The nirvana effect, p.7
The Nirvana Effect, page 7
Dynamica CEO Jeff Reese took to the podium next. His familiar voice filled Marc’s ears. His speech was highly predictable – it aligned with many messages that Marc himself had crafted about the consumer benefits of the company’s offering. Only now it wasn’t presented as a choice. The pitch had a different tone: legitimizing the forced acceptance of the chip as a requirement of citizenship.
“The world is changing,” said Reese. “We are proud to be part of that change. We built the most popular brand in America on innovation and dreams. We listened to what people wanted, and we delivered. While other countries have blocked this technology through government interference, restrictions and heavy regulations, we have worked toward a true partnership, so that all may benefit. As always, the United States is a leader, not a follower. No other country offers this. No other country will prosper like we do. Dynamica isn’t just about sending signals through the air to enhance your state of happiness. We care about your safety and protection. We care about job creation. We believe in broadening our distribution reach and eliminating the cost of entry so everyone is equally privileged to access this technology. In the coming year, we will expand our offerings. We will increase opportunity for you to customize your experiences. Live the life you desire. And that gets at the heart of Dynamica. It’s our mission statement and a promise to you. Dynamica: Making your dreams come true.”
Marc turned off the radio. He muted his phone. He opened his car window and listened only to the sound of the rushing wind as he sped home, prepared for the fact that his life would change in a very big way, beginning with his resignation.
* * *
Marc managed to stay off his iPhone and laptop, getting a good night’s sleep in his penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, overlooking Central Park. For breakfast, he made himself a cheese omelet, hash browns, orange juice and coffee. It felt good to move at a leisurely pace. He stayed in his robe and pajamas. He was not going to work today – or ever again.
The New York Stock Exchange opened at nine thirty a.m. Marc settled into his fat, comfy living room chair, propped his laptop in his lap and watched the movement of Dynamica Inc. shares in real time.
As expected, the news about the government partnership sent the stock price skyrocketing. It very quickly realized a gain of eighty percent, nearly doubling in value. The stock had already been on a healthy trajectory for several years, while Marc accumulated more and more shares through his company’s incentive program and retirement plan.
With the news public and his ban on trading over, Marc called his broker. He converted all of his Dynamica shares to cash, including stock options that were still years away from expiring. His broker was delighted, collecting a whopping commission.
And Marc’s bank account became millions of dollars richer.
It was just the first move in disconnecting from Dynamica. Next, he entered his company email account. He ignored the download of a huge number of new emails, most of them related to the announcement. There were numerous meeting appointments in the mix, urgent requests to begin crafting a new marketing campaign to shift the tone of the company’s message as it moved from an optional lifestyle enhancement to a mandatory enrollment.
Marc composed an email to CEO Jeff Reese and Executive Vice President of Human Resources Carol Sibley. He CC’d the rest of the senior leadership team.
He typed up his letter of resignation.
He reread it several times, felt satisfied with its firm but respectful tone, and pressed SEND.
Then he shut down his laptop before the responses began to flow in. He kept his iPhone off. He didn’t want someone to try to talk him out of it. He didn’t want to reveal that he was no longer chipped. The media would have a field day with that – it wasn’t the type of publicity the company or the White House wanted right now. Because, inevitably, the backlash had begun. Not everyone wanted the government sewn into their head, even if it came with the side benefits of selectable moods and artificial stimulation.
Marc felt free.
Freed from the tight leash of corporate devotion, no matter how lucrative. He had been living and breathing Dynamica for ten years, working all hours, weekends included, sacrificing his social life. While he had several girlfriends over the years, none of them developed into a steady relationship. He regretted that now – in the chip era, a growing number of young, single people rejected the emotional, bumpy waters of true romance and opted to fulfill their yearnings through hassle-free simulations of love and intimacy in their heads at times of their choosing. One of Dynamica’s biggest sellers was Romantic Hearts. Marc and his team had created the marketing campaign for it. Now Marc was personally feeling the aftereffects of its huge success.
Marc finally turned on the large flat-screen television filling one wall of his living room. He watched the news coverage across several channels. As he expected, there was joy – and fear.
A camera crew was on hand to celebrate the first newborn baby to be chipped. The parents were happy. The father expressed relief that the baby’s late-night crying and restlessness would be solved by sending the baby comforting, sleepy feelings via remote control without having to hold and cuddle the child at four a.m.
Elsewhere, TV cameras captured an angry, older woman who declared her townhouse a ‘chip-free zone’ and insisted she would never allow the government to interfere with her body.
One of the most vocal opponents of the chip, Senator Dale Sheridan from Massachusetts, held a press conference to condemn the actions of the White House and demand an investigation into the ethics of the deal, citing an unlawful invasion of privacy and overreach of ‘Big Government’ into citizens’ lives.
