2100 AD: A Sly Pretense Read online

  2100 AD

  A Sly Pretense

  By Tariq Saleim

  Copyright © 2015 Mr. Tariq Saleim

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1505850681

  ISBN 13: 9781505850680

  Library of Congress Control Number: XXXXX (If applicable)

  LCCN Imprint Name: City and State (If applicable)

  Utmost triumph in kingship is

  making your slaves believe they

  are free people.

  WARNING

  Rated 18+ for violence, strong

  language, and sexual references.

  Reader discretion is advised.

  AUTHOR’S WORK

  A Chronicle of Amends

  On the Money

  2100 AD

  AUTHOR’S BIOGRAPHY

  Tariq Saleim was born in Lahore, Pakistan, in 1972 and currently resides in Singapore. He is a banker by profession and has been associated with the industry for over twenty years. He is a law graduate and also holds an MBA in finance. 2100 AD is Tariq’s third book. His first two books, A Chronicle of Amends and On the Money, were well received by critics and readers. He can be contacted on his Facebook page - www.facebook.com/tariqsbooks.

  THANKS

  I am thankful to my sister,

  Aasma, and my friends Deepesh,

  Deys, and Patrick for their help. It

  is a blessing to have family and

  friends like I have.

  DEDICATION

  To my wife, Farrida.

  Thanks for your love,

  understanding, and patience.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  PROLOGUE

  At the dawn of the twenty-first century, we looked at the future with fear and obscurity. It was widely accepted that the world population would outgrow its resources toward the middle of the century, resulting in a chaotic war and eventually leading to the end of humanity.

  The thing about the future is that even the most scientific predictions are just estimates. No model, algorithm, and calculus can foretell the unpredictable. Today, at the birth of the twenty-second century, we look back and titter at “end of the world” predictions of the past. Planet Earth has not seen more peace and prosperity than was witnessed in the last four decades. All predictions for a chaotic world were wrong; all brilliant minds of the past were mistaken. No doubt there were challenges along the way.

  In 2054 the world population stood at a staggering thirteen billion. Gross mismanagement of resources, corruption, lawlessness, and religious differences eventually resulted in a worldwide war, as was predicted. By 2058, this war had claimed over six billion lives. It seemed that the end of humanity was indeed near.

  Trust mankind to change, adapt, and survive when faced with an extinction-level event. From the ruins of civilization arose a new world order, first prophesied by a man called Shaman. No one knows his background or real name. What we know is that he was the founding father of this new world order. He was able to garner support from supranational corporations and major armies of the world who were tired of war and sought peace. Shaman precipitated the demise of the states, feeding public opinion with massive information leaks to discredit their fledgling rulers and emphasizing their roles in the devastating war. With major armies and corporations in his camp, the smaller ones followed suit relatively quickly. Those who resisted were annihilated.

  By 2065 there were no countries left on the world map. Shaman had designed a new world with just one country: the Unified Planet for Fairness, or UPF. What were once countries were now called Sectors and given numbers for identification purposes. China was the most populated country of the time and its new name was Sector One. The rest of the Sectors followed this principle. Cities in each Sector were called Sub-Sectors and identified with numbers as well.

  Acts of religion, nationalism, and cultural biases were declared treason, punishable by death. All books and literature (paper, digital, or otherwise) with religious knowledge, nationalistic interests, and cultural awareness were destroyed. Today we are one nation with no religion, no national affiliations, and no cultural differences.

  English was selected as the language of the world and every other language was disbanded. Teaching a different language or possessing materials in a language other than English was also an act of treason. It took us years to cleanse our world of literature in other languages—an essential move for securing the dominance of this new world order.

  All of the world’s resources were pooled and categorized into groups at a global level. Each group was responsible for the management of its assigned resources. It aimed to ensure efficient utilization and fair distribution to each and every citizen of the UPF. Of these groups, the most powerful ones today are Energy, Militia, Finance, Natural Resources, Manufacturing, Technology, Media, and Leisure (responsible for manufacturing and distribution of alcoholic products and recreational drugs).

  Each group is managed by a Group CEO who in turn reports to the chairman of the UPF, which is a permanent position vacated only upon the death of the incumbent or mental incapacitation. A new chairman of the UPF is selected from among the Group CEOs through a process of discussions and deliberations. Shaman was the first chairman of the UPF, and upon his death, his daughter (formerly Militia CEO), took over the responsibilities.

  Each Sector is administratively managed by a Sector Head who reports to a specific Group CEO, depending upon which group is more dominant in which Sectors. All groups have Service Level Agreements among themselves to ensure cooperation and steady flow of resources between the groups.

  Each citizen of the UPF is guaranteed an education, medical care, and stipends up until the age of eighteen. It is a crime to stay unemployed after the age of twenty-five and has severe repercussions. Once above this age, one should either be gainfully employed or running a business of his own. There are no pension schemes and no retirement age.

