Authors: Kudakwashe Muzira
Freddie’s
heartbeat quickened when more than twenty CIB agents arrived at twenty past
seven. Although they wore plain clothes, everyone knew they were CIB agents;
their dark suits, their confidence, and the authority registered on their faces
clearly marked them as CIB agents.
Civil
Registry employees arrived one by one. Like most civil servants they normally
arrived at work late but today they all arrived on time. It would be dangerous not
to arrive on time after President Ward had emphasized the importance of NASP.
For the first time in many years, the offices opened on time.
“We
have twenty offices to serve you, so the queue will move fast,” the CIB agent
in charge announced. “When you get into the offices, answer all questions and
do as you are told.”
A
CIB agent ushered the first twenty people into the offices. When they came out
of the offices, after more than ten minutes, Freddie wondered why they were all
putting their hands on their necks. His mouth gaped when he saw things fitted
on their necks like dog collars. He immediately knew what these things were―tracking
devices similar to the ones he and his colleagues fitted on wild animals in the
wildlife refuge. The supreme leader had decided to track them like wild
animals.
Freddie
felt a lump growing in his throat.
When will this end? How long will Ward
and his henchmen do this to us?
When his turn came, Freddie entered the
office, trying to control his anger. A young CIB agent, who was clearly
enjoying himself, told him to sit down. He shuddered with revulsion when the
agent put an electronic gag on his neck. The device weighed about one and half kilograms
but it felt like a ton on his neck.
“There
you are,” the agent said with a smile. “It looks nice on you.”
“How
long will I wear this thing on my neck?”
“You
shall have the NAST on your neck until you die.”
Or
until the Ward regime dies,
Freddie thought.
“You
must think of the device as part of your body, as a vital organ that you need
to survive in the Ten Districts.” He could have been a therapist counseling a
patient. “Now it feels a bit awkward, but you will soon get used to it. Give me
your ID.”
Freddie
gave the agent his ID card. The agent looked at the ID card, comparing the
picture with Freddie’s face, before he entered Freddie’s ID number into the
computer.
“I
want you to repeat what I say,” the agent ordered. “One.”
“One,”
Freddie echoed.
He
made Freddie repeat a series of words, which he recorded and used to make a
voiceprint.
“You
are done now,” he said, apparently pleased with himself. “Let me explain how
the program works. The device on your neck is called the National Antiterrorist
Surveillance Tool, NAST in short.”
Yes,
it’s really nasty,
Freddie thought.
“The
NAST recognizes your voice and it tracks you with GPS and cell tracking.” He
sounded like the inventor of the device. “President Ward, the supreme leader of
the Ten Districts, generously donated airtime worth hundred lucres to every
citizen.”
“Airtime?”
Freddie asked with shock.
“Yes,”
the agent said, enjoying Freddie’s shock. “When you speak, your voice activates
the NAST and you start losing airtime. The more you speak the more airtime you
lose. When your airtime is out, you will have to recharge.”
“And
if I don’t recharge?”
“The
NAST will give you an electric shock every time you speak without airtime.”
“So
how does your device help me?”
“It
helps you by eradicating terrorists from the country.”
“How?”
Freddie asked, trying hard to conceal his anger.
“If
someone says a word we associate with terrorists, the system will start
recording his speech and it will be easy for us to pick up the person because
the tracking system will show us his exact location. Law-abiding citizens have
nothing to worry.”
“They
have money to worry about, patriot,” Freddie said. “Where will we get money for
airtime?”
“If
citizens say only what is necessary and avoid talking about politics, they
won’t need plenty of airtime. Besides, every day the government will give
citizens free airtime at twelve o’clock to enable them to sing the national
anthem. The NAST also works as a phone. It has a phonebook and you can also
send messages. Your ID number acts as your phone number on NASP.”
“No
thanks, I prefer my phone,” Freddie said.
“If
you use your phone, NASP will charge you for speaking and the phone company
will charge you for using their network.” He assumed the tone of a salesman.
“If you phone with your NAST, you pay only once. Phoning and sending messages
with your NAST is three times cheaper than using cell phones.”
“Patriot,
where do I buy airtime?”
“You
talk too much,” the agent rebuked. “You are wasting my time and your airtime.”
He gave Freddie a booklet. “Read this manual. It will answer all your
questions. If you try to remove your NAST, the device will explode, instantly
killing you. Here is your charger and two spare batteries. The battery lasts
for four days and you must make sure your NAST always has power.”
“What
happens when I let the battery go flat?”
“It’s
all in the manual. On radio and TV there will be lots of programs to teach the
people about NASP. Your time is up. Next!”
Freddie
walked out of the building, tears clouding his vision. Tears of anger. Tears of
sorrow. Tears of shame. Anger at the regime. Sorrow at his predicament. Shame
at the indignity of wearing a dog collar. His anger urged him to do something
to stop the Ward regime. But his sorrow and shame filled him with resignation.
On his own, there was nothing he could do to bring the regime down. It was
difficult fighting the regime before NASP. Now with electronic gags round
people’s necks, it was impossible to fight the Ward regime.
“What
did they do to you?” his mother asked when he arrived home. “What is this?”
“It’s
a tracking device. Everyone except the ruling class will wear one on their
necks.”
“What
does it do?”
“It
gives the government total control of my life,” Freddie said bitterly. “It
limits my freedom of speech. As I speak right now, I am losing airtime.”
Unknown
to Freddie, the term “freedom of speech” triggered NASP to start recording their
conversation at the CIB headquarters. There were more than hundred words and
phrases that could trigger the system to start recording someone’s speech. The
CIB called these words red words. Most of the jargon used by democracy and
human rights activists was included in the list of red words. Most of the words
used to describe dictatorships were red words. Even the word dictator was a red
word.
