The Status Quo

The quiet of the night was so oppressive that every noise the courier made as she ran seemed magnified to her. Every footstep, every labored breath, every time she moved her auburn hair out of her eyes were as clear and echoing as a gunshot in the narrow aisle of industrial buildings. As she ducked into an alcove to catch her breath, her brown eyes darted about nervously. The corridors between metropolises were meant for official travel and logistic maintenance only; if any systems noticed her unauthorized presence, she could be offlined in moments. She checked her jammer and made sure it was still functioning, but this did little to comfort her. The idea that a split second glitch or battery failure could be the difference between a clear run and her demise hung over her head like a Sword of…

She grasped in her own mind at the simile. Like so much, it had been lost to time. She only knew it from an illegal book she had bartered for as payment for her last run. As her breath slowed, she checked her bag and stared at the small package that had been placed in her care. Could it truly be so important?

One thought finally settled into her mind:

Agreeing to this job was the dumbest thing she had ever done.

* * * * * *

“Peaceful morning, Hazel 1117!” The computer blared throughout the small, gray efficiency. From underneath a pile of equally gray covers, a slender hand appeared and flipped off the interface in a futile gesture borne of annoyance. Realizing how useless her resistance to the morning was, Hazel groggily shifted into a sitting position as the false pleasantness from the A.I. voice synthesizer continued to radiate from the speakers.

“It is 0630 hours on December 24th, 2142. Tomorrow is Peace Day!” As she prepared her coffee, Hazel sneered at the A.I.’s programmed sense of excitement. “Would you like me to play the historical recording detailing the history?”

“NO!” Hazel responded as quickly, and loudly, as possible. Like all others, she had been indoctrinated with it every year of schooling. Now 30, she could recite the broad strokes by heart. The socio-political unrest of the 2010s grew steadily. By 2035, civilization began its collapse. The people had become motivated by ideologies, not governments, invested more in personal edicts than the survival of the species. Nations fell as even their militaries factionalized around differing cultural banners rather than follow orders. As people with more passion than temperance wrested power from those with more measure than morals, they found that getting everyone on the same page with words and ideas was impossible. As the fighting grew, the nuclear option became the easy option to eliminate dissent and bring the desired unity. As what was left of humanity rolled into 2060, the earth had become a scorched wasteland and even then the survivors still found reasons to struggle against each other.

In 2075, the Geniocracy had emerged. The brightest minds of humanity, they had worked in secret for years, secluded from the wars. They came as benevolent saviors, offering advanced technology, comfort, and medicine that could extend one’s life and peak health by almost a century. In their domed cities, built and run by automated drones, people found not only a replacement for the world they lost, but an improvement. They were glad to finally unite and follow any rules just to feel civilized again. That, however, was not a guarantee of long-lasting peace.

Thus, in 2102, the Geniocracy, under the watchful eye of their leader, Grimes, established the Peace Accords. By law, anything that could be offensive or divisive was officially banned for the sake of humanity. Racism, classism, et al were eliminated with the stroke of a pen; So too, however, were culture, religion, history, and personal identity. To cement the severity of it all, the powers that be had chosen December 25, a day of some import to some currently banned religion, to be the memorial of the Accord signing. Peace Day was born, and the world was truly harmonious for it. Everyone had the same assets, resources, and rules applied to them, and crime was almost non-existent and judged fairly by the automated police force. To most, it was a utopia.

Hazel could not stand it. And she was not alone.

* * * * * *

Hazel kept running through the night. She wished she could have taken a vehicle, but even a scooter would be too much for her jammer to safely obscure from surveillance. Thankfully, the medical leaps of the Geniocracy had made almost everyone a professional athlete. She was more than halfway to the capitol, where she was supposed to hand off her package to a hacker called Ivan 3612. She passed a power substation, marking that it was only an hour more of running. As she left it behind her, a sudden blinking red light in the ceiling of the corridor caught her eye. The alarm had been triggered. How?

Hazel panicked, looking at her jammer. It was offline. Then it hit her. The magnetic field around the substation. She had gotten too close, and it had shorted her equipment. She heard the sounds of pursuit springing into action. These weren’t the mild electrical hums of antigrav propulsion, though. It was… footsteps? Human law enforcement had been deemed a violation of the Peace Accords, as they could abuse their power to enforce divisive ideals. Who was chasing her? And what exactly was she smuggling?

She had no time to think of answers as she picked up her pace.

* * * * * * *

The coffee finished percolating as Hazel exited her morning shower. Freshly dried and in her robe, she sat down and took a moment to savor the aroma. Few things in this bland new world were as enjoyable to her as a fresh cup of coffee.

“Okay, Stella, read me my messages,” Hazel said as she brought the sweet energizing elixir to her lips.

