Barriers of the New World Preview

BARRIERS OF THE NEW WORLD

By Barbara Rayne - sample chapters ~ ~ ~ Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 Barbara Rayne All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

Edited by: Kristin Ruck Cover images © Dell and Nejron Photo Book and cover design © Marraii Design Published by Barbara Rayne www.barbararayne.com

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1 – COUNTRY BARRIERS CHAPTER 2 – ANDROIDS AMONG US CHAPTER 3 – INTERNAL ENEMIES CHAPTER 4 – THE RICH AND THE POOR CHAPTER 5 – SLAVES TO THE UNEMPLOYED ALSO BY BARBARA RAYNE

~ ~ ~

The violence in the world comes about because we human beings are forever creating barriers between men who are like us and men who are not like us.

~ Edmund Leach

~ ~ ~

CHAPTER 1: COUNTRY BARRIERS

Economic crisis destroyed all countries of the world. Some came out of it sooner than others, and slowly recovered while others never resurfaced. In those countries where a rough economic situation was accompanied by severe natural disasters–– some were flooded, some fought persistent drought for more than two years in a row––recovery ceased to be an option. Personal bankruptcy was followed by whole countries going bankrupt. This led to a new kind of capitalism, technocracy, which resulted in world division according to technocrats’ rules.

In

2032,

countries

were

not

able

to

survive

due

to

overwhelming debts, and their population became sources of cheap labor for new industries. In bankrupt countries, their new owners––those who gave them loans they could not repay––opened up new factories and massive industrial complexes where the local population worked for low wages. Countries that had beautiful beaches were transformed into luxurious resorts, and the local population got a chance to work in hotels and apartments as maids, waiters, or beach cleaners. In some countries, large complexes were built for assembling robotics, mobile technology, or computer parts where the local population worked on conveyor belts attaching wires, gluing small parts, or inserting batteries. Sure enough, there were some countries that were not so lucky, and were turned into zones for nuclear and pharmaceutical waste management, so the

local population spent their working hours under masks; this significantly shortened their life span in comparison to other countries. Although wages were miserable, new technologies meant employment for poor countries, and survival. For citizens of poor countries, acquired education became meaningless––everyone became workers with no rights, working on simple jobs that required no prior knowledge. In some way, as if they told us there were some other people who possessed knowledge, and we were there to stick, wrap, or count––an insignificant part of the grand process.

Countries

with

a

rich

population

had

state-of-the-art

technology, top education, and high standards. The world was divided into several such countries, and the rest served as their service. Rich countries did not have poor citizens––they were all relocated to poorer countries.

By the year 2036, it was common knowledge who belonged where, and how much an individual was worth, because migration of the world’s population was done according to each person’s education, abilities, and wealth. Bankrupt countries sold everything in their possession that had any value, and turned its citizens into cheap labor for the rich, technologically advanced countries.

Education was downgraded to four years of primary school to provide some level of literacy, and only extraordinary individuals–– one child in every five years––got a chance to leave the country and continue education in a more advanced country. Between rich and poor countries there were––in our imagination idealized––advanced countries. Advanced countries had better standards than the poor, offered

better

education,

and

were

technologically

more

developed, but still eons away from the rich ones. They were "nurseries" for the future intelligent people that would be given a chance to enter the team of scientists and innovators in rich countries.

In that 2036, all countries have been given their new status and name, but migration was still occurring in 2038. Just today, a train arrived with new poor people seeking a job and a roof over their heads, but local residents greeted them with stones, metal bars, and curses––for there was no work for anyone. Resettlement was meticulously organized, because, for citizens of poor countries, travel was impossible. It was never said aloud that we couldn't leave the country; and yet, they would send us back from the border with an explanation that we could travel to the rich or advanced country of our desire as tourists only if we provided a bank certificate guaranteeing we had enough money to cover all expenses for ten days. The amount needed for ten days in one of those countries was unobtainable for any citizen of a poor country, because they couldn't have earned that much money in thirty years, let alone save as much. There were those who would go to visit relatives, and after a thorough security check, providing bank certificate, and rich relatives' guarantee, they would get five to seven days, after which they had to go back. Those that didn't comply were returned in coffins.

Before immigrants’ arrivals, police didn’t patrol the streets, because every inch of the city and infrastructure was covered with cameras. Ever since immigrants started pouring in, organized attacks on newcomers were intersected by police in overwhelming numbers. Police used some round gadgets which would immobilize

attackers, restoring order in no time. Everyone would stiffen up in whichever position they were in, eerily resembling a frozen movie screen. The police would search the attackers, take every stone, bar, or any other weapon they possessed, and then use the gadget to restore their mobility. The crowd would spread out, confused, not remembering what happened and why they were there in the first place. The event would be erased from their memory, and though some would remember it days later, others never would.

I lived in a country that was proclaimed as a country of lazy, stupid, arrogant people who were incapable of further progress, and who, in their complacency, didn't see how far behind they were. At least, that’s what our president told us when he announced our bankruptcy, and informed us that the owner of our country was now the Global REN Company.

“The Global REN Company will build factories for movable eyewear frames, and our bankrupt economy will greatly benefit from their new technologies,” he said.

As the new global society was in the making, some countries were fully reformed, while others were still waiting for their final makeup. My country was one of those unfinished ones waiting to become what the technocrats envisioned. Because we were a “work-in-progress”, people from all over the world were being transported

here,

where––according

to

technocrats––they

belonged. Unemployment was devastating; only government companies, politicians, and government-financed institutions still worked due to expensive loans. The general population starved, fought on the streets, looted, and hustled their way around. To decrease expenses, after six months of using freezing gadgets,

police started using them only to protect politicians and property that was deemed important. People were left to fight among themselves. When violence would result in large destruction or fire, police would eventually step in. Forceful immigration was ideal to redirect all the hate and anger of the domicile population toward the future work snatchers––the work that Global REN Company would provide. Countries full of stupid and lazy people who simply didn’t

see

their

own

incompetence

were

now

forcefully

repopulated with the same kind of people whom capable countries were ridding themselves of.

There were two hundred countries on the planet, numbered according to their level of education, technological achievement, capabilities, and innovations. Names of the countries were replaced by those numbers. My country was renamed as Country 189. The first ten countries were the richest on the planet; and from number eleven to number thirty were deemed advanced. All of the other countries were poor, underdeveloped countries that fought hunger and unemployment on a daily basis.

I lived with my parents and brother, but only my father had a job. He worked downtown in a government-financed hospital as a cardiologist. All of my friends lived with their parents, as well, because they had no income to support themselves. We considered ourselves lucky, though. Many families had their relatives move in as well, so there were over fifteen people per flat, which meant fifteen mouths to feed. Frequently, I went to Dad’s hospital and helped out for free––carried charts, medical instruments, answered the phone, signed in patients, or cleaned. I had a degree in economics, but nobody needed economists or any other well

educated person anymore. I watched doctors treat their patients as bodies without a soul or mind, never telling them what was wrong with them, only monitoring what the machines were showing, typing on their computers, and then sending them to pick up the drugs in a pharmacy where their prescription would be waiting for them. Doctors simply didn’t consider their patients important enough to tell them their diagnosis, and treated them as if they were objects instead of people. No warm words, no touch, no conversation. They all behaved like emotionless robots, and treated their patients as such––objects unworthy of words. It was a new era in which humanity had stepped in, eager to progress, striving to cross the limits of the body, but neglecting or forgetting that we are primarily emotional beings.

CHAPTER 2: ANDROIDS AMONG US

The Global REN Company opened four factories in Country 189, all in cities next to each other, and one of them was in mine.

More than 30,000 people applied for the 1,500 available positions in the factory, and many applied at the three other factories as well. We all hoped to get a job. The same company opened a large shopping mall for technical goods, and with it came many new entrepreneurs to study the area for their future endeavors. The hotel built for key people from the Global REN Company was also in my city, and all the staff working in the four factories that came with the Company also stayed there. The news on TV buzzed for weeks about the Global REN Company, glorifying them as our saviors, and creating false images of future prosperity in our fallen country, so people started talking about the crisis being over and started to wait for the good days to return.

“I’m in, I’m in,” I hugged my mother, happy that I got a job. I knew damn well it was miserable pay, but it was a source of income. At twenty-seven years old, forced to live with my parents, having them buy me shoes and clothing while knowing they didn’t have enough as it is, this was the break we needed.

On my first day at work, we were told our employer expected us to volunteer for a week, because we had to be trained first. After that, we would be officially employed and receive a paycheck

every fifteen days. Anyone who didn’t want to volunteer for five days during the training could leave immediately, because there were many waiting outside the factory to jump right in. We worked for ten hours every day of that first week, and were told it would be eight hours a day afterwards. The job consisted of binding two wires on a new generation of movable glasses. The person wearing those glasses could open up the top frame by touch––hence the term “movable”––and access the screen beneath it. That screen enabled the viewer to manipulate objects of interest. If you watched cerebral television––and that was the only kind you could buy; the others were pulled out of distribution because they were deemed energy-inefficient––with these glasses, you could stop the program to single out the main actress or anyone else that you focused on at the moment of your thought command. The object of your attention would then be singled out before you in 3D form, giving you a wide array of options––from looking at the person from all angles, to pre-programmed interactions such as talking, dancing, etc. When you had had enough, you would pull the frame down and resume the program. The frenzy for those glasses was incredible, because they made it possible for you to hang out with your favorite characters all day if you wanted to. You could single out the entire scene from a movie and experience it as if you were there. I used to see people in the park sitting immersed in their inner world, absent and oblivious to their real surroundings.

