Summary:
Kharmah is a company based on Turning Magical Energies Into an Enterprise™. Kharmah has made a trade with the American government to use soon-to-be “missing” people as test subjects for their new system of law, coined Karmatics. This system is being tested in an unmarked city in an unknown location by harnessing the pre-existing karmatic properties of planet earth.
Karma is a magical energy that can be harnessed and used to rule over a theoretically utopian society. People were chosen to be a part of the study due to their general solitude (and inability to be recognized as “missing”) along with their inherent karmatic aptitude. These properties have been observed and analyzed by Kharmah through tracking devices placed in cell phones, smart watches, and cars.
People who do more good can harness the power and wield it to their advantage, and abusing this power will lessen their abilities. Additionally, the amount of karmatic energy that is displayed on their chest piece will determine their class in society and credit balances.
Chapter One
Aumbren
Only two credits left. Shit.
I walk down the promenade to find a karmatic blackspot. These may be spots where karmatic energies are at an all-time low, but they are the spots where it is the easiest to pick up some slack and gain credits.
Only three blocks down, there is a tent city. The breeze that blows towards me reminds me exactly how that can smell. There is likely a way for me to get a fix around there. Sure enough, there are broken bottles and crushed beer cans littering the alleyways. I pick up the litter and deposit it into one of the Karmah bins.
Only one credit is the reward for all of the litter that I have collected. The taxes must have gone up again. So I scavenge the block for more glass, more litter until I have five credits to afford my dinner. When I finish scavenging, the sun is long gone, and I am beyond hungry. I walk back to my neighborhood burger joint and order a meal. Zero credits are remaining — what a time to be alive.
After I finish my meal, I use the public bathroom and slip out the backdoor of the joint so that the waitress can’t berate me about not leaving a tip again. But you know what? If I had the credits, I certainly wouldn’t give them to her. Her crooked nose and less-than-tasteful mole are enough to make me lose my appetite. I shouldn’t have to look at that during my meal.
Besides, she already has nearly 200 credits, and her chest piece glows a light green. She should be the one giving me a tip. But no, the rich get richer.
On the way home, I collect a few more articles of litter, I move a youngster’s bicycle out of the street, and I politely nod to a woman across the way. I only earn one credit. What do they want from me here?
A cold shower and a hard bed in a shabby old house should be inspiration enough for me to improve my credits, but they’re only fuel to my fire. They fuel the hatred that burns deep down inside me. Deep in the pit of my stomach, I think. I hate Karmah. Pricks, all of them. I hate the karmatic system that they have put into place here.
I dream that we all go back to a time where it was a dog-eat-dog world, and I thrived in it.
* * *
The next morning, I rise with a backache and a hunger for change. I wear my most elegant attire – which admittedly is not as polished as how I used to dress, but that seems to be a previous life. The whole “previous life” thing does hold to be accurate, I’ll give karma that.
I plan to take the ferry into the city to join the protesters on the street. It’s not like I have anywhere else to be today anyway, and there are a few things that I need to avoid anyhow. A scheme against the Administrators seems like a perfect way to avoid everything else.
I collect some more debris along the street as I walk towards the ferry docks. This neighborhood looks particularly disastrous. Rundown housing, unkempt lawns, and litter galore inevitably designate this as a karmatic blackspot. Surely no one around here has more than ten credits, and anyone who does have ten credits is likely to get run out of these litter-coated streets relatively quickly.
By the time I reach the ferry, I have the two credits mandatory for a one-way ticket. Hopefully, this pans out well because I don’t believe that there is much litter for collection on the other side of the water. I can’t see much from where I stand, but the shining city looks like a place unlike any other that I have known. The sunrise shines off the green, blue water like the chest piece of the thousands creditor class.
It’s as if the city itself is gleaming. Not just from the sunrise, but something else entirely. I hate to admit it, but the karmatic energies that glow from the city are rather attractive to the untrained eye. Thankfully, I have a training regime and can resist what they are so unforgivingly trying to shove down all of our throats.
As I board the ferry, the attendant looks me up and down. I assume she is wondering why someone like me would be traveling to a place like that. Well, lady, it’s to stick it to them. And you. And everyone else who puts up with this bullshit willingly. Though I suppose it’s easy when you are reaping the benefits. Easy to forget about the rest of us.
