Subversive Elements

 “Subversive Elements”

By Jeffrey Van Dell

“Can I see your passport and supporting documents please?” I asked the man with gray hair and blue eyes.

He had them at the ready, open to the correct page and he was smiling at me. His behavior could mean one of three things; he was a smuggler, he was a first time visitor to the outer planets, or he was in sales. The salespeople sometimes took drugs to make them happier and more confident. I tried the drug for a few weeks but my supervisor said I was creeping out my co-workers and made me stop taking it. My best friend, Xerxes, liked me better on the drug until his girlfriend, Helena, starting talking to me more than him.

I said to him, “There’s probably a drug that prevents jealousy. Maybe you should take that?” Anyway I went off the drug. It was probably for the best.

The man’s documents were all in order.

“James Wasserman: Agriculture specialist, Translator, Sales, Medic,”

“Translator” raised red flags for me.

Now that most of the colonies got the same news feeds we all spoke the same dialect, not to mention the same languages. Translators weren’t needed anymore. English and Mandarin were taught in all schools. If you wanted French or Spanish you had to go to France or Spain, to one of the specialty schools within the old nation states’ borders; ditto for Hebrew, Greek, Italian, Arabic, and fourteen other languages which were banned.

I spoke several phrases to Mr. Wasserman that I had memorized by rote from a Company instructor. After each phrase I checked Wasserman’s vitals on the scope, no unusual readings. I’d let him through.

“You can go through sir. Enjoy yourself on Io. I hope you brought a sweater.” I always said this to people going on to Io. It was in the handbook of things we were allowed to say to travelers. If someone was going on to Europa I said, “It’s just like Europe without the ‘e’.”

I hated when people went to Europa because saying that phrase made me feel stupid. The next person came though and I performed the same tasks, over and over again, until my shift was over six hours later. I worked in an eight by eleven room, alone, and was monitored by a supervisor six kilometers away from a Company control room. The walls of my room were lit brightly from behind, the floor was gray plasticreet, and the illumination from the ceiling harsh. It took me several headache filled months to get used to the constant bright light. It was cold and shadowless.

After work I showered and put on comfortable clothes. The Company’s form fitting black uniforms had to be recycled daily because we weren’t allowed to leave our posts for bathroom breaks. The suits processed both liquid and solid waste. Yes, it’s gross, but there’s no smell unless the suit malfunctions.

There wasn’t much for temporary workers like me to do on the colonies when we weren’t working. I’d been a temp for three years, hoping to get a permanent position in the colony’s communist community. It was the only one of its kind. The waiting list was six years long, earth years not Jovian. I’d outlasted the thirty original people I came to Io with, their replacements, and their replacements. Most people thought I was crazy to wait. If you weren’t born into the communist colony you could only get into it by working as a temp and having your name put on the waiting list. My parents and siblings thought I was crazy. They offered to fly me home every year on my birthday, but if I left I’d lose my spot on the list. I knew they couldn’t afford it anyway.

I packed my three bass guitars for practice; two vintage Fender’s that were worth a fortune and a modern bass made of plasticreet that played and sounded great on the modern tunes we performed. I owned a cheap guitar for writing songs on that my parents bought me for my thirteenth birthday. I had to stuff the guitar’s body with clothes to meet the weight and space limit on the cargo ship I took here. In the years I’d been here playing music was the only thing that kept me sane.

Most of the temps never got to see the colony proper. We were all housed in a block of cubicles, shared bathrooms and meals, and complained a lot. I was lucky. I had friends in the communist section of the Company colony.  You could only get in if you were invited and invitations were hard to come by. Communism only worked on Callisto. On other worlds where they planted communal living groups they had failed.

The little mag-lev train got me to Harvey’s entrance a little before six and, as usual, he was waiting for me at the gate.

“Hey, guess what? We’ve got a gig at the politburo! They want us to play for six hours because they’re ending their general session and everyone wants to have fun before they go back to their farms and six months of watching the wheat grow.” Harvey was all smiles, horn-rimmed glasses, and long red hair. He played guitar like a monster.

“That’s great! But six hours is a long time. Do we have enough material?” I asked.

“No, we have to stretch some things out. You can take a bass solo, I can solo a few times. Medusa can play some of her own songs by herself. That will fill some time but we need to learn six more tunes per practice. Think you can do it?” He asked.

“No problem!” I hated playing solos. Bass wasn’t really a solo instrument but I knew a couple of easy classical pieces that sounded impressive, even on bass.

My parents had sent me to Golden State for lessons and I got a partial scholarship to their school. The year I spent there was awsome and my teacher, a Jamaican man who didn’t smoke pot, inspired and challenged me. I had serious trouble with the academic requirements, especially the math, and was dismissed from the program. I decided to get off earth and got a job with the Company in the outer system. I had no good job prospects on earth and space travel seemed romantic. Stupid me; stuck in a cubicle all day and hoping that someone in the commie section would die so I could live there. At least as a bassist I had something going for me besides a certificate in security from Company School 116.

