Time

Chuck made his rounds, clipboard in hand, down the narrow aisle between cages. Sixteen more dead in half as many hours. He jotted down the casualty numbers and left the observation area. Sheep were stupid and helpless, he reminded himself. Their deaths were not so tragic. The chip was failing in nearly sixty percent of the test cases, but the first human test subjects were already being arranged. People, desperate for money or to escape military drafts. People who would share graves with sheep. He must remember the greater purpose. A chip that could save lives, cure cancer, A.I.D.S, prevent aging... Surely it would be a great triumph. His name would be remembered. In the cages, agonized bleats of sheep began to mix with human outcries. Chuck pushed open the door to see shaven, dirty victims, human and ovine. The pained noises rang out overwhelming...

    The Time management chip awoke Dr. Charles D. Hensley and dissipated his nightmare. The sun had not yet broken the horizon. Chuck clicked on the tube as he began to drag himself through his morning routine: light cigarette, pour drink, wash, clothe.
    "Since the dawn of time, man has suffered in fear under the tyranny of death, old age, disease, and disability."
    A sad, wrinkled man sat slumped on a bench in black and white.
    "Well, no more! With today's advanced microchip technology, you are free to experience life without limitation."
    A family laughed and beamed at a dinner table. A couple held hands and gazed in each other's faces.
    "Your high-tech Time management chip is planted in the control center of your brain to store Time. As long as you are working to earn Time, the chip will keep your body in tip-top physical condition, preventing age and disease, as well as healing your minor injuries."
    A finger with a papercut scabbed over instantly.
    "This amazing device will change your life, as well as the lives of your loved ones. You will stay young and beautiful and even have the opportunity to change your physical features."
    A computer generated woman's nose morphed from large and bulbous to dainty and pointed.
    "Everyone on the planet will have this brilliant chip installed in the next two years, and with its affordability and benefits, who wouldn't want it? We say, 'chip up, Earth!'"
    A crowd of attractive, young people held their thumbs up.
    "This ad brought to you by the World Council."
    Chuck powered off the tube in disgust. What a Pandora's box, what a load. The original use for the chip was never to catalogue the civilians who had it, nor to track individuals from satellite. How could this have gone so wrong in just over 200 years?
    Chuck powered on his personal computer with his fingerprint identification.
    "Begin log: May 21st, 2251. Still, 16 percent of global population remains Natural, but we are losing numbers every day. To my knowledge, no chip has yet been successfully deprogrammed. Not one hacker has been identified, though an insurgent group of Leeches are rumored to be at large. Personal Time store..."
    Chuck interlaced his fingers and looked in the mirror. The numbers of his countdown appeared to glow from his forehead in the reflection.
    "Six days, 15 hours, 20 minutes, 18 seconds. End log. Protect."
    The screen flashed white and went dark. Chuck pulled on his coat and stepped into the cool morning. The door locked behind him as he climbed into the car and punched in the location of the meeting, nearly 100 miles away, just outside Denver. The trip took longer than expected: eight minutes, 35 seconds. Most of the congregation had already arrived. Chuck lit another cigarette and stepped into the sanctuary. The members greeted him with applause.
    "Thank you, comrades," Chuck said and put up his hands.
    The group hushed. He crossed to the front and the congregation settled and were seated.
    "You are all very courageous. You are fighting against much more than a chip. We stand together, peacefully rallying against the corruption of government and nature. We, my friends, are marked and persecuted for nothing more than our objection to the abuse of power that the chip has catalyzed."
    The crowd buzzed agreement.
    "We see the way the rich and powerful have made themselves immortal, while the poor and hardworking die-- by no fault of their own. We choose NOT to conform. We choose to live with uncertainty and defect, but I ask you, what is a life without natural obstacles? What is a life with a known deadline? The faces of the congregation fill me with pride: wrinkles, scars, imperfections, true beauty."
    An elderly woman nodded.
    "I, my comrades, have one of the original chip models invading my own body. I am subject to tracking and control. I am a statistic."
    A murmur arose.
    "You, however, are the sole remaining creatures of humanity. You have the freedom from the government that believes itself a God. Please, my brothers and sisters, object as I object and fight as we all fight. Thank you."
    The audience roared as Chuck quietly stepped off the stage and out the exit. He had shuttled off back home before the members of the congregation had time to follow him out.
    He stopped outside the Madhouse. Walking in, he passed the pool-playing factory workers, and the table of construction workers, their modified extra set of arms holding cigars and cards. He sat at the bar.
    "Usual?" the bartender asked.
    "Yeah, Dean. Usual," Chuck replied as he lit a cigarette. His gaze landed on a creature, making her entrance, gliding toward him. A real geisha, Chuck thought, her hair long and golden, eyes cold blue, figure wrapped tightly in the smallest possible yardage of revealing black fabric, heels hitting the beer-soaked wood floor with perfect rhythm. She approached Chuck, never breaking eye contact. She sat next to him.
    "Can I, uh, get you something to drink?" Chuck blew smoke away from the angel's face.
    "Gin and tonic with lime, thanks. I'm Lilah."
    The angel had spoken.
    Dean handed Chuck his scotch and the angel her gin and tonic. With lime. Thanks.
    "I've heard about you, Dr. Hensley. You were one of the researchers, right? We find ourselves in the same situation, I'm afraid."
    "Is that so?" Chuck raised an eyebrow and downed his drink, "I go by Chuck. Dean, one more."
    The angel named Lilah sipped her drink, "Well, Chuck, you have a chip, don't you? We both know I do; how else would I look like this?"
    Her voice was low and disdainful. Chuck put out his cigarette. He knew where this was going.
    "I wish I'd never got it in the first place. I wanted to model, so I thought the body modifications would do me some good. I used to be five feet tall, but I got the so-called 'miracle chip'... Well, that had to have been the worst mistake of my life. I mean, the pay's great; I'm practically immortal. But this is where I ended up," she gestured at the men in the room. Chuck's eyes followed her slender hand and landed on a man in a black suit, sitting alone near the door.
    "I hate to cut this short, but I gotta dash. This is a conversation for a more secure environment, anyway. Here's my card," Chuck fumbled in his pocket and handed it to her. He clasped his hands, transfered two hours to Dean's account for the drinks and a stiff tip, and started toward the exit.
    "Hey, thanks, Chuck," Dean yelled at his back.
    The man in the black suit got up as soon as Chuck was outside.

