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It was true that there was not much light in the room but there was activity, although maybe that was debatable. There was no physical movement, only the echoes in the mind of Robert Jones.
“I AM innocent!” Robert roared in the silent chambers of his mind with an ‘am’ so ferocious that it sounded like a profanity.
The words cascaded down the levels of his mind until it found that sweet spot where they were greeted with the relief, which would remove from him the pain. The pain of being innocent. The anger of being labelled guilty.
It was 2152. Whoever imagined that as the years progressed then so would the insanity of man? There had been no scrap of evidence that the world would become more hostile, however, there had been small suggestions.
It was true that the turmoil of the early twentieth century was nowhere in evidence. There were no world wars and there were no royal bloodlines or ruthless dictators stirring the pot to cause any such conflict. There was nothing of the sort hovering or waiting in the wings. Everything was science now. It was hardly likely that man would resort to his more basic instincts. Sadly though, there was still discontent. There was still the insatiable quest for power even though it didn’t seem to manifest itself in the same warlike manner.
“I’m innocent. Is anyone listening?”
In the early days of Reginald Irons tenure, it was not easy to detect the certain lust for power, which the president had developed. Upon his election, he may have sounded outspoken but that was something, which the country had expected from the leader of their major global economy. That was how the president should hold himself. Set against the lacklustre performance of the previous government with its ideological baggage, it was a welcome change. In essence, the country wanted a leader not the soft touch of a president who had preceded him. That’s exactly what they got.
In keeping with the electorate’s demands, the new president’s style was decisive and everyone seemed to ignore the blemishes in his actions. The electorate immediately embraced the new presidential style. The voters were optimistic. The president’s good points, although they were a little sketchy at times, seemed to win through. Subsequently, the benefits did unfold. The new president immediately took measures to contain the terrorist threat, which had gnawed away at the country for the previous half a century. Although that was not as clear-cut as the president’s public relations team made out. In reality, he had cleverly persuaded the population that he had contained the threat. That was just his forte, fooling the public. It was an illusory stage act. The president was an illusionist of tremendous skill and that was not the end of it, he had other skills he could bring to bear on the unsuspecting population.
With sloth like progression, so as not to alarm them, he controlled the media. Then, essentially, he shut them up. He used his skills to control the media in such an aggressive manner that no bad news slipped out. For the first few months of his presidency, his popularity figures hit the roof and no one suspected a thing. For those months, bad events did not figure in the news and no bad news had meant good news. With the stifling of the press, the new president had contained the population. However, he needed to follow through so that he could finally apply his coup de grâce.
There was something extra special about the president, Reginald Irons, it was his uncanny knack to cajole, then if that didn’t work to coerce. Call it what you want. It was something, which easily set him apart. To some it allowed him to wear the mantle of chief negotiator. That had certainly helped him. Following the reign of the previous limp president, he was approaching the status of a demi-god.
However, all the population needed to know was that he was a leader, someone who could affectively control the situation, any situation. Even if it remained largely a mystery how he did it. That was his strong point. However, strong points seldom come in isolation. If he seemed to know how to deal with the terrorist threat facing his country, he also knew how to deal with those who did not comply. Reginald Irons also did not intend to stop his force of will. The population put it down to his strength of character. He would often dismiss his downfalls by using his hackneyed phrase when extolling his progress with matters of state.
“I am how I am made,” was his oft-heard chant from public broadcasting during those times.
It seemed ‘he was what he was’ and he had no intention to pull in his horns. He apparently did not even realise the severity of some of his measures to bring prosperity back to the country. The strong man tactics, which Reginald Irons had openly displayed at the beginning of his presidency started to morph. The violence he had used to eradicate the terrorist threat had, by degrees, turned to the general population. It had surprised those normal citizens who had never imagined in their wildest naïve dreams that Reginald Irons, their saviour of a president, could turn. When he finally did turn, they also could not have imagined that the transition would be so rapid.
Reginald Irons, the man, the leader with such an uninspiring name, had developed into a tyrant. He had, after clearing the decks of all other tasks, proceeded with the process of shutting up all those who disagreed with him.
