CHAPTER 5
He’d seen the Gambling City Airport just a couple of times but not within the last five years. Or, had it been longer?
It looked the same as he remembered. Or did it? The outside was brownish-red like the rocks surrounding Gambling City. A section covering at least three acres remained under construction. Wasn’t that part in the same condition the last time he viewed it? No, it couldn’t be. The OWG never took that long to build anything.
The OWG bus dropped Locke off in the Departures area. Grabbing his bag containing a change of clothes, his Manual, and his five different pieces of OWG ID, he stepped down to the curb. The airport doors slid open when he got close to them. He’d never seen doors do that before. Many were built to do so but few ever worked.
Two airline counters greeted him inside: Govicide, and Goods and Services. The OWG mandated only the workers in these two departments were allowed to fly. All workers in other departments--Homicide, Manufacturing, Farming, Transportation, Entertainment, etc.—were banned.
No one stood in line at the Govicide booth. In fact, beside himself, only five other subjects could be seen, and they were all behind the counters.
“Hello, Govicide worker, where are you going today?” A young female, clad in her black uniform, asked. She looked Jade’s age and ethnicity type. But she was taller and could stand to lose a few pounds.
“Uh, well, I’m not part of Govicide yet. I’m flying to The District for an interview.”
Her eyes lit up. “An interview in the Govicide Department? I thought only subjects who passed the test got to be in Govicide.”
“You and me both. But here I am.”
“Your name?”
“Locke. Michael Locke. L-O-C-K-E.” Locke thought of Hamilton spelling his name. And for a second, he wondered if Hamilton was still alive.
“I have it here. Michael Locke. Nine a.m. flight to the District. It leaves from Gate One.”
“Gate? You have gates in this building?”
“Oh, sorry. You have not flown before. Gate means the area where you will wait to board the jet. There is no actual gate there.”
Locke tapped his forehead, “Right. That would make sense.”
“Not at all. Since you do not work for Govicide I should have known.”
The female typed at her computer for a few more seconds.
“How long does a flight usually take from here to the District?” Locke tipped his head back, surveying the cavernous airport.
“Oh, no more than an hour and a half.” She answered without looking up from her flat-screen.
“An hour and a half? But it’s like two thousand miles from here.” It took longer for him to ride the bus from his living quarters to Homicide.
“You are right. It is. But the SST flies at--”
“The what? The SST?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry. The SST. Super Sonic Transport. It is a kind of new jet. OWG technology always moving ahead, you know.”
“Right, right.” He realized he didn’t hear the rest of her answer. “How fast?”
“Fifteen hundred miles an hour.”
“Fifteen hundred?” Locke’s fingernails dug into the plastic countertop. “Is it safe?”
She looked at him this time. “Oh, do not worry. We only have a couple of accidents a year. The chances of a crash are under one percent.”
“One percent? I guess I can live with that.”
“You are all set up, Mr. Locke. Go down this corridor, make a right, and up the steps. The gate will be on your right. Here is your paperwork.”
He grabbed the envelope from her. He looked at it. It didn’t make much sense to him.
Rolling his bag behind him, he admired the OWG architecture. Elevators, ramps, signs, arrows, and windows revealing the burgeoning day. Such a large, beautiful building but no more than ten subjects in it. Most of them airport workers.
An old thought came to him. The OWG always prepared for the future. It probably built the airport this large in preparation for the day when the Masses could fly. That would occur after the OWG solved the current population issues. It assured everyone the day was right around the corner.
Down the corridor. Up the steps. Locke followed the female’s directions. It looked like the steps used to move. They were called “escalators.” The OWG un-mandated their usage since subjects could climb the stairs with their bags. The electricity running the escalators could be used to provide more Goods and Services. Locke wished the escalators were in operation, but he realized his human irrationality was getting the best of him.
Reaching the gate, Locke found a bank of empty seats. He sat in one near the door leading out to the jet. An SST, he corrected himself. If he hoped to be a perfect Govicide Agent, he had to start using the correct terminology. Super Sonic Transport. Some smart OWG Engineer must have come up with the name.
