Tellus, A Story (4) Dave seemed to be driving down streets at random. “If you say so. You want to talk about ancient history? The Electric Nazis were developing atomic bombs for the Electro Mechanical Impulse so they could disrupt broadcast energy to any tanks or airplanes with the blast. If they could knock all the enemy planes out of the sky they could have rolled in with their diesel army tanks and taken over. We just beat them to it and used it first.” Ken took a big bite out of his hamburger, it tasted satisfactory but the thick slab of onion was burning his mouth. He tried to be a vegetarian but working in the city made that almost impossible since most people were carnivorous and the restaurants catered to them. “They keep spreading all this radiation around the world, bomb tests, reactor accidents, dumping hot garbage, radioactive medicines and food irradiation. Now they want to build atomic rocket ships to deliver giant weapons into space. They want to establish this nuclear police state so they can have an excuse to control people. Now they are using these brain implants to electronically monitor people. They insert this wire that is little bigger than a hair into the brain.” “Do you have to talk about this while I am eating?” “This wire acts as an antenna. It sends out a signal so that the person can be located anywhere. Everything that person says can be heard on the receiving end and messages can be transmitted directly into the brain including a pain signal if they want to punish the subject.” Ken stopped eating long enough to give Dave a cynical stare. “Now they are using mind control agents to influence public opinion. They are insanely greedy and they want to hold onto all of their power. They want to control everyone and they don’t care how they do it.” “Who ever ‘they’ are,” Ken retorted cynically. “Shades of paranoia, mind control agents indeed.” Ken went back to eating and looked out the passenger door window. “You know what I mean,” Cave answered in that irritated way he used only with his sibling. “Public relations people take all of that political shit and turn it into an image they can sell by putting a positive spin on it. The schizophrenic government gives with one hand and takes with the other. They got the government off of the people’s backs and put it right on their urinary tracts with drug tests, the new government loyalty test. They teach people to stay in line so that the out of control politicians can do anything they want. They keep some people homeless as an example of what will happen to those who don’t play the game. The government preaches union with everyone and then kills anyone who gets in its way. It’s a mean world out there.” Ken thought the world was mean everywhere but he kept it to himself as he continued to eat lunch. Dave went on, “The controlling interests have their own agenda and the individual is expendable.” “You know, for a government administrator you sound almost radical.” “Sometimes you have to make a stand.” “Against what?” “Against what is wrong,” said Dave with determination in his voice. “They aren’t unstoppable, they tried to take away the electric streetcar and make us ride diesel buses for ‘our own good’ but there was so much opposition they didn’t get away with that.” “These things I’m talking about are different, they’re secret. You can’t protest something you don’t know anything about. ‘They’ are trying to poison the planet with atomic contamination on purpose. They are screwing up the atmosphere on purpose. They’ve got some master plan but they haven’t let anyone in on it yet.” “Yeah? Well let me know what it is when you find out.” “I have a good idea but you would not believe it.” “Try me.” “Some other day when you don’t have grease running down your chin.” Bill Wright’s private phone line was ringing, the first thing he heard when he picked up the receiver was, “So William, do you feel like talking to the press?” “Who is this?” Bill asked annoyed. “Tracey,” she said and laughed. “Did you forget me so soon?” “Oh, sorry love. I’ve been really busy lately, there has been a lot of pressure here.” “I understand, don’t apologize.” “So I suppose you want to hear my side of the story?” “That’s the general idea of course, but only if you want to tell it.” “The government is making a big deal out of a minor accident to defame me.” “Well so far it’s working. The latest polls don’t look so good, to be honest about it, ‘Doctor Radiation’.” “Is that what they’re calling me?” “Variations on that theme.” “Can I ask you a question?” “Sure, shoot.” “Can you broadcast the truth on the news?” “Don’t be silly, what do you mean ‘the truth’?” “The truth is that all of Tellus may be in danger of a radioactive fire storm.” “You mean the war to end all wars?” “No, more like a natural disaster brought about by mishandling of radioactive materials.” “So you polluted your lab to draw attention to this imminent ecological catastrophe?” “Please Tracey, this is serious.” “Sorry, I am listening.” “Look, can we get together and talk without any cameras or microphones?” “I think we can work something out.” The president was having his afternoon briefing with cake and coffee. “So how are things going?” he asked in that jovial noninvolved but upbeat way of his. Personally he had no idea of what was going on. He had been so busy with his golf and fishing that he relied upon his subordinates to tell him everything. After all being president was a big job, he could not keep track of every little thing going on in the field. “Very good sir, the folk singer menace was neutralized this morning. We have an express contract on the leak we discovered, I think we can use our people. The covert racial hatred campaign to take the populaces mind off of the tax increase is doing well and we are doing better than ever in the polls.” “That’s what I like to hear, positive feedback.” The president was feeling good