“There will be no dissent,” was another saying, which had crept into his public broadcast phraseology.
It became apparent that Reginald Irons had set his sights on the totalitarian rule of his country. Initially, it seemed that way but the notion that the president was an imminent dictator faded. Faded then died. What happened next seemed to go by unnoticed. Reginald Irons swiftly lost any traces of authoritarian leadership. The country followed blindly as if possessed by his charms. Reginald Irons had become the leader of a population who absolutely wanted him as their leader. Then the dissent, which had followed a short while after seemed to wane. Then the country seemed to capitulate, just accepting everything he said and did. Then you might have thought that Reginald Irons wanted to treat the country badly. For that is exactly what happened next.
~
ROBERT JONES WAS LIKE some others in the population who had suffered the fate of incarceration.
He was in a remote location in the North East of the country. He was there just like all the other criminals; he was there at the president’s pleasure. The president’s ‘behest’. It hardly equated to pleasure, even if the president probably obtained pleasure in having the control to do such a thing. The incarceration facility was where all dissenters spent there ‘recovery time’. Unfortunately, Robert’s crime was a little more than most, and he was due to receive the most draconian of punishments.
Robert continued his refrain in the silence of his mind, “I’m innocent!”
It was pointless, but somehow Robert thought some benefactor would take pity on him. There could be no other reason.
“I’m innocent.”
The detainee, Raven, was no more than a few feet from him. An exclusion beam, which eradicated all sound, isolated him from Robert. Raven, who had been in the sanctuary for an extended period while the administrators had deliberated on his fate, could still see the outlines of Robert. He imagined he saw Robert’s anguished look. Regardless, he absolutely knew what that anonymous person was thinking.
Raven also exercised his mind in silence, “I’m innocent myself.”
Ignoring the sound exclusion beam, there was still a translucent wall between the two. Since a semi-visual option was still open to them, although in some incarceration units it was not, they had a vague visual connection. That didn’t seem to matter to Raven. It seemed Raven did not need any precise sound or visual mechanism. Raven had other means to communicate.
Raven was a little puzzled by the configuration of their two adjoining units at first. That semi clear option of viewing his neighbour in the incarceration unit allowed Raven certain visual advantages. The translucent wall had been set up electronically. During the course of the day, there would be various controlling options to inhibit or enhance the view. It seemed as if it was some sort of tantalizing torture. Good cop - bad cop - give benefits - take them away.
Reginald Irons had set up the unit himself although no one knew that except President Irons himself. That was not unusual. There were many mysteries surrounding the president’s stint in government, not least of all was how he had developed such awesome technical expertise. Robert Jones was quite clear what Reginald Irons had become. Because of it Robert was not sure whether he loathed or admired him.
“A screwed-up genius. An egotistical nut job.”
If indeed Reginald Irons was an egotist, that characteristic was not in evidence during his inauguration to the highest position in the land. It was as if he had taken measures to conceal it, but concealing things was just part of him being a politician. Reginald Irons also had a good memory, but the way he had a good memory was like a mathematician remembering numbers. Reginald Irons seemed to have memories etched indelibly in his mind as if it was his own personal mass storage unit, holding data as if his life depended on it.
They were not the only Reginald Irons’ peculiarities. He could not tell a lie or communicate a lie in any shape or form. He could not make a lie sound plausible. He would make some mechanical attempt but then he didn’t know how to embellish it. The lie would be unbelievable. That, of course, was not important. He didn’t need to twist the truth; there was no need. He had no one with which to argue. His government consisted of a collection of sycophants, toadies there for appearances only. Regardless of anything else, Reginald Irons had some fascination in getting the presentation of his ideas correct for his own sake. He didn’t want to soil his thoughts with trifling pettiness. His mind almost aloof, constructing every word as either scientifically correct or not. He had no reason to lie. He would never fluctuate in how he grafted his arguments, preferring at all times to stick to the same rationale. However, that had been when Reginald Irons had at least a semblance of being malleable. It was when the population were not condoning his every action. It was very plain. Reginald Irons had no time for anything except for a detailed analysis of a situation. It was as if he believed, at any one time, firmly in the absolute. Although, periodically he would change, as if he was evolving. At any one time, he managed to take and use the quintessential elements about which he was talking. They would be, because of his situation, invariably political. Then, as if seeing a better way of presenting his argument his rationale would change. He would fluctuate. You could imagine he did it as skilfully as any politician could, except everything was in true staccato fashion. Clear-cut changes in the direction of what he said.
