2084

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© 2013 by Yasmin Marie Headley. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/22/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-5495-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-5494-1 (e)

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Contents

Dedication

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Dedication

For my mother Gwendolyn Headley, whose unyielding support and unconditional love acts everyday to inspire me.

For my father Conrad Headley who instilled in me the value of education.

For my brother Conrad Headley Jr. my first friend. Together we created and lived in our own imaginations.

For Everett Abram who encouraged me to write for me, and told me to do it as if no one else was ever going to read it.

I fear the day when the technology overlaps with our humanity. The world will only have a generation of idiots.

-Albert Einstein

Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.

-Frederick Douglass

The most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.

-George Orwell

Chapter I

Existence

I will not be silenced! Thomas screamed into the monitor. Rage rushed through him as he stood face to face with the black screened oppressor. His heart raced as he glared at the monitor. The monitor glared back at him. He wanted to raise his fist and smash through it, to reduce it to sparking rubble on the pavement.

The citizen soldier rushed Thomas; he snatched away from their grasp. The quicker soldier lurched at Thomas and wrestled him to the ground. Cold snow scraped the side of his face causing abrasions on his cheeks. He fought furiously from the ground, but the soldiers overcame him. The harsh surge of the familiar taser ripped through Thomas leaving him spasming on the ground. From the ground he was submerged in the bitterness of the electricity, to him it embodied all of the hate in the world and he struggled in vain to sustain himself. The cowardly electricity delivered volt after volt, toying with him as he writhed in agony. If only the citizens would stand up and join him, they would surely outnumber the soldiers. He struggled to catch one last view of the empty courtyard. They would not come; as he lay he began to feel luckier than them. They were enslaved by fear, and he would finally be free. Relief swept over him and he became aware of the fact that he was becoming an abyss. But he was not enslaved by fear, he was free… free… free…

Eighteen Months Earlier . . .

Location—71°17′44″N 156°45′59″W

Wednesday, April 4, 2084

We shall meet in the place of darkness,

2040a jumped from his sleep in a pool of sweat. His teeth clenched in an attempt to control his anxiety, his heart raced as he tried to regulate his breathing. He sat in agonizing silence for a few moments until his alarm screamed from his night table. He hoped the monitors had not noticed he had awakened in a panic, before the alarm rang. That he had done so every day, for the last week; that the anxiety was back. Any inclination of anxiety would lead to an impromptu evaluation.

2040a quickly composed himself. The silence in the room made him rush nervously to the bathroom. Citizens who spent too much time in silence were often accused of plotting. 2040a flipped the switch which allowed heat to sweep through the vents warming the bathroom almost instantly. He grabbed his wireless toothbrush and began to brush his teeth as it played jazz music. Jazz music, he thought, was created by African Americans. He didn’t know much about African Americans other than what everyone learned at The Institution. They were immigrants from seventeen hundred’s, their major contribution was music, and his mother said that he was one. But African Americans no longer existed and neither did mothers for that matter, so 2040a brushed his teeth and prepared himself for the day.

Making his way through his spacious loft apartment to his kitchen, he thought about ways to appear content. He smiled for the flat screen monitor as he rushed past, and wondered why he was not. He wondered why he felt life’s meaningless tasks were interrupting him from living. He wondered until the thought crept into his mind and took away his breath. The meaningless tasks he rushed through were his life. He struggled to control his anxiety and held tight to his perfect expression. Appear content, appear content, he warned himself, not to do so was dangerous.

2040a stood in front of his Freechoice refrigerated vending machine and beverage dispenser. His Freechoice dispenser was stocked on the first and the fifteenth with preselected food and beverage cartridges. 2040a was able to select meals based on the availability of ingredients and his meals were created on the spot.

Maybe cider, he thought out loud, then selected cider from the touch screen.

Calorie code the machine prompted.

He grabbed his hand held Intel-system (which most people referred to as their brain) and selected the wellness app. From his device he pricked his finger and tested his glucose. After syncing he received his code 4375. He was allowed 2,400 calories, same as most 25 year old males around his weight. However, due to biological factors, he wasn’t allowed food which would increase his blood pressure. He asked his e—physician if it had anything to do with him being African American.

The doctor response was definite, absolutely not, these days pure African Americans did not exist. All humans were the same genetically and biologically only each one was slightly different, differences were not due to alleged races, but more of a person’s hardware.

