Dark Doses Page 2
“Ughhh.” *Er, yeah. Nice to see you, Stephanie.*
It was going to be a long day.
***
As his butt settled on the cafeteria bench at lunch, Stephanie filled Jeremy’s mind.
*Sorry to interrupt but you’re needed at the custodian’s.*
*What for?*
*I wasn’t told.*
He glanced at his lunch tray. *Can I eat first?*
*Well, I don’t know. They said now.*
*But I’m starving, can’t you tell?*
*Make it fast.*
Five minutes later in mid–bite, he stood up. *Okay, okay. I’m going.* Sheesh, what an idiot.
Stephanie didn’t respond to that thought, either too uncaring or too brainless to notice.
After a short walk, he rapped on the milky glass door of the office tucked behind the auditorium. A hand–written cardboard sign stated ‘T. R. THREADGILL – CUSTODIAN’. Mr. Threadgill stuck out his bald head.
“Jeremy?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Come with me.”
Jeremy followed the man into the silent auditorium.
“It’s about your personal neckset. Let’s go into the equipment room.”
Off the auditorium stage, Mr. Threadgill unlocked a set of double doors and switched on the lights. Compact, florescent bulbs glowed to life above assorted mini–projectors, TV monitors, ancient computers, and stage props. Jeremy followed the man into the cluttered room.
The link to the school vanished, severed from his mind cleaner than any blade could do. The abrupt separation staggered him.
“Whoa. You okay?” Mr. Threadgill reached out a hand to steady him.
“Yeah. But I think my neckset just broke.”
“Don’t worry about that. This area’s a dark zone. Metal in the walls totally blocks high frequency signals. Have a seat by the workbench. I need to write you a note.”
“Note for what?”
“Your neckset here.” Mr. Threadgill held up two halves of the neckset Jeremy wore to school that morning. “It wasn’t taking a charge, so I ran some tests before lunch. The cell is bad. It would have failed on your trip home, and the school would have been liable if anything happened to you.” He put down the plastic pieces and scribbled on a form. “I’ve installed a new cell, but since we’re not allowed to just give away school property, we’re billing your parents’ account. This,” his hand twisted through an unreadable signature, “is a receipt to inform your parents about the bill and the reason why your neckset obviously has been tampered with. Any questions, have them call.”
The form fluttered under Jeremy’s nose.
“Thanks, Mr. Threadgill.”
“Exchange necksets as usual after dismissal, okay?”
“Sure.” Jeremy got up to leave.
“How’s Tiberius?”
He froze. “Fine.”
“Lovely animal. Doesn’t much care for your exercises, does he?”
Jeremy did not recall speaking to this man about Tiberius, never mind any feelings regarding domination exercises.
“Not sure I understand.”
“Perhaps you’re controlling him too harshly.”
“Perhaps I should go.”
Mr. Threadgill looked thoughtful. He snatched a worn screwdriver off the workbench, and held it up to his face.
“What do you think of this, Jeremy?”
“A screwdriver?” Jeremy watched the man juggle it one–handed. “What about it?”
“In all the years, do you know I’ve never once gotten angry with it? Not when it occasionally failed to do the job. Not even when I wanted to be doing something else, anything, besides using it. To lose my temper or abuse it though, what would the point be?”
“This is a strange talk to be having with a custodian, Mr. Threadgill.”
“Define ‘custodian’.”
Letters formed on his tongue, but he hadn’t been asked to spell. He swallowed them.
“A janitor. Like for a school.”
“That’s the common definition. A custodian can also be a caretaker for something vital.”
“Such as?”
“The future.” Mr. Threadgill’s slate gray eyes glowed with energy and life.
“Whose future?”
“Mine, possibly. Yours, definitely.” With a loud smack, the screwdriver stopped twirling. “What color is your future, Jeremy? Red or blue? Have you decided?”
