"The Colony," by Jeff Swart

Friday Hagland collapses into the black armchair that lies directly in the center of his London flat, pulls down his transparent visor, places his fingertips on the sensory armrest, and launches himself into his other home.

Friday has been hard at work the past ten hours taking bets on the 2094 World Cup. This year’s heavy favorite is the United European States. He has a few billion Euros riding on his favorite football club. It’s not a whole lot, but if luck is on his side, he’ll have a month’s rent in his pocket.

In reality, Friday is five foot nine, 170 pounds, has brown eyes and dark hair, and average by every conceivable standard. When he tips (short for fingertip) into the virtual realm, known as The Colony, he is 6 foot one, 200 pounds, and is average by all standards in The Colony. However, tipping into The Colony sure beats wandering around London looking for a good time. Friday has the capability to flirt with women, have a virtual drink at the pub, watch any television show or sports broadcast at any given moment, or even partake in endless variety of recreational drugs, mostly hallucinogens. Tonight he’s going to hit the pubs with some of his buddies and get a good buzz going. The booze in The Colony has no effect on one’s physical body; it simply arouses feelings through the nerves in the fingers and distorts images in the visor to make a person feel as if they’d been drinking.

The Colony has been around for the past twenty years, but it wasn’t until about five years ago that the glitches and viruses were eliminated; thus making tipping into The Colony a much more pleasant and less frustrating experience. Also, after the collapse of the former United States of America and formation of the American Union six years ago, (all of North and Central America formed one country) a period of great uncertainty and paranoia resulted, and people wanted a way to escape. The Colony presented a sort of oasis or safe haven for people to get away from politics, fear, or whatever other part of their lives not worth living through.

No one knows exactly who created The Colony, but it was first produced and marketed by the Intelitronic Corporation in the former United States. It is believed that the “Creator” has unlimited power within The Colony, yet he allows it to run its course without interference.

When Friday opens his eyes, he sees the Colony Waterfall and about ten thousand people walking every which way on the cobblestone surface. He has just landed on his designated start-up location (D-SUL), The Colony Town Square. This is a pretty common D-SUL since it is centrally located, and most of the attractions are within walking distance.

Transportation in The Colony is very similar to what it’s like in reality. There are taxis and buses, but no individually owned cars. There is no need for anyone to own a car when transportation is free. The transportation system is run by a built-in program. All one has to do is hale a cab or catch a bus at a bus stop and clearly speak the desired destination. Friday waves down a cab and says, “Peter’s Pub.”

Friday selects Peter’s because he has already instacommed (instant communication) with his good friend Kirly about where to meet up. Instacom allows people to talk, similar to a telephone call, to anyone also tipped into The Colony. All someone has to do is say a name and the two are instantly connected.

Friday and Kirly arrive at Peter’s simultaneously and both grab a bar stool right by the counter. They both order a drink from the artificial bartender and proceed to complain about nearly every aspect of their lives.

“Man, Kirly,” whines Friday, “I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I mean what’s the point in being outside The Colony? My life can’t get any worse. I go to work to make a couple bucks to pay my rent and keep food on my shelves. Then I spend the rest of my time here. There’s no purpose to my life. I work to eat, and I eat so that I can come hear and get away. I’m literally afraid of my own life. If I could stay here all the time, I would. It’s not the greatest here, but at least it doesn’t suck.”

“Yeah, I hear ya bro,” responds Kirly. “If there was some way I could stay tipped in constantly, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But you’ve got to eat, and you need money to eat. The only way to get money is to work or steal, and you can’t do either of those if you’re tipped in.”

“Alright, you studied biology and anatomy while you went to higher ed. There’s gotta be some way to reuse the stuff our bodies put out, or maybe have an everlasting or long-lasting I.V.” Friday says with a hint of excitement starting to build in his voice and demeanor.

“Sure, they have I.V.’s that last months, maybe even years. I suppose you could stock up on those, and it could conceivably last you a couple years. But then there’s the issue with waste. I don’t know how desperate you are, but you’d have to get a catheter put it. The thought of that makes me cringe,” says Kirly.

