Pierre took one last look at Dot. “Sure.”
Rio dropped her robe on the floor as she walked away. She had a beautiful body, Pierre realized. To say nothing of her face, which Pierre had already noticed was stunning. As he walked into the bedroom he saw she had a mirror above her bed and the breathtaking odor of lilies wafted into his senses. He saw her sitting on the bed, a leather book in her hands, and a question Pierre wasn’t sure he wanted to answer.
“What’s your name, love?”
“Pierre?”
“Full name.” She opened the book. “I make note of everyone I encounter. Audric
demands it in a report yearly.”
Pierre walked over to the bed and sat down. “What’s your full name?”
“Rio Lacatena. You?”
“Pierre Morena.” He watched her reaction, wondering if she had read the article. She looked confused. “I take it you read about me,” he said.
“No. I’ve met you. What is this, a joke?” She turned to him, eyebrows raised.
“I’m certain I don’t know what you mean,” Pierre said.
“Pierre Morena. I met you a week ago. Audric doesn’t allow duplicate names for anyone in our society.”
His smiled dropped. “Yeah. There isn’t more than one of me. I’m Pierre Morena. The
one and only.”
“Then why did he have a funds card?”
“Maybe he lied. Scanned his funds card and told you a fake name. I’m famous in Brighton now. I fell thirteen stories and lived.”
“No. He told me he fell thirteen stories and lived. He wanted some female
companionship after the trauma of the fall. He’s famous in Brighton for the fall.”
“I’m Pierre Morena. They call me Pure Pierre because I had no shocks. I can prove it. There was an article about me in The London Times.”
“The London Times article was about him.”
“You’re telling me that there’s two Pierre Morena’s in Brighton. That the authorities are confusing the two of us. And that it’s a big mix-up.” Somehow, Pierre knew it was true. He could remember what Gordy said about another Pierre Morena in Santa Clara, Cuba. Did he make the trip to Brighton? Rio said she met him a week ago. Gordy had said Brian talked to him on the phone a few days ago.
“What did he look like?” Pierre asked.
“He was in his early twenties. He had brown hair, green eyes. A wide face.
Circumcised.”
“Didn’t look like me then,” Pierre said. “Audric frowns upon circumcision. Thinks it’s unnecessary. Genesis Smith said so. Maybe he was from Santa Clara. I heard there’s another Pierre Morena there. It’s Audric’s sister site. Maybe he saw the article and thought it was a good story.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you saw the article and wanted to confuse me.”
“Believe me. I’m just as confused as you are.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I get that. So what’s it gonna be, Mr. Morena? You still feeling
like a shy guy? I make everyone feel brave.” She began massaging his shoulders.
Pierre leaned in and kissed her. He purged some of the loneliness he felt. Instead of things becoming clearer, they were becoming more uncertain. He dove into Rio with abandon as if she held the answers. They made love passionately and for that time, he felt despite the obstacles, he could hold onto the feeling that everything was going to be all right.
As he left, he scanned his funds card again and typed in a rating for Rio. The rating was based on friendliness, ease of communication, and all other aspects regarded as important to the act itself. Rio was right. She made everyone feel brave.
Rio was a ten.
The General and Specialized Knowledge Test covered information the Audric Compliant learned in school. They had learned the information needed for general daily life and the specialized part in Pierre’s case was in regards to what he had learned in Entrepreneurial Etiquette. The Holocaust, the artists of the Louvre, and Presidents of the United States were esoteric subjects they would not be tested on. Many parents made sure they acquired this information, however, and students often visited a library to learn.
The bewilderment Pierre was experiencing was a result of the fact it seemed he had acquired information without ever having learned it. It had to be triggered like when Gordy had asked him questions and prompted him. If the General and Specialized Knowledge Test was anything like that, he knew he would be able to ace it. He’d never heard of anyone in the history of Audric acing the GSKT.