“Let me get that for you.” Harvey took my other bass and carried it to the check in point. The communists were polite, co-operation being more of a virtue than competition. It showed by the little courtesies evidenced in their daily lives. I signed the documents, showed my retina to the scanner, and was let into the workers paradise.

“I got the recreation room for four hours today and tomorrow. You can sleep over if you want. Are you working tomorrow?”

“No, I’m going shopping with Xerxes and Helena. Helena wants to buy him a guitar for his birthday and I’m going to make sure he gets something good.” I said, stopping to catch my breath.

The stairs up to the building they lived in were steep and long. Harvey was in much better shape than I was because the communists required that every resident be able to lift his own body weight over his head six times in under a minute. There were no fat communists.

 “Don’t old people ever just drop dead when they take these stairs? I mean, what do you do with your old people anyway?” I asked.

“We eat them or use them for mulch in the flower gardens of course. What else would we do with them?” He said.

 “I must be getting in shape because I can almost make it to the top without feeling nauseous.” Three quarters of the way up my breathing was labored. Sitting for ten hours a day, six days a week wasn’t good for my cardiovascular system. I’d been coming to play with them for the last six months and the first time up the stairs I threw up when I reached the top. Harvey quipped that I’d been “purged of all capitalist foodstuffs.”

“If we keep playing together you can participate in the Co-lympics. I’ll be your sponsor.” He said.

“Only if hurling is an event.” I laughed at my own joke and took in the view.

Until fusion power was perfected no one would have ever thought that Callisto would be the breadbasket for the outer planets. Free power had allowed us to fire up the Ito initiators, providing the outer worlds with miniature suns that in turn made photosynthesis possible where none had been. Cold, dead planets were transformed into habitable worlds. In the hundred years since Hitachi Ito had proved his theory of hydrogen initiated fusion power mankind had traveled to other worlds and thrived there.

From the top of the stairs I saw six suns soaring across the sky. The plexicreet bubbles we lived under were tuned to early evening luminosity. The Ito initiators were set to give Callisto twelve hours of daylight. Every day was the longest day of the year. It was planting season now. Thousands of acres of blue-green gel awaited inoculation and the slow growth that had made the communists, and the Company, billions of credits each harvest.

Although I wasn’t interested in farming I wanted a life of eight-hour work shifts, free housing, food, medical care, transportation, education, and body augmentation. It could be mine if I just waited my turn. Of course I couldn’t own anything, that was the exchange you made when you surrendered yourself to the good of the people. My precious basses would become part of the colony’s musical instrument collection. I knew they had some nice instruments to share. I looked forward borrowing them.

Life was better here than on earth where you were responsible for so much more and failure was a fact for almost everyone. I didn’t want to deal with taxes, insurance, license renewal, buying a house, or any of the hundred other problems people in the capitalistic world had to deal with. Give me a mindless day job, nights filled with music, and I would be happy.

“Let’s go brother, we’ve got lots to do.” Harvey and I went into the recreation room and moved the amps, P.A. and drums into position.

“Hey stranger, how was the trip?” Medusa came in and gave me a hug with her two natural arms.

“Same as ever. Harvey thinks I’m ready for the special Co-lympics.” I said, smelling her hair. “Lilacs?” I asked

“Yes, lilacs today. I’m impressed. Did he tell you about the gig?”

“He filled me in. I thought we could go over our old stuff for an hour then decide which new tunes to learn, make a list, then get to it.” I said as I put my bass on and tuned up.

Because I’d gone to music school they deferred to me on how best to use practice time. Harvey actually had a better ear than me. He could pick out parts on old recordings that I didn’t even notice. Medusa was simply an amazing drummer, she had four arms. She could play the traditional drum set and do percussion or keyboard lines at the same time, although her other set of arms weren’t as agile as her normal ones. Her extra hands had only a thumb and two fingers.

Like many people Medusa had gone in for extreme body alteration. Unlike most people she said she did it so she could help with the communist community’s bio-farming. I think she did it because she liked the attention.

When I first met her she said, “Everyone always wants hugs from me!” Her extra arms were kind of freakish looking and having her touch me with them gave me the creeps. I never said that of course.

Practice went well. We got through our old material quickly. Several people from Harvey’s apartment sat and listened. Then we listed all the new songs we wanted to learn and whittled them down to a workable number. Unlike other bands I’d played in there was no arguing. The communists were taught that co-operation was preferable to competition from an early age. This made decision making hard on my part. I never knew if Harvey and Medusa were agreeing with me because they liked my song ideas or because they were avoiding conflict. I had learned how to tell the difference though.

            “We should only play one song from that band. Would you rather do ‘Dreaming’ or ‘Fade Away and Radiate’?”