“Dude, it would be worth it,” Friday assures.

“Here’s your next dilemma. Rent. You need a place to plug in your chair. There’s no way you’d be able to afford buying a house.”

“If I could convince enough people, we could all pitch in, and have a kind of chair station where people could stay tipped in permanently. I know I’d be able to find people that are just as sick of their lives as I am,” Friday states with confidence.

“I don’t know. There’s just something that doesn’t sit well with me about this. This place, The Colony, it’s not real!”

“What is real, Kirly? What is real?”

STAY TIPPED IN…FOREVER

This is what the clouds in the sky of The Colony “magically” read. There’s only one explanation to this odd scene…the Creator. No one else has that kind of power.

In Rome, the cloudy, Colony note is the new hot topic. The seven leaders of the remaining seven nations have gathered in the world’s capital to discuss the possibilities of this virtual memo. Assuming that the author was the Creator, the leaders discuss what effects this could have if people actually obey the message. The political power that they’ve worked their whole lives to obtain would no longer have worth. With no people left to control and manipulate, they’d just be normal people in The Colony.

The seven are quick to conclude that the Creator’s plan must be foiled immediately, but how? With the Creator’s identity still unknown, it would be impossible to solve this dilemma at its source. How about a global law putting limitations on the amount of time one is allowed to stay tipped in? It would of course have to be enforced with violence; just like every other law. This seems like a suitable solution to the seven, so the papers are written and the law is enacted, enforceable next week.

Friday, back in his London flat, starts his quest to stay permanently tipped into the Colony. First objective…recruit enough people to purchase and create a “tipping cite.” Easier said than done.

Friday logs on to his computer and searches for a cheap facility to purchase. He has plenty of options, but one building in particular stands out, an abandoned warehouse on the River Thames for a reasonable price. Friday decides to go down and check this place out.

It’s nearly perfect, two stories and plenty of ports for chairs to plug into. The only problem is the prominence of its location. With pedestrians walking along the river constantly and plenty of windows to look in through, if privacy becomes a cause for concern, than Friday’s group could be in some trouble.

Next step, find some people with equally miserable lives that are looking for a way out. This shouldn’t be too difficult. Being involved in the gambling industry, Friday knows plenty of people that are on the edge or are so bored with their current lives that they turn to gambling for a sort of rush.

Friday goes to the dog track and begins spreading his propaganda.

“Sal, Jacker, Quin,” Friday spots a couple of the regulars at the track. “I’ve got something you might want to hear.”

“What’s that?” Jacker questions.

“What would you say if I offered you a chance to stay tipped into The Colony…forever?”

“Forever, as in a couple days in a row, right?” Sal clarifies.

“Nope. Forever, forever.

Friday continues, “What part of your day do you enjoy more, your lousy jobs, or being tipped into The Colony? It’s a no brainer for me. What’s the point in working? To get money? You get money so you can eat. You eat so you stay alive, and you stay alive, so that you can go to your same crappy job every day. It’s never-ending circle of meaninglessness. I know nothing in The Colony is “real,” but at least it doesn’t suck.”

“Yeah,” Jacker points out, “But the world leaders just passed a law that limits how long you can stay tipped in.”

“It’s a simple case of scaremongering. They see that the Creator is taking away some of their power and they don’t like it. What are they gonna do if they find us? Which, I might add, is very unlikely. They certainly won’t kill us,” assures Friday.

“Man Friday, I can tell you’ve put some thought into this. You’re really gonna try to do this,” says Sal. “I thought the Creator’s cloud message was ludicrous. I didn’t think anyone was crazy enough to do that. I guess I was wrong, and the crazy thing is, I’m actually considering joining you. Of course you’ll have to give me some specifics. I’m not gonna go into this experiment blindly.”

Friday explains in detail his plan to the three gamblers, and they agree to join him. By the end of the week Friday has over forty people join him. He purchases the old warehouse, and starts tipping in.

The problem for the seven world leaders is Friday isn’t the only one who is organizing “tipping stations,” and they aren’t blind to these violations of their newly formed law.

