Chapter Five

Aaron attacked his job with extra vigor following the announcement, trying to block out the horrors of a mandatory government chip. He poured his mental and physical energies into making sure his clients maintained lush, colorful lawns and gardens with immaculately shaped hedges, festive plant variety, elegant decks and working fountains. He spent four hours on Madison Reddick’s estate, working himself to exhaustion, not really in the mood for the customary cup of tea and whimsical chat with the lonely old man before departing, but curious about the millionaire’s reaction to the big news.

As Aaron was packing his truck, Madison stepped out on his large front porch and waved him over. Aaron waved back, dripping with dirty sweat, and reported to the mansion’s entrance after locking up his equipment and supplies.

As expected, Madison was shocked and furious. He directed Aaron to the den and then left to get the drinks.

This time, it was not herbal tea. It was red wine.

Aaron suspected, by the slight stagger in Madison’s movements, that he had already consumed a few.

Aaron himself didn’t drink much, but he was definitely agreeable to a glass of wine to settle his agitated state.

Madison sat across from him in a plush, high-back chair and did most of the talking, as usual.

Aaron was a sympathetic ear.

“I am appalled,” Madison said. “This is worse than anything I could have imagined. I want to love this country but our leaders are making decisions affecting all of us that are so very wrong. I expected them to fight Dynamica, not team up with them.”

“They’re selling it as a benefit,” Aaron said. “But it’s a benefit I don’t want.”

“Yes, they claim it will cut down on crime, it will enable the equalization of government subsidies and citizen credits. They can sugarcoat it all they want. This is how ‘Big Government’ takes over our lives. By promising to take care of us so we don’t have to take care of ourselves. Let us send you happy feelings, free of cost! Let us tell you how to feel the next time we’re screwing you over. Trust us! No thank you.”

“But we can’t say ‘No thank you.’ It’s going to be a requirement.”

“I’ve read through all the fine print, believe me,” said Madison, taking a hearty sip of wine. “It’s ‘illegal to interfere with government protocol’. Getting chipped is the law, like paying taxes. So what will they do to people like you and me who say ‘No, my body belongs to me, not the government.’ Do they throw us in jail? Do they expel us from the country?”

Aaron was at a loss for words. He truly didn’t know what his next move would be, aside from burying himself in his work and, when assigned a chip installation date, being a conscientious objector.

“The government’s not stupid,” Madison said. “When they have a direct feed into our heads, how will that influence future elections? Oh, they say they would never use it for that, but come on. It’s diabolical.”

“Won’t people fight back?” Aaron asked. “It’s one thing when it’s optional, it’s used for entertainment and getting high or whatever, but do people really want to be tracked to this degree?”

“Ten years ago, no,” said Madison. “But the world has changed. There’s an entire generation that practically expects it. We’re already tracked and monitored every day – what we do online, where we go in our cars, how we engage with our phones, and all the data and analytics in the hands of big business to define our preferences and profiles. This is a natural extension of all that. We’re a connected society. Why not connect your soul?”

Aaron stared down at the drink in his hands. “I’m twenty-eight years old. I grew up in a connected society, and I don’t want this.”

“You’re unique among the people in your generation,” Madison said. “The older folks, people like me, we’ll voice our protest and then just die off. Most of my closest friends in the entertainment industry have died, or they are too weak and feeble to put up a fight. So many of them rely on the government for their Medicare and Social Security and what have you, they don’t want to endanger that relationship. The younger generation, today’s owners of the entertainment industry, they’ve accepted the new technology with open arms. So instead of plays, musicals, books, movies, live music and all of that, they go right to the end result of how arts and entertainment should make you feel, and they manufacture that and sell it without the ‘middleware’. As a result, there’s no more creative expression. There’s just a delivery of emotion and sensation that’s not earned.”

Then Madison chuckled, a harsh and scornful sound. “I mean, I stand corrected, a semblance of the art form remains, but it is hardly genuine. They sell movies and books and music that are bundled with a synchronized chipfeed to tell you how to feel. One of my old films, a comedy, can be watched in the privacy of your head, along with prompts that make sure you feel the humor so you laugh in all the right places. I’m told it also comes with the aural experience of a crowd laughing with you. Remember the laugh tracks on old television sitcoms? It takes it to a new level.”

“So what do we do?” Aaron asked. “Obviously you can’t stop technology. But how do you stop it from controlling every aspect of our lives? Go live in a cabin somewhere? Is that even possible anymore?”

