Individuation (Part 2)

Formed by the remaining mega-corporations to give order to chaos following the Great Collapse, the Meyers-Briggs Council claimed recent advances in neuro-scanning as proof that the Sixteen Types had scientific basis. Introversion was classed and treated as a form of mental illness. While everyone was guaranteed employment in the New Era--determined by their type--higher income positions of prestige, most of them extraneous and contrived, were reserved for Extros.

"Home then, Tomas Zajic?" Asks the self-drive in that quintessential, faintly maternal female voice that rarely fails to soothe or soften my resolve. But tonight I am to deviate.

     "Not just yet, mother. New destination: The Park Bench." Where I last saw Sidereal in person, before he was put away.

     "The Park Bench. Bar and Tavern. Approximately five miles distant. Estimated arrival time given current conditions: two minutes." And then we all pull away at once, my fellow six-o-clockers and I, in a great whining electric column of white plastic crab shells, to eventually break free and merge into others along the way. As Federal and State governments collapsed, so went upkeep of public transit systems. Again the mega-corps stepped in to impose a series of new laws. Human operation of vehicles within city limits, deemed too dangerous and inefficient, was strictly forbidden.

Seated at the crowded bar, I assure myself there's anonymity. The owners of the Bench made a point of resisting calls to install visible Type Identifiers, and it's generally assumed that only Extros venture out after work to mingle. No one knows me here, but everyone knows Jonathan, or J-Side as they call him, who'd been a regular and favorite at the Bench even before his meteoric rise to fame. My furtive inquiries into his wherabouts while ordering are met with evident suspicion, and always oblique replies relating to his just-released album: Everyone Gets To Be Right Sometimes. "He's preparing to go on tour," they say, "I doubt he's even in town."

     Three straight bourbons on an empty stomach, all just adding up to drunk, and nothing's been gained otherwise, so I ask to settle up.

Outside on the corner the night drapes itself loosely over everything, denied a birthright full possession by equal parts glare from streetlight stars and lost promise. The wind's picked up in both force and bitterness, which has me anxiously awaiting the next wave of transports. Curiously, when they come, there are only two cars. But I board the first without a second thought.

     "Home then, Infjay?" Says a distinctly human and female voice, one I vaguely recognize but cannot place. A seed of panic finds root in mind which then crescendos to a scream. Get out! It says. Eject now! And yet I can't. The cars have begun to move.

     "Actually, I don't mind walking. It's a nice night after all. You can let me out here."

     "I'm afraid I've frightened you, Tomas. You'll have to forgive me. It's Cassandra. We're going to meet Jonathan. You shouldn't have gone to that bar tonight. It's … complicated matters. But you didn't know. He didn't warn you."

     "Cassandra? It seems great risks are being taken all around." Even if it was her, I'd have no reason to trust her. But it's too late. I've been entrapped merely by the excitement offered, and by a strange yet familiar disregard for what might happen to my own person.

     "We should wait to talk until we get there."

     

"I don't blame you, Tomas." Jonathan had grown more slender while in prison. His tall frame, his closely cropped blonde hair, was outlined by the city lights as they shone against the floor to ceiling windows of the penthouse suite where we rendezvoused. "At the time it would have been foolish to provide more information than necessary. Had I given you my number, they would have found that in the scan."

     "Just what have you gotten us into, Jonathan?" I say, unable to contain my alcohol induced anger. "Ten years in the slammer wasn't e-fucking-nough for you, it seems."

     "It was just enough time, my precious infjay, for you." He raises his eyes to meet mine in the shared reflection on the glass.

Cassandra steps between us, now it's those voluptuous brown eyes I'm staring into. "After the Collapse, as you well know, a formal caste system was instituted based on the insightful notions of an early psychological researcher named Carl Jung. It's unsurprising that his concepts of intro and extroversion eventually bore out to have scientific basis, but there is no superior psychological type, the Sixteen themselves must be abolished. You may think it ironic to hear these words from one of the favored but, I assure you Tomas, there are many, many of us ready to sacrifice everything to regain the lost ideal of true freedom."

     "You want to overthrow the Council …"

     "We want to reinstate the Republic!" At this Sidereal no longer hides his approval of her speech. He smiles into the glass and then turns to place his hands upon her shoulders.

     "That's my girl," he says.

     "A lofty goal," I say. "Impossible, even, to my inward-looking mind. But what have I left to lose? Even less now that it seems there's no going back to the life I had."

     Cassandra frowns and drops her gaze. "It was a selfish thing to do, Tomas. How we'll repay you, I'm not sure."

     "What makes you think it's even possible?" I scream. "Has all the glory and admiration gone to your head, Jonathan? You're not thinking rationally!"

     "It is because of you, my dear Tomas," Jonathan says, completely serious. "Because of the fertile garden that is your mind, and what's been planted there."