Life Sketches

After a long afternoon lecturing his advanced class, Simon Wakefield headed to his office in the Time Control Complex. The deep carpet muffled his footfalls, providing a near-silent work environment. On passing, he glanced within each cubicle, observing his life sketchers as they created life…to the Advocacy’s specifications.

On impulse, Simon entered the workspace of his friend Jordan Blackwood, unaccustomed to the absence of the small, gray-haired man at his keyboard.

The tidy cubicle reflected Jordan’s disciplined nature. Simon studied the three photographs pinned to the wall above the monitor. The first one depicted a younger Jordan and his lifemate Martha both smiling, taken on the occasion of their union. The family photo on the right included the Blackwoods’ two daughters. Jordan had added the center photograph recently. It showed the four of them: Martha seated, the girls on either side of her, Jordan standing behind her with his hands resting on her shoulders. They beamed with joy. She carried the son Jordan so desperately wanted.

A shadow filled the cubicle. The diamond-shaped silhouette of Henry Barrett, Director of Time Control, stood in the threshold, his bulk blocking the sunlight from the windows across the passage.

He’ll be back tomorrow, said Henry. Sterilization is a simple procedure.

Simon bristled at Henry’s callousness. It’s cruel. The Advocacy authorized them to have another child and then denied them that child. He’ll never recover.

It’s for the good of society, said Henry in a superior tone. Why should the genetic material for deformation or disease be allowed to proliferate? We can’t waste our limited resources on research for such maladies.

I’m sure Jordan doesn’t share those feelings, said Simon, chilled by Henry’s precise recitation of Advocacy policy. He’s mourning his son.

He knows it’s true, said Henry. Being a life sketcher demands detachment. His objectivity may be colored now, but he understands the necessity of the sacrifices we make in order to live in a balanced society. That’s why Blackwood’s such an excellent life sketcher. He smiled pompously, obviously proud of his speech. Simon recognized it from one of the Advocacy’s training manuals.

What happened to Jordan would shatter anyone’s objectivity. You expect too much of him. He’s not a machine.

No, he’s a life sketcher. Henry chuckled and waddled away.

Henry’s cavalier attitude sickened Simon. Certainly being a life sketcher required an unwavering sense of what benefited society, but they were still individuals capable of subjectivity. He took one more look at the smiling Blackwood family and grieved for his friend.

Simon proceeded to his office. As a unit supervisor, he was entitled to private workspace. He noticed the message symbol blinking in the corner of his monitor. Lillian Sorensen, the other supervisor on the fourth floor of Time Control, requested a private meeting with him on Wednesday morning. On his calendar, he typed, Lillian: AM, stored it, and shut down the computer for the day.

Tidying his desk, he noticed a thick red book with gold trim lying on the corner. What is that? Opening it, he discovered that it was his new agenda. I’ve never seen an agenda like this. Is this some kind of experimental binding?

Two weeks ago he had taken the physical and psychological exams prerequisite to a new agenda being issued. With fewer than ten days remaining in his current agenda, he had expected to receive this, albeit through regular channels and in a standard format.

Flipping open the cover, Simon found a complete set of six Identicards: a personal identification card, an agenda card, an employee card, a meal card, a medical card, and a residence card tucked into a clear pocket. Each bore his name and numbers. He examined them, relieved to find that his numbers remained the same, eliminating the effort of memorizing new ones.

The extraordinary size of the volume disturbed him as well as the fact that it was a bound book instead of a binder. He gasped at its length. Twelve quarters! No one’s life can be scheduled for twelve quarters, certainly not a person with a lifemate and two children! As a former life sketcher himself, Simon understood the complexities involved in creating an agenda. An agenda provided an active, productive, and pleasurable life for every individual. When writing an agenda, a life sketcher cross-referenced the respective agendas of an individual’s family, reviewed his or her work schedule, considered his or her interests and aptitudes, and noted any changes that had occurred or would occur in that individual’s life. Life sketching required close attention to detail and extreme focus on the part of the life sketcher. Errors resulted in chaos.

He glanced at the clock. I should’ve left by now. Grabbing his jacket and tucking the massive tome under his arm, Simon locked his office and headed for the exit on the first floor. He inserted two of his Identicards into the slots on one of the exit kiosks. He heard the faint hum of the scanner as the machine read his information. His employee card opened his work file; his agenda card referenced his agenda then recorded his departure. Both cards emerged with a beep reminding him to retrieve them.

Simon stepped outside into the golden sunshine of a perfect autumn afternoon. The trees wore their warm, autumnal hues and the riotous colors of the flowers bordering the walkways made the walk to the shuttle a visual delight. But the splendor of the day was lost on him. The tragedy of the termination of Jordan’s newborn commanded his thoughts. Nothing will ever be the same for the Blackwoods.

He entered the platform, a spacious elevator with cushioned seats where commuters waited for the shuttle in comfort. The platform’s cleanliness amazed him. The windows bore no streaks or fingerprints. The upholstered seats showed no signs of grime or wear and the carpet was immaculate. Simon felt that the platform, as well as the shuttle, was as clean as his apartment, conceivably cleaner, as the platform and the shuttle were under the constant scrutiny of the Transportation Unit of the Urban Complex.

Simon felt the slight vibration of the approaching shuttle. The doors of the platform closed smoothly and the platform began its ascent to meet the Mass Transit Shuttle or MTS. The platform stopped with no perceptible bump or wobble as the shuttle car glided to a gentle halt, its door precisely aligned with the door of the platform. Both doors slid open simultaneously and riders in the shuttle disembarked. Only then did the passengers on the platform enter the car.

The safety harness lowered over Simon’s shoulders in response to his weight on the cushion. When the riders were seated, the doors closed smoothly, the car slid away on its single track, and the platform descended to ground level.

Secure and comfortable, Simon examined his bewildering agenda. It’s a thousand pages long! That’s not logical. No one’s life is that predictable!

