Reniva
The year was 2121, and the population was living within its means.
It had been 76 years since the third world war—a distant blip in a timeline of excellence.
Mal was 32 years old and lived in a comfortable apartment in the city by the bay. Everything was perfect. She had a great partner, a great pension, a great parking spot. She had the ideal job working for the largest corporation in the world: Reniva. Their services ranged from software to soap, but the most notable product was the Brain Battery, powering the world one charge at a time.
It was clear—Mal was living within her means.
On a typical Tuesday, Mal would wake at 6:00 AM to the familiar voices of the World Broadcasting Company—the only source of truth in their thriving nation. By 7:00, Mal was at the local exercise facility jogging on her favorite machine to the farthest left—studying the curves of the fog creeping up the glass window. At the completion of her daily three-mile run, Mal was in the shower, and by 8:00, she was clasping the last button on her freshly pressed blouse and smoothing out the final wrinkles in her charcoal slacks.
At 8:30, Mal stepped through the towering doors of her place of employment, the Reniva Service Center. As her sensible heels clicked across the marble floor, she made her way past various rooms of importance until she reached the “Preferred Customers” section. She entered the room, re-arranged the pillows on the plush couch, set her bag behind the freshly polished counter, and punched in the access code to the back room where the merchandise was kept. As the clock struck 9:00 precisely, Mal buffed out a wayward smudge on the golden clock and finally turned to the door—willing and ready to assist.
On a typical Tuesday, Mal would have worked her standard hours and left the building at exactly 5:00 PM. On a typical Tuesday, she would have completed her three-mile evening run by 6:00, took the last bite of dinner in her comfortable apartment by 8:00, and turned in for bed after the WBC nightly update at 10:00. On a typical Tuesday, she would have slept soundly through the night—not a care in the world—and awakened to repeat her daily routine without any sense of disturbance.
But this was not a typical Tuesday.
The clock struck 6:00, and Mal awoke.
“Good morning, citizens,” one of the anchors began. “It’s 6:00 AM this morning. Clear, temperatures around 55 degrees Fahrenheit, wind out of the north-northwest six miles per hour. Barometric pressure 30.12 inches, visibility six miles, humidity 70 percent.”
“Thank you for listening,” another anchor continued. “There is no breaking news today. Everything is as it should be.”
“That concludes our update for this morning. Be safe,” the first anchor stated.
“Be well,” the second concluded.
With a static click, the broadcast ended.
Yawning, Mal stretched her arms above her head and looked over at her slumbering partner—still fast asleep with the cat curled between them. She pushed herself from the bed and began her morning routine. As predicted, Mal was on her favorite exercise machine by 7:00. She looked to her right at the three machines beside her. It was always the same. The same three people with the exact same routine—jogging in unison to the electric beat that was pounding through the loudspeakers.
By 9:00, Mal was at her place of employment, the Reniva Service Center, and settling in for another day of assisting “Preferred Customers.” She was shining the golden clock when a loud click echoed above her.
“Good morning, Mal.”
“Good morning,” she replied, looking up at the bodiless voice that they called “The Manager.”
“How are you today?” the voice inquired.
“Well, thank you,” Mal answered.
“Wonderful,” the voice responded. “Please let us know if you need anything.”
“I will,” Mal confirmed.
“Don’t forget, Mal, the customers are our first priority. We must always conclude our interactions with...”
“I hope we exceeded your expectations,” Mal robotically answered with a smile.
“Very good.”
Another click, and the voice was gone.
An hour passed. And another. Mal waited behind the freshly polished counter until her first customer arrived at 11:00 AM: Arda Moiray.
“Good morning, Arda. How are you today?”
“Very well, thank you,” Arda replied with a nervous pull of her sleeve. “I’m here to pick up my Brain Battery.”
“Of course,” Mal stated earnestly. “How did you like your loaner?”
“Perfectly fine,” Arda answered. “No noticeable difference in performance.”
“We’re glad to hear that,” Mal exclaimed. “Reniva prides itself on our optimum user experience.”
“Of course,” Arda agreed, shifting her eyes nervously to the side as she lowered her voice in secret. “But I do appreciate that these updates are infrequent. I hate to be without it, you know?”
“I completely understand,” Mal confirmed, gesturing toward Arda. “May I?”
Without another word, Arda turned her back to Mal and lifted a long strand of silver hair. With the tip of her right index finger, Mal gently traced the distinct one-inch line embedded into the nape of Arda Moiray’s neck.