Knots twisting in Jeremy’s stomach doubled over. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t seem to like red. I guess being a dominator is out then.” Mr. Threadgill flicked the screwdriver at the disassembled neckset, which skidded across the bench toward Jeremy. “That must mean blue.”
“No.”
“No? Which then?”
“I don’t know.”
“In today’s world, you have to choose one or the other. Which do you pick?”
Jeremy looked away from the man’s probing gaze. Of course, M.A.C. would determine his fate, depending on how high he placed at qualification. High enough meant red and his dad’s path. With focus, supreme effort and lots of exercise, he could assure that placement. Or not.
In the corner of his eye, a hint of blue winked from the workbench. Musky forest scents wafted on the still air, with not a plant in sight. A chill raced through him.
Mr. Threadgill leaned forward and whispered.
“Or are you saying that you don’t like either choice? Is that it? It’s okay to want more, Jeremy.”
Two feelings battled within his chest: fear, of being in the wrong place with the wrong person, and fascination. What to do? No dominator, even ultra–dense Stephanie, controlled him now. This was up to him to decide. Him only.
Though the double doors across the room beckoned, Jeremy sat back on the hard plastic seat and faced the custodian.
“Life is about real choices,” Mr. Threadgill went on. “At least, a life worth living. The more choices we have to make, the more we truly live. Take them away, and you’re no better than a machine repeating its motions. Life becomes the time elapsed until you wear out.”
“Mom says life is about keeping and being in control. Seems like the opposite of what you’re saying.”
“Since it’s the world your parents live in, of course that’s her view. You can thank recent leaders for that, who felt people required strict controlling for the good of society. These devices,” he nodded at the neckset, “ease the process, starting with grade school students, like you and George, and thus conditioning every child to function in a controlled environment, such as the one out there. But it doesn’t have to be your world. You have the choice, Son. And what a powerful thing: never–ending freedom of selection, by you, for you. Cool, huh?”
Jeremy sniffed. “No way. I’m just a kid.”
“Then you’ve made a selection anyway, haven’t you? A sad one, too, because you won’t be a kid much longer. If you don’t act now, you’ll be trapped in your parent’s world forever, like it or not. That’s why I’m sitting here, talking to you today.”
“Suppose I believe you. What happens then?”
“Not much. Your M.A.C. will differ slightly from other kids’ by a few extra, private lessons. Special ones, for you alone.”
“I don’t get it.” Jeremy frowned at the man. “You’re saying nothing really changes then.”
“Not right away.” Mr. Threadgill licked his lips. “Have you ever heard the expression that the best change comes deep from within? That’s what the additional lessons are for. When it’s over, if you really want, you can still pick red or blue and just live like your parents do. But I think you’ll find there are more interesting options to choose from and a better life waiting. Give it some thought.” He glanced at the door. “Time to go.”
Jeremy stood and pocketed the receipt. He crossed the equipment room and looked back at the custodian, now hunched over the workbench reassembling his neckset. So much was wrong here. Then his breath caught.
“Shut the door behind you, Son. I’ve got tons of work to do.”
Wrong and dangerous. The closing door thumped against Jeremy’s back. He stepped out of the dark zone and staggered from the jolt to his brain.
*Where have you been, Jeremy? You’re… oh, my! …in the auditorium? Three minutes to get to social studies class. Run! I’ll tell the hall monitors not to stop you.*
He ran before Stephanie moved his feet.
***
After dismissal, Jeremy caught up with George at the check counter. Together, they yanked off their school necksets and stood in line.
“Homework?” George said.
“The usual.”
“Me too. Oh, I’ve got different vocabulary words than you now, so we’ll have to think up a new trick.”
“How about social studies? It’s got lots of stories about different people, how they lived, how they… suffered.”
“Yeah. Let’s green–green on it this weekend.”
They reached the head of the line and swapped gear. Jeremy’s neckset looked no different. At the bike rack he examined it but didn’t find even a scratch where the set had been pried apart. Yet, he knew: ‘Obviously tampered with.’