The upshot of his date with Rio was that he could now call his parents. He was hesitant to. The issue of a second Pierre Morena from Santa Clara, Cuba was weighing heavily on him. As he walked back to the treehouse, it occurred to him that he’d seen “Santa Clara” written on an envelope in Edmond’s office when he was a young teen. At the time, he’d thought nothing of it. Now, it seemed like the most important fact in the world.
When he got back to the treehouse he checked the BIP again and found no information
about him. The silence was deafening. To him, it meant he was being stalked, decided upon, like a mouse caught in a cage without ever having gotten a taste of cheese. Execution was definite, and only a matter of time. It was this thought that he settled with when he called his parents. He selected the phone option on the tablet, then he typed in their number, and breathed out a sigh.
He heard the ringing sound. One ring, two rings, three rings. Then he heard a sound like someone picked up. But it wasn’t Cloud or Edmond. It was a recording.
“Cloud and Edmond Morena are not accepting calls from this number. Thank you. Good bye.”
Pierre was frozen in contemplation. He stood there with no idea how or why his own parents had abandoned him. Did they too think he was a murderer? Had they spoken to Gordy recently and blocked him? It didn’t make sense. He felt his body couldn’t move. He realized there was no turning back. He summoned the will to sit on the bed and realized he couldn’t sink any further. As tears came to his eyes, he turned on Gamblers TV.
Most of the Audric Compliant knew about Gamblers TV even though it was not public information. Pierre pressed Alt 13 on the tablet and sat on the bed as the tablet displayed an auditorium full of Gamblers. Elijah Harbinger was speaking to them. He wore a white T-shirt and blue jeans. He had grey hair which was combed up in front.
“’The intuitive mind is a sacred gift,’” Harbinger said, “’and the rational mind a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.’ Albert Einstein told us that. Words never more true than they are today. You can harness this gift – make it yours. Until when you walk into a facility you can know immediately who will defect and who won’t.
“The Audric Compliant spend their lives at a party. We watch the Audric Compliant wondering when we will be invited to the party. And we never are. But our hats are made of cotton, as soft and comfortable as can be. We hate our work hat and our party hat. We hope to wear the party at work hat. Their hats are made of polyester. Their hats fall apart and scratch their skulls. They wear only the party hat.”
There was a knock on the door. Was it Gordy? Pierre took a breath, trying to summon the effort to be decent. He turned the tablet off, opened the door, hearing the latch surrender. He felt surprised and relieved when he saw it was Max Thurgood. Max was wearing a dark blue sweatshirt, and a black leather jacket haphazardly thrown over it. He had bushy black eyebrows, and slicked back hair. Max was in Cadet Training with the Audric Earnings Authority. Pierre put his hands on Max’s shoulders and shook him.
“Buddy. Just the guy I want to see,” Pierre said, pulling Max into the treehouse.
“I’m not supposed to be here. I could get in a lot of trouble. We’re gonna go take the
General and Specialized Knowledge Test.” Max held his nose. “Time for shower, Pierre.”
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“I took one an hour ago.”
Max smelled his hair. “It’s your hair.”
“I can’t wash it off. It’s RF shielding. So they can’t track me.”
“They’re not gonna kill you,” Max sat on the chair and Pierre sat on the bed. “You know how I’m in Cadet Training. Well my instructor, Lloyd, heard some things.” Max put his tongue in his cheek. “I don’t know why. But they aren’t even talking about removing your acceptor. Lloyd said Genesis Smith is taking a stand. They don’t want you shot and they aren’t going to use the media. They found Kalpana dead in her office. Hendrick called the Earnings Authority and told them it was you that shot her with Ethan Chadwick’s gun. They want you apprehended and then Genesis Smith wants to call a tribunal. Lloyd said he won’t tell anyone that he talked to me.”
“How’s Chester?”
“He’s gone. No one knows where he is.”
“I didn’t kill her. It was Caleb Price.”
