Freddie knew he was intelligent. At school he had always been the first in his class. He surprised his family and friends when he chose to become a wildlife biologist after acing his Advanced Placement exams.
“Freddie, why don’t you become a doctor?” his mother asked. “You have got straight ‘A’s.”
“No mom,” he firmly told her. “I want to become a zoologist. I want to work with animals.”
“You must become a doctor and help people.”
“I want to work with animals because humans are selfish,” he said resolutely. “When a bear kills prey, it does so because it wants food. Animals don’t kill for sport. They don’t kill other animals for their tusks or their hides.”
After graduating from university he found a job at the Brandon Ward Wildlife Refuge, in the region that was once known as Alaska, now part of District Ten. When he was in the wildlife refuge, Freddie pretended the world around him was fine. As he worked with animals in the wilderness, he forgot he lived in a police state. As the refuge’s chief scientist he had managed many conservation programs. He was currently managing programs to save lynxes and short-tailed albatrosses from extinction.
After Michael’s arrest, Freddie spent all his time at the Brandon Ward Wildlife Refuge, overworking himself, hoping work would help him forget his misery. He had briefly cut his stay in the wilderness to attend his grandmother’s funeral. Grandma Nicole had succumbed to heart failure. Freddie felt he was to blame for the old woman’s death. He knew his grandmother had never stopped worrying about him since his close shave with the CIB.
The door opened and his mother entered.
“I still can’t believe she is gone,” she said.
“Me too, mom,” he lamented. “Mom, please come and stay with me at the wildlife refuge for a week or two.”
“No, I don’t want to live in the jungle,” Melissa said, shaking her head.
“I’m the refuge’s chief scientist… I have decent shelter in the refuge. Mom, please... it will be like a holiday. It will cheer you up.”
“I will think about it.”
“Will Kyle stay alone at grandma’s house?”
“I told him to come and stay here with me but he is stubborn.” She shrugged. “He says he likes it better at his grandma’s house.”
“I will talk to him,” Freddie said.
Melissa switched the TV on and President Ward’s face filled the screen.
“Citizens of the Ten Districts of America,” the supreme leader announced. “We are confronted with the threat of terrorism. In the past two weeks, our country suffered terrorist attacks. Terrorists bombed District Three Central Police Station and then bombed Cabinet House.” His voice rose. “The terrorists also tried to kill me. These terrorists are still at large and they can strike again. Two months ago, the Central Intelligence Bureau arrested fifty-one terrorists who were planning to topple the government...”
“Son of a bitch!” Freddie shouted. “What did you do to them?”
“Lower your voice, Freddie,” Melissa rebuked. “The walls have ears.”
“We have to protect ourselves from this terrorist threat,” the president went on with his speech. “Government has come up with a program called the National Antiterrorist Surveillance Program, NASP, in short. Every citizen above the age of fifteen must enroll in NASP. This program shall protect all citizens of the Ten Districts of America from terrorists. We are giving citizens eight days to enroll, starting from tomorrow. Any citizen who fails to register will be deemed a terrorist. The enrollment will take place twenty-four hours a day, including weekends. To register, you must take your national identity card to your nearest Civil Registry office. I thank you.”
The TV played the national anthem and the national flag replaced President Brandon Ward’s image.
“What is this NASP?” Melissa asked.
“It’s another measure to tighten the regime’s grip on our necks,” Freddie said angrily. “I wish I could kill Ward and his henchmen. Whatever this NASP is, you can be sure it’s nasty.”
Freddie felt foolish as he remembered how he rejoiced when there was an attempt on Brandon Ward’s life, and how he celebrated when Cabinet House was bombed, believing the regime had finally found a match. Now he realized the regime had simulated everything.
“God, please help this country,” Melissa prayed.
“I have to return to the wildlife refuge on Monday, so I am going to enroll in this evil program tomorrow.”
“I hope they won’t charge us for the enrollment.”
“Brandon Ward said nothing about registration fees.” Freddie rose from the sofa. “Let me go and have a chat with Kyle.”
He walked to Grandma Nicole’s house. On the way he saw his ex-girlfriend, Tiffany, walking across the road. She pretended she hadn’t seen him and he returned the favor. His heart ached as he looked at her. He loved her and was thinking of proposing to her when she dumped him. He had hoped they would get back together, but now he realized it was over. Tiffany didn’t want to date a man she believed was a CIB informer and Freddie didn’t want to date a woman who accused him of being a spy.
The front door of Grandma Nicole’s house was open.
“Kyle, are you in there?” he shouted.
“Yes, Freddie,” Kyle shouted from the kitchen.
He went to the kitchen and found Kyle eating bread.
“Freddie, how are you, man?”
“I’m fine, Kyle.”
Freddie looked around the room. When Grandma Nicole was alive the house was always spotlessly clean. Now Kyle was in charge and traces of the old woman’s hygiene were disappearing fast. “This house will never be the same without Grandma Nicole.”
“Yes.” He swallowed a mouthful of the bread. “She was everything to me. I miss her.”
“We all do.”
“Let’s have some lunch,” Kyle said, through a full mouth.