Locke admired the SST, parked ninety feet away, through the bay window. Painted all white, it gleamed in the sunshine, although it looked like at one time there was a red and blue design on it. The front of it--the nose, he thought OWG Engineers called it--bent down but looked like it could be raised. The wings were triangular and the engines sat under them towards the back.
The jet exuded motion even while standing still. Locke never had been so close to such a great technological achievement. This was what the OWG could create if the Masses followed its mandates and Offenders didn’t get in the way.
His attention turned to the airport itself. Locke counted twenty gates in this section. All empty. Locke assured himself every gate would be filled with the Masses going places on SST’s when the OWG got the World Population under 1.5 billion, the OWG goal. Less subjects, more Goods and Services for everyone. Flying included.
Two males in black uniforms appeared at the gate. One of them slid a small card through a slot in the door leading out to the SST. Not noticing Locke, they disappeared down the hallway. The door clicked shut behind them.
Just after that, two mixed-race, fresh-faced females came out of the same door. Both were cute, but neither could touch Jade’s beauty. Dressed in uniforms like the males, but with skirts. They noticed Locke waiting.
“Mr. Locke?” The shorter one asked.
“That’s me.” He sat up in his chair.
“I am Melanie. This is Megan.”
“The plane is ready,” Megan added.
“Great. When is everyone else getting here?” He pointed to the empty seats.
“You are the only passenger today,” Megan answered. “Do you have your paperwork?”
They led him to the counter. “I’m the only one?”
“Yes,” Melanie this time.
“The plane is so big. Seems like a little much for just me.”
“Govicide provides everything we have here.” Megan motioned to the jet, the walls, the floor, the chairs, and the doors. “So, Govicide workers deserve everything they get. Including this SST.”
Who was he to argue?
After taking a minute to check his five different ID’s, they guided Locke through the door and down the hallway to the waiting SST. The jet engines idled on the other side of the wall. They shrilled more than grumbled. He couldn’t imagine how loud they would be going at 1,500 mph. Locke took one last step, and he stood inside the jet.
Several times nicer than his living quarters, his first impression made him feel like he wasn’t inside a plane at all. He anticipated the SST would be filled with seats. Instead, from the front way to the back, it held ten seats with a few couches mixed in. Cabinets adorned each side of the interior. Video communication devices were situated at various points, five in all. The soles of his shoes sank into a thick, black carpet.
If this is what it was like to be part of Govicide, he liked it.
He spun toward the front of the jet where the pilots drove the plane. The two uniformed males he saw earlier--the pilots--called it the cockpit. Funny name. Dozens of gauges, switches, knobs, and dials covered the walls and ceiling. Two computer displays were out in front of the pilot and his assistant.
Locke gulped. He thought an OWG bus dashboard seemed complex. This one looked ten times more so.
The pilot must have noticed Locke’s demeanor. “It is not as hard as it looks.”
“That’s good to know,” On the verge of hyperventilating, Locke tried hard to ignore the pilot’s apparent age. He looked younger than Jade. Locke would have liked someone a little more seasoned.
Locke tapped Megan on the shoulder. “Anywhere?”
“Anywhere you like,” she replied.
Picking a seat next to a window overlooking the left wing, Locke put his things behind it. The seat was leather, a unique substance allegedly made of cow skin. Locke found the fact suspect since he had seen a few cows and their skins didn’t look like this at all.
The attendants showed him how to fasten his safety belt and minutes later the plane backed up out of its slot. In the next minute, it stopped, rotated to the left, and made its way out on to the runway. He clutched the armrests so tight his fingers ached. Megan, seeing his distress, nudged Melanie and pointed. They giggled.
Rising to a level even higher than during the interrogation, Locke’s self-consciousness slipped out of control. He rubbed his backside in the seat to get more comfortable, but it only made him feel more awkward.