Then there was the strangest thing. The changes that happened to Reginald Irons in whatever political matter that engrossed him seemed to affect the whole country – the country mimicked them. When he changed, the country changed, as if an inextricable link existed between him and the ideology of the country. It appeared, there was some knock-on effect where the change in the way he thought affected everyone in the nation. It was a metaphysical effect. It was something weird but how many in the country had the wherewithal to notice it?
Then the country became devoid of any sort of self-determination. From then on, everything Reginald Irons had once been, he was not anymore. The whole country changed to be in lockstep formation with him, as if they were marching to some goal together.
However, not all that seeming hypnosis was universal. There were the ‘two-percenters’, like Robert Jones, incarcerated awaiting Reginald Irons’ pleasure for thoughts against the state. Robert Jones and the people like him were the exceptions. But that would be to give Robert Jones an importance, which he didn’t warrant. No one cared for the likes of Robert Jones. No one cared about anything, least of all Robert Jones.
You could imagine that Reginald Irons no longer had any worthwhile adversaries. You could equally well imagine that if he had he would, verbally, tear them to shreds by applying his forceful abstract reasoning.
The words Robert had said had been in the void of his own mind. Although, that did not detract from their worth. He knew he was innocent. Sadly, it didn’t really matter. One could argue that in truth Robert was indeed innocent. Under a different society with another set of rules, he would be innocent. However, in that one he was not. He was as guilty as hell. He could have shouted his words from the treetops, no one would have noticed.
There was a corrections officer no more than a few feet from Robert and that wouldn’t have mattered either except that officer of the state was, at that precise moment, swinging a pugstick. The corrections officer, a very powerfully built female, was swinging her weapon with, what looked like, menace. Robert was concerned that she had picked up a stray thought or two from him. Thankfully, that was not the case. She was not looking at him. He had just been extremely lucky.
Between each oscillation of her stick, she employed her prosthetically implanted mind-hacking device to detect aberrant thoughts from anyone around, maybe from Robert. It was a mix of the old and the new, the very pugnacious guard and a plethora of sophisticated electronic innovation to detect undesirable thoughts. It was the state of the twenty-second century in a country, which was under the watchful eye of President Irons. It was a country where the old met the new with such incongruence. A country where the nefarious politics of President Irons did not hold with any orthodoxy. To Reginald Irons, there was no such thing as society. The nefarious politics of President Irons were for another simple reason, the capitulation of all who opposed him. His government was there for the pursuit of his reason.
Robert may have been a victim of incarceration but luckily, on that occasion, there had been nothing else to contemplate, no punishment. Robert could see the corrections officer outside his unit, his prison cell, thankfully the glum look on her face gave no indication that anything was wrong. This time, Robert and his thoughts were not liable. Then the face of the guard changed, her lips pursed, she moved her head in his direction. She walked through the electronic beams, which represented the wall of Robert’s unit.
“Silence!” the officer bellowed and immediately swung the pugstick down on the back of Robert’s neck.
There had been an unaccountable delay but it was obvious that the officer had heard Robert’s thoughts. The corrections officer would normally have received his thoughts as a shouting voice. Even though there was actually no external sound. It was deathly silent, but the prosthetic implant had revealed Robert’s inner mental screams.
Robert flinched from the pain of the blow. It was pain felt from the physical action of the blow rather than the sonic beam from the pugstick. The guard had administered the punishment in the most brutal way she could. She had learnt that the robustness of the pugstick mixed with her sheer strength was a sure way to subdue the most rebellious of thoughts. Reginald Irons had charmed most of the population by his persuasive behaviour. It was the job of the guard to take care of the others. She just had to contain the ones who had escaped President Irons’ ‘charm’ offensive, as best she could. Normally, amongst the ‘two percenters’, compliance was slowly learnt. Robert was a little different. Robert’s disrespect for the authority of Reginald Irons was not well contained or suppressed.
