Anarchy in New Enlgand (5 page)

He opened the door to his 2nd floor studio adap and the wall screens flickered on. A mild voice greeted him by name, asking if he had given much thought to skin care lately, and maybe he needed some help clearing off the blemishes on his face. He hit the "off" button on the wall panel, which made the room go silent, though the walls still offered information on a dozen products at least.

Every couple of minutes one of the panels would switch to another advertisement, but generally only one wall contained video advertising. Trix’s whole apartment was seven meters long by six meters wide, with a three by four meter section on the right of the entrance for a bathroom and closet. The three meter section beyond the bathroom had a basic kitchenette. The rest of his adap was pretty bare. Trix had a mattress with some sheets, a coffee table, and a TV. His kitchen was dirty with all of the few plates, pots, and pans he owned piled in the sink, as they had been for months. The trash emitted a fishy odor, and overflowed with takeout boxes, and wrappers left over from weeks of being ignored. Every couple of months Trix would find a day of inspiration, clean his adap – well, his version of clean – and look into getting a job, or rejoining UtopaCorp. It usually lasted until about 16:00 when he would break down and go to buy or find more drugs. He had been a daily user for less than two years.

At 18 Trix went to work for UtopaCorp since he didn't have many other options. UtopaCorp was one of a few companies that would offer a job to practically anyone who wanted a job, and would follow UtopaCorp’s rules. Usually it was "hippies," or people who wanted to party, who couldn’t organize their lives, or young folks who didn't have many friends or family that joined up. The company would offer low take home pay, but take care of every aspect of their employees’ life. Apartments were included, and the advertising stayed in the halls so employees could relax without products being shoved in their faces. Meal plans were included for all employees, and a plethora of sports, clubs, and activities were planned by employee groups for down time and weekends. They worked more hours than most people – about 40 each week – but the jobs were generally easy, and employees had no stresses of paying bills, or worrying about...well, anything really.

UtopaCorp placed workers in one of their many roles, top-heavy towards manual labor and low skill jobs. The company would offer all sorts of contracts that made sense for different people. Some employees had practically no access to their wages, as specified by the original contract they signed, instead placing the pay into high-interest accounts to earn money and help them control their spending. Others would take all their money up front.

UtopaCorp was willing to structure employment in a way that worked for the individual, as long as they showed up when you were supposed to, and did the job required. Trix lasted a little over two years with the company before he couldn't handle the structure anymore, and quit. He traveled with the money he had saved up until that ran out eight months later, at which point he had already formed some bad habits from some of the people he chose to associate with. It was another year before Trix was unable to hold a job for more than three weeks, and that is when he became a daily drug user. Trix knew his 25th birthday was looming, and it depressed him.

He thought about how unfair it was that he was stuck in some crummy adap while so many in the world had so much. He felt sorry for himself that during his traveling days he could only afford level 3 pods while he watched snobby college kids grab a level 1 with their daddy's credit. He heard you could order drinks in the level 1 pods, and they would pop up cold and fresh from the storage compartment below, but he had never been in a level 1 pod.

As Trix injected half a gram into his arm with an EZ-Ject syringe (which also appeared in an advertisement on the wall a few feet away), he fell into a nirvana like daze of imagining his life if he were rich.

Half dreaming, he imagined what it would be like to get a nano-bot injection of immune boosters that eliminate 97% of disease before the host even notices them, never having to feel sick, never having to wait two weeks to get rid of scabies with the topical ointment from the free clinic. He pictured himself taking a trip to a moon resort, driving the rovers over craters, and laying in a lounge chair under the glass dome, being waited on, while gazing at the earth from a perspective he would never know. Trix wanted to eat at Hillside, and be invited to a party on Mount Olympus – the most exclusive venue in the world, which actually was located on one of Mount Olympus’s many peaks.

As he came-to a couple hours later the telescreen was showing an episode of "Switch 'Em" where a billionaire was being interviewed at his immaculate rural Georgia estate, preparing to switch places with a retail worker from the west coast.

"I think it will be tough to be essentially cooped up in the same storefront for 30 hours this week, but I know I can handle it. It will be an interesting experience – certainly something new to be going to work at a solid building everyday instead of just telecommuting online."

