Induction
-A short story in the universe of George Orwell's 1984
A man woke slowly from the deep sleep that had befallen him. Such sleep came easily now. Shaking his dark brown hair to clear it from his face, he started to become more aware of his surroundings. He slowly and quietly rose from his bed, wondering what had woken him. The telescreen had not yet blared its piercing alarm and the sun was not yet shining through the pitiful curtains covering the only window in his apartment. Through sheer force of habit, he walked into his apartment's restroom, searching for the relief he knew should be there. Instead, he found his vicodone bottle lying empty in the sink; two weeks too early. Shuffling his way into the bigroom, where the main telescreen was located, the man whispered "Robert56-621 is repting for mornexer," to the device on the wall.
"plusgood," it, or at least the man monitoring it, replied, "start stretch."
Robert56-621 nearly let out a groan, but instead, he held it in. Any deviation at all from the standards of society would lead to near-instantaneous punishment; and punishment in this world was never to be taken lightly. He could be sent for years to a forced labor camp, sent to the Ministry of Love, or even killed right there. The telescreen did not just contain sophisticated camera and microphone equipment, it contained a few instruments of death-dealing as well; most of the newer ones did. Robert56-621, with his bad luck (the Party insisted that it was plusgood), had received one of the largest models, complete not only with the highest technology in video and sound (and the recording of both), but with a hidden array of deadly neurotoxins, a high-amperage electrocution system, and a small caliber micromachine gun; all of which could be deployed on the operator's command.
Robert56-621, 'Rob', as he always liked to think of himself as, tried to stay away from the sinister electronic as much as possible, for even being numb to the world didn't completely remove his hatred for the Party. Beginning the initial regiment of light stretches, Rob performed the required exercise regimen for all Party members.
"doubleplusgood comrade. leave to work."
Rob, having no intentions of dying, regardless of the relief it would bring, did as commanded, taking the Tube Station to work that day. Rob worked in the Ministry of Truth, Proletarian Control Department, officially known as "minitrue proledep". Upon entering his assigned station, Rob immediately found that he had three assignments on his agenda that day. Mentally groaning, he examined the assignments. He was to edit an old song long loved by the proles, proclaim the week's lottery numbers, and distribute the prizes accordingly. He decided that it would be best to announce the lottery numbers later, for it was barely seven hours on the clock. He knew, from past experience, that if any Proletarian missed the Numbers Announcing, they would usually commit some act of violence. Not that I care about the proles anyway, thought Rob.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind then alarm bells began tolling inside Rob's mind. He knew he wasn't supposed to be thinking. In fact, he was one of the very few people who still had any knowledge of oldspeak. He didn't know how she knew, but his mother taught him oldspeak when he was very young. As a child, even before he was allowed into the Spies, he had completely communicated in oldspeak; but when he was registered as a Spy, his mother forced Rob to hide away his knowledge. But even with this precaution, they got to her. They always did. They also took him away to a place he only had very vague memories of. All he could remember was being consistently tired and angry inside of some kind of gray-walled room. Only later in life had Rob learned that that place was the Ministry of Love, and they had studied him. For what, he wasn't sure, but the Party always made sure that he lived well; at least, they ignored his addiction for the time being.
Rob shook his head to help clear his mind of past events. He then activated the new speakwrite on his desk so as to hear how the song he was supposed to be editing sounded. He did not know if this was standard procedure or not, but he knew that it consistently produced acceptable results. At least, that's what he was told. In truth, although no real vestige of truth existed anymore in Oceania, proledep's work was mostly done away with, except during Hate Week. Finally, as the tune played weakly over the pitiful speaker, he remembered the old song. It went:
It was a hopeless fancy,
It passed like an April day,
But a look and a word and the dreams they stirred
They have stolen my heart away.
They say that time heals all things,
They say you can always forget;
But the smiles and the tears across the years
They twist my heartstrings yet.
He couldn't simply translate the verses into newspeak, as proles spoke only a fractured version of the convoluted language. The task of editing the song, he decided, was simply another example in the long series of tests the Party provided him with. Instead of editing the words directly, he changed the meter and rhythm and increased the tempo. "That's enough," he thought, "the proles can't be that picky. After all, they've stuck with the song for a couple hundred years." Rob reviewed the thought in his mind before deciding it was relatively inapplicable. Time had become a very relative concept since Oceania had conquered Eurasia. Just because the Party said it was currently the year 2297 did not necessarily make it so. He distinctly remembered, (for the principles of doublethink were lost on him) several days preceding Hate Week the work hours lasted far longer than the standard sixty minutes.
After Rob finished editing the song, he decided that, early or not, it was time to announce the lottery numbers. Once Rob arrived in Lottery Square, he beheld thousands of proles all gathered for the lottery results of the month. The unique feature of this assignment was that Rob was required to make the announcement in the proles strange mixture of New-and Oldspeak, perhaps explaining why he was allowed to keep his knowledge of the disused language. He waited for around fifteen minutes for the stragglers to arrive, and then read off the winning numbers slowly. As he did so, the people in the crowd alternately cheered and groaned; the reading always put the proles into unified state of frenzy. When the last number dropped from Rob's lips, a single prole in the middle of the crowd yelled in a state of unparalleled excitement. He rushed, yelling, up to the stage on which the Lottery Committee, and Rob, stood. Once there, a Committeeman confirmed that he had won and helped him up onto the stage. The man announced his name to the crowd and formally accepted his winnings, which was five-thousand dollars and a certificate for two months of extra rations.