Megan whispered something to her counterpart then unbuckled her belt. Steadying herself, she walked back to a seat near Locke and sat down.
“You look terrible. You are not going to throw up, are you?”
Locke tried to smile but his teeth ground against each other instead. “No, but I may rip these armrests out.” The words brought a vision of Hamilton handcuffed to the chair.
She laughed, rolling her eyes. “You will be fine.”
The engines screamed under him. The SST lurched forward and didn’t stop. Locke tried to stay upright in his seat, but the acceleration pushed him into the leather, little by little. Sure that the plane was out of control, he peered out the window at the dotted lines on the runway. They became a solid, white line as the plane picked up speed. The solid white line got farther and farther away. Thinner and thinner.
The World fell away.
The SST flew on a southeast course away from Gambling City. He watched the buildings become no bigger than pebbles. The roads turned into gray strings laid out on the world. From the air, the intersections of these highways looked like leaves of a clover. The bodies of water went from blue to a greenish-brown. The plane flew over the Large Canyon, a large crack in the World caused by a hundred years of erosion.
The greens. The browns. The reds.
Rectangles. Squares. Circles.
He noticed something else: All the wide-open spaces. How good it was the One World Government started population control. If it hadn’t, all this beautiful land would be covered with subjects in no time.
Megan rose from her seat. “You can get up and walk around if you like.”
He might have tried but his hands wouldn’t let go of his seat. “No. I’m fine. For now.”
“Okay. But try not to break those armrests.” She returned to the front of the SST and joined Melanie.
Looking up to the sky, he noticed its color had changed. A hint of black tinged it now. The sun warmed his face through the porthole-like window, similar to the ones on all those ships. He squinted to see more of the World.
Down on the ground, tiny patches of gray and black sat among the greens and tans. These were the other cities and towns across the First Continent. He didn’t know which they were, but he knew the subjects living there did their best for the OWG.
A thought came to him: The Govicide Agents traveled this way all the time during the Hamilton investigation while he hoofed around on trains, buses, and ships.
He couldn’t begrudge them. They earned it. He hadn’t--yet. They were saving subjects by doing the Govicide’s work. It stood to reason they received all this luxury. The Agents rode these SSTs because without Govicide everybody would be worse off. The Masses would be dead.
Except Hamilton.
Him again. Not even flying miles above the World in luxury could get the killer off his mind. How had he done it? How could he manage to stay alive without the OWG?
The door to the cockpit opened and both pilots emerged. Locke didn’t think it possible but he found a way to strangle those armrests harder. Who was flying the plane?
The pilots and attendants made small talk then the younger pilot from earlier walked back to Locke.
“Detective Locke, is it?” the pilot asked, standing in the aisle.
Locke ignored the question. “Who’s flying the plane?” He strained to look around the pilot to see if the other one returned to the cockpit. There he was, still talking to Megan and Melanie. He needed to get back in the cockpit . . . now.
“The auto-pilot,” the young, dark male answered, smiling.
For the first time since the SST left the ground, Locke released the armrests. He felt his breathing return to a feet-on-firm-ground pace. “Whew. When I got on the plane I saw only two of you. I didn’t know there was a third pilot.”
“A third pilot? There is no third pilot. Just the two of us.”
“You just said the auto-pilot is flying the plane.” Locke once again looked around the pilot in front of him.
“It is. But it is not a human. It is a computer.” The pilot laughed.
“A computer?” Had the window next to Locke been on a slider, he would have opened it and jumped out. His claw-like hands found those tortured armrests again. He breathed in deep so as not to faint.
“We do this all the time, Detective Locke. Mandated procedure. You should not be alarmed.”
“Well, I’m alarmed.” Locke nodded as fast as his neck would allow. “How about you and the other pilot put your hands back on the controls?”
“I just wanted to come back to see how one of the Masses was enjoying the flight. That day is coming soon for all of the Masses.”
“Yes, yes, we all know that. How about you make sure this subject gets to his destination by going back up to the cockpit?” Locke pointed toward the front of the SST, his finger shaking like he’d been electrocuted.