Trix rolled his eyes as he flicked off the TV "Pff, asshole."

He put his jacket on and walked downstairs to find something to eat. He briefly considered going to the church for dinner, then decided it wasn't worth hearing the religious volunteers give their "God saves" spiel.

Instead he decided to head 15 blocks to the main food market, where he could fill up on samples from all the vendors; maybe even get a free beer if he saw someone he knew. “
I bet they don't have beers at the church
,” he thought as he stepped onto the sidewalk, and lit a cigarette. He looked down and realized he only had two left. Tomorrow he would have to find enough money for another pack somehow. He didn't bother picking up the dirty bank coin worth a half dollar that he noticed at his feet.

"Trix, how are you doing?" Officer Themis was just walking by, and his tone suggested he actually cared how Trix was doing.

"Just planning my next hustle," Trix replied dryly.

"Just don't hustle me." Themis joked. "Hey you know Corner Cop Security still has a few grants available for people who want to get clean. You should see some of these rehab centers, it's like a vacation. There's – "

"Am I being detained?" Trix interrupted. Officer Themis let out a confused laugh, thinking Trix was joking.

"What, no?" Themis replied with a smile.

"Have a good day officer," Trix said emotionless without smiling, and walked away towards the vendor district.

Officer Themis watched him walk away, wishing there was something he could do to help. As Trix turned the corner Themis sighed, shook his head, and continued the beat. Themis was offended and a bit hurt that Trix had asked if he was being detained. That was usually something people without security asked overzealous cops as a way to disengage.

Asking "am I being detained" forced an officer to admit he suspected you of nothing and allow you on your way, or move ahead with procedures. But if the procedures were trumped up, then the officer could lose his job, or be prosecuted if he initiated force. Security agencies were not about to hire or retain officers whose unjust actions they had to spend money defending.

And even if someone didn’t have security insurance, he could buy some after a crime was committed against him. Although this was more expensive, if the perpetrator was caught and determined guilty, he was generally made to cover the costs to the victim.

Trix had obviously meant the phrase as an insult after Officer Themis mentioned the rehab grants his security company offered as charity. It bothered Themis since he had come into contact with Trix before over some petty crime and wanted to help him, seeing the best in Trix, but he knew not to be too sensitive.

Officer Themis was the head investigator for violent crime for Corner Cop Security. Since violent crimes only occurred on CCS’s customers once every few weeks, the rest of his time was spent patrolling customers’ property, like the street he was walking along. His shift ended as the sun started to set, so Themis grabbed a level 2 pod and headed home.

Themis was a friendly outgoing man in his mid thirties, happily married to a teacher; they had two young kids, a boy and a girl. Officer Themis was a good looking man with prominent cheekbones and a strong jawline. He had dark hair, but was relatively pale for modern times. Themis was in shape with a muscular build, he worked out regularly, and practiced regularly with his 9mm – though he had never used it on the job. He was not especially tall, but people seemed to think of him as taller than he actually was.

His darker, equally stunning wife was making dinner when Themis walked in. "Hi James, how was work? Oh before I forget, we got our security contract today, I left it up on the screen for you to look at and sign."

Officer – James – Themis kissed his wife hello, "Anything different this year?"

"Just that Atlas Protection is taking care of more in the gaps between CCS's coverage. They’ll be carrying out some patrols, nothing that really affects us."

"Somebody is doing things right, I feel like everyone's flocking to AP these days."

"Well they have a great product, I would feel better about traveling further north now, not that I would've worried much before, but you never know! Oh, can you pick up the kids tomorrow from school? I need to stay there late, I’m tutoring after school now on Tuesdays."

Themis’s wife was a teacher at Three Rivers Elementary School. It was one of many schools in the area, and was a branch of Three Rivers Education Group which operated an elementary school, a high school, a trade school, and a daycare/after school care.

"That’s fine. Are you still tutoring on Thursdays?"

"Yeah, but it’s a different group of kids. The Charity Club raised money last semester to hire tutors for some of the kids who get their tuition through grants. Most of them are doing fine, but I’d say about a quarter just don’t seem to be able to keep up with the rest of the kids at school. We noticed about 12 of them falling behind, and of course their scholarships are at risk if they don’t maintain their grades. Good kids though, just their parents don’t have the skills to teach them outside of school what most of the suburban kids get. Some are only second generation in the New England Economy."