even though he had a minor back sprain from his golf game. The pill the doctor gave him had done its trick, he felt no pain. In fact he felt that nothing could bother him at the moment. He put some sugar in his coffee and topped it off with real cream. ‘It’s the small things in life that really mean the most,’ he thought to himself. To his secretary the president said, “See if you can get a sound bite featuring the family dog to give to the press tonight. It might help to cancel out the stories about the radioactive pollution at the plutonium processing plants.” “I’ll do it right away sir,” she said pertly. “That’s a good girl,” he winked at her in a warm and friendly way. Ken’s electric car purred when it moved along the crowded freeway. The antenna in the car picked up the broadcast electricity for its power. A metal strip embedded in the road lane told the car’s magnetic reader where it was so that it could automatically follow the program he had punched up on the car’s computer. The government had banned the use of air conditioning in an attempt to save the ozone layer. It was terribly hot in the car, he felt like an egg soft boiling in a shell. Some rich people had gasoline powered cars that had been purchased before being banned. They could have air conditioning if it had been installed before the ban of the gas it took to run it as it was blamed for heating up the atmosphere and they were not required to follow the electronic road guide line. Of course this created havoc for everyone else but only a few people could afford the permits for the antique cars. Kens car would guide him home slowly in the bumper to bumper traffic. He could almost relax but he had to keep his foot above the break pedal as the automatic braking sensor was not working well. He felt depressed for several reasons. He was beginning to feel emotionally dead inside. He was turning into an automation going through the motions of being alive. He felt like an insect inside the aluminum exoskeleton of his car. The freeway full of autos looked to him like an army of slow multicolored worker ants going back to their little nests for the night. His mind began to focus on the troubles that were paining him. He felt that if he was not so ugly he would not have been ignored by the women in his life and been skipped over for promotion. He felt he was dying to be loved. ‘Handsome impaired’, a doctor had called him once and that had hurt him deeply. A rich doctor took the money of an impoverished laborer and then insulted him as a diagnosis. He had been prescribed some drugs that were supposed to ease his mind about his mental problems and make him feel better but he would not take them. He had decided he would rather feel the pain that feel nothing at all. He did not feel really ugly but the constant rain of his reflection in the glass and mirrors and the faces of the people he met and the torrent of critical words that he had heard ever since he was a child eventually put a chill on his life and he had gradually withdrawn from social contacts. It had been easier for him when he was a teenager. His conditions was seen as teenage awkwardness that he would grow out of but as he got older he could see that nothing was going to change for the better. People would always hold the way he looked against him. Every day he saw the small things, from the subconscious nose scratching when they looked at him to the outright hostility and prejudice that he encountered in the world. It made him feel he would never get the even chance that everyone else felt entitled to. He felt that they would rather see him dead so he had been forced to become tougher inside to survive. The only way that he had moved into his present job was by testing exceptionally well, he always did well on tests. He was not a stupid person although he seemed dull because of his lack of social experience. He was clumsy around people, he had finally come to see that it was because he tended to overcompensate around other people and this caused him to appear to be unable. He was perfectly competent when he was by himself and he had almost become resigned to living by himself for the rest of his loveless life. He always tried to work harder than most people around him, he had to just to maintain his position. He used to paint houses and refinish boats so office work seemed easy to him by comparison. He could do it all day and not get tired. He despised his coworkers who talked all day and did little work and then complained that they were overworked. Ken paid attention to the road again in case he might have to steer the car if it missed the programmed exit as it had been known to do a few times in the past. Tonight he just wanted to get home and forget about work and freeways. Everyday it was the same thing, he rode alone in his car on the overcrowded slow freeway to his empty apartment. He had gradually lost his old friends, they had all married or moved on and he had been unable to find new friends. His family treated him as if he were retarded, no one he knew was interested in him at all. He was tired of feeling sorry for himself. Eventually his exit came up and the car turned off the freeway by itself. He made a quick trip to the store and bought some food. He could feel the clerk appraising his groceries. He could tell she did not approve of his chocolate bar, frozen boxed pizza and beer as she rang it up. She told him mechanically to ‘have a nice day’, without feeling, like every clerk had for the last twenty years yet she seemed to get angry with him when he did not wish her the same. He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Have a nice day yourself then,” he said in a dead pan manner back to the clerk. “Oh it talks,” she said sarcastically and turned her attention to the next customer. “Guys like that are real jerks,” said the male customer to the female clerk.
Copyright © 2007 Michael Potter |