When he was a life sketcher, he had never projected an individual’s agenda for longer than eight quarters; even that was rare. He did not teach his classes to write agendas for longer than eight quarters, only the standard six. But the agenda he held in his hands was for twelve quarters—three years. The reason eluded him. Perhaps Gretchen or one of the children can shed some light on this puzzle.

I don’t think there are any new teachers. A satisfactory idea came to him. This is the work of a new sketcher whose supervisor neglected to critique the work, but that doesn’t explain the binding.

He read the first quarter looking for any significant modifications in his life. Engrossed, he did not notice when the shuttle arrived at its next stop.

It’s cheating to read the end first, said a nearby voice.

Simon looked up at a tall man with a big mustache and a bigger smile. Daniel! What a surprise!

Daniel sat next to Simon; the safety harness encircled him. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. We’re experimenting with shifts at the lab to see if we can improve our efficiency. What are you reading?

My new agenda.

That’s an agenda? Is it for the rest of your life?

It’s for twelve quarters. There’s no reason why anyone should be issued a twelve-quarter agenda. No one’s life is that stable.

Maybe you should take a peek at the end, said Daniel with a grin. Either you’re being groomed for something extraordinary or else the life sketcher who wrote it finds your life painfully dull.

There’s nothing special in the first quarter. Obviously they’re concerned about Michael’s problems. I’m scheduled to visit his teacher. There’s even a list of the appropriate advisories we’re to have with him.

"Do you consult the child guidance material on Advoline?"

Gretchen and I both do, said Simon. I’d hoped the advisories wouldn’t be necessary. We never had to talk to Teresa about her scholastic performance or her attitude. She’s had an accelerated agenda since she was eight. She just turned sixteen and she’ll finish tertiary basics this quarter. Simon tried not to sound too proud of his daughter. She’s excited about receiving her list of career options.

Focused ed at sixteen! said Daniel. A remarkable achievement! I wish my sons were doing as well. Stephen finishes tertiaries next quarter. He’s nineteen. He sounded disappointed.

Finishing at nineteen is within the bounds of acceptability, said Simon. I’ve known people who struggled with their tertiaries until they were twenty-four. He felt it better not to add that finishing the basic, third level of education at nineteen was mediocre at best and that the later one finished, the less desirable and more menial the careers on one’s options list would be. He knew Daniel understood that.

He could’ve done better, said Daniel. He was held back a quarter in secondary because of poor grades and his anti-social behavior. He repeated the quarter, but there was no improvement, so he was enrolled in attitude rehabilitation for three quarters.

Attitude rehab? For three quarters? Everyone knew—or thought they knew—what that meant. He shuddered.

"For the first quarter, we were forbidden any contact with him. During the second quarter we could visit him twice and we could write to him. On our visits, he seemed like a different boy. He missed us and wanted to come home. In the third quarter, we could visit him as often as we wanted, but Amelia and I had to go through parent retraining which absorbed most of our spare hours. We managed only six visits during the third quarter.

It was the most jarring experience of our collective life, continued Daniel, distressed by the thought. Our agendas were suspended and temporaries issued a half-quarter at a time until we were able to function as a family to the Advocacy’s satisfaction. When Stephen came home, it was as though the wrong boy had been returned to us. He was quiet, obedient, studious, courteous. But he had no vitality, no joy. I can’t imagine what happened to him. When I asked him about rehab, he said he’d learned a lot and it turned his life around. He’s an exemplary young man, but he’s not the son I knew.

Simon listened to Daniel’s revelation, fearful that a similar future could await his own son.

He’ll be receiving his options soon, said Simon. Has he given any thought to what field he wants to enter?

Before rehab he had lots of grand ideas: a risk analyst, a journalist, a musician like his mother, an engineer. Now he thinks he’d be happy in Urban Security or dwelling maintenance supervision, or something as menial as a shuttle driver or gardener. These are essential services but far below his potential. I’d hoped he’d want to pursue something more challenging.

Like a career in eugenics?

I’d like for him to share an interest in my field, but I don’t believe he’s suited to eugenics. It’s not likely that it will appear in his options.

It’s not impossible, if his grades are adequate and there isn’t a glut of people entering the field, said Simon. Eugenics could appear in his options as you’re in the field, thus giving him some familiarity with it. Don’t be discouraged. Is Nathan doing well in school?

Very well, but he’s in primaries. Everyone does well in the primaries. It’s a time when everything’s new and exciting. There’s no indication that he’ll continue to do well. His tone became even more distressed.

Is there any indication that he’ll develop a behavior problem? said Simon. You and Amelia have been retrained. You should be able to prevent any difficulty that may arise. I’m not saying that Stephen’s problems were due to faulty parenting, but retraining has proven to be effective. Life sketchers occasionally recommend that retrained parents have another child because they now possess experience and greater maturity as well as retraining.

You’re not serious!

It’s a common practice. I’ve even recommended it myself a few times after weighing all other relevant factors.

Blessed Advocacy! I hope we’re not given that option. Amelia always wanted a daughter, but I can’t wait until the boys are grown. I wouldn’t want to raise another child, would you?

Gretchen and I were given the option to have a third child. I’d go so far as to say that we were strongly urged to do so. We felt we wouldn’t be able to give three children the guidance and attention they’d need. We were both denied promotions because of our decision, but we still believe we made the right choice.

You were denied promotions because you refused to have another child? Is that legal?

There’s no proof, but we’re convinced of it. The Advocacy encourages couples with good physical and emotional health and high Analytical Ability Scores to have three children, occasionally four, but that’s rare. Those who are emotionally unstable, in poor health, or have low test scores are limited to one child or none at all. It’s the primary element in the Advocacy’s plan to improve the health and intelligence of society. Statistics show that since the Revolution, the general health of the population of the Urban Complex has improved and test scores have risen. Our quality of life has improved as a result.

