Anarchy in New Enlgand (4 page)

"I just need $5 to get back uptown," Trix said to Barry as he descended the stairs.

"Like hell
," Mr. Barry thought to himself as he prepared to ignore Trix and brush past him, possibly hurling a witty insult at him... if he could think of one in time. But just as he opened his mouth to snarl something nasty at Trix, a client yelled his name from a half block down the sidewalk.

"Mr. Barry! How are you? Leaving early to enjoy the fresh air?"

Uhg
. It was one of those good customers who barely cost him a dime or a minute of time, just paid to have an arbiter on retainer for his businesses. He had to be nice to him, it would be too easy to patronize someone else, and Barry knew the only reason he stayed with BA was that he had been with them for two decades. They always saw each other at the charity events, so the client wrongly assumed Barry to be considerate of his fellow man.

"Oh, hello!" Mr. Barry greeted the client with the same fake smile he wore on the call with Molly. "And here you are young man. Get yourself something to eat," Barry continued, handing Trix a dollar, hoping his client would mistake it for $5.

"Thanks," Trix said without expression, looking disappointed with the amount in his hand, as he walked away down the sidewalk, but Barry had misjudged his client.

"You know, you shouldn't give those types money, nope, they'll just use it on drugs, you know? It’s better to walk with them to a shop and get them a sandwich or something. Actually..." the client dug in his pocket, "I know you'll be interested in this, being the charitable guy you are. Here's a card for my new project. I'm working with a couple of advertisers to promote a clinic that helps people kick their drug habits," he handed Barry a card. "If you just call this number you can donate money in someone's name that will go towards their treatment if they show up, then the ball's in their court, you know? If they don't go for treatment within a couple months, it helps someone else. But I'm sure you'll see him again, that's the one they call Trix isn't he?"

"Uh, yes, I believe so..."

"Well then you can let him know next time. He's somewhat of a regular around here, right? Doesn't hurt anyone, but it's still sad to see young people killing themselves like that. Anyway I've got to run, business to attend to, you know how it is. Enjoy this weather!"

"Ah yes, I will... and uh, thanks for the..." Barry looked at the card in his hand and turned it over and back ."..card." He nodded and flashed an extra closed mouth smile to make up for the hesitation.

"You bet!"

Mr. Barry made sure his client had turned the corner before he threw the card in the trash. As if he would waste money on some dope fiend when he had his own problems to deal with. He again daydreamed of the governments he knew from books, that would simply lock up those type in jail for doing drugs. Everyone in society would chip in to pay for it, and it kept most of these areas sanitized! If the addicts weren't in jail, they were in the ghetto where they belonged, not living side by side with honest hard working people! But with all this extra wealth floating around these scum had options in this society.

"How ridiculous
," thought Barry, "
that I have to demean myself laboring day in and day out for my money, while Trix just begs and collects free handouts on every corner. Pathetic."

Barry waved his mini-tab at the receiver on the magnet tunnel terminal to order a level 1 pod to pick him up. It was there in a matter of seconds, and when the door slid open, Barry could see that it was sparkling clean unlike the level 2 or, God forbid, having to take a level 3 pod!

These reverse magnet tunnels were vacuum sealed and shot pods – compact cylindrical capsules where up to ten people or cargo was carried – through the mostly above ground tubes which ran along highway medians, roads, old railways and the like. Drop off points were mostly terminals owned by various pod companies, though hospitals, security companies, and big businesses, as well as some extremely wealthy people had the tube built right into their buildings or houses.  A few people had their own pod, but mostly everyone just ordered them at the terminal, and the closest pod in the quality level selected would come, unless you saved preferences for pod companies. Riders could use or refuse specific pod companies, but this could make the wait up to ten minutes if the closest vacant pod was 400 or so kilometers away.

Pods traveled through the magnet tunnels at up to 5000 kilometers per hour,
with vast tube networks running all across North America, and into other parts of the world. There was no air resistance or friction inside the tubes to slow them down. A few major pod tunnel companies had built the largest and most central veins of the system where pods going long distances would get up to top speed. But the smaller tubes with less traffic capacity and more turns would go slower. The system was all automated and in order for a company to plug in, their system would have to be compatible with whatever company owned the tunnel at the point where the new connection would be made. That company already had to make theirs compatible to plug in, and so forth.

The telescreen was running a news broadcast when Barry entered his pod. It was Crystal Carriers pod company who owned this particular news agency and automatically set the channel to their news station in all their pods.

"The independent pod system in Texas, continues to be plagued by safety hazards, while costs and customer prices remain above those for mag pods within the New England Style Economy," a women’s soft therapeutic voice explained. "Although the state of Texas regulates the system’s safety standards, another accident occurred yesterday when two pods collided. All 11 occupants were killed when a safety feature failed, propelling a pod into an occupied tunnel at 1200 kilometers per hour where it rear-ended another pod that had slowed to 500 kilometers per hour for a curve.

"This is the second major magnet pod accident in Texas since 2113. An investigation into that previous accident revealed that a Texas government official was bribed to look the other way on the safety features in the code, while the public assumed there was no risk to the system. The company originally contracted to build the system had donated to over 50% of Texas’s statewide politicians, sparking accusations of political influence in selecting the contractor. Texas’ independent system does not use the same technology and coding as the worldwide New England System, which is why they have yet to plug in.

