Pierre shrugged. “I think Audric makes a lot more people happy than other methods. Brighton is a thriving success. Even Toll says so. I can still appreciate beauty.”
“Let’s talk about your brain scans. Beauty was the subject of one chapter.”
Pierre took a deep breath.
“With the threat of imminent death we got your primary metaphor. You’re a long
distance runner on a racetrack, pushing hard against some obstacle. I’d like to talk about what you think the finish line is.”
“Freedom … respect … success.”
“Are you scared?”
Pierre swallowed. “Not really.”
There was a long pause. Then Kalpana raised her eyebrows.
“Okay.”
“But if you have happiness, you must not want anything.”
Pierre sighed. “Audric says joy still exists. Wouldn’t mind a piece of that.”
“Joy generally comes from our relationship with others. Can you claim that you’re deserving of that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“How much do you help others? Your scans indicate you want freedom from
judgment. Very self-interested. Whom do you feel judges you?”
“Audric. The kids who think I tried to kill myself.” He paused. “My parents.” He looked out the window at the maple trees, noticing the scenery had changed in the past ten minutes.
“So why do you have a 40/40?”
“Don’t have anything better to do I guess.” He sat there nodding for a few moments.
“No. That’s not true. You sincerely believe in Audric. Don’t you. What happens if Audric doesn’t want you to be the ‘model of success’ you are?’ What happens if Audric has a different set of plans than you do?”
Pierre swallowed, then looked out the window.
“You know who Caleb Price is? He’s the new Head of Security for Audric in Brighton. Not a very nice fellow as it turns out. Not a guy you want to meet. Not a guy who’s going to care about how Audric Compliant you are.”
“God,” Pierre felt his eyes tear up. He put his fingers on the inner corners of them.
“What do you think I should do?”
Kalpana lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “Become a Gambler.”
They sat in silence for a short while, Pierre not breaking his stare. “Not a chance.”
“I’ve thought about being a Gambler in my life plenty of times. It’s a fine life. They have everything we have.”
“They have no guide, no order. They are lost.”
“Some argue that we have nothing but Genesis Smith. That we have no edict worth the belief in God. No afterlife plan. That we are lost jewels.” Kalpana wrote something down in her notebook. “There’s something I want to ask you about. But …” She paused. “Maybe another time. That’s all for today.”
Pierre stared at her for a short while, then stood up, and walked out. Become a Gambler. Was she serious? And what was that that she wanted to ask him about? That was a power trip if he had ever heard one. But he realized it wasn’t her fault that he was in this predicament. As he stood in the foyer, typed his code in the pad adjacent to the door, and waited for the door to come into alignment with the next room and open, he took a breath and realized he didn’t have a good reason to be angry with Kalpana.
He had a good reason to be angry with Audric.
He lay on his bunk and opened the book Kalpana had given him. He looked at the table of contents. There were fifteen sections. They were entitled: Death, Sex, Fun, Violence, Change, Growth, Nature, Beauty, Family, Career, Money, Recreation, Health, Spirituality, and Pain.
The book was dark blue and Pierre’s name was written in white letters on the cover. Pierre hoped that the book would shed some light on what had happened on the thirteenth floor. Cloud and Edmond had thought that a good reason to check him into the Sanitarium as well. However, now, his thoughts were with Dot Hawkings. He flipped to the chapter entitled: Beauty, and read.
In terms of beauty, the subject feels adoration for clear oceans, the smell of barbecue, Little Amore shaving gel, the radio in his Sun Pod, his friend Chester’s smile, and the theme from Star Wars. His fondest memory from childhood is his tenth birthday party in which his Uncle Gilroy brought some ribs and barbecued them. His parents Cloud and Edmond hired a clown and Pierre felt genuine happiness. It appears this happiness was not supplied by his acceptor.
Most of the percepts related to the sexual fantasies have to do with Dot Hawkings. But there are a number of famous actresses and models in these fantasies as well. In terms of attire, it seemed Dot dressed entirely in white in these. But further analysis must be conducted in the form of therapy to ascertain where the fear is derived from. The subject shows more fear in this area than is generally believed to be healthy and it is strange that its source is unknown.
Pierre closed the book and put it aside wondering if the “fear” was what Kalpana had decided against asking him about. Above him, the ceiling displayed a night sky. Like a movie theater screen it projected relaxing images. A shooting star flew by and Pierre watched it go, letting out a sigh. It seemed Dot Hawkings was the most prominent link between what he did and didn’t know. He needed to find her.
He spent the next hour walking around the complex looking for her. Each room had a window on its door, so Pierre was able to rule out the possibility that Dot was rooming at the Sanitarium like he was. Pierre didn’t know how to find her so he decided he’d ask Kalpana about it the next day. He spent the rest of the day trying to ascertain how he felt, how he should treat her, and what was most important about her to him.
Before session, he skimmed more of the book and closely read the chapter on family. The analyst had elucidated something he’d always known but had never put into words.
