Utopia

Officer First Class Edgar West is bored but happy. Sure, his new promotion brings lots of perks with it and any one of his old colleagues would give an arm to be riding his shiny new, fully loaded, Government- issue Air Bike 2500. Okay, so the year 2500 is still three years away and machines will definitely evolve further by then, but those in technology seek to outdo each other and claim their products are that far advanced. Still, his bike’s state-of-the-art technology makes the lower Tier police vehicles look like twentieth century toys. But Edgar is dying for the action down there—tight chases through the heavily crowded Tierways heavy with smog and other pollution, the thrill of a good TBC, when the tractor beams would lock in and capture the fugitive vehicle, grinding it to a halt. He has enough good notches on his belt earned on those gritty alleyways but up here he has no chance of adding to his collection—at least not if he stays on the elite Tier 5. Nothing happens here. Even now, on a Friday evening, save for a traffic jam that would not be noticed below, nothing else is happening.

Or maybe he is wrong. An air vehicle flies by him so fast its identity tags do not register on his monitor. With a smile he disengages from his law enforcement nook on State Building where he has been parked for the last three hours. The magnetized cord attached to the building through which he has been charging his vehicle as well as running his anti-gravity gyros while on idle easily pop out of the socked and retract automatically into its holder. He turns on his lights and gives chase.

It’s amazing how easy it is to maneuver up here.  The Tierways are wider and vehicles readily pull to the side as he zips past them at breakneck speed, even without his siren on but only his blue and red lights. So far he has no need to employ the blanket auto kill that would disable the air vehicles around his bike as he rides by. All the better since it is such an energy hog and would take away from the higher speed he needs to catch up to the speeding fugitive. Edgar needs every bit of erg to get within range of the vehicle in order to deploy the AVIDAC, the Air Vehicle Instant Disable And Capture.  Gone were the days when perps were asked to pull over. Now you just take over their vehicle.

As they zip past levitating three story buildings, Edgar’s quarry is proving to be a little more trying than he supposed at first. Not only is the air vehicle he is after fast and powerful, the driver behind it knows what he is doing and appears quite well versed with the layout of Tier 5. Three blocks down Edgar presses a button and his tractor beam buzzes a warning that it is way out of range. Any police manual advocates for a call for backup right about now but Edgar is still a Tier 2 cop at heart. A five minute chase and a call for backup are the substance of poignant jokes back in the squad room.

A couple blocks down the Tierway he is in luck. Traffic is more congested around the Tier Square as it always is this time of day. The air vehicle he is after is close enough to identify now. No wonder he is struggling to catch it. It is a STAR2500—latest model Super Turbo Air Racer, one of only a few in the market.

“Damn!” Edgar says.

The STAR has government registration. Nevertheless, Edgar aims the tractor beam, hears the two quick beeps confirming target acquisition, and fires. There is a pause then a long sharp beep. The tractor beam has failed to connect. He fires again with similar results.

“Damn!”

The violations are beginning to pile up. The vehicle is obviously equipped with an illegal aftermarket jammer and Edgar can’t capture it. This time he has no choice. He calls dispatch, who calls the manufacturer of the STAR, who disables the vehicle, all in a matter of minutes.  Edgar pulls over to the errant vehicle and hovers alongside the passenger side. Two sharp toots of his siren and the fugitive citizens roll down their window.

“Citizen,” Edgar says through the mic in his helmet. The resultant voice is an electronically distorted monotone with more boom than his natural voice and similar to every cop’s on the Tier. The helmets are designed to make certain of that. “You are in violation of legal speed limits on Tier 5. May I have your Tier 5 permit and your flying license please?”

There are three occupants in the racer—two young men sit in the front seats and a figure lies covered in a blanket in the back seat. The passenger speaks.

“Did you see the plates? This is a government vehicle moron.”

“That did come to my notice,” Edgar says, unfazed by the young man’s attitude. “But still you were over-speeding. Do you have a UMP?”

The driver leans over so he could look at the officer.

“Officer, we don’t have an Urgent Mission Permit but I assure you we would not be speeding if we were not in a hurry.”

Edgar recognizes the twenty-five year old driver and his heart nearly jumps out of his chest. He does well to remain put.