It’s amazing how rapidly society advanced after the Revolution, said Daniel brightening. The last history refresher I took focused on the revolutionary period. Do you know how the agenda system came about?

Simon hesitated, embarrassed at his lack of knowledge of his own field. I can’t describe it in minute detail. he confessed. Surely I learned it in school at some time.

Don’t be embarrassed. Everyone forgets the lessons we learned in secondaries.

Weren’t agendas initially written only for those in power? asked Simon.

Yes. The central government had become ineffective. Agendas were developed for officials as a means to stem corruption in their ranks…

…because if their time was rigidly scheduled, and if that schedule was public knowledge, illegal activities might be curtailed.

Exactly, said Daniel. No secret meetings with groups or individuals who could influence those governing. The people grew tired of representatives who claimed to stand for certain ideals but could be persuaded to exchange those ideals for a price. The idea expanded. Gradually agendas were issued to other groups, until every individual had an agenda, including newborns.

I remember something like that from school, but it’s been so long.

That’s why we take refresher classes. Does your new agenda require a refresher?

Simon consulted the book. The first day.

Take the History of the Revolution taught by Peter Weber. It’s a comprehensive overview of the reasons behind the Revolution.

I’ll consider it. Michael’s studying it now. I’ll look at his textbook.

You won’t regret it, said Daniel. You’ll find how civilization went from chaos to perfection in just a few generations.

It would be perfect, save for Zimm, said Simon. Did you hear what he did last night?

"No. What happened?

A four-tower dwelling complex in Winfield Green was invaded.

A building like ours?

Similar, but newer. Someone carried the recyclables from the basement to the roof and threw them over the side of the building. The authorities said it would take a week to clean up.

Did they catch the invaders? asked Daniel.

No, and the morning news reported that security had spoken to no one who’d seen or heard anything unusual.

That’s impossible! How could anyone carry all the recyclable material generated by 1000 families to the roof without detection? How’d they get in? Was security asleep?

"We’ll have to watch The Family Hour News to see if security has any answers."

Why does Zimm reject our way of life?

I don’t know, said Simon. He’s the only flaw in our otherwise perfect world. Here’s our platform.

The shuttle stopped without a bump or jolt. The doors opened with a slight hiss, the safety harnesses unlatched, allowing passengers to lift the restraints and disembark. Exiting the shuttle, Simon and Daniel took seats on the waiting platform. The shuttle glided away; the platform descended.

They walked to their dwelling complex through a park-like area of lush lawns, stately trees, and flawless walkways bordered with fall flowers and pungent herbs.

I love the walk home, said Simon. It’s so charming and peaceful. If I hadn’t become a life sketcher, I would’ve liked to have been a gardener.

A gardener? I didn’t realize you were so fond of plants. Was that on your list of options?

Nothing even close, but sometimes I wish it had been. I had no interest in plants when I was in school. If I’d had any interest, it would’ve appeared in my aptitude tests. Maybe I’d be in a different field now.

With your Analytical Ability Score, began Daniel, you would’ve been directed into botany or horticulture or landscape design. Something more cerebral than digging in dirt.

I could’ve been the senior director of groundskeeping, laughed Simon. How’s that for a title? I could design and oversee the planting of all of the borders and gardens in the UC. I could direct the workers in the greenhouses and experiment with plant hybrids. It could be as challenging and satisfying as life sketching. More so, because I could point to a new garden and say, ‘this is what I created today.’ The results would be tangible.

Simon stopped and bent down. Have you noticed that the plants are labeled? He indicated a slender rod in the ground with an attached metal tag. This is rosemary. Smell it. He rubbed the plant and smelled his fingers.

Daniel touched the leaves and sniffed his fingers. Nice. Do you know what all of these are?

Not well, but I know the ones I like. Most of these are herbs and they’re perennials. That means they’ll last all year, even living through the winter. They may look as though they’ve died, but they’ll regenerate in the spring.

I didn’t know that, said Daniel.

There’s always something in bloom except in winter, said Simon as they resumed walking. But it’s still beautiful in winter. I love the way the snow sparkles in the sunshine.

Even after the heaviest snowfall, the walkways were always clear and dry. The walkway heaters melted the snow as it fell preventing it from becoming packed and subsequently slippery and dangerous. The well-being of the residents of the Urban Complex was one of the Advocacy’s primary enterprises. Simon smiled in satisfaction, grateful that the Advocacy had provided a risk-free environment.

I appreciate our life more since taking Weber’s class, said Daniel. During the Revolution, a walk like this might’ve been dangerous. We could’ve been beaten and robbed, even killed.

That’s hard to imagine, said Simon steeling himself for another of Daniel’s lengthy recitations.

You can’t imagine what conditions were like 250 years ago. What had been a democratic society devolved into chaos due to the coalition of hundreds of extremist minority groups. Logic and common sense became scarce commodities. Injustice was rampant, the infrastructure decayed, and people were denied basic rights. Government wasted unimaginable resources on unwinnable wars. Discrimination became acceptable. Birth control was outlawed, and as families grew, so did their poverty. As people struggled to feed their children, crime increased. The economy collapsed. Public education was systematically eliminated. Parents were expected to teach their children at home. By the time the fourth generation began to teach their children, the quality of education had declined; the masses were barely literate.

I don’t remember that from secondaries, interrupted Simon doubting Daniel’s outrageous story.

We were too young to learn of such horrors. I learned this in the refresher.

This is the history leading up to the Revolution? asked Simon.

Yes. It culminated in a revolt at an assembly. The leaders made ever-increasing demands on the people, yet told them that their hardship was the result of their lack of faith and dedication.

Simon was skeptical. The people accepted that? That’s hard to believe.

Not when you consider that education had become little more than myths from an old book. Take the class, Simon. We need to embrace our history.

