Anarchy in New Enlgand

by Joe Jarvis

  "But how could I do anything about that. BA isn't even involved in the case."

  "No, but if a conflict of interest arose for the arbiters on the case, it would be moved, and if I give Teddy's father a nudge and a wink, I think we could get Barry Arbitration involved in the case."

  "And then I commit career suicide by putting my neck on the chopping block when its found out that my ruling was false!" Barry was not convinced. "I could be confined to an adap for that, and what do I get in return? Nothing." Barry was shaking his head no.

  "Nothing?" Drake gave a small snort and sigh, "You get to be rid of a certain reporter, and have certain files of hers go missing as well. In the shock and confusion, the report from Business Ethics Review never comes out, and no one pays attention to Barry Arbitration's rating."

  "Oh," Barry was taken aback, surprised that the plan had escalated so quickly. "I see. But that still doesn't protect me from it coming to light that I lied about the evidence in the murder case. I'd just be digging my hole deeper, and kicking the can down the road."

  "Only if we stop there" Drake retorted.

  "Where else is there to go? I undermine your main competitor's credibility, saving your business. You bury a negative report, saving my business... until it is found out that I blatantly lied, at which point I become a confine until I die."

  "Well that's where the rest of the plan comes in. Molly's murder won't be just any murder. It will be a drug cartel murder of an innocent, beautiful young women." Drake hadn’t planned on discussing this in such detail, but he was too excited, and was planning out loud as much to convince himself as Barry.

  Drake had been dreaming this plan up for a while, but now added the details from recently emerging circumstances. "Only the 9th murder this year in all of New England, quickly followed by the 10th, 11th, and 12th – the victims strategically chosen to both elicit fear that no one is safe, even the rich, and take out the people who would most stand in our way. We make it brutal, we frame outside cartels, and we scare people into demanding a border. A border which we control."

  "And when other agencies protest the border,” Barry said, staring somewhere behind Drake, thinking as he spoke and becoming visibly excited, “BA shows 'evidence' that they are working for the drug cartels, meaning the only ones that can be trusted are ourselves and our partners!"

  "Then NESA graciously provides patrols free of charge to anyone within the border,” Drake continued, “cutting out the business of whatever security companies are left. We take enough of whatever is coming into our territory on roads and magnet tubes that we control – a sort of tariff – in order to pay for these free patrols, and once NESA and its affiliates are all that’s left, impose a tax on the population.”

  “We trump up charges against other arbiters, or absorb them – pick the right ones to form branches of government with the right positions as bargaining chips," Barry was now smiling with wide eyes, taken away by the possibilities of Drake’s plan for power, like a child planning his first trip to Disney World: "I become the Minister of Arbitration, you the Minister of Security, and from there on out it’s easy street! Just like pre-collapse!"

  Drake’s smile was more detectable than usual, "Bingo!" he drawled as he raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his wine.

  The better part of a minute passed in silence as the two considered the plan.

  "But..." Barry was still thinking, and his smile turned into a sideways frown, skeptical that the plan could fall into place, "It would be such a risk."

  "All great men once took a great risk," argued Drake calmly. "But we have this opportunity once, before our businesses decline or come crumbling down. It’s now or never."

  "How would we put it all into motion though, without it getting away from us?"

  "Just leave that to me, I know who to talk to, I know who I can trust. I’ve already done some probing and testing, so to speak."

  Barry wasn’t convinced, and he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I need to be sure. I can’t just throw caution to the wind with nothing but your assurance."

  The two fell silent as their food arrived. The juiciest pink-in-the-middle fillet mignon – rarer these days as people were used to much less meat in their diets, and cattle raising never resumed on the same scale after the collapse. On the side were mashed potatoes with garlic and real butter, grilled asparagus, assorted raw leafy greens topped with goat cheese and a raspberry vinaigrette, lamb-broth gravy with mushrooms and onions, lobster tail with a cream sauce topped by caviar, and olive oil painted dinner rolls with herbs that looked like an artist had prepared them for a museum.

  "Listen," Drake began as he lowered his voice and cut into his steak, placing a bloody, dripping morsel into his mouth, and chewing, "We can handle the media. We have more to offer with this plan than money, we can now offer power, straight up, unadulterated force, used for whatever they desire. So we set up Ministries, and sell the positions to those with the most power. I happen to have the right connections in the news world so that we can control the very thing which will advance us to the next level; it will be state propaganda... like the Soviet days." Drake added, knowing Barry’s obsession with history, particularly dictatorships.

  "I’m reading about Joseph Stalin now!" Barry exclaimed, excited to add value to their relationship.

  Drake acted as if he hadn’t heard Barry, and he was so wrapped up in his plan that he indeed might not have heard. "We might need some strategic Internet blackouts, but we can take care of that with a couple of false flag killings, and then some raiding of the right businesses. But the key is that the things going wrong must look like it is society disintegrating around the people. And when my men arrive on the scene everything is righted, and NESA is the hero. BA will apply the law as it currently stands in the most common contracts, but you will be the only arbitration agency left, so there will be no one to check up on the rulings, the evidence, and the convictions. We purge the detractors by charging them with crimes connected to the cartels, or crimes destabilizing the region." Drake wasn’t even talking to Barry anymore, and Barry sensed this, feeling left out for a moment.