  Today, the crime rate is at its lowest and employment at its highest. No child sleeps hungry and no one is uneducated. There is neither racism nor the crimes of religious hatred. Our world is perfect—or so believes the Council of CEOs.

  CHAPTER 1

  Year 2100

  Sector 91, Sub-Sector 1 (formerly known as Dubai, United Arab Emirates)

  The Commander stared at the naked figure strapped to the metal chair. “Where are we so far?” he asked the junior officer standing to his left.

  “He has not slept for four days,” replied the junior officer. “Also, we have kept him on three glasses of water a day, no solids.”

  “Has he given any information so far? Who are his allies and friends in this?”

  “No, sir.”

  “He is strong. They have prepared him well.”

  “He is built like an ox.”

  “In that case, we should stop talking nicely and try something different,” said the Commander. He looked to his right and noticed the doctor in white overalls. He nodded—the prisoner would soon need medical help. Slowly, he walked toward the naked man who was sitting unconscious on the chair. He gripped the prisoner’s hair and pulled his head upward, forcing him to wake up. The prisoner struggled to free himself from the clutches
of his aggressor. Thin metal wires, which tied his body to the chair, cut into his flesh.

  “Such anger and aggression—what keeps you so motivated?” asked the Commander, looking into his prisoner’s sleepy red eyes.

  The prisoner did not respond.

  “I love people who are true to their cause. There is a sense of purity around them.” He looked at his junior officer and extended his left hand. Metal pliers were placed in it. “Unfortunately, however, if you do not answer my questions, I will resort to tactics that are not pleasant.”

  The Commander gestured to his junior officer, who responded by placing the prisoner’s head in the metal headrest of the chair. He then tied a leather strap across the prisoner’s forehead, rendering him unable to move his head. Next, he viciously punched the prisoner in his chest, just above his stomach. The prisoner screamed in pain and gasped for air. A soon as he opened his mouth, the junior officer forced a piece of cloth into the prisoner’s mouth. The prisoner was now choking for air and trying to breathe frantically through his nose.

  “Enough,” said the Commander. He flaunted the pliers in front of the prisoner and reached inside the man’s open mouth to grip one of the teeth with the pliers.

  “I can do this quickly, but that will not cause much pain,” said the Commander. “Instead, I will break your teeth, one by one, very slowly. Every time I move my hand, you will curse your stars. You may pass out with pain at some stage, but we will bring you back. There is a doctor in here who will not let you go unconscious.”

  The prisoner looked at him in horror, unable to speak.

  The Commander started applying pressure to the tooth and it moved a little, causing the gums to bleed. The prisoner’s body twitched frantically, reacting to the unbearable level of pain he was exposed to. Tears rolled out of his eyes.

  “So now you are crying?” the Commander commented mercilessly. He applied more pressure and the tooth moved inside the gums. The prisoner was now in a state of frenzy. His body was stiff, veins pumped; his breathing was reminiscent of an angry dog’s growling. The Commander continued unabated and soon the tooth was completely detached from the gums. He raised the blood-drenched pliers and displayed it in front of the prisoner’s eyes.

  “My officer tells me that you have twenty-eight teeth in your mouth. This is just one of those twenty-eight. Imagine how painful it would be if I take out all your teeth one by one.” The Commander made clear his intentions, stepped backward and directed his junior officer to untie the captive’s head and clear his mouth contents. Relieved at his limited freedom, the prisoner used this opportunity to spit blood on the floor.

  “Clean him up,” the Commander ordered the doctor. The woman in white overalls moved swiftly and attended to the prisoner.

  “What is your name?” asked the Commander.

  The prisoner did not reply. Instead, he stared at the kind face of the woman cleaning him up.

  “Tell him your name, please,” she whispered.

  “I will ask one more time. What is your name?” shouted the Commander.

  “Please,” the woman whispered again.

  The prisoner nodded. She had shown compassion to him and he did not want to disappoint her.

  “I am Nile,” said the prisoner, speaking for the first time that day.

  “References to names with cultural, ethnic, and religious affinities are a crime!” screamed the Commander. “I want your real name!”

  “My name is Nile,” repeated the prisoner in a weak voice.

  “Don’t you let him pass out!” the Commander roared at the doctor, sensing that his prisoner was about to faint.

  “Please tell him your real name,” said the doctor, compassionately. “If he is OK with your answer, he will let me treat you properly. I can make this pain disappear quickly. Please cooperate and tell him what he wants to know.”

  The doctor was stroking his hair; it reminded Nile of someone else. Pleasant memories momentarily reduced the feeling of pain. As ironic as it was, he felt safer with her.

  “What is your name and where are you from?” the Commander asked again, now standing at the far end of the room.

  “My name is Nile and I am from Egypt,” replied the prisoner, feebly.

  The doctor shook her head in disappointment and walked away.