The line glowed bright blue and a small disk-like battery ejected from the sight.
Mal gingerly pulled the battery out of Arda’s neck and placed it in her palm. Delicately, Mal pressed the tip of her right index finger on the loaner. Now activated, a set of six numbers lit up in the same bright blue.
21-30-94.
Mal quickly memorized the set.
“They must be very particular about who they let work here,” Arda exclaimed as she observed Mal handle the battery. “To manage such precious merchandise.”
“Of course, Arda,” Mal confirmed. “Only a select few are trusted to access Reniva’s Brain Batteries.”
Mal placed the loaner battery on the counter before Arda Moiray as the numbers faded from sight. “I’ll just be a moment,” she stated, gesturing to the plush couch. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
Turning, Mal entered the back room and tightly closed the ironclad door behind her. The room was a perfect square—small, bare, and made entirely of metal. Its only purpose was to securely house two priority items: an Identity Interface and a titanium enclosure embedded directly into the wall.
Mal walked over to the Identity Interface and touched the tip of her right index finger to the display. Now activated, Mal typed in the six-digit code and the set of bright blue numbers appeared.
21-30-95.
“Enter,” Mal stated routinely.
As the numbers faded from sight, a three-second beep indicated the end of the transaction, and the cover to the titanium enclosure descended—revealing a seven-by-seven opening.
Reaching inside, Mal retrieved the single Brain Battery, and the cover to the titanium enclosure ascended. Turning, Mal exited the back room.
“Everything all right?” Arda anxiously inquired, pushing herself from the couch.
“Everything is as it should be,” Mal replied. “May I?”
Like before, Arda Moiray turned her back and lifted a strand of silver hair. With ease, Mal inserted the Brain Battery back into the nape of her neck.
“All done,” Mal confirmed.
“Thank you very much,” Arda replied as she turned back around.
“You’re welcome,” Mal responded. “And, as always, I hope we exceeded your expectations.”
With a smile and sense of satisfaction, Mal waved goodbye to her “Preferred Customer.”
Placing the loaner battery in the palm of her hand, Mal re-entered the back room and returned to the Identity Interface. With the tip of her right index finger, Mal touched the battery and the bright blue numbers appeared.
21-30-94.
Facing the Identity Interface, Mal typed in the same six-digit code.
“Enter,” Mal stated routinely.
Like before, the numbers faded from sight, and a three-second beep indicated the end of the transaction.
As the titanium enclosure descended, Mal went to return the loaner battery when an unusual sight met her in the seven-by-seven opening.
A Brain Battery.
Sitting at the base of its metal encampment—untouched.
“What?” Mal whispered, confusion now creasing the lines in her forehead.
She quickly ran to the Identity Interface.
“What was the last code entered,” Mal stated clearly.
21-30-94 lit up in the familiar bright blue.
Mal looked down at the loaner battery in her hand—confirming that those same numbers were illuminated now.
Slowly, Mal turned her head toward the titanium enclosure.
“Show me the code entered before that.”
21-30-95.
The air left the room, and Mal’s chest tightened. She stumbled back, her hand constricting around the loaner battery. Studying the ironclad door, Mal stood paralyzed with one pervasive thought...
If the battery was here, whose brain was currently in Arda Moiray?
Wednesday, 6:00 AM came fast, and Mal bolted upright—listening intently to the familiar voices of the World Broadcasting Company.
“Good morning, citizens,” the first anchor began. “Another clear morning. Temperatures around 55 degrees Fahrenheit, wind out of the north-northwest six miles per hour. Barometric pressure 30.12 inches, visibility six miles, humidity 70 percent.”
“Thank you for listening,” the second anchor continued.
Mal leaned in, the air tightening in her chest.
“There is no breaking news today.”
Mal sighed with relief and dropped her head to her hands.
“Everything is as it should be,” the second anchor confirmed. “Be safe.”
“Be well.”
The rest of Mal’s day was entirely typical. She completed her morning routine in record speed, assisted three “Preferred Customers” without issue, and was home just in time for the monthly soiree with her elite group of equally comfortable friends.
It was a typical Wednesday except for the panicked voice in the back of her head. The one that made her jump with anxiety every time someone entered the Reniva Service Center. She expected Arda Moiray to return. To complain of Mal’s ineptitude. To have her fired. She expected her to burst in, enacting a tirade at the top of her lungs. But Arda Moiray never came. Mal worked her usual shift and went home without a sign that anything was disturbed.