"That’s interesting," James said, thinking, "Do you have any first generation students?"

"Yea I actually have one this year who came with her parents three years ago from far east Asia, where the New England Economy hasn’t spread yet, but she is a great student. She just gets confused with cultural things; certain lessons, the language, the date. Where she is from they didn’t keep the old calendar after the collapse. So their year is, I think… 53? 54 maybe. Based on some 'King’s' birth," she made quotation marks with her fingers as she said the word king.

"Wow. So you notice more of the kids who grew up in New England, but had parents who came into NEE late that have more trouble?" asked James.

"Well not all of them, but a lot yes, I think because their parents aren’t fully integrated, so they aren’t getting all the same home life as third or fourth generation students. Well not that their home life is bad… just they don’t have the same roots in the culture. We’re actually already starting to see fifth generation kids in the younger age groups. One boy, he’s only six, his great great grandfather was born inside the walls of the Worcester Food Corp in 2024. And his great great grandfather's parents had been admitted because
the father’s
dad knew a lot about electrics, plumbing, and keeping things running, even though he was a janitor before the collapse. It’s really interesting to hear some of the stories, I love teaching the history of New England. We’re so close to it, that everyone has some connection to the development."

"That’s for sure," James agreed, then smirked slyly, "But it’s not every day you meet a family that’s 100% descendants of the Blackstone Valley settlement founders," and he puffed out his chest and bobbed his head from side to side with his eyebrows raised, sarcastically putting on an air of superiority. His wife just laughed, rolled her eyes, and shook her head as she finished setting the table, and turned to check on dinner.

Three

It was Thursday at 13:00 in Barry’s office.

"Mr. Barry. I came here to get answers for the questions that you left blank on the BER survey twice. Why have you not made available all company and personal earnings and holdings for fiscal years 2113 and 2114?"

"Did I offer you coffee?" asked Barry, pretending to be distracted by his hospitality, faking a polite smile, and acting a little too innocent.

"Twice, as well as tea, and water, and I am fine thank you. Do you intend to answer my questions?"

"You're so serious!" laughed Barry, forced and fake, "I am just trying to be cordial, smooth things over since you seem upset with me." His lips smiled while his eyes frowned. Barry avoided eye contact of more than a second or two, giving him the appearance of an awkward teen.

"I'm upset because my report is still incomplete, and Business Ethics Review prefers to have their articles submitted a full month before publication. It is now barely three weeks until the release date, and you seem to be taking very lightly the good possibility that your agency will be downgraded by BER."

Barry paused, still displaying his fake smile. His demeanor resembled the Grinch caught off guard by Cindy Lou Who asking why he was stealing her Christmas tree. So he thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick.

"I simply needed more time to collect my records, you see? I have my accounting department putting together a report, and I didn't want to miss anything on the form, otherwise it may look like I had intentionally mislead you, which would never be my intention! And as for my personal holdings, I'm not sure I am comfortable sharing that type of information with the world at large."

"It’s customary for men in your position to be an open book, so to speak. After all, a lot of people rely on your company for justice, and they deserve to know there are no outside influences contributing to the decisions and policies of Barry Arbitration."

Another pause. "To be honest Ms. Metis" (Molly almost rolled her eyes at the thought of Barry being honest, but caught herself and continued her powerful stare) "I was a bit self-conscious about some of my investments – er – not performing as well as I'd hoped. They have nothing to do with BA," he added quickly, "but could still give a negative impression to customers."

"I think customers deserve to know if the man running their arbitration agency is mishandling his own funds."

Barry finally dropped the fake smile and replaced it with an annoyed appearance, when he was actually more worried than annoyed. "Well I would hardly say I mishandled my money. Some bets just don't pay off as well – "

"There was a comments section in the survey you failed to complete. A simple explanation of why you made the investments and why their value has dropped would have quelled major fears of incompetence without raising suspicions that go along with leaving that section blank."

"You're right Ms. Metis," his fake smile and teenage demeanor was back. "I'll have my accounting department send you a full report."

"We need it from the bank." Molly would not yield.