The ferry ride is long, probably about an hour out, maybe a bit longer. I begin to lose my fire around minute five. What am I doing here? Why did I even leave home? It’s too late now, though. There is no going back, not until I get the two credits I need to come back home at least.
* * *
I look over and see a woman sitting two rows to the left of me. She is glowing, and I mean absolutely glowing. It is sickening. Her chest piece is a bright golden color, unlike any chest piece I have ever seen. The credits on her are gushing and shining out like a beacon.
What the hell kind of shit do you have to do to get credits like that? Did she figure out a way to cheat the system? Did she find a cure for cancer or something? No way she just picked up some litter. Though maybe trash was worth more before they took us away to Canskana.
“Hey, lady,” I point my chin at her to let her, “How’d you get that chest piece, huh?” She smiles, politely. Of course, she does. But she does not respond.
“Too uptight to speak to me then, huh?”
“No, but it doesn’t sound like you’re all that genuinely interested in speaking to me either, given your tone. Do you need my assistance?”
“Well, I asked you a question, sweetheart,” I remind her condescendingly, “How’d you get that chest piece?”
“It’s been this way since I arrived. I suppose I earned it in my previous life.”
“And what exactly did you do to earn that?” I enunciate the word earn so that she can detect my doubts on the claim. Everyone on this side of the sound seems to think that they have earned what they have, but I know the truth.
She smiles politely and turns around to look out the window on the opposite side of me. “Yeah, too good to speak to me that, huh, sweetheart? It looks like you could use some work on that whole earning credits thing.” Again, I stress the word earning, wholeheartedly doubtful that she earned a single one.
Chapter Two
Esther
“What can I get for you, madam?” the waitress asks me.
“I will have a soy latte and a vegan, gluten-free mock-eggs benedict, please,” I order from the all-day brunch menu.
“Of course, madam. Right away, madam.” She scuttles away.
I don’t think I will ever get used to the way that people treat me here. I don’t think I will ever get used to the madam this and madam that. Not to mention that they scurry away like they are afraid of me.
With 1,160,405,677 credits available, I am the wealthiest woman in Canskana. Well, 1,160,405,657 after breakfast. Maybe 1,160,405,667 after the consideration of the vegan, gluten-free menu option. Who knew that being vegan and gluten allergy would put me in a discounted position one day?
To believe that I used to be charged extra for those types of accommodations. Canskana is like a whole new planet. Maybe it is, for all that I know.
I eat my breakfast on a terrace that overlooks the sound. It is a beautiful morning. The temperate, dry climate here indicates that we must be somewhere Mediterranean. Perhaps some island or peninsula that most have forgotten. Maybe Canskana is erased from every map, and every road blocked off. That’s my theory anyway. I have had plenty of time to ponder and theorize.
Once I finish my breakfast, I decide to go down to the library for some volunteer hours. I am still adjusting to life without a job, so I need something to keep me busy. Besides, if I could have had any career back home, it would have likely been at a bookstore or a library. My love of reading is what fuels my curiosity and wonder for the world. So really, it’s like I’ve been allowed to have my dream job.
“Good morning, Janet,” I greet the librarian.
“Well, good morning, madam!” she exclaims, “How are you this fine morning? Can I help you find something?”
“Well, actually, I was hoping you might require some volunteer hours today,” I explain.
“Madam, you are too kind. You needn’t waste your time here in this little library. I am sure that you are very busy, madam.” Again with the madam thing. I know that it is meant as a sign of respect, but I can’t help the twinge of guilt that it causes me to feel.
With that twinge comes another credit. I suppose that I just have an inherent gift for obtaining credits with my internalizations.
“I would love to help if you would have me,” I press onwards. I know the librarian is only declining to be polite. I can see the carts of books that are waiting to be re-shelved. “Could I help you put away some of those books, at least?” I can see the consideration in her eyes. She wants to tell me, yes, but she is terrified to ask anything of me due to the differences in our classes. It’s the same song and dance every time.
“Really, I would love to help,” I continue.
“Of course, madam,” she murmurs as she bows her head.
I begin with the first cart on my right. It is piled high with books. Fiction, mostly. I start with the fiction section A’s and work my way down the long aisles of the library. A few books catch my eye, and I place them in a pile to check out and bring home with me.
