Akanor: Tales From Necro Box Set Page 8

  “I perceive a tone of anger. Are you OK, Robert?” said Anicor. She—it— had an annoying female voice. It was intrusive. Not even decades of technological evolution had been able to create the perfect tone of voice for a machine. Or perhaps the creators of the AI had deliberately kept the mechanical voice to annoy its users.

  “I…just don't like to see myself on the news, that's all.”

  “I perceive your voice is fragmented. Are you lying, Robert? If so, why? You know you can trust me like you used to when you were a young man. After all, I am your personal AI, designed to assist you throughout your life. Robert, your blood pressure is running high,” said the program. Her overpowering voice rung in his head. Robert shut his eyes, which did nothing but intensify Anicor’s presence in his soul. He quickly opened them, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

  “Shut up. Please stop talking. I’ll take my fucking blood pressure pill once Markle brings me my food and drink. And tune me in to some Honky Dory, please,” said Robert.

  “Are you sure?” said the AI. ‘Speaking of blood pressure, your records show you have not attended a Health Box in almost a year. It would be good for you to have a regular checkup. If you want to avoid health taxation, please take your body to a nearby Health Box today.”

  On the screen of Robert’s iTop, the small window on the upper-left corner tuned in to Honky Dory, the famous PopCorn Culture Show with Lenny Honest and Penny Trust.

  “So what is truth?” asked Lenny Honest. He was dressed in a high fashion Cruella DeVille suit with patches of emotional cloth shining pink and grey. His long orange hair was slicked down and thrown back behind his ears. He was fatter than Penny Trust.

  “Honestly, it’s what you see around you,” answered Penny Trust. He was dressed in a lava-colored wetsuit, his slimy green hair combed into a huge cone that mimicked the punk-styled youngsters from the Old World.

  “Truth is—and I quote a Trustworthy source—what we see around us. Truth is great in the now in New Hollow, where everyone gets to eat as much corn as he or she wants without cost. Education and Health could not be better thanks to UniCorn, our proud sponsor. Now that is Truth in the now!” said Honest.

  Trust responded, “PopCorn Culture, what you need to know when you need to know it! Researchers at Minotaur Biotech have determined that an average human only needs to know the now to be happy. Of course, information about human history is accessible to the public, but who wants to know about our past in the then when we can know about our now in the now? The famous Kachi Kachi, one of Hollywood’s best, will be acting in Killer Me. Episode number 10,735 is due tomorrow. Enjoy the now, then! Stay tuned for more of now, right now!”

  “Turn that off. Just fuck all the media and diabetes and corn and all the sweet shit we’re fed every day to keep us… And fuck the Health Box too. And fuck the Education Box while we’re at it!” said Robert. Another flare of anger managed to escape his control. “Play some Vivaldi,” said Robert. Winter of the Four Seasons began playing.

  “Pardon me? There are various issues we have to discuss, Robert,” began Anicor. “First of all, the Health Box has proven to have decreased the burden of skin cancer and lymphomas secondary to radioactive fallout; and cardiovascular disease by 100 percent thanks to the human’s imperfect body in Texalifornia. Statistics don’t lie. Neither do I. Second of all, you know Vivaldi and such Old World sins are not in your Government’s best interest. You may listen to them if you want. I’m just stating the facts.”

  Robert’s blood pressure escalated. He could see the number 200/110 mm Hg boiling up in red numbers. “You’re full of shit. Explain this to me: why do I have diabetes? Can’t your magnificent Health Box cure me from this disease? And why the hell do you even let me access the Old World files if you’re gonna chastise me about it? So many contradictions…I just hate…”

  Robert contained himself. Breathe in…don’t say it…you know you’re very close to being sent to Reinforcement if you continue to speak your mind.

  Anicor said, “You don’t have to worry about your diabetes. We have you covered with the drugs you need to stay healthy.”

  “You have me covered? Oh, yeah, as long as I take your damn pills. But what if I don’t?”

  “You’ll be infringing on Texalifornian Health Policies, imposing on yourself a severe health taxation. It’s the federal law.”

