Love Bug

Love Bug

H.E. Goodhue

Copyright 2014 by H.E Goodhue

Love Bug

A tinny announcement played through the public address system, its large speakers looming high on every street corner. Cameras, much smaller and hardly noticeable, hung just below each speaker.

“It is the duty of every citizen to ensure
that they have a functioning Em-Pak. It is the privilege and honor of every citizen to report those who do not. To remove one’s Em-Pak is to choose death. The Emotions Regulatory Commission will not tolerate such traitorous behavior. All citizens must adhere to the Citizens’ Safety Protocol. The virus cannot be allowed within the walls of your city. The Reds cannot be allowed to return. Emotions are weakness, flaws that lead to only one end. It is the duty of every citizen to ensure that they have a functioning Em-Pak.”

This announce
ment played throughout the city every fifteen minutes, echoing through silent streets and off the sides of buildings. It was recited from memory at the beginning and end of each school day, a mantra, almost an incantation that kept the citizens safe. This was their pledge. This was the cost of safety.

Row upon row of gray buildings shone beneath a brilliantly blue sky like stones set in a riverbed. Few noticed the natural beauty of the sky, focused more on where they needed to be and what they needed to do.
This cityscape would have once inspired man to splash paint across a canvas or to articulate those unsaid lines of poetry that resonated upon the strings of his heart. Once, this sky would have roused feelings of joy and happiness, made people late, if for no reason beyond getting lost in the beautiful expanse of its infinite dimensions. At one point, these sights would have been appreciated, these feelings cherished, but no more. Things such as beauty, art and music, no longer held value, having been outlawed and now ignored. These things were viewed as dangerous, as wastes of time that served no purpose beyond bringing citizens one-step closer to infection.

Fifty years had passed since the last citizen
admired a painting or became lost in the picturesque notes of a musical composition. Fifty years, half a lifetime, was all it took for these things, once esteemed and treasured, to become erased, and simply cast aside. However, much can happen in fifty years, especially when each of those fifty is soaked with blood and tears. Citizens were willing to trade these once beloved objects for a sense of safety. They were willing to trade anything to be safe from the Reds.

Cars and transports glided
past, making little noise beyond the gentle rumble of their engines. No one shouted, honked a horn or revved an engine impatiently, as if demanding a light to change faster. The sounds of traffic, now a thing of the past, had become obsolete with the institution of mandatory driving systems. History had taught that citizens could not be trusted to operate vehicles in a fashion that the Emotions Regulatory Commission found suitable. Perfectly sane people had fallen victim to the insanity that festered and coursed through the twisted asphalt veins that fed traffic jams. In the early days, before the virus was understood, this unbridled display of emotion, once known as a road rage, had led to massive outbreaks of Reds, costing hundreds of citizens their lives. Independent travel was simply too stressful, too unpredictable and therefore had been turned over to machines, acting in synchronized harmony to eliminate the dangers once posed by travel.

A need to control situations and perhaps more importantly, emotions had led to the advent of a new technological age. The ERC simply could not allow emotions to run rampant, creating fertile ground for a new crop of Reds. Emotions, these intense character flaws, once celebrated, now needed to be blunted, controlled.
Em-Paks appeared to be a Godsend, an almost vaccination against the virus and guarantee that one would never become a Red.

These small
, oblong boxes, no bigger than a house key, were now implanted at the base of each citizen’s neck at birth. Only a small section of the Em-Paks remained visible after they were in place. Few citizens ever saw a one before implantation and none cared to after. Too much knowledge was dangerous thing, so the ERC sought to control it. Still, hushed whispers spoke of mechanical spiders and tiny machines buried in the neck of each citizen.

Em-Paks became part of each citizen, providing a means through which his or her emotions could be blunted. Ensuring emotional stability was the cornerstone of the ERC’s Citizen
s’ Safety Protocol. There could be no choice with Em-Paks. The safety of all citizens depended upon it. Laws and severe punishments for failing to adhere to them had to be enacted. Removal of one’s Em-Pak put all other citizens at risk.

All these sacrifices were made in the name of survival
and to ensure that the human race could survive the virus, survive the violence of the Reds. There was no other choice.