Barry briefly considered offering Molly another beverage but decided this would just lead to more tension. This time the pause was too long and Molly further lowered her head and raised her eyebrows as if looking over spectacles that did not exist.

"So if you could call them now, and have that report sent to me..." Molly slowly articulated, annoyed, as if explaining something obvious to a student who could not follow simple directions.

"Yes – yes of course." Barry pressed a button on his receiver and was put through to the Bank of New England, the bank Barry Arbitration used for all their accounting and payroll.

BONE was one of many banks that stabilized currencies by buying up various currencies issued by stores and retailers, smaller banks, corporations, and stocks. BONE would then issue their own currency, the purchasing power of which stayed quite constant. BONE was the biggest bank in the northeast and therefore the most popular currency of most New England inhabitants, though a number of currencies were accepted virtually everywhere, and converted based on daily values of the companies, much like stock prices. For this reason some currencies' purchasing power changed daily, which is why stabilizing bank currencies were useful for people to save up without great risk. Company currencies were backed by the value of the company, and their assets, while bank currencies were backed by their holdings of various company currencies, spreading the risk. Company currencies were therefore generally less stable than bank currencies, and would come and go more often.

"I'd like you to send Molly Metis full reports from Fiscal Years 2113 and 2114 for Barry Arbitration."

"And your personal report," Molly added sternly, with an expression of exasperated disbelief.

"Right, and send along my personal report as well," Barry added, trying to keep his tone upbeat. "And there you have it," Barry added as he pushed the disconnect button, flashing the most plastic smile yet.

"And the only other thing I need is your complete insurance report, and expenditure claims from your agencies."

His smile did not return, fake or otherwise. Without acknowledgment Barry buzzed his secretary, "Send Ms. Metis my expenditure claims and insurance reports."

There was a slight pause from the secretary that Molly pretended not to notice, while making a very particular mental note about it.

"Yes sir."

"Thank you very much for your cooperation Mr. Barry, you can find the report on BER's website with the release date of Monday October 14th. We should have your rating by the 8th if you wish to inquire in advance of the release. Have a great day." And with that Molly closed her tablet, and quickly exited the office without another look at Barry.

Mr. Barry waited a moment after the door closed, and took the scotch bottle out of his desk drawer. Before he poured himself a glass, he looked out the window to see Molly descending the stairs to the sidewalk. He briskly walked to his office door and opened it enough to poke his head through. Checking to see that the reception room was empty besides his secretary, he asked, back to his usual curt and snippy tone.

"For God's sake tell me you sent her the redacted version."

"Does a bear crap in the woods?" his secretary snapped without looking up.

Mr. Barry felt a twang of rage in himself before it was quieted by the comfort of having a competent and complicit, though somewhat entitled, secretary. He was grateful that she knew to send along the version of the report where certain items purchased and covered were redacted. This alone would not be cause for alarm among customers and investors, as it was fairly typical for a man in his position to block out some details about purchases, acquisitions, and insurance coverage. Still, Barry knew he was pushing his luck, and was worried that his company's revenue would nose dive if it was downgraded once again.

He silently ducked his head back into his office and gently shut the door. Slowly he walked to his desk and poured himself a tall glass of scotch.

That night Mr. Barry and Mr. Drake met for dinner. Drake had suggested Hillside, but Barry insisted on a less popular restaurant where he wouldn't run into as many familiar faces. Of course formal attire was required, so Mr. Drake and Mr. Barry were dressed similarly to their work attire, but classier.

Formal clothes were reminiscent of just before the collapse, but with some notable differences. Blazers and suit jackets didn’t have any buttons, and were hardly ever made to close, but when they were, it was with poly-melding-elastomer. This synthetic rubber-like material was made to bond and fuse together to form a seal, but could easily be touch activated to release to its old form.

Poly-melding-elastomer replaced zippers and other fasteners, and its use extended beyond clothing. Many high-end windows and doors would seal with poly-melding-elastomer for more efficient insulation. Reusable food containers made of poly-melding-elastomer had become quite popular lately, forming to the food and sealing without air pockets, or molding to any shape needed to fit in the refrigerator or storage and remain firm. But the material could always return perfectly to its initial state.