“Did you read the booklet I gave you?”

“The Real Earth Movement?” Aaron said. “Yes.”

“I’ve been funding the resistance. I made hundreds of millions of dollars back in the day, before Dynamica, before everyone spent all their money on one company and pretty much bankrupted everybody else. I sponsor lobbying, op-eds, consumer advertising. The problem is, now that Dynamica is teamed up with the White House, I’ll wind up on the government’s enemy list, if you know what I mean. They’ll probably do everything in their power to stop me and silence my network. Fortunately, I have some allies in the political arena. There’s a state senator named Dale Sheridan.”

“I’ve seen him in the news,” said Aaron, recalling the tough, vocal opponent of the government deal.

“Dale is our biggest hope,” Madison said. “If he can get enough supporters, perhaps we can begin to turn the tide. If not, then look out. Dale is fighting the good fight, thank God. And Dynamica is going to use their government allies and huge financial resources to fight back.”

“Doesn’t sound like a fair fight.”

“Not at all,” Madison said, and he finished his glass of wine and somberly stared into it. “I guess it becomes fight or flight. I can’t flee. It’s not in my bones. I can’t leave my house, my things, which I worked so hard for over the course of my life. Call me old-fashioned but I’m not leaving the physical comforts I’ve built around me.”

“I don’t have that problem,” said Aaron.

Madison looked up at him.

“I mean, a physical environment, a home I want to protect,” Aaron said. “I live with three slobs, addicts to this new technology. I hate them. I hate the house we live in. I can…I can flee.”

Madison nodded. “You’re too young to have accumulated a lot of possessions and a lifestyle you need to protect. Yes, you could flee. And I can help with that.”

Madison stood up. He left the room. Aaron waited patiently in the extravagant den, listening to the steady tick-tock of a tall, antique grandfather clock.

When Madison returned, he held a refilled glass of red wine and a folded piece of paper.

He handed the paper to Aaron.

“What is this?” asked Aaron, accepting it.

“Some names and an address.”

“For what?”

“Sanctuary.”

Aaron stared at the folded piece of paper in his hand.

“First of all,” Madison said, “you will need to leave L.A. There are too many supporters of the regime in L.A. County. They’ve been promised all sorts of things to help turn around the city, clean up the homeless problem, restart the economy after the collapse of the entertainment industry. It’s a mess here, and they badly need a good working relationship with the feds.”

“I can’t leave Los Angeles,” Aaron said. “My livelihood is here. I don’t have much in savings. That’s why I’m forced to live with those idiot roommates….”

“Aaron, you know and I know that what you do is a dying profession,” said Madison. He returned to his chair and dropped into it. “Sure, you have me, but tell me, over the past six months, is your client list growing or shrinking?”

“Overall? Shrinking,” Aaron said quietly.

“And when more people are chipped and giving even less attention to the physical world, do you think it will get any better?”

Aaron said nothing. It was a painful consideration he had tried, often unsuccessfully, to block from his mind.

“Well, you don’t need to say anything,” said Madison. “You know the answer. So let me present you with an option. There is a strong, underground pocket of resistance up the coast. I can connect you with them. They will do everything possible to stay off the radar and protect one another.”

“You mean, go into hiding?”

“Hiding with other like-minded citizens. Searching for solutions together.”

“But why don’t you go?”

“I told you, I’m not leaving my home, my things. It’s what defines me. I’m old. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Where is this, this….”

“Sanctuary. It’s in Santa Barbara. I know these people. They’re good. They have money. They’ll keep you safe. And maybe one day, together, you’ll discover a cure to this madness….”

“But what about your lawn?”

Madison laughed. “There are still a few people in Los Angeles who do what you do. They’re not as good as you, but I pay extremely well. I’ll whip them into shape. Don’t worry about my grass. You’ve been outstanding, and I’ll be sorry to see you go. But as a final gesture of my appreciation, please allow me to grant you a severance package.”

“A severance package? For a landscaper?”

“Absolutely. You’ll need money to relocate. Money to live on, when you reach the sanctuary. I’m prepared to sponsor your escape. I only ask this: find the collective energy of the resistance. Retain some dignity for the human spirit. Flee, yes, but when the time comes to fight, I want you to find strength in numbers. Recruit others. Don’t give up hope, do you understand?”

Aaron was struck speechless for a moment. Then he responded resolutely with confidence.

“Yes.”

