The Network

by TwilightCircle

"Relocation"

“…Well kids, that concludes the story of Hagrin, the hungry octopus! Is there anything else you’d like to hear?”

“Tell the story of the Collective!”

The voices of a dozen children exploded from the radio, rebounding off the walls and through the ears of each passenger on the bullet-train.

Deborah gritted her teeth, fiddling with the buttons of her short-sleeved blouse as the noise drifted through the car. She turned her gaze from the window on her left and looked across the aisle, glaring at the suited man across from her.

“Do you mind turning that down?” Deborah asked the radio’s bald owner as she turned in her seat, cupping her hands over her ears.

The man sat motionless, his finger's tapping the aged electronic device set on the seat next to him. “Deal with it, sweetheart,” he said, not turning from his own window. “I’m taking this thing to the redemption center this afternoon, and I’m gonna get my use out of it before that.”

“How is that thing even working? I thought we stopped—”

Deborah clamped her mouth. Sliding to the aisle seat, she smoothed her skirt and leaned toward the radio's speakers. “Who is that?”

“The guy talking?” the man asked, rubbing a hand across his five o'clock shadow. “Brian Slaven, some kind of government appointed entertainer. Tells stories to kids and stuff.”

“Here’s a story for all you faithful listeners out there,” the voice on the radio said. “Long ago, the world was in a state of panic. Overpopulation and perpetual famine swept through the planet pushing humankind to the point of extinction!”

The children’s voices burst through the speakers again, drowning the noise of the train in a multitude of gasps.

“But all was not lost!” Slaven assured them. “A single, brave man stood amidst the pain and woe. He refused to let humanity go down without a fight.”

“What was his name?” one of the children asked.

“Malcolm Grayson,” Slaven replied. “He knew that such a massive population couldn’t survive without being carefully guarded and nurtured. So he went from country to country as an ambassador, petitioning each of them to see the light. In the end, he convinced the world that we needed to work together to accomplish our goals.

“And the countries agreed. A worldwide alliance was formed to produce enough food to feed the growing population. In a matter of only five years, each and every citizen had enough food to feed his family ten times over, and it was all thanks to Malcolm Grayson.

“It was here that the Collective was formed. After seeing the way they impacted change through teamwork, countries worldwide sustained their partnerships. To show their gratitude for his initiative, the Collective appointed Grayson at its head, and Earth has lived in a state of peace and prosperity for decades.”

“He’s an amazing man,” Deborah said in awe as the man pressed the radio’s power button.

“Who, Grayson?” he asked.

Deborah nodded. “His sense of duty and commitment to survival. I really admire him.”

The man spun to face Deborah and leaned forward, chuckling. “And you think that’s all there is to the story?”

Deborah frowned. Despite the man's muscular jaw and confident demeanor, no amount of laughter could disguise the sunken, haunted look that plagued his gaze. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“That’s just a fairytale,” he explained. “Truncated and modified so it’s appropriate for kids. Do you really think that every world leader suddenly decided to make an alliance, all because some guy asked them to?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying they’re a lot more to the story.”

Deborah stood from her seat, stepping forward and gripping the handrail above him. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Jarvis,” he said, extending a massive hand.

Deborah eyed the hand without moving. “No, I mean, who are you? What do you know?”

“Let’s just say I was there when the Collective was formed,” Jarvis said, running a hand over his precious radio.

Deborah swung her backpack over her shoulder and leaned against the handrail. “You don’t trust them,” she said, folding her arms.

Jarvis raised his eyebrows. “Do you?”

“They’ve never steered me wrong before.”

“Oh yeah?” Jarvis gripped the radio’s handhold, rising to full height. Standing at over six feet, he towered over the minuscule teenager, his massive shoulders sloping into a defined V-shape at his waist. “How do you think the world has stayed ‘stable’ this long? How do you think the Collective fought overpopulation? How do you think the workforce is so perfect, when you know full well that we’re not all perfect?”

Deborah lowered her eyebrows in piercing scrutiny. “What do you know?”

Jarvis sighed; he looked down at the radio and fiddled with its nobs. “Why are you on this train route anyway?”

“I’m headed to the LAC for my career exam.”

Jarvis grimaced, turning back to her. Locking his eyes on hers, he watched as they drifted slowly to the edge of her eye-sockets.