“Absolutely, Hazel 1117! From health monitoring: Your hormones have been elevated, and you are still asked to procreate. Would you like to arrange for a sexual partner for this evening?” Hazel winced at the suggestion. Personal relationships were considered offensive to those who couldn’t attain one, and family units were considered divisive, a loyalty to something other than the human race, so all partnerships were now temporary and random, arranged by the government. Children were voluntary but encouraged, if one was okay with going through the 40 weeks to have your child taken postpartum and raised by the state. Many did it begrudgingly out of a sense of civic duty, the post-unification equivalent of being a juror. Others were proud to be selected to procreate, as such encouragement was based on a favorable genetic profile. Hazel belonged to neither camp.

“Yeah, that’s a hard pass. Next message.” She sipped her coffee as Stella continued in her annoyingly chipper tone.

“Next message: From Geddy 2112: Charlie Yankee Papa.” Hazel’s eyes widened. It was a simple but elegant code devised by fellow rogues. Fake names hacked into the system for one time use, followed by simple phonetic alphabet commands. Too broad to be easily understood, as any algorithm would take eons to sort out the various potential meanings of alphabetizations without context.

Urgent: Check your phone.

Hazel put her coffee down and sprang to her bookshelf while musing that she’d have to ask why Geddy was the code for a need to rush. Hidden in her copy of History of the Geniocracy was a slim black rectangle with a glass screen and a silver fruit on the back. It was an antique from a bygone era called an “iPhone 11”. It had been retrofitted on the black market to function and pass it’s communication via defunct satellites in orbit. A discreet way to pass exact messages without using the governmental comm network. After it powered on, she saw one new text message.

BIG JOB. MEET AT THE USUAL PLACE ASAP.

Hazel was getting dressed to leave before the book and it’s hidden contents had settled on the shelf.

* * * * * *

Hazel could see the entrance to the capitol. She couldn’t help but smile. Her pursuers had forgotten the first rule of long-distance running; Pack light. The footsteps had fallen away miles ago. Now she was all but home free. This was going to be the payday of her life.

* * * * * *

A mostly automated society meant most people had tons of free time. This actually made the underhanded deals easier, as people were always milling about. Hazel snuck from the crowd down an alley that was a confirmed blind spot in state surveillance and right towards Parker, her standard contact. He seemed more… preoccupied than usual.

“Everything copacetic, Parks?” Hazel asked as she cautiously approached. Parker nodded. He got uncomfortably close and handed her a package.

“Instructions are in the package. You’re going to the capitol.” Hazel stared at him for a moment before speaking.

“I’ve never run a package outside of the city.”

“There’s a first time for everything, kiddo. This is too big to trust anyone else. We got the contract,” He said as Hazel put the package and instructions in her bag.

“How big, Parks? Retirement big?” Parker shook his head.

“End Grimes big. This gig is for the Revolution.” Hazel then understood. The Revolution was about a return to humanity, freedom of expression and choice, even if the bad came back for it. Whether she did this job or not, someone would be gunning for her. If she did it right, though, the pay would be amazing.

“Guess I’m going to the capitol, then. Get me a jammer and a map. I’ll go tonight.”

* * * * * *

She had snuck into the city and waited at the meeting spot from the instructions. After a few minutes, she heard a voice from the shadows.

“Are you the courier?”

Hazel looked over to see what looked like a standard citizen. Tall, blonde, but otherwise unremarkable. He nodded at her slowly.

“I’m Ivan.” At the unprompted confirmation, Hazel breathed a sigh of relief. She walked over to him and thrust the package into his hands.

“Here. This better be worth whatever is going on.” Ivan smiled at her exasperation.

“Let’s find out.” He opened it unceremoniously and pulled a small pendant on a gold chain. It had an odd shape, pointed at one end with two curves at the top. Hazel realized it was a heart, the symbol having been declared offensive due to its origins and symbolism of personal relationships.

“That’s it? How is that going to topple a regime, Ivan?” He smiled at her silently and she realized something was wrong. She looked over slightly and noticed something slumped over in the shadows. She squinted, and then gasped. It was a human body. The knife slid between her ribs as the revelation hit her.

“It won’t.” ‘Ivan’ said smugly as she coughed and sputtered and faded to black.

******

Derek 2956 walked into Grimes’ office brimming with pride, while Grimes sat at his desk looking impatient. Reading the room, Derek quickly placed the locket on his desk. Grimes eyed it.

“No one else saw this?”

“No, sir.” Grimes smiled and hit a button on his desk.

“Good.” Derek didn’t have time to ask what the button did as nanites he had ingested unknowingly burnt him from the inside. Grimes inspected the locket as an automaton vacuumed the dust that was once a man. Inside was a picture of Grimes on one side… His wife and daughter on the other. He walked through a secret door into his opulent penthouse apartment he shared with his family. If the rabble knew the government failed to follow the rules they enforced, things could go very badly indeed. He had recovered his secret treasure, however, and none would be the wiser. Things would continue to go on, and anyone who objected would disappear like poor Derek. The dictator smiled to himself.

Long live the status quo.