Alex Bobl - Memoria

“What do you imply?” Barney asked warily.

Frank realized that there were some hidden reefs they hadn’t considered.

The coach placed the rifle onto the window sill and opened the laptop. His fingers flitted over the keyboard.

“There are thirty Memoria branches in New York,” he said without taking his eyes off the screen. “Curiously, five of them opened last week. Five more will be opened tomorrow.”

“Same in DC,” Frank said. “Lots of new branches there.”

“Yeah,” the coach nodded. “But in New York, they also have two large centers. One serves the police department and deals, mind you, with personality correction. It’s also their job to make sure that the citizens abide by the obligatory law on memory clean-ups. The other one is a research center. I’d love to have a look at it. Unfortunately, time is the issue.”

“This center is probably nothing but a smoke screen,” Barney placed the frying pan onto the stove and turned to Frank. “You don’t hide your secrets in places like this. You shove them where the sun doesn’t shine: like, behind the polar circle or on the Moon.”

“Possible,” Max agreed. “So this is what we have. To organize simultaneous personality correction sessions for a thousand migrants — let’s assume that every Memoria branch in New York will be doing just that, including their research centers… let’s see… a person per hour… ten per hour in research centers… that’ll be…” he turned his laptop to show them his calculations. “Sixteen and a half hours to perform primary personality correction for a thousand people. One thousand, mind you. And we’re talking hundreds of thousands in New York alone. Millions, if you count the whole country. How much time will that take?”

The question was pretty rhetorical. Frank didn’t know what to say to it. Barney stared out of the window and moved his lips doing his own calculations.

The coach removed his glasses and once again rubbed his tired eyes.

“So Frank, your idea is interesting. It could be a powerful move. Unfortunately, it’s also pretty pointless. They just won’t have the time.”

“But what if Kathleen came up with a new technology? What if now it takes much less time?” Frank didn’t want to give up. “Therefore the name, Vaccination.”

“Why not,” Barney pulled the knife out of the cutting board and stabbed the air. “They pump them full with chemicals, and—”

The coach shook his head.

“No way. They could, in theory. But injecting them all at once… Imagine that, Barney: a hundred thousand asses and a hundred thousand needles. You don’t seem to understand. According to Frank’s idea, you need to convince thousands of people to act simultaneously. They have to obey. And that’s impossible. In theory, yes. But in practice… such rioting would be curbed before it even started. The police will shoot the instigators and isolate the rest. Plus they’ll accuse Memoria of conspiracy against the authorities.” He shook his head. “There’s something else here. But what? Memoria must have a reason to open all those new branches. They were preparing for the Vaccination all right. But we don’t yet know what it’s all about.” The coach took the rifle, loaded the magazine and put a round up the spout.

Frank looked at Barney. He hadn’t expected his support. Before, it looked as if all Barney could do was growl and find fault with him. Maggie definitely had something to do with it. Admittedly, Frank had come to like her. She was different. Not the same kind of different as Kathleen had been, but still. He felt at ease around her. Both girls seemed to have the same effect on him. Maggie didn’t look a bit like Kathleen, but the two seemed to share the same character traits. Maggie, too, was decisive and fearless. She had hurried to help him before she knew enough to make a weighed decision.

“Right,” Barney scratched his elbow. “Max, what if you move to my room for a bit? That’s the best place to handle firearms. Hurry up before some Peeping Tom with a telescope catches you out through the window with that rifle.”

The coach lowered his laptop onto the window sill and jumped off. He scooped up the weapons and left the kitchen.

“He’s done us, man.” The cutting board in hand, Barney rose from the table. He threw the chopped vegetables onto the heated skillet and looked into the pan. An appetizing smell of cooking floated in the kitchen. Frank swallowed. He reached for the notes and stacked them up neatly on the window sill.

“I have to admit I like this scenario,” behind Frank’s back, Barney was stirring the sizzling carrots and onions. “To smoke the President and raze New York to the ground, then blame the migrants! Sick motherfuckers they are, really. Claney will kill two birds with one stone: he’ll get rid of the camp and three hundred thousand pains in the ass with it, and he’ll be in the White House before his people finish the migrant cleansing.”

He stepped toward Frank. “But that doesn’t mean,” Frank felt droplets of the man’s spit on his face, “that you can ogle Maggie once she’s back. She’s not your girlfriend! Understood?”

Frank just blinked, cornered between the table and the window. He had his work cut out for him, staying on friendly terms with Maggie’s father. He’d ask Maggie a few inconspicuous questions about his past. There had to be a clue to his being so protective of her.

After lunch, Frank and Max went to Barney’s room for a nap. They awoke to his shouting and cursing at someone. When, still half-asleep, the two made it back into the kitchen, they found Barney in front of the TV screen. He was shaking with rage.

Frank recognized the gray-headed man on the screen. He’d popped into the interrogation room at the police station to speak to Inspector Freeman. The running caption showed his name and job title: Captain Bud Jessup, the head of New York police department. His face gloomy, Jessup was finishing an official announcement.

“The entire police force will ensure peace and security as the city prepares for the Presidential visit. Stay assured we won’t let you down.”

“What’s all this swearing about?” Max yawned and stretched. “Did he say something about Frank?”

“He did,” Barney put the sound down. “The Feds have taken over Shelby’s case.”

“So what’s there to go mad about?”

“Can’t you see? Some shitbags start a carnage, they kill their own cops, and they have to surrender the case!” Barney choked with fury. “If I were… if I… why have none of the victims spoken out?”

“Normal. Eyewitnesses have had their memories erased. Memoria cleans up after itself—”

The lock on the front door clicked. They turned around. Maggie stood in the hallway. Max finished the sentence,

“They let us know who we’re up against.”

“You’re okay, teddy?” red-faced, Barney hurried to meet her.

“I’m fine,” the girl offered her cheek to kiss. Barney helped her out of her coat. “Uncle Max, I’ve found out everything you asked me to. And then some! I’m sure you won’t be cross with me, will you? I’ve skipped lunch working on it…”

Maggie walked into the kitchen straightening her perfectly straight business suit.

“I’ve got some stew on the go,” Barney hurried to add behind her back. His glare pinned Frank and Max to the ground: food first, business next.

“Sit down and eat,” Max pulled up a chair for her and pressed her shoulders down with his hands. “We could use some chow, too.”

“We could indeed,” said Barney. “Then we’ll talk.”

After they’d eaten, she told them everything that had happened in Memoria that day. The HQ were preparing for the President’s visit. The security had additional personnel posted at all the entrances, equipped with screening machines for all the visitors, including reporters and their cameras. Basically, they were to search for concealed explosives and firearms. Most Memoria workers got a day off, except for the secretarial and legal departments, and mnemotech teams.