* * *
After about three hours of stacking books in silence, I move along to my next activity of the day. I begin my usual exercise routine with a walk down to the public market. I purchase some fresh basil, a pumpkin, and some mixed spices from a vendor. A three-credit autumnal dinner is on the menu for this evening.
I earn three credits back almost immediately for purchasing local products. It’s not that I intended to, but I want to support our local farmers. All of the upper class are at a loss now that our jobs have become obsolete.
I strap my books and market goods in a canvas tote bag on to the back of my bike, and I begin to ride back to my penthouse. Located on the corner of 10th Street and 7th Avenue, my apartment is not far from the market that dwells in the city center. I keep to the bike lane, even though the roads are typically free of any traffic. Air pollution is not generally accepted in this region.
Once I reach my apartment building, I park my bike in one of the indoor lobby stalls. The stairs up to the penthouse in which I reside are the final stretch of my exercise routine. There are seven flights of stairs in total. My canvas tote bag containing the pumpkin becomes heavy around flight three.
When I finally reach the top of the stairs, I walk right into my apartment. The concept of not having a key or a lock for my bike or my apartment is still foreign to me, but the karmatic detention of a break-in - let alone a theft - would be way too high for anyone to risk.
Going into negative credits can result in Penalization. Besides, no one in this area of the city would even consider such a thing.
With the scents of a pumpkin bisque filling the apartment, I begin to light some autumnal candles as well. Though the climate is unseasonably warm for fall, I still enjoy getting into the spirit. It brings a sense of normality back into my life.
Chapter Three
Aumbren
I’m not entirely sure where to go once I get off the ferry. The city of this side of the water is so vast and clean. I have seen protesters on the news feeds, and it seems like they typically gather around the city hall.
I remember that everyone here is virtually obligated to help me, or else risk their karmatic status, so I pull aside the first gent who walks my way. “Hey, which way to the city hall?” I ask. He nearly cringes at my lack of manners but holds back out of politeness. I huff. “Can you please tell me where the city hall is, sir?” I ask, adding the “sir” to appease him. He seems more comfortable now, but still visibly on edge.
“It’s on the corner of 1st Street and 1st Avenue. Would you like for me to show you over that way?” he offers.
“You know, I may not have as many credits as you, but I do know how to read a damned street sign,” I say it half out of truthful annoyance and half just to mess with him. It is rather entertaining to see how these people react to rudeness. You’d think I had stolen candy from their baby and punched their mother in the face the way that he looked at me, but all he did was bid me a good day and walked away without so much as a refute. If I had said the same thing back home, I would either have a broken nose, a swollen eye, or both by now.
Maybe this side of the water wasn’t so terrible after all. You could get away with just about anything. Though the Penalties for having negative credits can be pretty hefty, so I suppose I’ll be careful. The only thing worse than living in this make-believe society would be to live in the confines of its jails.
I begin to make my way towards the city hall, letting the street signs counting down guide me. What I will do when I arrive, I’m not exactly sure, and the adrenaline is running out, so I better get there quickly before I lose my nerve.
When I finally arrive at the city hall, I find the group of protestors sitting on the side of the building. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be, like, protesting or something?” I ask the two men sitting closest to where I stand.
“There’s no point, lad,” one says with a soul-crushed demeanor.
“They just don’t care. They don’t fight back. They even gave us food and water so that we wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Every time we yell at them, they just smile back. There’s no reasoning with these crazies.”
I put my back against the wall and slide down onto the sidewalk next to the nearest man. “So, what now then?” I ask.
“Why are you asking me, buddy?” Good question. Why am I asking him? What the hell does he know? I find my own sidewalk to sit on a few blocks down.
From my new vantage point, I see a woman walking on the sidewalk with a canvas tote bag. She seems to be heading for the general store, but that’s not what I have begun to notice. I notice the chest piece on her. It shines a bright and burning white, a color I didn’t even know was in the classification system.
The white light has a shimmer and glitter to it, but I can’t look for too long, as it is nearly blinding.
Chapter Four
Esther
The next morning, it is raining heavily on this side of the water. I decide to walk down to the ferry docks to give the lower class some rain ponchos and snacks. Neighborhood Service is another way that I have been able to fill the void of not having work. I would never have believed how ordinary being unemployed could be. Or how impossible it is to spend so many credits when it all seems to come back more quickly than I can spend it.