Rob then turned away, almost feeling sick, as the Committee announced the winner (invented, of course) of the Massive Multiplier, who was, presumably, informed the previous day. He never liked deceiving anyone, aside from whoever monitored the telescreen, and thus felt horrible every time he had Lottery duty. The Committeemen may be smiling now, but he knew the winner would somehow vanish both physically, as well as from everyone's memories within a week. After all of the announcing was finished, Rob returned back to his workstation to check if anything more had come in to do. As no new tasks had arrived, he decided to take a lunch break at a local restaurant he particularly enjoyed, The Hickory Highrise. All restaurants served were different takes on the Party's sub-par, and sometimes even revolting, rations; but, Mister Hickory somehow managed to stock and sell certain other products which kept his customers returning, completely under-the-table. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be known by that name, but the regulars in the restaurant always insisted on it, regardless of what the Party thought. Today, though, something was different. Mr. Hickory served the food as usual, but it lacked a certain ingredient. Mister Hickory also seemed nervous and paid somewhat more attention to Rob than perhaps was typical.
"Mr. Hickory food plusgood." Rob said, thinking it might calm the proprietor down some, even though he himself was slowly becoming more agitated as the day went on. He seemed to be somewhat relieved, so Rob continued his meal. Once finished, he assisted Mister Hickory in cleaning up his table, and then he left in the direction of the Ministry of Truth. Just as Rob exited the restaurant and the door swung closed, a nearby emergency stairwell door opened and an Inner Party member emerged; he was about the same size as Rob, but looked quite a bit stronger and had blonde hair as well. The jet black overalls only emphasized his appearance of being overall a man not to be trifled with. Rob took in all of this in the blink of an eye. In that instant, the man approached Rob, and stooped a little so his face was exactly level with Rob's. He then seemed to study Rob for a few seconds, then he thrust a small box into Rob's hands; after which, the unknown man ran off, seeming to disappear.
Rob opened the lid of the box, revealing a somewhat long, neatly typed note; strangely, it was all in oldspeak. It read:
Greetings, Robert56-621. It has recently come to the Party's attention that Roderick18-719 (a.k.a. "Mister Hickory") has participated in some activities that are against the Party's policies. His standard punishment would be vaporization; however, given the circumstances, we thought it best to perform an unusual punishment through you. Included in this box is a small mechanical device. On this apparatus are three features of note. 1) The screen. A small screen is built into this apparatus to display three items. A timer, a current entry section, and the number of chances you have before the timer accelerates. 2) The 'red' button. Should you decide to inflict the punishment upon Roderick18-719 early, then simply open the small cover and press this button. 3) The Numberpad. Should you attempt to rescue Roderick18-719, use this keypad to enter your guess at the answer to the question.
The device is linked to an explosive device implanted within the walls of the Hickory Highrise. You have three options here: First, you may simply destroy the building and kill everyone inside, while protecting Roderick18-719. Alternatively, you may attempt to rescue the occupants within the building, while simultaneously activating Roderick18-719's Suicide Chip. The final option is to attempt to rescue all those involved. To do so, you must use the device to enter the answer to this question: How long has Big Brother and, by extension, the Party existed?
You have fifteen minutes from when the device is removed from the containing box to make your decision. If these fifteen minutes are allowed to elapse with no action taken on your part, not only will all those within the Hickory Highrise be killed, but you as well.
Rob immediately pocketed the note and examined the apparatus inside. It was roughly square with the features described. As he looked at the device, Rob thought that he should try to save everyone involved, but it would be much easier to disregard the event and kill everyone; it wasn't as though he really knew any of them, friends were not allowed in Oceania. However, there was no other place Rob knew of that could fuel his less-than legal habit. To that end, Rob decided he must try to answer the question. The answer that would be correct by Party standards would be forever, when in reality they only had existed for a few centuries. He sat for many minutes, staring at the device, thinking over the question in his head. Why the hell am I going through this? Rob thought, there are people in there who buy meals there far more often than I do. As he thought, an idea formed, just on the verge of his awareness. Suddenly, it appeared fully fledged in his mind: I never have to remove this device from the box! As the thought passed, Rob decided it was definitely the impulse he should act on. Rob gingerly closed the lid on the box and, perhaps a little faster than normal, walked home. Now was not the time to trust the Tube Station. Once there, he hid the box from the telescreen, went into his room and tied the container shut with some spare threads gathered from his blanket.
