One Billion Drops of Happiness (9 page)

Such blatant disregard for animals had created a fashion of eating endangered animals such as leopards, lions and zebras. They were served gourmet in all of the restaurants in vogue across New America, and to a lesser extent, fashionable haunts in cities like London and Paris. Parts of the Old World were indeed becoming influenced by New America; it was unavoidable, the glossy propaganda pumped to the rest of the world displayed a nation of efficiency and calm. Who wouldn’t want to live in such utopia?

The Old World Organisation had tried desperately to put a stop to such cuisine; the beasts that formerly adorned the planet in all shades and temperaments were running exceedingly thin on the ground. Mass import of meats to New America did not help, but it was almost as if they could sense the turmoil erupting in the world and so by general consensus reproduced less and less.

‘We’ll discuss this later in the morning,’ Okadigbo croaked, feeling overwhelmed again. Maybe his Suppressitor was beginning to malfunction, but he was feeling rather sad for the animals. He had spent his youth in Nigeria surrounded by giraffes, elephants and lions. They had given him much pleasure to behold at the time and the thought of them disappearing forever unsettled him.

But it was just his Suppressitor, he decided finally. Nostalgia was outdated; lamenting the past was what hindered people. Only the future mattered. He resolved to get on the case tomorrow and clear the path for Ophelium. Maybe he’d be remembered forever for it, in a strictly non-sentimental manner of course. And at the same time kill two pelicans with one rock by finding a better way to flush these wretched emotions!

* * *

Later the same morning, Xandria awoke from a strange dream. The sort where you can’t exactly remember the bare bones but recall only the identity of the central character and a feeling of explicit tenderness. Who was it? It took her a second to become compos mentis.

Ah. In a whirl she recalled the events of yesterday; the woman and the potion and Henry. Henry. Her chest swelled for a brief moment before she felt a reciprocal wash of calm douse her from head to toe. So this must be the potion working, she mused feeling blissfully relaxed. What is he doing? How is he feeling this morning?

Without thinking she pressed her cell and dialed his name, suddenly conscious to block her bedridden mirage from being transmitted. It would mean in return she could not see his visually pleasing mirage, as that was only fair, but she did not think it would be a very professional start to the relationship.

As the phone dialed, the thought occurred to her that she should not be contacting him. If she were of a strong constitution, the potion would surely be a mere tickle on the skin. Certainly not enough to warrant a call. Yes, but to hell with convention, the unreasonable side of her head retorted. We will do what we please with the man we adore.

‘Hello…’

It was him! A rush of giddiness engulfed Xandria, before predictably, the Suppressitor stubbornly released its counter-attack.

‘Oh! Yes, hello….Henry.’ Xandria stuttered, bewilderment setting in at her lack of control. She reached for her Suppressitor and gave it an extra click. That was better.

‘Xandria, did you need something? I’m busy with the fall-out of the speech.’ Henry sounded impatient.

‘No, no. Nothing really,’ she could sense her neutral normality returning. ‘Just wanted to check that your constitution was dealing well with yesterday’s administration.’

‘It’s fine,’ he replied distractedly. She could hear voices in the background. Mirages squabbling for his attention? Another emotion pinched her for a split second. She could not name it but she suddenly wanted to march over there and make all those mirages disappear. ‘In fact,’ he said, ‘I’ve never been so able to deal with all these bureaucrats so swiftly at this time of the morning. I need to go now. I gather the Reinhardt constitution is as strong as mine?’

‘Of course,’ she replied in a falsetto tone. ‘A love injection will never be enough to send me off kilter. Side effects are for the bourgeoisie…’

‘True say. Goodbye.’

The room returned to silence. If it were indeed true, then why did Xandria feel so disappointed?

* * *

Okadigbo scuttled up and down his office as the angry voices continued outside. New America had been deluged by calls from the Old World; dignitaries, dictators, presidents and queens who were all apparently revolted by his speech.

He thought it had been quite good; passionate without going into overkill, much to the point without glossing over important details and most importantly, delivered in a rousing manner that rallied the nation into accepting this ingenious new proposal.

