A father risks everything to protect his child's freedom
Tyler
(C) Thinkstock
"Tyler, get away from the window!" Connor ordered. Tension made the command sharper and louder than he intended. Luckily Tyler was engrossed with his reading.
But if a drone saw him with the book...
Damn the Test.
"Dad, the light's best here," Tyler complained. Connor recognized his son's stubborn expression. Looking at the towheaded boy sometimes felt like looking in a mirror.
"The light's plenty good on the couch," he countered. He'd had thirty years more practice on the stubborn front. "The blackout's scheduled to be over in a few hours."
"Dad--" Tyler's plaintive cry hung in the air.
"Now!"
Tyler pushed himself from the floor, shoulders slumped. He took half steps towards the couch, as if hoping his father might change his mind.
As Tyler settled onto the couch, Connor reached over and ran a beefy hand through the 5-year-old's hair.
"You know what we talked about, right?"
"Yeah. The Test's coming."
"And?"
"And I can't let people know I'm reading."
"That's right."
"Why, Dad?"
Connor paused. How to explain a concept like slavery? Even if he could put it into terms his young mind could understand, the child's basic innocence could lead to a slip.
"The bad guys, Tyler,"
Tyler nodded.
"The bad guys. And you can't ever talk about this with anyone. You don't ever know--"
"Who's Eyes."
"That's right. You never know who's an Eyes."
Connor walked over to the kitchen space, a cramped square about two steps away from the couch. The soles of his feet almost scraped the concrete beneath the worn carpet.
He reached into the pantry and pulled out a chocolate NutriBar. The vitamin-fortified candy was popular because it didn't require effort or refrigeration. Without steady power, refrigerators were extinct--at least for the likes of them.
He turned to toss Tyler the chocolate and saw a glittering in the distance outside the window.
A skyscaper from the Crystal City.
"Hey that was hard."
Connor mumbled an apology. He hadn't meant to throw the candy, certainly not that hard.
He shook his head. Losing control wasn't going to help.
"I have to go out, Tyler. You stay away from the window..."
"And don't answer the door."
Connor smiled with paternal pride.
The boy was whip-smart.
That was the problem.
Connor picked up the walking stick by the door and headed out to the world.
*
The knot in Connor's stomach didn't come from leaving 5-year-old Tyler alone. The kid wouldn't do anything stupid. Although looking at the child's face sometimes felt like looking in a mirror, the eyes that looked back held more intelligence than he had possessed at that age.
Heck, the eyes were brighter than his adult eyes. He'd stay safe.
That was one of the advantages of living on the sixth floor. Most anyone who wanted trouble would be too lazy to make the trek. Tyler wouldn't open the door, no matter who knocked.
It was the Crystal City that had him worried.
Connor shuddered as he stepped out into the frigid June air. Steel gray clouds threatened at least rain, maybe even some snowflakes. He pulled his sweatshirt tighter, as if it would capture more heat.
"News might be right for a change," Connor muttered with cloudy breath. It looked like the Canadian Ice Fields were moving south this year. The Midwest might get its own glacier. It was certainly changing the airflows into Los Angeles.
He stepped around a puddle. Even though it had rained the night before, odds were the liquid was something less pure in the Blocks. It was an amazing testament to the power of life that a few weeds were able to poke their way through the rubble. The trees that once lined the street were gone, mere stumps of dead wood.
The tall man kept his eyes open for anyone who might be on the street. The middle of the day wouldn't stop the predators that hunted the squat concrete buildings.
His home block passed, and the next was much the same. The government contractors who built the tenements hadn't been paid for creativity.
Or paid at all, thought Connor. The project had begun after the government declared physical labor a vital national resource, subject to bureaucratic allocation. After that, they nationalized the efforts of bureaucrats and office workers needed to support the laborers.
With that declaration came the Tests, a series of physical and intellectual examinations that allowed Department of Labor experts to determine a person's career path. Some were destined for manual labor; others were found more suited for white-collar work. In a perverse lottery, a few were deemed incapable of working and simply went on the allotment. That last group seemed to grow steadily over the years.
Connor had been assigned to a factory, until the accident that left him with a limp and a permanent disability classification.
His neighbors were jealous. To them, Connor had hit the big time. That just made him shake his head.
Tyler would be next, undergoing the physical and mental examinations that would determine the course of his life.