  “Touché,” said Robert. “You always shut up when I talk about diabetes. Have you noticed? Conveniently, Pegasus Pharma is owned by UniCorn and who knows what else in this forsaken country. Can’t you see it? The people who feed us sweets are the people who give us the pills to control the resulting disease from eating too much sweet shit! The war should’ve destroyed us all.”

  Robert felt ill. The price of thinking for yourself is twofold: dealing with a sickening reality and knowing you partake in it. At times, he wished he had never awoken from his ignorance. Being oblivious had its perks. One of them was ignoring reality, of simply floating with the current. But now he was aware. And once that step was taken, there was no turning back.

  “My creators also own the Education Boxes,” said the AI. “Thanks to them, no child has been left behind in regards to education. Isn't that wonderful? With twenty minutes spent a year in an Education Box, every child—and adult—is safely educated and kept up to date with the latest material they need to know, in the now. Such has been decreed by the Protocol Arbiter.”

  “Well fuck that too, Anicor, and your precious Arbiter. Thanks to that shit, everyone is stupid nowadays. It has occurred to me that the root of evil is delegating thought. Do you agree?”

  Robert saw himself in the mirror, trembling. Speaking against the Health and Education Boxes was against Good Civilian Law, and the Leukoforce just loved Reinforcing individuals who broke it.

  “How so?” asked the AI.

  “Because if people defer thought, they will learn what you want to teach them. You basically control their knowledge.” And with it what they think! thought Robert with a flash of fear.

  “That is a terrible thought, Robert. Are you a communist? I regret to say I might have to call the Leukoforce, even if you are The Actor and can rejoice in your social privileges,” said Anicor.

  “That won't be necessary. I was joking.” Robert saw himself in the mirror again. He was as pale as a corpse. His eyes gleamed with fear. He could see the small eyepiece on his left eye, not because it shined, but because the pupil was less reflective.

  “Joking about what?” said Markle. The young man stepped into Robert's dressing room with a plate presenting a corn-dog and a soft drink flavored with pop-corn and a foamy layer of corn-butter.

  “About nothing, Markle. That will be all. You can leave. Oh, and fetch one of my TopCorn protein bars.”

  “Of course.” Markle's expression was damp with unspoken tears. He had no explanation for his tutor’s sudden shift in mood. He had heard Robert debating with someone or something, and was sure his tutor had been arguing with his personal AI again. There was no way to teach Robert to leave the AI alone. To Markle, Robert seemed like a different person. In a matter of months, he had changed drastically. Markle’s own Anicor had said that Robert was steps away from being sent for Reinforcement.

  The Understudy analyzed his tutor as he ate. That gaze had something profound to it, a depth gained by some unspoken action. The few times Markle had seen a person’s eyes gain depth, they would expire quickly after. Eyes that showed depth was equal to death, in Markle’s mind. Robert had always been intelligent, but now he seemed to be hyper-aware of something…paranoid, as if a ghost were pursuing him in and out of his dreams.

  Markle sighed as he walked away to complete his tutor’s request. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to love him anymore, not after the long months of emotional abuse. And seeing Robert fall in a downward spiral made him want to avoid becoming like his tutor at all costs. Being happy was easy. You just had to live in the now…forever! Now! Now! Now!

 
The young, fat man placed the protein bar in Robert’s hand without his usual affection and warmth, his emotions tangible. “You've changed very much, dear. I don't think I can keep up with your pessimism. Was your tutor as horrible as you are with me when you were his Understudy? I don’t think so. Then why are you mean to me, Robert? You’ve changed so much…Anyway, will you need me tonight?” Markle turned around and propped up his bottom to be clear about what he was implying.

  “No thanks, Markle. I'll pass for today until further notice. And to answer your freaking question—no, my tutor loved me very much.” But things were different with him. He was kind of strange during his last days before being promoted and Unified, thought Robert. He had never truly questioned the final destination of his tutor after being promoted.

  “Is it a woman? A boy...a girl…an android? Please tell me, Robert. I’ve sacrificed everything to be with you and only you! And you know monogamy is frowned upon these days!” Markle wept openly.