“Okay, of course. Sorry to make you so nervous.” The pilot touched Locke’s shoulder then proceeded to the cockpit. The other pilot followed.
Once the door shut, Locke allowed himself to take a breath again. He shook his head. How stupid were those pilots to put this SST under the control of computers that everyone knew were unreliable? The one in Locke’s living quarters crashed—he forgave himself the pun—on a weekly basis. The OWG foresaw a day when very few would malfunction. Until then, the Masses had to put up with the errors.
Locke flexed his hands and cinched his safety belt. The hands then went right back to the arms of the seat.
Gathering his thoughts, he tried to remember where his mind was before the pilot gave him the scare of his life.
Hamilton.
No combination of factors accounted for Hamilton’s robust physical shape. Hamilton was unexplainable like the Pyramids. If those buildings were truly unexplainable.
Was there some kind of parallel there?
The Pyramids were unexplainable. Hamilton was unexplainable. The Pyramids existed, but no one knew how they were built. Hamilton existed, but no one knew how, since he’d never been in the System. The Pyramids were one of a kind. Hamilton likewise.
But, Hamilton was also an anomaly. An aberration. A deviation. An oddity. No ideas could be formed from his existence because he was just one subject. Compared to the other 2 billion subjects on the World, he meant nothing.
But Locke couldn’t turn this thought pattern off. He remembered Hamilton’s pronouncement, People have no rights if the OWG is never wrong. He didn’t know what rights were, but he wondered if it were true, could the opposite also be valid?
He tried rewording it out loud, “If subjects have rights, then the One World Government could be . . .”
Locke didn’t complete the sentence. To finish it meant completing an un-mandated thought. The OWG was never . . . that word. The W-R-O-N-G word. Spelling it was the closest he could come.
Re-arranging the words, the phrasing, the syntax, and the punctuation, Locke began to feel like he was on to something. The fascination-and fear-of flying ebbed away while the fascination with Hamilton increased.
As the flight reached its mid-point, Megan joined him, interrupting his thoughts.
She brought a drink with her. “Here. Try this.”
“What is it?”
Folding out the tray in front of him, she set the glass down. The liquid bubbled in the solid black cup. “It is called Goca-Gola.” She sat down in the seat across the aisle.
Taking a sip, a needle-like feeling filled his mouth. It left when he swallowed. “Hey, what’s that . . . I don’t know what to call it.”
“Fizz,” she answered. “Pretty neat, huh? You will not find any of the Masses drinking it. Exclusive to Govicide.”
He took another sip. Same feeling. “I know. I’m one of them.”
“Oh, right. I forgot.” Something caught her attention behind his seat. “Do you always take your OWG Manual with you everywhere?”
“Thought I might get a little studying in.”
“Studying? For what?”
“I have an interview with the Director. I might become the first subject of the Masses to become a Govicide Agent.”
Megan turned toward Locke, crossing her legs. Her manicured eyebrows rose a quarter of an inch. “An Agent? Really? I did not think it was possible.”
“Well, it’s not. But I’m the Homicide Detective who caught Hamilton.”
“You caught the male who murdered all those Agents?”
Taking another sip of his drink, he nodded. “Yes, with Govicide help, of course.”
“I had no idea, Detective Locke . . . hopefully future Govicide Agent Locke.” She bit her lip for a moment. “Would you like some help studying?”
“Uh, sure.”
Megan popped up from her seat like it became as hot as a stove. She seemed a little too energetic. Grabbing the Manual, she sat back down before Locke had time to decipher her motives.
“Wow, your Manual is really used. The cover on mine is still black.” Megan ran her left hand over the cover.
“Then, I’d say you better start using it a little more,” Locke answered.
“Where do you want to start?” she asked leaning in toward him, close enough for him to smell the scent of her shampoo.
“Uh, just pick a page. We’ll do it randomly.”
“Do it?” Megan turned her head just a few degrees to one side.