Whole garments were made of poly-melding-elastomer as well. For sports and physical activity, the clothing would regulate how much air was allowed through the garment based on body temperature. A shirt would increase ventilation during hot weather, and seal shut if it got too cold. Poly-melding-elastomer was a favorite for chiseled men and well endowed women, who's clothing would form fit and seal to accentuate their features. And they never had to buy a new size, as the material would expand or contract naturally, as needed, even as they breathed. poly-melding-elastomer gloves and belts always fit perfectly. There were even anti-rape poly-melding- elastomer undergarments coded to unseal only under specific circumstances. It would be hard to find a home without something made from the new high tech material.

But any poly-melding-elastomer that Drake and Barry wore was well hidden, so that they would not appear tacky. The collars of their shirts were much thinner than pre-collapse collars, or sometimes only an outline with a different material, flush with the rest of the jacket. Dress shirts were also closed with poly-melding-elastomer so that there were no buttons, and only smooth cloth could be seen down the front of the formal shirt. The neck was wider, collar less prominent, and no one wore ties anymore. Instead a "badge" would be worn on the center of the chest, about three quarters of the way up the dress shirt.

Badges attached magnetically or with poly-melding- elastomer, depending on the design of the badge and shirt. Some were small like an old tie clip, but others, especially for formal occasions could be quite large. Most companies had their own insignia, in various sizes and styles, which employees would wear for work; however for personal wear, badges were quite varied.

Drake wore a pure silver badge – except for the poly-melding-elastomer back that attached to a strip of the material on the front of the shirt – which bore his family crest. The coat of arms was engraved with a dragon holding a sword in one hand, and scale in the other. The seal was created by Drake’s grandfather when he adopted the family name Drake in the late 2030’s after Food Corp operations expanded beyond its walls. Drake’s grandfather had been ashamed of how his family raised him before the collapse, and disgusted with the things they did to survive after the collapse. For a range of reasons it was common for people to take a new last name after the collapse, with a strong influence of history and mythology.

Barry wore a badge the size of a large coin that had a black sapphire set in glazed Brazilian rosewood. Barry was a pre-collapse family name, his grandfather was on the board of directors for Food Corp and never suffered much upset during the collapse and New England Renaissance.

"All I need is for the wrong person to see us together and there will be more wild accusations about collusion." Barry hissed.

"For God's sake Barry we aren't the first arbiter and security CEO to ever eat dinner together." Drake said looking up from his touch screen menu as Barry sat down, glancing around to make sure no one he knew was in the dimly lit basement bistro.

"Well with the way BER is up my ass it wouldn't take much right now, with their...erroneous and... flippant..." Barry stumbled as he searched for words to express his anger in an intelligent sounding way.

Drake calmly set his menu down, and offered an amused smile; though a smile on Drake's face was hardly detectable. Slight dimples could be made out however, and his bulldog cheeks were raised, ever so minimally.

"Well I wouldn't exactly call it erroneous... You
did
take the bribe after all."

"And why shouldn't I? I work hard everyday, aren't I entitled to a bonus? Don't I deserve to offer my services outside of the typically expected products arbitration can deliver?" Barry shot back quickly and defensively as 3 slow chuckles made Drake’s head bob. "And you'll drop me as soon as the report comes out, don't try to claim otherwise."

"Well," Drake shrugged, "If you get downgraded I might have no other option. Believe me Barry, I am not too keen on the idea of spending more money for less favorable arbitration outcomes."

"This whole thing is just a big mess I don't want to have to deal with! And now my retirement is in jeopardy! I can't even sell the business if I get downgraded, I'll get peanuts, I'll be destitute!"

"You could always move into an adap." Drake joked dryly.

Barry's stare burned of indignation as he spoke a bit too loudly, "Could you take this a bit more seriously Drake! Aren't we friends? I could use some support!"

"Of course, of course," Drake glanced quickly around and made a calming motion with his hand, telling Barry to take it down a notch.

Barry lowered his voice, leaned in, and continued venting. "There's too much competition these days. Remember 20, 30 years ago how easy it was? We were still the first kids on the block, and people needed us! We were running the world and should have done something to keep it that way while we had the chance. Now we're just slowly bleeding to death while these go-getters pull the carpet right out from under us!"