The Anarchists (15 page)

Kareza’s departure disappointed Damario, but Harper appreciated it. Suddenly, like her cohorts, she did not trust Kareza.

“Miss Noor.” Adharma nodded. “You are all here under your own volition?”

The group looked at one another, then at the doctor.

“Your attending medical droid will assess you, after which you will be briefed regarding the next step you will take in ‘beginning again’.”

The four splintered off into solitary soundproof stations. Harper stretched out her legs into a comfortable position.

“I am Wynter Dawn, of the pilot medical android program. Please start by stating your full legal name.”

“Harper Charlotte Lowe,” she said. “And I’m 13 weeks pregnant.”

Wynter’s robotic female feigned glee. “Congratulations! What is your date of birth, Miss Lowe?”

“July 18
^th
, 2015. I’m sorry, but can’t you just scan me for this information?”

“It is vital to the process of the project to do it manually. Height and weight?”

“Five-foot-six and I weighed 145 pounds at my last checkup.”

“Place of birth?” The questions came quicker now.

“Cleveland, Ohio.”

“Current address?”

“3815 Whisper Lane.” 

“Marital Status.”

“Single,” she replied with more remorse than she ever had.

“Single.” Teanna had always been unattached, rarely in a relationship, and never within breathing distance of a marriage, but she preferred it that way since her first “date” 30 years ago. Her mother thought it unusual for a 13-year-old girl to have such an early interest in so many boys.

Thirteen years later, Teanna became a mother for the first time to a son conceived with a foreigner Teanna’s mother would never meet.

“Annual income?”

“Ain’t got one. Zero.”

“Do you have any prevailing medical conditions we should be aware of?”

Teanna unraveled a mental list. “High blood pressure, diabetes, cholesterol. tendonitis in both knees, arthritis in my joints. Depression, fibroids, and got asthma on top of all that.” She imagined that if Stan Witmore was human, he would have shaken his head at the physical condition of the 42-year-old. Instead, it instructed her to rise and follow it to another part of the room. She appreciated that the Institute had transferred a droid familiar to her. It made her comfortable – as comfortable as one could become with a machine.

“We will need to stabilize you before we proceed.” Teanna hobbled over to a sequestered cot. Soon, an opaque barrier erected itself between her and the others. Stan attached a pack to Teanna’s flabby arm, which distributed medication to control her blood pressure and insulin levels. While she leisurely turned her head, two needles stuck her in the sore spots of her knees and dispensed medicine. She cursed and yelled in temporary pain but, when it subsided, the joints felt better than ever before.

“What’d you just stick me with?”  She eyed the three-inch long needle.

“A proprietary solution; anti-inflammatory, pain, and analgesic compound,” said Stan.

“That’s all?” she joked, surprised. Teanna flexed the now-healthy knees. “How long it’ll last? And can I get a case of it?”

Though programmed to act human, Stan failed to see Teanna’s humor. “A case of the medication would provide short-term benefits with long-term implications. Continued injections would result in muscle freeze or paralysis.”

“It’s cool. Never mind, just a joke.”

“I see.” He observed the flexibility in her joints and the improvement in Teanna’s vital signs. “We shall be ready to proceed with your participation in another few minutes.”

Teanna exhaled, dangling her pain-free legs over the side of the cot.

“Do you have any prevailing medical conditions we should be aware of?”

Damario flexed his new hand, and he felt warmth where it connected to his natural tissues and skin. “Two prosthetics. . .right arm and the right eye.”

Ellis perceptibly shifted modes, from one of an inquisitive nature to that of an assessor. “Please stand by for evaluation.” Without warning, the machine scanned Damario’s entire body from top to bottom, with particular attention to the improved areas. Ellis had done the exact same thing in the hospital. What made him uncomfortable, though, were the permanence of the attachments and the idea of being something other than blood and bones.

“Your prosthetics continue to bond and adapt well, and should no longer be compensatory, but complimentary, almost human.”

“Great,” he deadpanned.

“This does not please you, Mister Coley?”

“I’d rather be myself, or at least have the choice not to wear these things.” He knocked his right knuckles against the frame of his metal chair, and the sound of metal against metal repulsed him. “Electricity isn’t pain. It’s a current; like licking an alkaline battery. This looks like my skin, but it’s painted to look that way.” He stood up and swatted a hologram with his artificial hand. “It’s not real!”

His outburst drew Adharma into the fray. “Settle down, Mister Coley.” His voice, sounding ruffled, heightened in pitch as he talked. He laid a hand on Damario’s left shoulder. “You’re making a scene and frightening the others.”

He clasped the wrist of the doctor with his right hand, releasing only upon realizing that the intensity he intended was not the grip with which the hand responded. Damario released him. Adharma rotated his own wrist until the circulation returned.

The first to finish the questioning, Quinne sat in an empty chair.
I ain’t gotta STD!