Yet the jabbering voices would not dissipate. His subordinates had been swift to delegate the task of dealing with this nuisance between the Excelsior offices and senior members of the government. Okadigbo was bypassed entirely despite having made an obligatory plea to help. No, no, Mr President, they had ushered. Your job is to remain rested and unruffled. The figurehead of New America should not be wasting his hours on trivial matters.

Hence, Okadigbo did not have a great deal to do. Every other matter was being looked after. The last issue he had been allowed to help with – the education reforms – was long resolved. Education was now mandatory until the age of twenty seven. With the world’s progression, there were reams more information that a young person had to process before they were even slightly capable of functioning in the workplace. From that age onwards it was up to them how hard they pushed themselves. Those with the knack were catapulted high up the ranks of either government jobs or private organisations. As long as the private organisation had been approved by the government they could exist as free agents. Either they were a business for the benefit of progression, or they turned over astronomical sums of money which was good for the economy. Nevertheless, most ordinary people worked for the government. Working for big private companies was still a closed market to immigrants and those from less elite backgrounds.

Okadigbo sighed and squeezed his temples. He had been feeling permanently sweaty ever since his speech. He glanced out of the window but was disheartened to see nothing but grey mulching mist. It was raining, but from his altitude a hundred and fifty or so floors high, it was impossible to make out even the outline of the next door building.

Feeling a sudden urge for action, he zipped towards the door and entered into the affray outside.

Several screeching mirages surrounded a crowd of flustered government officials who were doing their best to hush them. Okadigbo could pick out at least five different languages. The people in the mirages, flushed with anger from the neck up and attired in the prevailing Old World fashion of tie and suit, were wagging their fingers and talking furiously over each other as if their lives depended on it. To Okadigbo it sounded like a swarm of bees advancing down his cochlear. He listened for a while before the sweat returned with a vengeance.

‘Enough!’ he found himself screaming out. ‘People please!’ There was a momentary lull in the proceedings. The mirages muted and goggled him curiously.

‘Now where is Zachary Dupree?’

‘Dupree? Oh, you mean DuPont…’ Came the efficient reply from a spectating official.

‘That’s what I said!’ hissed Okadigbo feeling his temperature rising again. His squat hands gripped at his Suppressitor, forcing it to click as many times as it would allow. ‘Where is he? I want to talk to him. Now.’

Okadigbo’s blood pounded in his ears. He could remember this feeling. The government officials looked awkwardly at each other. One of them drew the mental short straw and stepped forward apologetically.

‘Mr. President, I’m afraid Zachary DuPont is currently not responding to calls. If you wish to pass on a message, we understand he will be having a meeting with Henry Excelsior in the next week or so…’

‘That’s NOT good enough!’ Okadigbo exploded, jabbing his short index finger into the official’s chest. ‘I am the President of New America for goodness sake; I should be allowed to speak to whomever I want whenever I want. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?!’

‘Mr President, please click immediately,’ warned a worried looking subordinate, beginning to usher him back into his office. The government officials looked mildly alarmed. This was not the moment for the President to be having a glitch.

Okadigbo allowed himself to be led back inside over to a sofa. The subordinate shot him a withering look and shut the door, leaving him reclining gratefully as he sensed the delayed pulses of serenity invade his system. Better late than never. But what was that all about?

Outside the bickering continued as if it had never been barged into so abruptly. Someone shut them up, one official whispered urgently to another, we need to try and hush this furore from the public. We can’t have it influencing them negatively so close to the vote.

The official returned to face the waiting mirages. While we are respectful that you share this planet with us, we will not hold back waiting for the lame mule that is you to catch us up. Thank you, now goodbye.

Amid all of the madness and speculation surrounding the new Ophelium vapour, Bathsheba Ermez was one of the few citizens who was still actively searching for Zebediah Voss. At first, the entire nation had been superstitiously checking under their tables and chairs on a daily basis, just in case he had strayed like a lost animal and had somehow ended up in their homes, too frightened to come out again. However after a while, people more or less entirely forgot about the missing citizen and instead began to look forward to the vote, to a future when one day Voss would become decidedly irrelevant.

