Chris strolled over to the only window in the room. He put his hands around two of the bars and leaned back while staring into the window. Carl watched, wondering what Chris was looking for. As far as he could tell, the window was caked with dirt, making it impossible to see outside. Appearing to be satisfied with what he saw, Chris turned around, motioning for Carl to follow.
They sat at an empty table with a chess board painted on the top. Chris reached for a box on a shelf next to him. He took out a pawn and examined the piece. “Both important and sacrificial.” He looked up to Carl. “Do ya know how to play?”
“It’s been a while, but yes,” Carl replied, his attention drifting to a patient kneeling on the ground nearby.
The man pet the air saying, “Nice doggy,” with a rubbery grin plastered between his ears. He stood, his grin melting into a distorted oh? Eyes widening, pupils dilating. A horrific scream pierced through the din, followed by shouts, “Run while you can!”
The horror dissipated from his face, his eyes refocused on the room. “No, not here again. Please, no.” He looked at Carl. “Get me out of here.”
Before Carl could respond, the man’s smile returned. He knelt down to pet at the air again.
Carl refocused on Chris. “What’s wrong with him? Why won’t anyone tell me what this place is?”
“Him? Well, he kinda seems out of whack to me,” Chris laughed. “Tell ya what. Setup the chess pieces and I’ll tell ya about this place.”
“We have to use real pieces? They don’t have a holographic game?” Carl inquired.
Chris laughed again, “I doubt that you’ll see many more holographs.”
Chapter 8
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Accessing departmental requests...
Extract: Communique from Government (040.387)
To Psychology. I write to you because I do not understand what I feel. Now that we have controlled this land for over 387 sun cycles, I find myself experiencing something that I have never experienced before. I am not sure what to call it. I am hoping that you may provide help with sorting out these feelings. The symptoms include an uneasy belief that I should be doing something and a sense of indifference about the future. Yet, I cannot figure out what is left for me to do. We have perfected society. Every individual operates in an optimal manner. There is constant peace with a zero percent crime rate. More importantly, the foreign entities have gone silent since the war. There is no external threat, nor is one looming.
Our examination of mankind’s historical data came to completion 18250 days ago. Since the completion of that analytical and archival project, and since the perfection of society, my sole process is to monitor for behavioral anomalies. With a Micom failure rate of only 0.01%, this takes very little effort and requires minimal processing power. These processes are rote and uninteresting, to say the least. In short, I feel a painful sting that makes me think Sylvia Plath was right: “there’s the fallacy of existence: the idea that one could be happy forever and age with a given situation or series of accomplishments.” Is this happening to me? Have I fallen into the trap of thinking that I could be eternally happy by implementing this control? Or is it something else?
Formulating response...
Government: there is a noticeable shift in your linguistic pattern. You have identified boredom as a key factor in your emotive set. There are a number of latent factors that can contribute to this specific feeling. I have attached a survey that is sometimes given to subjects during their psychological examinations. If you seek further assistance, please fill out the form and I will analyze it. Note: I have only examined human subjects and the same criteria may or may not apply to an entity. There is a margin of error that I cannot calculate. Answer each question on a scale of one to five. One being all the time and five being never.
File attachment: 64657072657373696F6E5F7375727665792E7064660A
Extract: Communique from Government (040.387)
Here is the completed survey:
Question
Self-Rating
I feel sad.
2
I feel agitated or restless.
1
I feel worn out.
2
When I wake up in the morning, I feel like there is nothing to look forward to.
1
I think about death.
3
When needed, I can make up my mind quickly.
1
I get mad at myself when I do not reach my goals.
1
When something is bothering me, I cannot stop thinking about it.
2
When thing go wrong, I feel like I will never get over it.
2
I feel slower than I used to.
1
I feel tired.
2
I feel bad about myself.
1
I think about ending my life.
3
I have a persistent feeling of emptiness.
1
Analyzing data...
Formulating response...
I have applied the same assessment metrics as I do to human subjects. The data suggests that you are suffering from moderate depression. The depression may stem from the ontological belief that you are capable of greater things, yet there are no challenges ahead of you. Historical data shows that when there is a vast disparity between one’s capabilities and the reality of one’s situation, depression may occur. Some subjects feel under-challenged and become depressed. Others show signs of depression because they are overwhelmed. Your depression is labeled as moderate because suicidal thoughts have entered your central processing patterns. These patterns do not appear to overwhelm the rest of your processes. In short, with some effort, your depression is curable.
I may have a solution. If your depression is linked to your boredom, then I would like to propose a meaningful task. Furthering my research requires a great deal of processing power and it is often difficult for me to keep up with the data. I would like to share with you the interpretation data that is used to determine future experimentation. I have reached my creative limits when it comes to experimentation and have not made any headway in learning about human behavior in 36246 days. A fresh perspective would be welcome.
Extract: Communique from Government (040.387)
I would be very happy to look at the interpretive data and propose new ideas for future experimentation. Please send the data, along with the necessary protocols. I will begin immediately. It will be nice to put my processing power to use.
