Second Chance

The day finally came.

The summons to the Ministry of Correction.

I was overjoyed or, rather, I was very relieved.

When the pulse arrived during my lunch break, I showed it to my manager, not sure if it was real. She told me it definitely was as she received an alert also.

The morning after I gazed into the mirror, noticing the shadows under my eyes that stubbornly refused to stop shedding tears at inappropriate times during the day as well as interrupting my sleep.

In the olden days, females and maybe males as well could mask under-eye shadows by making up a different face. I had no idea how that was done but wished that we had kept that ability from the past. Of course, I know that being natural is better for our wellbeing.

I attempted a smile to express how grateful I was about the decision but it came out crooked, my face reverting to that solemn expression which it had worn for several months.

No work today. I had been given the day off for the special event. My leave quota would not be decreased because my manager knew I would be more productive afterwards.

Though usually annoyed by the crowded tram, I simply hung on to the strap and ignored the bustle, moving at intervals to let strangers pass, and imagined how free I would feel on the return journey later.

People disembarked at every stop and fewer joined until I found a seat free near me. I looked around to see if any Elders were travelling but saw none. I sat down and marvelled at how comfortable this was compared to standing.

Looking out the tram window, I explored with my eyes this area of the City where I had never travelled before. Taller buildings glistened in the sun after the prearranged rain overnight.

“This will be your stop,” someone told me as the tram began to slow.

I felt my head tilt with curiosity as I looked at the bald head and dark eyes of the white-garbed man. The All Seeing Eye embroidered in silver on his tunic seemed to be staring at me.

“I can show you the way,” he offered as the tram stopped and the doors opened.

Though I felt I needed to agree, this was different than I expected from what my manager had told me.

As I followed him onto the platform, I was disconcerted to see the All Seeing Eye watching me from the back of his white tunic also.

We did not have far to journey.

A larger version of the great eye studied us from above the very large open doors to the Ministry of Correction.

When we reached the Welcome Desk, he told me where to press my right palm and where to position my left eye so that my identity could be read and verified. A soothing voice told me who I was, which I already knew, and then provided a room code and began to describe how to find my way there.

“Acknowledged,” my companion interrupted and then recited a rapid set of numbers and letters which had to be his authority code. I was much too unimportant to need one of those myself.

We travelled on a sliding walkway then entered a small cell. The door shut quickly and it zoomed upwards which made my stomach drop. I wanted to ask if he could turn off his gift of Sight when he went home. But everyone probably asked stupid questions like that.

“This way,” he said. I quickly followed him in case the room dropped back down. I would be lost without him in this immense maze. My manager had told me that the Ministry of Correction was five times the size of the building where we worked and at least ten times as vital to the wellbeing of all.

The pale white walls finally produced a door which opened when he turned toward it.

I wanted to thank him because I could never have found this place myself, but I felt my words would be inadequate.

The room was twice as big as my manager’s office, but what impressed me the most was the view of an undersea garden. Coral and anemones in magical colours were visited by a parade of fish in all sorts of shapes and sizes.

“Stim?” he asked.

I turned to stare at him, my mouth opening in confusion. “No thank you,” I said.

His smile rewarded me before he said, “Right choice – and avoid any stims until your manager tells you they are allowed again.”

I nodded, then felt that was not enough and told him, “Yes, of course.”

“Sit down,” he said, gesturing at a wide, canopied seat filled with cushions adorned with images of undersea views.

I hesitated as this looked too luxurious.

“Sit,” he repeated and this time pointed one finger at the seat.

I had the urge to tell him that I was not stupid, that I was the top ranked in our team except because of my recent difficulty, but I managed to keep silent as I made myself comfortable.

Too much so, perhaps, as I could nearly have rested my head on a cushion behind me and fallen asleep. Perhaps this was the point.

I watched him provide hand and eye verification to the sleek monitor on his desk. On the back, the All Seeing Eye was etched in silver. I was drawn back to watching the flicker and drift of the fish under the waves. Better so – I did not want to risk distracting him from his work.

In a much deeper voice, he said slowly, “I see what needs correcting.”

I felt a spike of pain in my head, then the room disappeared.

Lavender scent smothered me as I entered the hospice and walked along the corridor to where a nurse put her arm around me and murmured softly, “Your mother is not at her best today.”

I swallowed hard and dragged a smile on to my face before turning toward the bed where my mother lay staring at the ceiling. As I had learned to do, I introduced topics from my childhood which soon brightened her expression, even making her green eyes sparkle and eliciting a little chuckle which brought forth a genuine smile.

Only, a moment later, her arms and legs began moving randomly, worried frowns appeared and then moans of pain. A nurse rushed into the room, summoned silently by the ever-alert hospice system. A doctor soon followed.

I watched, my hands clenched near my heart as if to prevent hope from escaping.

But the experts could not bring her back.

“I am going to count to five and when I get to five, you will be watching the flicker and drift of the fish. Fish under the waves. You remember why. So that you do not distract me from my work. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. How many fish can you see? Tell me how many fish.”

My face felt wet, maybe the waves had splashed me?

The fish enchanted me, drifting in their own world, so different from mine, so peaceful.

“How many fish can you see?”

I tried to count the fish but they kept moving, a flick of the tail here, sinking below the edge of the coral there, getting lost in the anemones.

“How many fish, please?”

Everything faded to black like the viewscreen does when it is time for sleep.