“Huh?” He missed the reference at first. “Oh, uh, no.” A warm feeling descended from the top of his head to his toes. No matter what was going on with him and Jade, he would never use his sex credits with another female. “You can ask the questions randomly.”
She examined him for a moment, up and down, an inch at a time. He pretended to not to notice but his jiggling toes spoke volumes. “Hey, a female has to make sure.” Megan opened the book in the middle. She ran a painted fingernail down the page. “Why did the OWG un-mandate voting?”
“Because elections use up credits. These credits can be used for Goods and Services. And the Masses want those more than elections anyway.”
“Exactly, Michael.” She touched his right arm, making his neck hair rise. “Good answer.” She flipped to another part of the Manual, further toward the back. “Why is there only one news station?”
Recollecting himself by moving his right arm further away, he answered, “That’s an easy one. News reporting takes up credits. Even if more news outlets existed, it would all be the same information anyway. So, it makes sense to only have one station. This way, credits can be used for more Goods and Services. And the Masses like Goods and Services more than news.”
Megan bobbed her head like it was attached to a rubber band, but her eyes stayed fixed on Locke. “That is so true. I watch the OWG news, of course. It is mandated. But I love my Goods and Services more.”
“Me, too.” Locke felt her examining him again. He guessed this was how an OWG donut felt in front of Captain Gates. “Next question.”
She re-crossed her legs. “Okay, here is a good one. Why do younger subjects receive more Goods and Services than older ones?”
“Because older subjects take up too many credits. They’ve had their time on this World. It’s time for them to die so the younger subjects can take over.”
“Good answer, Michael. Good job.”
“The OWG is perfect. What can I say?” Locke shrugged.”
“You are so smart, Michael. I know you are going to do great in this interview.” Megan grabbed his bicep and squeezed, leaning over even further than before.
“Thanks.”
Locke found himself having a harder and harder time looking at Megan, even though most males would have found her attention flattering. Subtly, he edged himself over to the far side of his seat. His upper body pointed toward the window. Now he needed to look over his shoulder to see her. Her flirtations increased after he mentioned the Agent interview. It wasn’t surprising. Agents were at the top of the OWG World, next to the Director and the Exalted Ruler. Any female, or male, would do anything to be in a relationship with one.
But there was no way he’d ever use his sex credits with another female beside Jade. He was lucky to have her. Given her looks and disposition, she could have done much better than a Homicide Detective. Even after they met, she had a chance to go out with a Govicide Agent. She passed it up. A very rare occurrence. Agents never got turned down.
Plus, he was in enough trouble regarding sex credits. No need to compound the problem.
“Next question,” he demanded, thinking her last stare had gone on long enough.
She paged through the Manual. “Why is cash un-mandated?”
Locke was about to answer when Melanie called from the front of the jet. Breakfast was served. Knowing Megan would be going back to work and not in his vicinity, Locke’s body relaxed.
“I have to go but maybe we can talk some more before we land . . .” The tone in her voice ended the sentence as a question.
“Uh, sure.” Locke tried to smile, but it emerged as a wince.
“Great.” Megan put the Manual back behind the seat.
Five minutes later, the meal arrived but it was not like any breakfast Locke ever ate before. A yellow blob dominated the black, oval plate. Vegetables and meat stuck out of it. Megan called it an omelet, made with eggs she said. He had eaten eggs before, but hard-boiled only. How many yolks did it take to make a meal this size?
On the plate, toast and sausage joined the omelet. The sausage was new to him as well. He could get used to this. No wonder those Govicide Agents looked plump during Hamilton’s investigation. They were getting fed like this the whole time while Locke scrounged up whatever he could between bus and train stops.
When he finished, they came to take his plates away. Megan stuck around a little too long to make small talk, holding the dirty plates. But during the meal, Locke’s mind had begun to stray to more important matters than a flirtatious and opportunistic flight attendant.
Hamilton.
Megan, maybe sensing Locke’s head was elsewhere, excused herself to continue with the dish cleaning. She assured him she would be back.
