2043 A.D. Read online

  2043 A.D.

  Edward M Wolfe

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, events and locations portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  ASIN: B00Z4XMWN6

  Copyright © 2015 by Edward M Wolfe

  Cover design by Shaelee Wolfe

  All Rights Reserved

  http://edwardmwolfe.com

  Dedication:

  To dear friends, old and new.

  And always, to Shaelee and Zachariah.

  Acknowledgments:

  Special thanks to my beta readers. Your input is more valuable than I can put into words. And being a writer, that says a lot.

  Special thanks to John Zanetti, author of the brilliant sci-fi novel “Cantal’s Revenge” for the idea of a news drone, which I’d somehow missed among all my other drones.

  One

  As soon as the small elderly Vietnamese man finished locking the front doors of his convenience store, one of the men in black handcuffed him while the other walked over to their patrol car. Equality Enforcement Corps was emblazoned on the vehicle’s front doors, and abbreviated on their uniforms as EEC.

  “How is this more fair when no one has convenience of convenience store?” he protested as he was led away from his store entrance. “I do not discriminate! I am minority! Why I would discriminate against minority?”

  The agents ignored him, other than one of them pushing his head down as he guided the man into the back seat. They got into the front of the car and the driver backed up, turning it around toward the rising sun to exit the parking lot.

  The two teenagers who had called in the “Eeks,” as they were referred to on the street, smiled at the man as he was driven out of the parking lot and laughed at the results of their report.

  “You know how much money this cost me? Everybody lose now. This is not more equality.”

  The agent in the passenger seat looked back at the prisoner.

  “You can think about how much money you’re losing while you complete your sensitivity training. And in the future, maybe you won’t make the mistake of assuming young black men are going to rob you, just because they’re black.”

  One of the teens who stood apart from the rest of the watching crowd frowned at what he was seeing and shook his head. The agent in the passenger seat noticed his expression of disapproval and quickly pointed his scanner at the kid. He then looked at the right half of the windshield and waited for the readout to display.

  Chip I.D.: Null

  RFID Failure. Attempting facial recognition………

  Target match found

  Subject: Deron Michael Young

  Age: 17

  Race/Gender: Caucasian/Male

  Mother: Kathleen Diane Young

  Father: Unknown

  No Arrests or complaints. Checking known equality factors…

  “I told you already! I do not think they thieves because black skin. They acting suspicious! Waiting for chance to steal. They looking around, careful, watching me, waiting for chance. I know thief when I see! I have business many years.”

  “That’s enough. I need you to be quiet so I can write a report and call in your admission – so just can it for a while.”

  The tears welling in the old man’s eyes finally spilled as he shook his head in disbelief.

  “America bad place now. Worse than Vietnam.”

  Query Cont’d:

  Social activity and reading habits indicate high probability of unreported inequality infractions and probability of anti-social behavior.

  Facial recognition search indicates association with known felon convicted of distribution of tobacco products to unregistered users.

  Further examination recommended.

  #End

  The patrol car drove away with a silent hum from the electric motor. The old man looked back and wondered which one of the kids was Deron.

  You in big trouble now, kid.

  Two

  Several hours later, Deron sat alone at a school cafeteria table eating his lunch, lost in a novel, and almost oblivious to the sound of stupidity all around him. He could hear the other students talking, but it was just noise; a wall of sound that meant nothing to him and wasn’t even noticeable after a while, like the smell of manure on a farm.

  There were only a few pages until the end of his book. He suspected there was even less left to read than there appeared to be because there were always ads for other books in the back. He turned the page, and sure enough, that was the last page of the story. He felt something hit the back of his head, but he finished the last few paragraphs before closing the book and slowly turning around to look behind him.

  As soon as he did so, several students two tables away started giggling. He knew it was them, but he didn’t know which one. He looked down and saw a piece of an orange peel. He looked back at the giggling students and saw that one of the girls was eating an orange. It might have been thrown by the guy sitting on her right.

  “Idiots.” He stared at them and shook his head a little with a look of disgust. The giggling stopped, and was followed by forced attempts to ignore Deron and start a conversation.

  “Did anyone watch My Neighbor’s Wife last night?” one of them asked the other three.

  Two of them nodded and one said, “Uh huh.” They kept looking at Deron to see if he was still looking at them. He was, and they were all uncomfortable now. In fact, he had completely turned around on the bench and was now facing them, comfortably, just watching them as though he was watching television. The boldest of the group finally spoke up.

  “Why don’t you stare at some other shit, freak?”

  Deron started laughing and said, “Some other shit? Apparently, you’re not as dumb as you look.” No one else joined in when Deron laughed again.

  “Maybe I should just come over there and kick your ass, freak.”