You’ve made it sound intriguing. I’ll think about it, said Simon trying to end the conversation graciously.

As they approached their four-towered dwelling complex, they produced their respective Identicards. Simon inserted his personal ID card, his agenda card, and his residence card into one of the entry kiosks. The scanner hummed faintly.

Name? said a pleasant voice.

Wakefield, Simon, 1717 North.

Cleared for entry. The kiosk returned his cards. The door slid open and he entered the spacious vestibule with Daniel.

Simon entered an open north tower elevator. The door closed and the elevator ascended.

How, with all of the security devices integral to a dwelling complex, could invaders get in and carry the recyclables from the basement to the roof without detection? Are we no longer safe in our homes? The thought disturbed him and he was relieved when the car reached seventeen. He took quick strides down the corridor and at his door, inserted his residence card into the slot provided. The door slid open with a shush and the entry voice announced his arrival.

He hung his jacket in the closet and moved into the common area that served as kitchen, dining room, and living room. He dropped his new agenda on the table wondering why Teresa and Michael had not greeted him. He found them in the study before the computer.

There you are, he said. They turned, surprised to see him.

Daddy, we didn’t hear you, said Teresa. I’m helping Michael with his homework.

How’s it going?

I wish my teacher would explain this in class, said Michael. Isn’t that why he’s a teacher?

Are you paying attention? asked Simon.

My classes are so boring this quarter.

The math isn’t that challenging, said Teresa.

Why do I need this? said Michael.

Simon tried to remember Advoline’s response to such a comment. You may not need it now, but it’s a foundation for other things that you’ll need to know. I hope that’s what I read on Advoline.

That’s what my teacher says. Michael grumbled. Simon was relieved that he had remembered the correct response.

Your mother will be home soon, said Simon. Michael and I are supposed to prepare dinner tonight. Do you have any homework, Teresa?

A little, said Teresa.

Do you need help?

Daddy! she cried in a fit of pique.

Just asking. I’ll help Michael if you want to do your homework. This is game night for the three of us. Your mother’s going out.

Great! said Teresa. "It’s my turn to choose the game, and it’s payback time! I’ll stomp both of you in Speculation!" She grinned wickedly.

"I hate Speculation!" groaned Michael.

I know, said Teresa.

It’s only a game, said Simon. Perhaps you should play together more often.

No way! said Michael.

Never! agreed Teresa.

Truce, truce, said Simon. Let’s get to work. We can resume this debate later.

Once again I will reign victorious, chanted Teresa as she went to her room. Simon took the seat next to Michael.

A little trouble with the math again, Michael?

Teresa makes it seem easy. But when Advocate Francis presents it, it makes no sense.

Show me what you’re doing.

Michael showed Simon the instructions on the program and went through several exercises. Simon offered an occasional comment. You understand the concept, said Simon. You explained the procedure and did the problems with no hesitation.

It’s easy now, but I couldn’t do any of this in class today. It’s frustrating. When I ask a question, the class laughs at me.

Do you need help with any other homework?

No. I have to read my history assignment. We’re studying the Revolution. Sometimes I read ahead because it’s so exciting.

The Revolution was exciting? Simon remembered the horrors Daniel had shared.

Not a good kind of exciting—more of an unbelievable kind of exciting. Before the Revolution, there was a sudden and violent overthrow of the existing democratic government by an alliance of extremist groups. They held book burnings, they burned schools and killed leaders. They decreed martial law. No one was safe. If you refused to profess your allegiance to the new authority, you were imprisoned or executed. The period before the Revolution was called ‘The Regime of Darkness.’

Blessed Advocacy! said Simon. That’s in your book?

Michael nodded. "The reasons for the Revolution were justifiable. The new government banned all forms of birth control and in a few years, people were starving because they couldn’t feed their children. The government refused to help. All around the country, groups of individuals banded together in isolated pockets of civilization. They worked together to feed and support each other in an effort to survive. But the military hunted them down.

"Civilization declined. Cholera and other diseases caused by over-population wiped out millions of people. The government refused to help.

The Revolution started by accident, continued Michael. A speaker at a government-mandated rally told the assembly that they had to work harder and contribute more taxes so the government would have the resources to protect them from the enemy. Someone in the crowd shouted, ‘What enemy?’ The speaker claimed that the enemy was the cause of all of their problems. Someone shouted that the government was the real enemy. Then another person said that they’d support the enemy if the enemy would give them food and medicine. Someone threw a rock at the podium. Then others threw rocks and stuff. The crowd stormed the platform. Security fired their weapons into the crowd and didn’t stop until they ran out of ammunition. No one knows how many were killed, but it must have been hundreds. The crowd killed everyone on the platform. Rioting lasted for days and spread to other communities. All the cities were destroyed. It was total anarchy. Michael paused to catch his breath.

What happened? demanded Simon, caught up in Michael’s enthusiasm. How was order restored? When was a central government reestablished?

Michael’s face fell. I don’t know yet, Dad. I haven’t read that far.

I saw Daniel Hardesty on the shuttle. He recently took a refresher in Revolutionary history and recommended it. You’ve made it sound like something I should know more about.

I hope you do, Dad, said Michael with a grin. History is like reading great stories, but this stuff really happened.

I never looked at it that way. He tried to recall what Daniel had said. We must embrace our history.

It’s important, agreed Michael.

I’ll let you finish your homework.

In the common room, Simon checked the time. Where’s Gretchen? She’s never late. Grabbing his agenda, Simon collapsed into his favorite chair. Before he began reading, he gazed for a moment at the wall mural. He loved the scene of trees, wild flowers, and waving grasses. He frequently used it as an escape, hiking through pastures, stopping to enjoy the flowers, becoming one with the woods. He would envision himself lying in the grass, gazing at majestic clouds floating in the bluest of skies. At other times he made love to Gretchen under the protection of an ancient tree. He smiled at memories of past excursions into the mural, but now he needed to focus on his agenda and search for the reason it covered twelve quarters.