I suit up in my raincoat, thick socks, and boots. It is at that point that I recognize the need for warm, comfortable socks, and I decide to pick up some of those on the way as well. It is as I am walking into the store that I notice a man sitting in the alleyway. He looks particularly in need with his rugged beard and treacherous clothing ensemble.
“Excuse me, sir. Would you like a rain poncho?” I ask. He looks up at me, streams of rain running down his dirt-streaked face.
“Do I look like I want your rain poncho?” he asks. I’m not sure if he is actually asking the question or being condescending, but I reply anyway.
“Well, quite frankly, yes. Yes, you do. Would you like one?” I extend the small poncho pouch in my hand.
He doesn’t accept it. He just looks down at the sidewalk between his feet, ignoring me. I kneel and take a long look at his face, trying my best to photocopy each dirt streak, each wrinkle into my brain. He looks up at me, clearly aggravated.
“We all need assistance sometimes,” I say as I set the poncho down in front of his feet. He rejects me still, so I carry along my way to the general store to purchase some socks and hot chocolate.
“Hey, lady!” I hear from behind. It must be the sidewalk man. Perhaps he would like to thank me. About time he came to his senses.
“Fuck you!” he shouts. Okay, so maybe not so much.
I smile. I truly and genuinely smile for the first time in ages. I begin to laugh as I turn around and look at him. Then I begin to walk back towards him. His eyebrows inflate in surprise, and his eyes betray the dull fear of what I might do to him. Perhaps he thinks that I am an Administrator. Perhaps he thinks that I will Penalize him.
I push my mind to scan over his facial features once again. “It has been a long time since anyone has called me anything other than madam, “I explain, “I find you rather refreshing. Can I take you out for lunch?” I offer.
His eyes flash from fear to confusion. Then he lets his brows relax. “Well, I’m hungry… and I’m all out of credits. So I guess I’d be a fool not to take you up on that offer,” he finally says as he gets up on to his feet, pocketing the rain poncho. “Where are we off to?” he asks as he falls into step with me.
* * *
I walk to the rooftop bistro I know of nearby. Everyone will be so alarmed to see a man like this in a place like that. He doesn’t have a single credit to his name, but I think my credits will more than suggest that I have the meal covered.
Now that I think of it, the people in the bistro will likely think that I am a Forceful Charitist like the majority of the silver chest piece class. But who cares? Let them think that I earned these credits by coercing the homeless to hang out with me and begging the kids in Africa to wear my shoes or something. They were probably going to think that regardless.
As we enter the bistro, two Administrators who are standing as security stop the sidewalk man with me. His brows wrinkled together in fear and confusion as he puts his hands up in the air. He does this almost by instinct.
“Excuse me, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t point your Scanners at my guest,” I request of the two men.
“My sincerest apologies, madam. We had no idea he was with you, madam,” the man with the blue tunic pleads.
“And why did you not consider that he was with me?” I ask, provoking the answer that I want to Pretty Woman out of these two Administrators.
“Well, madam, it looked like he was following you, madam,” Blue Tunic begins to sputter, “We wanted to ensure your safety, madam.”
“I can assure you that I am perfectly safe, sir,” I say flatly, “Now if you don’t mind, we would like to go ahead and get seated. I’m famished.”
“Of course, madam,” they recite in unison as they bow their heads towards me — bunch of suck-ups.
As we near the hostess table, we are greeted and immediately brought to a table near the electric fireplaces that heat the rooftop on cooler, rainier days like this. The canopy keeps the rain away, but it does little to protect the lunch guests from the cold.
The server comes by with the house drink of the day: hot chocolate with peppermint extract. As the server leaves us to look over the menu, the sidewalk man gives me a ribbing look.
“What is it?” I ask.
“What is it?” he repeats, “What the hell was that back there?”
“What? I’ll take any chance to make an Administrator look like a moron,” I explain. He blinks in disbelief.
“Let me guess,” I begin again, “you think that everyone in the upper class worships the Administrators, right? Well, you’re wrong. We loathe them just as much as you lot do. We may have made it into a better class than you, but we were never meant to be here in the first place. None of us asked for this.”