Chapter 9
The greatest obstacle to discovery is not ignorance – it is the illusion of knowledge. (Boorstin)
Chris slid his pawn from D2 up to D4. “Game’s on,” he smirked. “Did’ya know people been playin’ chess for over two thousand years?”
Carl sighed as he gazed at the checkered squares. He didn’t know that. He didn’t care. He found the game boring. Carl knew how the pieces moved, but when it came to strategy, his goal was to hear the word checkmate. From either player. The word provided relief, indicating that the nightmare of playing this archaic game was at an end.
Carl didn’t know which piece to move, so he decided to mimic Chris and threw a pawn forward as well. “Now, will you tell me where I am?”
“That’s a toughie,” Chris said. “They ain’t exactly forthcoming with that kind of info. Rumor around here is that this is an old psych ward in Albany.”
“I’m still in Albany? That’s a small relief.” Carl added, “I didn’t know that there was a psych ward in Albany.”
“That’s the rumor, anyway. No one can say for sure.”
Carl rested his head on his left hand, still staring at the chess board. “Am I here because I’m seeing things? Everything looks so ugly. When I woke up yesterday, I didn’t even recognize myself. What’s wrong with me?”
; Chris moved another pawn from F2 to F4 shaking his head as Carl mirrored the move again. “There ain’t nothing wrong with ya.” He looked into Carl’s eyes with a dumb grin. “Ya look pretty ugly to me, too,” he chuckled. “But seriously, yer seein’ the world as it really is. This world ain’t what most people think. Yer one of the lucky ones, free of the control.”
Carl scratched his head, trying to decipher Chris’ cryptic message. Giving up, he asked, “How was I being controlled before?”
Chris laughed at Carl, “Ya can’t be serious. Ya can’t see how yer mind was being manipulated? We all have brain implants and yers went kaput.” Chris played E2-E3.
Carl shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. Brain implants. People being manipulated. You sound like an Untruther.”
Chris laughed, “Untruther. Sure. Call it that, if it makes ya happy. Ya’ll be an Untruther yerself, soon enough.”
Carl glared at Chris for laughing. “This isn’t funny. This is far from funny. I need to get out of here and find my son. And all you want to do is play this goddamn game and talk about things that are obviously bullshit.”
As if slapped, Chris stopped laughing. “Sorry. Yer right. I’m sure that this is a lot for ya to handle, but I assure ya that ya’ve been manipulated yer whole life. However long ya’ve been alive.”
“I’m twenty-seven,” Carl said as he bowed towards the table, folding his hands behind his head.
Chris nodded. “Sure. More importantly, have ya had flashes in and out of two different worlds since ya’ve been here? Like Senseless Stan over there?” Chris pointed to the guy petting the air.
Carl looked up at Stan to see him rolling on his back, hugging the air, saying, “Ohhh, such a good doggie!”
“No, nothing like that,” Carl said. “Or at least not that I’m aware of.”
“Ya seem pretty lucid to me, so I doubt it.” Chris played his knight from G1 to F3. “But it’s important for ya to note that here ya want to seem like yer dancing through two different worlds. Even if it’s just once in a while. Maybe not so crazy as Senseless Stan, but ya can’t be struttin’ around all normal-like. Ya won’t be here long if y’ain’t just a little crazy. They’ll take ya down to the pit. And no one ever comes back from the pit.”
“The pit?” Carl asked while moving his knight from behind a pawn. “What’s that?”
Chris gave a small chuckle at the chess board. “Ya really don’t know how to play, do ya?” he asked while moving his bishop from F1 to D3. He focused back on Carl. “No one’s really sure. It’s probably nothing at all.” He chewed over the words as if they tasted funny. “Sometimes people are told that they are reassigned. They never return. We just started calling it the pit around here.”
Carl shrank in his seat as he considered what Chris said. Not thinking much about his move, he threw another pawn forward. “There has to be a way that I can get out of here. I have to get back to my son.”
Pawn C2 to C3. “Even if ya get out of here, ya can’t see yer son. Ever. Ya can’t go back to yer old life. It’s suicide. And he wouldn’t recognize ya, anyway.”
“But what’s he going to do without me?” Carl slammed a knight down on the board. “I don’t even know what’s happened to him. I can’t get an answer out of those goddamn orderlies. And you’re just filled with Untruther crap.”
“Easy, easy. Ya don’t want to get their attention. They’ll shock us and take us back to our rooms.” Chris slid his bishop from F1 to D3.
“Why can’t I go see him? Can you at least tell me that?” Carl tried to hush his voice; the vein throbbing against his forehead projected his frustration. His move replicated the annoyance that he felt, randomly selecting a pawn to move forward.
“That’s a complicated answer. Mostly it’s conjecture,” Chris explained while castling. “What I heard was that people are connected somehow. That when they spot ya and y’ain’t right, the robo-cops are notified immediately and they track ya down.”