Freddie looked at the slices of bread that were thickly covered with jam. “You call that lunch?”
“Yes. I have no time to cook, Freddie.”
“That’s why you must stay with mom. She will cook for you.”
“No, I will stay here. I like it here.”
“Come on, Kyle. Go and stay with mom. You can rent this house and get some cash.”
“No, I will stay here.” He took a bite from his bread. “It’s quiet and no one disturbs me.”
“I guess there is no way to convince you to stay with mom.”
“Don’t worry about me, Freddie, I will be fine.”
“Promise me you will visit mom regularly. She is worried about you.”
“I will visit Aunt Melissa. Come on Freddie… it’s not like I live in another District. We live in the same neighborhood.”
“How far have you gone with your computer game?”
“I’m almost there. When I finish developing Super Death Race, I will develop the African wildlife game. I have been watching the African wildlife films you gave me.”
“Did you hear about a government program called NASP?” Freddie asked.
Kyle shook his head. He spent most of his time in the basement, on his computer, oblivious of the outside world. He didn’t have human friends; his computers were his only friends.
“You have to go to the Civil Registry to enroll in the program. Ward has given us eight days to enroll. If you don’t enroll, the CIB and the police will arrest you. I am enrolling tomorrow.”
“I will enroll on Monday,” Kyle said, chewing.
“Promise me you will enroll.”
“I will,” Kyle promised. “The last thing I want is trouble with the government. I want to develop my computer games in peace.”
“Come with me to the wildlife refuge and watch wild animals live,” Freddie said. “It will help you when you make your video game.”
“No thanks. The films you gave me will do. I can’t afford to travel right now. I have to finish Super Death Race and start working on the wildlife game.”
* * * * *
Freddie woke up early in the morning and went to the local office of the Civil Registry, a kilometer away from his mother’s house. Although he arrived before seven, more than an hour before the start of business, there was a growing queue in front of the Civil Registry offices.
He joined the queue behind a woman and her teenage daughter. Few people talked about NASP. CIB informants were everywhere and the safest thing to do in public was to keep one’s mouth shut. Those who dared to speak about NASP praised the government for its stance against terrorism. No one knew how the program worked.
Freddie’s heartbeat quickened when more than twenty CIB agents arrived at twenty past seven. Although they wore plain clothes, everyone knew they were CIB agents; their dark suits, their confidence, and the authority registered on their faces clearly marked them as CIB agents.
Civil Registry employees arrived one by one. Like most civil servants they normally arrived at work late but today they all arrived on time. It would be dangerous not to arrive on time after President Ward had emphasized the importance of NASP. For the first time in many years, the offices opened on time.
“We have twenty offices to serve you, so the queue will move fast,” the CIB agent in charge announced. “When you get into the offices, answer all questions and do as you are told.”
A CIB agent ushered the first twenty people into the offices. When they came out of the offices, after more than ten minutes, Freddie wondered why they were all putting their hands on their necks. His mouth gaped when he saw things fitted on their necks like dog collars. He immediately knew what these things were―tracking devices similar to the ones he and his colleagues fitted on wild animals in the wildlife refuge. The supreme leader had decided to track them like wild animals.
Freddie felt a lump growing in his throat. When will this end? How long will Ward and his henchmen do this to us? When his turn came, Freddie entered the office, trying to control his anger. A young CIB agent, who was clearly enjoying himself, told him to sit down. He shuddered with revulsion when the agent put an electronic gag on his neck. The device weighed about one and half kilograms but it felt like a ton on his neck.
“There you are,” the agent said with a smile. “It looks nice on you.”
“How long will I wear this thing on my neck?”
“You shall have the NAST on your neck until you die.”
Or until the Ward regime dies, Freddie thought.
“You must think of the device as part of your body, as a vital organ that you need to survive in the Ten Districts.” He could have been a therapist counseling a patient. “Now it feels a bit awkward, but you will soon get used to it. Give me your ID.”
Freddie gave the agent his ID card. The agent looked at the ID card, comparing the picture with Freddie’s face, before he entered Freddie’s ID number into the computer.
“I want you to repeat what I say,” the agent ordered. “One.”
“One,” Freddie echoed.
He made Freddie repeat a series of words, which he recorded and used to make a voiceprint.
“You are done now,” he said, apparently pleased with himself. “Let me explain how the program works. The device on your neck is called the National Antiterrorist Surveillance Tool, NAST in short.”
Yes, it’s really nasty, Freddie thought.
“The NAST recognizes your voice and it tracks you with GPS and cell tracking.” He sounded like the inventor of the device. “President Ward, the supreme leader of the Ten Districts, generously donated airtime worth hundred lucres to every citizen.”
“Airtime?” Freddie asked with shock.
“Yes,” the agent said, enjoying Freddie’s shock. “When you speak, your voice activates the NAST and you start losing airtime. The more you speak the more airtime you lose. When your airtime is out, you will have to recharge.”
“And if I don’t recharge?”
“The NAST will give you an electric shock every time you speak without airtime.”
“So how does your device help me?”
“It helps you by eradicating terrorists from the country.”
“How?” Freddie asked, trying hard to conceal his anger.
