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I could hear my buddy Alex jogging up to me, where I was still standing in front of the Hall. He caught my arm, “Dude, slow down.” Funny how some vernacular never changes over centuries.
“Ya know Alex, if there is any one thing that I have learned over the years, it is that human nature never changes.”
“How’s that? Look let’s get out of here before we’re hit up with some loitering infraction.” Alex shifted his eyes from side to side, panning our surroundings, catching sight of the nearby SR soldiers. “Here, over here,” he led me to a little dive a block down the street that was falling apart, of course. Sort of like my life. We shuffled inside and took a seat in a dingy back booth before checking to see if it was covered by any cameras. It didn’t look like it, but I was more worried about the camera’s internal microphone anyway.
“Ugh, gross,” I grimaced, as I ran my forefinger across the table top. “This probably hasn’t been wiped down since the War.” I looked down at my hands. “Stephanie should have gotten that award,” I said through gritted teeth after a pause. “But that jerk gave it to his daughter just because he could. Just because Stephanie isn’t some hotshot’s kid doesn’t mean she didn’t deserve it. She had way better marks than that other total waste of time.”
“Whoa, simmer down bro,” Alex patted my bicep. He was so touchy feely.
I noticed two SR mercenaries sitting at a table drinking (beer?) near the front, their rifles pointed outward and lying on their laps. Most alcohol was illegal, but who knows. The SR are usually above the law. Must be nice, evoking fear all the time, I thought. The so called waiter came over to our table and hovered, as there were very few other customers in the joint. I say so-called because he looked more like a dock worker than a server.
He grunted at us. Alex and I just stared at him, Alex peering at him from out of the corners of his eyes before he said, “Two neerbeers…please.” Neerbeer is the non-alcohol that most people my age drink in these types of places. The waiter half-heartedly held up his scanner and we held out our wrists to be scanned.
He started to shuffle off when Alex stopped him by grabbing a corner of his grimy apron. “Yo, how much pardner for the crappy fake beer?”
“Twenty credits each,” he answered in what sounded like a mouth full of gravel before yanking himself free and moving off.
“Twenty credits?!” Alex’s eyes bugged out of his head. “What is this world coming to?” He shook his head in amazement.
“We need to get rid of the SR,” I threw out to Alex as if talking about the weather, changing the subject. “I’m actually serious,” I answered his stunned expression.
He stared at me hard for a second. “Hah!” he scoffed. “Uh yeah, I’ll get right on that.” “Look, I am frickin’ sick and tired of this oppression. I’m not doing this anymore,” I said quietly. “I mean, why do all whites have to live in the BackLands? Even though it lists my ethnicity as Caucasian on my chip, I am actually half Russian and half Arabian. I am not cool with segregation!!” I stopped to let my venting simmer, but something else came to mind.
“Remember when my mom went into labor with my little brother? She bout didn’t make it inside the Hall of Dispensary in time, because the acrimonious SR guards bitched about her not having the proper clearance to deliver him. He was almost born out on the curb! If she’d been refused admittance and something had gone wrong….You know what happens to deceased babies.” I didn’t want to mentally vacation in that past incident. My family doesn’t ever bring it up. Alex just lowered his eyes.
“I know; you’re preaching to the choir, man.” I could tell his mind was absent as he tapped the table, as was his habit. “The rap sheet of SR brutality is absurd, but do they get slapped with infractions? Psshh.”
“This is no way to live. I’m done.” I stabbed the table with my forefinger on the last few words. He looked up at me, the wheels churning as he decided how he was going to answer me. “And last night? You don’t even wanna know, man.” I stared back at him, a challenging look in my eyes, until he squirmed a bit in his seat.
“Goro, not possible,” he finally offered me. He thought I had bought the farm. “That is a very simplistic, generally thrown together idea that is completely unrealistic. However, I applaud you.” He raised his fist in triumph at me.
“All we need to do is be recruited by the SR, infiltrate the dominion, and find a weakness. They have to have at least one,” I ignored his objections and instincts had me look past his shoulder at the two SR mercenaries to make sure no one was eaves dropping. “You know those fake ass recruitment plugs they always add to the end of Sunday night announcements? We’d be shoo-ins.”
“We?” Alex queried, “Whose this ‘we’ stuff? I do not want to be recruited by the SR, least of all on a volunteer basis. Are you out of your mind? Besides, the age of conscription has passed already,” he said, his mouth barely moving.
Everyone in the world has to convene around the family viewing panel every Sunday night at 8 pm, in whatever time zone they live in, and watch as the Sovereign Regime’s administration bores us to tears with the SR news of the week. Then they BS about how they are making the world a better place, always ending the mandatory half-hour public announcement with some shameless, beefed up SR recruitment commercial. I felt empowered with my idea.
“Abraham Lincoln said ‘Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?’” I remarked, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, mom always says.”
“Yeah, well, John F. Kennedy said ‘Conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth,’” Alex countered.
“We wouldn’t be conforming….haven’t you seen any old spy movies from the Hall of Digital Archives?” I grilled him. “Good one, though,” I congratulated his comeback.
“The crappy ones, yeah, but they monitor and censor the hell out of everything, you know that.” He frowned and paused for a minute before starting back up again.
“Dude, I would rather have dental surgery than go deep under as a mole for the SR,” Alex said pointedly under his breath. “I don’t even want to have this conversation.” He tried to look casual as he glanced around before returning to me. “You’re not even listening.”
I thought about his response for a second, “Dental surgery is not that far off with their brain washing technology,” I said, “You know what they say, be careful what you wish for…” I smiled. Alex just snorted, shaking his head.