On one end were the Laborers, sent to the building projects or the factory floors. The City used them until biology and physics inflicted more damage than steroids and painkillers could mask. Then they got dumped back in the neighborhoods where they'd been born, broken old men in their fourth decades.
Tyler wouldn't go there. He had brains. But Connor had neither the right last name nor any pull to get him a position on the top floors of the Crystal City. At best, he'd make middle management.
Once that would have meant a life of modest comfort and even prestige. But here and now, it was worse than being a Laborer. They'd put him in a cubicle-known as a Farm--and work his brain for all it could produce, pumped with drugs to keep him working as long and as fast as they could. Then they'd drop him back down here, a burned-out shell.
If Tyler was lucky, Connor would still be alive to take care of him.
The slap of rubber against concrete brought Connor from his reverie. He looked over his shoulder and saw the stoopies for the first time.
Idiot, he cursed himself.
Four of them, two on each side, sitting on stoops across from each other. Too old to be called children, their stained shirts and ripped jeans were worn with a pride that also couldn't allow them to be called adults. Instead they were caught in a kind of perpetual in-between.
The pack of youths slipped from their stoops and began following him.
He didn't glance back. The stoopies might not be interested in him and showing any sign of fear was a sure way to attract it.
Then again, his limp might be enough to trigger predators. Still, it got him a permit to carry the walking stick. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been cleared to carry anything close to a Class 3 Offensive Weapon (Potential).
The sound of rubber soles on concrete picked up intensity.
Connor shifted his grip on the staff. A part of him looked forward to the potential conflict. He might not be able to touch the Administrators in the Crystal City, but this was something real. At least in a fight he'd have some sort of control.
The sounds behind him shifted, as if they were getting ready for a charge.
It was the way the stoopies worked. Knock a victim to the ground and grab anything of value. If the haul wasn't interesting enough, then some stomping for entertainment. Or even if they were satisfied. Depended on the pack's whim.
Connor turned, taking in the group.
The leader was tall, nearly his own height. But the man-child's frame carried more skin and bone than muscle. Two of the others had the same build, but shorter; and then there was a fat kid stuffing a NutriBar into his mouth.
They wore the rags that were a uniform for stoopies. Torn, grease-stained T-shirts, even in the frigid weather. Canvas pants, stiff with sweat and dirt, patched so much that it was hard to see any original fabric.
But all four of them wore sparkling white running shoes that looked like they came straight out of the box. No telling how old they really were, but he had no doubt that the youths scrubbed them clean every night.
He kept his stance loose. The bulbs in the streetlights might have long since been broken or stolen, but metal cages surrounded the closed-circuit video cameras. Some computer was watching them, waiting for any sign of illegal violence. He couldn't throw away Tyler's future on a street fight, no matter how satisfying it might feel.
"Hey man. You look lost," the leader said. His pack fell in close to him.
"I'm good," Connor said, keeping his words measured.
"This can be a bad neighborhood for someone doesn't know where he's going."
"Yeah, Trick. You tell him," the fat boy said.
"We can get you through here safe," Trick said. As he spoke, the others moved closer.
"For a cost," Connor replied. He saw that they were moving to surround him
"Nothing's free, right?" the thin stoopie said. The smile he wore was almost apologetic.
"I'm good," Connor repeated.
The smile was gone. "You're not acting all that friendly," Trick said. "That can be dangerous, you don't show respect."
They were starting to encircle him. If that happened, he was in trouble.
"Get your boys back," he ordered.
"Huh?" Trick looked confused. Street prey wasn't supposed to act like this.
Connor leaned in close. "No matter what happens, I will break your knee. Try leading your crew if you can't walk."
The stoopie's jaw tightened. Connor let his hefty stick shift a couple of inches. There was no way the others could swarm him before it destroyed Trick's knee.
That only left a test of wills between Connor and Trick as their eyes locked. Who would blink first?
*
"So you just stared him down?" Big Julio asked, standing behind the bar as he slowly dried a plate. The ironically named cook was five feet tall and rail thin, despite eating his own fatty food.
The last words of Connor's story hung as heavy as the odor of fried pork in the grease-easy. A few of the patrons looked up discreetly from their meals, forks striking listlessly against plates. Others leaned against the dirty concrete walls of the dimly lit chamber.
"It was easy. All I had to do was think of Tyler."
There was a low murmur of approval from the other patrons. Normally, Connor wasn't the sort to make much of something like this. But since he acted as a part-time bouncer for Julio, it was good for these stories to get out. A good rep solved more problems than his stick.
