One Billion Drops of Happiness Page 6

  However, the President at that time, Friedrich Umberto, had been a rather an avid scientist, playing around with drugs and potions that could calm his fluctuating emotions. He had struggled with them for years; they had singlehandedly contributed to the worst events of his life. The last straw had been when his mother had died. The depths of his grief knew no bounds; he found it impossible to concentrate on his presidential duties, impossible to concentrate on anything but the gnawing indefinable pain inside him.

  In his lucid moments he began writing a thesis describing how emotion was wholly unnecessary in the modern age; how it was a vehicle of obstruction to future progression. How it was an outdated form of chemical signalling that was only useful when humans dwelled in caves and hunted hulking beasts. The influence of this paper was phenomenal, helped greatly by the fact Umberto that was President. It soon went viral on the internet; very quickly everybody had read the crib notes of his thesis. Some people disagreed vehemently; some people laughed it off as controversial badinage and some people took it quite seriously.

  It just so happened that the people who took the paper most seriously were high in authority. In a short space of time the issue of human emotions was being dropped into serious debate from courtrooms to Congress to coffee houses. At the same time an earnest college friend of Umberto’s, a scientist named Zebediah Voss, was dabbling with simple devices that could solve his friend’s little problem when he was trying to concentrate on his Presidential work.

  His attempts were successful. Voss managed to mastermind a simple granite device, programmed entirely by himself, that his friend Umberto could wear discreetly around his neck as he went about his daily business.

  The effects were unparalleled. Never before had Umberto enjoyed such an enormous work output. His efficiency went through the roof; he saw the world with fresher eyes and with a mind of the coolest logic. With the permission of Voss, Umberto made copies of the device for his friends in Congress. He fondly called it his ‘Suppressitor’; it quite simply suppressed his emotions. He was awestruck.

  His friend Voss was perfectly happy to engineer more and more of these devices. With time he could enhance the deft programming behind the Suppressitors so that they could be more in tune with an individual’s personal fluctuations. The more that the Suppressitor was worn, the more attuned it would become. A constant state of serenity was achieved as the device fought to balance out every moodswing, every nuance of emotion. Occasionally, excessive sentiment would require a tactful click to boost the Suppressitor’s effects, but that was all.

  Its popularity rocketed. Soon the demand for them outstripped Voss’ supply. He hired a few workers to take on the physical manufacture while he concentrated on developing the programming. Umberto was enthralled. He increasingly felt that his country was overtaking the rest of the world in its pioneering inventions. As the other countries slandered the ‘dehumanisation’ of America, spouting bromides about how the ancestors of such a great country would be turning in their graves at this desecration of history, Umberto gave birth to the idea that perhaps history, too, could be disposed of.

  What was the use of clinging to the past? He questioned. We live our lives being burdened by civilisations before our time, adhering to their traditions and values without questioning whether they fit with our modern way of life. Why waste public money keeping old buildings erect merely because they are from an olden age? Sentimentality is like a speed hump in the road to progression. Everything in a modern society should have a function. Shells of buildings left empty but not demolished are no longer appropriate.

  Construction had come on leaps and bounds since the early years of the twenty-first-century; old buildings were quite frankly a waste of space nowadays. And when it came to churches, why pray to aged gods when you had a Suppressitor? In its presence there would no longer be insecurity, pleading or even gratitude. Comfort, the mainstay of religion, is redundant when you have a device that soothes you every minute of the day without abating.

  So yes, he concluded. America needed a rehaul. A new nation should be born in light of this groundbreaking new ideology. New America shall be born, and as a fledgling civilisation, it will have no history to bind it, no traditions to spare time giving a nod towards. It will exist solely to strive forwards into advanced humanity, entirely unhindered by emotion. So that one day if we were to meet life from other planets, we would be proud to display our journey through evolution.

  And with that, New America was inaugurated in the year 2080, along with the three pillars of invention exclusive to the new nation: vaccinations against almost every ill, the Vapour, and the Suppressitor.

  ‘So to conclude…’ Okadigbo resonated, having trawled through his well-rehearsed speech with much gusto, ‘Ophelium is the aroma of serenity, the scent of the future. No more sadness, no more fears! But in the meantime, my people of this esteemed nation, you have until midnight on August the fourteenth to vote. Thank you for your time.’ And with a fizz he was gone.

  SEVEN

  ‘Yes or no?’

  ‘Yes in an instant!’

  ‘…but what about this breathing tax?’

  ‘They’ll charge the moon!’

  ‘Of course they will, you only need to look at that Excelsior man…’

  ‘I’m voting no. I like my Suppressitor, it’s engraved.’

  ‘Me too. It seems a little drastic; maybe we should wait a little longer.’

  ‘But don’t you see, your Suppressitor will eventually break down now Mr. Voss has gone!’

  ‘Oh. Then can we opt in and then out for some months? I’m trying to save for a space tour…’

  * * *

  ‘You want me to do what?’

  ‘Look, Xandria, I don’t mean to put you in an awkward spot, but I really need you to do this for me.’ Amethyst paced the bedroom trying to conceal her anxious face from her daughter. She had thought about blocking her mirage from being sent over via the phone but realised this might make her plea reek of shiftiness.