            If I gave them a choice and they didn’t pick one of the songs right away I knew they really didn’t want either one. I would take it off the list. If one of them liked it I let them work it out. They seemed to take turns acquiescing to each other.

            “I like the bridge section of ‘Dreaming’, it pounds!” Medusa whipped her four arms around and made drumming sounds.

            “I’m ok with that. There are too many weird guitar parts on ‘Fade Away’ anyway. I put “Dreaming” on the set list.

            “The other ones were those two rockabilly songs, ‘Stray Cat Strut’ and ‘Rock This Town’. Should we do both, one, or neither?” I asked. I hated both tunes but Harvey loved the solo on the second song.

“Rock This Town.” They said together, almost simultaneously.

            I laughed. “Have you been conspiring together? I’m reporting you to the politburo for agreeing on songs with capitalistic sentiments. That should get you thrown out and I’ll get up the line faster.”

            “Harvey has kitchen duty for the next month so you can count on lots of deaths!” Medusa put her four hands on her throat and made choking sounds.

            “Better red than dread!” Harvey shouted and jumped up, whipping his long red hair around his head while playing air guitar. Medusa joined in on air drums and whipped her blonde dreadlocks around trying to outdo comrade Harvey.

            “You should do that on stage! It looks cool.” I shouted.

            “I can’t do it and play at the same time.” Harvey stopped and almost fell over from being dizzy. Medusa did fall over, laughing hysterically. 

            “Ok you two commie-mediums, let’s get back to work.”

            Music is a labor of love and getting the ancient music just right was as close to a religious experience as we could ever have. As with any activity you enjoy doing, time went by in a flash. I took a data cube with the all the songs on them so I could practice in my spare time.

            Getting data out of the communist section of the colony was no problem. Any data going in had to be checked for “corrupting influences”. I usually brought in lists of songs and they searched through the extensive archives for the actual recordings. 

 Medusa saw me to the gate, giving me a smack on the rump with her extra-long genetically engineered arm as I hopped into the train car. “Get a girlfriend would you?” She winked.

“It’s the drugs.” I yelled back to her.

Temp workers weren’t allowed to have sex and they gave us all drugs that killed our libido’s and caused us to gain weight. The Company physician said that one in a thousand men went sterile after two years on the drug. I didn’t care because I never wanted to have kids.

The next day I took Xerxes and Helena guitar shopping. There was only one emporium for the colony that had off-world goods. Anything that wasn’t food, plant, or animal, and came from off world could be purchased there. Xerxes and Helena picked me up and gave me a one-day pass for the emporium.

“So where do we go first? The musical instrument section or to one of the boutiques?” I asked.

Helena loved shopping and Xerxes loved beautiful things. I knew they’d get at least a ten year marriage contract, maybe twenty.  We became friends when I taught Helena’s little brother bass lessons. Tyler was a great kid and had gone off to Mars to the Company Leadership School. Her parent’s were Company executives in charge of transportation for the colony. Helena couldn’t wait to turn twenty-five, inherit the money in her trust fund, and go to Mars, which she considered the best place to live. Xerxes parent’s owned a small farming unit that harvested foul smelling fish that were being genetically altered to clean all the mercury from a huge lake on earth. Xerxes goal in life was to own an art gallery on Io. The youngest of three children, he was the only one not interested in farming. No one in his family understood where he got his love for fine art. We went to V.R. museums where Helena and I would lose interest after an hour and talk in the café until the place closed.

We were an odd group of friends. Three is an usually an unstable number for relationships, but I spent most of my free time with them. They took me to the upper atmosphere of Jupiter on a specially outfitted ship for my birthday last year. Seeing the big red storm on Jupiter up close was the most awesome and terrifying experience of my life. Sometimes, if I was down, I’d play back the recording of the trip. It never failed to lift my spirits.

“I know a guy who has a booth with old copies of original guitars. Some of them have wooden necks.” I said.

“That will cost a fortune!” Xerxes complained.

“When have you ever cared how much something cost?” Helena said as we entered the giant complex.

“I don’t. I’m looking forward to having you buy me something that will cost a fortune!” He laughed and kissed her.

“Brat, I’m going to make you buy me roses for my birthday.” She zipped up her tunic because the air was set for fall inside the emporium. My hands were chilly and I put them in my tunic pocket.

“Roses do cost a fortune. I’ll get them if you really want them.” Xerxes said.

“No, I’d be happy with just a solid silver yo-yo.” She pulled out her gold plated one and made “rock the cradle” with it.

“Oh no, not another one.” I said.

“Well you have three guitars! Isn’t that over the top? Those things are worth what? Sixty-thousand credits each?”

“Each of my instruments performs a different function.” I said. “They have different tones and I tune them differently for certain songs.”

“Hey, let’s go into this one.” Said Helena

I was surprised because it was kind of shabby inside, not Helena’s style.

“There’s not much of a selection. I was expecting more.” Helena wrinkled her nose.