The night was calm, untouched. It was as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
“Mal, this view is incredible!” one of her friends remarked, looking out the stately bay window.
Mal nodded, taking a sip of the vintage red wine that was one of her partner’s favorites.
“How is work going, Mal?”
“As expected,” she replied. “The usual customers, expecting the usual service.”
“I would love to see how the ‘Preferred Customers’ are treated. It always seems so luxurious.”
“There’s not much difference, actually,” Mal revealed. “They just get better chairs.”
“Can you...” another friend began, gesturing to his neck with a questioning eye.
“Of course not!” Mal laughed, lifting up the tip of her right finger. “Trust is the Reniva way.”
“Too bad.” Her friend chuckled along with her. “It might be fun.”
“This view is incredible!” her friend repeated, turning to Mal with approval in her eyes. “You are surely living within your means.”
“ATTENTION!”
A bright blue light flashed in Mal’s elegant dining room as a projection of the WBC appeared on the cream-colored wall.
“BREAKING NEWS!”
“Breaking?” one of her friends inquired. “We haven’t had ‘breaking news’ in 70 years.”
“At 6:00 PM, a woman in her mid-sixties was reported missing.”
Mal looked up quickly, her fingers constricting around the wine glass in her hand.
“The incident was reported by the woman’s partner who confirmed that after smashing a treasured family vase, she stole their classic Mustang and screamed out the driver-side window, ‘Fuck you kindly, my darlings.’”
After a brief pause, the anchor continued, “Here’s footage that our city cameras captured of the subsequent car chase.”
Mal watched as the Mustang swerved through the spiraling streets—the blaring sirens following in close pursuit.
Enraptured, the quaint dinner party watched as a WBC aerial drone moved alongside the Mustang as it sped to the docks then promptly crashed into a manicured hedge. Flinging herself from the vehicle, the aforementioned woman boarded a nearby yacht, flipped off an aerial camera, and took to the sea.
The footage stopped, and the camera zoomed in to focus on the woman’s face. A lively, crazed look graced her features. Still, there was a distinct sparkle of adventure in her eye—one that matched the unmistakable shine of her long, silver hair.
“If anyone has any information on...” The anchor looked off camera before turning back. “...Arda Moiray. Please contact your local authorities.”
“She looks like a raving lunatic.” Mal’s friend laughed, pointing at the woman’s face.
“She looks...” Mal began but faltered as something unusual struck her. “...happy.”
By 1:00 PM, Thursday afternoon, Mal was riddled with nerves. Even the smallest sound or movement made her jump with anxious anticipation.
Something had changed. Mal had changed. Every customer that came in was a blur. All she could see was the crazed look of Arda Moiray. The image from last night was seared in her brain—it never left. When she polished the counter, or cleaned the golden clock, or listened to the bodiless voice of “The Manager.” The image was there, haunting her, refusing to relent.
It was the emotion behind the face that was strange to Mal. She believed there would be ramifications for her actions—for her mistake. There would be recourse from the company, either an irate customer or a prompt dismissal from her job. But happiness? That was an unexpected twist. And one that left Mal with an aftertaste of curiosity.
“Did you hear me?”
“What?” Mal inquired, jolted out of her persistent daydream.
“Theo Tyche, I’m here to pick up my Brain Battery?” he explained, looking at Mal inquisitively.
“Of course.” Mal looked at this new “Preferred Customer” apologetically. “How are you doing today, Theo?”
“Fine,” Theo replied unemotionally.
“Fine?” Mal repeated. “Just fine?”
“Just as expected,” he continued.
Mal studied him for a moment. “But are you happy?”
“How do you mean?” he responded, eyeing Mal apprehensively.
“Happy,” Mal explained. “With your life.”
Theo furrowed his brow in confusion. “Is this some sort of survey?”
“No,” Mal replied. “May I?”
As expected. The words hung in the air as Mal removed Theo Tyche’s loaner battery. This customer, Mal, everyone in the world, was performing as expected. The entire population was living within its means—everyone except one singular citizen. Arda Moiray. She had broken from the course of societal expectations. She was free. And Mal had given her that opportunity.
This was why Mal inserted the wrong Brain Battery into Theo Tyche. Why she repeated this “mistake” for her sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth customer of the day. Why she stood satisfied at 6:00 PM when all the screens at her local exercise clinic lit up with two significant words...