“I know. I talked to Gordy. But the Earnings Authority thinks you’re a suicide case and
a murderer.”
“They have video footage of Caleb shooting her.”
“No one will see it. Obviously Hendrick is planning on lying. You can’t turn yourself in. Unless you can get on a soap box and tell people what you know.”
Pierre put his shoulders back. He looked Max in the eye. “I’m gonna ace the GSKT.”
Max stood up. “Well, that makes one of us. Come on. Let’s go.”
They took Max’s Sun Pod to Roudeville where the GSKT was being given. Like the STD testing site, sign up and testing was all done by robots. The test was given on an electronic tablet. It was two hundred multiple choice questions and Pierre was told by a recording in his testing closet that he had two and a half hours. Pierre was beginning to feel the life return to his body, the shock draining from his face, and he channeled it all into motivation. He was going to get a perfect score.
A public water system is defined as any system that serves at least 25 people per day for at least 60 days each year or that serves at least (blank) service connections.
Pierre thought for a moment and realized he knew the answer: 15. It was option B. He selected it.
It went along like this. One question after another he realized he knew the answer.
To be comprehensively knowledgeable in the realm of technological innovation one must study for (blank).
7 – 10 years.
C. He selected it.
The result of one’s brain scan is a book between 100 and (blank) pages thick.
This time it was different. He didn’t think of the answer. He thought of the letter A. He almost selected it, but thought better of it. Something was wrong. He was thinking of something else, some other time he’d seen that letter. He put his indicator down and tried to quell his nerves. He’d seen the numbers and letters on the comp boards a few weeks ago. There had been a list of numbers and letters. His razor sharp knowledge was being dulled by that memory.
If he wanted an article in The London Times he needed a perfect score. He could already see the headline. Brighton would be stunned. No longer a suicide case, and if push came to shove, no longer just a murderer.
Genesis Smith gave a rating of (blank) to buying toilet paper.
The answer was seventy-five. He selected it.
There are approximately (blank) potential careers in Brighton.
Two hundred.
Medical personnel and untrained bystanders should begin CPR with (blank).
Chest compressions.
Automation accounts for (blank) percent of the potential work force in our society.
Fifty percent.
He realized he could differentiate between the knowledge of the answers and the letters that had been on the comp board. When he felt the despair that had become familiar he thought of Rio rubbing his shoulders and telling him she’d make him feel brave.
He hit completed, and it was done. Leaving the closet, he walked towards the foyer where his score would be displayed on the screen. The names were listed in alphabetical order. He scrolled down. His name was in green, five stars next to it. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Max was behind him.
“I got in the ninetieth percentile,” Max said. “You?”
Pierre looked back at his score. He’d gotten a perfect score. “Nailed it,” Pierre said. “You want to call The London Times or should I?”
Max smiled. “Be happy to.”
Pierre had surrendered his cellphone before entering the Sanitarium, but if The London
Times wanted an interview with him, they’d get one. That was the best way for Pierre to get his freedom. His thoughts were with his immediate future, however, as he and Max walked down the street. He couldn’t go back to the treehouse. If his parents knew he was staying there soon enough everyone would. Max gave him a cell-phone and Pierre and he parted ways.
Pierre reached into his pocket thinking he’d use his funds card to get a meal, but instead he pulled out the card from Henry Alexander. He stared at the card as he made his way through downtown Brighton. Sun Pods coasted by on tracks moving so fast they were barely visible. The sun bathed him in light and warmth. If he’d learned anything from being Pure Pierre it was that he didn’t shy away from a challenge. He decided to call Henry Alexander. He typed in the numbers.
“Hello?”
Pierre recognized his voice. But he asked anyway. “Who’s this?”
“This is Henry Alexander.”
“No. I mean who is this? This is Pierre Morena.”
“Pierre Morena.” Pierre could sense a smile in his words. “I’m aligned with the
Gamblers, Pierre. You’re calling the wrong guy if you want answers.”