Because his break was nearing its end, Rob decided that it was probably best if he returned to work. Once he arrived at his workstation, he found a few items awaiting his attention. One was the Lottery Committee's new scheduling notice. Another was a report that Eastasia had fired more rocket bombs into Airstrip One than was ever previously recorded. The third notice was a reminder of the department-wide project involving a near-complete overhaul of Proletarian living. The Party wanted two new songs, a new liquor variety to be distributed, four new interior theme designs, and three new types of either tools or appliances to replace older, but not necessarily less efficient, models. Rob really did groan this time, realizing that this make-over would require at least a few weeks' worth of uninhibited effort.
The next few weeks of work proceeded apace for the four people in proledep. Although there were a few hiccups here and there, normally with cross-referencing historic tools and songs the proles have had, the entire overhaul went pretty smoothly. During that time, the apparatus given to Rob by the mysterious Inner Party member simply sat on one of his empty shelves, the books having long since been traded away to provide for more vicodone. It was only during the finalization of the new liquor variety that the subject ever crossed Rob's mind. While he was sitting at his workstation sampling three different straight varieties, as well as mixing them to create his own, savoring every drop of the nearly empty bottles, another slip of paper fell from Rob's assignment chute. It was another neatly typed note, identical aside from the content to the previous one. It read:
Greetings again, Robert56-621. It has come to the Big Brother's attention that you have made a very unorthodox, but not entirely unavailable, choice regarding Roderick Hickory's punishment. Because this option was selected, Big Brother has ordered that certain information should be revealed to you. The apparatus given to you has been removed from your residence, replaced by this information. Expect further contact.
Rob finished the note with a feeling of dread. He didn't want to be entered into the affairs of the Party—they were very dangerous people. All he wanted was to live his life as he had been for the past ten years since his mother was vaporized; in pain and halfway delirious.
Finishing the bottle of vodka sitting in front of him, Rob got up and headed straight to his apartment, wondering what Big Brother could possibly want him to know. Arriving, he found a note typed the same way as the others neatly placed onto his shelf, exactly where the box had been.
Greetings once more, Robert56-621. Big Brother has decided to reveal that Roderick18-791 is your biological father, perhaps explaining why he was providing you with illicit products. Due to your indecision regarding the previous test, Roderick18-791has been taken to Room 101 of the Ministry of Love, The Hickory Highrise has been destroyed, as well as those within. Expect further contact.
"No!" Rob shouted, "This can't be happening…" No one knew what was in Room 101, but it had a reputation. He ran to the Tube Station and found The Hickory Highrise no longer existed as a stop, and the Conductor of the train had no idea what Rob was talking about when asked. Returning home, Rob picked up his vicodone bottle and found it only had one dose left. Taking the pills, Rob turned inward, thinking, "This was the worst possible outcome… I don't… and there's gonna be more… that's what… they said" before passing out from the medicine.
Rob woke the next morning, crawling his way from the floor to a standing position. He had had hangovers previously, but this was the last time. "Mister Hick—my father—can't give me any more…" he thought. During the required morning stretches, he decided that he had to help his father somehow, if only there was a way. After a few weeks of uneventful work and no progress made toward researching Room 101, Rob began to lose hope about ever finding or helping his father. He only had one clue to go on—the Ministry of Love was the location.
Another month passed without too much significant happening, aside from Rob's addiction slowly disappearing. Along with this came more pain than he had ever felt; oftentimes, Rob would wake from nightmares involving Mister Hickory serving him food before the restaurant exploded violently, killing all inside. At his job, Rob was working on tracking down Anti-Hate Media (as it was named recently) with the vague goal of destroying it, when hope disguised as a notice fell through the chute above his desk. It read:
From: Kevin12-665 (miniluv-admin17)
To: Robert56-621 (minitrue-proledep2)
Message: bb order transfer you minitrue miniluv post hate week
As he read this, a sense of foreboding settled upon Rob, immediately making him more alert. The meaning was quite simple: Big Brother ordered that he should be transferred from the Ministry of Truth to the Ministry of Love, effective after Hate Week. Why, exactly, was the question; Rob had been working in the Proletarian Department of the Ministry of Truth for nearly eleven years of his life. It could only be the fallout from the Hickory incident that he would be transferred. But being transferred was, perversely, exactly what he wanted; he would be able to look for information on Room 101 there.
Hate Week, as always, was a massive event. It wound up lasting instead for eleven days this year. During that time, there were parades of supposedly Eastasian war criminals, massive Hate Speeches, and several banquets focused on breaking down opposition toward Big Brother. Rob, who was never much of a crowd person, mainly stayed in his apartment, avoiding every piece of Hate material in circulation. As was tradition, the Hate Song played endlessly over the telescreen while it flashed images of Emmanuel Goldstein and hundreds of his alleged followers. At the end of the event, the entire Party was required to attend the Big Brother Buffet, an all-day feast focused on loving and supporting Big Brother and his followers. Rob, no longer believing in love, simply sat in his apartment, attempting to drown himself with a bottle of vodka he swiped from an earlier celebration in Hate Week. At ten hours, the telescreen in his apartment began blaring a siren and flashing endlessly ROBERT 56-621 HERE NOW. When Rob arrived in front of the screen, an Inner Party member appeared onscreen and began speaking. "Robert56-651, you are not attending the required banquet. This would ordinarily result in death or another severe punishment. In light of current circumstances, one "Mister Hickory" has been promised more pain. Otherwise, now is the time your instructions for tomorrow will be given." He paused for a moment before relaying them. "You are to report at the front gate of the Ministry of Love at no later then seven hours; then, you will proceed inside to the reception area where a package will be awaiting you on the desk. This package contains your assignment. Do you understand?"
