Chapter 17 – The Order
Vincent and Jessica said nothing back. Vincent was transfixed by the sightless craters in the man’s head. They were charred and black on the insides, never ending.
Goodwin took a step forward. He ran his long fingers across the tunnel wall next to him for support. “You are finished,” he said, “yes?”
Vincent nodded. Then, feeling foolish, spoke aloud. “Yes, sir.”
Goodwin grinned. “Very good,” he said. “Leave the prints here. You will come with me.”
It wasn’t a request, not even a command. It was a fact, unalterable, irresistible.
Vincent plucked the prints from his Lenses and inserted them back into the disc. Jessica did the same. By the time they stood from the mat, Goodwin had already disappeared through the curtain. They followed through after him, having to glance in either direction before seeing him, on the left, continuing to trace the wall down the tunnel.
“You would do well to thank Johnathon,” said Goodwin when he heard them approaching. “His actions led you here.”
Vincent looked around them. Here was still an indefinite word in his mind. This tunnel was as nondescript as the last: dark but for the yellow bulbs above, and damp with a scent that could never quite be erased.
“You mean with the eye prints?” asked Jessica. She was talking to Goodwin.
“Yes,” said Goodwin. “It took him years to become a Newsight employee, but the reward was well worth it. With his knowledge, every convert we made could have their prints removed. They became ghosts to Newsight, unidentifiable. And their identities could be recycled.”
“So what about Ben and Lena Carlson,” said Vincent. His voice sounded exceptionally small when preceded by the powerful, deep voice of Goodwin. “Are they members of the Order?”
“They were,” said Goodwin. Vincent waited for him to explain, but he changed the subject instead. “There are certain items in THE SIMULATION that were not covered,” he continued. “We manufactured the hard sims over a decade ago. Since then, much has happened.”
Neither Vincent nor Jessica dared to speak. Goodwin had paused, but the echo of his voice seemed to linger longer than usual. Any words spoken on top of it would have been an interruption.
“You spent time in Hux,” continued Goodwin. “Much of the information in THE SIMULATION regarding the cities, hopefully, was redundant. You have experienced the halos and threats of attacks and newsim firsthand. The existence of those things, as well as their purposes, are apparent.”
Goodwin paused. The echo of his voice hung over them once again, following them as they walked.
“What has become clear to us only in the years since the production of THE SIMULATION, however,” he continued, “is the mechanism by which these factors of control have grown so effective. In our earliest days, we anticipated that even the majority would pose some form of resistance to the sprawling power of Newsight. We were disappointed by the measure of resistance there grew to be, but this shortcoming was not entirely unexpected. We were not truly shocked until what little of this resistance remained was converted into unquestioning compliance.”
Goodwin let the last words reverberate off the stone walls of the tunnel. He seemed to need to catch his breath every few sentences.
“Hatred of the Order grew to an unprecedented magnitude,” he continued. “Love of Newsight grew by the same amount. The morning simulations in the schools and in the working sector were having a devastating impact. Even our own recruits, those still in the cities, began to defect.”
Goodwin’s fingers ran off the end of the tunnel wall – they had come to an intersection. Goodwin stopped in the center, breathed in deeply through his nose, then continued forward. He found the wall of the next tunnel without seam.
“Newsim became irresistible,” he continued. “Adults began spending more and more of their time in the recreation ring, and children in their dormitories. The children are hardly ever alone. Even the very young.” His wrinkled lips curled into a disgusted scowl. “It all coincided, I determined, with the founding of Newsight’s newest sub-department: maintenance. For years, they offered no maintenance because Lenses required none. But a few models ago, the upkeep suddenly jumped. Newsight claimed that, from then on, Lenses would require weekly maintenance. Terrified of losing access to their simulations, the people complied. But the Lenses themselves needed no attending; they were made to be resilient. The ‘maintenance’ that occurs has to do with the injections. You have heard of injections, yes?”
Vincent waited for the echo to soften before he spoke. “We know of them,” he said. Goodwin turned to him, his eyeless sockets pointed directly at Vincent. Vincent looked away.
“Then you are familiar with Newsight’s medicinal capabilities,” said Goodwin. “Until recently, we believed these capabilities to be inconsequential. But after maintenance was introduced, we had other suspicions.”
They came to another fork. Goodwin turned into the left path without breaking stride.
“Johnathon tells me you found him in the Newsight headquarters in Hux,” continued Goodwin. “Is that correct.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jessica.
“During your tour,” said Goodwin, “you will have learned of a department in Newsight called ‘Research’. I think I am safe in assuming the purpose of this department was not explained to you.” He waited a beat for them to correct him. They stayed silent. “Its true function is almost entirely data management, merely a warehouse for Newsight’s computers that comb through the data they take in. But a portion of the department is dedicated to actual research. In this portion lies the true nature of maintenance. Here, Newsight develops, tests, and produces various chemicals that are administered directly to the brain. Some are designed to trigger fear, others anger or happiness, others lust. They come in minute doses, as serums, but in such direct administration, the quantity is not important. These drugs are cerebral puppet strings. Release one, so moves the arm. Release another, so moves the leg.”