  “By whatever gods! It's about me not wanting anything from anyone. No sex for me tonight, OK? It’s just that simple. What’s so difficult to understand about it?” yelled Robert.

  “It’s simply abnormal, dear. The norm is polygamy. It makes absolutely no sense to withdraw yourself from the sex pool when it’s so easy to get hooked up. You don’t even have to care about the other person, just concentrate on their….” Markle stopped mid-sentence. There was a glare in his tutor’s eyes that made him quiver like prey.

  “I don’t care about what you do with your genitalia, Markle. Now leave me be. I said no sex for me tonight. Damn you…”

  “Not even with yourself?” asked the Understudy.

  “Get out!!” Robert stood up, his rectangular, fat body shaking as he threatened to pursue Markle out of his house. But his plumpness would never permit him such dexterity, not with a worn out heart and lungs, baked for sixty years—a young man nowadays—in blood soaked with corn syrup.

  Markle darted out, infuriated. Robert studied the young man’s figure as he left, slamming the door shut behind him. He’s getting as fat as me, thought Robert as he sat down in front of his mirror.

  “I heard that discussion, Robert. Will you be OK?” asked the program.

  Robert jerked as the voice invaded his head. He was sick of not being able to be alone, not even when in the bathroom performing his biological needs.

  “Yes, Anicor. I'm sure I'll be perfectly fine. Now take me to a Health Box. Damn health taxation will take away my precious subsidies. Health taxation, Education taxation, Life taxation, Death taxation...what will be next? Breath taxation? Taking a shit taxation? For the life of maize, just let me be for a while. I feel so high strung, thanks to you analyzing my every movement day in and day out. Why the hell do your creators wish to measure my every action, even when I’m sleeping? Is it that crucial to them?”

  “Calm down, Robert. You do not want to make fun of your government. I’ll have to remind you I have a hotline linked directly to my superiors. I see everything you see and listen to everything you say. Now, now. Your self-imposed government has maintained the borders safely, and its citizens are healthy and well preserved. Otherwise you’d be as forsaken, lost, disheveled, and despaired as the Offgridders.”

  The super-intelligent AI paused, letting the words sink into Robert’s skin. When the user calmed down, the AI continued, “The nearest Health Box is the one you always use by Hollywood Boulevard.” A map sprung to life on Robert’s iTop, pinned with a red dot where the Health Box was.

  “You know I hate that one. Too many bums hiding from the Leukoforce. And why wouldn’t they? Who wants to be forced to either work or join the army? And don’t get me started with the Border Wars, because it’s absolute bullshit.”

  “Robert, in the words of our leaders, ‘he who doesn’t contribute to the workforce must join the army and earn his keep.’ I think it’s a reasonable rule. Thanks to that law, the unemployment rate is 0.01 percent.” Anicor tsked.

  “Such anger, Robert,” said the AI. “I’m positive the Health Box will detect your psychiatric issues and treat you accordingly. The nearest Health Box is in Beverly Skies.”

  “Ugh…and that site is full of those Hollywood snobs I hate. Damn bastards are always making fun of me, them and their emotional clothing. What they truly are is jealous, I tell you. Hollywood has become the whorehouse of cheap bastards who can yell and fuck, and that’s pretty much what they do. But me…The Actor…a true artist…” and a fucking slave, thought Robert.

  Hollywood had been summoned from the Old World as the entertainment hub; yet, like a living corpse, it came back with rotten limbs and a bludgeoned beauty. Its failure in keeping the superpower’s citizens pacified prompted high executives in UniCorn to create The Actor. Hollywood was in charge of creating the “fillers” that would entertain the Empire’s citizens with cheap shows and dramas.

  Robert donned his long, black dress, fitting his man boobs in a C cup bra. He powdered his face in a hurry. He then took his long fur coat from its hanger.