Work supervisors, experts, CEOs, and main construction workers were from other countries, but had to move here because the factories couldn’t run without them. The factory I worked in had two sections. Experts brought by the company worked in the first

section––several

ophthalmologists,

software

developers,

neurologists and electrical engineers––and worked on the actual product with highly sophisticated technology. We were stationed in the other section where parts would come in on a conveyor belt; we would assemble two wires and put the product back on the conveyor belt. The conveyor belt would take the newly connected product to a machine that would check the quality of the connection, and if everything was all right, the product would travel down the conveyor belt to a group of workers who would put them in bags. I often felt as if we were not actually needed in that process, as if the jobs were created only so we could have a job.

We were given half-hour lunch breaks, but we had to bring our own food from home, because we were not allowed to leave the factory premises. Some workers would bring a sandwich, but most didn’t have enough money to eat every day, so we mostly talked, while some smoked and others complained of fatigue. We would sit on the floor because our legs were aching and there were no chairs.

“This is preposterous!” John complained. “They are treating us like cattle.”

“Maybe we could ask the supervisors to get us some chairs,” Monica suggested.

“Will you be the one who asks?” Her friend asked spitefully. “If you’re not afraid of that one over there, that is.”

“Why not?!” Monica wouldn’t give in.

“What’s going to happen when we get to graveyard shift? It’s totally dark, and what if it rains?”

“It never rains,” John rebelled.

“Well, eventually it will rain again,” Edd interjected. “This drought has to stop some time.”

About thirty of us that stood closest to each other at the conveyor belt formed a group that hung out during lunch break.

The entire yard buzzed from chatting and complaining. There were those who had had enough and decided to quit.

“Even if I starve to death, I will not be a slave! I’d rather pick through garbage,” a young man yelled, visibly aggravated.

“I will endure it for couple of months to qualify for government aid. If you just lost a job, you get three months of aid,” said another one.

When we got back inside the factory, Monica was urged by her friend to go to the supervisor and ask him about the chairs: “Go ahead! You were acting fearless outside, and now look at you. Scared like a mouse!”

Monica straightened her back and went toward the supervisor who was rather far from her, but as soon as he spotted her leaving her post, he started frantically waving his hands and shouting.

“Get back to your post! What are you doing away from conveyor belt?”

“I just wanted to ask you,” she said as she walked backwards to her post, “if you could give us some chairs. We have nowhere to sit during lunch breaks.”

He looked at her as if she was saying utter nonsense.

“Do you know how many chairs I would have to provide? Five

hundred! That's how many of you work in one shift.”

“Maybe just a few?” She muttered.

“So you can fight about who gets to sit? Don't ever leave your post again! This will come out of your pay, because you won't fulfill your quota for today!”

“But this is our volunteer week,” Monica said, surprised.

“Everything

is

taken

into

account:

disrespect,

quota,

disobedience. Fail to meet the norm, and you'll go home. Show disrespect and you'll get a smaller paycheck.”

“That's it! I'm leaving!” Shouted a young man that announced his leaving during lunch break. The supervisor raised his hand, and two men appeared out of nowhere to escort the man outside the factory hall. *** I came home broken, and didn't know what hurt more: my arms, legs, or my back. Regardless of the pain and the poor working conditions, I was happy to have a job, because the shame of asking my parents for every single thing was killing me.

“Give it time. You'll get used to standing so much,” Mum said, comforting me.

“I hope so. Ten hours of standing...I feel sorry for all those women who have more obligations waiting for them at home.”

In time, standing got easier, but I was exhausted at the end of every day. Many people couldn't take it, so they would leave, and new ones would jump in right away. There was no hope for

promotion; the only thing that mattered––if you didn't want to get fired––was the norm. Nobody from the company talked to us. We never saw anyone but our supervisors, who made sure we worked constantly and threatened to fire us if we stopped to, let's say, scratch the head.

After three months, one of our machines broke down. We all stood and waited for the ones in charge to fix it. As we were looking up, watching two men fixing the machine, a terrible scream broke the silence as the heavy iron lid collapsed on the ground, crushing the supervisor Taylor's leg. The supervisor himself made no sound, didn't even panic, and his face remained expressionless.

“Call the doctor!” The worker that dropped the lid screamed.

He frantically tried to free the supervisor's leg. Three of the workers closest to the conveyor belt hurried to help lift the heavy lid. When they managed to push it aside, one of them quickly rolled up the supervisor’s trousers to see how badly the leg was hurt, even though the supervisor was already getting up on his own.

“What do you think you're doing?!” The supervisor yelled, rolling down his trousers. “I don't need a doctor. Don't you know I'm not human?”

His words were met with shocked looks, goggled eyes, and some jaws dropping as low as they could go; all of it showed how surprised we were by his statement. Later, during lunch break, people were retelling the event, expressing their disgust.

“We are bossed around by a robot! What's happened to this world?” John expressed his fury. “When did we allow microwaves to order us around? Are all of the supervisors robots?”

“This is a disgrace!” Peter joined in. “Weren't robots supposed to help people, do heavy lifting and dirty jobs? This is all upside down. They dressed robots in suits and let them abuse us!”

“We created them, and now they are our bosses. They give us orders, threaten us...” John said.

“A talking machine boss yelling at me if I'm late? I can't handle that!” Robert stepped in. “I think we should check if the entire company is run by robots. Who's our CEO, chief of staff? Are they machines, as well, with disks up their asses?”

“It doesn't matter if he's a robot. He's not the one giving us money,” Monica tried to calm the men.

“That's why I said we should verify all of them prancing around our city,” Robert said triumphantly. “But...I can't obey android's orders anymore. He's not human, for fuck's sake! How can I respect him?”

“Neither can I,” more voices joined in.

“People, it doesn't matter who our supervisors are. We know our norm, and as long as we do our jobs, we have no problem with them.” I joined the discussion, wanting to reason with them.

“Personally, it bothers me that robots are monitoring my every move. It's humiliating. Understand?” John furiously turned toward me.

“You are monitored by cameras and television, and it doesn't seem to bother you...” I protested.

“They put a suit on, and act human! These fuckers are

pretending to be human!”

“Right on!” Some applauded when Maggie voiced her support.

“We should check if all supervisors are robots, or if it’s just Taylor.”

When we got back to our posts, hostility spiraled from people's eyes toward the supervisor Taylor. Mary––what often happened to many workers––dropped her piece of movable frame on the floor.

Supervisor Taylor furiously rushed to her, and she looked at him calmly as if she didn't understand what pushed his buttons. I had a feeling she dropped it on purpose.

“Company's property has to be looked after. If you damaged it, it's going off your pay!” Supervisor Taylor said gruffly.

“What can happen to it; there’s no glass in the frame? What's to break?” Mary said defiantly like no one dared before.

“Transmission could be disrupted, it could––” Suddenly, he stopped explaining what could have gone wrong. He took the movable frame, went to the verificator to see if the frame was indeed damaged, and Mary stuck her tongue out behind his back. *** After that day, the word about androids spread like fire. Soon, information started pouring in from the other three factories about their supervisors being androids, and the fury over robots ruling humans grew stronger by the day.

“How can stupid machines know whether something is heavy, or if something hurts me?” They complained to one another.

“They destroyed our country on purpose, in order to give our

jobs to robots! We should put an end to it,” was a complaint heard among workers.

“They are taking over our lives, our jobs, and they will destroy our families!”

And that's when the idea was born in a group of younger people who regularly met at Mary's. An idea to verify our boss, the only woman whose name we didn't know, but was superior to us.

Mary took a razor blade, wrapped it up carefully so it wouldn't cut her, placed it in her hand, and waited in front of a hotel for the Boss to come out. When she saw her, she ran toward her––pretending to be in a hurry and not looking where she was going––and cut her arm with the blade. Sensing she was cut, the Boss drew back and looked at her arm, and then back at Mary.

“Sorry,” Mary said, smiling, “my nails are too long.” She showed her nails on one hand, grabbing the Boss' arm with another, and carefully observed the lack of blood from the wound, or redness for that matter. “Let me see if I hurt you,” Mary said, tightly holding the tall blonde’s arm as John was approaching them. The Boss tried to free her arm, but John was already there.

“You're not human,” John said, sneering, “you're a robot!”

“Android,” The Boss corrected him and turned to Mary. “You didn't hurt me, but if your nails are dangerous, you should cut them. Long nails are simply not for you.” The Boss smiled pleasantly.

“You're gonna tell her what is or isn't for her? How could a machine know what's good for women?” John snapped.