“If someone says a word we associate with terrorists, the system will start recording his speech and it will be easy for us to pick up the person because the tracking system will show us his exact location. Law-abiding citizens have nothing to worry.”
“They have money to worry about, patriot,” Freddie said. “Where will we get money for airtime?”
“If citizens say only what is necessary and avoid talking about politics, they won’t need plenty of airtime. Besides, every day the government will give citizens free airtime at twelve o’clock to enable them to sing the national anthem. The NAST also works as a phone. It has a phonebook and you can also send messages. Your ID number acts as your phone number on NASP.”
“No thanks, I prefer my phone,” Freddie said.
“If you use your phone, NASP will charge you for speaking and the phone company will charge you for using their network.” He assumed the tone of a salesman. “If you phone with your NAST, you pay only once. Phoning and sending messages with your NAST is three times cheaper than using cell phones.”
“Patriot, where do I buy airtime?”
“You talk too much,” the agent rebuked. “You are wasting my time and your airtime.” He gave Freddie a booklet. “Read this manual. It will answer all your questions. If you try to remove your NAST, the device will explode, instantly killing you. Here is your charger and two spare batteries. The battery lasts for four days and you must make sure your NAST always has power.”
“What happens when I let the battery go flat?”
“It’s all in the manual. On radio and TV there will be lots of programs to teach the people about NASP. Your time is up. Next!”
Freddie walked out of the building, tears clouding his vision. Tears of anger. Tears of sorrow. Tears of shame. Anger at the regime. Sorrow at his predicament. Shame at the indignity of wearing a dog collar. His anger urged him to do something to stop the Ward regime. But his sorrow and shame filled him with resignation. On his own, there was nothing he could do to bring the regime down. It was difficult fighting the regime before NASP. Now with electronic gags round people’s necks, it was impossible to fight the Ward regime.
“What did they do to you?” his mother asked when he arrived home. “What is this?”
“It’s a tracking device. Everyone except the ruling class will wear one on their necks.”
“What does it do?”
“It gives the government total control of my life,” Freddie said bitterly. “It limits my freedom of speech. As I speak right now, I am losing airtime.”
Unknown to Freddie, the term “freedom of speech” triggered NASP to start recording their conversation at the CIB headquarters. There were more than hundred words and phrases that could trigger the system to start recording someone’s speech. The CIB called these words red words. Most of the jargon used by democracy and human rights activists was included in the list of red words. Most of the words used to describe dictatorships were red words. Even the word dictator was a red word.
Luckily for Freddie and his mother, their conversation took a less rebellious direction.
“Airtime?” echoed Melissa.
“Yes mom. Now I have to pay for every word I say.”
“Where will we get the money?” Melissa asked with horror.
“I guess from now onwards we have to say as little as possible.” He pulled out the keypad and display panel of his electronic gag and dialed *100# to check his balance. “I’m left with ninety-six lucres fifty-six cents. I have used up more than three lucres of the airtime that the supreme leader generously donated to me.”
“It’s expensive.”
“Very expensive… Mom, go and get the tracker on your neck. I want you to go with me to the wildlife refuge on Monday.”
“No Freddie I want
―”
“Mom, please don’t let me spend all my airtime begging you. You have just lost your mother and you need something to cheer you up. Come and have a two week holiday in the wildlife refuge. I will be your tour guide. You will enjoy it.”
“Okay Freddie, I will go with you to the wildlife refuge. I’m going to enroll.”
“Good. Today the queues are short, but as the eight-day deadline expires, the queues will grow. The supreme leader said the Civil Registry offices will be open for twenty-four hours. Don’t―”
“Okay, I’m going to enroll, save your airtime.”
“Please go with Kyle. He will get himself in trouble if he forgets to register.”
“I will go with him. I will drag him from his computer.” She went to her room to change.
Freddie dialed *100#. He was left with ninety-six lucres thirty-one cents. He earned only nine hundred and forty lucres a month and he knew he had to cut down on his speech bill.
The next evening, Freddie went to Pleasure Zone, his favorite bar. Of the people he met on the way, those who wore electronic gags were quiet, trying to save airtime. Gagged couples wordlessly expressed their affection by cuddling and holding hands. Some people hid the gags under scarves.
It was unusual for Pleasure Zone to be so empty on a Friday evening. People go to bars to chat with their friends over a drink but, with electronic gags on their necks, few people could afford to chat. Many feared that if they went to bars, beer would loosen their tongues and make them blow away their airtime or say dangerous words that could be recorded by the CIB. Everyone dreaded the electric shock that the NASP manual said the electronic gags administered into people who said a word too many.
Freddie took out a five lucre note from his wallet. President Ward’s face smiled at him from the face of the banknote. The president’s head was the national symbol and it appeared on all banknotes and coins. Freddie angrily crumpled the banknote, imagining he was crushing the supreme leader’s head.
He walked to the counter and tossed the crumpled note at the bartender. “I want a beer.”
With a frown, the bartender straightened the note and gave Freddie his change and beer. On a busier day, he would have told Freddie to straighten the money. Business was so low that he couldn’t afford to antagonize customers.
Electronic Gags Page 4