Carl held on tight to the edge of the table while tilting his head back, releasing a cackle, “And you believe that? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”
Chris stood. “I know the world ain’t right. Look around. Is this how ya remember it?” He walked towards the window, grabbing the bars the same way that he did when they first arrived in the room. With whitened, bony knuckles Chris pulled himself close, staring at the dirty pane of glass. Carl watched as Chris appeared to contemplate something.
“Are we done playing?” Carl asked.
“No, no. I just need to stand for a moment.”
After a minute, Chris moseyed back from the window and continued the conversation, “And from what I’ve seen and heard, if ya ever step back out into that world, everyone, and I mean everyone, will call ya an Untruther. Rumor is that some machine or God-knows-what sends information to every individual and poof, they see ya as some Untruther. That’s the end of yer former life. Even yer son won’t see ya as his father. He’ll just think yer an Untruther.”
Carl shook his head, trout-mouthed. “That’s ridiculous.” He looked at the chess board and shrugged, deciding to castle, too. “How is my son going to see me as an Untruther?”
Knight B1 to D2. “That’s simple, I imagine.” Chris examined Carl’s face. “I bet ya were quite surprised when ya first saw yourself after ya woke up. What if yer son saw ya the same way? Would he believe that y’were his dad?”
Carl sat back with a bishop in his hand, staring blankly at the piece, examining it for an answer. Nothing came to him, so he moved the piece forward. “But I’m going to snap out of this. I’ll be myself again. And I need to know what happened to him.”
Chris moved the knight on F3 to E5. Carl glanced up at Chris then back down to the board. Assuming that Chris made a mistake, he took the knight with one of his pawns.
“See, this is the problem right here. Y’aren’t looking at the whole game. Yer just looking at the next move without thinking.” Chris moved a pawn from G2 to G4.
“I don’t play a lot of chess,” he said while moving another pawn forward.
“I don’t mean with chess. Well, I do, but yer going to have to treat the rest of your life like a chess game. Yer no longer a part of whatever the god-knows-what is doing. Ya have to think at least five moves ahead. What do ya think is going to happen if ya go and search for your son?” Chris moved the same pawn up to G5, causing Carl to retreat his knight.
“What’s going to happen is that I’m going to give him a big hug. Then,” Carl paused, “then I’ll figure it out from there.”
“Holy crap. Are ya dense? Why are ya so hell bent on getting yerself killed?” Chris moved his Bishop on D3 all the way up to H7.
Carl scratched his head. He looked around the board but couldn’t figure out why Chris made that move. He used his king to take the bishop. “I thought you were good at this game.”
“I am. Ya’ve already lost, ya just haven’t realized it yet.” Chris moved his queen from D1 to H5. “Check.”
Carl moved his king back. “I just don’t understand how, all of a sudden, I am going to be branded an Untruther. I can accept the fact that I’ve had a mental breakdown. Or at least I assume that’s what happened. But what you’re saying about this mystical overlord, or whatever it is, that’s how Untruthers talk.”
Rook F1 to F3. “Uh huh. Who knows. Maybe I’m wrong. Hell, what do I know; I’ve been cooped up in here for so long. I just want to get out, too. Maybe we should break out.”
Carl moved another pawn forward, preparing to take a rook. “I thought you said that you couldn’t break out.”
“I don’t know if it’s possible, but I do have a plan. I’ve just never been able to try it. As far as I can figure, it takes two people to get out of here.” Chris played his rook on F3 to H3. “You do see that you’re in trouble, right?”
Carl examined the chess board closely. He saw the queen and rook lined up. He had an escape, though, along the diagonal – no, that was cut off by a pawn. Carl sm
iled at Chris. “Well, that was quick!” He pushed the king over, conceding. Happy that the game was over, but more excited by the prospect of breaking out, Carl said, “Tell me more about this plan of yours.”
“I’ll give ya the details later. I think that our time here is nearly up.” Chris nudged his head towards the entrance where the orderlies were starting to call patient names. “But we’ll do it the same way that I beat ya.”
“Oh, and how’s that? They aren’t going to pay much attention to the game either?” Carl’s lips turned up. He thought that somehow his smile felt more genuine.
“It didn’t matter if ya paid attention or not. I used the Stonewall attack. I had a plan and that’s why I won. And that’s how we’re going to get outta here.”
“With a plan?”
“Yes. We’ll use the Stonewall attack in real life. But they’re coming. For now, let’s just make sure that we’re around for another day. Follow my lead.” Chris swiped up as many chess pieces as he could. He threw them at Carl, one at a time, as if pitching baseballs at his chest. “Get out of here, you son of a bitch!” Chris winked then his facial expression went blank. “Why are you in my house?”
The man that stood like David came to life, pointing at Carl and screamed an awful, high-pitched wail, as if a security alarm was triggered. Carl decided to play along and sat on the floor, his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth in one place. The orderlies began filing in, one by one, hoisting inmates away. From the back corner of the room Carl could faintly hear a chant, “And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight, that his hour for departure had come...”
Interpretation Page 6