The Boss yanked a bit at his remark, but decided to dismiss that behavior, oblivious to the fact that John was one of her company's employees. She went toward her car that the valet had just brought in front of the hotel. As soon as she sat behind the wheel, John opened the passenger door and sat next to her, and Mary sat in the back seat. They called around twenty friends, including me, telling us to come to Mary’s garage as soon as possible because they had something very important to show us.

As it was 8 a.m. and work started at nine, I hurried over to Mary's garage on my way to the factory. When I entered the garage, several men were furiously beating the Boss with baseball bats.

“What are you doing?” I screamed in horror. “Why are you beating her?”

“Well, she's not human. It doesn't hurt her,” Mary laughed.

“You're wrong. It hurts a lot,” the Boss groaned.

“Stop acting! You're a machine, you don’t have any feelings!”

John yelled at her, and smashed even harder with the bat across her legs.

“Even if she's not in pain, why beat her with bats? Hold on, people. Why are you beating her?” Nervously, I demanded answers while trying to get between them and her, trying to stop the violence.

“We want to tear her apart and get to the nuts and bolts. We don't know how to shut her down,” Ross said, grinning and grimacing, gloating over his computer shut down analogy.

“She's your boss!” As I was still protesting, I noticed the

surprise in Boss's eyes, as well as genuine fear. “Can't you see she's scared? That means she has emotions. Please, stop hurting her!”

After a moment of silence passed, I asked, looking straight into Mary’s eyes, “How did she get to your garage?”

“Stella, you're getting on my nerves,” John interjected with one of those glaring looks that could kill. “She’s just like your dishwasher! How can anything hurt her, moron? That’s just a stack of iron!”

“How did you get her in here? You’ll go to jail for kidnapping!

Let her go and pray to God she doesn't sue you,” I tried reasoning.

“If I knew you'd be like this, I wouldn't have called you. We want to make her give us better pay, instead of being exploited by this shitty robot,” Mary said.

“I don't

have

the

authority

to change

your

pay––the

management does that,” Boss said peacefully.

“Look at how she's dressed. Tight little dress, acting like desirable vixen,” Eddy said, lifting her dress. “Let's see how she looks naked!”

“Stop!!!” I screamed. “Seeing her naked has nothing to do with work. Obviously this has nothing to do with a bigger paycheck; you just want to destroy androids.”

“Hallelujah!” John said sarcastically. “Doesn't it bother you that robot trash lives in an expensive hotel, sleeps in a luxurious bed, and doesn't even need sleep? She's a trash can!”

“She's an intelligent machine that has

knowledge and

emotions. What's your gain in this? When you give her back, what

will the consequences be? Are you even thinking?” I yelled at them furiously.

“We're not giving her back! Today, we'll attack all androids. If necessary,

we'll

blow

up

the

entire

hotel,”

John

laughed

maliciously.

“Police will stop you in no time; you saw how fast they appear when there are problems. You don't stand a chance, so why are you doing this? You want to get us all fired?” I couldn't believe these fools would risk our jobs in a jobless country.

“She's seriously getting on my nerves,” John said to Mary, “I’ll smack her across that wise-ass muzzle.”

“Shut your trap!” Mary approached me, “I'd kick you out, but you might report us. What are we gonna do about Stella?” She looked at John for an answer.

“Are you BFFs?” John asked mockingly.

“Don't be stupid! I met her at work. She finished college, so she thinks she's smarter than the rest of us.”

“Aah, holier than thou, are we now? That's why she says the robot is smart. Ha, ha, ha! She picked her side, so she'll have the same destiny.”

“Come on people, I just don't want you to make a mistake,” I muttered, but John hit me, so I shut up, scared what he might do next. Clearly, there was nothing I could say. The verdict was in.

“That's enough!” He glared at me, and gave a signal to Eddy to continue beating the Boss.

“You will increase our pays and name thirty of us as supervisors,” Eddy named their terms while beating the Boss' head with such force that my stomach climbed up to my throat.

“If I do that, the ones in charge will know something is wrong, because I don't have the authority to promote or change employees,” she said, sobbing.

“I don't care who knows! We'll take you to the computer and you'll do it.”

“I don't have the access codes for the employee database. Only the CEO does,” realizing who she was dealing with, her eyes filled with despair.

“Let's not waste time with her. Cut her in half with a chainsaw,” Mark said, looking around the garage for the tool of his choice.

“It's time to go to work. We don't want to raise suspicion by being late,” Mary stopped him nervously, looking at her watch.

“When we get the other robots, we'll do it the right way. We'll get the CEO, make him give us more money, and put us as supervisors.

We’re humans, and it's our right to control other humans’ work.”

“Mary is right! If we catch all the robots, we'll show the owner that we’re not easily toyed with, and that no robots can boss us around,” Timothy said right in Boss' face, and then burst out laughing, showing others her flattened nose and butchered cheeks.

“Looks like my sister’s Barbie after our dog chewed on her.”

“Guys, you know what's great about it? When we dispose of them, nobody can try us for murder, because they're not human!

As if you threw out your old vacuum cleaner,” everyone laughed at Timothy's quip.

“Did you notify our partners? The coordinated attack on supervisors is at 4 p.m. sharp,” John asked Mary, who was going through her purse looking for her keys.

“Everyone is ready. Leon will be waiting for the CEO and jump in his car when he stops. CEO has a reserved parking spot, so it will appear as if they had an appointment. The guy working in hotel surveillance is on our side; he'll pretend he didn't see anything.”

“What about her?” Mary pointed at me.

“When we take over the factory, she's the first to get fired,” John grinned.

“Now!––I mean what now? Is she coming with us or what?”

“Tie her up and leave her here.”

While they were trussing me up with a rope, Mary was looking for some duck tape, but she couldn't remember where it was, so John snapped at her: “Stuff some newspaper in her mouth! If we're late, our plan will fall through. Faster!”

“She'll spit it out, you jerk,” Mary said brusquely.

“We’ll tie a rope over it. Give me that!” John grabbed the paper and stuffed my mouth, while Eddy did the same to our boss. I didn’t want to think about the lead in the newspaper, about the dust that has been gathering in it for years, or the pain in my mouth. All I wanted was for them to leave, so I could think of a way

out of our situation. When they turned the lights off and closed the door, we found ourselves in utter darkness. It took a while before our eyes adjusted and we could see again. As soon as we could, we both hobbled around, looking to find something that could free us.

I hopped over to the wall, pressed my back against it, and jerked my head up and down to move the rope at least a bit. It was extremely unpleasant, because John had tied the rope pretty hard, so the newspaper spread my cheeks out of proportion, and the taste of melted lead in excessive saliva made me want to throw up every three seconds. The knot moved, so fortunately the rope wasn’t one of their brightest ideas. As soon as I felt it loosen up, I went to Boss’ hands and hung a loose part of the rope over her finger. She figured out what I wanted her to do, so she tightened her finger over the rope holding it firmly, while I twisted my head around until I felt the rope slide to my shoulders. I pushed the paper out with my tongue, but it appeared to be a bigger problem than I anticipated. Saliva softened the paper, but the mass was a lot bigger than my mouth, and my tongue lacked the force needed to push it out. The Boss put her rope over my finger and freed herself in a similar fashion. Either Eddy put a lot less paper in her mouth, or she was much stronger then I, because she spat it out with ease; then told me to bend to her hands to try and get some of my paper out. As soon as she pulled one large piece, I managed to spit the rest of it out.

“There’s a phone in my purse,” I told her quickly. “Hold the purse and I’ll try to unzip it with my teeth.” The purse was under the bench where I sat earlier, so Mary and her crew didn’t see it. I threw myself on the floor and dragged it with my feet until it was

between us. The Boss turned her back and grabbed the purse with her hands, I pulled the zipper, and then she turned it upside-down–– spilling out its contents. I grabbed the phone, but at that moment, the garage door opened, so we froze up looking in that direction.

Police stormed in carrying their freezing gadgets, but when they saw we were alone with hands tied at the back, they freed us; then took us down town.

At the precinct, I saw Mary and at least hundred other people who were being brought in and taken underground into custody.

Night shift workers had decided to attack the supervisors on their own, right after their shift. They couldn’t wait for the planned attack that afternoon, because some of them were losing their nerves, so Mary and her crew walked right into that riot, and joined in like the majority of other workers from her shift. Our shift. Some supervisors had their extremities ripped out, some decapitated, others completely destroyed beyond repair. When police came, most of the workers fled the scene, but some were so enraged that they engaged in conflict with the police. Police decided against the freezing gadgets, because they wanted the rioters to remember what they did, so all hell had broken loose.

The officer took our statements, and the two of us were sent home. The CEO, whom Leon didn’t manage to attack because their plan fell through, came to pick up the Boss. She looked at me as she was getting in the car, nodded, and they drove away.

The next day, citizens gathered on the town square shouting insults at the expense of androids, cursing the police that protected robots instead of their own people. At work, there were hundred and fifty of us cleaning floors, disposing of destroyed equipment

and crushed movable frames. Damage was enormous and fear of losing jobs kept us quiet and obedient. Supervisor Taylor wasn’t there; instead a new man, completely unknown to us, gave us orders.