-2-

“Cora Eldritch?” the instructor asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. A soft beep from the instructor’s Em-Pak and all signs of frustration melted from his face. “Cora
, are you with us?”

Cora was lost in her thoughts and had forgotten that today was a special day, a day
she, above all people, should have remembered.

“Oh? Um, yes?” Cora mumbled
, trying to will her attention off the two squirrels outside and back into the classroom. Her Em-Pak let out a small chirp, correcting the feelings of embarrassment that flared up and they disappeared. “Yes, Mr. Thomas.”

“Very good,” Mr. Thomas nodded
, “now would you like to tell the class what is special about today?”

Cora knew that there was no surprise for her to reveal. All the students knew what was special about the day, every citizen did. But this routine was her birthright and
something she was expected to perform every year. Clearing her throat, Cora tried to find some way to care about a story she had told enough times to know that she couldn’t have cared less.

“Em-Paks were created today,” Cora said flatly. The students around her looked on with blank expressions. This story was something they had heard every year as well and
they probably could have told just as well as Cora.

“Yes,” Mr. Thomas agreed
, “and who do we credit with the invention that now keeps all of us from becoming infected?”

“
Samuel Eldritch…my grandfather,” Cora muttered. The Reds killed him before Cora was born, but she had still lived every day of her life in his shadow.

“Samuel Eldritch is who we remember today,” Mr. Thomas said, pausing to look each student in the face. The students nodded uncomfortably, hoping that would be enough to make their teacher move on to the next. “Samuel Eldritch, inventor of the Em-Pak and savior of the human race.
No doubt, he’s left you some very large shoes to fill, Cora, but an honor nonetheless. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes
, Mr. Thomas, an honor,” Cora replied, but her voice held no conviction. “He, uh, was a great man.”

“Absolutely,” Mr. Thomas agreed. “
Today, we remember the gift that Samuel Eldritch’s invention bestowed upon us. We were adrift in a sea of chaos and blood, battling friends and family who had fallen ill. The Em-Pak is what separates us from them. It is what keeps our emotions in check. It keeps us human.” Mr. Thomas paused. “Remember students that anyone, anyone who is infected is dangerous. Once a person changes, they are no long your mother or best friend, they are a Red and they must be reported and sanitized.” The students nodded. This was a lesson they had been taught since they were little. Being sixteen, it was now ingrained in their person.

“Mr. Thomas?”
Richie Abrams raised his hand. Richie was smaller than many of the other boys and prone to asking endless strings of questions. Cora had always found him to be okay, which was really the most that could be said about anything.

There had always been
quiet whispers between students, nothing more than rumors really, but talk nonetheless about how emotions felt. Cora and her peers were the first generation to have had Em-Paks since birth, never having felt anything beyond ‘okay’ and having no real knowledge of emotions.

“Yes
, Richie?” Mr. Thomas groaned, the Em-Pak correcting his feelings of annoyance.

“Where is Abby?”
Richie asked, showing as much concern as was allowed by his Em-Pak.

“Abby?” Mr.
Thomas repeated, as if he had already forgotten the missing student. “Her father was found to be unsuitable.” The students knew what this meant. “He had a malfunctioning Em-Pak and his family failed to report him. We all know that the Citizens’ Safety Protocol demands that she should have turned him in to the nearest ERC office.”

“She didn’t?”
Richie persisted.

“No,” Mr. Thomas replied, his tone serious and dark. “Her father disabled his family’s Em-Paks.
Fortunately, a neighbor noticed them acting strangely and reported it. ERC officers collected the entire family. They all conspired to commit emotional treason.”

“But why would someone do that?” Richie continued. “Wouldn’t that put them at risk for infection?”

“Yes, it would,” Mr. Thomas answered. “But I can’t even pretend to know why someone would do that. It is possible that some misguided affection for his family could lead him to do so, but I fail to see how turning into a Red would benefit one’s family. And that, children, is why we need to remember how very lucky we are today. We have been gifted with the invention of the Em-Pak and that is what separates us from those beasts.”

“Are they really beasts?” Richie cut in. “Like animals?” Cora could hear the other students’ Em-Paks beeping, a chorus of tinny chimes. They were
all growing tired of Richie’s persistent questions, but by the time the lunch bell tolled, all would be forgotten. With blunted emotions, arbitrary social constructs like popularity and bullying had never entered Cora’s classroom, their toxic seeds never finding fertile soil for their twisted roots.