He read quickly through the second and third quarters discovering no major changes in his routine. He found his life satisfactory and favored no alterations. He had just begun the fourth quarter when the entry voice announced Gretchen’s arrival. As she hung her jacket in the closet, Simon set aside his agenda and rose to greet her.

How was your day? he asked giving her a warm hug. He loved the way her lean, firm body felt in his arms. He kissed the short brown hair on the top of her head.

Unusual. When I got to work, I was sent to the HC in Quad One. They had a surge of patients over night and some of the staff are out sick. That’s why I’m late. How was your day?

Fine. No anomalies. Are you hungry? I’ll get Michael and we’ll hydrate dinner.

I’m more tired than hungry. We can make dinner later. I need to relax. You can hold me.

Simon put his arm around her and they sat on the divan. Gretchen snuggled close to him and closed her eyes. I’m glad to be home, she said. I saw Jordan today. I assisted with the surgery.

How is he?

A sterilization requires only a local anesthetic, but the doctor gave him a mild sedative as well. He dozed during the procedure, but he was easily awakened when it was over. I feel so sorry for him. I don’t know how a birth defect could have gone undetected throughout Martha’s pregnancy. Too bad they didn’t find it until after the birth.

Is he going to be all right?

Gretchen hesitated. According to his psychological profile, he should be. But I have my doubts.

How’s Martha?

She wasn’t there. She was sterilized after the birth.

And the girls?

They won’t be sterilized until they’re older.

The viewer hummed and an image of a smiling, middle-aged blonde appeared.

"Good evening and welcome to The Family Hour. I’m Judi Jenkins and tonight we’re visiting the home of Douglas and Nicole Burton."

Visible behind the blonde, a young couple and their infant son sat cozily on a divan. Nicole discreetly nursed the baby. Judi turned to them.

Thank you for allowing us into your home.

It’s an honor, said Douglas.

This is your new son. What’s his name?

Jonathan Douglas Burton, said Nicole proudly. He’s three weeks old.

What a precious child! bubbled Judi. It’s always a delight to see newborns. You’re nursing him. You must have parental leave.

I have four weeks of leave, replied Nicole. When I return to work, Jonathan will accompany me. I’m an accountant for the Bank of the Advocacy. I can continue to nurse at work, for a while at least.

That’s wonderful! gushed Judi. Douglas, what do you do?

I teach computer science at the primary level, he said with a broad smile. I love working with fresh young minds. They’re so eager and there are no ‘can’ts’ in their vocabulary.

I’m going to be sick, said Simon.

Would you like to have more children? queried Judi.

Yes, said the Burtons in unison. They looked at each other and giggled. I love children, said Douglas. I hope the Advocacy lets us have at least two more.

It’s entirely possible, schmoozed Judi. With your background and your enthusiasm, I’m sure you’ll be candidates.

I can’t watch this, said Simon. He stepped toward the viewer and turned down the volume. I’m starting dinner, he announced, moving to the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and grabbed four prepackaged meals. After puncturing the lids in the designated places, he added water through each opening. He shoved the meal packets into the hydrator, set the temperature control and the timer and hit the power button.

What is it, Simon? asked Gretchen approaching him. Does this have something to do with the Blackwoods?

"They were on The Family Hour last quarter. Remember? His voice was hard. Jordan was so happy about having a son. Then the Advocacy….it’s not right."

Now that they’re an ‘S’ couple, they may be able to adopt. They’re intelligent and they have impeccable backgrounds.

I can’t see that happening, said Simon. The Advocacy assigns adoptable children to sterile couples without children. Jordan and Martha have two daughters.

Perhaps an exception could be made due to the Blackwoods’ status in the UC.

Jordan wanted his own son.

He’ll have to live with this, said Gretchen. He needs friends to turn to for support. You’re his best friend. Let him talk to you.

What can I do? I feel so helpless.

Do whatever he needs you to do. If he needs to talk, listen. If he feels like crying, comfort him. I know you’ll do the right thing. She glanced at the viewer. Judi’s nearly through with the interview. Call the children and we’ll eat.

Simon rapped on Teresa’s door and opened it a crack. Dinner’s ready. In the study he found Michael engrossed in his history textbook.

Dinner’s ready.

I’m starved, said Michael. He slammed his book shut. I was supposed to help you with dinner. Is Mom home? I didn’t hear her come in.

She’s been home for a while. She helped me with dinner so you could finish your homework.

What are we having?

Simon couldn’t answer. I’ve no idea, he said, alarmed that he’d been so disturbed by Judi’s interview with the Burtons that he failed to notice what food he had shoved into the hydrator. Let’s find out.

They found Gretchen resetting the timer. The news is about to begin, she said.

Simon turned up the volume on the viewer as the scene changed to the news desk at the Advocacy Media Bureau. An attractive dark-haired woman in her late thirties appeared on the screen. Her countenance was business-like.

Good evening. I’m Martha Blackwood with your news of the day.

Blessed Advocacy! exclaimed Simon. Martha’s reading the news! She should be home with Jordan.

There’s nothing she can do, said Gretchen. He’s resting. He should be able to hydrate dinner, or perhaps Sarah can.

They should be together tonight, he said.

Maybe a med tech escorted him home and is staying with him until Martha gets off work, said Gretchen.

We begin tonight with the invasion of the Winfield Green Dwelling Complex. The new four-tower structure was designed to be invasion-proof yet invaders entered the building during the night, moved several tons of recyclable material from the basement to the rooftop, and threw the material over the side of the building. As Martha spoke, the image changed to show workers picking up the trash from the grounds.

All four towers were invaded in this manner. As yet there are no leads and no witnesses. Authorities suspect the terrorist Ivan Zimm and his followers. Recycling crews say the clean up will take several days.