BREAKING NEWS.
The city had never seen such chaos, and Mal was electrified with a newfound energy.
Friday was an unusually busy workday at the Reniva Service Center, with 20 alarmed citizens arriving as one person and leaving as another.
Mal greeted them all with a smile and ushered them out of the “Preferred Customer” section with a knowing glance and the scripted salutation, “I hope we exceeded your expectations.”
By Saturday, the WBC “Breaking News” broadcast had interrupted Mal while on a brisk morning walk with her partner, while feeding the cat, while at brunch with her elite friends, and while sipping wine in her comfortable apartment in the city by the bay.
By Sunday, they were in a state of crisis.
“We have never seen such strange behavior,” the first anchor remarked on the WBC nightly broadcast. “It is most unusual, but our authorities are working around the clock to find the root of this unforeseen disturbance.”
The second anchor nodded in agreement. “There is no need to panic. We will be back to normal soon—everything will be as it should be.”
At 8:30 AM Monday morning, Mal was wearing a curious smirk as she walked into the Reniva Service Center. Electric energy permeated the space as her sensible heels clicked across the marble floor. Mal felt invigorated—rejuvenated. For her, a sense of normalcy was the last thing she wanted.
“Good morning, Mal.”
She stopped. The disembodied voice that greeted her every morning for the past five years now emanated from a human—standing behind the counter in a finely pressed suit.
“And you are?” Mal inquired, taking a cautious step forward.
“Why, I’m The Manager,” she explained, eyeing Mal. “We have much to discuss.”
“What do you mean?” Mal asked innocently.
“Mal, Mal, Mal,” The Manager repeated. “You have been living outside your means.”
“I don’t understand,” Mal stated, choosing to feign ignorance.
“Don’t you?” The Manager replied. “We didn’t know it was a breach, at first. But when the authorities started releasing names, we checked our records to make sure. And what did we find, Mal? A connection. A link. To this very Service Center. And you, of course.”
A dark look flashed across The Manager’s face as the air began to tighten in Mal’s chest.
“What are you going to do to me?” Mal asked breathlessly.
“Do to you?” The Manager repeated with a sharp smirk as she lifted up a sleek case and set it on the counter. “We’re not barbarians, Mal. This is a great company. But someone must answer for this mistake. Don’t you agree?”
Mal nodded slowly, staring at the case.
“Wonderful,” The Manager continued. “We are counting on your cooperation. The brand is at stake, and we must protect our image. Do we have your full support, Mal?”
“What do you need me to do?”
The Manager smiled. “I’m glad you asked.”
In one swift motion, The Manager opened the sleek case and extracted a piece of official parchment—now placing it delicately in front of Mal.
“This is the approved statement from our public relations team. It removes any liability from the Reniva Corporation. By signing this, you are taking full ownership of this unfortunate incident. The bottom line, Mal? As a trusted Reniva employee, you used your extraordinary position for your own self-interest. Now, you understand the consequences of your bad behavior and accept your termination without dissent.”
Mal observed her wordlessly.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be well compensated. But I would recommend a slight name change. The backlash might be severe.”
The Manager handed her an official ballpoint pen. “By signing this contract, you will, in effect, relieve the company from any and all legal accountability, do you understand?”
Mal studied the contract—the line marked by an “X” taunting her from below.
“What did it do to them?” she asked quietly, her hand constricting around the pen. “Switching the batteries, did it change who they were?”
“No,” The Manager replied, shooting her a knowing look. “It only gave them the opportunity to act on alternate impulses. The Brain Batteries were created to help our citizens, to protect them, Mal. Reniva keeps the population balanced—we’re here to ensure that everyone lives just as expected.”
Mal studied her—struck by the boldness of the statement. “And that’s your decision?”
The Manager smiled. “Is it yours?”
Sharply, she clicked the case shut. “You have until the end of the day to decide. Do the right thing, Mal. Your company is counting on you.”
The golden clock struck 9:00, 10:00, 11:00, 12:00, 1:00, 2:00, 3:00, and 4:00.
The hours passed, one by one, as The Manager waited patiently for 5:00 PM. Finally, she entered the “Preferred Customers” section expecting to be greeted with remorse and penitence. But that’s not what The Manager found.
On the counter was Mal’s Brain Battery with a single note written on the unsigned contract—
I hope I exceeded your expectations.
©2021