Overjoyed, she observed the others. The eldest of them all, or so she assumed, would finish next – her face downcast and worn. Damario – she remembered his name because of his cuteness and she liked his dreadlocks – concluded his study by throwing a tantrum and nearly breaking the doctor’s wrist. And the fat woman with the loud voice did not finish at all, but a droid remitted her to further medical treatment. When the loudmouth cursed about a needle, Quinne stifled a laugh. Whenever she thought about it, even minutes later, it caused her to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Harper asked. She occupied the chair to Quinne’s left.

“Nothin’,” she said, still laughing between syllables. “One of them things, where you just remember it later and laugh? Ain’t funny to nobody else but you.”

“Ah, got it.” Harper folded her hands onto her lap and tapped her foot. “You wouldn’t happen to see a bathroom around here?”

“Nope. You may want to ask. Looks like we might be here a minute.”

Harper did so and Ellis escorted her to an unmarked door at the corner of the room. She did what she needed to do. Quinne did the same. Satisfied, the two sat down again without a word passing. Soon, Damario joined them, sitting to Quinne’s right. He shook his hair and secured it in a ponytail.  

“I love your dreads,” said Quinne, with much enthusiasm. “You don’t see them much anymore.”

Damario brushed off the compliment with aplomb. “Thanks.”

“What made you grow ‘em? Just curious.”

Still irritated, he clipped his answers. “A girl.”

“Nice. She your wife now?”

“No,” he bitterly said. “I’m not married anymore.”

“O-kay.” Quinne rolled her eyes. “Forget I asked.” She turned to her left. “What’s your name again?”

“Harper Lowe.”

“Harper, why you think we here? They keep saying, ‘Begin Again’ like it’s one of them catchphrases and such. . .like that dude's gonna lead us into the desert somewhere to worship him and then kill us all before we can prove him wrong.” She eyed Damario when he laughed. “Somethin’ funny?”

“No, no, not really,” he smirked. “Just reminded me of something.”

“Actually,” Harper interjected. “I’m a counselor and there’s this breakthrough psychotherapeutic research developed in Europe that I’ve read about in medical journals. It’s extremely experimental, though. The government has to sign off before we even think about using it here in the US.”

Eavesdropping on the conversation, Damario’s interest increased. “I’ve been doing some currency work with banks in Europe to replace the Euro. Do you think it’ll pass – this research?”

“It already has.” Adharma smiled and revealed a set of coffee-stained teeth, which were otherwise perfectly groomed and straight. “Please, join me.”

The Indian man indicated that they should flow to his right. Quinne touched one of the chairs and the suppleness of the material amazed her. Damario and Harper tried it for themselves. The material sank around their fingertips. After a few seconds, Harper snatched back her hand.

“Electronic muscle stimulation, Miss Lowe. As you lie here, every muscle in your body will be electronically massaged.”

Harper’s face screwed with worry. “What are you planning to do to us?”

“Not do to you, but do for you. Each of you endured a major life change in the past month.” Adharma was insistent but not condescending. “That life change resulted in an unhealthy response; a habit, a behavior, injury, or death.” His voice hung on the last word death, as he briefly paused. “That, plus a number of other factors and a bit of mathematical luck made you eligible for the Begin Again initiative.”

Before any of them could ask, he answered. “The Begin Again initiative is a practical study,” he said, while producing a blue vial. “In one form or another, it’s a drug you have all had exposure to. It has anti-inflammatory and dopamine-boosting properties and it possesses a neurotransmitter stimulation protein. We believe that protein will allow us to guide and stimulate unconscious thought and behavior. We affectionately call it, ‘The Solution’.”

Most of the language escaped Quinne, except for the “guiding unconscious thought” part. “Mind control?” she asked.

“Not controlling the mind, Miss Ruiz. Stimulating it. Say you like to smoke cigarettes but it negatively affects your health. We’d use The Solution to guide you through your subconscious memories to the first time you had a cigarette. There, you will exercise your choice to decline it. By severing that mental and behavioral tie, when you return to your conscious state, the appetite for nicotine has left. You have never had it, as far as your mind is concerned. When you return, your world will be different.”

Teanna’s ears perked. No more addictions? It sounded too good to be true.

Skeptical, Damario raised his hand. “But, what if you don’t have an addiction?”

“You were selected for a reason native to your particular circumstance; maybe not an addiction, per se. Tell me, Mister Coley, there’s not one thing about the way you live your life today that you would elect to go back and change; that, if you had the opportunity to alter your emotional, psychological connection to it, that you would?”

He thought of Madison and what a quick emotional slicing might do for him.

Harper, however, remained unconvinced. “I’m sure that you’ll agree, doctor, that health professionals strike an uneasy balance between healing and playing God. Using a drug to alter connections to old memories? Sounds like science fiction, if you ask me.”

“Hypnotherapy techniques are really not that different. You disagree?” 

She thought about it for a brief moment. Not really. “Then, why not use the drug in widespread fashion, if the government approved it for use?”