“New Anchorage Labor Assignment Center,” a voice called over the intercom.

Jarvis took a deep breath. “God help you.”

* * *

“Confirming eligibility for labor assignment. Please wait.”

Deborah inhaled sharply as the familiar wave of light passed over her eyes. She glanced in awe at the towering, oval-shaped building stretching into the clouds above.

“Eligibility confirmed. Name: Deborah Walters. Age: eighteen. IQ: 149.”

Two tinted-glass doors opened into the building, exposing the circular antechamber within.

“Best of luck!” the entrance AI told her.

“Right.” Deborah took a deep breath and strode across the threshold.

The ends of Deborah’s high-heels struck the dark marble floor of the Center, the resulting sound echoing through the room and off the vaulted ceiling above. She felt her heart beat faster as she passed endless rows of empty armchairs facing the back of the room.

“First one of the day, eh?” a voice asked.

Deborah started as she found herself only a foot from the expansive desk at the back of the antechamber. Her eyes fell upon the middle-aged man seated behind the black wood, a coffee cup pressed against his lips. “Sorry, I guess I went on auto-pilot there for a second.”

The receptionist took a draught from his mug, readjusting his glasses with his free hand. “No sweat, sweetheart. I don’t think any of us have business being up at this hour. Couldn't even bring myself to do laundry." He laughed, plucking at the atrocious Hawaiian-patterned shirt adorning his chest.

“Is it usually this empty?” Deborah asked uneasily, looking around the deserted room.

“October is a slow month this year,” he explained. “I barely see twenty a day.”

“So how does this all work?”

The receptionist set his mug down and gestured to Deborah’s left. “See that door over there?”

Deborah followed his hand to the large door beyond the left side of the desk. Its golden knob glinted in the low light of the room.

“As soon as we finish checking you in, you’ll go inside. A proctor will show you to one of the testing chambers. Once you’re finished, you turn in your exam paper and go home. We’ll contact you in about a week to tell you your results.”

Deborah’s face brightened considerably. “That’s it?”

The receptionist folded his arms, smiling as he leaned back in his chair. “That’s it.”

Deborah’s eyes drifted to the right side of the reception desk, her smile fading as she noticed a second door. “What’s that for?”

“Oh, the other door?” the receptionist asked absently, his hands racing across the keyboard on the desk’s surface. “Don’t worry about that. It’s for… others.”

Silence descended between the two, interrupted only by the rhythmic tapping of the receptionist’s keyboard.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Your identity was already confirmed at the first door, so I only need a fingerprint and signature from you now.”

He reached into a drawer and retrieved two electronic pads and a stylus, setting them on the desk before Deborah. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Deborah nodded and took the stylus in hand. She scribbled on it briefly before placing her left thumb on the second pad. After a moment, both devices chimed, the lights adorning them turning green.

“And there you have it!” the receptionist said, clapping his hands together. “Now, you can just go on through—“

Deborah flinched as a tiny “ding” emitted from the receptionist’s monitor.

“Hang on a minute,” he said, narrowing his eyes. He looked back up to Deborah, scratching his chin with a free hand. “Don’t worry about this. I just need to ask you a couple of questions before you begin.”

“Alright,” Deborah said, unable to calm the shaking in her voice.

“Now, have you ever had any mental or physical disabilities?”

Deborah gulped audibly, laying a hand on the desk to steady herself. “Well…”

A splitting ache shot through her head as her eyes drifted in opposite directions.

“I see.” The receptionist nodded as he went back to typing. “Strabismus, right? Would have been hereditary.”

Deborah nodded.

“Well, that one is usually easy enough to fix. Have you ever attempted treatment?” the receptionist asked without looking up.”

“Yes, when I was nine,” Deborah replied. “As you can see, it—”

“Didn’t work,” he finished. “Right then, I’m just going to need you to step through the door to my right, and we’ll get that cleared up right away.”

“But I thought you said—”

“I know what I said,” the receptionist assured her. “Just go through the door. A specialist will meet you for your treatment, and we’ll have that cleared up before you know it.”

He looked up at her with a smile, gesturing broadly to the door with his left hand.

Deborah nodded slowly as she turned to the door, her footfalls creating that familiar hollow sound.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” the receptionist called after her.

She laid a shaking hand on the knob of the door. “I’ll try to remember that.”