The data indicates that the most recent anger inducing stressor is the subject’s mother for believing he tried to kill himself, but this is not the first instance. He is also angry at her for her passive role in explaining how important shocks are to build character. Under a week ago, was the first time she commented on the benefit the shocks had on her own life. He is aware of the correlation.
The next day, Pierre walked into the waiting room nervous about speaking with Kalpana. Dot was sitting there reading Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher. Her left hand was playing with a flap on her pants, flicking it back and forth. When he saw her she didn’t look up. Her hair was in a ponytail, the strands that used to be around her face were pulled back. Then she looked up at him and smiled.
Pierre had prepared for this moment, having decided that he wanted to know whether or not she was a Gambler, and how she knew the Gamblers hated him. Then, if things went well between them, he would be more than happy to take the next step. If she was a Gambler she was most likely focused on the twentieth century as most of them were. Pierre thought of a way to break the ice and gage her reaction.
“You’re not supposed to wear white after Labor Day,” he said, sitting down next to her.
She was aware of the American twentieth century reference. “Nice of you to notice,” she said, smiling slightly.
He extended a hand for her to shake. “Pierre Morena. Trauma Dyslexia or something. Inpatient.”
She shook his hand. “Dot Hawkings. Hyperlexia. Or something. Outpatient.” Pierre had heard of Hyperlexia. His friend Gordy, the computer punk, had it. It meant one could read words before being trained to do so. Dot didn’t strike him as the type. She was only above average intelligence, Pierre thought.
“Liar.” He smiled, watching her reaction. “Are we both lying?”
Dot leaned in and whispered, “Always.”
“Are you a Gambler?”
“I’m an Agnostic,” she said, closing the book. “I believe it’s not possible for anyone to
know.”
Pierre nodded. “All right
. I guess. So how’d you get here? If you’re not rooming in the complex.”
“I’m outpatient. I’m so not rooming in the complex,” she put the book aside.
Pierre thought for a moment about how beautiful she was. “So how’d you get here?”
“Kalpana gave me this.” She held up a card that he assumed was used to open an exit he didn’t know about.
“I can tell you don’t believe in Genesis Smith,” Pierre said, still wondering if she was a
Gambler.
“How do you know that?”
“You have independence. You didn’t flinch when that guy blew his arm off.”
“Comes from upbringing, I guess.”
Pierre looked down at the flap on her pants she was fidgeting with. “Just sort of stays
that way, huh?”
Dot stared at him for a few moments. “You’re sort of a ‘if it’s not broken don’t make it better’ kind of guy, huh?”
“I try to make everything better in Entrepreneurial Etiquette.”
“Yeah. I read about you. No shocks. Maybe you’re a Gambler. And you don’t even
know it.”
“Maybe you don’t have Hyperlexia. Attention Deficit maybe. But that’s different.”
“Do you care?”
Pierre shrugged.
“Not too worried about anyone else, huh?”
“Not my job.”
“From the looks of things, you don’t have any job.”
Pierre realized she was saying he was self-interested, like Kalpana had. “We seem to be crossing paths a lot. Maybe it’s meant to be,” Pierre said, again watching her reaction. “Or maybe you’re stalking me.”
“Do you mind?”
The door opened and Kalpana stood there. “Pierre. I see you’ve met Dot.”
“The lady’s waiting,” Dot said.
“This is more important. Just give me a second,” he said to Kalpana, then turned back to Dot. “So were the people at Christmas Bells Lane Gamblers? Pretty lame plan. It was only a matter of time before I’d figure out that they weren’t with Edgar Toll.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dot said, but Pierre thought it had the emphasis of a lie. “I got you a present.”
She handed him a bottle of Grease, the same black monolith that Henry Alexander had spoken about. He looked at it briefly. The tag line, “Live like Travolta in the Nineteen Seventies” was not an appealing proposition.
“I’m not going to be a mascot,” Pierre said.
“I’m not asking you to be.”
“What am I supposed to do with it?” Pierre asked.
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Pierre,” Kalpana said.
Pierre ignored Kalpana, saying to Dot, “When will I see you again?”
“Are we dating already?”
“If it’s all right with you.”
She looked at the Grease, then back up at him. “You’ll figure it out. Have a good
session. You need it.”
Pierre took a deep breath and stood up. Kalpana closed the door behind him and Pierre felt a sinking feeling, knowing that he didn’t get the answers he wanted. He waited for a boost from his acceptor. He had never had a boost before because he had never had any shocks – his depression was never severe enough. But he expected a boost now. What gives? Was he getting billed? He looked at the painting behind Kalpana’s maroon leather chair. “Faces like lost jewels.”
He sat down and placed the Grease on the table next to him. He turned it around and looked for a list of ingredients. There wasn’t one. This meant that it was most likely being independently manufactured probably by Gamblers. But Henry Alexander had told him it was manufactured by Little Amore. What was Dot saying? That she didn’t like the way he groomed his hair? Kalpana was staring at the bottle of Grease. Then she sat and seemed to stop herself from saying anything about it.
“How have you been?”
“Been better.”
“Very pretty girl.”