“Master Hamilton. Who are your friends? Do they have T5 Permits?”

Calvin nods.

“They do. This is Basel. Forgive his manners. He’s harmless. Back there is Rupert, son of McDonald.”

“The McDonalds?”

“Yes sir. He’s had a glass too many of the bubbly. It’s his b-day.”

Edgar keys in the record of the stop.

“If I could just have your license Master Hamilton,” he tells Calvin. “I do have to record this although I will let you go with a warning.”

Calvin displays his electronic card. Edgar scans it. The computer confirms the driver indeed is Calvin Hamilton, son of Victor Hamilton the Minister of Politics. Edgar keys in the details of the stop and turns off his computer.

“Okay Mr. Hamilton. The warning is recorded but I suggest you get rid of the jamming device in your vehicle. It is illegal in the state of New York.”

“Okay officer.”

“Have a good day and stay within the limit.”

Edgar watches them leave. Then he gets on his radio and calls his boss.

“Chief, we have a big problem.”

* *  *

Inside the STAR2500, the passenger in the back emerges from under the blanket and sits up.

“That was close.”

Calvin laughs.

“It’s not funny,” the passenger says. “You could get into serious trouble. Not to mention me.”

“No babe,” Basel says. “Calvin’s dad will take care of it.”

“Don’t call me babe. The name is Isadora in case you’ve forgotten.”

She’s breathing harder and faster than the other two since she is not engineered for nor is she used to being this high in the air.

Calvin laughs again.

“Basel’s been watching too many of those old movies from the twenty-first century.”

The mention of old days brings silence upon the trio. Isadora speaks first.

“I for one wish I lived back in those days. I’m tired of being confined to Tier 2.”

“Imagine that cop working up here then riding down to his family on Tier 3,” Basel says. “People should be able to live where they work.”

“I wish I was on Tier 3. I’m a breeder for Pete’s sake.

“Imagine a world without Tiers,” Calvin says, “Everyone living on Earth’s surface. Sometimes it seems like an impossible dream. Damn that Dr. Jacobs.”

“Actually, like Alfred Nobel,” says Isadora, “Dr. Jacobs was very disappointed that his invention of the anti-gravity gyro enabled humans to levitate buildings and brought the world to what it is today. He committed suicide in the war of 2150.”

“When most of Earth’s population was chemically wiped out,” Basel adds. “Humans never learn, do they?”

They ride in silence until Calvin pulls over to an abandoned building with demolition stickers on it. In less than a week it will be towed away and after its anti-gravity gyros are removed it will be blown to smithereens over the Sahara. Standard procedure. He stops in an alley and swivels in his seat to face his friends.

“Your belts set to T5?”

They check and nod.

“Good,” said Calvin. “I don’t need you dropping off on me. Now, I want you on your best behavior, especially you Basel. I know you are passionate about the revolution but this is not the kind of meeting where you shout.”

Basel makes a sad face but nods. So does Isadora.

“Let’s go.”

They step out of the vehicle and using the small joysticks on their antigravity belts they glide over to a boarded door. It is a façade. Calvin opens it with ease and follows the other two in. They hover above the floor momentarily until the building’s artificial gravity takes over and lands them softly on the floor. They then walk through another door into a room with about fifteen other men sitting easily on worn sofas levitating a foot from the floor. One of the men, an older gentleman with a silver head of hair, rises up and approaches the new arrivals.

“Nice of you to make it Calvin,” he says.

“Sorry we are late,” Calvin says. “We had a small incident with the authorities.

The silver-haired man immediately looks at Isadora.

“No sir, not her,” Calvin explains. “She was concealed under a blanket. The cop didn’t see her.”

The man extends his hand to Basel.

“Wilfred Harrington.”

“Professor Wilfred Harrington,” Basel says barely able to conceal his excitement. He shakes the older man’s hand so hard Calvin has to separate the two.

Next the professor turns to Isadora and proffers his hand. She hesitates.

“It’s alright,” Prof. Harrington says. “You’re among friends and besides, isn’t this the sort of thing we are fighting for?”

Isadora shakes the professor’s hand; only the second man’s hand she’s ever voluntarily shaken besides Calvin’s and follows Calvin and Basel to an empty space on one of the sofas. Across the room, an irritated man jumps to his feet and raises his hand.