George eyed him. “Something wrong?”
“Anything strange happen to you today?”
“Uh–uh. You?”
“Not really. Except I had a weird conversation with the custodian.”
“Mr. Threadgill?”
“Uh–huh.”
They unlocked their bikes and straddled them. Jeremy took a deep breath and raised the neckset over his head. He held it high while George donned his own set.
“Know what the definition of ‘custodian’ is, George?”
“Yeah. A caretaker. Let’s go.”
Right. Somewhere in George’s house, a sheet of paper matched the one crinkled in his pocket. He put on his set.
*Come right home, Sweetie. You need to do your homework and be ready for a babysitter so your father and I can go out.*
At his house, Jeremy produced the signed receipt for his mom. Then he told her about his encounter with Mr. Threadgill. His parents didn’t go anywhere that night. He heard them place a number of urgent calls well into the morning hours.
***
Saturday’s exercises came. Tiberius watched him with cold, vacant eyes until the necksets linked. Soon, Jeremy found himself behind those eyes, viewing the hazy day through distorted tree trunks.
The trees parted and a clearing opened. Deer congregated. Dog scent overcame the animals and they scattered. Tiberius tugged.
*Stay!*
The dog’s body froze. At first, the mental command alone held Tiberius, but Jeremy sensed the dog’s growing desire to move, run, and give chase. Will over will, he held the dog still. The strain mounted.
Jeremy’s nose burned with the scents Tiberius inhaled. A flood drowned him, until finally, the breeze bore the tang of blood and musk. The deer had returned, though they lurked just out of sight.
*Grrrr,* came a warning from the dog.
*Who are you growling at, boy?*
*Can’t you tell, Jeremy?*
Startled, Jeremy lost his grip on Tiberius. The dog bolted into the trees and barked hysterical glee at the chase.
*Too much control, then too little. You’ve got a lot to learn, don’t you?*
*Mr. Threadgill? How is this possible?*
*Hard to concentrate with all that racket.*
With effort, Jeremy quieted the worst noises emerging from the dog, until only heavy panting and crackling underbrush flowed across the link.
*Much better, Son. First, an explanation. It’s called eavesdropping, bugging, tapping, other unsavory things. Really it’s an exploitation of communication’s weakest link. Physical access to comm devices provides a huge advantage in such situations. Schools like yours are perfect for that, among other things. Anyway, it’s typical for family necksets to share a common frequency, so only one needs to be compromised. I did that the first week of school. Your mom has been trained what to look for, though, and undid everything last week, so I tried again. Up to now, simple, harmless–sounding notes circumvented the parental training.*
*Your note failed because I told them everything.*
*You had that choice, Jeremy. I’d mostly finished my work at your school anyway. Time to move on to the next one that urgently requires my services.*
*They called you a criminal.*
*In their world, yes, they would think so. In my world, I’m a hero. Between the two, I don’t know. I suppose you’d label me a revolutionary. If that idea makes no sense, pay attention in social studies and you might understand better.*
Through the link, trees whipped by. The deer bounded just ahead.
*You’ve been… eavesdropping all this time? Dominating me too?*
*No need to. No, I’ve been learning about you and Tiberius.*
*Learning what?*
*Who you are. Your strength of will. Whether those wills are sufficient to get what each of you wants. Did you know, Jeremy, there once was a time when dogs weren’t mere tools for mental exercises. People, too, were much more than tools to be controlled or do the controlling. Long ago.*
So many deer. Their scent was strong. Must capture. Must kill.
*I want you to leave, Mr. Threadgill. Forever.*
*Soon. First answer me this. Did you decide?*
*I told you I have no choice. My parents decide for me.*
The forest thinned. White tails twitched above thundering hooves. Close now.
*Choice is always there, Jeremy, in ways you might not even imagine. Yet. Consider Tiberius.*
Dart left. Dart right. Capture was only one clear lunge away.
