The Age of Innocence

Year 2045 – December 24th in the evening

I know what hell is. I’ve been living in it for the last ten years. Ever since the grandfather clock in my living room struck midnight that fateful evening. That’s when my world shattered. I have vowed vengeance, but how do you avenge a wrong that cannot be corrected?

Year 2035 –Midnight Christmas Eve

It was snowing outside when the grandfather clock chimed twelve times. It was officially Christmas.

The knock on my door surprised me. I was up late, wrapping presents, and putting them under the tree. My son, Sean, was sound asleep in his bedroom upstairs, probably dreaming of Santa, and wondering what goodies he would find under the tree in the morning. It was supposed to be a happy time.

“What in the world…Who’s knocking at my door in the dead of night?”

Someone in distress, was my first thought. Even at this late hour, I went to open the door. Afterall, Christmas is not the time of year one would leave a needy person out in the cold, especially on a snowy evening.

A man in a police uniform stood at the threshold. Expressionless, he handed me a piece of paper. I looked at the paper and then at the man. “An arrest warrant? For my son? You must be kidding me!”

“You are Ms. Zora Nadir. Your son is Sean Nadir.” It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “This is serious business, ma’am. I am here to collect your son, by order of the high court. He’s under arrest.”

“What? That’s crazy! Someone is screwing with you! He’s innocent of whatever this is,” I shook the paper he just handed me. “I’m telling you …he’s a child. It’s got to be a terrible mistake! You must believe me.”

The churlish man didn’t. He didn’t believe a word I said. He stared at me, unblinking, waiting for me to let him in my house. A foot soldier just following orders. This man was flesh and blood - human, but inhuman at the same time. A vacuous vessel programmed by the machine.

“You can’t take him! I won’t let you. It’s Christmas, for Pete’s sake.”

My words rolled around in the air, floating, begging to be understood before they disappeared. I realized that it was no use. My son was tried and convicted in this man’s eyes. I was desperate for his mercy.

“On all that you hold holy…please,” I pleaded, my voice cracking. “He’s only six!”

The man stood in my doorway, unmoving. I wanted to charge at him, beat him with my fists, scratch his eyes out. I could tell he knew how I felt.

He’s enjoying this! His lip curled upward, his countenance fixed halfway between a sneer and a smile, begging me to try it. To attack. My blood began to boil.

Violence was not in my nature. Standing there, every cell in my body was urging me to fight, to save my son. Yet, I stood still, rooted in place. Fear, anger, hurt, sorrow – all these emotions simultaneously vying for control of my body, imploring me to act. Yet I remained frozen in place.

I had heard about what happened to people that fought the system. It would only make the situation worse.

The man was twice my size, standing at least seven feet. And not a skinny, bean-pole seven feet. More like an immovable mountain. Or a bear. With claws and teeth. King Kong took one hand and pushed me aside. I crumpled like a tissue in his grasp, falling to the floor. Tears rolling down my cheeks. Useless.

Uninvited, the man-mountain calmly made his way into my house, and up the stairs. Terrified, I heard his earthquake-like footsteps enter my son’s room. Some rustling, running, then crying. Not the man, my son. His blood-curdling screams sent chills down my spine.

“Mama, help me! No, stop! I’m not going with you…. MAMA!”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I rose from the floor, with resolve. A mother doesn’t worry about her safety when her child is in danger!

“PUT HIM DOWN!” I roared, as I charged the staircase, emboldened after finding my backbone. The mama bear in me had woken up. They were coming down the stairs now. The big burly man carrying Sean on his shoulders, fireman style. My son was fighting like the devil, his little fists and legs flailing under the man’s sturdy grip. I torpedoed myself head-first into the big fellow’s stomach. “ARGGGH!”

But we were like gnats on an elephant, my son and I. The man pushed me aside, and strolled out of my house still carrying my son, his arms thrashing at the beast.

“HE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING,” I yelled one last time, chasing after them. “HE’S INNOCENT!”

The man stopped and turned toward me. “Ma’am, I’m just doing my job. You need to tell it to the judge when you appeal your son’s sentence,” he said coolly, as threw a piece of paper in my direction. He placed my son in his police hovercar and was gone in an instant.

The hole in my heart burned like an inferno, my body writhing in pain. After a while, I crawled to where the man had dropped the paper.

I have to appeal.

I picked up the paper and read:

Dear Fellow Citizen,

Your child has been found guilty of having a predisposition towards sedition, with the possibility of future violent actions and disharmonious behavior. He has been sentenced to ten years in state re-education camp in the hopes that capital punishment can be avoided. It is our goal to use intervention techniques to dissuade this proclivity toward anti-government activity from taking root.

You have one chance to appeal before this decision is made final.

Appeal date: Today, December 25, 2035.

Location: Better World Courthouse, 5 Main Street, USA

By order of AI 3479, presiding judge.

A form letter! How many kids has the government picked up this time?

Of course I had heard stories about government officials coming in the dead of night, and children disappearing. But I had paid the news reports no mind, thinking those must be bad children. Deserving of intervention. Sean wasn’t like that. He was a good kid. This had to be a mistake.

The letter contained no signature, but the official seal was affixed at the bottom of the note, affirming authenticity.

December 25th…that’s today! Argh! Typical of these AI courts to hold hearings on human holidays. Well, I’ll be there, Judge AI 3479. You can count on that!