"To contrast the safety of the Texas magnet tunnel system with that of the New England Style Economy system, the worst accident on record killed 9 people in 2 pods when a safety backup procedure failed. The code was rewritten, the victims’ families given a generous reparation by the company, and the CEO took to traveling in her mag tunnels very publicly with her family to alleviate fear of another crash. That was Tunnel Cake CEO Athena Driver, and happened 23 years ago this December. Since then, only six accidents have occurred in the entire New England system, leading to fewer than a dozen casualties, making the New England Style Economy magnet tunnel pod system the fastest and safest way to travel, in the history of the world.

"The Crystal Carrier that you are traveling in – " Barry pressed a button on the armrest that switched the telescreen to a crackling fire. He let out a relaxed sigh as he sat back on the extra plush seat cushion and closed his eyes, whizzing off towards Hillside in the magnet tunnel.

Trix kept walking. He planned on taking the conveyor 17 blocks up town, but he needed the dollar Barry gave him in order to get an entire gram. Trix was a young adult, a bit too skinny with slightly sunken cheeks and set-back eyes with shadows underneath, and a tendency to slouch. His skin was paler than natural, and blue veins showed through in a few noticeable spots on his face. His natural hair color was black, though he had bleached it a month back. The roots were showing dark now, and his hair which grew straight up was leaning over due to its length, starting to cover his ears. His clothes were casual, too baggy, but not ragged, left over from when he filled them out, before the drugs had changed his look.

Many roads in the most populated areas had been restricted to walking, biking, and conveyors by the owners of the roads. Moving conveyor belts were built into some streets, set up in parallel rows of 3-6, each about one meter wide and traveling at a slightly higher speed than the adjacent belt. Pedestrians would access them through a gate with subscription or single payment options. Then they would step onto the first conveyor which traveled at a speed of about 5 kilometers per hour, with each parallel conveyor increasing by about 5 kph. In a 4 conveyor system, the furthest conveyor would travel at about 20 kilometers per hour, and a pedestrian would walk across the three slower moving belts in order to get to top speed.

Connecting belts traveled at the slowest speed when riders needed to take a turn or divert in order to get to their destination. Most systems were made up of several miles of conveyors in the most densely populated areas of cities, or sometimes only a one or two mile loop placed downtown. This particular area had a vast conveyor system which would reach most parts of the city. In New England no official cities existed in terms of government, but people still referred to where they lived by town, city, or region, which designated no more than a geographic area.

Trix had managed to scrape together $10 (in various currencies) that morning from begging, and found another $2 on the ground. He earned $3 picking up coffees for some businessmen who were working outside of their building. If he covered Jim's store for half an hour while Jim took a break he would get another $4, and that would get him a gram. Jim owned a small drug distribution store in the worst section of town – which was only four blocks.

The same vacuum tube system that shuttled people all over the world hosted smaller magnet tunnels to ship goods. Most shopping was done from home, and many items were shipped on the spot and arrived just seconds after ordering. Jim sold drugs from his distribution center, packaging them as the orders came in online, and shipping through the small mag pod port that hosted pods the size of basketballs. But next to that port was a tube that hosted larger pods: spheres with a diameter of about 1.5 meters.

There were multiple size shipping tubes, and not everyone had them built into their homes. It was relatively inexpensive to have a small tube installed, but many centers existed that hosted larger tubes, and charged a fee for anyone who wished to ship something there to be picked up. Of course there were also store fronts that specialized in letting people see, feel, and try out products before they were sold. But Jim got orders on his website from all over the world, though his business was still small. For that reason, he also served as a shipping center where people could pick up their larger goods. The bigger the tubes, the more expensive it was to have them built into your building.

"Did you eat anything today?" Jim asked Trix when he arrived at the store a half hour later.

"Yea they were giving away some new, like, burrito thing downtown."

"What are you going to have for dinner?"

"Do we have to go through this every day?"

"Do you have to get high every day?"

"You're the one selling it to me."

Jim frowned. "Look, I only ask because I care. The church on Oak St. has a free dinner every Monday and Thursday, you should stop by."

"I'll be fine, I get enough to eat, man."

"Yea but you don't get the nutrients you need! All I see you eating is crap."

Trix was done with the small talk. "Do you need a break? Let me stock some pods for a half hour."

Jim looked down sighing, "Alright," he said shaking his head a bit, "I'll be back in 30."

There was no real risk leaving Trix in charge of his store for a half hour. Jim had the security, and he knew Trix just wanted to get his fix. Stealing would mean time in confinement, without easy access to any drugs, and Trix was well aware.

When the half hour was over Trix took his gram and walked the block to his apartment.

It was an advertisers' apartment commonly referred to as an adap. Free room, free water, free electricity, free heat: the only catch was that the walls were covered in advertisements for all sorts of products, most of which were sold in the store that filled the wide hallways at the entrance and exit of the building, or could be shipped directly to the apartment via small shipping mag pods.

Pretty much anyone could get a free adap, but Trix was at the bottom rung, ranked a low priority consumer because he hardly bought anything. Still, it was worth it for advertising companies to keep these apartments; the advertising was so targeted that somewhere around 97% of adaps proved profitable according to various studies. And anytime an adap tried to kick out someone who wasn’t buying anything, the public backlash was a greater threat to their profits than the few people gaming the system.

The apartments ranged in size and style. Even some very wealthy folks would get a penthouse adap at the top of the buildings where the advertisements were for luxury goods, services, and travel. But Trix’s adap was on the sleazier side due to its location. Adap dwellers had to spend a certain amount of time at home to keep it, but it amounted to little more than half the year, meaning those who traveled for work would use an adap sometimes instead of hotels. Other people were just extreme couponers, and loved to get good value. Some college kids would get an adap to save money, or single moms so that they could be home for their kids. Trix had his because he liked to spend what little money he could gather on drugs.