Alex Bobl - Memoria

The only category of population allowed to preserve their memories were Hopper’s veterans, indispensable in case of a reserve call-up. The rest of the population was offered the easy choice between either preserving their agonizing memories or acquiring citizenship. This was when the color-tagging had come about: blue, green and orange bracelet lights.

Although migrants were also obliged to wear the bracelets, theirs came with neither citizenship nor electronic banking access. Their bracelets were basic tracking tools. Their rights and movements restricted, migrants were driven together into camps where they were watched like some pre-war criminal convicts had been by means of radio collars.

“ Your father was one of its most vigorous opponents,” Max put the glasses back into a leather case, adding, “I have to admit I’ve learned a lot from him. But it took me years.”

He raised his eyes to Frank. “So, what do you think about it all?”

“I really can’t judge,” Frank pressed his fist against his chin. “It was so long ago.” He tapped two fingers on his temple. “I just don’t get it, sorry. How come that you — a veteran, a sports coach — you speak as if you don’t blame the migrants or my father. It’s as if you’re on their side.”

“I want you to remember one thing,” Max stood straight, his shoulders wide, his chin up. He looked down at Frank. “Only our memory can make us human.”

“What are you getting at?”

“It took me too long to understand a great many things. I don’t want you to repeat my mistakes. Had the President made all the veterans have their memories erased there and then, the whole country would have revolted. They would have regarded such a step as betraying them and their ideals. So he’d chosen a soft approach. Those who fought for Hopper got the right to preserve their memories plus the President’s support once he was elected. Plus all the aid and other perks that went with it. I have to admit the latter worked best,” Max grinned and patted the lifting bench. “I got this little shop thanks to their aid. Because I’m good at this war business… was. All my life I’ve been training fighters.

“The rest of the population was of two kinds,” he went on. “Those born after the war automatically became citizens by birthright. They were not exempt from Memoria’s visits even though they were voluntary. The second were the migrants: these visits were forced onto them if they chose to leave their camps. The only difference between the two is the color code of their bracelet signal. As for the veterans, most of us are either dead or on our last legs.” The corners of his eyes curled down in a sad grin. “Our cities have risen from ruins but millions of people still live below the poverty line. One-quarter of all the population is crowded into migrant camps.”

Max’s glazed stare scanned the gym. “What did the authorities try to achieve? You tell me, Frank.”

“To bring back order,” Frank started and frowned.

“And? Go on.”

Frank shifted in his seat stretching his numbed muscles and trying to guess what his old coach was driving at.

“They wanted to allow people to forget about the war. Shift their priorities.” He looked up at Max. “Give them a sense of security.”

“Closer, but not quite,” Max leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve always been the competitive kind. You used to work for the government, dealing with migrant camps. Until today, that is.”

“How do you know that? It’s classified information.”

“Intelligence work leaves its stamp, you know. I can still analyze media messages. You read a few interviews, compare the facts and draw your conclusions accordingly. Okay, so in the case of the Bronx you’ve all failed big time. The migrants refused to surrender it to the city. I wonder why?”

“The Vaccination.”

“Pardon me?”

“During our DC meeting the migrants’ representatives demanded we provide information on the Vaccination program,” Frank closed his hands and rested his face in them.

“And?”

“It didn’t go the way we planned.”

“Which is what?”

Frank looked up at him.

“The DC meeting didn’t proceed as expected. Things went awry right from the start. The migrant leaders refused to discuss anything until we gave them information on the Vaccination. They demanded its technology from Memoria.”

“You know what it’s all about?”

“No idea. First time I heard about it.”

“Who spoke of the migrants’ leaders?”

“Anna Gautier. When her demand was rejected she told them to go stuff themselves.”

“The Steel Lady has bared her teeth,” the coach chuckled. “Sounds like her. She’s the one who wears the trousers in their little shop.”

“Exactly! Had she not been head of the Presiding Council, I’m pretty sure the whole migrant situation would have long been resolved. Gautier’s well-known for it. She fears no one, she despises authority, and is next to impossible to convince about anything at all.”

Max raised a protesting hand. “She knows her decisions’ worth. Shows off her strong will.” He paused. “The Presiding Council, what’s that about now? Is Gautier in charge of something else?”

“She is. Every migrants’ camp is managed by a Leading Council. And they in turn are united by the Presiding Council.”

“I see,” Max fell silent. “All right. Let’s give the Vaccination gig a miss for a while. You tell me what the authorities tried to achieve.”

Frank felt angry with himself for dwelling too much on the DC meeting. He really should keep their conversation in check. He shrugged.

“You know what the authorities are like. They need to be in control.”

“There!” Max rose. Behind the front door, an arriving car honked twice. Max turned to the door and added, “Still, there are three hundred thousand migrants in the New York camp alone. And you can’t control them. Gautier is the only person who can. And if you take the whole country… They are a force to be reckoned with.” Max traced ring side and headed for the door.

Frank nodded mechanically and mumbled, thoughtful,

“Sure. The migrants are self-sufficient all right. They grow their own vegetables, they even have corn fields to the North of the Bronx. They produce their own electricity, they have wind farms and tidal power. They even sell surplus electricity to the city. Their whole infrastructure aims for New York to depend upon the camp. In this respect, the Bronx is a choice morsel for the authorities. But Gautier will never part with it.”

For the first time, he thought about the lay of the land. Now he understood the reasons behind the concrete fence and the roadblocks surrounding the camp. And the fact that New York still boasted the largest police force in the country. The migrants threatened stability because in actual fact, they were a state unto themselves.

So those were the reasons behind the government’s year-old secret agreement with the Presiding Council.

Frank was just about to tell his coach about it when Max headed for the front door. He turned the key in the lock, and the door opened, letting in the large shape of a man.

He was bearlike, with a broad face, a fat mustache and two powerful paws like kettlebells. Frank immediately recognized the cabman who’d given him a ride from the airport.

“Come in, quickly,” Max grabbed the visitor’s hand and pulled him inside. “This is Frank Shelby,” he pointed at an open-mouthed Frank. “And this is Barney Douggan,” he clapped the bearlike man on the shoulder. “Old friend and partner.”