Rob lazily nodded his understanding, then waited, a little irritated, for further instructions. However, the Inner Party member disappeared off the screen, revealing instead a picture of Big Brother with text that read:
WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
FAILURE IS VICTORY
The next day, Rob rose earlier than was usual from sleep. He figured it was best not to antagonize the Inner Party, regardless of how he felt, thus forcing him to decide that arriving at the miniluv as early as possible was best. Upon arriving, he found that it was well that he came early. The entire way to the entrance was almost completely blocked with all sorts of traps ranging from simple fencing and razor wire to long stretches of buried explosives. Fuming that he no longer had vicodone, Rob traversed the deadly array, emerging with only a bruised knee and a few cuts. Inside, he found that the entryway of the Ministry was fairly straightforward. There were no windows, but a seemingly sourceless light illuminated the area evenly, negating shadows and making everything appear flat. The reception area mentioned was practically in the front door, but the desk was a few hundred feet away in a corner. There was no attendant at the desk—in fact; there wasn't even a place for one. The package was on the desk, just as explained. There was a note on the outside that read:
This contains your new assignment, Robert56-621. Please report immediately.
In keeping with his new philosophy of not antagonizing the Party overmuch, he opened it up at once. Inside was a simple card that denoted a room number—2302. Rob guessed that he needed to take an elevator to get there and found that one was just behind the desk. Inside were hundreds of buttons, each representing a different floor or part of a floor. He pushed the button labeled '23' hoping that it would get him in the general area of Room 2302.
The elevator ride took nearly ten minutes. Afterward, Rob exited onto what he presumed to be the twenty-third floor. The room straight across from him was labeled '2300'. To the left was '2299' and so on, and to the right was 2301. As he looked on down the hallway, he found that the numbering simply skipped 2302. It simply went from the rooms labeled '2301' to '2303'. His thinking muddled, he stepped back onto the elevator, searching more closely for a button that might take him to room 2302. He searched fifteen floors before noticing that the onboard telescreen was flashing a specific message for him: THAT WHICH YOU SEEK IS ALWAYS BELOW. As he read it, the screen flashed back to its static display of the four Party slogans. Rob assumed the mystery message meant the elusive room was on the bottom floor and pressed the button labeled '384'. After waiting a further twenty minutes for the elevator to arrive, he found that this floor did not encompass room 2302. Instead, all of the rooms there were labeled with the numbers 0001 to 0020. Damn it. I can't do this. Glancing upward, he noticed a crudely painted arrow bearing the number 2302 on the ceiling, pointing back to the elevator.
Rob reentered the elevator and scoured every inch of the metal box for any trace of the correct button. After ripping up the threadbare carpet, Rob found a button labeled '2302' embedded in the floor. "Those bastards are full of tricks," he thought. He jammed his finger on the button, irritated that it took him over an hour to solve so simple a puzzle. The elevator clunked strangely and shifted in a direction Rob had not yet traveled. Then, the doors opened with the same tinkling sound that every other floor made. On the opposite side of those doors was a singular stretch of hallway. And at the end was a door labeled with the number 2302.
He walked up to the door and knocked on it tentatively, wondering what exactly would happen. The door opened immediately, revealing a relatively comfortable living area with a few annexes leading off of the main room. He started walking around the apartment, wondering what he was doing here. As he crossed the threshold of the bedroom door, a deep and grave voice sounded from the darkness, entirely in oldspeak.
"This is what awaits you." Then a man walked forward. He was not dressed in the shabby clothing denoting a Proletarian, but neither was he dressed in overalls; rather, he was dressed in a black business suit of centuries passed. This man stood around six feet tall and was well-muscled. He seemed to emit some kind of aura of mysterious power, drawing Rob in.
"Sorry?"
"Allow me to rephrase. This room signifies what could be your future, should you choose to accept the challenge." the man replied.
"What?"
"You must answer me two questions, unless you would like to live with the knowledge that you reshaped your father's very existence."
Rob's blood ran cold at that remark. This man, whoever he was, wasn't just threatening the life of Mister Hickory—he was threatening to vaporize him. "I can try—no, I will answer these questions," Rob said, determined to set things right.
"Very well." said the man, "Until I decide to pose these questions to you, you will have to be content with living as an Inner Party member for the time being."
"I…what?" Rob replied, confused. He had always been an Outer Party member, and while proles were occasionally allowed into the Outer Party, no one ever became Inner Party. "Why I am being offered this?"
"It is not an offer," replied the man, his voice hardening somewhat. "Take this keycard; once you get to the InterTube Station Platform, insert it into the location operator. It will take you to your new residence. In anticipation of your… agreement, we took the liberty of moving your few possessions there already." The man finished here with a sense of finality, obviously not expecting any further conversation to occur.