“My selection is small but the best. Are you the young lady I spoke with?”

“I am, my name is…” She began. 

“Names are irrelevant. Only purchasing the proper instrument is of value. You will follow me and I will tell you in detail the qualities and features of each instrument.”

The creature speaking to us was a highly modified human. No gender could be determined because no secondary sexual characteristics were visible. It had mottled red skin, purple hair, yellow eyes, and was wearing a one-piece gray uniform. There was a patch on the breast that said, “Remotely Operated”.

“Actually we know what we want.” I said. Letting the creature’s operator digest the information.

“Is it a remote?” Helena whispered to me. I saw one at a store we went to last year but have never interacted with one.”

“Yes, the owner is somewhere else at a party, in the bathroom, or doing business. The guy, or girl, in front of us rents herself out. You can see the little metal pad that interfaces with her brain. They can do it without the interface, with short-wave radio waves if you believe it. Just speak normally and be patient.”

She stared at it. “What about the person being used, what do they experience? And how do you know so much about this stuff?”

“She’s basically having a dream about all of this. When her shift is over she’ll collect some credits and have a wicked headache. I had a cousin who did it as a summer job. She sold fried dough at an amusement park on Earth to earn money for school. She said that dreaming about selling fried dough all summer was a great way to make extra credits. A good operator can run up to four remotes at the same time. Although there have been accidents; people walking into lakes because their operators forgot to make them stop, remotes who painted the same spot on a wall all day because their operator was out drinking, you know, stuff like that.”
            Xerxes was looking at one guitar in particular and said. “How much is this one?” He ran his finger down one of the strings.

“That is one thousand credits…eight hundred credits…no…nine hundred credits with the case and four sets of strings.” Said the sales person.

“Come on, this is insane. That’s a piece of crap. I came here to see the good stuff with real wooden necks, but you’re showing me plastisteel junk. Let’s go.” Helena said, and started to walk out.

I knew what she was doing. We got to the door and I had to allow for transmission time with the store’s owner. It took three seconds.

“Wait!” Said the person, there was some real emotion in the voice for the first time and I wondered if the store’s owner had taken full control of the sales person. “I’ll get them for you.” She opened a wall panel and revealed the good stuff. Helena had sniffed out another great place.

Buying Xerxes a guitar took twice as long as I thought it would. I played every instrument Xerxes did to make sure it played well and was a good investment. My guitar playing wasn’t exceptional but I knew the difference between an adequate instrument and an exceptional one.

In the end it came down to a choice between an original black Les Paul, which had somehow survived the war with China, and something custom made by someone named “D’argento” with a maple neck that played like a Stratocaster and sounded. After much prodding from Helena Xerxes took the Les Paul. It was a better investment but a lesser instrument. He didn’t care about that, he just liked the shape of it and the way it hung on his body. I couldn’t blame him. He did look really cool with it.

“It’s so cool!” He had tears in his eyes.

“Don’t cry, you’ll ruin it.” I said.

“Oh hush, it’s not like he gets something nice from me every day. Oh…actually he gets me!” Helena hugged him and said, “Happy birthday lover.” She whispered something under her breath and I walked to the remote to let them snuggle and bond.

I bargained with the remote for extra strings, a real leather strap, six dozen picks and a string tool. The remote’s shift was over and her grumpy personality came to life as she shut the store, muttering under her breath about the “damn religious freaks” who owned the store. I saw no evidence of anything religious and, to my regret, forgot about it.

 Helena took me to my favorite restaurant, a noodle house, and whispered in my ear, “I’ll see what I can do to get you further up the list.”

She felt bad that I had three years to go until I was able to join the communists. Xerxes held the guitar case to his chest like it was a new puppy. As shopping days went it was spectacular. 

I spent the rest of the day learning new songs then met Harvey for practice. My cubicle never looked so good as I crashed into bed late that night.

            After work the next day I sorted dirty clothes and prepared to bring them to the laundry room. I had a cleaning unit reserved for a half-hour and if I missed my time slot I’d have to go without underwear for a week, wear dirty ones, or purchase new ones. Guitar picks, notes to myself about songs, my credit chip and several random slips of paper fell out of my clothes. One caught my eye.

            “I will pay you anything you want to let me get through customs with religious literature. If you agree, write what you want on this piece of paper and put it in your purple and gray outer tunic pocket and wear it next time you go to visit someone..” The note was written in soy ink and it was smudged.

            My heart was pounding. Any evidence that a custom agent was compromised resulted in his immediate dismissal. At best I would be sent back to earth, no job, no pay, and no chance to ever get off that world again. In the worst case I could be imprisoned or sent to a labor camp. The ultimate punishment was to become an involuntary remote worker, like the one who sold us the guitar but without the hope of ever waking from a dream and carrying on my normal life. I’d be sent to clean pine needles in the forests of Europe, or cleaning toilets in a Company office building in Old Brazil; always dreaming, never waking.