  “My records say something different. You had a chance to come clean, but you leave me no choice.” The Commander was furious. He looked at his junior officer, who picked up a small plastic jar from the floor and walked to Nile. Carefully, he poured the contents of the jar onto Nile’s right foot, making sure that only the toes were wet. Then he pulled out a lighter from his pocket and without any warning set the prisoner’s foot ablaze.

  Nile was shouting, cursing, and crying at the same time. The doctor closed her eyes and covered her ears with her hands. Nile’s lamentations were still audible, piercing her heart and shattering her belief in the system. A man had been set ablaze right in front of her and she could do nothing. Even worse, she was part of the system torturing that man. She did not even know what his crime was. She had been ordered to keep him conscious. Who can survive this? she wondered, and cursed the day she had decided to become a doctor.

  “One…two…three…four…five…six…seven,” counted the Commander, slowly but audibly. As soon as he reached seven, the junior officer picked up a bucket of water and poured its contents on Nile’s foot. From a distance, the doctor could see Nile’s disfigured toes and burnt skin. Nile continued to scream and cry and the three of them watched. The gruesome show lasted for a few minutes before Nile finally fainted.

  The Commander looked at the doctor. “Take care of him. Fix his tooth and foot. When he is in good health, inform your officer.” He pointed at the junior officer in the room.

  “I will do that,” replied the doctor, obediently.

  “We will crack him. He is fearless, but we have our ways,” said the Commander.

  The junior officer and the doctor nodded in the affirmative. The Commander stared at his prisoner, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his mind planning the next move.

  “Take him to the medical room,” said the Commander to his junior officer, then turned to the doctor. “And you, see me in my room.” She obeyed him like a loyal puppy, following him through a maze of well-lit corridors, unsure of the purpose of this meeting. She was hoping that her frustration, when Nile was on fire, had gone unnoticed. Why did I become a freaking doctor? She silently cursed her choices of several years ago. I want to save lives and serve humanity, she had said when interviewed for admission to the medical college. Well, save yourself now, she cursed herself again.

  “Sit,” said the Commander upon entering his room, pointing to an oversized leather chair opposite his desk. Coco swiftly obeyed his orders. Her small structure made her look like a midget sitting on the gigantic chair.

  “What is your name?” the Commander asked.

  “Twelve.CO.”

  “I can see that,” the Commander said, pointing to a small nameplate on her shirt. “What is your full name?”

  “2072.13.02.012.CO.”

  “See the beauty of the system? You told me your name and I know how old you are and where you are from,” said the Commander proudly, praising the naming convention that Shaman had introduced decades ago. “You were born in year 2072 in Sector Thirteen, Sub-Sector Two. You were child number twelve brought for registration at the registration center that day. Your parents nicknamed you CO to represent their emotional attachment to you. Your name is also your IP address for all your communication devices for your lifetime.”

  The doctor nodded her head, still unsure where this was leading.

  “What does CO stand for?” the Commander asked.

  “Coco.”

  “Coco—very interesting, your parents wanted you to be nicknamed Coco.” He stared at her and smiled. The doctor was totally spooked. Sensing her discomfort, the Commander came to his point straight away.

  “Do you know the
old name of Sector Thirteen?” the Commander asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “How can you know? Your Sector was once called Vietnam. In the twenty-first century, it went through hell. First, there was civil war in the country. Then a country called the United States of America, now known as Sector Three, invaded it and killed millions. After this war came a deep economic recession, then another civil war, and then the world war of 2058 that killed more than half of your Sector’s population.”

  The doctor had never heard these things before. The Commander now had her complete attention.

  “In 2060, I was a young kid and, like the rest of the world, I watched in agony as my loved ones were brutally murdered. I lost my father, my sister, and my will to live. I would have died of hunger were it not for Shaman’s army. They took me in and cared for me. I met Shaman as well; he was a loving man who cared for everyone. He gave us a vision of peace and fairness and I believed in his vision.”

  The Commander stood up from his chair and started walking around the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “And look where this vision has brought us. Your parents would not have survived if Shaman had not stepped in. You would not be here today, educated and self-reliant, if this system had not helped. I would not be here today commanding this team, having a sense of purpose and pride, if it was not for the system. Don’t you think it is our duty to protect the system so that we do not plunge into the savagery of the past?”

  “Yes, sir, it is,” replied Coco, trying her best to sound convincing.

  “We arrested this man from Sector Two. Before the war, Sector Two was known as India. It was a culturally rich place, inhabited by two billion people practicing different religions and coexisting. During the war they started killing one another and there was no hope of stopping the ethnic genocide. Shaman took over Sector Two and banned all religious and cultural affiliations. This brought peace to the region. Today, Sector Two is one of the top ten taxpayers in the UPF. The literacy rate is at one hundred percent; unemployment is at less than two percent. In the last twenty years there has been no crime of religious or cultural hatred. The population of Sector Two has not seen more peace and happiness in a thousand years,” boasted the Commander.