Luckily
for Freddie and his mother, their conversation took a less rebellious
direction.
“Airtime?”
echoed Melissa.
“Yes
mom. Now I have to pay for every word I say.”
“Where
will we get the money?” Melissa asked with horror.
“I
guess from now onwards we have to say as little as possible.” He pulled out the
keypad and display panel of his electronic gag and dialed *100# to check his
balance. “I’m left with ninety-six lucres fifty-six cents. I have used up more
than three lucres of the airtime that the supreme leader generously donated to
me.”
“It’s
expensive.”
“Very
expensive… Mom, go and get the tracker on your neck. I want you to go with me
to the wildlife refuge on Monday.”
“No
Freddie I want―”
“Mom,
please don’t let me spend all my airtime begging you. You have just lost your
mother and you need something to cheer you up. Come and have a two week holiday
in the wildlife refuge. I will be your tour guide. You will enjoy it.”
“Okay
Freddie, I will go with you to the wildlife refuge. I’m going to enroll.”
“Good.
Today the queues are short, but as the eight-day deadline expires, the queues
will grow. The supreme leader said the Civil Registry offices will be open for
twenty-four hours. Don’t―”
“Okay,
I’m going to enroll, save your airtime.”
“Please
go with Kyle. He will get himself in trouble if he forgets to register.”
“I
will go with him. I will drag him from his computer.” She went to her room to
change.
Freddie
dialed *100#. He was left with ninety-six lucres thirty-one cents. He earned
only nine hundred and forty lucres a month and he knew he had to cut down on
his speech bill.
The
next evening, Freddie went to Pleasure Zone, his favorite bar. Of the people he
met on the way, those who wore electronic gags were quiet, trying to save
airtime. Gagged couples wordlessly expressed their affection by cuddling and
holding hands. Some people hid the gags under scarves.
It
was unusual for Pleasure Zone to be so empty on a Friday evening. People go to
bars to chat with their friends over a drink but, with electronic gags on their
necks, few people could afford to chat. Many feared that if they went to bars,
beer would loosen their tongues and make them blow away their airtime or say
dangerous words that could be recorded by the CIB. Everyone dreaded the
electric shock that the NASP manual said the electronic gags administered into
people who said a word too many.
Freddie
took out a five lucre note from his wallet. President Ward’s face smiled at him
from the face of the banknote. The president’s head was the national symbol and
it appeared on all banknotes and coins. Freddie angrily crumpled the banknote,
imagining he was crushing the supreme leader’s head.
He
walked to the counter and tossed the crumpled note at the bartender. “I want a
beer.”
With
a frown, the bartender straightened the note and gave Freddie his change and
beer. On a busier day, he would have told Freddie to straighten the money.
Business was so low that he couldn’t afford to antagonize customers.
Freddie
sat two tables away from a young hooker who sat glumly, scanning the bar for a
potential client. Her blouse had no collar and her NAST looked well on her neck.
Round her long elegant neck, the electronic gag looked more like an adornment
than a tool of suppression.
If the regime wants someone to advertise the
beauty of their trackers, they should use this girl,
Freddie reflected.
A
man entered the bar and sat next to the hooker.
“Hi,”
he said
She
nodded at him.
“Can
I buy you a drink?” he asked.
She
mouthed a yes.
“Come
on, are you dumb?”
She
pointed at her electronic gag.
“Oh
that,” the man said. “Here is some airtime.” He handed her an airtime card.
“Tonight, I shall pay for your speech and your beer.”
She
scratched the card, pulled out the keypad and display panel of her electronic
gag and entered the airtime code. “Thanks,” she said after checking her
balance.
“Thanks...
that is all I get after giving you hundred lucres worth of airtime?”
“Thanks
very much,” she said with a laugh.
“That’s
better. What are you drinking?”
“A
beer will do.”
The
man went to the counter and bought two beers. Freddie watched as the man and
the hooker chatted. Every now and then, the hooker checked the balance of her NAST,
but the man rumbled on and on without checking his NASP account. Whoever he
was, he wasn’t short of money.
Maybe he is a CIB agent and he is
investigating the hooker,
Freddie thought.
Freddie
downed his beer and walked out of the bar. This was not the Pleasure Zone he
knew. Gone were the debates, the jokes, the banter and the laughter.
Pleasure
Zone will never be the same,
Freddie thought sadly.
The whole country
will never be the same.
In
the morning, Freddie was shocked when he dialed *100#. He was only left with
eighty-six lucres in his account. He had blown more than four lucres talking in
his sleep.
I hope I didn’t say anything bad about the Ward regime.
All
the people he had heard talking in their sleep did so in incomprehensible
utterances and he hoped it was the same with him.
He
went to the bathroom and took a shower. Although the NAST manual said the
electronic gag was waterproof, it warned against speaking or singing in the
shower when one didn’t have enough airtime because water would worsen the
resultant electric shock.
God,
please kill Ward,
Freddie
thought as he scrubbed himself. When he got out of the shower, he looked at
himself in the mirror. The electronic gag looked so foreign on his naked body
that his first instinct was to tear it from his neck. His hands shook as he
resisted the urge to rip the device from his neck. The electronic gag was a
violation of his freedom and privacy. Freddie couldn’t think of a worse form of
humiliation.
How much does the device cost? Hospitals are short of drugs,
schools need books and civil servants are grossly underpaid. And the government
sees it fit to waste taxpayers’ money manufacturing these useless gadgets.