Not that there was much call for violence here. People might wash down their food with some beer or a stiff drink but the real attraction was the cooking. The fried meat Julio served was contraband, the sort of thing you either found in the Crystal City or down in a basement like this. Bare light bulbs hung from the ceiling, powered by a generator Julio had picked up somewhere. The exhaust from the motor helped to cover up the smells from the kitchen.
Connor's main job was checking people for wires or any other kind of transmitting device. Customers had to surrender their handhelds before they entered. So unless someone was working for the Gray Shirts, there was no reason for any signal bleed.
Of course, he thought, not much help if they've got Eyes in here.
Not much to do about it either. The government installed the optical recording devices at birth without ever informing the victims. Part of the mandatory monthly health exam included going through a reader that would download information from the device. The Eyes themselves didn't know what information was downloaded; at least, until the Gray Shirts showed up at the door and took away their friends and family. The guilty ones got hauled to the camps with the others. Worse were those who simply witnessed a transgression and were left knowing about their unintentional betrayal. Rumor had it there were a lot of suicides, but no one knew for sure.
"Hey, you got a second?" Julio asked. Connor nodded and they walked back through the kitchen to an unmarked door.
Julio's "office" contained a desk and a couple chairs. Nothing he wouldn't mind leaving behind if they got raided. He motioned for Connor to sit.
"Test day's coming," Julio said. He reached in his desk and withdrew a cigar. Clipping the end, he lit it up. The tobacco smell was covered by the generator, same as the grease.
"Yeah," Connor said. "You know the scariest thing about what happened with the stoopies?"
"What?"
"I was looking forward to getting my hands on them. I'd have killed one of them if I could. And it wouldn't have done anything to help Tyler."
The wiry little man ran a hand across his salt and pepper beard. "There is something you can do, you know."
Connor looked at the ceiling. "The Pill."
"The Pill."
Connor shifted uneasily in his chair. "What if he doesn't come back from it?"
Julio puffed on his cigar, nodding. "It's a risk. But what does he get if he stays the way he is? A life of slaving away to keep Crystal City going? Ground up like meat until they're done with him?"
"So it's better for him to just sit around like those stoopies?" Connor asked. He didn't even try to keep the scorn off his face. The thought that Tyler might be permanently altered by the Pill--his mind bound by chemical shackles--was a serious concern. The thought of him trapped in the perpetual childhood that an allotment check meant was something else altogether.
"Do you just sit around because you don't have a work card?" Julio asked. "Tyler'll do something. He'll just be getting some actual pay for it."
"Gunning to lose a work card," Connor said. "It doesn't feel right. What am I teaching the boy?"
What his mother would, was the thought he left unspoken. When she'd found out she was pregnant with Tyler, he'd made her a deal. She could keep the allotment for Tyler but he got the boy. After seeing how she treated the half-dozen other children running around her apartment, there was no way he would let his blood be raised that way.
But things were tight, so Connor picked up work on the underground.
"Better working in the dark than letting Crystal City take him away," the grease-easy operator said. He took another puff and pointed at the ceiling.
"My family used to own this building, till the Resource Board decided it could be put to more "sustainable" use. We were lucky to get an apartment and stay on as managers. At least dad knew about the subbasement, was able to set this up. So we've made do. But we're living like rats in the dark."
Fire flashed in Julio's eyes. Connor knew the passion was genuine. The older man gained nothing if he used the Pill for Tyler. He was giving the money for it as a gift.
"This is principle, Connor. You think I like the fact that we're getting more "unable to work" cards handed out every year?"
"Then why are you giving us the money, boss? I'm glad you are but it seems to go against everything you believe in."
Julio smiled widely. "If I could afford it, I'd give it away in the streets. Get enough people with "unable to work" ratings, the system has to collapse. At some point, the sheep will get tired of feeding the fat, lazy wolves."
"Tyler's my son, Julio, not some pawn in a political game."
The slight man raised his hand. "The question is whether or not he will be free. What do you want for him?"
"Damn." The word just hung there.
Julio reached under the desk, opening his safe and withdrawing a thick wad of scrip. It was spendable at other underground establishments.
"Thank you, Julio."
It was time to go make his son stupid.
*
Dealing the Pill was more dangerous than illicit fats or tobacco. The latter simply meant getting your assets seized and some time in the camps. The Pill meant Gray Shirts. You simply disappeared.