*****

December 25, 2035 - Appeals Court – Official Transcript

AI 3479: Ms. Zora Nadir, I understand you are appealing the reeducation order I issued for your son, Sean Nadir. Is that correct?

Zora Nadir: Yes, your honor. Um. Is that how I should address you? As ‘your honor’? I’ve never spoken to a Bot judge before.

AI 3479: Your honor will do just fine.

Zora Nadir: Would it be possible to request a human judge in this case? It’s just that I am more comfortable speaking to a human. And this case involves a small child. I think a human would understand my point of view better. No offense.

AI 3479: Humans are no longer permitted to oversee judicial proceedings. Not since 2028, after the human judicial system collapsed. That system was rife with irregularities - from arrests, to charges, trials, and sentencing. Justification for anomalies in the sentencing guidelines sprang from human frailties such as empathy. Today, Bots control the third arm of the government. We using reason, logic, and historical data in all our legal judgments. Not emotion. Justice is meted out equally.

Now, you have five minutes to make your arguments as to why I should reverse my decision. This court has many cases before it, so do not waste time. Proceed.

Zora Nadir: OK. Um. Your… honor. This order has been issued by mistake. I mean, it is obvious. My son is only six years old. He didn’t do anything wrong. He’s a good boy. An innocent child. Re-education is not necessary for him, like it might be in other cases. He hasn’t committed any crime.

AI 3479: I do not make mistakes. Our algorithms are flawless, and we run a complete system diagnostics check nightly to ensure they remain sound. Your son, Sean Nadir, was flagged not for what he has done, but for what he will do on his present path. Under your tutelage. He has been found guilty of likely future crimes against the state. We must remove him from this subversive environment… from you…to prevent this. You may see him again when he has grown sufficiently. In ten years, we shall re-evaluate him.

Zora Nadir: What? Ten years?? That doesn’t make sense. I am not an insurrectionist, nor would I raise my son to be one. I haven’t taught him anything controversial. Quite the opposite. I am teaching him to discern right from wrong, to reason. To become a man. How can you convict him, and me, of something we haven’t done?

AI 3479: The law disagrees with you. You have read him books that are not on the approved list. You are teaching him to think for himself, not to simply follow state directives. Those are red flags. Further, you are keeping him from his government-run harmonious living classes, and you home-school him in history and mathematics. Those subjects have been forbidden as they are deemed divisive. He plays without his behavior modification monitor. And you have removed the information cleansing filters we inserted in your home. All serious matters before this court.

Zora Nadir: Yes, but…

AI 3479: Those are all subversive acts.

Zora Nadir: What if I put the cleansing filter back, and take him to his harmony classes?Would that help? I’ll stop teaching him math and history. Could he come back home then?

AI 3479: No. The algorithm is clear. And so is the science. At the age of six, your son has already developed the framework of his core personality traits. He has learned basic immoral reasoning and anti-social behaviors from you. Indeed, he showed aggression toward the government messenger when we arrested him last night, as did you. He kicked and screamed all the way to the correctional facility, calling for you, his mother. Our plan is to replace you with government entities. We will provide for all his needs and reeducate him to develop proper critical thinking and good, socially accepted, long-term habits. We can teach him impulse control and emotional intelligence.The government will be his new mother, in a manner of speaking.

Zora Nadir: But your honor…

AI 3479: Enough. Your five minutes to plead your case are up. I find that your arguments are not persuasive. They amount to mere excuses, not worthy of the Court’s time. My decision is final. Sean Nadir must be reeducated. You will see him in ten years, at exactly midnight on Christmas Eve, and not before.

*****

Year 2045-Midnight, Christmas Eve

I’m shaking. Waiting. I was promised that he would come. My son. I don’t know what to expect. Hopeful, scared. Reflecting. Waiting…waiting...waiting.

My reverie is disturbed by a knock on the door, just as the grandfather clock begins to chime.

He’s here! My son!

I close my eyes and say a quick prayer as I run to open the door.

Prayers are no longer allowed, but no one would know. I disabled my behavior monitor ten years ago, after walking out of the courtroom. And destroyed most of the electronics in my life. It was all I could think to do. My little meaningless protest. If they locked me up for that, so be it. With my son gone, I didn’t care what they did to me. I dared them to arrest me! Flaunted my rebellion.

But Judge AI 3479 issued a non-arrest order for me. Said it was more of a punishment to have me live free while my son was imprisoned. My sentence was also ten years. Ten years! Without a word as to how he was doing. We were both sentenced that fateful Christmas Day.

I fling open the door to see a handsome young man just on the other side. Sixteen, I know, but he looks older. I remember the little boy, but I still recognized him as he is now. My Sean! He’s taller than me. And very handsome, standing there.

It had started to snow again, so I quickly usher him into the house. Our house.

I’m quite overjoyed; my tears flow freely. But my son hasn’t uttered a word. I whisper in his ear, “Sean. My baby. It’s ok. I disabled the information cleansing filters. You can say anything in here.”

“Sean.” His name is a whisper on my lips. “Sean.” I can’t stop saying his name. It’s music. I hug him, holding on too long before I release him. I finally ask if he remembers the house. I want to know what memories he has, but I don’t want to push.

My question goes unanswered. Sean moves around the house peering in each room.

Give him time, I think. This must be difficult for him, too.

“Zora Nadir,” he finally says, looking into my eyes. I nod, as he hands me a sheet of paper. An official notice. “You need to come with me. Mother wants to talk to you.”

I know what hell is.