* * *

On the way home, Aaron stopped at his neighborhood grocery store to collect some items for a real dinner. Fruit, vegetables and meat were still sold in small quantities to a shrinking niche market, but no longer commanded a dominant presence on the shelves. More than half of the store was now dedicated to fuel bars. To reduce the hassle of cooking and preparing meals, not to mention cleaning up afterward, consumers gobbled chunky bars of alleged protein and vitamins to quickly satisfy their hunger and increase the amount of time available to enjoy chipping. Since they essentially tasted like nothing, many of the fuel bars came with recommended chipfeed signals to sync up the act of eating with simulated flavors.

As he was inspecting the lettuce – not fresh, but decent – a familiar face appeared in the aisle, carrying a small basket of real food.

It was the jogger, the tanned young woman with black hair he had seen sprinting around the neighborhood and traced to an apartment with a bicycle and fresh plants on the balcony.

As she passed by with her eyes on bunches of spoiling bananas, he smiled and said hi.

She nodded politely without slowing her pace. She advanced ahead to a selection of apples.

I bet she doesn’t have the chip, Aaron thought.

He wanted to talk to her, but didn’t know what to say. She was plain-faced yet attractive, short and sturdy with serious eyes, a square jaw and youthful curves. She wore a loose, sleeveless top, athletic shorts and white running shoes. Her skin held good color, standing apart from the pale appearance of most everybody else.

He caught up with her at the apples and pushed himself to start a conversation.

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry – you look familiar. I think I’ve seen you around my neighborhood.”

She held an apple. She turned and looked at him, not smiling or responding, but attentive.

He said, “I’m on Colfax, not too far from the river, from the bike path. I see you running, from time to time. I’m – I’m Aaron.”

“Hello, Aaron,” she said, eyeing him with mild suspicion. She didn’t offer her name.

“I’m sorry for interrupting, it’s just….” He gestured to the wide, empty aisle around them. “It’s kind of funny – no, sad, really – we’re the only people buying real food.”

“Those fuel bars are no good,” she said. “It’s sugar and fat. People like them because they go down quick and easy. But it’s not real food.”

“Not at all. I guess I’m a traditionalist…. I like real apples, too.”

She nodded. She wasn’t turning away to end the conversation, but she was sticking him with most of the talking, and he felt awkward.

“Apples, oranges, bananas,” he said. “I like melon. Pineapple. Sometimes the watermelon is good. Strawberries have a lot of nutrients.”

He could tell from her steadily, disengaged expression that he was babbling and losing her. So he quickly changed gears and said what was really on his mind.

“I – I don’t have the chip. Do you have the chip?”

She shook her head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“So what are we – what are we going to do?”

“They can’t enforce something like that.”

“It’s Dynamica teaming up with the government. It might not happen overnight, but I’m – I’m pretty freaked out.” He cringed slightly at his word selection, but she picked up on it without missing a beat.

“I’m freaked out too.”

“Have you heard about the Real Earth Movement?”

“No.”

He realized he was jumping ahead of himself. In that moment, he really wanted to get to know her better. He was lonely, and he dreaded going back to the house to confront his deadbeat roommates yet again.

“There’s a movement,” he said. “A resistance, it’s getting organized, to fight the chip.”

“I already fight it by keeping my mind and body healthy,” she said. “I exercise. I meditate. I don’t allow anything to pollute me physically or mentally.”

“Me, too,” said Aaron. Then he looked into her cart and gestured toward his own. “You know, we’re buying some of the same stuff. Do you want to be efficient…and maybe have dinner together?”

She cracked a thin smile. Her eyes continued to study him. She rotated the apple in her hands.

“I mean, we could find a mutual place,” he said. “I’m not inviting you over to my place. I – I have three roommates who are deep into chipping. They’ve made a mess out of the place….”

“Okay,” she said. “But we’re not having dinner at my place. You might mistake it for a date.”

His heart sank a little at the cool tone in her voice. Still, she hadn’t rejected his offer outright.

“Sure, a neutral location,” he said. “We can do that. I like to go on picnics, by myself. Be one with nature, all that. Would you like to join me? We could be…two with nature.”

Her tone remained flat and cynical, but he could see a slight spark in her eyes. “So, you want to take me into the woods? I don’t go into the woods with strangers.”

“Well, no,” he said. “I have different places that I go. We still have a few hours of daylight. Have you ever been to Becks Field?”

“Oh,” she said. “So we’re going to play catch?”