            “Stop it!” I said aloud to myself. “Think!”

            Standard procedure was for me to contact my supervisor and tell him everything. He was a good guy, I guess. I’d only seen him in person three times. I could show him the paper and be honest and up front about how it got in my pocket. My hands were sweating. I put the note down before all the ink smeared. Maybe they could get some DNA or even a fingerprint off of it? Or maybe I should just destroy the note, eat it! No one would ever have to know, unless the Company placed the note there.

They might do it as a loyalty test and if I didn’t show it to them they would fire me and I’d be in the same boat. What to do, what to do?

I sat down for ten minutes and said to myself, “God, show me what to do.”

Now, you have to understand, I do not believe in God. No one in my generation really does; not the old Christian God, not Yaweh, and not Allah, whos sacred cities were still glassed over and radiating. It was just a reflex of fear. I hear that lots soldiers say “Oh God!” as they’re dying on the battlefield.

Something about not lying came into my mind. My parents always told us to tell the truth. It was usually the best policy. I put the piece of paper into a clean plastic envelope and walked to the customs station.

My supervisor was surprised to see me. He’d never seen me out of uniform before.

“What can I do for you?” He said, curiosity obvious on his face.

“Sir, I found this in my tunic pocket. I do not know how it got there and as soon as I found it I came to you. Please sir, I don’t want to get in trouble. I have no idea who gave it to me and I know of no person with even quasi religious ideas.” I held out the envelope to my supervisor and he held it up to read.

“I see.” He said, all business. “Stay here.” He walked out and I heard the door lock behind me.

After ten agonizing minutes he brought back a woman I’d never met before and she asked me the circumstances under which I found it and whom I had been with over the last few days. Everything was being recorded.

Even as I spoke the name of my friends aloud I knew they were going to be visited by Company agents. Helena and Xerxes would understand because they went to Company schools and knew how dangerous the old religions were. Medusa and Harvey would simply be obedient to authority, as they were trained to do from childhood. None of them had ever said anything subversive to me.

It was another hour before my next interrogator. She was an older woman with a company uniform from one of the military branches. She held a scanner to my head and asked me the same questions, over and over again. Finally, she took the scanner away and said, “Sit down young man.” She pulled out a chair for me.

“First, I want to assure you that you did exactly the right thing by coming to us and making us aware of what you found. I can’t tell you the details of our investigation, but for some reason an individual wanted by us for questioning on questions of religious extremism has decided to contact you. You know how the religious wars almost destroyed humanity? Do you have any idea who could have slipped this to you?”

“I have no idea who it could be. No one in my family and none of my friends, to my knowledge, are involved with any of the old religions. I don’t want…”

The woman put up her hand and looked down, “Relax, relax. If any of that were in your past you would never have been allowed to come here in the first place. I promise you, nothing of this will affect your position here or your application to the communist section.”

I relaxed a fraction of an inch.

The woman typed something and read a screen I could not see.

She said, “You want to be a communist. You have three years to go…we could bring that down to one year. Are you willing to take a risk to shave two years off of your waiting time?”

I almost said “yes” but she put her hand out again to stop me. “Let’s not have any hasty decisions. Harm to your person could result. There is an element of risk involved. However, if you decline nothing will be said about it on your record. You will simply have to wait the full three years. You’re twenty three years old right now, correct?”

I nodded.

“Should we give you more time to decide or are you ready to answer now?”

Two years shaved off the wait was worth the risk. They wouldn’t actually let me get killed, would they?

“I accept! Whatever it takes to bring these religious freaks to justice…”

“Good! Go back to your quarters. At work tomorrow we will send you instructions. Go about your life as you normally do. Be sure not to mention any of this to your friends, co-workers, or even your supervisor. The more normal you act the better chance we have of capturing whoever put this note in your pocket. You are dismissed.” She said with a curt nod.

Sleep that night was in fits and starts. My alarm went off as I lay awake wondering who had slipped the note into my pocket. I knew it could not have been any of my friends. It must have been someone who knew I was an agent and got to me at the emporium. Lots of people bumped against each other there.

“Can I see your passport and supporting documents please?” I asked the woman.

She pawed through her large bag, spilling half its contents on the floor before she found her passport. “I’m so sorry! It’s my first time traveling out this far.”

She launched into a diatribe against close to light speed travel, remote salesmen, people who were paid remotes, zero gravity toilets, Martians, and people who thought that space travel broadened your mind.

“It’s all crap! Everything, the entire universe.” Her documents all checked out and I was relieved when she left.

The next day I received an instruction from the Company on my screen. It appeared when I was entering information about a client and faded as soon as I read it.

“Tomorrow, when you go to your rehearsal, you will wear the tunic you had on when you bought the guitar for your friend.”

I frowned and the person whose information I was entering asked nervously, “Is everything in order? I’m sure I had all my…”

“Don’t worry you’re fine, relax ok?” I said, too abruptly, and the person was even more nervous, fidgeting and sweating.