So were all the same but different? 2040a quizzed.

For his question he received a 5 mg dose of Philapan which numbed his mind to the point he was unable to control his own saliva. After a week or so of treatment he was found mentally healthy and taken off the meds. A week was long enough to teach him the lesson, thoughts like that were not to be spoken.

2040a collected his things, his brain and his allocation card and hurried out of the door. Funds were deposited onto his allocation card on the first and the fifteenth. As a senior fact checker at the Federal Building he earned eleven thousand Euro-dollars a month. Eight thousand was immediately transferred to his landlord, which left him with three thousand; of that he received fifteen hundred and the remainder was divided between taxes and monitor maintenance fees.

At the Federal Building he was responsible for confirming and processing consumer reports, it was long tedious work, and no matter how many reports he processed there were always new reports the next day. Majority of the Federal Building was run efficiently through technology. Reports were drafted automatically. 2040a served as a human overseer in order to add security, and in the event of an error, a human was needed, to assume total accountability.

Each report had to be read thoroughly and 2040a had to sign off on it. 2040a learned that what he considered errors were not to be reported. If, for instance the Division drafted an official report declaring Pacifica a national enemy, then submitted a contradictory report saying Atlantica was a national enemy and Pacifica was CanAmerica’s oldest ally. 2040a simply signed off on the report marking it true. After about three years of fact checking, the Division’s truth began to mix with reality. As of now, 2040a could no longer make the distinction. To ignore the contradictions was the only way to be a successful fact checker and 2040a considered himself to be very successful. He was up to thirty five reports a day.

In addition to processing he was also responsible for supervising and training the CR dept. 2040a had never met another employee from his department in person. Most correspondences were done through instant messenger or video conference using their e-tablets. To increase efficiency, they were allowed their lunch breaks in shifts. He had never been needed to train an employee, but that was about to change. He received an instant memo that a new employee would be arriving within the month and he would be responsible for training. 2040a anticipated the trainee’s arrival. Perhaps, if he had someone to talk to, he might be able to overcome his feelings of solitude, he hoped.

He wasn’t sure if it was the monotony of his work or the solitude, but for some reason he had developed a guilty fetish. He knew that today he would do it again, he had been doing it for six months, and now had the monitors timed, they changed every thirty seconds. He had thirty seconds to beat the monitor. He enjoyed beating the monitor more than the actual deed.

Outside, the piercing winds seemed to race around the tall gray buildings, stinging 2040a’s cheeks and nipping at his ears as it rushed past. 2040a breathed in the musty dense air and struggled to catch a glimpse of the sun peeking from the sides of the magnificent towers. He scrolled through his brain with one hand, listening as the hard spring snow crunched beneath his feet. He shoved his free hand deep into his corduroy pockets and wished there was a way to keep his operating hand warm while using his brain. Maybe he would invent that, he thought to himself, and then quickly dismissed the idea remembering when he thought he would invent flying cars. He remembered when he would imagine flying people and streets filled with flying cars. He figured it was just some internal desire not to be grounded. Electric cars had been banned from the metropolitan area where he lived. The cities sole transportation was individual light rail trains carts or e-lights.

The 8:15 e-light arrived on time; he boarded the train and planned out his strategy for beating the monitor. He was so deep in his thoughts, that time had escaped him and when he looked up he was at the Federal Building. 2040a leapt from his seat and quickly rushed from the train.

Red words ran across a nearby monitor, the Division’s slogan: TRUST NONE WATCH ALL. Under the caption read: all citizen will be monitored for quality assurance.

At his desk the urge began to grow, he tried to fight it. It’s only 9:10, he told himself. You’d better stop before you get caught, he pleaded with himself but by 10:09 he was up from his desk headed towards the refrigerated vending machines.

10, 20, 30. he slipped into the room while the monitor wasn’t on him. He held his breath and pressed his body flat against the wall.

10, 20, 30.

Pressed against the wall he thought about turning back. But it was too late, the monitor was in rotation, if he moved toward the door he would be caught in the break room before his scheduled lunch.

10, 20, 30. he rushed toward the refrigerated vendor and quickly punched in a code.

Loading . . . loading . . . .

The machine slowly moved the small silver package. 2040a’s heart raced, his eyes on the package moving closer and