Rob did as he was told, taking the Tube Station to his new home. Once there, he decided to look around. His new house was between two others, but, at least from the outside, his seemed to be the best in terms of quality. Inside, it was at least thrice the size of his old apartment. Previously, he had a simple floor plan, but now, he had no idea where to begin it was so comparatively massive. Thus, he decided that it would be best to just explore the new house, as he had no knowledge of any other responsibilities that awaited his attention.
The house was huge by Rob's standard. It had three bedrooms, a full kitchen, a large dining room, a living room, four bathrooms, and an office. Rob went to the master bedroom and found that another note was lying on the bed atop several new pairs of black overalls. The note was rather short and simply outlined Rob's new living and working schedule. The working schedule came as a surprise to Rob. It detailed that he need only work four days of the week for about five hours. Rob, who had spent most of working life skiving from work as much as possible, felt two opposite feelings. One, he felt relieved that he would have almost no work to do; but, conversely, he wondered why Big Brother was allowing him more free time. After he was done exploring his house, Rob felt strangely tired. "Do I not work tomorrow? That would be nice considering the circumstances," Rob thought. He looked at the schedule again and found he did not. That night, he wondered how he was going to be able to occupy himself over the next few weeks.
The next day, he woke much later than he was accustomed to; he roused himself at nearly nine-hundred hours. Typically, the telescreen would have let out a high-pitched whistle at around six-hundred hours to wake everyone for working. Rob felt a moment of panic at his surroundings before recalling all of the previous day's events. Once he finally cleared his aching head, Rob decided to see what other new accommodations awaited his inspection; specifically, the ones in the kitchen. He descended a floor to the roomy kitchen and opened the pantry, not expecting to find what he did. He found all sorts of top-quality food, from real sugar and flour to whole grain bread. The full inspection of the kitchen took him around fifteen minutes; his hunger drove him to eat only a simple meal of buttered (Rob had been astounded to find real butter in the refrigerator) toast and eggs.
An uneventful week passed before Rob even considered the events which took place upon his visit to the Ministry of Love. As he opened his refrigerator, he wondered why the mysterious man was wearing non-Party clothing and spoke Oldspeak, a very non-Party thing to do; yet, this man clearly had authority over what happened in people's lives. He seemed dangerous; how could this person impact so much while not following laws?
Caught up in his musings, it took Rob a few moments to notice that a typed note, similar to all the rest, was hanging from one of the refrigerator's shelves. It read:
Greetings Robert56-621. Big Brother has once more encountered an issue which we thought you may well be able to resolve. It has come to our attention that the other remaining member of your family, your brother, one Frederick0-5-2145, is causing problems among his fellow Proletariat. He has been providing goods which are categorized as Party-Only to a well-developed group of people. To punish all those involved, we believe it would be best carried out through you as your first Love mission that all Inner Party members must carry out.
Unusually, Big Brother has decided that you are allowed a choice of ways to complete this assignment: 1) You may speak with Frederick0-5-2145 in order to simply negotiate either his compliance or cessation of existence. This option is not recommended, as exposure to the Proletariat is considered dangerous. 2) You may use the attached device to activate Frederick0-5-2145's suicide chip, as well as all those involved in his crime. 3) You may ignore this message and perish along with all other guilty members in this crime.
Rob's heartbeat increased. He didn't remember ever having a brother, but he decided that it could be possible. It seemed there was no easy way out of this challenge, as there seemed to be last time. He knew that he would have to speak with this Frederick in order to minimize casualties. It would be much easier to simply kill all those involved, but what if this person really was his brother?
Rob picked up the small device the note was attached to. It was a small dongle with a single button inlaid into its plastic surface. Rob twirled it around his fingers and thought "It is interesting that so small a piece of equipment can cause so much destruction, even if they are proles. Wait… Frederick can't be my brother; he's a prole!" After considering the situation for a few hours, Rob decided that the simple solution was easiest. He wasn't going to go out of his way to protect lesser humans, especially when they had no relation to him at all.
"Good bye," Rob whispered, and pressed the button.
Immediately, the telescreen nearest him began playing a piercing alarm, forcing Rob to view it. There was a message:
The Upper Party has requested that you travel to the Ministry of Love, room 38500 immediately. They will be expecting your arrival within two hours. It is advised that you do not displease them.
"What's the Upper Party?" Rob asked aloud, although he didn't expect any response. He had long since learned that the Party had many more secrets than any one man could ever know. He left to the Ministry immediately, remembering that he never did see a button on the elevator labeled '385'. Rob sighed inwardly, expecting that he would have to endure another hour's worth of confused searching at the least.
When he arrived, Rob immediately went behind the reception desk and into the elevator. Once there, he found that there actually was a button representing the number 385. He pressed it, hoping that there wasn't some kind of trick. The elevator traveled much faster than it had the previous day, arriving at floor 385 in a matter of just a few minutes. However, the doors didn't open. Instead, they remained closed while a voice sounded from the telescreen behind him, "Please do not be alarmed. As Ministry of Love Room 38500 is Alpha-Level Security, all patrons must be subjected to an identity and weapons scan. Please wait while the scan completes."