The news about riots, attacks on androids, and mass arrests of people accused of immense material damage to the company, caused a rebellion in three other cities where hate towards robot supervisors enticed them to sabotage, but the police were ready and stopped them before any damages could be done.

Millions have been invested in every android and people at the company were shocked by what they experienced in Country 189.

The news on every channel spoke of savage citizens in Country 189, their ungratefulness and primitivism.

“You give them jobs, and they return the favor as multimillion damages just because they don’t like androids,” one of the Global REN owners said bitterly. “Can you believe it? I’m seriously considering moving my production somewhere else.”

CHAPTER 3: INTERNAL ENEMIES

The factory wasn’t closed, however. Damaged equipment had been replaced, but Global REN Company decided not to invest anymore in such unsafe country. They announced withdrawal of some projects and the police was asked to safeguard the company’s property, kindly reminded that they too have jobs thanks to the company. About thirty new people arrived in the city to take over leading positions in the factory, and with them came new android supervisors.

At the factory entrance, we were thoroughly checked with body scanners. New supervisors were grumpy and armed with electric buttons on their chests, which they could activate if someone approached them without apparent reason. In the beginning, quite a few workers felt the electric button in action.

They would go to the supervisor to show him something, but the supervisor would see that sudden march in his direction as a threat, and consequently press the button. The electric current would throw the worker on the floor, with all his muscles paralyzed.

The citizens insulted everyone still working at the factory, calling us traitors, enemies of the people, or whores. As two hundred people were quickly sentenced to three years in prison for causing riots and destruction of property, the hate turned toward everyone that worked for Global REN. We were treated as

wretches by the people and the company.

When local television carried new CEO Chris Nicholson’s speech, young delinquents decided to attack our apartments and cars, throwing stones, crashing the windows. On the journalist’s question about why he was sent to the Country 189 and our city, Chris Nicholson said harshly: “This kind of savagery surprised us. I am the one who will teach the people that we live in the era of high technology, and that every android has more intelligence than all your citizens of this town.”

“People think it’s inappropriate for androids to be their supervisors.”

“Why would it be inappropriate when they are that much superior in knowledge? That version of androids had all feelings installed besides hate, envy, and jealousy. Now we brought the version that doesn’t. But they are the masters of martial arts, though.”

“That’s as if you are provoking the people,” journalist laughed.

“Intelligent individuals wouldn’t be provoked by that. Savages will have to be dealt with by methods proper to their level. Less sophisticated androids, older models, the ones that are not used in other countries––we find them appropriate to use here.”

“People are angry, because they think you are replacing them with machines. That’s not fair with this level of unemployment,” journalist continued.

“One thousand and five hundred people were employed in

your city along with forty androids as supervisors. In Country 189, there are total of six thousand people working in four factories, and hundred and twenty androids. Androids replaced our experts that are needed elsewhere. Instead of standing all day making sure there’s no theft, or giving simple advice, they can practice their scientific work in highly sophisticated environments tailored to their needs. Androids, on the other hand, have a lot more energy than humans.”

“I hope you’ll be happy in our town,” journalist concluded her interview, and Chris Nicholson added: “Here, hate is more important than hunger. It seems that some people in Country 189 love their miserable, pathetic lives more than hard work and earning their bread.”

After the interview, rampage rolled down the streets and police had their hands full. Since that day, the hotel was under constant police surveillance, as well as the factories. Patrol cars and armed officers were everywhere. Hatred toward the Global REN Company and its employees seemed to be the only topic among the population.

“This interview won’t help the situation,” I mumbled as I was turning off the TV. “Everything

will

fall

into

its

place,

eventually,”

Mum

comforted me. “We have better things to talk about now,” she smiled thinking about my brother’s wedding and that evening’s dinner party for Liz and her mother. Clive and Liz planned a small wedding, for family only, but we wanted to help as much as we could, because both of them were unemployed with a baby on the

way. They had decided to live with Liz’s mother who worked at the four-year school, and Liz’s sister was in prison for taking part in android destruction.

“Liz, I want to buy you a gift, so tell me what you need the most. Any special wishes?” I asked when they sat down and my dad poured them drinks.

“I don’t want you to buy us anything. I don’t want dirty money from that company!” Shocked, I was speechless for a moment.

“Dirty money,” I said, quickly glancing toward my parents “will stay at the shop where I’ll buy the gift.” Dad stiffened up and I noticed he was appalled by her behavior.

“No!” She protested. I looked at Clive, but he lowered his head, not wanting to meddle.

“Don’t be mad at us, Stella, but we think that normal people don’t want to work for that company,” Liz’s mother, Mrs. Eve, interjected.

“Don’t you realize the level of unemployment––and that we’re not in the position to choose jobs?” Dad stood up, angry.

“We always have a choice,” Mrs. Eve said calmly. “Pride has no price.”

“Ooh, it does, my dear. Wait a few years and you’ll see what happens to your pride when hunger takes over. The pain is excruciating,” Dad said, aggravated.

“We are a proud family,” Liz stood up spitefully, “we’ll be hungry, but won’t take orders from machines or newcomers!”

“Maybe I don’t have pride, but I do have shame,” I said.

“Shame for taking money from my dad, hard earned money that is not sufficient for him and Mum. I will do even the most demeaning jobs when there are none in my profession. I’m sorry you don’t want my gift, but I’m not leaving my job!”

“Are you saying Clive and I have no shame, because my Mum supports us?” It was apparent Liz wanted to argue, so I got up as well, and said: “No, Liz, because my dad supported me, too. I just want to stress how important my job is to me,” and I went for the door when Liz yelled after me.

“Your job is not any job! You are helping the enemy!”

“A handful of robots...Are high tech machines our enemies?

Did they ruin this country? Did they sell us to that company or was it our human government?” I tried to keep my voice normal, so this dinner wouldn’t turn into more of a fight.

“Stella, you disappointed me,” Mrs. Eve expressed her opinion. ”Robots will replace humans, and it’s sad that you don’t see that.”

“Other countries are advancing, they are rich, and we keep fighting on the streets. That’s how it was before the robots, and that’s what I’m trying to say, Mrs. Eve.” “My child is in prison because of that company,” Eve raised her voice.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. What I wanted to say was that her daughter attacked the androids, not the other way around, but they didn’t want the truth. Instead, they judged me for wanting to

earn for the living, and that was incomprehensible to me.

“I want this argument to stop,” Dad stepped in. “Let’s drop this discussion and devote our time to the cause of this dinner––Clive and Liz.” “I know you’ll be angry, but Mum and I wanted to tell you, and we hope you’ll understand. We don’t want Stella to come to the wedding, because our relatives are very angry at the company, and it could end badly,” Liz glanced at my dad, and then at me, anticipating anger. Dad looked at me and asked through his teeth: “What do you think, Stella?”

“If that’s what you want, I accept,” I looked directly into their eyes, and they bowed their heads in discomfort.

“I see that the enemy list is getting bigger,” my mum said sneeringly. “How come it always boils down to the poor fighting among each other?”

“Liz, I don’t like this,” Clive finally spoke. “She earns her money in this company that is like any other. What in the world are you two talking about?” He furiously looked at Liz and her mum.

“This company isn’t like any other, darling. Supervisors are robots and two hundred people are locked up because of that. Do you know any other company like that?” Liz was theatrical and spoke as if she was a righteous preacher reprimanding a sinner.

“They are in prison because they trashed the place. Liz, I don’t want to argue, but if someone would come in here and thrashed the place, it would be normal for the vandals to answer for the damages,” Clive stated his argument.

“You think it’s normal that these machines control the people?

That they give you orders, humiliate you? Machines?! They are made to fool us, they look like people. They will replace us all with them, and kill us!” Liz was furious.

“And who will spend the money, buy the goods? Certainly not the machines if they don’t eat, drink, or have children. Think about it, Liz. They are here to advance us, not replace us,” I added.

“I will not be advanced by a machine. They are man-made and now act superior. They will kill us. We won’t be able to tell who’s human, who’s not. We already can’t.” Liz refused to listen.

“And what has all that got to do with my sister?” Clive looked at her, waiting eagerly for the answer.

“She, and all those like her, will enable that slaughter!”

“Hmm, so it’s better to beg for the food like we do, and watch TV? She struggles, works hard, stands eight hours a day trying to help herself and our parents, so she should be judged? That’s right, Liz, let her sit at home and watch TV, as well,” Clive said, and nervously left the room; the rest of us were sitting quietly. Mum quickly stormed off to get more wine, and filled our glasses, aware that this conversation didn’t contribute to family friendship.

Clive and Liz got married a month later. I watched the ceremony from the distance, hidden, so Liz’s relatives wouldn’t be disturbed by my presence. Unfortunately, two weeks after the wedding, Liz’s mum got fired, because the state decided to continue to finance only five schools in town, due to lack of funding. That didn’t include Mrs. Eve’s school. Less and less children were being sent to school, because their parents couldn’t

afford new shoes, bags, or books––so five schools were more than enough for the state to provide for.