“No
, Richie,” Mr. Thomas responded. “The Reds aren’t actually beasts, at least not in the story book sense you’re thinking of. As we have discussed before, the Reds were once like us, but without Em-Paks, they contracted the virus. Once infected, the Reds became violent and overwhelmed by their anger. Any emotion is a gateway to infection, which is why Abby is no longer a member of this class. Her family’s citizenship has been forfeited.”

It was that simple. Abby was gone, as was the rest of her family.  She had committed no crime beyond being her father’s daughter, but that was enough.
Anyone at risk of becoming a Red simply vanished. The students in Cora’s class had heard this lesson many times before. Reds were dangerous, were deadly and needed to be eradicated.

“But why are there still Reds?” Richie
carried on. “Why hasn’t the ERC wiped them out?”

Mr. Thomas’s Em-Pak began working overtime. “Richie, we mustn’t question the ERC.”

“No, no,” Richie added quickly. “I…I…I just…”

“Richie just meant how
could the Reds still be around when the ERC is working so hard to protect us. The Reds are just mindless monsters, so it’s hard to believe that they can hide from the ERC,” Cora said, coming to the boy’s rescue. “Right?”

“Yeah, yes,” Richie nodded enthusiastically
, “that’s what I meant.”

“Of course,” Mr. Thomas agreed. “Thank
you, Cora, for clarifying.”

“You’re welcome,” Cora waved. Cora’s face
was a mask of indifference even though her Em-Pak remained silent. She had been trained from birth to handle situations like this, to reroute people’s thinking and get them to see the value in absolute subservience to the ERC.

“Some Em-Paks malfunction from
accidents,” Mr. Thomas answered. “Those poor unfortunate souls still must be removed. Then there are the traitorous Emos, those people ignorant enough to try to live without an Em-Pak. Their settlements are what keep the ERC from completely wiping out the Red threat.”

Cora
listened as a few of the students’ Em-Paks chirped, smoothing the edges of rough feelings. Her own device added to the chorus.

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Thomas nodded, noting the students’ reactions. “Upsetting for sure. Very upsetting indeed that your classmate failed us all and committed emotional treason.
And talk of the Reds as well, upsetting indeed.”

Cora could briefly feel something, some strange unpleasantness that disappeare
d before she could name it. That must have been what her teacher meant by ‘upset’, Cora thought, but she pushed it out of her mind.

“Now back to things of actual importance,” Mr. Thomas continued. “In a few
moments, we’ll be switching on our viewing monitors to see Assemblyman Eldritch deliver a speech from the capital, commemorating his father’s, Cora’s grandfather’s, tremendous accomplishment. Quite a day for your family, Ms. Eldritch.”

Eyes settled on Cora once again. She could feel the small prickle on heat on the back of her neck, but lacked the words to express why. They were all waiting for her to say something. That was her birthright, her duty.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Thomas,” Cora answered. “Both great men. A great day for all of us, really.” Cora waited, judging her teacher and classmates’ reactions. Had she said what they expected? Had she performed her role? The small waves of heat began to dance on the back of her neck again.

“Indeed,” Mr. Thomas smiled faintly. He then turned to switch on the large monitor in the front of the classroom.

Cora stared blankly at the image of her father. It was the most she had seen of him in days, and later, she would have to pretend to know him in front of countless cameras and viewers. Her Em-Pak chirped loudly as she thought of another dreadful limo ride with her mother and spoiled brother; another day for her to dance for the masses, all for the sake of her father’s political career and to lay to groundwork for her own. All these decisions, of which Cora had no say, but that mandated the direction of her life, weighed down upon her, pressing her head closer and closer to the desk.

“Cora?” Mr. Thomas asked, a hint of worry coloring his words momentarily. “Are you alright?”

The Em-Pak securely implanted at the base of Cora’s neck beeped once again. All of those prior thoughts, independent and dangerous, vanished with the faint ping of three mechanical notes.

Cora would once again wave and smile because that was what was expected of her. That was her role to play, no matter how badly some small piece of her wanted otherwise.

As Assemblyman Eldritch took the stage, Cora’s Em-Pak chirped once again.