Rob, who had begun to panic, relaxed as the doors' stolidity was explained. The scanner activated, which consisted of a seemingly pointless metal bar passing around the entire elevator. Once that was completed, the doors opened. Room 38500 was dimly lit and rather large, although it was dominated by a massive rectangular table. On the opposite side of the table from Rob sat five people. They were all dressed in black business suits and watched him, calculating. The man in the center stood and spoke to Rob, saying "Sit."
Rob sat on the edge of the table, wondering what he should do. A thought occurred to him. He began speaking but was cut off almost immediately by the man across the table.
"I know exactly what you are thinking. You are wondering who we are, what we do, why you are here, and furthermore, why you should care." said the man.
Rob was completely taken aback by how accurate that summation of his thoughts was and simply nodded his agreement.
"We are the Upper Party. We are Big Brother. We control all that happens both within Oceania and Eastasia."
After this pronouncement, Rob felt his stomach sinking. These people were dangerous. This room was not a good place to be.
"You may find this hard to believe. However, it is the only truth which still exists within the world that will not be changed. Oceania and Eastasia together are one province; we simply create news which makes it appear as though a war is occurring. In reality, a war hasn't occurred for centuries.
"Third, I will explain why you are here. One of us is retiring, as is allowed after years of service, in order to live out the remainder of his natural life in peace. We have been studying for the majority of your life, and you have been selected as a prime candidate for replacement. As to why, there are many, many reasons, most of which are nuances."
"Could I have a few days to digest all of this?" Rob asked.
"No. The time for your challenge is now." the man replied.
"What is it?"
The man drew back a heavy black curtain that was behind him, revealing a strange smooth cylinder. It was seemingly completely smooth silver metal; no creases or seams of note stood out. Rob began to wonder what its purpose was, but then it was explained.
"This, Robert, was built for one purpose: to analyze minds. While we can guess at how you will act, it is only through this machine that we can create a true profile of how you think. Upon my command, it will open to reveal an area for you to lie down. Once you are inside, it will close. Enter."
The cylinder opened at the top half, and Rob climbed inside, wary of these people's motivations. He stopped in a seated position, and asked "This won't kill me, will it?"
The man tilted his head, still looking at Rob and simply said, "Close."
The machine closed, darkening the area inside momentarily. Then, a curved screen lit up a neutral gray. Then, in just the blink of an eye, the screens flashed to black. Then, they flashed to a picture of a flower. Rob, very confused started wondering why he was looking at a flower, but then, the screen changed to a picture of fire burning through a forest. Rob decided to let the machine go.
After an hour of watching split-second images, the screens returned to the previous dull grey that had been the starting color. Suddenly, the screens flashed white and cleared to reveal an image of the man sitting at a desk next to him. On that desk was a small computer screen. Rob guessed that it contained the questions the man would ask him.
"How are you feeling, Robert?" the man asked.
"Nauseous," Rob replied.
"What is your name and registered number?"
"Robert56-621" Rob replied.
"How old are you?"
"I think I'm 30, not that it means much."
"Where do you live?"
"In the Inner Party area of Airstrip One."
On the questioning went for a full hour. Rob was beginning to feel a little annoyed at the man, for the questions really only addressed the basics of his knowledge. The man looked away from his computer screen and said, "Robert, you meet all criteria to join the Upper Party. Only two things remain before you become a full-fledged member."
"What's left?" Rob asked.
"The interview... and the test. For now, sleep. I will come wake you when the interview is scheduled."
Rob then slept for the few hours he could before the ever-suited man returned. Rob became dimly aware that someone was shaking him awake.
"Robert, awaken; the interview is soon to begin." The man's voice sounded through Rob's drowsiness.
"Eh…okay. Sure." Rob woke then, feeling strangely well-rested considering it had only been two hours.
"Are you ready?" the man asked without preamble.
"For?" Rob asked
"Very well, then. Can the human spirit be broken?"
Rob thought over his answer for some minutes. "…No?" he asked weakly.
The man beetled his brow and asked, "Why?"
Rob stopped and thought about the question more in detail. The human spirit breaking as a whole was preposterous! There would always be some ray of hope to shine through any tyranny. "The single human spirit can be broken, or perhaps groups of individuals' spirits can be broken; but never the entire population of humanity." Rob said, relaying his thoughts."
"Oh, and why is that?" the man asked.
Rob again stopped to think. Why couldn't the entire human spirit be broken? It certainly appeared as though it could. The Party, given another few hundred years, could certainly envelop the entire world, proles included. Everyone would be a Party Member. Everyone's thoughts would be controlled by doublethink. No remaining heretics would be left alive, and no more could ever develop. The Human Spirit would be broken. Upon thinking this, an incredibly simple solution occurred to him. It was almost verbal trickery, but he decided to voice it anyway.
"The human spirit can never be broken. Again, individuals' spirits can, but the humanity as a whole can never be broken because of one simple exception. The Upper Party is that exception." he said.