The plan was to meet in one of the countless abandoned warehouses in the Valley. Unless it was rats, the deal wasn't going to get interrupted.
The nearest subway was a couple miles from the meet point, so despite the cold, Connor was sweating by the time he got there. He walked through the hollowed-out shell of a dead society. No matter how many bright kids like Tyler the government grabbed up, they couldn't make the work that had once filled these warehouses. It made the area a perfect place for underground commerce.
Connor scaled a fence as quickly as possible. There might not be people around but drones could be high beyond sight. He walked up to a service entrance and banged his palm against the rusting steel.
The only clue the building wasn't empty was the wireless video camera perched above the jamb. Once the dealer left the site, it would come down.
Unlike the 'bacco dealers on the street, this was an appointment-only deal.
The door swung open and Connor was greeted by two men who made him look as small as Big Julio. They'd obviously been dipping into some of their boss' other merchandise. They were also visibly armed with pistols. Way more than Class Three felonies here.
There were no pleasantries as they guided him to a wall and frisked him. Connor appreciated their professionalism. It was a sign that the deal would go well.
"Over there," one of the walking sides of beef ordered. He pointed to a corner of the empty chamber where they'd set up a cage. The dealer sat inside in case anyone tried a rip-off.
Of course, that would be incredibly stupid. The Pill needed to be matched for the recipient. Otherwise, there could be complications, like the stupid never going away.
Connor's footsteps echoed as he crossed the empty space. The guards hadn't taken his walking stick.
As he approached the cage, he was surprised to see the dealer was an average looking kid. Maybe twenty or so, his face remarkably devoid of the ink or piercings that seemed like tribal markings for that generation. Take him out of the T-shirt and jeans, put him in a suit, and he'd be fine in the City.
The surprise must have been evident on his face, because the dealer smiled. "I get all sorts on your side of the cage too. You got your number?"
Connor rattled off the digits he'd been forced to memorize when he put down the deposit.
"Good to go," the dealer said. He passed a foil packet through the same slot Connor used to pass the scrip. The dealer counted the payment. "Good to go," he repeated.
Connor turned but the dealer called to him. "Your kid really smart enough to need that kinda dose?" he asked.
"Yeah," Connor answered, his voice a little rough with the implied challenge to his son. "It's scary sometimes."
"He gets old enough and I'm still around, send him my way. We can always use smart kids."
Connor smiled. "He reads. Don't know about the math and science stuff."
The dealer smiled back. "Creative works. Grandpa was making this to help make people smarter. But he saw the writing on the wall, took one of the promising failed formulas and dropped out."
Connor shook his head. Whatever Tyler's future held, it would be his own choice.
*
"You in the mood for a book?" Connor asked.
Tyler just stared out the window.
It was a month since he'd taken the Pill. Connor had watched his son gradually deteriorate into lethargy and apathy over a period of two weeks. Waking him up on Test Day was a near impossibility.
Exactly like he'd planned. There was no way the child would be rated for any sort of physical or intellectual labor.
He'd be safe.
Except now, Connor worried that his son might not return. Although he had been warned that the recovery time was normal, he had not seen any signs of improvement.
Did I get what I wished for? Connor wondered.
The only thing that seemed to interest Tyler was the television. So he turned it on and sat next to his son. He'd get stupid with Tyler.
They watched for about an hour until the image on the screen started blurring. It didn't bother him. He'd seen the show already under a dozen different names.
The only thing was, television was the one thing the City got right.
"We gonna lose power again?" he muttered to himself.
Then the image recovered.
Connor's stomach tightened. Suddenly he was watching himself on TV giving Tyler the Pill.
Then came a knock at the door.
The Gray Shirts were here.
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Review by ArdenZ
Apr 17 2014
Like This?
Clear and inventive
Great story. Both thoughtfully detailed and tight, which can be difficult to pull off. As I was reading, I began wondering if it would end the way it did, but the suddeness of it still caught me by surprise. Great work.
Review by rgriffis
Mar 18 2014
Like This?
Unique take on totalitarian society
A nicely classic dystopian story, which offers some very dark satiric parallels to a lot of modern trends. I want to avoid spoilers, but Mr. "Smith" (if that's his real name, possible first name "Winston") offers us some new twists on the ways a power-hungry government might (will) try to control the citizenry. Good job.