“Well, not exactly….”

She tossed him the apple. He caught it quickly, startled.

“Sure,” she said, and the smile grew. “Let’s have a picnic.”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She hesitated, looked him over, and then gave it to him. “Clarissa.”

* * *

Aaron spread out his blanket on the outfield grass of an unused Little League baseball diamond in central L.A. While youth baseball had ended due to low enrollment, the grassy field was still sporadically maintained by one of the remaining employees of the Los Angeles Department of Recreation and Parks.

“I used to play here as a kid,” he told Clarissa as they set up a meal of fruit, vegetables and cheeses. “I played shortstop.”

“How quaint,” she said.

“I loved watching the Dodgers play – back when they played.” He popped a grape in his mouth. “It’s really pathetic. I hear they’re going to use the old Dodger Stadium as a dumping ground for abandoned cars.”

“That will be a lovely sight.”

“So I told you about my landscaping business,” he said. “What is it you do?”

“It’s equally old-fashioned, I suppose. I work in an actual, bricks-and-mortar retail store.”

“They still have those?” he said lightly.

“Well, it’s for clothing. People still need to wear clothes and try them on somewhere. Most of our sales are online, but we get just enough people who come into the store. Little old ladies.”

“So…do you live alone?” he asked.

She paused for a moment and then gave a small nod. “I guess so. I had a boyfriend – up until, oh, last month. He moved out. He was, let’s say, very much into the chip. The whole porn thing. I finally kicked him out. It didn’t take much kicking. I couldn’t compete with the ideal girlfriend in his head.”

“His loss,” said Aaron. With the sinking sun behind her, Clarissa had a soft glow as a light breeze teased with her wavy black hair. She didn’t smile much, but when she did, it elevated her natural beauty.

Aaron shared the history of his wife, Wendy. While he meant to do it in the same resigned, matter-of-fact tone that Clarissa had used to share her story, he couldn’t help feel a rising emotion tighten his words. He described Wendy’s suicide from the real world, downloading the eternal loop of heaven into her head, an irreversible act that devastated him.

“The chip addiction is very strong,” Clarissa said. “Dynamica pretends it’s taking steps to address it, and now the government’s involved, but what do they ever make better?”

“There’s a whole black market out there,” Aaron said. “It’s taking a ride on Dynamica’s technology but offering all these horrible, unregulated products and services.”

“My younger brother goes to those dealers,” Clarissa said. “They messed him up big time. He got into some intense stuff where it’s much harder to come back down to reality. Now he’s high all day on the chip, living in one of those tent communities you see everywhere. They live outdoors yet barely see the sun. His skin….”

She frowned and stopped talking for a moment. She reached for a pear. She studied it. “He eats those fuel bars all day. They hardly cost anything. What a life. He’s going to love the new government deal – free chips for everyone, a free basic package of happiness options. Happiness. I might not be totally happy, but God damn it, at least I’m authentic.”

Aaron watched as she bit into the pear. He felt an urge to kiss her but was afraid of her response.

Instead, he chose to tell her about the Real Earth Movement and the secret sanctuary in Santa Barbara. He described everything that Madison Reddick had told him.

“Go into hiding?” she said. “What for?”

“What if they want to chip us against our will?”

“If anybody tries to stick that thing in me, I will fucking kill them.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if that’s a realistic option. Then you go to jail and get chipped.”

“I need my job,” Clarissa said. “It’s how I pay the rent and buy real food.”

“I have some money,” Aaron said. He declined to explain that it came from Reddick. He simply stated, “It’s more than enough to relocate and live on for a while. It will get us off the grid.”

“Is that even possible?”

He looked into her dark, serious eyes. “I know we barely know one another. But I trust you. I – I have a good feeling about you.” The comment almost made her smile, and he kept going. “Here’s my offer. We get out of here together. Los Angeles is collapsing all around us. Everybody is lost, they just don’t know it. We need to leave.”

“Could we bring my brother?” she asked, and her face softened.

“Would he come with us?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Probably not. But at least – I want to try. Maybe a new environment and the two of us could persuade him. He’s got no one else. Our parents are dead. I’m all he’s got.”

“Where is this tent community?”

“It’s by the highway.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“I won’t lie to you,” said Clarissa. “It’s dangerous.”

Aaron thought about it for a moment. He thought about Wendy and his regrets over not saving her. It had never stopped gnawing at him.

“Let’s do it,” he said.