“Do you have something to say Michael?” Prof. Harrington says.

“I am not very sold on the idea of having a woman on this Tier. We could get in a lot of trouble.”

The professor smiles.

“We are in a lot of trouble just for gathering here like this. Besides, that’s the whole point of being here. The World Order as it is has to change. The Tier System has worn itself thin and time is nigh for a return to civilization. To a time when all people were equal and not separated by manufactured genes and forced to live on levels.”

A man in the audience stands up.

“Tate Jackson here. What do we want to go back to Tier 1 for really? There is nothing on the surface.”

A burly man in jeans overalls and a shaggy beard stands up.

“So you’re calling the Minions nothing?”

“Gentlemen, that’s not the point,” interjects the professor. “Physical space is irrelevant. Integration is the key. As it is we have elite men on Tier 5, their counterpart females on Tier 4. Then the Workers get Tier 3, Breeders on 2 and Minions on Tier 1. The farmers who grow our food are termed minions for Christ’s sake. They are probably the most important people on the planet.”

The overall man stands up again.

“My people are ready to join a movement for change but then The Council will make a bunch of genetic robots and replace us. They did that two farms from me at the Johnson farm—brought a new set of the family, including the dog!”

Basel raises his arm and the professor acknowledges him.

“That’s why we have to hit the Central Computer first. We can disable it long enough just so there can be no replacements within any reasonable time.”

Another man stands up.

“And who will do that?”

“Okay, let me introduce my friends here,” the professor says. “This here is Calvin Hamilton.” There is a collective sigh from the gathering. “Yes, his father is Victor Hamilton, the Minister of Politics and a member of The Council. His friend is Basel Masterson?” He looks for the nod from Calvin. “He is a computer genius from Tier 3 and Calvin is already using his father’s influence to have him installed at Central. If you remember the blackout of 93, well, you are looking at the source.”

Never the shy type, Basel stands up and takes a bow.

“Last but not least,” the professor continues, “the young lady is Isadora. Her story is unique. She is the only pure breed in this room, which means she has not been genetically altered in any way but she is still considered a Breeder and will be bred with other Pure Bloods to continue a line of backup humans in case all this genetic madness goes awry.”

“You mean she’s a primitive?” one of the men asks without standing up.

“The Council may say so but to be honest I wonder if that is the appropriate term. I mean she’s the only one amongst us with true free will while we were all tweaked in the lab to conform. We are only here because we’ve taught ourselves to be different and deep inside we know our gut feelings have been tampered with. While all the books and information from the past have been blighted she’s living proof of it and as you can tell, contrary to what you’ve been made to believe, she’s not jumping all over you trying to copulate and populate.”

Laughter rings around the room from everyone but one sulky gentleman in the back. Michael.

“Genetic tweaking or not, I still think sex between men and women is inherently unnatural,” he says.

“Well,” the professor says, “all we are asking for is free will—the ability for every man, and woman, to do as one wishes. Is it so crazy to imagine a return to marriage?”

“So what do we need her for?”

“Besides the fact that she wants to be part of this revolution? Let’s say she offers hope for a new beginning.”

“How do you mean?”

* * *

“A virus Calvin. That’s the plan.”

Calvin is seated on a high-backed chair in his father’s study—the old school kind of chair with legs that rest on the floor. Victor Hamilton hates levitating seats. His running joke is that he is a “grounded” man. But right now, the senior Hamilton is far from amused. Donning a charcoal gray suit he stands at the huge bay windows, looking out at the crispy clean view behind his quarters. The building across the Tierway is new, constructed of even lighter materials, a feat not thought possible until the construction company produced the weight numbers and dominated news headlines for weeks. On its roof he can see the smaller smoke flutes signifying the energy savings capability of the house—the antigravity gyros need less energy to levitate the building. The future is here but some people want none of it, apparently, including his son.

“A virus?” Calvin asks. “How does that even make sense?”

There are three other men in the room besides the Hamiltons. Calvin found them at home when he came back from the meeting. Two of them are Peace officers and they stand guard on each side of Calvin, occasionally applying restraining pressure on the young man’s shoulder when he attempts to stand up in the heat of a passionate statement.