Goodwin paused here for a breath. The topic, as well as the words themselves, seemed to be taking a toll on him.
“Before she could learn anything else,” Goodwin started again, “our informant was ‘taken away’. That is what they call it.” He paused again, gnashing his teeth. “But the rest is unfortunately clear,” he continued. “These serums are being injected into the Lenses during maintenance. The newest models have the capability to release the serums whenever Newsight deems fit. During the morning simulation against the Order, a drop of adrenaline; during a newsim, a drop of dopamine; during a Friday afternoon in an adolescent, a mix of aphrodisiacs. In the birthschool, these drops are even more abundant. It is easy to see how dramatically Newsight’s control can be amplified.”
Vincent thought back to that previous afternoon in the school, to his conversation with Annie. The feeling had hit him almost instantly: the warmth in his face, the restlessness in his legs. So too had the satisfaction with the newsims. Part of it had been real, the bulk of it, even, but the remaining portion had been manufactured in the bottom 180 floors of the Newsight headquarters.
“That is the first development,” said Goodwin, “and a large reason we decided to mobilize as we have. The second development is somewhat of a formality, but it is an important one. The Senate has repealed all litigations that previously bound Newsight. Data management and transparency, trust and monopoly prevention, every last restriction has been lifted to aid Newsight’s pursuit of what the public imagines to be the Order. The individual municipalities have been tending in this direction for years, but a mandate by the Senate has solidified the trajectory. The beast that is Newsight has been freed from its cage.”
The tunnel was beginning to tilt downward. They were entering the bowels of the place. At the end of the hall, Vincent thought he could make out a door.
“The Senate was given the new model before everyone else,” said Vincent. “Newsight must have needed the maintenance to make su
re the Senators would comply.”
Goodwin nodded his head. “I think so as well. The Senators were powerless against the combination of the serums and the attack. Even the noblest of them.” He turned his sightless gaze on Vincent once again. Vincent didn’t look away this time. “I was sorry to hear of your parents,” he said, then turned to Jessica. “Your father, I think, remains well. As well as one can be when in the grip of Newsight.”
“When can we rescue him?” asked Jessica. “We can take your transports. The ones they can’t see.”
“In time,” said Goodwin. “It is in the blueprint of our plan. All will be revealed shortly.”
They had come to the end of the tunnel. A thick, wooden door blocked their path.
“I will inform the whole Order of our course of action,” said Goodwin. “In our congregation. Until then, you will have to excuse me. Johnathon will see you are tended to.”
With a final dip of his head, Goodwin spun the knob of the door with the grip of his long, slender, fingers, and he passed through it. The sound of the door closing behind him seemed to carry the same weight his voice had, leaving an echo in its wake. It may have filled the tunnel for several seconds longer, had the door not swung open once again.
“What do you think?”
It was John. He had stepped out into the tunnel to meet them.
“How do you feel?” he asked them.
Vincent wasn’t sure how to answer the question. “Real,” he said. “But that doesn’t make sense.”
John smiled. “It makes all the sense in the world. It’s why I’ve risked everything for the Order. It makes all the time I spent blending into Newsight, and nearly losing myself in the process, worth it. The raid at the residences, the prints I sent to you, it’s all been worth it.”
“So you did send us the prints,” said Vincent.
John nodded. “Through Kendra,” he said. “I knew you were–”
“Wait,” said Jessica. “Kendra. We were supposed to give you a message from her.”
John turned to her, brow raised. “What is it?”
“She…” Jessica hesitated, unsure for some reason – she seemed worried. “She said to come back for them.”
John’s eyes grew wide. “To the Hole?” Jessica nodded. “And Jack and Abigail,” said John, “they’re there as well?” Jessica nodded again.
John hesitated for a moment, his gaze cast downward into the shallow puddle at their feet, then turned away. He started down the tunnel in the opposite direction.
“What are you doing?” said Vincent, following.
“Going to the Hole,” said John. “Kendra wouldn’t say something like that if they didn’t need help.”
“But isn’t Goodwin speaking soon?” said Jessica.
“I’ll be back in time.”
“Well can we come with you?” asked Vincent.
“Newsight will be monitoring the area,” said John. “They always do after an attack, to look for stragglers. You should stay here.”
“But you haven’t been there in years,” said Jessica. “Will you know where to go?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Under Newsight surveillance?”
Vincent had to dodge to the side to avoid a collision – John had stopped in the middle of the tunnel. He had turned around, fixing them both with a stern, parental kind of glare. “I suppose you don’t plan on jogging my memory,” he said.
Vincent took a step back so they were level again. “Not from here,” he said.
John turned to Jessica – she merely shrugged. Sighing, he cast a glance back the way they had come. He hesitated like that for a second, then, without another word, he took off once again down the tunnel. Vincent and Jessica followed close behind.