Utopian Day (2 page)

Mia found the suggestion believable. She’d had a
difficult relationship with her parents and had ultimately left
home at a young age because she felt that they had betrayed her and
could no longer be trusted. But at this point in her life, she
wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Mia caught the subway home, went into her apartment,
lay down on the sofa, and cried.

Nick was feeling on top of the world. The big
project he had been working on for some time was finally coming
together, and the payoff for all of the hard work was now within
sight. On top of that, he had just crushed Jerry in a singles
tennis match.

After showering and changing clothes, he met Jerry
in the club dining room for lunch. He was enjoying the review of
the game when he had a sudden pain in his stomach. He winced
slightly, and hunched forward a bit.

“
Are you o.k., Nick?” Jerry
asked.

“
Just a bit of a pain in my
stomach, that’s all. Probably a touch of indigestion or something;
nothing to worry about.”

He took a sip of seltzer water and continued talking
about the match. He had been having indigestion quite frequently
lately, and made a mental note to go to the doctor after he closed
this next project. There was no reason to take time out of his busy
schedule now for a doctor’s visit when some over-the-counter
medicine would probably suffice for the time being.

As he drove back to his office, his cell phone rang.
Tom Freeman’s name came up on the screen.

“
Hello Tom. What do you have for
me?”

“
I talked to that cop who owes you
ten grand. He’s willing to take the job.”

“
Good. Go ahead and make the
arrangements. Make certain it can’t be traced back to
us.”

“
Will do.”

“
Oh, and Tom. When this is all
over, see to it that any history of his activity on any of our
gaming sites is removed from the host servers and all the backups.
I don’t want any potential investigation to turn up anything. This
has to be clean or we’ll all end up in trouble.”

“
Consider it done.”

A file lay open on the workbench beside J.T.
Thornbacker as he finished up the last few cuts on the wooden
carving, the base of which was held tight in a vise. It was a
woman’s face. She was staring up into the sky with her eyes open,
her hair swept back as if it was being blown by the wind, and a
beautiful smile on her face. He stepped back to admire his
handiwork. After staring at it for a few moments, he smiled and put
down the carving tool beside the file on the workbench.

He opened up the file folder and stared down at the
mug shot of the soon-to-be newest member of their dysfunctional
little tribe. James Marlowe, twenty-six years old, convicted of
armed robbery. The profile went on to state that James had
attempted suicide and was on anti-depressants, was above average
intelligence for the prison population, and had been in and out of
jail since he was a juvenile.

“
I hope, my friend, that you can
find peace here with us,” J.T. said out loud.

He thought back to his own introduction to Utopia
and all of the life-changing experiences he’d had here. This place
had helped turn a bitter, angry man who thought he was the center
of the universe into someone who actually cared about other people
and had learned to live in peace with himself and others for the
most part. He had seen the same transformation in many of his
fellow-prisoners.

As he left the warehouse where his workshop was
located and headed to the library, he enjoyed viewing the orange
glow of the sunset over the desert horizon. He took a deep breath
of the rapidly cooling air and felt happy to be alive. Here in
Utopia, each day was a chance to grow, a chance to experience a new
level of inner freedom and peace. It was strange to admit it, but
he was glad he had come to this prison. It had helped save his
life. But the world as J.T. Thornbacker knew it at that moment was
about to permanently and irrevocably change forever….

Chapter Three

James woke up in his hospital bed slowly, groggy
from the anesthesia. His hands were in restraints and he was
beginning to feel the odd sensation of the monitoring device that
had been surgically implanted underneath his skin on the back of
his neck, near the spine. After about fifteen minutes, a nurse came
in to check his vital signs and then left without saying a word. In
another half-hour, a doctor came in and asked him a series of
questions, then pecked on the screen of his tablet computer for a
few minutes, punctuating his flurry of activity with miscellaneous
utterances - 'hmmm', 'o.k.', and then finally a 'looks good’ before
leaving the room.

The next person James saw was a man in a business
suit, wearing glasses with small, circular lenses. He had an
intense gaze and black hair that was just starting to grey. His
demeanor was pleasant, but formal. He took a few moments to look at
James' face before he spoke.

“
Good afternoon, James. How do you
feel?”

“
Groggy at the moment.”

“
That should wear off completely
in a few hours. How does the implant feel?”

“
Irritating.”

The man shook his head up and down slightly,
acknowledging the response before continuing.

“
You will be in this facility for
a week. During that time we will run a series of tests on the
monitoring device we implanted, and you will learn about your job
at the new facility. Part of the program includes a six-day, eight
hour a day work schedule to help rehabilitate you to a normal
productive life for when you leave the facility. You will be
helping to assemble a mechanical device on an assembly line. At the
end of the week, assuming all goes as planned, you will be
transported to the new facility. Should you attempt to leave this
facility, you will be removed from the program, your sentence
reduction will be eliminated, and you will be put back in the
prison you just came from for the remainder of your sentence. Is
that clear?”

“
Yes,” James responded. He was
encouraged about the possibility of any improvements over his
previous incarceration. He liked working with his hands; at least
he wouldn’t be bored to death.

“
Good. One of the reasons we
picked you is that you appear to have intelligence above many of
your fellow inmates incarcerated for the same crime. We hope this
will enable you to better appreciate that you have been given a
great opportunity, and that you will therefore endeavor to
successfully complete the program. In short, we want you to
succeed. If you do, it makes all of us look good and you will be
rewarded with an early release per our agreement. If you don't, you
will make all of us look bad, in which case we both
lose.”