 The message didn’t make sense because we didn’t have rehearsal for another three days. A different message appeared on my screen asking if I’d be willing to switch shifts with Garret tomorrow. He’d work for me tomorrow and I’d work for him next day. I returned the message and said I’d be happy to.

“Isn’t this cool? We get an extra rehearsal before the gig!” Harvey picked up my extra bass and escorted me into the communist section.

“It’s unusual.” I said, paranoid and scared but trying to be as normal as possible.

Medusa and Harvey both thought something was wrong with me because I wasn’t my usual chipper self and I made more mistakes in one practice than I’d made in all the others until then.

“What’s with you today? Are you sick? We can take you to the infirmary.” Medusa put her human hand on my forehead and frowned. “You don’t have a fever.”

“I’m fine!” I said, too loudly. “Really, it’s just…stressful at work that’s all.”

Harvey and Medusa looked at each other. They knew my job was absolute tedium. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath.

“Ok, look, my mom’s sick. It’s not terminal or anything but I’m not there and I just feel helpless.” That was true, I did feel helpless.

They were gracious and got me a beer, talked to me until I was focused, and we managed to salvage most of the rehearsal. I was furious at myself for letting my feelings get in the way of practice. I wasn’t good at much and I prided myself on being a competent musician.

On the way home several people bumped into me. Should I check my pocket or not? I tried to remember how often I normally put my hands into my tunic pocket but couldn’t remember. What was normal anyway?

At home I put my basses away and checked my tunic. There was nothing there. Relief came, but only for a moment. My buzzer rang.

“Open up.” I recognized the voice and let her in.

“You didn’t find anything in your tunic or on your person?” The older woman was wearing a civilian pair of pants, black shirt and a long blue coat that looked expensive. She held the scanner up to my head and asked me question after question about my activities of the last few days. The headache came back like it was making up for lost time.

“How are you feeling? You look ill.” She pulled a mediscanner from her pocket and, without my consent, thrust it against my neck where it stuck, sucked, and probed.

“Oww!” I yelled and fell back on my cot.

“There now. Don’t be frightened. It’s been six months since your last physical. I’ll let the medical department know and you may skip your next one. Are you taking your libido suppressant? You’re not masturbating are you?”

She was my mother’s age but I was beyond embarrassment at that point. “Yes, I’m fine and no I’m not.”

“You have a slight fever. Maybe you picked up something…yes, you have.. You’ve caught the flu. It’s in the early stage. I’ve got something that will alleviate the symptoms. You may feel tired and feel achy for the next few days. You’ll have some strange dreams too. Don’t worry about them though, they’re a side effect of the drug.” She unwrapped a cough drop sized sphere, put it in her mouth and chewed it for a moment, then took it out and slapped it against the other side of my neck where I knew it would be absorbed into my body. After pushing a few buttons on the mediscanner she pulled it off with a sucking sound and applied a small bandage to my neck.

“There! Don’t you feel better? Oh don’t look at me like that. I was a medic in the war, long before you were born, psy-ops, but I was good. Sleep well dear.” She picked up her bag and left without another word.

As soon as she was out the door I sat on my cot and tried to take off the stuff she put on my neck. My arm was too heavy to lift. I lay down on the cot and had a strange dream.

In my dream I called Xerxes. “How’s the guitar working out. Are you ready for a lesson?”

“Hey buddy! It is so cool. I can’t stop playing it. Actually, I can’t stop standing in front of the big mirror in Helena’s room and staring at myself holding it. When do I learn another chord? Are my fingers supposed to hurt this much?” He said.

“How about tomorrow, I’ve got time after work. Is Helena going to be there?” I asked.

“I guess. She’s been busy. Should I come to your place?”

I hesitated and could not speak for a moment.

“You still there? Why isn’t your video feed on?” He asked.

“No, I’ll come to your place, or Helena’s. I’ll be there at eight.” I was about to switch off. When a voice in my head said, ”You can’t get out of the temp area without an invitation.”

“You can’t get out of the temp area without one of us to get you? Did you forget?” Xerxes said.

“Oh, right…so you will come and get me at seven-thirty sharp, understood?” I said.

“Yes sir your highness! You sounded like Burt when you said that.” He said.

“Who’s Burt?” I asked. But I knew that Burtrand was Helena’s father.

“Ok, you must have had a particularly mind-numbing day. See you tomorrow.” He signed off.

In my dream I went to the bathroom, took off my outer clothes, and went to bed setting the alarm for one hour earlier than I usually did. I said aloud to myself. “Did I feed the cat? Yes, I did.”

When I awoke the next day I felt stiff and sore all over. I wondered how I’d gotten to bed wearing my underwear since I always slept naked. The previous night’s dream hung on me like a wet robe. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d actually had that conversation with Xerxes.

“Can I see your passport and supporting documents please?” I asked the man.