The guard represented the regime, using the innovations of science, the pugstick, and her natural thuggery. She had nurtured her skills in the training centre she was obligated to use. She had received the prosthetic implant, which not only allowed her to probe minds but also tied her to the rule of Reginald Irons. That was a good thing. In a country where everything happened according to the dictates of Reginald Irons, the guard was somewhat of a privileged exception. Reginald Irons, once again, had designed and built the prosthetic implants. He had used that mysterious technological ability which he seemed to possess quite naturally.
~
ROBERT’S LOUD CRY OF pain might well have been silence for all the sympathy it received. The pugstick had no conscience, nor did the female enforcer.
“Abide by the rules,” she had said as she was administering punishment.
Then she had repeated some words in her semi-cloned mind as if reciting a mantra.
“Be brutal but fair in the allocation of punishment.”
The corrections officer, Florence, had not known she was a semi-cloned image of some master copy. She was an ‘almost clone’, it was rather like an imperfect facsimile, where only the attributes which might cause a problem were corrected. She had not known it, nor had the others. It had happened all over the nation. It was a method of removing all rebellious parts. Clinically incisive but really rather logical. It was a mild form of ethnic cleansing. Eliminating all disruptive forces from the population. However, it was categorically not ethnic cleansing, for that would involve physical death. It was a process to remove a person’s identity. It was worse than death. All self-determination would disappear. History had witnessed many of the same occurrences but none with the same technological ferocity. Most had occurred using indoctrination and faith but now Reginald Irons was using science. Most previous practices had escaped the rigours of justice. Gone by unpunished. This time, even if the result was the same the unpunished abuse was flagrant because it had conditioned nearly all. Robert Jones was one of the exceptions. It was ‘far distance’ assimilation and had initially only existed in the mind of Reginald Irons until he designed the means to implement it. In Reginald Irons mind, however, it was merely an effective way to make the country function without unnecessary stress. To Reginald Irons, everything was quite sensible and humane. It was a politician’s dream, to govern a country from your armchair.
Reginald Irons’ methodology removed the rebellious inclinations of the population. The other aspects of a person’s personality were left untouched. Normal inventive interactions would take place and the economic power of the country would remain intact. If Florence had the capability to process the phrases she kept recycling in her mind, or at least what was left of it, she may have viewed them with a degree of scepticism.
If it had been Robert, he would have heard the same words that Florence had treated with such indifference. He would have heard them with great clarity and his analysis would have been very clear and very different.
He had heard Florence repeat the chant, “Be brutal but fair in the allocation of punishment.”
“But how could a person be both brutal and fair?”
It was true that Robert’s valued his inner voice and that was an inner voice, which she as corrections officer didn’t possess. However, it hadn’t stopped the punishment he’d received. Now for his scurrilous thought she, Florence, was standing over him with pugstick in hand. Robert changed his thoughts to escape further pain.
“Brutal and fair. No, it was not a contradiction, certainly in the purely logical sense.”
~
EVERYONE UNDER REGINALD Irons presidency had a chance to ‘make it’, providing they followed the hard-set rules. For most, it had been easy since they had no desire to do anything else. In their assimilated state, it was obvious. Society was compassionless but fair. Although compassion was not really an issue anymore. It had taken the same path as free will. It had disappeared. It was somewhat similar to the previous government of William Jackson; all people had lost their freedoms because those freedoms had been absorbed into the state. This time, however, under the tutelage of Reginald Irons it was different. Reginald Irons had changed the rules of logic somehow and people saw their existences in an intriguing way. Reginald Irons had changed the way people saw their lives and by doing so had effectively changed everything. Now their lives were logically perverse. Not the same logic everyone had grown up with, but no one knew because in their current state they were all blind to it. Everyone thought they had a chance. That was the trick. Everyone with their diminished minds was convinced they were satisfied. All they needed to do was follow the rules. If President Irons then changed the rules again, it was very clear that all except the two percenters would be oblivious.