“So what’s next?” the leader of the American Union questions as the seven settle into their seats at the second emergency meeting called in less than a month. “People are either completely ignorant or are choosing to deliberately disobey. We need to do something. A law not enforced is not worth having.”

“That’s obvious,” the Chinese representative snidely remarks. “What we need is to make an example of a couple long term tippers. Then people will hear about it and get scared. It’s all about fear. All we need to do is scare people into submission. When people’s lives are on the line, they’ll do as they’re told.

“What we do is make an example of a group of rebels in each of our countries that are located in a prominent location. That way everyone hears about it, and fear is immediately instilled in the population. We need to be firm now before this gets out of control. I motion that we bring this to a vote.”

“I second the motion,” the African rep concurs. “All in favor…”

“Aye,” all reply in unison.

“Opposed?”

Silence…

It’s finally move-in night. Friday’s crew must stay covert so as not to get caught by any law enforcers. This is no east task. Moving forty plus chairs and hundreds of I.V. food supplies into a building located in a frequently traveled area, is far from easy. Luckily one of the recruits is a newly retired semi-truck driver with access to a truck. They load up the truck with the necessities and back it up to a loading dock to start unloading.

Once everyone has their permanent resting place selected, they plug their chairs into a port and insert the necessary equipment into their bodies. One last taste of reality before a permanent cyber life begins.

“See all of you in The Colony!” someone yells from across the room. Instantly a thunderous cheer erupts as everyone pulls down their visors, and place their fingertips on their armrests.

Once in The Colony, Friday heads straight for Peter’s Pub. It’s time to celebrate! Haling a cab is taking more time than it usually takes. Where are all the transport vehicles, and what’s with all these people? It’s more crowded than usual. Oh well, Friday is just happy to be here. He’s got all the time in the world.

Friday finally arrives and sits down at a table. There are no open stools. Friday orders a scotch on the rocks and sits back down with his drink. His brain tells him the whiskey is especially strong, and he is not going to need another to get a good buzz going.

A good-looking female takes the seat adjacent to Friday. All of the females are attractive, so Friday doesn’t look twice.

“Hey there,” the woman attempts to start a conversation.

“Hi,” Friday coldly responds, trying to avoid a conversation. He would rather shoot the breeze with Kirly, rather than make small talk with this lady.

“What’s your name?” asks the woman.

“Friday.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Minnie. So how long have you been tipped in for?”

“About an hour, but it’s the first hour of what I hope to be years,” Friday realizes there is no way out of this inevitable conversation now. Just be polite, and hopefully Kirly will bail him out soon.

“Oh, really? Wow! You’re actually gonna live here, in The Colony? That’s brave. You know that’s against the law?”

“Do I have stupid written on my forehead? Of course I know that!” Friday thinks, but decides not to be rude. “Yes, I realize that,” he responds politely.

“So how do you plan on staying here forever?”

Friday explains how he and a group of people purchased an old warehouse on the River Thames.

Suddenly Minnie disappears. She has just tipped out of The Colony.

“That was weird,” Friday thinks. “Whatever. At least she’s gone.”

A blank screen.

“Wait a second. That’s my visor,” ponders Friday. “What the hell?”

“Good evening, sir,” a firm female voice speaks. “It appears you have plans on breaking law 204-196B, staying tipped into The Colony for an extended period of time. Is this true?”

“Of course not,” Friday stammers.

“Come on now, Mr. Hagland. Be honest with me. You probably don’t remember me, but I certainly remember you, quite well actually. We just spoke a few minutes ago.”

Friday is silent. He realizes what has just happened. The woman in The Colony was undercover, and is now enforcing law 204-196B. “So what are you gonna do to me?”

“Unfortunately for you, I have orders to make an example of you and the rest of your friends. I will make it painless, but you won’t wake up tomorrow.”

“Very well. Can I at least tip in for my final seconds on Earth?”

“You may.”

Word of the assassinations spread like wild fire. Everyone from pole to pole is now completely terrified of their “leaders.” The global consensus is to avoid the source of terror. They must leave this world. The only place to go…The Colony.