“Right here sir,” He said putting them on the counter under the scanners. “And may I say you’re looking a bit under the weather today?”

“Touch of the flu.” I explained, waiting for the pitch from Mr. Caldera:

Juan Caldera: Physician, Sales, Pharmacist, Musician.

“You know I am in pharmaceutical sales. I am also a…”

“You’re a musician!” I said. He was only the second one to come through my station.

“Yes, I play, or should I say played, classical guitar and piano. I’m traveling all the time and don’t get to do it much on the road. Are you a musician as well?”

“I play bass guitar, mostly rock and roll, the ancient kind, but sometimes I get out those Bach cello pieces and play through those. They’re really hard but they keep me in shape.” I processed his paperwork and handed him back his documents.

“It’s strange to think that we are playing music half a millennium old on the moon of a planet Bach never conceived of. I have his biography, one of the old ones, you should read it.” He said.

“Maybe I will.” I said. He wrote the title and author for me on a slip of paper.

“Going to Io? Don’t forget…”

“To bring a sweater…yes I’ve been here lots of times. Europa is just like Europe without the good food, museums, and breathable atmosphere. May I suggest drinking plenty of fluids and taking a dose of “ProPharma’s Allevite”? It’s a broad-spectrum symptom suppressant.” He searched through his pockets.

“We’re not allowed to take gifts or buy items from clients. I’ll check it out though. Have a great trip Mr. Caldera.” I said, cursing myself because I’d have to write up a report since he offered to give or sell me something. That added a half- hour to my day, no overtime of course. I got home at seven forty-five.

“You’re late! You’re never late, I’m the one who’s always late.” Said Xerxes waiting at my door. He was holding his guitar case and drinking coffee from a disposable cup.

“Late for what” I asked, fear seeping in.

“My lesson of course. You told me to come and get you at seven-thirty. Do you want to grab something to eat on the way? You look pale. Maybe you should just teach me here, save you the trip home.” We went into my room together.

I felt dizzy for a moment then everything changed. I realized what happened. I spoke to Xerxes as if I was in a dream, which I wasn’t. It was a nightmare.

“No, I need to get out of this stifling hell-hole. Is Helena going to be there?” I could see and hear myself but someone else, the older Company woman no doubt, was controlling me. I wanted to scream, but could not.

“Yes, she’s studying.” He said.

“What’s she studying?” I asked.

What I really wanted to say was “Xerxes! Don’t say anything incriminating!”

“Why the sudden interest in her studies? Are you off of your libido suppressant?” He laughed and looked at the poster of guitars through the centuries.

“I’m ready. Let’s go.” I said in my dream state, wondering how Xerxes and Helena could possibly be guilty of anything remotely religious.

“Don’t you need a guitar to teach me on?” He asked.

“Oh, right.” I reached out and grabbed one of my basses, not a guitar, and we left.

When we got to Xerxes’s place we found Helena studying some notes.

“What is that?” I asked her.

“Oh, I’ve been wanting to share this with you for so long. You’re not going to believe this but…Xerxes should we tell him?” She looked at my best friend and he frowned and shook his head.

“I don’t know. He’s a custom agent. What if he tells his boss?”

If I’d had control of my arms I would have put them over Helena’s mouth because I knew what was coming.

“Oh pooh! He’s only seen his boss what, two times? Do you think he’s an agent of the Company?” She said.

“He has been acting oddly today. He looks sick.” Xerxes got out his guitar and slowly put his fingers down, trying to play a D-minor chord. His middle finger was one string off. I wanted to tell him to move it but my mouth wasn’t under my control.

“I’m sick. I took something for it though. So what were you going to tell me Helena?” I spoke the words but it was like watching and acting in a play at the same time.

“Well, Xerxes and I have been studying some literature we got from…”

“Don’t say his name!” Xerxes shouted.

“Oh don’t worry! I was going to say “a friend” anyway. So we got this stuff, and it’s amazing. It’s all about the ancient Hebrews and one of their prophets. It’s so cool! All the questions about life that you had, even ones that you didn’t know you had, are answered by him.”

She looked so beautiful just then. I don’t mean in the physical sense. Something in her face opened up in a way I’d never seen before. Something fell away to reveal peace and simplicity. Her eyes were clear and sharp. I pitied her.

 “And what is this Jewish prophet’s name?” My voice asked.

I did not know the answer. Hardly anyone on the nine worlds knew much about the ancient religions anymore. After the great wars they were banned or suppressed. Helena spoke the name of the prophet.

I said, “Don’t you understand how dangerous his teachings are? Killing in his name, murder, rape, torture, and the destruction of entire cultures lay at the feet of his followers and missionaries. His body was found. We have his bones in an archive.”

Xerxes stopped playing his guitar and looked up with a frown. “That’s not true. He’s alive. He’s changed us, changed me. I love him for what he’s done. Helena and I are getting married because the teacher says…”

My voice said, “You both follow and study his teachings? Of your own free will?”