  “You dress up quite differently than the other people in Texalifornia,” said Anicor, “You don’t even wear emotional clothing, the new vibe. Artificial fur coats were popular in the twenty and twenty-first centuries—not so much now in the year 2296 where most animals are dead except for rats, cockroaches, Offgridder dogs, and vultures. Some other animal might have lived through WWIII, but nobody cares about animals anyway when humanity no longer needs them. And men did not wear makeup in the streets but in the movies and in ancient Greece and Rome. Are you nostalgic, Robert? I sense sadness. I bet you would have rather been born in the times of Ancient Rome. You’d make a great senator.”

  “Fuck off. There was a sense of pristine divinity in the past. Actors were true artists who worried about transmitting real emotion, not just random flares of anger, laughter, and of raging sexual scenes. An actor’s genitals seem to be all he needs these days to become great. I won’t even bother go into the details of how much I loathe those half-witted Hollywood half-stars,” said Robert as he got ready to leave.

  He put on his Roman sandals and then proceeded to powder his face. He saw himself in the mirror, noticing his fat bottom and prominent man boobs. He then covered his plumpness with his fur coat. Robert applied red lipstick, sending a kiss to his mirror image. Once he felt ready, he added the last detail: his beloved golden wig. He approved himself with a wink. Closing the door behind him, he stood in front of the beam elevator.

  “Order the beam elevator and a cab. And take me to that fucking Health Box on Beverly Skies.”

  “You’re so aggressive, Robert. You weren’t like this before, you know. I have videos of you and me sharing wonderful moments. Good Citizen Law congratulates those with good manners…OK. I have done what you asked. The cab is one minute away. I’m calling the beam elevator now.”

  III

  “Why is the line so long? Since when has a Health Box been so popular?” asked Robert.

  “What do you mean? Health Boxes have always been popular. The general public loves them,” said Anicor. Robert scoffed. He stepped out of the yellow, iridescent cab with a holographic car mount advertising the Border Wars. On his iTop display, a green checkmark appeared as the bill was automatically deducted from his bank account.

  “Thank you for using Cabbage, the citizen cab service for anyone and everyone who is a user. How to become a user? Simple. Just use your government issued OHP-I, or Anicor. Thank you, have a nice day.”

  The holographic advertisement over the cab displayed a cadet inside the cockpit of a Mechanized Warrior. The soldier controlling it was waging war, his face fierce. The words “Valiant Glory” were splashed in blood behind him. The Mechanized Warrior had a logo of UniCorn on one arm. In place of the standard mythological animal, though, was a skull. “Death to the Offgridders!”

  Robert gazed at the Skyway, his eyes darting beyond the caterpillar of hovering vehicles. Perpetual darkness caused by the thick clouds battled wi
th the constant brilliance of artificial light. It was impossible to tell time; humans depended on digital clocks to be aware of its passing. Old World civilizations used to venerate the sun in many ways, especially as a bringer of life. In the absence of the cosmos, humans had nothing left but the darkness of a destroyed world.

  The man behind the alias shivered as he saw Beverly Skies busy with citizens. A Virtual Park held a flock of twenty children playing video games while they slurped on corn-colas. An artificial mother was taking care of them, the android distinguishable by its mother-bear size.

  Robert was too weak to be exposed to the public. His inch-thick layer of makeup protected him, kept him safe. He knew his alias would be recognized in an instant; which was, of course, what he longed for—the validation of the crowd, to feel wanted, liked, and loved. Without this reward, he would feel empty, obliged to listen to the echoes of his empty soul.

  “56 percent of the population in Texalifornia wait until the last minute before presenting their bodies to a Health Box. This is why the queue is long today. Some citizens incur partial taxation due to overtime granted. Health Protocol indicates you must not exceed one week from the due date for scheduled yearly health maintenance. Did you know Education Boxes have less of this issue since that system began employing 5-D video games promoting the educational point? Education Protocol indicates every human must attend learning maintenance at least once a year for at least twenty minutes. My records state that your next education maintenance appointment is in three months,” said the AI.

  “Fucking Boxes,” grumbled Robert. The man behind the makeup slipped into his alias, quickly becoming The Actor.

  Yulius looked around him like the mother of all apes, his chest inflated, standing tall. He studied the crowd in line waiting for their turn to enter the Health Box. The line shone in a trance of grey lights as the emotional cloth shone people’s “emotional standard.”