The man was completely impassive. "Quite." After that singular syllable, he got up and left. Unsure of what to do, Rob decided that it was safe to sleep again.
"Robert!" the man's voice sounded sharply, "Wake up! We have to get out of here!" Rob sat up hurriedly and found himself still in the room of the interview. Something was happening, however. Rob heard noises that sounded like planes flying overhead. Then: a huge explosion sounded like it erupted on the ministry. The building shook violently and the air became noticeably warmer.
"We have to leave! Eastasia is attacking!" shouted the man.
Rob ran. He followed the man to the elevator and they jumped inside.
His brain running very slowly, he asked "I thought you controlled Eastasia?"
"We do; our orders have gone wrong clearly." the man explained hurriedly.
Just as he finished, a muffled explosion could be heard from outside of the elevator. The lights flashed and…the elevator was freefalling! Rob and the man were nearly thrown off their feet because of the sheer increase in speed. The fall woke him up and sent with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The man looked scared, but he kept murmuring something that sounded like, "Come on…come on" Then the elevator began to slow down. The emergency suspension had activated and was saving them from certain death. The elevator finally stopped and opened its doors to reveal that they were on floor B17. They had fallen nearly a mile straight down.
The man recovered rather quickly. "Let's go," he said, as soon as the doors opened.
"How are we gonna get outta here?" Rob asked, all professionalism gone.
"There are maintenance stairwells on each floor. We will use those." The man replied, calm as ever. They did so, climbing seventeen floors before reaching the ground floor. The man went first, entering the too-familiar lobby. "There's an emergency armory around the corner there. It will have opened to admit any Party members."
"Right," Rob said. They followed the small hallway around the corner and found that a section of the wall had dislodged to reveal a room with several fully-stocked shelves of armaments. The man grabbed a standard eleven-millimeter pistol and several extra magazines of ammunition. Rob grabbed a submachine gun that looked like it packed some punch. He also grabbed a grenade, hoping both would be easy to use.
The man led the way back to the lobby and opened the doors. Outside was sheer Hell. Buildings all around the Ministry were destroyed. Clouds of acrid black smoke were filling the air where those planes still flew overhead. The man ran toward a nearby building that wasn't quite all rubble and relayed a plan to Rob.
"There is a bunker in the Golden Country where all of the other Upper Party members will be if they are still alive. Most of the Inner Party knows about it as well, so that is where they will undoubtedly be heading. As for us, it's just a few miles away." The man said all of this with a calm voice, as if he knew they were going to survive. He then got up and ran down the street with Rob trailing closely behind.
The running lasted only a short time, however. The street was blocked with the smoldering carcass of a downed plane. The man just barely hesitated, though and quickly turned to the left and entered a building. Rob followed, but instead of finding a destroyed house, he found the building was intact with a woman cooking at the stove. "What the fuck lady? There's a war going on!" Rob shouted at her.
The woman ignored him though; she walked over to the nearby dining table and to her child, showing him papers with letters on them. "This is the letter 'G'" she said.
Rob's breath flew out from his lungs as if he was punched. This woman was his mother; this scene was from his own childhood, there was no mistaking her.
"Rob!" the man's voice sounded as if through fog. Rob, finding himself returning to consciousness, noticed that he lay on the floor of a destroyed building. "Up!" The man turned quickly and barreled down a flight of stairs to escape the smoke-filled room. Rob followed him to where there was a long stretch of hallway. Because there was no smoke here, they decided to rest and walk. At the end, the door was locked. The man told Rob to get back and he took aim at the small lock with his pistol.
Suddenly, the door collapsed on itself as a thick body pushed its way through. It was a very burly man dressed in military fatigues of a rough blue. As soon as he forced his way through the door, Rob recognized him as his father. His father, a war hero, helped the Party conquer Eurasia. But then his father's face became different, his fatigues became grey, he brought up his brutal looking rifle, and shot the suited man point-blank in the chest. The round passed clean through, sending gore splattering onto the walls and onto the two living humans there. The rebel began to turn toward Rob, but Rob was once more on the ground, shaking. The insurrectionist ignored him and left through the now-broken door.
He couldn't believe it. Rob couldn't believe that his father—or a rebel—just killed an Upper Party member; a person who, it seemed, was omnipotent. Rob ceased trembling eventually and rose to his feet, leaving the ruined buildings and emerging onto the street. Once outside, Rob beheld more death than he had ever witnessed, even in one of the Party's intensely violent war films. The street ahead of him was nearly painted red with blood. Bodies—Oceanic and Eastasian alike—littered the ground everywhere, showcasing all varieties of wounds. He tried to ignore it, but the cloying smell of death could not be halted.
An hour later, after traversing many more destroyed buildings, Rob paused and leaned against a nearby wall. He was only about twenty minutes from the Golden Country, but something made him stop. Why was he seeing his parents? It wasn't the vicodone—he hadn't had any for months. Was it instead simply the trauma of having his life destroyed?