Clive was desperate. We were all desperate, because utility bills kept increasing from month to month, and food became more expensive, as did the fuel, clothes, and more. On TV, we watched more advanced countries building new industrial complexes, new highways, hovering metros; and in rich countries people commuted through subterranean vacuum tubes, sitting in a shuttle, speeding incredibly fast. To get around the world, it took them less than six hours. *** “I have to get out of here,” Amanda, my friend, complained.

“You can only go to Country 190 and 192, but you have to go through Country 90, and then you have the police on your back until you pass through. Country 90 permits traveling through, but not taking new settlers, and the other two are worse than we are,” I said.

“Last night, a gang of ten men barged in, took our car, TV, clothes, linen...Linen, can you believe it? That’s how low we’ve sunken.”

“I can. And then they attack us––factory workers. Yesterday, they threw rocks on me and hit my chin,” I showed her my bruise.

“As soon as we get away from the factory, they ambush us.”

“Yeah, police guards the factory, but not you. I don’t know what’s wrong with these people, and why they hate that company so much,” Amanda said. She wasn’t lucky enough to get hired,

although she kept applying to every job in the Global REN Company.

“Maybe it’s the fear of the unknown. Androids scare them; they look human, but are not. The hate toward them is tremendous, and now they direct that hate toward us.”

“The new CEO is not an android, and he put us in our rightful place,” Amanda laughed, “We’re idiots, dumb, and hate-driven.”

“I’m disappointed that people don’t realize this position we’re in is our politicians’ doing, and that it won’t get better. They are throwing away their jobs because of androids. As if they have any choice. There is no work. None.”

“Right. Let’s get back to your CEO. He’s handsome,” Amanda grinned.

“That he is. I see him rarely, but I must tell you, he looks right through us. I feel his contempt toward this country and its citizens.”

“They smashed expensive androids, conveyor belts, movable frames...I understand him,” she defended him.

Later that day, Chris Nicholson came to the factory hall. First he gave some instructions to the supervisor, then answered his phone, which kept ringing nonstop, walked by us, and then stopped right next to me. I secretly glanced at him. He was pale and obviously not feeling well. I leaned a bit closer, but not too close, and whispered: “I’ll help you get outside; you might collapse. All right?”

“Please,” he said, barely audible.

“I’ll hold you under the arm, OK?” He nodded and we went for the door. The supervisor started yelling: “Where do you think you’re going? Hey!!!”

I wasn’t stopping, so the supervisor stormed toward us in under two seconds. But then, seeing the Boss’ pale face, he quietly walked behind us until we got outside.

“Get a chair. Now!” I said to the supervisor. “Breathe deeply,” I said to the CEO as we slowly strolled across the yard, “don’t worry, you’re OK. I presume you didn’t eat yet? Buzzing ears, blurry vision, right?”

“Yes.” “I bet you have low blood pressure, it usually happens that way. There’s no air in the hall, and you must be exhausted from working non-stop, so you forgot to eat. You must have had too much coffee, as well,” I smiled, looking at the color returning to his face. He was extremely handsome, light brown hair with blond tinges here and there, and incredibly beautiful, blue eyes. Oh my, he’s gorgeous!––I thought, stunned by his appearance. “Let’s go back, you’ll sit until you recover,” rapidly, I snapped back into reality.

Chris Nicholson was a tall, strong man, and luckily he didn’t collapse, because I couldn’t have held him all by myself. He sat down, and I rushed into the hall to get the sandwich from my purse, and then rushed back handing it over to him.

“Here, eat some.”

“I thought you ran away from me,” he tried to smile, and then

took a bite. When he finished it, he looked completely recovered, so I said: “I think you’re fine now, so I can go back,” I looked at him one more time, and reluctantly went inside, still enchanted by his looks.

It’s too late to meet my norm, so my pay will be less. I will be hungry, too. In spite all that, I felt happy. At least I showed the CEO I was worth something––I thought, feeling proud of myself.

Chris Nicholson walked into the hall five minutes later, thanked me for the sandwich one more time, and left. When lunch time came, the supervisor handed me a paper bag and said: “The CEO sent you this.” The bag had three sandwiches, a big chocolate bar, juice, and a white envelope bearing Global REN Company logo. Quickly, I took the letter out and read: “I would like to thank you once again for your help.

Please, come to my office after the shift.

Chris Nicholson” Wow. Excitement overwhelmed me so much that I didn’t know whether to open a sandwich or chocolate. I wasn’t sure what thrilled me the most, chocolate I haven’t eaten for more than three years, or the fact I was invited to his office. Why does he want to see me when he thanked me so many times?––that worried me slightly.

“Well, well. The boss is chivalrous,” Natalie grinned. She came behind my back, but didn’t see the letter or the contents of the bag, just the supervisor giving it to me. “People like that can only be seen on TV or in dreams. Those kinds of men are never ours,”

Natalie chuckled. When we came out into the yard, fellow coworkers greeted me with contemptuous remarks.

“Kiss ass! Why didn’t you let him fall on his face?” Ewan said.

“You forgot or don’t know that my dad is a doctor, and I used to help him at the hospital...Still do when I have time,” I said.

“I would love to offer him my help; a different kind though,” Virginia giggled.

“Did you hear that excuse? It’s in her blood! She couldn’t help it. It’s not that she was brown-nosing; nooo, it’s her fancy upbringing,” Amber ridiculed me. I didn’t want to defend myself anymore; instead, I held the bag firmly, thinking about the chocolate I wanted to share with them a few minutes ago. Now I didn’t want to. “Come on; let’s see what he sent you. Loosen that grip,” Amber was getting closer, and I remembered the letter, so I started moving away.

“If you stay polite, maybe I’ll share a sandwich with you,” I laughed trying to look carefree.

“It looks a lot bigger than one sandwich,” Ewan was suspicious.

“Not one, but three sandwiches and a juice,” I said, quickly getting one sandwich out of the bag. I chewed on it immediately to buy some time, knowing the chocolate would open another round of remarks, let alone the letter.

“Give us those sandwiches already,” Amber tried to snatch the bag out of my hand. I took one out and gave it to her. “And the juice?” She was persistent.

“Get away! The rest is mine!” I cut her off. “You mock me for helping, and now you want to eat it all! Stay away from me!” After that, they left me alone, but I didn’t dare to touch another sandwich or juice. That could have only reminded them about the bag or the CEO. After my shift, I went to the main building where the doorman, after phone consultation, directed me to the fourth floor.

Slowly I walked on a soft carpet when I saw the door with a sign that said “CEO”. I knocked and opened the door; five women and two men were sitting.

“May I help you?” One of the women asked me politely.

“My name is Stella Graham. Mr. Nicholson invited me.”

“Come with me.” She took me to the next room that was empty, and asked me to sit down, then she knocked on the door that opened to another room, and disappeared behind it. When she got out again, she smiled and said: “You may go in. The CEO is waiting for you.”

Chris Nicholson was sitting behind a big desk, greeting a person he was talking to––an older guy smiling on the holoscreen.

The holoscreen shut down, and he offered me to sit with a big grin. I sat, holding the paper bag firmly, because I didn’t know where else to put it.

“Didn’t you eat your sandwiches?” He asked.

“I did,” he didn’t have to know what exactly happened, “but not the chocolate. Thank you.”

“You don’t like candy?”

“I love it, but I want to share with my mum.”

“I invited you because I hope you might be an adequate person for my personal assistant. You saw an empty office outside? My staff has tried to train three people so far, but none of them seemed to fit around here. I’m not saying the problem was them,” he paused, examining me. “I am very demanding and not an easy person. I don’t like to repeat, hate forgetfulness, and moreover, I detest sluggishness,” he gave me a look by which I figured he was waiting for my response.

“I would like to try, and I hope you’ll find me adequate,” I tried to keep a steady voice, so it wouldn’t give away my jitters.

“You do realize that you’re risking your current job? If I don’t find you adequate, your current job on the conveyor belt will not be waiting for you,” he said, wanting me to grasp the seriousness of the situation, but I had already made up my mind.

“I’ll risk it,” I said firmly.

“Fine. I have all the information about your education and skills from your initial job application. If you are sure you want to try; I’ll see you in the morning. At 9 a.m.––check in with Claire.”

I got up and shook his hand; and when I left the building, I rushed home to tell my parents. I didn’t know whether my pay would be bigger or not, but truthfully, I didn’t care. I had moved up from my boring, tiring, never-changing job. The closer I was to home, the more fear snuck into my bones, though. What if I get fired? Maybe he is too demanding. What if I don’t handle it

well just like my predecessors? At least I’ll get to watch him for a while––I smiled at that thought.

CHAPTER 4: THE RICH AND THE POOR

Chris Nicholson was a temperamental, highly intelligent man that was in charge of all four factories in Country 189. He made contracts with clients all over the world, and made sure people in factories had a reason to produce movable frames. His job was to maintain established operations in rich and advanced countries, and to get the new factories in poor countries on their feet, as well as running some smaller shops the company opened for their permanent staff’s needs wherever they went. When the factories were able to run on their own, he would leave.