Nevertheless, Bathsheba kept her eyes peeled every minute of the day; her needle vision was as almost sharp as her steely mind. Back in the Old World she had assisted the police for several years prior to her immigration; many a crook and criminal had been thrown to rot behind bars forevermore thanks to her uncanny gift of noticing even the smallest of details. Not only this, but before New America and the wonder of Suppressitors, she had possessed quite a nasty temper; people had often commented that it would be most unwise to get on the wrong side of her dragon wrath.

Back in New America, most people gave up watching out for Zebediah Voss after only a week. They quite frankly couldn’t be bothered. The government would take care of things was the general consensus; they always did. Bathsheba, however, knew that with great patience came substantial reward. Every day on her way home from work, she prowled the streets stealthily like a cat, her head craning this way and that; no empty alley went unturned.

It became almost an obsession for her. She imagined what it would be like to inform the government that she, Bathsheba Ermez, had found their most wanted citizen. The country would be saved. The President would appear in a national mirage praising her effusively; people would begin to see what a conscientious citizen she was, what a pillar of society she had become. Her hard work would at long last be rewarded, her undying support of her new country would be appreciated, and finally, she would never, ever, be called an immigrant again.

* * *

‘Xandria Reinhardt, what on this progressive planet have you done?’ exclaimed her mother, forcing her daughter onto the sofa next to herself and Doric. They had previously been enjoying a quiet night in the apartment, watching the lights flicker over the mile high city.

‘Done? Done nothing.’ Xandria replied curtly, ‘and either lower your tone or use your Suppressitor. You’ll soon get into more hot water than you already are.’

‘Don’t turn this on me,’ her mother retorted, ‘I’m not the one who got injected with a love potion!’

‘Yes you did, you and Doric.’

‘That’s beside the point, my girl. We lived in the Old World and missed feeling something. Don’t change the subject. Why don’t you tell Doric who it’s with?’

‘That sounds nice, Xandria,’ Doric said, absently surveying the situation. ‘Who is it with?’

‘I’ll tell you who it’s with,’ Amethyst cut in, ‘only that Henry Excelsior!’

‘Mother, what is your problem these days? It’s like your Suppresitor has a permanent glitch…’

‘Xandria, that’s a bit harsh…’ Doric said dutifully.

‘You can have the love injection with anyone on the planet, so why would you choose that churlish oaf?’ said Amethyst.

‘Don’t say these things about Henry, it’s just not fair,’ Xandria rebuffed, struggling in her indignance. She tapped her Suppressitor a couple of times. ‘He is the most respectable, progressive, hardworking man I know. I hope you realise he is doing brilliant things for the country…’

‘The man who engineers the toilets downstairs is all those things too. Which human being doesn’t have those qualities nowadays? And as for doing brilliant things…if you think that robbing the world of its free will to feel anything is noble…’

‘Then why do you go along with it?’ Xandria wheezed, feeling her heart beating wildly in her chest. This was not right.

‘We don’t.’ Her mother said simply, taking off her Suppressitor. Doric did the same.

Xandria just stared.

‘Please don’t be mad and just listen to me. For a long time we have been feeling disillusioned, Doric and I,’ she said. ‘We’ve watched this country turn into a freak show, people determined to live faster and meaninglessly, their eye on a prize that everyone is too brainwashed to see doesn’t exist. When Okadigbo announced the latest harebrain scheme, it was the last straw for us.

‘You see, your grandfather and I hatched a plan before his…untimely… departure. We had gone along with all the new inventions of society for long enough. After an extensive time of using these darned Suppressitors we took a step back and wondered what it was all in aid of. It’s easy for you, Xandria, to scoff at, because you’ve never lived a day in your life without it bound to your neck. But I’ve lived, truly lived. I’ve felt the highest and the lowest emotions, the purest emotions, completely unbridled by these devices. Maybe you’ve felt elation for a millisecond before your Suppressitor quashed it, but I tell you, it’s like no other feeling when it’s allowed to run a natural course. The lows too, I won’t lie. It guzzles your spirit, it’s unending. But that’s the beauty of life. Nothing lasts forever. Life is about change and renewing. Not this whole living while disabling the very things that make things meaningful. This living in fear of what might happen if we felt anything.