    At home, Chuck lit a cigarette and contemplated the anonymous black-suit. Government Life Span Agent? Natural? Hacker? Either this was an ally or the grim reaper himself. Trustworthy? There was reason to doubt. If sent by the government, the congregation would be shut down and Chuck's account quietly terminated for sedition, though his research was not technically illegal. If this happened, the public would be made aware and a stronger rebellion could be spurred. No, the GLSA was wiser. If it was a Natural, then why would he have acted so furtively about following him all the way home? Chuck shook these thoughts and powered on the laptop.
    "Begin log: May 21st, 2251. Time remaining to develop method to deprogram chip:" he clasped his hands and read the red numbers across the mirror, "six days, 10 hours, 45 seconds. End log. Protect."
    The realization dawned on him. The obsession with his own inevitable death had become his life. He had worked 200 years for posterity and here, alone, all he wanted was to give himself the comfort of giving up.
    A shadow moved in Chuck peripheral vision, outside the window.
    Nothing moved.
    Chuck put out the butt, lit a fresh one, and poured himself a brandy, but left it on the table and stood, listening.
    The knock came. Chuck opened the door to the black-suited man and fell unconscious.

    When he awoke, the room was empty. A few papers had been rifled through on the desk and the computer was still on. Chuck stood, picked up his brandy, and stepped toward the screen. A new log had been created. He pressed "play" and took a sip.
    "Good evening, Dr. Chuck," said a calm man with a scar above his eyebrow and greying hair. "Terribly sorry about the virus; we only charged 24 hours from you, but we needed to have a look at your research. The Time we've taken from you will be given to someone in need. You can think of us as the Robin Hoods of the twenty-third century."
    Sip.
    "We are an underground organization, much like the one you've organized, only a little less, shall we say, pacifistic in our endeavors."
    Sip.
    "We believe that with the blueprints you've saved from the original chip models, we may have all we need to deprogram anyone's chip."
    Long sip.
    "As you can see, we've already hacked the system, to an extent. Our group can charge Time, and, yes, even terminate accounts. The global system will be destroyed in the next week or so. We thank you for your cooperation and look forward to future correspondence. Cordially, The Hackers."
    Chuck powered off the laptop and poured himself the last of the brandy. "This is it," he thought, "the resistance will have a final chance in a matter of days."
    A knock sounded throughout the apartment.
    "Government Life Span Agency. Open the door."
    Adjusting his suit, Chuck carried his brandy to the door and opened it slowly.
    "Do come in. Would you like a cigarette?" Chuck walked toward the computer.
    "I don't smoke. I suppose you know why I'm here," the agent replied.
    "I am suspected to be involved in illegal and treasonous activity. I'm sure you'll find more than enough proof in this very room," Chuck took a small sip and dumped the remains onto the keyboard. As the laptop fizzled off, he shook the agent's hand, "Thank you for your time, but you are already too late."
    Dr. Charles D. Hensley's account was terminated.

Author's Note

First draft.