* * *

The antechamber spilled into a pure-white hallway that extended beyond Deborah’s line of sight. The walls and floor shone brightly in the lamplight streaming from the ceiling, giving Deborah the distinct feeling of being in a hospital.

Along each wall, dozens of thick metal doors lay perfectly spaced from one another, each with a dark tinted window to its immediate left.

Way to ease the terror...

Her footsteps carried the familiar echo of the previous room as she passed each door.

“Hello?” she called after walking a short distance. “Is anyone here?”

For the briefest moment, silence permeated the area. Deborah huffed loudly and made to turn back to the entrance. “Honestly—”

“Damn it, Matthews, stop playing with the intercom. These rooms are soundproofed for a reason.”

Deborah stopped dead and turned to the door on her left. She approached it and laid a hand on the tiny speaker box occupying the space between the door and window. Beyond the glass, four dark silhouettes milled around an individual who face up on a seat in the room’s center. Deborah pressed her ear against the intercom, holding her breath.

“Sorry, boss,” one of the room’s occupants said.

“Alright then, are we recording?”

“I’ve got you loud and clear,” Matthews told him.

“Great. This is Dr. Raleigh, recording from operation room nineteen on October 27, 2072. Assisting me are doctors Smith, Matthews and Johnson.

“With us this morning is Lauren Griswold. She came to the LAC on October 25. Ms. Griswold has struggled with alalia syllabaris, more commonly known as a stutter, since she was a small child.”

“H-hi, e-everyone,” Lauren said quietly.

Deborah stepped back from the intercom, laying a hand on her head. She’s still here?

She pressed her ear back to the speaker as Raleigh continued. “Ms. Griswold attempted treatment between 2062 and 2065, and has failed to correct the issue.”

“But y-you’re going to h-help me, right?” Lauren asked.

Deborah heard Raleigh give a tiny chuckle.

“We certainly are. Dr. Smith, if you’d be so kind?”

A second female voice flowed through the speaker. “Of course.”

Deborah watched through the glass as one of the silhouettes approached Lauren in her seat. The figure grabbed Lauren’s arm, and a tiny grunt of pain wafted through the air.

“W-what’s the IV for?” Lauren asked as her breathing quickened.

“Ignore her,” Raleigh advised. “Start the drip.”

“I d-don’t understand,” Lauren said desperately. Even through the speakers, Deborah could tell that she had begun to hyperventilate. “I t-t-though you were going to treat me.”

Deborah could just make out Smith running a hand through Lauren’s hair.

“We are, sweetheart.”

“B-but I… I f-feel s-sleepy,” Lauren said in a weak voice.

Deborah watched in horror as she thrashed at the doctors, scrambling to rise from the chair.

“Restraints,” Raleigh yelled.

The doctors each grabbed one of Lauren’s limbs, securing them to the chair with leather straps. Deborah’s hands shook uncontrollably as she looked on.

Lauren’s voice became nothing more than a whisper as she succumbed to the intravenous drip, laying back in resignation. “Are y-you trying t-to k… k-kill—”

Deborah fought an urge to vomit as she heard a single, massive exhalation, morbidly transfixed as Lauren’s body fell limp. Absolute silence claimed the operating room, and the silhouettes of the doctors stood still as statues.

“And that’s a wrap,” Raleigh whispered finally. “Johnson, report a relocation and inform her parents. Let’s get this body down to the incinerator.”

Deborah gasped, taking a step back from the door.

Everyone in the darkened operating room froze.

“Did you hear that?” Matthews whispered.

“The intercom,” Raleigh whispered. “Call security!”

Deborah looked rapidly to each end of the hallway before bolting from the window. She raced toward the door as she heard the metal door behind her open.

“Stop her!” Raleigh shrieked.

Deborah felt a sharp pain pierce the back of her leg, and a drowsy sensation gripped her only seconds later. Her strength deserting her, she collapsed only ten feet from the hallway’s exit.

The footsteps of the approaching doctors became distant and indistinct as the room swam before her.

“Please… please don’t…” Deborah said, mustering the last of her willpower as two men clad in white armor raced down the hallway.

“Don’t worry,” Raleigh said, stooping down and gripping her right shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

Comments

[dracoantares]

I'm not really into human stories, but this one caught my eye. Its very good so far. Keep it ups!!!