The other man is clad in all black, the typical colors of The Council guards. His long overcoat poses the possibility that he is armed. Like all the men in Tier 5, he is over six feet tall, broad shouldered and very handsome in a movie star kind of way. For most of the time he’s been leaning against a shelve laden with law books on the east wall of the library. Now he walks over to the huge desk, leans against it with his ankles one over the other and folds his arms across his chest. Victor Hamilton had introduced him as Mr. Parson Sykes.

“You of all people must know how gene modification is done,” Mr. Sykes says. “You plant the code into a virus, then introduce that virus into the subject and then the virus bonds with the subjects DNA and voila! The modification happens. I know my version is extremely simplified, but you get the gist of the matter.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

Victor turns from the window and makes a few steps towards his son.

“You brought a woman to Tier 4 son.”

He spits out the word “woman” as if it tastes foul in his mouth.

Calvin casts his gaze downward.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“After you were pulled over for speeding and illegal vehicle modification, Peace Officers followed you and your friends to your secret rendezvous. The only reason you were not busted is because they consulted me first. A momentous favor I must add.”

“Look,” Mr. Sykes says, “twenty or thirty people don’t form a revolution. They are just an anomaly, a defect that needs fixing. That’s what we need to talk to you about.”

“Thinking is an anomaly?”

“Mr. Hamilton, the world is perfect as it is. Everything works as it should. Why would anyone want to change that?”

“Maybe some people don’t want to be Breeders for life.”

Mr. Sykes shakes his head the way a principal would do with an errant student.

“See, that’s where your so-called thinking is wrong. Human beings have an innate need to breed and as simplistic as it sounds, that there was the root of everything evil. Let me give you a short recap.” He shifts his frame like one preparing to tell more than he lets on. “About two hundred years ago, in the year 2050, the world population hit ten billion. Given the numbers we throw around today that might not seem large but Earth was never meant to support that many of a very destructive species. Back then, there were two methods in place to control the malignant population growth—something called voluntary abstinence and birth control, which also happened to be, yes you guessed right, voluntary. But see, human beings are not the best volunteers, especially when pushed to do so.”

“And outlawing sex was the solution?”

“Obviously it didn’t work,” the senior Hamilton chimes in. “Humans had to be genetically engineered not to breed, save for a select few who could, in a controlled environment, replenish the population as needed. I mean there’s still no cure for death.”

“And select was the operative term here,” Mr. Sykes continues. “We are back to two billion and not just any two billion. Back then, in the beginning, the process was painstaking and precise to the standards of the day. That is considerations for height, weight, aesthetics and such other physical aspects as well as the more important propensities that the former human being was prone to, you know, things like diseases and such. Ever heard of the flu?”

“I know my history Mr. Sykes and this is a waste of my time.”

Mr. Hamilton makes more steps towards his son.

“You just don’t get it, do you? You are headed for the chamber son. That small meeting you had going there is more than enough ground for treason.”

“Your friend Basel,” says Mr. Sykes,” how well do you know him?”

“I just met him at a café today. Took a liking to his haircut.”

“Nevertheless, your professor friend had, or thinks he had, developed a gene modifier that would cause a fatal malfunction in all humans who get it.”

Calvin nearly jumps off his seat but the Officers’ firm hands keep his ass planted in it.

“Had? What did you do to him?”

“Apparently,” Mr. Sykes continues as if Calvin had said nothing, “all that is needed is a delivery system. Your friend Basel is to provide that. We are not certain if the professor, should his claims have been true, gave anything to Basel. All we need to know is if that handover happened and what Basel will do. That’s where you come in.”

Calvin shakes his head.

“I don’t know and even if I did I wouldn’t snitch.”

“Think about it son,” Victor Hamilton urges. “Your fate is already set and only you can change that. The others didn’t have that choice.”

“Didn’t?”

“Yes son.”

“I’m not your son,” Calvin explodes. “I’m only a commodity entrusted to you for safe keeping.”

Victor retains his cool.

“They are in front of The Council as we speak. You know how that goes.”