That was the current status quo. It was another president, with a different style to William Jackson. A new decisive man. President Irons had promised to tidy up the mess from the previous government and he had. However, in the process, he had rendered nearly all the population to a near obsequious state. Their free will was diminished. Their minds were totally compliant. The population had accepted the mandates of President Irons like slaves accepting the commands of their master. The subservient population, for that is what they had become, had not thought that President Irons had changed anything at all. Yet all the time the new decisive leader of men had turned sour, while the nation stood by unknowing. Reginald Irons reshaped the country, mercilessly his presidential dictates becoming more severe. Reginald Irons had seemed to become more and more intolerant.
Florence, the guard who was standing there over Robert Jones, completely unabashed, was a prime example of the unfeeling nature of that change. It seemed that the change in thought of Reginald Irons had quickly pervaded the country like some virus, some mental virus. However, it had only affected one aspect. Free-thought had taken a hit. Technological change had not stopped, although it was unclear who was responsible for all the innovation. Things just started to appear. The pugstick had been a typical example. About one foot in length, the user held the truncheon using a synthetic thong looped over their wrist. It looked dull and lifeless. However, with its titanium casing and hybrid-organic artificially intelligent interior it was arguably more conscious of its actions than was the user. That was certainly the case with the cold-hearted female guard. The one who had just metered out punishment to Robert.
Robert did not have a changed mind, not like the overwhelming number of people he saw around him. His mind had not changed and he did not know why. Even under the previous presidency when life had become breathtakingly tedious due to the overwhelming bureaucracy he had, at least, his free thought. He was someone who had not followed the mindless flow of the crowd. Under William Jackson, he still, along with everyone else, had his freedom of will. Now things were different, his free will was punishable. For most people, free will had stopped, frozen as in a bad dream. For him, because he was not the same, he had spent all his time evading capture. However, that too had stopped; the authorities had caught him now. He was innocent by his standards but labelled guilty. He wasn’t even guilty of disagreeing with the most powerful man in the land. It wasn’t even a disagreement with the man face to face or even saying that he disagreed with him. He was guilty because of something as simple and ineffectual as his tone. All free thought and free will had wilted.
Robert’s thoughts, or rather the tone of them, were obviously breaking rules. Even if up to that point, his thoughts had not been wild enough to incur the most severe form of punishment. It was not the severity of his thoughts, which had condemned him, just the constant stream of them. Robert was guilty because he had not adopted the dictates of the system. He had those thoughts repeatedly and by so doing had become an outsider, a criminal with slim chance of redemption. President Irons had decreed that there was only one thing holding the country together, it was his rule of law and now Robert Jones had fallen foul of it. He had committed the cardinal crime of speaking his mind, or at least his thoughts, to a regime, which had no tolerance or interest in his point of view.
~
REGINALD IRONS HAD installed a less equitable constitutional process, which gave him some advantages; it all meant he was now enjoying extra power and who would challenge his position of power?
The now subdued people of the country would not oust him. When people came into the country for however long they all fell under the same mysterious control as if some giant magnetic field had engulfed the country changing their perception. As one of the two percenters, Robert Jones had seen all this and remained confused. That was before his incarceration.
Robert Jones had seen the transformation take place in one or two people.
“When they left the country would the same thing happen in reverse? Would they lose the indoctrination which had entrapped them?” Robert had pondered the thought.
~
THERE WAS SOMETHING, which was buzzing in the mind of President Irons, which defied logic, at least the logic most people had. Was President Irons that special? Why was his logic working in a way, which was different to most? It seemed that as his time in office increased the President had become more scheming. But to what ends? Was he falling prey to that strange logic he possessed? It was as if he was getting more politically astute in the most sinister of ways. The president’s feeling for the country’s population was warping. His rule was becoming clinical, devoid of emotion. He was losing all feelings of compassion. Then he brought in a new law.
“ALL DISSENT IS CRIMINAL.”
Worse than that dictate, he had unleashed his corrections officers on the streets of the nation. His officers had become equipped with the latest accoutrements. They had all come from an installation called Springfield. It was where all his latest innovations emanated. His officers, who were patrolling the nation, had inherited the ability to read the minds of the people, through prosthetic cerebral transplants. Now, it was not only dissent, it was the thought of dissent. Reginald Irons despotism was exceeding all those who had proceeded him.