  "And we’ll call Barry Arbitration New England Arbitration for cohesion!" Barry slammed his fist on the table a bit harder than intended, and his half full glass of wine spilled onto the white tablecloth, creating a deep red stain like blood, as Barry let slip an expletive.

  Drake was brought back to reality and looked at Barry with a note of agitation and slight disappointment in his face as the waiter rushed over to clean up the mess, "Yes, that is a good idea", and he did in fact like the idea of renaming the agencies to match the new state.

  Barry turned a little red in the cheeks at his mishap, and the two ate in silence for a minute or two. Barry was coming back to his senses, and again starting to worry about the potential for the plan to go awry.

  "But can you imagine if we got caught, Drake, how terrible the remainder of our lives would be, like dogs in a kennel," Barry was almost whining.

  "As opposed to your life now? As a house-trained dog who’s got to wag his tail and lick the hand of his owners that we call customers? A man leashed by the market, who barks on command, and who is about to be put down by some bitch vet because you pissed on the wrong fire hydrant?"

  Drake is quite the orator, Barry thought. Barry was comforted by his friend’s conviction, and more convinced as Drake’s confidence about their plan shined through his normally sullen face. In reality Drake had only convinced himself that the plan would work while explaining it at dinner. And Drake was comforted by his minion’s support.

  The truth was that Drake too thought of Barry as a dog, but knew that a dog could be man’s best friend. Loyalty from Barry was not in question, and Drake knew that all Barry needed were a few pats on the head, and Barry would growl and flash his teeth at anyone who his master deemed an enemy.

  Barry was thinking hard, and couldn’t decide what he wanted. The plan did sound great to him – well defi
nitely the end result. And pleasing Drake was another huge plus; and with a man like Drake at the wheel it did seem more likely to Barry that they would see success.

  But the risk! This was an all-in moment, and Barry was not the type to make tough decisions. As much as he hated being chained to the market, he had always tended to rely on popular demand of the customers to guide his actions; the reason he was successful in the first place. But here he was, one man who had to decide whether to take the risk with such an immense potential reward, but with such dire possible consequences.

  Barry was used to betting with his money, but he had never bet with his freedom before. But then true power, in the old sense, had never been on the table. He felt like this was the reward that his whole life was building up to, and to give up on power would leave him only money – which was already at risk because of the pending BER report.

  Barry thought that even if he did manage to hold onto his business, and maintain profits, what more could he look forward to in life? The very probable possibility of diminishing profits and less spending money only added to the desire to take this bet, and risk it all. Barry was shaking his head, gazing up in thought, biting and pursing his lips in quick and random succession. As his mind swayed from yes to no and back his body could practically be seen mimicking the thought process, like a drunk man trying to catch his balance after standing up too quickly.

  "If there was some sort of insurance policy..." Barry pleaded, unable to commit, though wanting so badly to see the plan fulfilled. He was avoiding direct eye contact with Drake.

  Drake was staring squarely at Barry. "How hard do you think it is to flee the area, go somewhere that no one will recognize you?"

  "Pff," Barry let out a humorless laugh, "any agency in this hemisphere would recognize us through facial recognition eventually, and collect the probably gigantic bounty."

  "There are places to go," drawled Drake as if this was obvious. He knew Barry was on the tipping point. "And we are talking worst case scenario."

  Barry thought worst case scenario. Worst case scenario I take off on my yacht and sail the world. He thought that might not be so bad. Of course that still had its risks if he planned to go ashore at port, but then again he could choose his ports wisely, and perhaps hire people to buy the supplies he needed. Maybe there would be tropical islands without cameras. He would need to have supplies ready to change the appearance of his yacht enough so that it would not be recognized were he to become an outlaw. The idea was romanticized in Barry’s head, and he briefly imagined himself as a pirate, before becoming embarrassed at himself for having such a childish thought. But still, the rest sounded plausible. Plausible as a worst case scenario, if the ultimate plan, with the ultimate reward, failed.

  "We’ll have to do this so that we will get some warning if things sour," Barry was speaking seriously and skeptically. "I’ll be on my yacht when it all happens, and I’ll want to be in contact with you throughout the entire ordeal. The first one you call as the pieces fall into place. Just don’t hang me out to dry."

  Drake had convinced him. Drake’s face was the brightest Barry had ever seen it, and he swore he could see a full fledged grin for a split second. "I knew you would come to your senses," finished Drake triumphantly as he held up his glass of wine for a toast. "To government."

  Barry smiled. He was entering into the most important contract of his life, what it had all led up to, with the best possible partner. He was starting to once again relax.

  "To government!" he toasted. Clink.