Mr. Sykes begins to talk but Calvin doesn’t hear a word he is saying. In one of the meetings the professor had called it internalizing. Thoughts race through Calvin’s head. Ever since he can remember he has always been a rebel and his father has worked extra hard to keep his ambitions in check. He is being groomed for The Council and that is his fate. Any deviation from that does not sit well with everyone else on the Tier. He also knows the workings of The Council and if tradition holds, the people at the meeting are going through a summary trial although their fates are already decided. There is no rehabilitative jail time for any crimes committed on Tiers 3 to 5 either by the denizens or lower tier occupants. Calvin is certain he has seen the last of the professor and the others.

“…to keep you breathing and…” Mr. Sykes was saying.

The professor… gone. Calvin has spent the last six months working with him on a common interest for the good of all but now he is gone.

“…the good of mankind…”

Isadora… gone. He was in love with her even knowing they would surely gas him for it if they found out. When they had made love it had felt so intrinsic contrary to anything they had heard or read.

“Calvin!”

His father’s voice breaks his reverie and jolts him back to reality.

“It’s no use,” Mr. Sykes tells Victor. “He has to go before The Council too.”

“I can talk to him,” Victor pleads. “He’s my son.”

Mr. Sykes straightens up and brushes unseen objects off his coat before thrusting his hands in his pockets.

“Doesn’t matter. He would have faced The Council had he talked or not. No one pardons treason.” He turns to the officers. “Take him boys.”

Calvin shoots to his feet before the officers can stop him. He has no advance plan or any care for what happens next. He had noticed the bump on Mr. Sykes left hip and every fiber of Calvin’s being tells him he has to get to that gun. If he gets out of the room the possibilities might open up but then again, what possibilities? He would be a marked man, on the radar of every Peace Officer in New York and anywhere else he could think of running to but currently, any place is better than The Council.

A couple quick steps bring him to within touching distance of Mr. Sykes. Suddenly it occurs to him that if he grapples with the man while standing, the guards would shoot him but if they roll on the floor the guards would have a hard time isolating him as a target. It takes him a split second to decide and he leaps into the air towards Mr. Sykes. He reaches him but finds no purchase. Instead, he goes through Mr. Sykes like a hot knife through butter and flies over his father’s large desk, bumping his knee on its edge. By the time the searing pain radiates up his leg and through his body to a very befuddled brain, he crashes into his father’s chair which spins and spits him onto the far wall just below the window sill. A half a foot higher and he would have crashed right through the window. Calvin bumps his head on the wall but his hip takes the brunt of the fall and fresh pain shoots through him once more. He watches helplessly as the two Peace Officers grab him under each shoulder and heave him to his feet.

For a quick second he’s disoriented but that fades away quickly just in time to realize his father and Mr. Sykes are no longer in the room. Did he just go through Mr. Sykes?

“I’m ready,” he tells the guards, believing he only imagined the incident after missing his target and tumbling across the desk. Mr. Sykes must have ducked.

But the guards do not make any attempt to haul him out of the room. Instead, the door leading to the living room opens and the professor walks into the study, followed by a few other people some of whom Calvin remembers from the earlier meeting. The professor and another man are wearing black bodysuits with white dots all over them.

“What’s going on?” Calvin inquires.

Coming from behind the others, Victor Hamilton walks into the room. Instead of the charcoal gray suit Calvin had seen him in earlier, he is dressed in a red smoking jacket and black light slacks.

“Are you okay son?” Victor asks.

“What’s going on?” Calvin repeats.

“Holograms,” the professor says. “I was in front of cameras in the other room playing Mr. Sykes and Derrick here,” he points to the other man in a black bodysuit, “a professional actor, played your father. A computer then beamed the images here.”

Behind the professor, Basel lifts up a laptop.

“But I dropped you off at your place on Tier 3,” Calvin says.

“You dropped me first. I was here before you got back from taking Isadora to 2.”

Calvin fights hard to gather his thoughts, to digest all this information he’s receiving now and compartmentalize it into sense.

“Why?”

“We had to know you were in,” Victor Hamilton says.

“You too?” Calvin asks.

“I selected you as my son for a reason.” As he talks Victor’s eyes are misty, a first for Calvin. “Sorry about the tumble. We didn’t know you were going to go kamikaze on us.” The older Hamilton rescues him from the hands of the fake Peace Officers. “We need to get you ready. You did bring a woman to Tier 5 you know. They are coming.



THE END.