  ‘I can’t just rearrange a government appointment, you know that. There are protocols and passwords, and even if I could do it, I’d be putting my job at risk.’

  ‘But, darling, only the computer is aware that I have an appointment. There are so many people that it must deal with, would it really notice if you had tweaked it slightly?’

  ‘Mother!’ Xandria squawked, further annoyed that Amethyst was reverting to Old World endearments. Even in irony, it wasn’t funny. ‘Anyway, you really should go to this appointment. It’ll do you good. You’re becoming weird.’

  Xandria was used to her mother’s eccentricity and not-so-secret fondness of all things Old World. She had always blamed it on nostalgia; nobody had ever thought anything of it since she had always appeared willing to upgrade to the new society’s expectations and lifestyle.

  ‘Oh, you know that was just me having a silly few minutes when Dad went away,’ Amethyst reassured quickly. ‘Of course I’ll go, but it’s just that I wanted to take a space trip that month…’

  ‘A space trip? Since when?’

  Space trips were still a growing concept. Spacebuses transported people around the solar system rather like the Old World cruises on water. For years, a shorter cruise had been widely available, shuttling passengers in a perfect loop from Earth to Jupiter. The sights were incredible. Just to catch a glimpse of Jupiter, with its surface like an Old World Surrealist painting, was an experience in itself; everyone proclaimed how the surface colours ran together seamlessly like a marble.

  The Galilean moons of Jupiter could be seen at a distance closer than humankind had ever been before. With eager noses pressed to the windows, it was assured that one day they might be able to land on one, but not yet. And then there was Mars, close cousin of Earth with its canyons and its mountains. Those who had actually been there returned raving how deeply golden it actually appeared close up with the naked human eye, rather than the conventionally documented red.

 
Of course, nothing compared with the beauty of the Earth. Since the dawn of explorational astronomy a couple of centuries ago, space travellers had long since sung odes to the beauty of their resident planet as viewed from afar. Never had a more touching sight be seen from outer space; it was hard to believe that this overtly familiar swirling globe was indeed home.

  More recently, the Space Exploration Committee had opened up a new pathway proposing a circuit of the entire solar system, starting from Earth, heading towards Mercury and taking a dip round by the sun. Then it would head further away from the gravitational pull, shooting towards Neptune and the smaller entities on the edge of the permitted range.

  The spacebuses were controlled from within the headquarters of the Space Exploration Committee. They had trialed several voyages which had seemed to go without hitch. Those lucky pioneering passengers had returned four months later, ebullient and brimming with awe at the sights they had seen. The entire mission was extremely simple; everything was taken care of back on Earth by the Committee. There were no trained astronauts on board to allay passenger fears, as had been beseeched by many; it was thought unnecessary and an insult to the ability of the workers back at the Space Centre.

  Indeed, the cost was unimaginable for almost everybody, and many voiced fears of claustrophobia and the helplessness faced in the event of a Suppressitor malfunction. As a result, the shorter fortnight-duration trips around Venus, Earth and Mars were exceedingly popular and more accessible to the general working public. Two weeks was surely a safe enough period to hop outside one’s comfort zone without going completely doolally. Any longer than that and you were just asking for it really, people decided.

  In the years leading up to the birth of New America, other countries in the world had put their heads together and schemed fantastical ways to further space exploration. Resentment had exploded, therefore, when America suddenly morphed into a new entity and ran away with all the ideas to date. Accusations flew bitterly; New America had developed the previous schemes with the addition of startlingly complex technology that they were not willing to share, and overnight it seemed the rest of the world was barred from any sort of space travel that went beyond the moon. But the moon just didn’t cut it anymore. The scientists abroad had desperately tried to figure out how New America had done it, but never to any avail. They had to grudgingly accept the diplomatic gifts of multimedia from the superior country, using these as teaching aids to the enthralled younger generations across the rest of the world.

  ‘It’s a once in a lifetime event. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, that’s all. Your grandfather…’ Her voice trembled with the absence of her Suppressitor. ‘Your grandfather and I were planning it for a long time. He had hoped to take you as well. We felt the time was right, he wanted to see the true wonders of life before it was too late. You must have guessed?’

  ‘Well, not really.’ Xandria replied somewhat numbly. ‘I thought he was just getting old. I had no idea he was still planning things, he barely left the house towards the end.’

  ‘Because he didn’t want a reminder of what the world had become,’ Amethyst said gently. ‘He was a great man sitting on the wall between many lifetimes. I trusted his wisdom implicitly. He lived long enough to know the meaning of being human, what’s right and what’s wrong. He participated in more eras of the world than anybody else today.’

  ‘But he was borne of the Old World,’ Xandria replied defensively, ‘he was bound to reflect nostalgically in his twilight years. Anyway, you can’t afford to go on a space trip.’ She found herself cutting short the conversation, cautiously reaching for her Suppressitor. Talk of her grandfather was beginning to sway her equilibrium.

  ‘He put away a considerable amount of money. You seem to forget that it was he who sold the Vapour to the government. Intellectual property doesn’t come cheap, you know.’