*What about him?*
*Know what’s wrong with him? You should. It’s all there in the link, but you choose to block it out. That’s a trap dominators blunder into because it’s so easy to do. I want you to see it though. Go ahead. Play your favorite game with him.*
No trees. Steep embankment underfoot. The deer leaped across.
*Do it, Son.*
Jeremy seized control. Paws splayed out. Nails ground on pavement to a skidding stop.
Flailing hooves disappeared into the tree line.
So close, yet denied again. Always and forever denied.
Jeremy concentrated. His temples throbbed with the effort of fighting the animal’s base instinct. With great reluctance the dog trotted to the center of the road and sat on its haunches, eyes fixed on the spot where victory had vanished.
They waited.
Minutes went by. The winding forest road remained deserted, until….
A rumble came, first through ears and then up through pads. Heavy vehicle. Moving fast.
*You think you can make the dog do anything, don’t you, Jeremy? Most of the time, I agree. You’re strong enough to flex its muscles and bones. Make it eat. Pee. Make it seem lifelike. But can you make it have the will to live where none exists?*
The road shook. Metal monster bearing down, seconds away.
*When faced with adversity, an animal knows only to fight or flee. You squelch any resistance or confrontation. And since you’re buried in its mind, it has nowhere to run. What does that leave?*
*It was you all along, Mr. Threadgill. Some kind of test, wasn’t it?*
*Look again, Dominator. Open yourself wide. Feel what lies deep in your submissive’s heart, what you put there.*
*You’re doing that!*
*No, Son. You are.*
Jeremy gritted his teeth, opened himself up and absorbed every impression from the distant canine brain in one, massive pull. His mind reeled, overcome by the flood of misery and desolation saturating the link. It surged—an unending waterfall with him crushed underneath.
*Give.*
His fault. For causing this, then ignoring it. All on purpose.
*Please, give.*
Jeremy stood helpless as h
is control evaporated, leaving him unable to will the dog to do anything. He sobbed.
*You finally see. Now, imagine billions of people this way, Jeremy. Then tell me, how could you possibly live with either choice of color?*
Polished chrome grill flashed atop a wide low bumper. A throaty blast erupted from the cab’s roof.
The link went black.
The dominator probed but found only fuzz on the other end—a failed link to a non–existent submissive. Jeremy yanked off the neckset and smashed it on the patio. He stomped the red pieces until his churning stomach drove him inside, where he puked over and over into the toilet.
***
First day of M.A.C. arrived. The blue neckset adorned with red stripes hadn’t seemed that different from any other he’d worn, but Jeremy expected it would forever alter him and his world.
At lunch, the strange voice in his mind didn’t surprise him at all.
*Hello, Jeremy. I’m a friend of Theodore Threadgill. You’ve made a fine choice to better the future, for yourself and others. Shall we discuss your private lessons?*
GAME OVER
Published in Allegory, January 2007
When you were little, did you ever go camping? Did you sit around the fire or lantern telling spooky stories, hoping yours might be proclaimed ‘The Scariest?’ Maybe you tilted a flashlight beam up under your jaw for a little mood lighting on the narrator. Maybe you kept it up until somebody said they had to go home, not because they were scared. Oh no. They just had something urgent to take care of. Really. Mega–urgent.
In Game Over, the next generation game consoles aren’t just for watching; they’re for experiencing. From inside the story. Where you are the star. Or maybe the victim.
But you’re also a composer, able to create whatever story you want to experience on the console. Which means you can share your creations with others and see what they think.
Today in the Digital Era we swap our words, our songs, our images, our videos, live or later on, whenever and to whomever we want. It fascinates me to think where it might go in the context of gaming platforms, which are trying to outdo each other with increasing levels of realism, flash, mayhem, accomplishment or glitz. So why not a totally immersive freeform game capability, able to give you any challenge or experience imaginable?