Pierre nodded. “Yeah. I noticed.”
“You want to talk about that?”
He shook his head. “Is she a Gambler?”
“I can’t disclose information like that. There’s a lingering emotion in your eyes. Did she
upset you?”
Pierre shook his head. “Ever since I went to the Athenaeum things are going downhill. It seems like for everyone.”
“You might be right. If you had read that whole article on the GSKT you’d know they are billing the entire junior class from last year.” “Billing” meant that they were giving them less serotonin. “Everyone who scored poorly last year on the GSKT is getting billed.”
“I gotta fix things somehow. Fix things for everyone.”
“Trying to make things the way they used to be is the most common problem I encounter as a therapist. Things are changing and they won’t go back to the way they were. The only acceptable option is to make the future different, but better. Simple fact is that Audric is changing its face.”
“Because Caleb Price?”
“It’s not just that. Becoming a Gambler is becoming more popular. At least twenty-five percent of our society is now Gamblers. In the beginning it was around three. It’s increasing exponentially and Audric is trying to hold onto their compliant. That means some bullying, and increasing incentive. Little Amore bought the coffee shop you met Dot in, right? The big three are buying Gamblers establishments, trying to starve them out so to speak. Fewer Gamblers establishments, less that can be bought with Gamblers money, means less people will want to be Gamblers.”
“What are the Gamblers going to do?”
“No one knows. The Gamblers run things very secretly. We know they have leaders, but
they don’t make information like that public. Genesis Smith took strides to keep their confidentiality from being breached. But it looks like Audric is circumventing that now.”
“How?”
“The Gamblers can always claim that it’s treason to pry into their affairs. But some people in Audric don’t care anymore. This means there are double agents – some who work for Audric secretly and vice versa. Not unlike the intelligence community in the rest of the world.”
“You think I’m mixed up in this somehow?”
“Yes. They’re not going to kill you because they think you tried to kill yourself. Yes,
people are angry. Suicide is not okay. But there must be another reason.”
“Audric is changing their image,” Pierre said intrigued. “You think I’m part of that?”
“Some people your age are. Audric is instituting a program called Karma where they select those who are failing in the Audric system and stop giving them serotonin boosts, then they track their progress. They are required to wear an Indian motif of interconnected shapes and knots symbolizing the link between all lives. Karma is a constant reminder and incentive to those who aren’t living up to Audric’s promise. One of my patients wears one of the motifs.”
“How do you think I fit in?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Truth is, I don’t know. Does the name Elijah Harbinger
mean anything to you?”
Pierre nodded. “Sure. He’s the televangelist. The guy on TV who pretends he knows everything. That he’s psychic or whatever. Believes in Jesus. He wears an earwig.”
“He’s very popular among the Gamblers. But he travels the world doing jobs that require his talents for a hefty fee.”
“You think I’m involved with him somehow?”
“Maybe. It’s been argued by many that he doesn’t actually wear an earwig.”
Pierre chuckled. “I don’t buy that.”
“Something you might want to look into nonetheless. Your situation extends into the
realm of the unknown deeper than anyone I’ve encountered. The only person I know wh
o comes close is Elijah Harbinger. You read the book I take it?”
“I skimmed some of it. But yeah.”
“What was most salient? What do you want to talk about? Your relationship with your Mother?”
They talked for the rest of the session about Pierre’s relationship with his mother, but Pierre was distracted by thoughts of Dot, and Audric changing its face. When he went for lunch, he took a salad from the sustenance bot, and surveyed the other people’s faces, and attire, looking for the Karma motif Kalpana had mentioned. That was when he saw it.
The boy had a slack face, and tears in his eyes. The Karma motif was pinned to his chest. He was staring at his meal, a bowl of clam chowder, and didn’t see Pierre’s shocked face. Pierre was thinking that priceless smile his buddy had always had had been robbed.
The boy was Chester.
The cafeteria was four stories underground and had four entrances each situated in front of an elevator and a staircase. As Pierre walked towards Chester, he turned to see if anyone was behind him, trying to give Chester some time to compose himself. There were about fifty people seated in the cafeteria. Chester saw Pierre and wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve. His hair was brushed forward, and it came down past his ears on both sides. Pierre thought maybe he just needed a haircut, but swallowed nervously before sitting down with him, as he realized that was unlikely, and not funny.
“Hey bud,” Pierre said, solemnly.
Chester managed a fake smile. “Hey Pierre. I thought you were at Roudeville.”
Roudeville was a county in the south of Brighton which had a Sanitarium not unlike this one. “No. They brought me here instead. Karma, huh?” He pointed at the motif on Chester’s hooded sweatshirt. “I heard about it.”
Chester looked around. “There’s one hundred of us. Nine are here.” Pierre followed Chester’s pointing to the other Karma subjects who were wearing the same Indian motif. “We’re not allowed to sit together or talk to one another. They’re worried about a rebellion. Not like we have much to live for.” Chester looked around the room at the other Karma subjects. “There’s more coming.”
“How long has it been since your last boost?” Pierre took a bite of his salad.