  “Oh no! The angry Neanderthal is threatening to demonstrate physical superiority. Are you gonna beat on your chest too?”

  “I’m about to beat on your head.”

  “If you touch me, I swear to the gods, you’ll never play football again – if I let you live.”

  “What a psycho!” one of the girls exclaimed. “Just ignore him, Corey. He’s like, totally mental, or something.”

  Corey continued to glare at Deron, who stared back at him calmly as if he were examining an exhibit in a museum. The other girl, the one eating the orange, waved her hand in the air.

  “Can I ask you a question? What is your problem? Seriously.”

  Deron thought of a line from an old 2-D movie he’d watched at his grandfather’s house, and answered, impersonating the villain, “It’s the smell.”

  Both girls laughed. “Oh-em-gee, he is totally a freak!” one of them said.

  Deron reached behind him for his book and stood up, facing the small group.

  “I am a freak. A lethal freak. And I eat football players and cheerleaders for breakfast.” He lowered his eyelids and looked into their eyes menacingly, one at a time, then walked away.

  The other guy at their table, Brad, said, “You know, he really is crazy. It would probably be better to just stay off his radar. He might be crazy enough to actually kill someone.”

  Deron heard the remark and that was exactly the effect he was hoping for. The school had an anti-bullying policy, but Deron knew it was a joke. He was teased and taunted all the time, but there was little he could do about it. If he reported the behavior, he’d be treated worse by a greater number of people when the word spread that he had snitched. When the bullying first started shortly after he began attending high school, he decided the best defense was a feigned offense. If he could convince people he was crazy, the
n they might leave him alone.

  His aggressive posturing and threats had taken place in view of lunch room security cams and were watched by a school safety officer monitoring the feeds. He made a note in Deron’s file, reporting what’d he’d observed. “Student responding aggressively with threats of violence in response to playful teasing by other students.” The safety officer attached a snippet of video to his note.

  As Deron walked away, the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period. He left the cafeteria and entered the adjacent indoor quad, weaving in and out of increasing numbers of students filling the hall. He was only partially kidding when he had said the problem with other students was the smell.

  Everyone he passed smelled strongly of something: perfume, cologne, body spray, hair-spray, hair gel, mousse, antiperspirant, dried sweat, flavored lip gloss, fabric softener, leave-in conditioner, e-cig vapor, and various body odors. Many of them just stood there talking; all of them interrupting each other and raising their voices to be heard over the sound of everyone else talking.

  He was annoyed by them blocking the way, as if they weren't standing in front of their lockers for a reason. They just had to get in a few more words before going back to the dreadful silence and educational atmosphere of the classroom. And not one of them was saying anything of any importance. Just gabbing and blabbing and gossiping. Those who weren’t talking were blasting their eardrums out with what passed for music through wireless earbuds as they rummaged in their lockers.

  Deron went to his locker and retrieved his school-issued e-reader. Every book he could possibly need in any grade was pre-loaded on it, as well as all of the library books from the last twenty years. Few people read paper books anymore, except for the rare case when one was needed for research. Deron preferred reading paper books even though it contributed to his reputation of being weird. With his e-reader and paperback in hand, he closed his locker and headed toward his fifth period class: Independent Reading.

  Most students who signed up for IR did so for the easily obtained high grade. Not that grades mattered anymore; everyone passed every class as long as they were present. But higher grade point averages translated to more bragging rights, as well as bonus credits in student bank accounts.

  Reading entire books wasn’t easy for them, but at least they didn’t have to think or research or write a serious report. The only requirement in IR was to provide some basic information about the book in a small online form. They’d type the name of the book, the author, the number of pages, and the genre, then click Submit. The only thing some students got wrong was the genre, because it wasn’t expressly stated anywhere in the book.

  As easy as the IR class was, very few people signed up for it. The only elective class with less appeal than Independent Reading was Religious Studies, which wasn’t going to be offered the following year. Despite laws against insulting people or being disrespectful, people still managed to get away with looking down on churchgoers without being charged with an equality infraction and loss of bank credits.

  Deron exited the building on the far side of the quad, further from his next class than the side he’d started on. He deliberately took the long way around, walking on the grass to his next class. He stopped beside a large tree situated between two buildings, out of the view of the nearest security camera perched on the roof. He put his e-reader and his paperback in his backpack and reached into his pocket for a pack of real cigarettes. He took one out, looked around to make sure he was the only one out there, then lit it, blowing the smoke upward into the branches and leaves hoping to obscure it from anyone who might come along.