“I just aced the GSKT. I want to know where the answers are coming from.”
“Why don’t you go into the bar down the street. Grody’s. I’ll call you back.”
“How do you know where I am?”
“You didn’t think we’d forget to put a GPS tracker in the bottle of Grease, do you?”
He knew Henry was staring at Pierre’s location on his phone. Pierre took the Grease out of his pocket and tried to open it.
“It doesn’t open after the manufacturing process is finished. If you want I can have the Audric Earnings Authority pick you up in a few minutes.”
“What do you want from me?”
“You’ve already given us what we want. Go to Grody’s. I’ll call you back in two
minutes.”
The line went dead. Pierre broke into a trot and took a sharp turn making sure to avoid the Sun Pods. Every once in a while in Brighton someone died by absentmindedly colliding with a Sun Pod. It was also the most popular method of suicide.
Grody’s was a 21st century retro bar made of wood. It had sawdust on the floor, purple lamps, and beer that was brewed in house. Only four people were located at the bar and two families were seated at tables. Each table had a three foot tablet suspended in mid-air. Pierre’s cell-phone rang. He saw it was Henry and picked up.
“What now?”
“Go seat yourself at a table and turn on the tablet. Go to Gamblers TV. You know how to do that?”
“Alt 13.”
“Very good.”
Pierre did as he’d been instructed. A show called Christ Challenge was on and it showcased a group of Gamblers against a group of Audric Compliant guessing which cup had a crucifix underneath it. It was meant to test psychic aptitude.
“Should be going to commercial in just a moment,” Henry said. “When you see it, you stay on the line. We don’t want you walking in front of a Sun Pod.”
It went to commercial. Like most things on Gamblers TV it was an amateurish production. Apparently, when Pierre met with Henry Alexander and Devin Snitch they had a video camera on him. From the angle of the shot it looked like it was on the table, maybe sticking
out of a pen container. They’d taken the lines that he’d said and spliced them with text. There was dramatic music on the soundtrack and each time the text came on the screen it made a sound like a boxing ring bell.
Pierre: “I’ve got a 40/40. That means I’ve gotten a perfect score in every class I’ve ever taken.”
OVERACHIEVER PIERRE MORENA …
Henry: “We saw the article. No shocks. Wow.”
DOESN’T HAVE AN ACCEPTOR.
Henry: “After we saw that we got word from Toll to get you on our team.”
BUT IF YOU WANT TO BE LIKE PIERRE MORENA
Henry: “This is our product. We call it Grease. It makes your hair look slick. You’re friend Brian uses it. It’s big in America.”
OUR PRODUCT
WORKS AS HARD AS HE DOES
Henry: “You say you use the product, we’ll make sure you smooth sail through life from now on.”
HERE’S TO FREEDOM. HERE’S TO “GREASE.”
A hand slammed the black monolith with the word Grease on it into the frame. Pierre sat in stunned silence. He turned to his left and saw one of the families eyeballing him and the bartender was staring. Pierre stood up and began to feel the same dizziness he’d felt when reading the Albert Einstein quote. It sounded like Henry had lost the smile.
“You don’t have an acceptor, Pierre. You’re entire life is a bad joke.”
“It’s not true. I got shocked when I was at the infirmary.” He walked to the exit feeling short of breath.
“You had a bracelet. And you have a nanobot GPS. No acceptor.” A nanobot GPS was merely a GPS tracker embedded in a person’s brain. It responded to electromagnetic waves the same way an acceptor did. “We’re running that ad all day. And we’ve paid for multiple spots on network as well.”
Pierre was on the sidewalk now. He felt like throwing up. He hung up the phone and looked at the street. He remembered David Thindrel saying, “You’re very special, Pierre. You’re the only seventeen year old in Brighton with no shocks.”
“I wonder how many people know?” He said out loud. He vomited.