The oven beeped. Gretchen removed the meal packets and peeled off their covers, dropping them in the sink. Michael poured four glasses of a pale yellow nutritional drink consisting of vitamins, calcium, and protein and placed them on the table. Is Teresa coming? he asked.

I’m here. She emerged from the hallway and took her place at the table.

Martha continued. In a related story, Urban Security is trying to piece together clues in their effort to locate the colony of the terrorist Ivan Zimm. Conflicting reports from the latest kidnap victims hamper the calculation of an exact location. The three men and two women were returned over a week ago and received treatment at the Health Complex in Quad One. Although exhausted and traumatized by their ordeal, they were unharmed. The special anti-terrorism security unit debriefed the victims. In the last two years, dozens of citizens have disappeared for a week to ten days and then returned to the Urban Complex. The accompanying video showed five persons being escorted into the Health Complex.

Taking their respective places, the Wakefields sat down to a nutritionally perfect meal of pasta with meat sauce, green beans, garlic bread, and a crisp cookie.

Martha continued with the news. A spokesman for the Advocacy announced the discovery of a landfill in an area fifty miles north of the Urban Complex. This landfill is considered a major discovery according to landfill reclamation engineer Byron Sorensen. The picture changed from one of rolling prairie to a close up of the man in charge.

Look, said Simon, there’s Byron.

We’ve suspected the presence of a landfill in this area for over a year as we have evidence of a major urban complex a few miles from here, said the blond, sun-browned man. We’ve found rich veins of plastic, aluminum, glass, and steel, which indicates that this is a very old site. If this is as large as other landfills of the same era, it’ll provide raw materials for the UC for decades. Martha reappeared.

Finally in tonight’s news, a spokesman for the UC’s Security Research Unit has announced the creation of a new security device. The hand-held weapon ejects a hollow needle containing a sedative. The sedative is released on contact and is quickly absorbed by the body so security personnel can subdue subjects safely and humanely. The viewer showed technicians firing the weapons at several volunteers who weakened and dropped to the ground.

The spokesman said that those fired upon will assume a sleep-like state and will temporarily lose all muscle coordination.

Martha reappeared briefly. Now we return to Judi and the Family of the Day.

Simon hurried to lower the volume on the viewer. The children gave him puzzled looks as he returned to the table, but he offered no explanation for his action. He looked at the mural. There were no trees behind Byron in the landfill story. Is the mural an accurate representation of what lay beyond the perimeter of the UC? Are there any forests? He wondered what it would be like to walk through a real forest. Being in the woods felt good to him, even if it was only in his mind.

Are you going to eat that, Dad?

Simon snapped back to the present. What?

Your cookie. Are you going to eat it?

Absently he looked at his meal packet. No, you can have it. He pushed the meal packet toward his son who grabbed the cookie. He picked up the red tome from his chair. I have something to show you. This is my new agenda.

That’s an agenda? said Teresa incredulously. I’ve never seen one like that.

Nor have I, said Simon.

How many quarters? asked Gretchen.

Twelve.

I’ve never heard of a twelve-quarter agenda, said Michael, his mouth full of cookie.

There is no such thing…or there shouldn’t be, said Simon. It’s highly irregular right down to the binding. I wanted you to see it. Do any of you have any idea why I should have a twelve-quarter agenda?

Michael looked at Teresa who looked at Gretchen.

No idea, said Gretchen. It’s not realistic.

Don’t ask me, said Michael. I’m only fourteen.

Wouldn’t a twelve-quarter agenda indicate that your life is very stable? asked Teresa.

More like very static, said Gretchen.

More like very dead, said Michael.

Michael! snapped Gretchen.

He’s right, said Simon. No one’s life can be tracked for three years, especially someone with a family. It’s absurd. I’ll have to talk with the supervisor who authorized it.

Maybe it’s a joke, suggested Michael.

That’s a lot of work for a joke, said Teresa.

I want you to give this some thought, said Simon. If you can think of any reason why I should have a bound, twelve-quarter agenda, I want to hear it, no matter how absurd.

Sure, Dad, said Michael.

What did Henry say about it? asked Gretchen.

I doubt Henry knows about it, said Simon. Asking him would be a waste of breath.

The transmission ended; the viewer went blank. I don’t have to deal with smiling Judi again until tomorrow. He had been happy when the Blackwoods had been featured on the daily program, but now he grieved for them. Judi’s segment of The Family Hour left him feeling betrayed.

Have you finished your homework? asked Gretchen.

Almost, said Teresa.

I have some reading to do, said Michael.

I’m leaving soon. Finish your homework before you sit down for games.

I’ll clean up, offered Simon. You can change and the children can study.

What would the Advocacy do if they knew how thoroughly we’ve muddled up our agendas since we’ve been home? said Teresa with subtle sarcasm.

We’d all be executed at sunrise, replied Simon with equal sarcasm.

The children and Gretchen attended to their respective tasks while Simon cleaned up the kitchen. He rinsed the empty meal packet containers and their lids, shook off the excess water, and dropped them into the recycling chute in the kitchen wall. With a damp cloth, he wiped the table and the counter and gave the top of the hydrator a cursory swipe. Then he retired to the common room.

Gretchen returned shortly, having showered and changed into formal attire. As much as I admire and respect Dr. Ingraham, I wish I didn’t have to go, she said pulling on a jacket.

Simon rose and put his arms around her. I wish you didn’t have to go either, he whispered as he nuzzled her neck. "I hate playing Speculation with Teresa."

So do I. She kissed him on the mouth and left.

Simon returned to his agenda. He had read half of the fifth quarter when Teresa appeared carrying a box.

"I’m ready to clobber you at Speculation, she announced as she opened the box, if we can tear Michael away from his history book," she yelled.

Has Michael finished his homework? Simon moved to the table.

He’s been done for a long time. He’s just postponing the inevitable.