Chapter Five
Esther
“You’re trying to tell me that you’ve been handed all of this” the sidewalk man sweeps his hands at the fine dining, rooftop bistro filled with the most upper class of the upper class. Other than him, almost everyone here is at least a gold. Even the servers are mostly bronze and silvers. It’s not that anyone else is not allowed to be here, but typically blues and greens don’t waste their credits on things like rooftop bistros. They’re probably all the wiser for it. “And you don’t want to kiss the Administrators for it? Hell, I’d probably kiss one to be a silver.”
“I just don’t think that it’s right,” I explain, “What they did to us, you know?” I pause to think. “It’s not like my previous life was all that important, but it was my life. I had choices. I had a career. I had a cat.” Oddly, that last part hurts the most. I miss having pets.
“It’s not right,” he agrees, “but at least you are reaping the benefits.”
“Are we ready to order over here?” the waiter asks.
“Yes, we will both have the daily special. Thank you.”
The sidewalk man whistles. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a fifty credit meal.” He is gleaming with the joy only a warm meal can bring.
“So, what’s your name?” I ask as the sidewalk man takes a sip of the sparkling water that the waiter brought over. He coughs a bit at the unexpected carbonation and then replies, “Aumbren. You?”
“Esther,” I say, “Pleased to meet you, Aumbren.”
“So, you want to tell me what you want now?” he asks me with a bit of nervous hesitation.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“Well, I’m guessing you want something from me if you’re wining and dining me,” he says.
“I didn’t wine you. Not yet anyway,” I tease, “But I really don’t want anything. I’m not one of those Forceful Charitists. I don’t need you to tell me that I’m a good person. The chest piece speaks for itself.” I smile smugly and then continue, “I just like your spunk, and I think that we could get along just fine, despite our class differences. Besides, lunch is much flavorful with a guest.”
“No offense, sweetheart, but I’m not buying it,” he expresses his doubts.
“Well, it’s not like you have the credits to buy it anyway.” Zing.
“Ah, I understand now. So how did you swing it? How did you get so many credits when you’re such a jerk?” he asks.
I laugh a little and say, “No, that’s not quite what I meant. I really did earn these credits in my previous life.”
“What did you do?” he asks. It’s a good question.
“Well,” I explain, “I didn’t do anything.” He looks at me with those brows raised again. “I didn’t do much of anything. I didn’t interact with many people. So when I did, I was always very kind. Even just having a conversation with the clerk at the grocery store was considered one of my highest levels of socialization.” I laugh.
“I do not understand how not having friends got you over a billion credits,” he presses, annoyance growing in his tone.
“Well, because I didn’t interact with many people, I didn’t have a whole lot of bad to do, now did I? I didn’t negatively affect the world,” I begin to explain before he interrupts.
“You mean to tell me that they gave you all those credits just for locking yourself up? This system is even more ridiculous than I thought.” He gets up and leaves the bistro in a fit. Good thing everyone is too polite to stare, or else they would see the hot tears that begin streaming down my cheeks.
I will never be accepted by my own kind or any other.
Chapter Six
Aumbren
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Why couldn’t I have at least had a stomach full of food before I started a fight? My stomach growls in agreement at my stupidity.
But my fire is burning brighter than that Esther’s chest piece. She may have a billion, a trillion credits, but she wouldn’t get away with this. She couldn’t get away with this. I may have done some bad in my life, but at least I did some good too. And yet, it’s only people like her that were rewarded.
Before I know it, I have marched down to the city hall. All of the protesters are gone. Likely they either died in the street, were Penalized. I hope that they just went home. Any which way, they were no longer protesting this sick classification system.
“I would like to submit a formal complaint,” I declare, and I set my hands down on the front desk of the main office.
The woman who looked up at me looked terrified. I almost feel bad for he until I see her chest piece.
“Are you going to help me? Or what’s your job here, lady?” I ask, growing impatient.
“Uh, yes sir,” she stutters, “right this way, sir.”
She begins to walk down the hall, and I am meant to follow.
“Who are you taking me to?” I demand.
“The Head Administrator,” she answers quietly, unable to look me in the eye.
I am stunned. I didn’t expect them to let me complain to anyone of importance. I didn’t have any time to prepare. “You’re really bringing me to the Head Administrator?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You’re our first formal complaint,” she explains.
“What are you talking about? You’ve had protestors all week,” I argue. “More people are complaining than not!”
“Yes, but you’re the first person to actually ask. Our policy is to help anyone who asks.”
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