cried the young man, touching the towel that looked like a tucked tail behind his back, “I swear. I’m just…”