  ‘Well, I won’t do it. I won’t change the appointment. You’ll just have to go on this course like everybody else. You can do your space trip afterwards. You’ll get into trouble otherwise and I’m not going to help you pick your way out of it.’

  ‘Fine.’ Amethyst shrugged, trying not to look panicked. ‘I’ll just do the trip afterwards. Pesky bureaucracy. They didn’t have it in the Old World you know…’

  Xandria hung up.

  * * *

  It was past noon when Xandria hopped out of the pod car in front of the gleaming white resin skyscraper. Her journey had been typically efficient and soundless. Pod cars could drive as fast as they desired with no risk of crashing, thanks to clever mechanics that instantly made emergency alterations to a route if a crash was foreseen.

  She strolled into the lobby, squinting as she walked past the dazzling welcome sign reading: ‘LovePotion Incorporated: Harmonising Hearts Since 2084.’

  Henry was perched on one of the only stools in the otherwise sterile looking lobby. The floor and ceiling of the building were the same luminous white resin as the outside. Around her couples walked in and out – most of them for top-ups - blankly clutching each other’s hands, a sign that the potion was working. The potion was mild enough that the only physical manifestation of the newfound love was this and only this.

  ‘How is the aftermath of your announcement?’ She asked as she drew alongside him.

  ‘Let’s not talk business today.’ Henry replied shortly.

  Xandria found herself questioning mentally why she was going ahead with this injection to such a surly man. Alas, it did not take her long to remember that she too would benefit from this, and that millions of other citizens would drastically shorten their lifespan for the opportunity to be affiliated with the Excelsior brand.

  They took the elevator in silence, disembarking together on the hundred and eighth floor. A representative was there to meet them.

  ‘Mr Excelsior, welcome to LovePotion Incorporated. It is a pleasure to have you here.’ The voice came from a small man with a reedy voice. He was dressed homogeneously in linens the same colour as the building. ‘If you’d like to come this way, and you too, Ms Reinhardt…’

  He took them a short distance down the bare corridor. Soft furnishings were too superfluous for a place like this. Everything on a tight schedule with no time to pause and notice the extra touches. There were doors on both sides of the corridor with numbers, increasing in correlation to the floor number. The man stopped at door number 10823 and motioned them inside.

  A woman dressed identically to the man glanced over at the new entrants. The room was cold, consisting of only one resin table and three resin seats all bound to the floor without a visible join. Two vials of clear love potion sat on the table waiting to be titrated into the waiting couple.

  Henry and Xandria sat beside each other, still without a word. Both felt their Suppressitors gently wash them with a fresh dose of serenity.

  The woman sat beside them and began drawing up the potion into two syringes.

  ‘The potion will not take effect until tomorrow,’ she said, injecting Henry first. His face did not change. ‘The initial dose will work for six months. After that you are advised to return for once-yearly boosters. Have either of you ever had this potion before?’

  ‘No.’ Xandria said.

  Henry shook his head.

  ‘I did not think they were necessary until the recent spate of Suppressitor glitches.’ He answered finally. ‘I am a strong person. This potion was formerly best for the bourgeoisie who do not possess my fortitude.’

  The woman said nothing at first. She had heard many sentiments along this vein recently. There had been much panic buying of the potion since Harvey Ebb’s public spectacle. The country was beginning to fear any weakness in their emotional armour.

  ‘Very well,’ she replied, dabbing Henry’s arm and starting on Xandria. ‘As you may know, the batch of potion I have just administered is unique to the two of you. You will be largely protected from the threat of the more virulent form.’

  ‘So what is the risk of cont
racting this?’ Xandria asked.

  ‘Clinical studies over the past thirty years have put the figure at 0.5%.’ The woman said. ‘We think this is a negligible risk, given the ugly alternative. Our potion has developed enormously since the early days; we are better equipped to predict the effects of the drug than ever before. For instance, if this is the first time that you have taken the drug, the initial first four months will be an experience. Nothing that a Suppressitor can’t deal with, so don’t worry. It will be nevertheless a strange period of acclimatization. The body will never have experienced anything like it, so you will feel short bursts of something unusual. Some people barely notice a difference bar a light feeling of affection, some people experience more. Their behaviours towards each other may briefly mimic those of the Old World. This is where your inbuilt constitution will help you. You will see just how strong you really are. In time, your Suppressitor will learn to anticipate the emotion before it occurs. Soon you will be oblivious to its workings.’

  ‘But if Suppressitors can help to flatten out the changes, what happens if one of us gets a glitch?’ Xandria pressed.

  ‘People have been asking that a lot recently,’ the woman answered. ‘We cannot predict when and even if our Suppressitors will break down. How can we be sure of anything until it happens? There is no guarantee. But until then, we must continue as normal. It is our best line of defence.’

  Henry emerged from his thoughts.

  ‘I suppose that if our Suppressitors break then we are in trouble anyway, whether or not we have had the potion administered. It is too late now besides. We will have to hope for the best. I’m still feeling as fine as ever.’ He touched the granite square on his neck briefly.