Reginald Irons’ officers had finally obtained the ability to read the thoughts of the people. It was a technological accomplishment, which seemed to appear from nowhere. It was understandable from a government who was achieving such high standards in that area, even if no one really knew how the ideas arose. However, understandable or not there was a consequence. It was no longer a question of disallowing free speech.
THE GOVERNMENT HAD QUITE SUCCESSFULLY BEGUN THE ACTION OF STIFLING FREE THOUGHT.
~
THERE WAS NOT A PERSON who had asked the question about how all the technology had transpired. Nobody seemed to care. That was predictable. In some ways, the population had approached a near vegetative state. Mindless, whereas before they had the distinction of being fully paid up humans, having real independent thoughts. Any questions about the new technology, which had burst onto the scene, were no longer for the whole nation. They were for a new elite, but elite by name only. They had no special privileges. It was the other way around. They were currently suffering persecution. Those people who would ask such questions were Robert Jones and the other two percenters within his clique, but a clique unknown to Robert. He had associations with some of them at various stages but all of them had dispersed. They had all feared the worst. That was another alarming anomaly. Why had they not all stuck together? Robert guessed that they would be, quite incorrectly, like him incarcerated in some high-tech prison. It was certain there were a few more left, like the person who was in the unit beside him. Robert could not communicate with Raven. There was a soundproof wall between them, he couldn’t even make gestures with his hand. The variomatic translucent wall cut off any attempts to converse. Robert looked around; there was no corrections officer about.
“If only I could say something,” Robert said in frustration, half saying it and half thinking the words.
Robert looked at the translucent wall in front of him. He saw a shift of light as if his cell neighbour was moving. Then the light movement stopped as abruptly as it had started.
“What the hell was that?”
He saw the movement of light yet again, as the occupant of the unit next to him moved again.
“Are you moving for me?”
The variomatic lighting changed again, and the movement, which he could vaguely make out did the same thing for the third time.
“Holy crap. I think this is communication,” Robert’s stoic face broadened into a smile.
Robert watched the shape move three times in the unit as if it was excited.
“Yes, yes, yes. Holy crap. We are making binary communication.”
The shape moved three more times.
“Wait a minute. If our cells are soundproofed.”
Robert thought for a second, “Our cells are soundproofed. Surely from his side as well. How can he hear me?”
Robert was not exactly sure. Did the construction of the units block sound both ways?
“I didn’t move, didn’t say a thing. If I was sitting here motionless, then what is prompting his actions?”
Robert looked at the translucent screen separating the two cells. He could see the outline of his cellmate. It was easier now. Some automatic unit had probably been initiated, the variomatic lighting had been increased a small amount. He could see the form of the cellmate in the next unit, but it wasn’t moving. It was not only inactive, it was conspicuously so. Not a flinch. Robert thought for a second before coming to his conclusion.
“Surely not. There is only one possibility?” Robert thought still not sure his assumption was correct.
“I am communicating with someone who can read my mind. No, no, or something. A human with a prosthetic implant. Or is my cellmate a level 2 droid or above?”
“If it is a human with a prosthetic implant, would that not be a corrections officer gone bad? If it is a level 2 droid what the hell is it doing here?”
“If the form in the cell next to him was a mind hacker. It was either a delinquent corrections officer or a droid. Or like me.”
The form next to him could likely be a condemned criminal just like him. Having politically non-correct ideas, but most likely deemed by the corrections officers and Reginald Irons bureaucrats as having irreverent thoughts. That was more likely considering Reginald Irons was treating his tenure as president like a religious movement where he was supreme leader. Robert and the two percenters had avoided assimilation by some means, that surely was either a majestic action by some greater force or maybe even purely coincidental – a quirk of nature.
Now Robert was possibility banged up with someone like him, but with an extra powerful capability. The ability to read minds. That may have sounded incredible fifty years prior but now things like that, under President Irons, were definitely a reality.