  He pulled the paperback out and read the last page of the story again, enjoying it in silence this time. He found it easy to slip back into the feeling of being in the alien world. He closed the book and wished he could live on another planet, or have an exciting and adventurous life like the people in books always had. He’d even settle for peace and quiet somewhere on his own planet, away from all of the mindless zombies.

  The bell rang. He was late for class, but didn’t care. What difference did it make? If he just walked away from the school and never came back – what difference would it make? He wasn’t really learning anything useful anyway. School seemed like nothing more than a way to warehouse kids while their parents were at work. It kept them busy and gave them a chance to practice being brainless robots before moving on to real life where being superficial, dispassionate, and up-to-date on everything that didn’t matter could make or break your career.

  He dropped his cigarette and snuffed it out under a black sneaker before finishing the long walk to his next class. Since he’d never make it to another planet, and was stuck on one populated mainly by stupid and useless people, all he could do was visit other planets in his mind. This served a dual purpose. It kept him entertained, and for much of the time, he was oblivious to his pointless real life.

  Three

  Jameson Fielding, PhD and MD, sat in one his new offices staring at the fish swimming around on the far side of the room. He was anxiously awaiting the commencement of a program he had proposed and developed and been named the director of. It was his brilliant idea to not wait until young people developed criminal minds, but to spot them and treat them in advance. He thought of it as prehabilitation.

  “Doctor Fielding?”

  “Yes?” he responded to his administrative assistant who doubled as a security guard.

  “Garrett is here to see you, sir.”

  “Excellent, Toby. Send him in.”

  The tall, handsome doctor swiveled his chair to face forward, eagerly turning away from the fish he’d been concentrating on as he waited for this moment. The door opened and Garrett entered the silent room. He stood just inside the doorway until the doctor gestured for him to sit on the couch. Fielding looked at him expectantly.

  “Have you got them?”

  “I believe I do, sir. I ran the revised algorithms again and a fourth name just came up. If you approve, we can start right away.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “Subject number one was a lucky catch. He comes from a wealthy family and has a private home tutor but he attends a university class on business administration. His father is grooming him to start in the family business as soon as he graduates.”

  The doctor waved his hand, not interested in the family background. He wanted to hear the good stuff. How did this subject qualify as not a criminal yet, but with the potential to become one? He needed bad seeds that hadn’t flowered yet.

  “It was at college where most of the informative reports came in. He’s been written up multiple times for behavior indicating a superiority-complex. He has no special skills to justify it – it’s just based on his family’s wealth and position, both pre and post-war.”

  “He continues to behave in a superior fashion even after the establishment of financial equality?”

  “Yes, sir. I suspect the family has ingrained in him this idea of being better than those who had nothing before the war. According to the reports, you’d think we were still living in 2020. He has friends, so to speak, but he treats them as inferiors. Intellectually speaking, most of them are. He has a very high I.Q.”

  “Interesting. Who else?”

  “Subject number two is a female. Also an only child of seventeen like subject one. She’s adopted a retro look from the previous century involving strange hair styles and fashion associated with rebellion. When it first came about in the 1970s it was called ‘punk’. She has no meaningful friendships and seems practically genderless in her behavior and activities.”

  “Why do you believe she has latent sociopathic tendencies?”

  “Well, the punk sub-culture was against society in general, but strongly against the government. So naturally, that caught my attention. But in her case, she seems to hold animosity and resentment toward her peers. Complete lack of social integration.”

  “Another case of superiority complex?”

&n
bsp; “Essentially, yes. She also has a higher than average I.Q. And that’s something all four subjects have in common, which we may want to examine further. Perhaps they’re unaffected by the fluoridation, or they’re consuming less than average.”

  “We’ll make a note of that and keep an eye out for other commonalities as we proceed with treatment. Number three?” The doctor went to take a drink of his tea and discovered that his cup was empty. Garrett continued as the doctor refilled his cup from the wall dispenser behind him. He did not offer anything to Garrett.

  “Number three is in some ways a typical loner, but he’s also an odd mix activity-wise.”

  “How so?” Fielding asked as he stirred sugar and cream into his tea with his back to Garrett.

  “Well, he’s very athletic, into exercise and weightlifting, but he’s also very much into reading, by choice. That in itself is unusual since kids almost never read anything they’re not required to read. But he not only spends leisure time reading fiction, he reads a variety of educational non-fiction. History, biographies, medical and nutritional books, and so on.”

  “Ebooks?” the doctor asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “The fiction is digital. The other stuff is only available from libraries in paper form.”

  “Okay. And what brings him to our attention?”

  “Aside from his unusual combination of activities, excessive reading, and the subject matter that he reads, he’s a loner like subjects two and four. He also refrains from participation of any sort in classroom activities and a few of his teachers have red-flagged him just for being unusual and making them feel uncomfortable.”