Marc watched his former colleague, company spokesperson Matt Revord, defend criticisms of the chip’s tracking mechanisms. “It’s no different in concept than the security cameras and online monitoring that already govern our lives. If you’re good, you have nothing to worry about. If you’re a criminal, yes, the chip will be a threat. We will dramatically increase the ability to identify, locate and prosecute murderers, thieves and rapists – and that’s for the betterment of society as a whole.”
Finishing off his channel hopping, Marc landed on a morning news program interviewing low-income residents who were elated because the chip installation was now free, subsidized by the government. Those who financially couldn’t afford it would now be chipped with a complementary bundle of mood enhancers – Happiness, Love, Satisfaction and Calm.
Marc turned off the television. He got dressed. He decided to go for a walk. He took his extracted chip with him, shaking it out of the small, clear plastic bag and into his palm. He put it in his pocket.
Along the sidewalk on 79th Street, he encountered numerous people following the news closely on their iPhones or through earbuds. Some were engaged in open conversations about it – pro and con. Marc reached the East River Greenway, a walking and cycling path on the east side of Manhattan. In recent years, the number of walkers, joggers and cyclists had decreased considerably, but he still came here for long strolls to clear his head.
Marc stepped over as close as he could get to the flow of the East River. He took the small metal chip out of his pocket. He side-armed it with a hard toss, like skipping a stone. The black object skimmed the water’s surface in a series of hops, then sank out of view.
Marc imagined a fish eating it and then Big Brother tracking his movements, baffled by the strange trajectory that placed Marc in the river, darting around like a manic, underwater swimmer.
Marc continued his walk along the river. Occasionally he encountered people. But for the most part, he felt very alone.
Chapter Five
Aaron attacked his job with extra vigor following the announcement, trying to block out the horrors of a mandatory government chip. He poured his mental and physical energies into making sure his clients maintained lush, colorful lawns and gardens with immaculately shaped hedges, festive plant variety, elegant decks and working fountains. He spent four hours on Madison Reddick’s estate, working himself to exhaustion, not really in the mood for the customary cup of tea and whimsical chat with the lonely old man before departing, but curious about the millionaire’s reaction to the big news.
As Aaron was packing his truck, Madison stepped out on his large front porch and waved him over. Aaron waved back, dripping with dirty sweat, and reported to the mansion’s entrance after locking up his equipment and supplies.
As expected, Madison was shocked and furious. He directed Aaron to the den and then left to get the drinks.
This time, it was not herbal tea. It was red wine.
Aaron suspected, by the slight stagger in Madison’s movements, that he had already consumed a few.
Aaron himself didn’t drink much, but he was definitely agreeable to a glass of wine to settle his agitated state.
Madison sat across from him in a plush, high-back chair and did most of the talking, as usual.
Aaron was a sympathetic ear.
“I am appalled,” Madison said. “This is worse than anything I could have imagined. I want to love this country but our leaders are making decisions affecting all of us that are so very wrong. I expected them to fight Dynamica, not team up with them.”
“They’re selling it as a benefit,” Aaron said. “But it’s a benefit I don’t want.”
“Yes, they claim it will cut down on crime, it will enable the equalization of government subsidies and citizen credits. They can sugarcoat it all they want. This is how ‘Big Government’ takes over our lives. By promising to take care of us so we don’t have to take care of ourselves. Let us send you happy feelings, free of cost! Let us tell you how to feel the next time we’re screwing you over. Trust us! No thank you.”
“But we can’t say ‘No thank you.’ It’s going to be a requirement.”
“I’ve read through all the fine print, believe me,” said Madison, taking a hearty sip of wine. “It’s ‘illegal to interfere with government protocol’. Getting chipped is the law, like paying taxes. So what will they do to people like you and me who say ‘No, my body belongs to me, not the government.’ Do they throw us in jail? Do they expel us from the country?”
Aaron was at a loss for words. He truly didn’t know what his next move would be, aside from burying himself in his work and, when assigned a chip installation date, being a conscientious objector.
“The government’s not stupid,” Madison said. “When they have a direct feed into our heads, how will that influence future elections? Oh, they say they would never use it for that, but come on. It’s diabolical.”
“Won’t people fight back?” Aaron asked. “It’s one thing when it’s optional, it’s used for entertainment and getting high or whatever, but do people really want to be tracked to this degree?”
“Ten years ago, no,” said Madison. “But the world has changed. There’s an entire generation that practically expects it. We’re already tracked and monitored every day – what we do online, where we go in our cars, how we engage with our phones, and all the data and analytics in the hands of big business to define our preferences and profiles. This is a natural extension of all that. We’re a connected society. Why not connect your soul?”
Aaron stared down at the drink in his hands. “I’m twenty-eight years old. I grew up in a connected society, and I don’t want this.”