  Four

  Molly was going over Barry Arbitration’s numbers at the office. She was only required to come into the office twice a week, but she was the type that didn’t mind the change in scenery from working at home. At the offices of Business Ethics Review there were plenty of workstations of various styles, and each employee had their own small closet to store work items in, to be retrieved and brought to the table, cubicle, or comfortable chair of their choosing. She had one hand in her hair, her elbow resting on the table. The other hand flicked the screen of her extra large tablet, the type ideal for work. It had on one side a 20cm screen, but could also fold out to reveal two 20cm screens which could combine to become flush and form one large screen, or be set at a 45 degree angle with one acting as a keyboard, and the other as the screen to form a laptop.

  Molly had the screen on large, lying flat on the table. The earbuds she wore used EEG (electroencephalogram) technology to detect the natural electromagnetic signals the brain gives off. This allowed Molly to take notes without having to physically type anything. She could control virtually anything on her tablet by just thinking if she wanted to, but touch could also be used.

  Molly could not believe how much was redacted from Barry’s personal report. It was not quite enough to make a big deal out of the redactions alone, but enough to arouse suspicion – or more suspicion in this case. She wanted to bring Barry Arbitration’s rating down, because she felt that the company deserved it; but she needed to build her case on solid evidence that readers could understand. As a reporter for Business Ethics Review, Molly’s job was to build a case against each company she rated, and present that case to readers. Some businesses were squeaky clean, others had their fair share of baggage. But rarely would a company be found to be so corrupt or unethical as to ruin its business; these revelations became less and less frequent as the years went on, and businesses learned that it was more profitable to remain legitimate.

  Luckily, the juiciest news these days was considered corruption in business. This kept companies honest, because so many professional journalists, as well as amateurs, were watching. Since everyday people had pocket sized portables or mini-tabs connected via Internet for video calling, messaging on the go, taking pictures, recording video, and browsing, the news was everywhere.

  "Hey Molly, check this out," Molly’s boss, Otto, said as he approached with his mini-tab in his outstretched hand. He spoke with a Northern European accent, which sounded like a mix of various pre-collapse accents, notably British and Scandinavian.

  Molly took her earbuds out, and looked at the screen. She was used to her bubbly boss interrupting to show her a video or to talk. She didn’t mind the break.

  "Remember this clip?" Otto asked, eyebrows raised.

  It was a shaky video of two men sitting at a table in a fast food joint, taken from the next booth over. They were speaking in hushed whispers conspicuously.

  "Yeah," Molly replied thinking back, "This was the owner of the packaging facility bribing the reporter to keep quiet, right?"

  "Yes and with facial recognition they were both identified and everyone learned of the heaps of rat shit in one of the facilities that the reporter had uncovered on a surprise visit." Otto spoke quickly with much expression. He drew in a large breath and continued, "Well it was 6 days ago that the kid who shot the clip sold it to us, and today the entire packing company has closed, for good. Done! I think that’s a new record for BER!" Otto excitedly finished with a geeky smile and two thumbs up.

  "Wow!" Molly was impressed, "Were all the factories just as bad?"

  Otto launched into a new round of eager explanation, "No! It was just the one that had anything wrong with it, but once we broke the story we got millions of hits in the first several hours. It went viral. And when the same facility was checked again the situation had already been righted, but by that point the reporter had already sold us the original footage to try to save face."

  "And no one even got sick? If the owner had just come clean and apologized he probably could have saved his business," Molly exclaimed with a dry laugh, shaking her head in disapproval.

  Otto nodded with an almost sympathetic closed mouth smile, and then he was onto the next subject. "So how’s the Barry Arbitration rating going?"

  "Eh, its fine," Molly sat back and gave a light sigh.

  "Ah, well I think this is going to shape up to be another one of the classic Molly Metis-" Otto made a smashing motion and sou
nd effects, "-destroyers!"

  "Oh please," Molly laughed, "I haven’t ruined that many businesses. And they were all bad!"

  "Still, my favorite was when you audited and brought down the bankers skimming their currency," Otto acted like he had just tasted something exquisite, touching his fingers to his lips with a kissing sound. "Perfect! When I saw the bank close and sell off its assets, I marched right up to the Head Editor for Business Ethics Review, I shoved my portable in his face and I said, hire this woman! And not only did each bank board member get ten years in confinement, but they had to forfeit their assets and serve the sentence in adaps!" Otto burst out laughing. "I love it!"

  Special advertisers’ apartments were built by security firms to house certain guilty criminals, who were confined to the adap. They would be allowed to socialize with other confines (pronounced with the emphasis on the first syllable) at designated times. Some of the funds from the forfeiture would be used to give confines a weekly allowance which they could only spend on specific items, ordered through controlled closed network vacuum shipping tubes. Of course all the food, hygiene, and the few other items sold were advertised on the walls, and this helped fund the confinement adaps as well.

  While this was a typical setup for the punishment of a crime, it was certainly not the only one. When the guilty party did not lose his assets in arbitration, he was often placed under house arrest in his own home and fitted with a tracker, or sometimes limited house arrest with some ability to travel still permitted. It all depended on the seriousness of the crime, and the sentence negotiated during arbitration. There were a handful of serious criminals in New England actually still held in an old style prison at the offices of various security companies, but this was rare, and only applied for crimes like premeditated murder and rape. Of course the rare instances of rape and murder were made even more rare since a good percentage of attempted rape and murder ended in the death of the attacker.