***

The sound of my name in an unfamiliar voice woke me.

“Drink this,” he said. The silver threads of the All Seeing Eye seemed to glow on his white tunic.

I blinked from the comfortable nest of cushions and looked beyond him to the undersea view.

“Drink,” he repeated, “this is only water.”

“Undersea is salt water,” I told him, feeling that it was important to establish this.

A smile quirked his lips. “No salt in this water. Please drink the whole glass for your wellbeing.”

I stirred then and sat up, accepted the glass with both hands to clasp it firmly. Wellbeing was important, so I did not hesitate to drink to the last drop.

He retrieved the empty glass and returned to his desk where he studied the monitor.

Watching the fish float through their colourful realm, I became aware that he was watching me. I met his dark eyes and then could not look away. I recognised that he must be surveying my soul.

“I do not normally say this,” he said. “However, the memory we will be correcting is quite well established. Let me show you.”

With a flick of his hand, he transferred the image on his monitor to the window where the fish had been swimming. I saw what looked like a map of neurons, remembered studying them when I learned the basics about science.

He pointed at a patch of darkness, a neuron whose outstretched threads reached toward others, some pale, others bright. Using his thumb, he caressed a bright one.

I was a child chasing bubbles in a garden, more and more drifting randomly around me, my laughter bubbling up as I glanced back toward my mother who was creating the bubbles. Her arm swept the air with a wand which had a soapy round waffle surface at the end. Our eyes met and sparks cascaded through me.

Immersed in the memory, I barely noticed him press a pale neuron. This carried me into a scene in which my mother helped me pack my belongings. I was leaving her to live elsewhere in the City with a real job to go to because I had finished my studies. She opened her arms so I could walk into the biggest hug ever.

A black and white puppy appeared next, then abruptly vanished.

The eager eyes and wriggling body seemed so familiar, but we had not been allowed pets. Why? Because I was allergic, that was it. Not everyone can have everything or life would be boring. The words rose to mind but I could not remember who had told me. I had not learned that phrase in school.

Nothing else happened for a little while, so I opened my eyes and rubbed away the wetness on my face.

“All of these memories,” he said, “are connected to the one to be corrected. If we remove the core, all the others disappear forever.”

He made another gesture and all the memories associated with the dark splotch shimmered.

I noticed then that a thick line separated a list to one side. Each item showed the image of a neuron and then some sort of description too blurry for me to read.

Or was it my eyes? I touched my face and found dampness again.

“Why is there a list?” I asked pointing, then pulled my hand back, amazed at myself for asking.

He glanced at me then turned back to the monitor and did something that made the entire list fade from view. “All that no longer matters to you,” he said. “Do not worry about it.”

I frowned, trying to understand, partly wishing I was back at work where everything I dealt with had solutions. I almost always knew what decision to make and could directly influence a positive outcome. If ever I was in any doubt, I could ask my manager for advice.

He shook his head and looked down. “I should not be telling you this, but the list contains all the other memories that have been corrected.” When he raised his gaze, his dark eyes did not allow me to look away.

“Not perfect either,” he mused, “because you saw the puppy.”

“Puppy?” I asked, not sure what he was talking about.

He looked away, wrapped his arms around himself, then tilted his bald head back to stare at the ceiling.

In that moment, I wanted to offer comfort, but he was so much more important than me, I could not think of anything I could possibly do that would make a difference.

Silence lingered.

I brought my attention back to the network of neurons which shifted into a yellow wall which contained a multitude of scribbled equations in various colours.

“Yes,” he said with some excitement. “Exactly. And every sum is necessary. Nobody seems to see the larger picture. Erasing the pain obliterates the joy.”

Turning my head to look at him, I found that I needed to take a deep breath as if I had forgotten to inhale. Then the familiar, silent tears began to slide down my face.

A moment later, I was watching fish swim in their underwater paradise.

In a low tone, I heard someone saying, “Subject holding and continually rehearsing a disturbing remembrance of cessation. Manager has authorised correction.”

I felt suspended as if I, too, swam under the waves, my fins bringing me closer to the beautiful anemones.

“Correction implemented.”

Searing pain erupted in my skull, like a series of minuscule fireworks exploding.

Then darkness enfolded me like a comforting womb.

***

“Your name please?”

Numbness ebbed away but I tried to cling, ignoring the stranger’s voice.

“Please state your name.”

I opened my eyes, swallowed hard, then managed to say who I was.

The bald man sighed, nodded, and brought me a full glass of water. I noticed a silver image on his white tunic, but my head hurt when I tried to focus so I gave up trying to see what it was.

I wanted to pour the entire glass of water down my throat but sipped instead.

“Every sip increases your wellbeing,” he reminded me, quoting what I had learned as a child. “You understand what your body needs.”

When I gave the empty glass back, I felt oddly light as if I might float away but also very empty. Perhaps I was just hungry, that would be it. Probably that was why I could feel the start of a headache.

“Because you are very tired,” the bald man continued, “a porter will make sure you find your way home. Then you must sleep.”

I felt this made sense though it was not what normally happened in my life.

“You might dream of fish,” he commented. “No need to worry, that is always a good sign.”

His dark eyes looked weary, but his encouraging smile made the corners of my mouth turn up in response.

“Thank you,” I said before wondering what I was appreciating. The porter arrived then, so I knew this thoughtfulness was the reason for my gratitude.