I heard that! said Michael as he emerged from the study. Teresa finished setting up the game.

She handed the numbered die to Simon. Roll to see who goes first.

Two, he said. He handed the die to Teresa.

Three, she said.

I can do better than that! exclaimed Michael. He snatched up the die and released it to tumble across the board. Five! he gloated. He picked up the numbered die and the colored die and tossed them.

Good start, said Teresa. Green is easy. She pulled the top card from the green pile and read it aloud. If you found the Identicards of someone you disliked would you see that they were promptly returned?

Michael never had a chance to answer. The shrill sirens of security craft on the grounds below shattered the atmosphere. They rushed to the windows and saw search lights making broad slow arcs across the greenspace of the dwelling complex.

What happened? asked Michael.

They’re searching for someone…obviously, said Teresa with a look of exasperation.

Who?

Maybe Zimm or some of his gang, said Simon. On the news tonight, Martha said that security has renewed its efforts to find Zimm’s colony.

They watched as the treaded security craft crept forward. Agents ran ahead within the vehicle’s powerful lights.

Are we safe? asked Michael.

I don’t believe we’re in any immediate danger. Whoever they’re looking for has fled. Tomorrow we’ll have to be alert to anything unusual. We have no idea what these invaders are capable of doing.

Why can’t they leave us alone? said Teresa.

What do they want? said Michael.

I don’t know, but I’ve noticed a pattern, said Simon. Whenever the Advocacy expands its search for Zimm and the colony, Zimm retaliates. Each time, he seems to be more of a monster than the time before. I’m convinced that if the Advocacy stopped searching for the colony, Zimm wouldn’t invade the UC…but I’m just speculating. He grinned.

The children groaned.

That’s awful, Dad, said Teresa.

They remained at the window until the security crawlers moved out of sight. They returned to their game, but by then, even Teresa’s interest had waned. Periodically one of them would return to the window to monitor any activity below.

I’ve lost interest in playing, said Michael.

I looked forward to this all day, sighed Teresa, but I’m not interested either. When will Mom be home?

She didn’t say, but soon I’m sure, said Simon. Do you want to put the game away?

Yes, said Michael with disappointment.

I guess, said Teresa. She folded the game board and stowed its cards and playing pieces in the box. They stood at the window.

It was past the children’s usual bedtime when Simon sent them to bed amid a flurry of objections. He remained at the window hoping to see Gretchen as she returned.

When she did not come within the hour, Simon began to worry. Two hours later, the entry voice announced her arrival, awakening him. He rushed to her.

Are you all right? Where have you been?

I’m fine, she assured him, falling into his arms and clutching him fiercely.

What happened?

"I was on the shuttle when the lights went out. The shuttle coasted to a stop. It was dark and a few riders panicked because the safety harnesses were locked in place. We were trapped like that for close to thirty minutes. It was hard to breathe.

When the lights came on, the shuttle moved. A security unit boarded at the next stop. They checked our cards and questioned us. Simon…they were looking for terrorists. She buried her face in his chest and wept.

Blessed Advocacy! gasped Simon.

Why is this happening? she cried. Is the Advocacy failing us?

Of course not, he said, sharing her concern but unwilling to feed it. We owe our way of life to the Advocacy. It’s given us the perfect world.

When the alarm chimed the next morning, Simon reluctantly released Gretchen and reached to shut it off. He dropped his head onto the pillow and groaned. Gretchen pulled the covers over her head and Simon put his arm around her.

They nestled together for several minutes. Would you like to skip exercising this morning? mumbled Simon.

I’d love to stay in bed with you, said Gretchen, but a good workout will wake us up—get the blood and oxygen flowing. If we skip our exercises, we’ll be less than alert all day.

We went to bed so late, said Simon. It seems that staying in bed would make more sense.

They got up, changed into workout attire, and exercised in the common room under the direction of a fit and glowing couple on the viewer. After thirty minutes, their exercise period concluded. Simon felt awake and refreshed, ready to face a new day.

After showering and dressing, they went to the kitchen where Michael and Teresa were hydrating breakfast.

Mom! cried Teresa rushing to hug her, where were you last night?

Did something happen at the ceremony? asked Michael.

Gretchen smiled. I’m fine, but I feel like there’s a dark cloud over me.

What happened? insisted Teresa.

The ceremony was lovely, said Gretchen. No one deserves to be honored more than Dr. Ingraham for his service and dedication. It was the trip home… Her voice trailed off.

Remember the security unit we saw last night? said Simon. They were looking for terrorists.

Security must’ve shut off the power to the shuttle, said Gretchen. We were trapped inside. It was stifling. The power was restored. When we got to the next stop, security boarded. They questioned us—they intimidated us—they asked stupid questions and made unreasonable demands of the passengers. They arrested a woman who protested. We were at their mercy. They enjoyed abusing their authority.

Blessed Advocacy, Mom, said Michael. You’re not a terrorist.

Why would they do that? asked Teresa.

Desperation, said Simon. These attacks have been going on for weeks. There’ve been no arrests, and security seems powerless to stop the invasions. Their intimidation is an effort to appear in control.

I see the logic behind that strategy, said Gretchen, but their threatening behavior won’t earn them respect from the public.

Nobody likes bullies, said Michael.

Gretchen and Michael cleaned up the kitchen while Teresa used the bathroom—each detail dictated by their respective agendas.

As the others completed their morning routines, Simon watched the viewer. A dark-haired man with a formal demeanor delivered the news.

Good morning. Today is the sixteenth day of the fourth quarter. The time is 0700 hours. Last night security units were called to investigate a prowler in the Redstone Gardens sector of Quadrant Two.

Simon recognized the image of the park-like area in front of his dwelling complex. Security agents and crawlers swarmed over the greenspace.

Several residents reported seeing a man acting suspiciously, running across the grounds and hiding behind trees. No suspects were apprehended, however persons were detained on various agenda violations. UC Security advises all citizens to proceed with caution as you leave for your daily activities. If you have any information concerning this incident, contact UC Security.