“You’re unique among the people in your generation,” Madison said. “The older folks, people like me, we’ll voice our protest and then just die off. Most of my closest friends in the entertainment industry have died, or they are too weak and feeble to put up a fight. So many of them rely on the government for their Medicare and Social Security and what have you, they don’t want to endanger that relationship. The younger generation, today’s owners of the entertainment industry, they’ve accepted the new technology with open arms. So instead of plays, musicals, books, movies, live music and all of that, they go right to the end result of how arts and entertainment should make you feel, and they manufacture that and sell it without the ‘middleware’. As a result, there’s no more creative expression. There’s just a delivery of emotion and sensation that’s not earned.”
Then Madison chuckled, a harsh and scornful sound. “I mean, I stand corrected, a semblance of the art form remains, but it is hardly genuine. They sell movies and books and music that are bundled with a synchronized chipfeed to tell you how to feel. One of my old films, a comedy, can be watched in the privacy of your head, along with prompts that make sure you feel the humor so you laugh in all the right places. I’m told it also comes with the aural experience of a crowd laughing with you. Remember the laugh tracks on old television sitcoms? It takes it to a new level.”
“So what do we do?” Aaron asked. “Obviously you can’t stop technology. But how do you stop it from controlling every aspect of our lives? Go live in a cabin somewhere? Is that even possible anymore?”
“Did you read the booklet I gave you?”
“The Real Earth Movement?” Aaron said. “Yes.”
“I’ve been funding the resistance. I made hundreds of millions of dollars back in the day, before Dynamica, before everyone spent all their money on one company and pretty much bankrupted everybody else. I sponsor lobbying, op-eds, consumer advertising. The problem is, now that Dynamica is teamed up with the White House, I’ll wind up on the government’s enemy list, if you know what I mean. They’ll probably do everything in their power to stop me and silence my network. Fortunately, I have some allies in the political arena. There’s a state senator named Dale Sheridan.”
“I’ve seen him in the news,” said Aaron, recalling the tough, vocal opponent of the government deal.
“Dale is our biggest hope,” Madison said. “If he can get enough supporters, perhaps we can begin to turn the tide. If not, then look out. Dale is fighting the good fight, thank God. And Dynamica is going to use their government allies and huge financial resources to fight back.”
“Doesn’t sound like a fair fight.”
“Not at all,” Madison said, and he finished his glass of wine and somberly stared into it. “I guess it becomes fight or flight. I can’t flee. It’s not in my bones. I can’t leave my house, my things, which I worked so hard for over the course of my life. Call me old-fashioned but I’m not leaving the physical comforts I’ve built around me.”
“I don’t have that problem,” said Aaron.
Madison looked up at him.
“I mean, a physical environment, a home I want to protect,” Aaron said. “I live with three slobs, addicts to this new technology. I hate them. I hate the house we live in. I can…I can flee.”
Madison nodded. “You’re too young to have accumulated a lot of possessions and a lifestyle you need to protect. Yes, you could flee. And I can help with that.”
Madison stood up. He left the room. Aaron waited patiently in the extravagant den, listening to the steady tick-tock of a tall, antique grandfather clock.
When Madison returned, he held a refilled glass of red wine and a folded piece of paper.
He handed the paper to Aaron.
“What is this?” asked Aaron, accepting it.
“Some names and an address.”
“For what?”
“Sanctuary.”
Aaron stared at the folded piece of paper in his hand.
“First of all,” Madison said, “you will need to leave L.A. There are too many supporters of the regime in L.A. County. They’ve been promised all sorts of things to help turn around the city, clean up the homeless problem, restart the economy after the collapse of the entertainment industry. It’s a mess here, and they badly need a good working relationship with the feds.”
“I can’t leave Los Angeles,” Aaron said. “My livelihood is here. I don’t have much in savings. That’s why I’m forced to live with those idiot roommates….”
“Aaron, you know and I know that what you do is a dying profession,” said Madison. He returned to his chair and dropped into it. “Sure, you have me, but tell me, over the past six months, is your client list growing or shrinking?”
“Overall? Shrinking,” Aaron said quietly.
“And when more people are chipped and giving even less attention to the physical world, do you think it will get any better?”
Aaron said nothing. It was a painful consideration he had tried, often unsuccessfully, to block from his mind.
“Well, you don’t need to say anything,” said Madison. “You know the answer. So let me present you with an option. There is a strong, underground pocket of resistance up the coast. I can connect you with them. They will do everything possible to stay off the radar and protect one another.”
“You mean, go into hiding?”
“Hiding with other like-minded citizens. Searching for solutions together.”
“But why don’t you go?”
“I told you, I’m not leaving my home, my things. It’s what defines me. I’m old. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Where is this, this….”
“Sanctuary. It’s in Santa Barbara. I know these people. They’re good. They have money. They’ll keep you safe. And maybe one day, together, you’ll discover a cure to this madness….”
“But what about your lawn?”
Madison laughed. “There are still a few people in Los Angeles who do what you do. They’re not as good as you, but I pay extremely well. I’ll whip them into shape. Don’t worry about my grass. You’ve been outstanding, and I’ll be sorry to see you go. But as a final gesture of my appreciation, please allow me to grant you a severance package.”