Don’t rush back, he wanted to say.
He reached behind his seat and opened the OWG Manual. After a few minutes, he realized he was looking at the words but not reading. His mind obsessed on the murderer. An overriding question stuck in his head: Why hadn’t Hamilton died outside the System? The OWG professed every subject of the Masses would never survive without its help.
Instead, the OWG Doctors professed he was about 35 years old, but he possessed the body of a 20-year-old. Blood Pressure: Normal. Cholesterol levels: Normal. The OWG Dentist added Hamilton had no cavities since his adult teeth came in. That, in particular, was unheard of even with fluoride in the OWG water supply. The dentist also noticed Hamilton had, at one time, worn some type of device to straighten his teeth. The One World Government un-mandated such devices since they used up too many credits.
Hamilton shouldn’t exist. And, even so, he shouldn’t have been in such good shape. The killer Locke interrogated shouldn’t have been across the table.Hamilton should have been a figment. A rumor. A fabrication.
But he was real.
The contradiction nibbled at Locke’s nerves.
Would the Director ask him about this?
Probably. And Locke had no answer.
One positive point was the Director didn’t hear Hamilton yell the sentence in the Homicide office. The one with the word, “rights” in it. No telling where the interview would have gone if the Director had heard it.
What did it mean?
Right-handed? “Right” meaning “correct?” “Right” as the opposite of “left?” “Right” meaning “to fix a wrong?”
Locke let it go and moved on. The only relevant point was that the OWG Manual contained the truth. Hamilton or not, the Masses would die without all the OWG gave them. And the OWG would go to any lengths to provide everything for everyone.
The ground got closer and closer. The land got greener and greener. The ride got bumpier and bumpier. Locke got a feeling in his stomach like when an OWG bus went over a bump too fast. Were they crashing?
The flight attendants sat back down in their seats and strapped in.Locke began to identify the bigger buildings. Then the smaller buildings. He noticed living quarters. Soon he could distinguish subjects.
They were all getting too close too fast.
Yes, the plane was going down. Out of control by Locke’s amateur assertion. He was seconds from screaming.
Just as terror convinced Locke this was not a landing but a crash, the SST passed over a fence and he felt the wheels touch the runway. He had seen planes land before and it looked violent. But this felt like jumping from the bottom step of a staircase to the ground.
Locke leaned his head back, feeling his heart rate slow down just like the jet on the runway.
When the SST came to a stop, he unbuckled himself but didn’t stand. His legs weren’t quite ready for it. The fronts and backs of his legs tugged at each other, shaking them back and forth.
As the others prepared to leave, Locke felt an obligation not to lag behind. Wobbly legs and all, he pulled himself upright, supporting himself with the seat back. He gathered his things.
Just as he feared, Megan waited for him with too big of a smile.
She stuck out her hand. Even though she made him feel uncomfortable, Locke couldn’t help but shake it. As soon they touched, he knew he’d made a mistake. Disguised in her palm, he felt a folded piece of paper.
“I hope we will soon be calling you Govicide Agent Michael Locke and bowing to you. It was a pleasure having you on this Govicide SST today,” Megan’ fingertips caressed his wrist.
“Thank you for a great first flight. I admit I was scared. But not as much as I expected,” Locke lied.
She wouldn’t let go of his hand. “Maybe we will see each other again . . . soon?”
This female just didn’t get the picture. “Maybe.” Locke pulled his hand away but kept his mask of politeness on. “Bye now.”
When he pulled his hand away, she pushed the paper into his. He had no choice but to grab it. He stepped off the plane, remembering he had no idea where to go next. He turned to Melanie, noticing Megan’s eager eyes.
“Do you know where I can get an OWG bus here?”
Melanie answered, “Why do you need an OWG bus?”
“I have to get to my interview.”
“Mr. Locke, nobody going to Govicide rides a bus. I am sure there is a limousine waiting for you right outside the airport.” Both females laughed, Megan taking the opportunity to touch Locke one more time.
“A limousine?”