I came to work half an hour earlier. Clair was already there, sitting at my desk, and started talking to me as if she was expecting me to come in earlier.

“Tell me, Claire, why didn’t any of my predecessors make it?

What were their mistakes?” I was eager to know what I mustn’t do in order to keep my job.

“One was too slow and literally drove him crazy while he was explaining what he needs. The other kept forgetting at least one thing out of two or three. Remember, Stella, he detests mediocrity.

I think he’s hard to please, but give it your best.”

“Oh, that’s not very comforting,” I laughed, and then she joined in.

“We are happy that he hired you, because we’re off the hook...for now. He’s a smart man that functions fast, thinks fast, and wants an assistant that can keep up. We are too slow and too rigid for him. Here are the files of the companies we work with the most. When one of them calls, you patch the call in to Mr. Nicholson, and make sure you have the last contract at hand, so when he calls you in, put the chip in that black machine on his desk.

The contracts are all archived on chips by date. Each of these boxes represent one company; inside are their chip-contracts, so don’t mix them up. After you’ve inserted the chip, don’t leave the office, but listen to the conversation, so you can fetch an older contract if you deem it necessary. Don’t wait for him to ask you to. When you leave for your lunch break, Gwen will replace you. You have half an hour, forty minutes at the most. Besides companies that purchase movable frames, other chief executives from our factories in other thirteen

countries

call.

The

usual

problems

are

customs,

production, staff, and transport.”

When Claire left, I sat behind the computer and started reading contracts, trying to memorize company names and other details. I found out that our company owned an android factory in Country 12, and in some countries they produced cerebral television chips, or mobile scanners.

Ten minutes to nine, the CEO walked in; I panicked, stood up and greeted him. He nodded, busy with adjusting his phone into the ear while answering the call––the newest models were so tiny that they fit into the actual ear––and I opened the door for him, because his hands were full of tablets. As he was on the phone, completely distracted by solving the problem, I took the tablets from his hands

and placed them on the desk. He started looking around the desk; by the body language, I presumed he was looking for the pen, so I gave him one that was behind my ear. He smiled and wrote some piece of information on the paper. At that moment, the phone on my desk rang, so I went to answer it. Briefly, I glanced at him, he nodded and I took that as a sign I could patch the call, because this one would soon be over.

It was Langdon Mutual Company; Mr. Gordon’s secretary was on the phone, requesting Mr. Nicholson in his behalf. We exchanged a few words, and I notified my boss about who wanted to talk to him, and he took over. Quickly, I found Langdon Mutual’s contracts and took the last three in, unlike Clair said only the last one.

Quietly, I entered his office and put the chip in, then continued to listen to the conversation.

“You don’t have any increase compared to last month, George,” Chris said, so I pulled out the contract from the last month, and inserted that chip into the black machine. “I’m looking at the last month’s data. They’re identical...Ha, ha, ha, all right then.”

The phone on my desk rang again, so I rushed out to get it.

Politely, I kept the business partners on the phone until I would see a green light, meaning Mr. Nicholson was free to take the call. Then I would frantically search for the contracts and rush into his office.

Soon, there was no time to get the old files back into the boxes, so there was a mess on my desk. When lunch time came, I rushed down to the food stand, bought two French fries and two juices–– one for the Boss, one for me––then hurried back to sort out the mess on my desk while Gwen was covering for me. Before hitting

the mess, I went to Mr. Nicholson’s office to give him the fries, but he looked at me surprised.

“You don’t like fries?” I asked, dismayed.

“Oh, I do. I’m just confused that you brought fries. I expected a sandwich based on what happened yesterday. You surprised me, that’s all.”

“While you eat, I’ll hold the calls. Just put your phone on busy until you’re done, so I’ll know when to start patching them through.” I smiled and quickly disappeared. *** After four months of being his assistant, I knew what Chris liked to eat, drink, which business partners he liked, what got on his nerves, when not to enter the office because the call––even though a business one––was somewhat private in nature, so he didn’t want me to hear it, and what he thought at any given moment. I worked and thought as he did. I was his shadow, someone he could lean on, his right hand. Every mood change I recognized in a second, I knew if something made him angry, sad, or worried.

“On Thursday, we are going to Country 192. Prepare the files for the customs, and arrange the protocol because the Prime Minister and the Minister of Economy will see us.”

“I’m coming with you?” I asked him in disbelief.

“Yes.” “How many people are traveling in total?”

“Five.”

“I’m on it, sir,” I said, leaving his office. I went to Clair to see which hotel to book, and she looked at me, stunned that I was going as well.

“You must be his true right hand when he wants you there,” she said.

“That’s my job, right?”

“True! Bravo, Stella. You are the right person for the job, after all. You’re so much like him, you know…”

“He’s not that complicated of a person, Claire. He knows exactly what he wants, and if you do it, he’s happy.”

“To you, maybe he isn’t complicated. I never knew what he wanted. Chips and phone calls I could manage, but to remind him what he promised to whom, throw in overdue payment notice on time...I always picked the wrong timing, and he would give me one of those looks that made me want to fall through the ground. He expected me to memorize things I simply wasn’t able to. The worst thing were his witty remarks, because I would take them literally, hurry to do it, and half way to my office, I would realize it was a joke, not an order,” we both burst into laughing, and Claire made a funny face grimace. *** In a big, black limo, a chauffeur was waiting for us, and a security guard held the door open waiting for us to get in. I wasn’t expecting us to be sitting next to each other in this spacious car, especially because two security guards were in front with the chauffeur. The limo had top-of-the-line comfort and amenities: TV

screens, food, drinks, movable bed, body and foot massage, and more.

Once settled, Chris said: “I forgot to mention that Country 192 is technologically absolutely backward, and to prepare the contracts in printed form on our memo. Call Claire to bring at least one specimen of our factory construction contract.”

“I printed them out,” I said, taking out one of the contracts from the briefcase for him to see.

“All right,” he said visibly surprised, and after carefully examining the contract, gave it back. “If we sign this tomorrow, and I believe we will, we’ll send our experts to check out locations, so you have to gather all of them as soon as we get back. On Monday, I want them all lined up in front of my desk at 9 a.m.”

“Certainly. What’s Country 192 like?”

“Poor, corrupt, crime blooming. Politicians are liars, don’t respect signed contracts, but for the money, they would sell the entire country. Hate is dominant.”

“I feel sorry for the people there,” I mumbled.

“They have the government they deserve. At least that’s what I was taught.”

“There are always individuals that don’t deserve it; don’t hate, they are collateral...”

“I agree,” he smiled and looked at me as if he considered me one of those collateral people.

“Don’t people in rich countries hate others––their neighbors at

least? What did they do to deserve a better life?” I challenged him.

“There’s hate. It’s unfortunately part of every human being, but over there it didn’t overpower the mind, the common sense.

Desire to have a good life suppressed their hate toward other nationalities, race, or lower class, and opened them up to science, enticed them to cooperate with those that will lead them to wealth.

Certainly, not all countries are the same. There are countries that rich individuals––with their personal wealth and knowledge–– turned into what they are today, as well as those that raised their standard thanks to the majority of hard working, capable, and knowledgeable citizens, thus creating a country full of wealthy citizens.

“There must have been those less capable. Where are they now?”

“Moved to the countries where the lifestyle is less expensive.”

His phone rang, ending our conversation. “Did they keep him in the hospital?” He spoke into the phone, “I know it’s raining, but this is his second time in two months.”

“Rain,” I said to myself, longing for it. His phone call was over, so I said to him: “Country 189 desperately needs rain, but I’m afraid it might cause an entirely new set of problems if it does rain eventually. The land is too dry and that might cause flooding like last time. It cannot get worse than this, though. Everything bankrupted, there’s no food, and as of this year, some plant and animal species are extinct.”

“It can get worse, Stella. After such long droughts, only the toughest rodents survive, so when humidity arrives, they start

breeding incredibly fast. The history showed us that it always leads to horrible epidemics. Let’s hope that won’t be the case now.”

“These are modern times. I hope the scientists would know how to stop it,” I dreaded the thought of disease outbreak. My mind swirled with images of Spanish flu and the Black Plague.

After we crossed the border less than an hour later, we arrived in front of the government building. While Chris greeted the Prime Minister and his delegation, I waited slightly farther away for the protocol photo shoot and press briefing to be over. The Prime Minister talked about the incredible investment that would change their countries economy, and mentioned the cities where the future factories would be built, then asked Chris Nicholson to comment on the plans. It painfully reminded me of our own news when Global REN came to our country. While Chris was talking, I overheard two government clerks near me discussing recent events.

“Those bastards from Country 195 thought they could ruin us before this company came.”

“They didn’t attack us because of that. What’s wrong with you? They want war; want to take our houses.”

“No! They want to occupy us, so those factories could be theirs.”

“If they occupy us. As far as I know, we stopped them this morning. The Prime Minister said something to his associate about slapping them on the wrist.”