Rob brooded on such subjects for nearly thirty minutes before realizing he kept hearing a quiet sound. The sound was very soft, but his ears had eventually deciphered it from the sounds of destruction. It was a weak voice saying, "Help…me…"
Rob looked down near where he perceived the source to be and found an arm protruding from the rubble. More than that, however, the arm was still attached to a living man. Rob walked around the short wall to investigate who it was. He was clearly a prole, but the deep scrapes and cuts covering his body kept Rob from identifying any more details than that. The prole was dying; there was absolutely nothing Rob could do. The only reason he could still be alive was his mind rebelling against the thought of death.
"Water," the man croaked.
Water. Of all the things that man could have asked for, he chose one of the two things Rob couldn't provide; He had neither food nor water.
"I…I don't have any," Rob replied, nearly as weak as the dying man beside him.
The man seemed to grow agitated and repeated, almost irritated, "Water!" His croak was more of a bark this time.
Rob felt horrible. He looked around and saw that there was a puddle nearby. Going over to it, he found that it was dirty, but not tainted with blood as was most of surrounding area. He found a dented kettle laying in the dirt and filled it as much of the water as possible, whereupon he delivered it to the prole.
"Good…" replied the prole, even weaker than before. He opened his mouth, and Rob tipped the water into his throat. The man drank eagerly, not even stopping to breath. Once he was done, he took a deep breath, sighed softly, and died.
Rob stepped back and nodded, feeling somewhat better about his situation. He set out again, intent on reaching that bunker. Reaching the edge of the ravaged city, he found a thick forest all around that would need to be traversed. Rob began fighting his way through the foliage, and Forty minutes later, he emerged into a clearing. It was obviously produced by humans, as it was perfectly symmetrical. In the middle of the clearing, a large rock protruded from the ground, covering what Rob knew to be the entrance to the bunker. Rob went up to it and read the inscription on the side:
Who are we to judge?
Rob had no idea what to make of the words. He sat on the ground, thinking it through. "We don't judge!" he shouted, but nothing seemed to change. Rob pulled at his hair, wondering what the message could possibly mean. He started thinking in terms of the Upper Party; those people who ruled the earth for who-knows what reason. Rob tried again, this time shouting "Who aren't we to judge?"
The rock immediately leapt aside at his words, revealing a trapdoor in the ground. This door opened, casting light upon a semi-steep ramp leading straight into the earth. Once Rob had entered fully, the trapdoor swung shut and he heard a rumbling which could have only been the rock. Rob kept heading forward without a backward glance. At the end of the long hallway, two doors parted to reveal a room nearly identical to Room 38500 in the Ministry of Love presented itself to him. The entire place was draped in black and the strange cylinder-device stood on some kind of raised dais. Not knowing what else to do, Rob got in it.
Suddenly, something very unexpected happened. Just as Rob was closing the door, his vision went pure white. Then, in massive red letters, the words SIMULATION ENDING appeared in his eyes. Then: Rob woke up in the cylinder-device inside Room 38500.
"Welcome back," said the man, who was sitting at the desk beside the cylinder.
Rob immediately jumped out of the device in surprise and began shouting nearly incoherently, "You? You died! How!"
The man looked at Rob completely unperturbed. "Allow me to explain;" he said.
Rob stood still for a moment, but then resumed pacing about a small area.
The man, carefully watching Rob, said slowly, "Sit down."
Rob, sensing danger, did as bidden. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the man.
"Now, all that just happened was false, just as your daily life was. We waited until you were asleep before activating it. Now stay calm."
"Okay…" Rob said, clearing his head, "can I ask you something?"
"As long as you remain at this level of civility, I see no reason why not." the man replied.
"Was that the test? I will kill you for that!" Rob shouted quickly, losing control.
Suddenly, a shock passed through Rob; it felt like his nerves were set aflame, but it passed quickly.
"Do not pretend as though you can threaten me, let alone Us. That was indeed your test, it was meant to cure any false images you had of true war."
Still recovering from the moment of pain, Rob said "I passed your test, didn't I? Where's my father?"
"Do you not recall?" the man said, raising an eyebrow, "He is dead."
"You killed him? After all this leading on, you killed him? I can't forgive you!"
"No, Robert," the man said, "You killed him. And not just him, her as well. Do you not remember your…" he paused for a moment, "usefulness to the Spies? You identified two traitors to Big Brother, one was even a celebrated soldier, and turned them in to us."
"No…" Rob said meekly, "I didn't. You forced me to and I won't forgive you!"
The man, his voice raising for the first time that Rob heard, "Robert. We take heretics daily, from every family. Why are you tortured by what you will be doing? Did you not think about this when you killed everyone in the restaurant? What about when you knowingly killed every person who was involved in the crime ring?"
Rob stopped and thought. Why did he think of himself as a special case? Children every day were being used for the very same thing. "You use kids to kill adults."
"Children are our future." The man said."
"That's wrong, that's just… Well, clearly I can do this… I have done it, but I can't forgive for what's been done to me."
The man looked into Rob's eyes and said emotionlessly, pronouncing each word carefully, "Then you are useless to us."