“Yes I do. With all my heart.” Said Helena, smiling at me.

“I’d do anything for him. My sins are…look here.” Xerxes put his guitar down and opened the book to a page Helena had marked. “It’s all right here in this book. It’s not about fusion theory. That’s just printed on the spine. We have to hide it because, you know, it’s illegal.” He opened the book to a passage and tried to show it to me.

“I’ve heard enough. Send in the squad. Helena and Xerxes, you are under arrest for spreading dangerous religious doctrine to a Company employee. Other charges will be forthcoming.” My voice said. “For a custom agent you’re fairly intelligent. Maybe you should work for us? Oh, that’s right, you want to be a communist. Well, a communist you shall be. For your service to us we’ve arranged it so that you’re going to be let in as a member as soon as possible. I’ll be by to speak with you in person soon. Don’t go anywhere” I felt dizzy.

My body came back under my own control. I yelled, “It’s a trap! I’m being controlled remotely by an agent!”

Helena and Xerxes stood staring at me with open mouths and wide eyes. I had betrayed them, my closest friends. Helena had tears in her eyes and they were saying a prayer aloud together. I wanted them to take back every single word that had come from their mouths. There was nothing they could say. They’d both confessed to being believers in one of the old religions and worse, they tried spreading that religion.

I said, “How could you do that? You both have great lives ahead of you. Now you’re going to be sent to prison, or be remotes, or…does what you did carry the death penalty?” I asked.

“Probably not. You never know.” Said Xerxes. “You should find out about him. Knowing him is the greatest…”

“I don’t want to hear those lies. Don’t contaminate me!” I shouted.

I didn’t know if simply hearing what they said would get me in trouble. I opened the door to flee and a squad of black-helmeted Company protectors were waiting at the door. They had two stasis units to hold them in until they got to headquarters. Several medics and protectors pushed past me. The old woman brushed past me with a smile.

“You did well. I didn’t know if I could operate you but you were quite pliable. The new system works well. There’s a protector waiting to escort you to a temporary room until your paperwork is completed. In seven days you’ll be a communist, unless I can convince you to come and work for us. In either case you are dismissed.”

My last view of Helena and Xerxes was of them being stripped for transport and strapped into the coffin-like stasis units. They were both openly preaching their religion to the protectors whose black helmets reflected both their prayers and tears.

I was debriefed for a day to make sure none of what they said resonated with me. How could it? It was all garbage. All of the miracles of the old religions had been explained away. I had been taught since a child that religion was an artifact left over from an evolutionary era when it was necessary for our survival. Too much of it was dangerous which was proven by our planet’s violent history. 

I wept for my friends.

Medusa and Harvey sat by me and cried too. Though they didn’t know them personally they were by nature compassionate. Playing music also took the sting away. When we played our gig for the politburo I was a one-day old member of the Callisto Communist Community.

Fifteen years later I found Xerxes and Helena’s note in the Les Paul. Xerxes had left me the guitar in his will. I had surrendered all of my personal possessions, including the guitar, to the community, but every once in a while I borrowed it from the community’s instrument collection and played it. Harvey, Medusa and I continued to play together until Medusa got married and started having kids. Harvey severed his hand in a factory accident and was now a slow growth technician. We had lunch together once a week and he was learning to play piano with his left hand. He would never tell us why he wouldn’t allow the community to buy him a new hand.

One day I noticed that the Les Paul needed its volume knobs replaced. I opened the back cover to do it. Inside the cavity where the guitar’s electronics were housed was a memory dot encased in a plastic sleeve and a paper note.

            “This memory dot contains the teachings and history of…” I stopped reading.

I balled up the note and swallowed it, then took out the memory dot. It was made of ceramoplastic and practically indestructible. There could have been an entire library’s worth of information on it. I used my soldering gun to melt a large glob of silver solder then pushed the memory dot into it. The silver glob hardened into the shape of a teardrop.  Later I drilled a hole through the glob of silver, careful not to puncture the memory dot, and gave it to my daughter as a gift on her thirteenth birthday.

“Dad this is so cool! Did you make it?” She put it around her neck and looked at herself in a mirror.

“I made it in the shop.” I said, pleased that she enjoyed something I’d made with my hands.

“Can we watch the video of your trip to the red spot? We haven’t seen it in so long.” She looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting her hair.

“Sure we can. After mom gets home.”

“Promise not to cry this time?” She put her arm around my shoulders.

“I’ll try not to.” I washed off the grime from the day’s work.

I didn’t know what, or whose teachings were on the little memory dot. Maybe all of the old religious teachings were stored there. People caught sharing the messages of the old religions on any of the inner or outer worlds came to a bad end. The Company was still worried about subversive elements.

“I love you daddy.” Helena said. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a kiss.

            The Company should have known that the most subversive element in the universe was love.

The End