At that moment, the news conference was over, so I rushed to

my boss, and accompanied him to the official Prime Minister’s chambers. I sat next to him, and with a smile leaned to his ear, and said: “I don’t know if you are aware, but they had a showdown with Country 195 this morning,” I whispered.

“I wasn’t,” he whispered, surprised.

Chris commenced presenting his plans for the factory constructions, named every country where Global REN already had their subsidiaries, and introduced figures of such a huge investment. The Prime Minister and his delegation wanted to know what their country would gain from the investment––besides a few jobs as the Prime Minister put it––and Chris told them bitterly that in their situation, employment of so many people should mean a lot.

“The country gets the money for selling the land for the factories, the fees for community infrastructure according to your laws, income taxes, VAT on everything we sell in the future, and I assure you that’s a significant amount––” Chris kept naming, and then abruptly asked: “What’s with Country 195?”

“I...I don’t understand,” the Prime Minister stuttered. “What do you mean?”

“The war drums, Prime Minister!” Chris said sharply.

“That’s nothing to be concerned about,” said the Prime Minister, putting on a fake smile.

“If I am going to invest so much money, at least you can give me a straight answer!”

“I think...We stopped it this morning,” the Prime Minister reluctantly strained.

“How many casualties?” Chris continued coldly.

“Insignificant. About twenty on our side. It shouldn’t worry you. What I’d like to know is how you found out? None of the media ran the story.” The Prime Minister forced a smile.

“It doesn’t matter how I found out. Your country presents a risk and I’ll have to rethink my investment, perhaps wait to see how this develops.”

After that, they offered lower prices and agreed to some benefits, but Chris didn’t offer them the contract, instead he arranged for his experts to inspect the land on Monday. The Prime Minister promised to have all documentation about the property

by Monday, which he should have had today, and pledged to respect all legislative regulations.

On our way back, I told Chris how I found out about the possible war with Country 195, and he surprised me with his reply.

“We have intelligence agencies that work for us; I knew about the hostilities and verbal offences, but not that they decided to act upon it this morning.”

CHAPTER 5: SLAVES TO THE UNEMPLOYED

“If this drought lasts, we’ll have to eat grass,” Dad complained after returning from the grocery.

“Did you find any vegetables?” Mum asked, worried.

“No fruit or vegetables. I brought several boxes of corn flakes, but the cashier told me she would save some potatoes for me. They arrived this morning.”

“Why didn’t she sell it to you right away?” Mum was surprised.

“She was afraid of violence and rampage that breaks out when they get the fruit and vegetables out on shelves. The manager told her to leave it for tomorrow when they’ll have more staff,” Dad explained.

“Are you sure she’ll save it? Maybe I should go first thing in the morning before they open the shop?”

“If people wouldn’t run you over inside, thieves outside the shop would surely take it. She’ll save it for me. I treated her husband when he was sick, that’s why she told me about it in the first place, and that she would give it to me in the storage where nobody can see,” Dad explained. “Here...She saved two bottles of water for me.”

“If you think I didn’t notice you had something under your

shirt, you’re wrong,” Mum laughed. “I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“I got three bottles, Dad,” I bragged. “Water tank is coming today, so we’ll fill our barrels. We have so much laundry to do.”

“Lucky for us that Chris Nicholson came to this town; now we have enough water, and the power doesn’t get turned off,” Mum pointed out.

“How are things in Country 192?” Dad wanted to know.

“Same as here––drought, poverty, hunger. The worst is the tension with neighboring countries; they have constant threat of impending war,” I said.

“Horrible,” Mum trembled. “This weather makes people edgy.

Every day is exactly the same as the previous.”

“Hunger makes them edgy, too. Despair, a miserable life. The list goes on...” I added. *** As things got worse, people became angrier, and the violence rapidly grew with increasing difficulties in life. Young people organized in groups that attacked those employed, robbed their credit cards, or forced them to buy things until the card was empty. Nobody was safe anymore, not even in their home. Groups of a dozen or so young men and women would come crashing through the windows, bringing down the doors, taking everything of any value, smashing the rest, leaving you shocked in a wrecked room that only resembled the home you used to know. There was no cash, so they would beat you up until you gave all your credit

cards and pins, and then they would shop until the account was empty. Cancelling the card didn’t do much, because they would be on your doorstep as soon as the new paycheck was in your account.

Police couldn’t catch those delinquents, or wouldn’t, and the people kept losing homes because they couldn’t pay their mortgages or loans. Banks didn’t care––they would record the theft, issue a new card that the gangs would snatch on the next payday, and your losses were your problem. There were those who fought the gangs, but it would only result in their wife or child being kidnapped. Soon, those employed worked only to give their money to the unemployed, until they went bankrupt; then the gang would switch to the new victim. Every day, there were murdered workers, and the factory would immediately hire new ones to replace the “missing” staff.

After a significant portion of the population lost their homes, banks outwitted the gangs by making all important bills––such as mortgage payments, loans, utility bills, and similar––their priority pre-pay deductions. That meant the bank would subtract the amount needed to cover

aforementioned

costs from your

paycheck before they would put the remainder in your account.

That way, the gangs could only empty what you had left over for food and living, making it impossible for you to become bankrupt–– and turning you into their slave.

I was riding in the subway returning home from work, when my friend Amanda walked in accompanied by Dana––her high school friend.

“Hey, Stella! You remember Dana?” Amanda asked, merrily sitting down next to me.

“Of course. High school. It’s been quite a while, but you haven’t aged a bit, Dana,” I said.

“Neither have you. How are you? Are you married?” Dana asked.

“No. Are you?”

“No! Besides being too young, the times are not quite right for it either,” Dana smiled.

“So true. Aren’t we a lucky generation...” I replied.

“Are you working?” Dana asked.

“I work at the factory,” I didn’t want to tell her what my job was, but Amanda was already chatting about my boss and my work place. “I didn’t know you two knew each other,” I changed the subject, so that Amanda would finally shut up.

“We’ve known each other since childhood,” Amanda jumped in, “but you and I never gossiped about our high school during college, so it never came up.”

“Let’s go girls,” Dana cut in, Amanda stood up, and so did I, because my station was up next.

“Are you getting off here?” I was surprised.

“Dana lives two streets away from you. It’s a small world,” Amanda laughed.

When we got out, they each held me under one arm, and Dana started to tell a joke she heard that day. Laughing at the joke, I turned left toward my home, but two of them pulled me, forcing me to walk in the other direction. I tried to free myself thinking

they were just messing with me, but then Amanda said very seriously: “Don’t make it difficult on yourself, Stella. You’re coming with us and don’t panic. You see those guys? They’re not as patient as we are.” Only then did I realize that the three guys in front of us and the five behind us weren’t random passengers from the subway. They were all there for me.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, looking at Amanda highly disappointed by my best friend’s betrayal.

“Down by the river where cameras film what we want them to,” Amanda laughed hysterically by which I knew she was at least slightly embarrassed. As soon as we arrived, Dana tried to take my purse, but I held it firmly, so she didn’t succeed. Then a hit on my back from one of the guys persuaded me to give it up. They threw out all the contents of my purse in search for my credit card.

“Where is it?” The guy smashed me with an iron bar obviously prepared for the victims they brought there. I screamed from pain, and said: “I don’t carry it with me”.

“Where is it?” He hit me again across the spine. I cried, squealing “I don’t have it”.

“I want to know where it is,” he said, and all the others joined in, kicking me with their boots.

“At home,” I finally confessed.

“Where at home?” Another hit. “Speak!”

“I’ll get it for you, just don’t hit me anymore,” I begged.

“They will kill your dad, don’t you realize?” Amanda leaned in.

“Tell them where at home, and don’t play any games, because it’ll be your fault if they kill him.” What she said scared the hell out of me, so I quickly pulled up my shirt, and took out the credit card from my bra.

“We don’t need her pin!” Amanda exclaimed while studying my card. “This will be a rich prey. Stuck up prick is paying you well, ha?”

Guys tied me up with plastic bands, put me in a boat, and covered me with tarpaulin. My legs were tied with a thick chain at the end of which was a big rock, so if I tried to get out of the boat, I would drown. They ordered me to wait, and then disappeared. I was lying in the boat and crying. Everything I earned they would spend.

Choking in tears, I felt sorry for myself, but then I remembered my parents. Did they hurt my parents?––went through my head. The fear stormed through my body, stopping at my throat, nearly suffocating me. When they finally came back, noisy and laughing with bottles of liquor in their hands, they freed me from the boat.

“Stella, don’t think the police will protect you if you tell them our names,” Amanda said in a threatening manner. “If you report us, these guys will kill you and your family. Is that clear? We’re not joking! We took your dad’s card, too. From now on, you’re working for us,” my “best friend” maliciously glared at me. “I know everything about you and your daddy,” sneeringly, she added. “No running!”

“Why did you go after my dad?” I asked, disappointed and hurt.

“Because he works; he has money, and I don’t. Now you’ll see how it is to be hungry!”