The man let the last sentence hang in the air for
effect, all the while holding James' gaze without blinking. When
the man spoke again, he almost seemed to be a different person. It
was as if he had just completed a script that he had given many
times before, and now he was slipping out of character and back
into a more comfortable, friendlier role. He seemed less official,
more excited, and more likeable all at once.

“
You know, James, this program has
the potential to completely change everything about our current
methods of incarceration. For you personally, it has the potential
to change your life for the better. We chose you out of hundreds of
candidates.”

His gaze grew more intense as he spoke the next few
words very deliberately.

“
I believe in you,
James.”

Without waiting for a response, the man turned and
left the room as quickly and as deliberately as he had arrived.

Out of all the things that had happened to James
during this whirlwind of change since Cecil had first told him
about the program, up until this very moment, nothing had impacted
him more those five words this nameless bureaucrat had just spoken
to him - “I believe in you James.” James had been told many things
in his life by government functionaries. He had been told he was
nothing but a convict, that he should be ashamed of his behavior,
that he was headed down the wrong road, that he was a career
criminal, and many other such things, but no one had ever told him
that they believed in him. Those words rang around in his head for
hours after the man left and James wondered exactly what they meant
to the man who said them. And inside his heart, somewhere deep,
where the last bit of hope glowed like a tiny ember in a pile of
ashes - the remains of a fire that had long since begun to go out –
that hope began to glow a bit brighter.

Chapter Four

Over the last twenty-four hours, James had been
shuttled between an SUV, a government plane, an army Humvee, and
now he was in a helicopter. Just before take-off in the helicopter,
he had been given a special helmet to wear which prevented him from
seeing anything. He had no idea where in the United States he was.
In fact, he wasn't even certain he was in the United States any
longer.

After about an hour and a half, the helicopter
landed. His armed escort led him out of the cargo area of the
helicopter and into a building that looked like a 1950’s era diner.
The guard removed the helmet and handcuffs, and promptly went
outside to the waiting helicopter and flew away.

James squinted to adjust to the daylight. At the far
end of the diner, sitting at a booth facing him, was a man who
appeared to be in his late forties. He had a full head of greying
hair and a bushy beard. He was drinking a cup of coffee and staring
amiably at the newcomer. When he spoke, James thought he detected a
slight Southern accent.

“
Welcome to Utopia. Coffee pot is
behind the counter. Help yourself.”

“
Thanks,” James replied. He poured
himself a cup of black coffee before seating himself opposite from
the man who had just greeted him. He closed his eyes and inhaled a
long breath, savoring the aroma of the coffee before taking a
sip.

“
How was your trip?” the man
asked.

“
A bit disorienting.”

“
Yeah, they like to mix it up when
they bring folks out here. It's a bit too James Bond if you ask
me.”

He took another long sip from his own coffee before
setting down the mug and reaching his hand across the table.

“
Name's J.T.”

James reached out and shook his hand. The first
thing he noticed was how big the man's hand was – it engulfed
James' own hand. The second thing was how firm the grip was.

“
I suppose you already know my
name,” James responded.

J.T. chuckled. “Yeah, I know quite a bit about you,
James. Unless I miss my guess, they didn't tell you Jack-crap about
this place. Am I right?”

“
I just know I signed my life away
to get here in return for a reduction to my sentence.”

“
Par for the course,” J.T.
continued. “Well, I'm the longest serving inmate here. Been here
for the better part of ten years. I'm not in charge of anything,
but I'm the one who gets to show you the ropes. For starters, I'll
go ahead and tell you that the implant in your neck is not just to
monitor your whereabouts; it serves as a behavior control device.
If you try to leave Utopia or do something they don't like, you
will be zapped with enough voltage to send your brain into
temporary overload. You don't want to go there, trust me. Think of
it like a stun gun pointed at your head 24-7.”

“
Great, the gift that keeps on
giving.”

“
Oh, and another thing: once we
leave this diner, don't touch anyone. Outside of this diner and a
couple of other places, touch is considered out of bounds and
you'll be zapped if you do it. Now, you will start to feel a buzz
in the back of your neck if you get too close to someone, and
that's your chance to back off before you get zapped.”

J.T. tossed a small manual across the table. “Just
about everything else you need to know is in that manual. Read it
tonight
. If you have any questions, ask me.”

“
Will do.”

J.T. pointed in the direction of the refrigerator
behind the counter.

“
There's sandwiches in the
refrigerator. Better go grab you one if you want to eat anything
tonight. Curfew is at 8:00 p.m. You have to be in your room before
then, or you will start feeling a low-grade headache, courtesy of
your implant. If you aren't in your room by 8:15 p.m., you get the
full shock treatment.” He simulated an explosion with his hand
motions and said, “Ka-pow!”

James retrieved a sandwich from behind the counter
before following J.T. out of the diner and down the street to what
looked like a motel.

“
Your room is lucky number seven.
Here's the key.”

J.T. handed him a key with a tacky plastic red
number seven key fob attached to it.

“
What's with the retro 1950's
decorations around here?” James asked.

“
Well, that's a bit of a mystery.
From the geography around here and the fact that I've never seen
any planes fly over us, except military planes, I believe we're
somewhere in Nevada – probably some military base. My guess is that
this place was built during the cold-war to practice war-games in
an invasion scenario. Whatever it once was, it's your new home
now.”

He turned to go, and said over his shoulder as he
left, “I'm room 34 if you need to call me on the phone to ask me
anything; just dial the room number. I'll be by to pick you up at
6:15 a.m. Don't leave your room before 6:00 a.m. or....” He pointed
his finger back behind him towards James as he continued to walk
away.