November 4th, 2006
We were summoned to the docks. Some walked, some ran, some were impatient, some were fearful, some seemed calm. Soon urgency flashed across every face, in every set of eyes. All except for Ash. He was there, smiling as usual, leaping about like a little boy. They were issuing us our ear-clips for identification. For tracking, info-feed. Small, white blinking clips fastened to your right ear. The planks on the docks clattered with everyone’s walking. They had set up booths, stations, kiosks all over the country to issue the devices. How long had it taken to organize? I wasn’t surprised or afraid. But I was hyper-alert, tense.
Now I am in the small white room. Clean, peaceful, soft white sheets and drapes. The air blowing in is pure. A small window above me, on the far wall. White everywhere. White like Greece. I rest on my bunk and toy with the clip, which I’ve removed from my ear. It’s white against the white sheet. White and wise like a tooth.
I’ve discovered a way to make it seem to them like I’m wearing the clip, but not have information transmit. I keep the clip attached to my ear, and I’ve pried away its data-feed kernel. This I keep nearby and will manipulate every so often so as not to alarm them with its silence.
I’m scared now, but I feel powerful, clean. Stephanie’s there. “What the hell are you doing?” she asks.
Later there are boats, and spray up over the gunwales, frothy and skin-biting and cold. The gulf stretched out before us. I was giddy with the motion, the carving of space and air. The sun was not out and the air was pale. Now I was afraid.
C. Way/ SnailCrow.com © 2006