“It’s difficult to blame the companies and their owners, really. They were just trying to make money. A few of them had some half-baked idealism about information wanting to be free, and more than one of them was dangerously naïve, but they weren’t really bad people, just ignorant of history.
“In the end everyone gave it up for free. Well, not exactly free; they got things in return, of course. Free geolocation, free social media, free electronic services, free apps. But while they were enjoying those things, well . . .” He looked around the cell as if the rest of his sentence was lying in one of the corners.
Doctor Jolley sighed and sat down.
“And, well, here you are.”
The prisoner ran his hands through his hair.
“They want me to be like everyone else? That’s it? If I do that, do you suppose that they will let me go?”
Doctor Jolley pursed his lips. “I suppose that depends on what you have to say.”
“I think I’ve said enough for today.”
The doctor laughed. “Indeed, my boy, positively effusive by your standards.” He stood up and walked to the door. As he was walking through the doorway, he paused and looked back.
“You know,” he said, “There is not a government in the world that could have forced people to carry a tracking device. No government that could have forced them to give up all their secrets. But they did it freely, and freely they put their futures in the hands of others. They never saw the threat. They didn’t realize what they had become.”
The prisoner looked up. “And what is that?”
“Information. In the end it boils down to that. A string of DNA, a catalog of opinions, a cross-referenced set of preferences, activities, places, times, habits. In the end, people are merely information.”
5
He lay awake, certain that they would come for him again. In the small hours of the morning, they did. They took him from the room and beat him, then shocked him with electrical wires, then beat him again. He screamed, he pleaded, he raged incoherently. When they returned him to the room and dropped him to the floor, he was covered in blood and unconscious.
He awoke in the same place on the floor that they had dropped him, his body a wreck. Something was tingling through his veins and as he opened his eyes, he saw Doctor Jolley leaning back, a syringe in his hand.
It took the prisoner a long time to gather the strength to speak. When he did, he spoke in a halting whisper that was barely audible.
Doctor Jolley got down to his knees and then laid himself full length on the floor with his face next to the prisoner’s face. He tilted his head to listen.
“Why are they doing this? It isn’t fair, it isn’t right!”
The doctor leaned back and smiled. “At last, my boy, you appear to have an opinion about something.”
The man on the floor looked up at him. “I am not information.”
“I’m very much afraid that you are to them, whether you like it or not.”
He groaned as he rolled onto his back. “What are you going to do to me today?”
“First, my lad, I’m going to patch you up. Then I’m going to ask them to let you go.” He paused for a long moment as if savouring something. “Steven.”
The man flinched. His eyes were wide, fixed on the doctor.
Doctor Jolley nodded.
The man closed his eyes and fell into unconsciousness.
6
Doctor Jolley sat in a leather armchair drinking a glass of port. A man in military uniform sat opposite him, eyeing a large glass of whiskey. He waved a hand at the doctor. “What are you going to do with him?”
“I’m going to let him go.”
“But he’s a threat to the state.”
“Do you really think so? My dear Commander, what can he do? We know his name. We have him tagged and his biometric data recorded. He’s alone. Admittedly, he’s not one of the sheep, but he’s not a wolf either. He has no connections, no friends, no resources. Do you really think he constitutes a threat to the state?” Doctor Jolley’s eyebrows shot up.
The Commander nodded slowly. “Perhaps. Everyone else, they're just a collection of data and opinions, all of which we know. We know what they think, what they say, where they go. Him, he's a stranger.”
“Nonetheless, I think we can safely let him go.” Doctor Jolley placed his empty glass on the table.
“Why take the risk? No one will miss him. No one will know he’s gone. Of all the people we've processed, he’s the last one that anyone will ever care about. Why not keep him here?”
The doctor took off his glasses and looked at them as though they held the answer to the question.
“That’s precisely why we should let him go. He’s a rara avis, perhaps the last of his kind. He put his glasses back on and smiled at the Commander. “Terra incognita.”
“You’re too much of a philosopher.”
“And you’re too much of a soldier. Will you sign the release?”
The Commander looked long and hard at the Doctor.
7
It was a warm summer day when they took him outside and walked him to the gates. Two guards accompanied him. They might have been among the ones who had beaten him. He didn’t remember and he didn’t care. He walked with a slight limp and his face was still bruised.
At the gates Doctor Jolley was waiting.
“Well, my dear boy, I believe you now have the answer to one of the first questions you asked me when you began your stay here.”
He looked the doctor in the eye, but didn’t say a word.
“Yes, well, I’m sorry we didn’t get to know each other better. Perhaps another time. Drop in for tea when you’re in the area.” He gave a genuine smile.
The two guards opened the barred iron gates. Beyond them the road curved off through green fields into distant hills.
Before he could take a step, the doctor leaned over and said in a low voice, "Before you go, I'll share a little secret with you.” He glanced around, and then spoke into his ear. “My name isn't really Jolley."
The man turned to face him and looked into his eyes. Then he said very slowly “And my name isn’t really Steven.”
The doctor started and raised a hand to his lips. His eyes shone. “My dear boy!” he said, with admiration. He stepped back and gestured with an arm towards the open gate.
The man hobbled along the path. He walked through the gate and took his first steps back into the world. Invisible in the sky above him, three different drones tracked his steps. He looked back as the gate closed behind him.
Above the gate was a sign that read: Information Will Set You Free. Through the thick rusted iron bars he could see the camp and the endless rows of black huts, and beyond the camp the rows of chimneys and their eternal columns of dark smoke rising in spirals into the cloudless blue sky.
###
About The Author
Over the years I’ve lived in England, Spain, the Isle of Man and the United States, in large cities and small villages. I'm both a town mouse and a country mouse and as such I've found that I belong everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
The places where I have been able to live with most conviction, though, are the ones inside my head. I've been living in them and writing about them for years. In the world of self-publishing I've finally found a place to share them. I hope you enjoyed your visit to this particular one.
If you'd like to chat about science fiction, fantasy, rock and roll, the future, or more or less anything else, please visit my website, Dark Streets and Shadow Paths.
“Your Future Is Being Written”
About the Editor
This story was greatly improved by the thorough attention of my editor, Karen Barrett-Wilt. She’s an art historian by education, and you can visit her website here: I’ve Got Some Art Stuck In My Eye.
Cover Design
The cover was designed by Olivia Ravenscroft
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