“We switched places,” Dana mocked, “the time of change is upon us!” They all laughed. “You’ll give us every replacement card if you report this one stolen. Don’t think you’re smarter than us.

You won’t get away. No one does!”

“If you report us, first we’ll torch your house along with your mother inside, and then it will be your turn. After you’ve watched your mother burn to death––” one of the guys said, waving a knife in front of my face, and then he deeply cut my arm. “This is a reminder, so you’ll take us seriously,” he grinned. “There are many of us, and we love jail, because we get free food there,” his eyes sparked, “and one of us will always find you.” The blood gushed from the wound. I pressed it firmly to stop some of the bleeding.

What I saw in them––lack of remorse and virtually no empathy–– petrified me to the bone. When they finally yelled “Run!” I reached to take my purse, but Amanda grabbed it.

“This is mine,” she took the phone out, and put the purse over her shoulder, then went through the rest of the contents scattered all over the floor. I ran as fast as I could, aware I needed to get to the ambulance to get stitches. I was lucky to be alive, but unhappy about the money, and feared for my family. I took my shirt off and tied it over the wound, then hurried home to see what happened to my dad.

Hearing the door, Mum and Dad rushed in my embrace.

“You’re alive,” Mum sobbed, shivering from fear, “they said they would kill you!”

“I’m here, Mum. They didn’t kill me. Don’t cry,” I calmed her.

“They blackmailed us,” Dad said all pale, “into giving the card for your life. They spent it all. Everything!” Dad pointed to the computer implying he had checked his net banking account. “They even took the car.”

“They told me they would kill you if I didn’t give them mine.

Dad, I have to go to the hospital,” I interrupted him, showing my arm.

“You have to go immediately. This is deep,” he was rushing me to the door. “You need a tetanus shot and stitches. Let’s go!”

Upon arriving at the hospital he said to me: “Hide the wound. I will have to do this in secret. Otherwise, we’ll have to report it to the police. We’re obliged by the new law.”

“I know. Take care of it, and we’ll think of something about our situation.”

“They know where we live, work...we cannot escape. If we go to the police, they will write it down and put it in a drawer,” Dad said while giving me anti tetanus shot.

“You know who’s with them? Amanda! She’s part of that gang,” I told him how she trapped me.

“Even if you tell that to the police, and they question her, all we’ll have is the rest of the gang on our back. A friend of mine told me how the police only writes a report, and the one who called it in, is found dead the next day. There’s no way out, Stella.”

“But we’ll starve to death, Dad. Are we going to be slaves to the

criminals?” I looked at him desperately. “It’s so unfair!”

“From today, we’re slaves, and our owners are so cruel that they’ll calmly watch us die. They leave nothing on the account.

Remember Dr. Benson, the neurologist? He killed himself after they’ve been taking his every cent for three months. We gave him some money for the kids, but it wasn’t enough. He broke down and shot himself in the head.”

“If they weren’t the ones that pulled the trigger...” I added suspiciously.

The entire night I couldn’t sleep, fighting sorrow and rage, arguing with Amanda in my mind, crying from despair. The rest of the weekend, we avoided each other around the house, so that we wouldn’t have to confess how beaten down we were by the injustice, and by the lack of solution. My arm swelled up and hurt badly, so I was worried about work on Monday. *** As soon as he walked in, Chris stared at my bandage. When engineers and architects that came because of the Country 192’s projects left, he asked me about how I got hurt. I told him the truth; my eyes filled up with tears, and I desperately fought to keep them from sliding down my cheeks.

“How do you plan to deal with it?” He asked directly.

“There’s nothing we can do. I thought about it the entire weekend, and there’s no solution. Police won’t help either. There are far too many dead people because they thought the police would protect them,” quickly, I turned my back on him and wiped the

tears with my sleeve. How lady-like.

“Did you report it stolen to the bank?” He walked up and down with hands on his back, looking very concerned.

“Yes. The bank said my account was completely emptied out, filed a request for a new card, and warned me that I wouldn’t get another one in case of another theft this month.”

“I presume the gang will ambush you again before the weekend to get their hands on your two-week salary.” He knew how they operated, obviously.

“Most

definitely!

Dad’s

first

half

of

the

paycheck

is

automatically deducted for mortgage and utility bills, but I don’t have any automatic payments, so my money was used for the food,” I further explained.

“Hmm. A rather complex situation. You need police on this one, because without them, this won’t go away,” I opened my mouth to object, but he stopped me with one swift hand movement and continued with his idea. “I’ll call the Interior Affairs Minister and arrange surveillance for your house.”

“They will kill my dad at work! He’s a doctor; they can easily get to him...Or me, when I return home from work,” I interrupted him in fear.

“You didn’t hear me out, Stella,” he was actually amused by my reaction, because I never interrupted him before. “Leo will accompany you from today, and your dad will be looked after by Tom. They are two exquisite androids that cannot be harmed. They are masters of martial arts, and bullets cannot damage them. I will

arrange invisible surveillance with the police until they get them all.

Leo and Tom will guard you around the clock.” Chris explained his plan, and my eyes filled with tears again, so I lowered my head, and pretended to be fixing something on my desk until I was sure they dried out.

“I don’t want you to have any problems because of me. What if androids kill someone? What if they get damaged? The factory will miss them. How will the owners react when they find out?” My head buzzed with questions.

“It’s time to reveal some things. Leo and Tom won’t be missed in the factory, because their job is to guard me. They won’t kill anyone, but will beat the heck out of them.” He saw me opening my mouth to ask who would guard him, so he continued, “When they go with you, I’m left with two other androids, and the owners won’t complain. After all, they are my father and my older brother,” he smiled at my amazement, then said: “Finally, you stopped crying!”

How perceptive. I was sure I hid it well.

“But your surname is different than theirs,” I said quietly, remembering the owner structure from company records––Rendell and Nicholson.

“I took my mother’s maiden name to spare myself from human curiosity. Just like my brother, I began my career at the lower ranks to learn the job, and climbed up to where I am today.

We have a problem,” suddenly he ended that part of the conversation, “Your problem, and you didn’t tell me whether you accept my proposal or not?”

“I...I can hardly express how I feel. You are offering me a way

out of an impossible situation, hope for a normal life, and I wholeheartedly accept your proposal, but I don’t want to be a burden, or to cause you any problems.”

“Don’t worry about me. Leo will be with you from today, and the only thing you need to be aware of, is that he doesn’t have to walk next to you to have things under control. Usually, he’s about ten feet away. Leave those decisions to him. Both Tom and Leo are custom models not available on the market; they can do what other androids can’t. They scan everything, rooftops, buildings, they can zoom in, and they can feel the presence of a threat to their client.

Act as if you were alone; Leo will handle the rest.”

“Thank you. The words are not enough, but I have nothing else,” I smiled, but embarrassment and humility got the best of me, so it came out somehow crooked.

“It’s quite enough,” he chuckled, obviously entertained with this new side of me.

I went to my office and got to work; Chris called the Interior Affairs Minister and arranged twenty-four hour surveillance on my home.

“Secret service in civilian clothes will keep an eye on your home,” he said, “especially your mum when two of you are at work.”

“My mum...you remembered everything!” I was amazed by his kindness and the level of eagerness to help me out. After all, who was I to him? At the end of my shift, Chris called his guards and introduced them to me.

“I explained everything to them earlier on the phone. They will be devoted to you and your family until the job is done,” Chris said.

“I thought you would engage them for the end of the week, not right away.”

“Do you think the gang doesn’t know you had to report the card today, and get a new one? It’s standard procedure. Why wouldn’t they take it right away? They know the bank issues only one per month...”

“Makes sense. I focused on the pay day, but why wait for the money, when they can have the card now, and then safely wait for the money?” I was surprised; that scenario hadn’t entered my thoughts. “Perhaps they even watched me at the bank.”

“When do you have to pick up the card?”

“I was planning to go first thing in the morning.”

“And your dad?”

“He said he would go today around 5 p.m.”

“Call him and tell him not to pick it up today,” he glanced at his watch nervously, and then at me.

“I never use company phone for private matters, and my phone was stolen,” I explained why I’m not calling already. He smiled and handed me his phone. I stared at that technical miracle and didn’t know how to dial. He showed me what to do, and I finally called Dad. “Dad? Did you pick up the card at the bank?” Quickly, I asked.

“I’m walking there as we speak,” Dad said.

“Don’t pick it up! It’s important; I’ll explain everything when I get home.”

“All right, I believe you have a good reason. See you home.

Bye.” ~~~

End of sample ~~~

Barriers of the New World Out on Kindle ~~~

ALSO BY BARBARA RAYNE

21 Erased, (dystopian novella) Kindle Edition, October 30, 2011 21 Erased, (dystopian novella) Paperback Edition, November 8, 2011 Evolve, Kindle Edition, January 11, 2012 Evolve, Paperback Edition, January 17, 2012 Nette, Kindle Edition, March 12, 2012 Nette, Paperback Edition, March 21, 2012 Barriers of the New World, Paperback Edition, 2012

See more about the author and forthcoming books at www.barbararayne.com