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Terse held his hands up in supplication. “Can we please leave this conversation where it is for now?” he pleaded. He was obviously in some sort of distress, although I couldn’t figure out why. My answer was soon forthcoming.
“Stress, both physical and mental, but especially emotional, is deadly to our race,” he informed me. “Central Service has identified your thinking as an aberration, requiring immediate reprogramming for me.” He was actually trembling. “I fear I may not return to you once it has happened.”
“What of your citizen’s free will; their freedom of choice?” I asked with concern heavy in my voice. It hit me as an epiphany. I did not want to lose this version of my friend to reprogramming.
“Yes, yes,” he said, waving my concern aside even as his own fate appeared sealed. “Citizens are programmed for choices and free will, as long as it maintains their optimum level of peace and tranquility. This is the essence of our longevity,” he concluded.
After a moment during which his frame was physically bowed over, Terse laboriously pulled himself erect and continued anew. “There is more an occasion for reprogramming as necessary due to trauma than any other reason,” he explained. “It might help your understanding if we referred to it as corrupted code. Our society has little need for something you mentioned recently; that of police. They are referenced in Minsan society as adjustment technicians.”
Terse was regaining his composure. Perhaps he wouldn’t be recalled? I thought. I made the difficult decision to rush headlong in this new direction the conversation had taken, heedless of the possibility that Central Service was listening.
Before I could speak my thoughts, Terse blurted out, “You’ve come to a sudden realization. That which you considered, until moments ago, a Utopia is actually a semi-dictatorship. Your terms and ideas, not mine. Nothing could be further from the truth. Minsans routinely challenge concepts and exercise abject thinking. All of The People are free to make choices.”
“Yeah, as long as those choices fit into the operational parameters of what Central Service deems appropriate,” I replied heatedly. “Programmed choices are not choices at all. They’re restrictions and limitations presented as options.”
I had a feeling my face was red. I was really riled up about this subterfuge Central Service had foisted on The People. “It’s a classic sales technique. Lead the customer into thinking they’re in control. Your programming is designed to make you feel like you’re making decisions, like you’re in control.”
Terse had partially turned away from me once again toward the Command Center. Now, he spun and literally flew in my face. “We are a peaceful people! We have no disease, no crime, no jealousy or hatred, and a millennia to enjoy it. Is that not worth surrendering a little autonomy?”
Terse was screaming at me, or rather it was what his culture would consider a scream. Actually, it came out as a hissing exhortation. This time it was my hands which were raised in supplication.
“Terse, my friend,” I started, pausing for the impact I hoped the term would have. When he visibly faltered, I knew the term had found its mark. “In Earth’s distant past, during one of the first successful endeavors of mankind to live freely without dictatorship or monarchy, there was a very wise freedom fighter named Benjamin Franklin. He is credited with having said many wise things. The one thing he said which helped our planet realize the validity of living in a global community is this.”
“Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety. Does that help you understand why I’m so passionate about the situation?” I paused to allow him time to clearly interpret the intention in my mind regarding technology and government before I continued. “Can you honestly say the Minsan people haven’t done just that?”
I was startled to see a tear course it’s was down Terse’s craggy face. He read my question and smiled softly. “I am corrupted. According to Central Service, I can no longer be allowed to influence society. I am ordered to return immediately for reprogramming.” Disregarding the tear on his face, he held both hands out to me, palms up. “Would you be so kind as to transport me to the population hub, so that I may accept the process?”
I faltered. “Have I caused this action? Are you being reprogrammed because of what I’ve said? How can you consider yourselves a free society if your very thoughts are monitored and erased if they don’t fit the acceptable pattern?” I fumed. I was livid. I railed against any system which would so restrict any free person’s mind.
“No, dear friend, I’m not being reprogrammed because of your words,” he said, smiling once again. His eyes were clear, and he held himself in lofty stature. “I am the Emissary of the Minsan people to our first interstellar visitors. I have conducted myself inappropriately to the highest degree. Central Service does not recall me for your thoughts, dear Joacim. I am being processed because I agree with you.”
I was shocked speechless. His benevolent Central Service would wipe his memory of who we are? They would delete any knowledge or thought processes outside their operational parameters? I could feel my blood pressure rising along with my bile.
“Well, what if I choose not to bring you? You said it yourself; it will be days before the teleporter is operational. Why don’t they just snatch you back the way my crew was taken from our ship?” I was angry, I wasn’t thinking about who was responsible. I was seriously raging against the machine. Seeing both chagrin and pain on Terse’s face, I realized my emotions were doing him harm. At the same time I became aware of how my accusation may have been perceived as a shot at him. I did my best to couch my passion with empathy.
“Maybe we’ll just give them a few days to cool off,” I finished smugly. I felt as though I had finally gotten the upper hand on these megalomaniacs who called themselves protectors.
“You still do not understand the total authority which Central Service commands, Joacim.” Terse shook his head sadly. “Teleportation here was a severe strain on my corporeal makeup. The power required to send over great distances must originate from a transmitter platform. Not just any platform will suffice. It must be a main unit designed to teleport large items or numerous Minsa at one time. But even with such high-power units I cannot be snatched back, as you put it. Any attempt to do so would result in my disintegration.”
Seeing victory leap into my eyes, he pressed on. “Should I not return before the end of this cycle however, I will simply be permanently deleted.” He held his hands up for peace as I visibly swelled up to lambast this gross miscarriage of any sort of justice. This was becoming far worse than any of us could have initially imagined.
“Joacim, my friend,” he said, using my own ploy successfully against me. “You continue to misunderstand, so please allow me to be exact. Central Service is not any group of citizens. It is instead the central processing system which maintains our world. Its operational parameters direct it to isolate or delete any portion of the whole which it determines by logical progression to be a threat to said whole. Also valid is if it reasons the individual to be irretrievably corrupted. Sadly, it has identified me as both.”
“Wouldn’t teleporting you back serve its purpose then?” I screamed. “It could murder you and teach a lesson to its slaves at the same time. Don’t screw with the computer.” I was panting, so great was my rage at my helplessness.
“That would be utterly barbaric,” Terse replied. He was visibly shaken at the very concept of being transported into nothingness. “Besides, the programming prohibits wasting valuable resources.”
He paused, his pale face becoming ashen. “Yet even now it considers whether to do just that to teach you a lesson.” I couldn’t be certain if he was trying to convince himself it wouldn’t happen or remind Central Service of its responsibilities.
“Ok, ok,” I shouted, looking around at the air as if to ensure it heard me. “I’ll bring him back. Just give me a few hours to get him there.” I looked to Terse to see if there was any response, and the relief on his face was all the answer I needed. I turned toward the deconstruction area, determined to prioritize the assembly of one flyer as highest.