Simon looked out the window. He saw two security crawlers and perhaps ten uniformed agents searching the area. He left the window and found Gretchen in Michael’s room stuffing clothes into a bag.

Security is outside, he said. I heard on the news that there was a prowler in the area last night.

Gretchen looked at him. I don’t know whether to feel safe or not.

They’re only doing their job, said Simon.

After the way they treated us last night, they’re not doing it very well.

Simon changed the subject. What’re you doing?

Michael’s out-growing his clothes. I’ll drop off this bag at the Exchange on my way to work and pick up replacements on the way home. He likes these so much, I hope they have something similar in a larger size. She pulled the drawstring on the bag.

I’ll carry that for you, he said. Together they walked down the hall to the front door. He grabbed his agenda from the table in the common room.

The entry voice spoke. It’s 0720 hours. The temperature is 57 degrees with breezy conditions. Take medium weight jackets.

Children, time to leave, called Gretchen as she pulled jackets from the closet.

Teresa emerged from her room carrying her school materials. Michael’s still in the bathroom, she said taking her jacket.

Are you feeling all right, Teresa? asked Gretchen. You look tired.

I didn’t sleep well last night.

Michael hurried from the bathroom. I’m here. He slipped on his jacket as Simon touched the door panel. The Wakefields headed toward the elevator. Outside, they exchanged hugs and kisses and went their separate directions.

Simon enjoyed the crisp autumn air as he walked to the shuttle bound for the Hub, the center of the Urban Complex. He boarded the nearly full platform and as he sat down, it began its slow, gentle rise.

As usual during the morning transit, the shuttle was near capacity. In spite of the crush, Simon finished reading the fifth quarter of his agenda on the way to work.

When he arrived, he inserted three of his Identicards into the kiosk at the building’s entrance. The scanner’s voice cleared him for entry; the door slid open with a soft hiss.

At his desk, Simon accessed his to do list on his monitor. Only two items were listed: Lillian Sorensen had requested to see him, and his advanced life sketching class met in the afternoon. No staff meetings. Maybe I can get through the day without seeing Henry.

He printed the list of individuals who needed new agendas. Along with every name and ID number came details of the anomalies associated with each person during his or her last agenda period as well as any foreseeable events.

As the printer spat out its pages, Simon collected the stack of assignments he had made the previous day and went to the main room to hand-deliver them to the forty life sketchers whose work he directed. Simon acknowledged that this was not the most efficient way to distribute the assignments. He could remain in his office and transmit them via Time Control’s network, but he preferred daily contact with his sketchers.

He believed that making himself available to his sketchers was essential to a sound working alliance. If he took steps toward creating a collaborative work environment, he would be less likely to have disgruntled sketchers. Theirs was probably the most important job in the Urban Complex: providing the essential structure that every person needed. The benefits of an agenda were in living a productive, focused life for one’s entire life. Every individual can point to specific accomplishments and expertise in a particular field. At 40 years of age, no one can wonder, what have I done with my life?

Simon spoke with each of his life sketchers for a few moments about work, occasionally inquiring about the sketcher’s family. After their chat, he presented the assignments and moved to the next cubicle. He had nearly completed the circuit when he approached Jordan’s cubicle, uncertain if he would find him there. Sterilization was a simple procedure, but would he have recovered sufficiently to return to work? He entered the cubicle and recoiled. Jordan turned, gazing at Simon with haunted eyes. His face had a ghastly pallor. His slight frame sagged as though he was too exhausted to sit upright. Simon almost asked what this stranger was doing in Jordan’s workspace, but realized that this frail old man was Jordan.

I’m surprised to see you, said Simon.

Obviously.

How are you feeling?

Jordan sighed deeply, considering the question. There are no words for how I feel, Simon. None.

Are you well enough to be working?

I’m a little tired, but my counselor at the Health Complex advised me to return to my regular agenda as soon as possible.

Perhaps you should have stayed home today, Jordie, suggested Simon. You can’t do your best work when you’re exhausted.

I need to be here, Simon. It’s an escape from the horror of home.

Simon put his hand and Jordan’s shoulder. I am so sorry about this.

Jordan looked away, focusing on his monitor. It’s for the good of society, he said evenly.

His comment chilled Simon. I’ll see you later, Jordie. Deeply shaken, he dropped the assignments on the desk and fled the cubicle. He hurriedly delivered the assignments to the remaining life sketchers with little more than perfunctory greetings to them.

In his office, Simon grabbed the still-warm stack of printouts and slammed them down on his desk. He stared at them, his mind tormented by his encounter with Jordan. What did they do to him? He doesn’t look like Jordie. He doesn’t act like Jordie. There’s nothing left.

His mind churned and it was several minutes before Simon could force his attention on his work. Today’s list was relatively short—only 234 names. He sorted them into categories, determining which persons would receive standard or near-standard agendas. These he assigned to his life novice sketchers. To his intermediate sketchers, Simon assigned the agendas of persons whose lives were undergoing major changes but changes that were expected and within normal parameters. The most exacting agenda assignments went to the senior sketchers like Jordan Blackwood, who had taken life sketching to an art. Jordan possessed the perfect balance of compassion and toughness, inherently knowing when to ease a person through a trauma and when to use a major life change as a vehicle for growth. His innate talent awed Simon. Jordan could have been a supervisor long ago, but life sketching was his passion. He had recently refused another supervisory position, however he agreed to teach three advanced training sessions a week.

Simon strived to make the workload equitable. He worked for over an hour, but his anxiety over Jordan gnawed at him. He checked the time: 1024 hours. Under the circumstances he felt it was not too early for a break. He would take Jordan to the lunchroom for something hot and restorative.

As he left his office, an abnormal gloom settled across the main room. He heard